"Me too," Harry admitted, quietly. But his hands didn’t tremble as they traced their way up and down Draco’s body, returning down to where Draco was oiled and loose. He eased his fingers back in, as if to hold his place. Relearning him, but remembering him. Draco was still wearing a thin linen shirt that was rucked up around his armpits but his trunks had been abandoned, shucked off in a rush to get Harry close, to invite Harry inside.