"Anyway," she says, stepping closer to him. She takes the bottle from his hand and drinks from it again, then puts it down on the desk. Her hand comes up to take hold of Harry's chin, fingers pushing firmly into his cheeks and forcing him to open his mouth for her. Harry stands there, fawned and slack jawed, as Draco leans in and lets the wine pour from her mouth into his. Harry swallows and almost chokes on it when a little trickle spills over, and Draco wastes no time lapping it up for herself; licking up from his chin and over his mouth. He can feel her tongue piercing pressing into his lips and opens eagerly. Draco walks them backwards and pushes Harry onto the bed, tiger-crawling over him and caging his body on hands and knees. Her hair falls around them like a silvery curtain, and Harry reaches up to card his hands through it, tangling at the nape of her neck to pull her even closer. She sinks into him, and it's bliss, Harry thinks, to have her this close, to be able feel her like this, from head to toe. It takes very little for Harry to get uncomfortably hard again, and he bucks his hips, desperate to find some friction. Draco gasps and pushes back, only for Harry to feel her own hardness rubbing up against him. 