He Hit Me and It Felt Like a Kiss

"All at once, the two boys’ lips found one another. Draco moaned—a tiny, broken thing, and if Harry had been anywhere else but the seam of Draco’s lips, he would’ve heard agony. Even here, within this pulsing dance of tongues and spit, there was pain. Pain in the silent promises made in Draco’s gazes at Harry, their words stifled by the vindictive glares of Crabbe and Goyle beside him, stolen by the grapevine, spreading whispers about Draco’s chronic bachelorhood. Pain in the kind of pleasure whose name is used as a weapon. In the way Draco’s lips were soft and supple, tasting faintly of butterbeer, in the way they were just as intoxicating. Harry leaned further into Draco’s skin, leaving the pain behind him; Draco was now getting sloppy, hungrily mouthing at the skin around Harry’s lips. The two boys inhaled each other’s analgesic, filled with a maddening sweetness, drunk on the other’s breath."