Title: Milia Basiorum

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Content Notes: Established relationship, fluff, present tense

Rating: R

Wordcount: 1700

Summary: Harry and Draco like to kiss. And to practice kissing. And to touch each other as they explore.

Author's Notes: Another of my July Celebration fics, originally an anonymous prompt for an Advent prompt that asked for Harry, Draco, and kissing. The title is a Latin line from a poem by Catullus, which translates as "Thousands of kisses."

Milia Basiorum

Harry can hardly support Draco's weight as Draco leans against him. He's almost slumped, his arms dangling, his mouth open and pressed against Harry's, his tongue darting in, his breathing soft and drugged.

All of this just from getting kissed, Harry marvels, and rakes his hands through Draco's hair, and concentrates again on his mouth.

Draco sighs and moans, or Harry thinks he's doing that, but he's starting to lose the individual sounds under the flow of warm air from Draco's mouth. He leans harder, and Harry staggers backwards a little. A shaft of sunlight through the window warms Draco's face some more, adds faint sparks to his pale eyelashes and picks out traceries of bone and vein under his cheeks that Harry normally never sees.

They're in their own bedroom, the bedroom of the house they've bought together, and still Harry thinks Draco's face is almost too intimate to look at.

He touches Draco's hair, his chin, his teeth, lightly, fluttering his fingers. Draco doesn't respond. He never does like this, except—

Harry dips his head and captures Draco's lips again, and this time Draco comes to life, winding his arms around Harry's neck with snaky strength. Harry staggers backwards, and this time they come to rest on the bed.

In the moments before Draco opens his eyes and goes to work with the rest of his body, they drift like that, and Harry could almost go to sleep, even with his erection aching against the side of Draco's thigh.

It's wonderful, and it's over as soon as Draco nips back, and wakes, and Harry laughs and opens his arms to let Draco do some of the supporting.

Draco loves to kiss Harry's neck.

And he loves the way the combination of lips and hands on Harry make him sag and melt, and kiss back harder, and try to kick Draco's legs out from under him, depending on where they are when Draco decides to snog him. But he loves the feeling of his mouth alone on Harry's throat even more.

Harry grows still then, and tranquil, and stands with his head turned sideways. Draco doesn't even dare touch his shoulder for support, or he'll break the spell. Harry will suddenly remember that he has a mouth, and hands, and try to push Draco back so he can kiss him in return.

Draco knows Harry doesn't do that because of any selfish motive. He just wants to share pleasure, to make Draco feel like he does.

But at that moment, whether it's in their bedroom or a forgotten corner of the Ministry or a Muggle pub or somewhere in the wizarding world where no one knows who they are, somewhere in Germany or India or China…

The moment when Harry becomes still, all his being focused on the soft suction of Draco's mouth on his soft skin, his lips falling slowly apart, his hands helpless and half-curved, his skin reddening, his neck arched, his foot not even shifting when it's in an uncomfortable position…

That's the moment Draco loves best, and the one he always mourns when it's lost and Harry melts into motion. But at least he knows he can have it back whenever he wants it.

Sometimes Harry likes to kiss Draco in public.

Oh, not with his lips or hands. He sits next to Draco, the picture of decorum, at public dinners, and no one knows that he's not soberly attending to every word of this or that charity speech. But in reality, Harry's stomach tingles and he has to refrain from reaching out and caressing the hand next to his under the table.

Even better, though, is making Draco think about it.

Harry has a little sideways glance he likes to use, just when the boring speech is at its height—if you can call it that. He'll sit with his hands demurely clasped and turn his head until he catches the edge of Draco's eye. It has to be just the edge, or someone else will notice and decide they're not paying attention and they should scold them.

Harry doesn't want any kind of scolding interrupting. The balance in this moment is delicate enough as it is.

Draco flushes when he sees Harry looking at him like that. The next thing Harry does is drop that corner of his eye to the corner of Draco's lips.

He only has to look a little. Then he has to look away, and Draco will start thinking about kisses all by himself, and flushing more obviously than Harry ever does except when they're actually having sex. And he'll tug at his collar, and a few people will ask him if he's all right, and frown suspiciously at Harry.

Harry smiles and waits for the next moment he can kiss Draco like that, with his eyes and his mind.

Harry likes to be surprised and kissed.

Draco can't always do it. Harry has those damn instincts left over from the war, that alertness. Draco can't blame him for having it. Even since the war, the kidnapping and assassination attempts have continued, after all. And Draco would never want Harry to drop his caution simply to make things easier for him.

In a few ways, Draco even enjoys it. He likes to walk towards Harry with an absent expression on his face, as if he has nothing more important on his mind than asking Harry whether he wants to have an uncomfortable dinner with Mother and Father this weekend or the next.

And then he seizes Harry and whirls him around and kisses him soundly on the mouth.

Harry is always just opening his mouth when Draco does it, his eyes bright and wide and his cheeks slightly flushed, like a little kid looking forward to a gift. And he presses back against Draco's lips after a moment.

But there's a moment when he doesn't, when he just enjoys, and tangles his fingers through Draco's hair, and sighs as if the present contains a toy that he's always wanted.

Draco makes sure that he gives him other gifts and huge holiday dinners on a regular basis. He's always striven to do that since he found out about the Dursleys. But when he gets a chance to offer a kiss that's not making up for a horrible childhood, that's simply from the heart, and feel Harry open up to receive it…

That's a gift for both of them.

Harry likes to lie on Draco's legs and kiss him on his hips, around and around in circles.

The best-kept secret in the universe of Draco Malfoy, as far as Harry's concerned, is how delicate the skin on his hips is. Draco is forever squirming and lifting them when Harry lies on his legs, as if he wants to get him off. But the instant Harry yields to those pleas and rolls away, then Draco kicks and gets sulky and commands him back.

Only to kick him off again when Harry kisses one of those circles, like a fairy ring, onto his hips.

Harry can kiss Draco in other places, of course he can, and he often indulges in it when they're naked. But he likes to tease Draco first. Now that Harry isn't part of a rival House and enormously invested in making Draco look like a prick or a fool at all times, it makes him joyful to see Draco flush and squirm.

Well. Maybe the emotions themselves aren't that different from when he was a member of a rival House and enormously invested in making Draco look like a prick or a fool at all times after all.

Draco sometimes sits up and threatens to tease Harry mercilessly the next time they're naked and Harry is the one pinned beneath him. "I might not let you come," he'll say, with his hair sticking up and his lips so pink that Harry has to slither up and give him another kiss just for looking like that. "I might—"

He always falls silent when Harry actually reaches his mouth, though, and wraps his arms around Harry with such a huge sigh of welcome that Harry knows he doesn't mean to keep his promise.

Besides. By the time Harry has finished kissing Draco into a daze and then dropped back down his body to take care of his obvious need, Draco is usually too occupied to remember that he ever made one.

The kisses they share in the dark of night are the most obvious ones, and the only ones that Draco hugs close to himself, so close that he doesn't even speak of them in the light or where anyone else can hear them.

Harry lies with his head on the same pillow as Draco's. Draco thought he might want his privacy at first, when they became lovers in hesitant steps; he'd spent a few years alone by then. But Harry says that unless he's right next to Draco, he's always afraid that Draco might melt away and leave him alone again.

They kiss then, quick dry flicks of tongues, touches to ears and cheeks and lips. Draco sometimes doesn't know where exactly he's kissing Harry, with what Harry is kissing him. What matters is the companionship, the way they're with each other and together.

No one breaking down the door to try and kill Harry—which has happened before—could find a way to separate them. No one can surprise them and try to sneak into one of their beds or the other.

If they died somehow during the night, the person who found them in the morning would find them together.

That's the silent promise in every kiss Draco gives and gets, the message that's always there in the nighttime kisses, but only implied during the day. They're together. Nothing can rip them apart.

It's a choice, when they stop kissing and drift into dreams with their heads still resting close, their breath whuffling as soft as the wings of two Snitches fluttering against each other, locked in the same box.

Heads on the same pillow.

The End.