"Draco — Draco, wait! We can't do this here —"

"Why the hell not?"

Harry pauses for two reasons — one, because he needs to catch his breath, and two, because he can't actually think of a good enough reason why they shouldn't be doing this.

"B-because — this is a — fuck — a library — and class starts in ten minutes —"

"Fuck class," Draco grumbles into the sweaty nook between Harry's collarbones.

"You were the one who wanted to come back this year," Harry reminds him, as best as one can remind someone else of something when they are in the middle of having their neck mauled by their boyfriend.

"No," Draco says. "That was you. Because you're far too bloody noble for your own good."

True, Harry didn't really feel right accepting any of the many job offers he's had owling in through the windows of Grimmauld Place, when he hadn't even completed his NEWTs. So he'd decided to take Hermione's advice, and asked Draco what he thought about returning to Hogwarts for their —

Harry resists a moan, and makes a choked, muffled sound as Draco's lips clamp over his pulse point, throwing his head back against a crowded shelf of books.

The action is hard enough to emit a thunking noise which echoes through the quiet stacks, reminding Harry of where they are, and what they're doing.

"Let me hear you," Draco whispers, his voice tantalising in Harry's ear — husky and sweet and everything Harry loves about the young man in front of him.

"But — but someone might —"

"No one will hear you. Everyone's at lunch, like normal people." Draco licks a stripe across Harry's adam's apple.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to form a coherent thought. "In that case, Hermione isn't normal —"

"You're right," Draco abruptly pulls back, leaving Harry with his robes gaping open, staring at the sight of his favourite dishevelled-looking, pink-lipped blond. "Hermione might be a problem."

But he's wrong, Harry realises. Because nothing could possibly be a problem right now. Not when Draco Malfoy is right there — delicious and desirable — and not when he just called Hermione by her first name, and most definitely not when Harry feels so happy he could burst.

God, Harry loves him, and suddenly he doesn't care if the whole school hears — or even the whole world — because Harry Potter loves Draco Malfoy, so fucking much, and right now he wants — needs to have his body back against his own. Even if that means they're going to end up fucking in the middle of Hogwarts Library.

So Harry tugs Draco closer by fistfuls of his shirt, and gets a second to relish in his boyfriend's expression of surprise before the pale, beautiful features become a composition of smug pleasure.

Harry attacks Draco's mouth, wipes away his smirk with his tongue, until Draco is the one losing control over his vocal cords and writhing in Harry's arms. Merlin, Harry is addicted to the way he sounds, the way he moves.

He drops his hands from Draco's shoulders to his arse, kneading and groping the firm flesh. Draco bites down a little harshly on Harry's lower lip, growling out an expletive which makes Harry's cock twitch where it grinds pleasantly against Draco's.

Harry groans and flips them around so as to push Draco back onto one of the many deserted desks, because he's scared that one more thrust will be his undoing, and he wants to take a moment to drink in the perfection that is Draco Malfoy, on display just for Harry.

Draco's grey eyes are lust-blown, locked onto Harry's and giving him such a darkly inviting look that Harry trembles and whines, thinking he might just drown in them.

"Harry," Draco's voice cracks with what Harry knows is arousal, and in that single word — in the single utterance of his name, Harry hears everything Draco doesn't say. Every ounce of his affection, every plea and desire. Harry's throat goes dry and his heart speeds up.

"Draco, God, Draco you're so perfect," Harry leans forward, brushes his nose over Draco's cheek, down his sharp jawline, and Draco makes these deliriously gorgeous breathy sounds that Harry just wants to consume.

Draco trails his fingers over Harry's exposed chest, grazing a nail over his nipple and eliciting a shiver, and then delves his hand beneath Harry's already unbuttoned trousers.

Harry lowers his forehead to touch Draco's as he feels those long, elegant fingers wrap around his aching erection, and then squeeze and stroke and tease.

Harry's panting, and he almost misses Draco say, "I want you inside me." It's low and calm, as though he isn't talking about sex. Sex with Harry. Sex with Harry in a library.

And it drives Harry fucking insane with want.

He doesn't need to be told twice, and then he's swatting Draco's hands away and undoing his belt and smiling at Draco's boxers — they're the ones with the elephants on them — and then groaning at the long, swollen length of Draco's cock.

Harry mutters the necessary spells, and then slides two fingers down the crevice of Draco's arse, and into the secret place he will never get enough of.

Draco lifts his legs to curl them around Harry's hips, leaning back on his elbows and biting his lip as he watches Harry finger him. And it's so fucking hot that Harry might just lose himself.

Draco clenches around him — and Harry can't wait to feel that around his cock — his eyelids fluttering shut in the goddamn prettiest way as he moves his arse back against Harry's knuckles. Harry can't take it anymore, he withdraws his hand, fingers slick and warm, and wipes them over his cock — and Draco must be just as eager as Harry, because he raises his legs and settles his ankles on Harry's shoulders and smiles this little devious, fucking perfect, smile, and it nearly kills Harry. Harry, who survived a war, but will be brought to his knees by a single look from Draco Malfoy.

And then Harry's slipping inside him — hot and wet and so tight — fuck. And nothing has ever felt so good — nothing ever will feel as good — as having his cock buried inside Draco Malfoy. Except maybe having Draco's cock inside him, which is a close second.

Draco grunts out a breathless moan, arching his body and surrounding Harry with both bliss and torture. The column of his white, swallowing throat is on display for Harry's greedy eyes, and without wasting a moment Harry bends down to bite it, creating a new, heavenly angle which wrenches a gasp from both of them.

There is no saving them from this insanity now, and what started as a slow and secretive snog in the stillness of the library turns into a battle of sweaty hands and chaffing fabric on skin and the impatient, passionate melding of two bodies.

The desk creaks beneath their weight, and Harry reaches out to cover Draco's hand with his own where it grips the edge, his knuckles stark and prominent as though he holds on for dear life, because where Harry is taking him there is no returning from.

"Fuck — Harry — don't stop." And as if Harry could stop, even if he wanted to. Although he is tempted by the idea, because the chance to pause and admire a flushed and frenzied Draco sounds absolutely enthralling. But they have time, so much time, and so many more alcoves of the castle to explore, and while the thought makes Harry's cheeks tinge with red, it also spreads something warm and comforting through his stomach.

So he doesn't stop. He slams into Draco, again and again, into the body of the person he just wants to hold and cherish, to never touch for fear of breaking his beauty, but also the person he wants to possess, wants to devour and damage until there is nothing left but the part of Draco that is Harry's.

And then Draco grits out this guttural sob, his free hand coming up to claw at Harry's neck, as he comes inbetween them — the thick, musky scent of his release and the pulsing muscles of his arse sending Harry into oblivion not long after.

Harry nearly collapses on top of Draco, burying his head in his neck and breathing him in, giving himself over to his ragged exhales and the boneless feeling in his body.

"What?" Harry asks groggily, realising Draco's said something.

"I said, get off, you're heavy." There's a smile in Draco's voice, and Harry nips him on the jaw.

He pulls slowly back, his limbs feeling like sated lead, and is thankful when Draco does the honours of casting cleaning spells. Harry is in the middle of doing up his trousers when from the front of the long, cavernous library he hears the door creak open, and then the following sound of footsteps.

Harry looks up into the stunned yet amused face of Draco, who's still perched quite happily on the desk, his eyebrow quirked with mirth, and mouths the word, "shit."

They probably have less than two minutes to get to class, but if that's Madame Pince they just heard, she'd be austerely ensconced behind her desk by now, thus preventing their inconspicuous exit — not to mention, parading the obvious reason as to why they were in the library together during lunchtime. Alone.

Harry grimaces, then grins, his hand flying to his fallen school bag and pulling out the invisibility cloak. Draco, for once, doesn't eye it with excitement, but something akin to distaste. "We could just stay here," he whispers sulkily.

"But she'll see us," Harry hisses back.

Draco rolls his eyes, snatches Harry's cloak, and after tugging on Harry's hand and drawing him back into the circle of his legs, throws it over them both. "No, she won't. Idiot."

"What about class?" Harry doesn't know why he bothers asking this, because he's realised it's impossible to care about something as mundane as school when Draco Malfoy is less than an inch away, looking decidedly close to the cat who just got the cream for someone who was thoroughly debauched five minutes ago.

"Fuck class," Draco says, wearing the same sly grin he wore when he spoke the same words earlier.

"You're insatiable," Harry tells him, but he doesn't move, instead he slings his arms around Draco's shoulders, bringing their torsos together.

"You love me for it."

"I do."

They kiss, and they don't turn up to class.