Sugar Fix

    Draco Malfoy's kiss tasted of vanilla sugar, the light flavour not quite sweet enough to satisfy but plenty sugary enough to keep one coming back for more, addicted to the heat and the pull of his lips and the rich, rich taste of his kisses. Harry, thrusting his hands through Draco's slippery silver-blonde hair, marvelled at this. He had imagined something more earthly and acerbic, salt and anise perhaps, or black liquorice, an acid tang that would scar the tongue and burn the lips and make the person on the other end of the kiss fear for their sanity as they dove in for another connection. Something scalding and overwhelming and far too much, a taste like Malfoy's grating personality itself, that was what Harry had anticipated. Firewhiskey, maybe, something to drown himself in and make his senses swim, but to his surprise, vanilla sugar was the flavour against his tongue as he licked Draco's lips and felt himself shiver from desire. He was all there, perfectly coherent, drunk from passion but all too sober to explain away the infectious heat Draco radiated and label his own subsequent thoughts the effects of intoxication.

    "And here I thought you didn't like me, Potter," drawled Draco, stepping back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips glistened wetly in the sliver of moonlight that filtered through the clawing trees down onto the grounds; even the amused smirk Harry had come to despise long ago seemed beautiful in the silver light, perched on lips that puckered slightly, as if Draco was awaiting a second kiss.

    "I don't," Harry said helplessly, because it seemed the right thing to say. His brow furrowed and he tried to glare, but the sheen of Draco's mouth was too much and disrupted his concentration. The words were not a lie. He did not like Malfoy, precisely. Like was a word that fit Ron and Hermione, the people he saw day in and day out, whose company was comfortable and familiar, welcome and unchallenged. People he felt himself around, with whom he got on well, they were the ones he liked. Like did not apply to the trembling of his hands as he reluctantly withdrew from Draco's body, nor the contrary emotions duelling in his heart. Lust might have been better, love was more apt, but like most certainly fell short. It was all wrong. Draco had been his hallway nemesis for too long, the smirking, scowling Slytherin git whose very presence was an irritant, a figurehead of Voldemort's destructive tendencies, a thorn in his side. "It's just...."

    Draco nodded as if in understanding, but the defensive smirk did not fade from his face. On the contrary, he seemed to stand his ground with more determination as he looked into Harry's eyes, hoping to glean some truth from them. "Just?" he questioned in a mocking tone. "Just, you couldn't help yourself? Just, you wandered out of the castle hoping for a random snog and you'll take what you can get? Just what, exactly?"

    "I could ask you the same thing," Harry answered forcefully. He glared hatefully at Draco, the look in his eye not reflecting the feelings in his heart.

    Amused, Draco moved closer to Harry, catching his hand. Harry could feel the gentle scratch of Draco's fingernails as Draco traced something on his palm, looking distracted for the barest second. Then Draco shrugged, wearing a superior, if dismissive, grin. "You were the one who kissed me. You started it, like this."

    Harry stood still, frozen with fear that the sensation would end as Draco pressed himself against Harry's chest, his hands sliding down Harry's sides as he pressed his lips to Harry's. The world seemed to melt away as Draco repeated Harry's actions; the gentle moan vibrating against Harry's lips, Draco's hands in Harry's hair, holding on possessively.

    "And like this," Draco added, the murmur spoken huskily as he pulled out of the kiss only to lunge back, this time more forcefully, his teeth scraping lightly against Harry's bottom lip in his haste. Draco's skin was like velvet, his fingernails sharpened like claws, digging into the back of Harry's shirt and raising small welts on Harry's back as he caught hold and held on, not wishing to lose control.

    "You kissed back," Harry reminded him breathlessly as the kiss ended. His lungs felt as if they might burst and Harry realised he had been holding his breath; he exhaled and drew a cool, calming breath of chill night air, relieved and disappointed when the oxygen cleared his head and robbed him of the feeling of being trapped in a blissful, if unmerciful daydream. "I might have kissed you, but you sure seemed willing. You kissed me back."

    Not waiting for a reply or an excuse, Harry dragged Draco closer, planting his feet a little apart so as to steady himself. He emulated Draco's original response, first by sucking Draco's bottom lip and giving him an affectionate nip, then by plunging his tongue into Draco's mouth, shaking as his body tried to make sense of the sudden surrounding heat. Harry found himself blushing, face hot and flushed, as he held Draco's upper arms in a crushing grip, forcing him to stay still.

    For a moment, absolute silence hung over them as each stepped back, regarding the other warily. Harry found himself biting his own lip in sudden bashfulness and cursed his inability to put on a confident, secure act. He felt open, bared before the enemy, and there was no way to snatch back the mask of complacent disinterest the sight of Draco had stripped away. Vulnerable, he folded his arms over his chest and glared down Draco, a part of him wishing he had never ventured outside the castle walls and gotten himself into this mess, another part of him insisting he never go back.

    "Far be it from me to turn down an opportunity to perfect my snogging skills," Draco said haughtily after a moment, his face pale and achingly beautiful in the moonlight. "Not that it meant anything."

    "Of course it didn't," Harry agreed hastily, feeling a piece of his soul fracture at the words. What he had been thinking he was not quite sure, but he knew he had been on the cusp of offering Draco something more then a make-out session. That was not, apparently, what Draco wanted. Tempering his disappointment with inward reassurances that the kisses meant absolutely nothing at all, Harry shook his head, trying to copy the dismissive air Draco had cultivated so well. "It couldn't mean anything. You hate me."

    "You hate me too," Draco pointed out, reasonably enough. He licked his lips, seeming to enjoy his role as the most tempting thing Harry had ever seen. "You hated me first."

    Thoughts travelled backwards, through years and years. In his mind's eye, Harry could still see the steam billowing from the Hogwarts Express, the red-haired stranger who had become his best friend, the strange and magical surroundings, glimpsed for a first time by eyes young and filled with wonder. Had he hated anything back then, as a boy of eleven who had just been given the best gift imaginable, a new life far from the misery he had experienced as an orphan? It was impossible. "That's a lie," Harry retorted. He closed his eyes as time whirled back into the proper place, pushing through every torment and every glory back to the present. It was hard to believe he had endured the taunting for so many years, all through his school days. Those times seemed so distant, remembered now by someone who had walked the earth for twenty years. Had he or Malfoy actually believed they knew what hatred was back then, as children? "I didn't hate you. You were always awful to me, is all."

    "On the contrary, I offered you my hand in friendship. You turned it down," Draco answered, the words coming so quickly Harry knew it was an old injury, something Draco had been waiting to accuse him of for years. The ancient grudge, the reason for all the malice and the hurt had all but faded from Harry's mind, but clearly Draco dwelled on it daily. "What was I supposed to do, simper and beg? Of course I hated you, Potter. You rejected me."

    Some shadow of his school boy self reared up in Harry, waiting for the right moment to spit out some caustic comment and then reject Draco again, to turn on his heel and run back to the castle. The remnants of the Order were inside, no doubt carrying on yet another tiresome meeting; they were both probably missed. The feeling passed moments later, as Harry looked into Draco's eyes. Draco was not crying, nor did he seem on the verge of melting into a puddle of tears as the old wound resurfaced, but Harry had not expected that anyway. He was awed by the pure vulnerability of Draco, and the fact that Draco had honestly admitted something that had no doubt been haunting him for years.

    "I'm not rejecting you now," Harry pointed out. He caught hold of Draco's hand and squeezed it hard, knowing his intense grip was probably painful for the other young man but unable to think of a better way then sheer physical force to convey the depth of feeling. "I'm here."

    "I know." For once, the casual, dismissive tone was absent; Draco looked as serious as Harry had ever seen him. Draco blinked, looking away as if frightened of the look in Harry's eyes. "Why did you come out here anyway?"

    There was no point in lying anymore, not to Draco and especially not to himself. "I saw you leaving," Harry answered haltingly. "You looked like you needed to talk."

    "Couldn't get enough of me?" Draco questioned, some of the security seeping back into his tone. He tossed his hair, knowing how it flashed in the moonlight.

    "Something like that," Harry granted, pleased to find Draco's usual arrogance did not bother him so much. Secrets and old admissions hung in the air between them, marking it as safe. In the protective space, Harry closed his eyes, unable to face Draco as he spoke. "I missed you, did you know that? After Dumbledore -- well, afterwards, when you left with Snape and we didn't see you for two years, I always missed you. I don't know why. Maybe it was just me being masochistic, but nothing felt right anymore in your absence. I left Hogwarts to kill Voldemort, of course, and Snape, but I also left because I knew it would never be the same again without you there, even though all you had ever done was taunt me."

    Opening his eyes, Harry saw Draco looking reflective. "I suppose I thought of you too. It was hard not to," Draco added quickly. "What with the Dark Lord harping on us every minute about how important it was to kill you. It's not as if I -- I didn't realise how I felt until later," he finished, looking somewhat uneasy. "I missed you as well, although it was a lot easier to chalk that up to madness then sincerity. Snape -- Snape knew. He made me face facts. He's the one who talked me into coming back, knowing as he did how much I hated everything Voldemort had us do and how I felt about you. He told me I wasn't being truthful to myself."

    "Of all the people to learn honesty from," Harry said softly, thinking of the former Potions Master. Snape was still out there, somewhere among Voldemort's forces, but everything Harry had learned since Dumbledore's death indicated that Snape was innocent. He was an enigma, someone to whom the lines of good and evil were so blurred that making a choice between them seemed impossible. "A double agent so immersed in madness not even he knows for sure what side he's really on."

    "Which made him the best person to turn to," came Draco's reply. "He didn't know right from wrong, so he made no judgements. Makes," he amended hastily, looking hopeful and a little sad. "I don't want to talk about Snape."

    "Nor do I." Harry pulled Draco closer, touching Draco's mouth with his fingers as though to memorise the shape and feel of his lips. "I don't especially care to talk."

    Shadows faded from Draco's face, the look of haunted guilt and introspection gone as he faced the reality of Harry's proximity. "Of course you don't," he teased, cupping Harry's chin and staring into his eyes. "You're addicted to me, Potter, you practically admitted it yourself. Well, come on then, get your fix."

    Not needing to be told twice, Harry pressed his lips to Draco's, shaking with a sudden rush of hunger and need. Desire, hot and demanding, flooded him as he responded to Draco's kiss with ardour. He licked Draco's lips, demanding entry, and all the world faded until there was nothing left but him, Draco and the overwhelming taste of vanilla sugar.