Um!! I Challenged Myself To Write Smth Abt Nonsexual Intimacy In 500 Words N Here It Is 😔✌️(u

um!! i challenged myself to write smth abt nonsexual intimacy in 500 words n here it is 😔✌️(u can also find it in my oneshot collection on ao3)

His fingertips pass delicate over the ridges of Draco’s teeth; only in this way can he feel the subtle irregularities, the misshapen bumps and valleys in all that unyielding enamel. He wonders if this is what it would feel like if he reached inside Draco’s body and touched his bones.

He presses down on Draco’s tongue, slimy and wet and firm over muscle: unlike his teeth, it yields easily. Coated with spit, he drags them over a slightly swollen lip, smears it across his chin and down his neck and watches it glisten against skin as white as a winter moon.

“You’re skin,” says Harry. He dips his wet fingers into the hollow of Draco’s clavicle. He trails them down his arm, over a slightly rough elbow where the skin is dry and flaking. He touches the skin under Draco’s shirt, stretched across his hip bones; over his abdomen, where the skin is decorated with old scars and adds texture. “Miles of it.”

“What else?” Draco asks. 

“Teeth,” says Harry. He touches them again, the canines which are a little too long, the molars with their subtle bumps and valleys. He counts them. “You’re thirty-two teeth.”

Do you like them? Draco’s eyes ask. 

“I love them,” says Harry. He does. He slides his finger along Draco’s pink gums, across his lips. He touches his nose and says, “You’re a pointy nose.”

“You’re a wide nose,” Draco says. “What else am I?”

“Hair.” He touches Draco’s hair. It’s whiter than his skin and just long enough to reach his ears and curl over the cartilage. “You’re silver hair. Like a unicorn tail.”

“My wand has unicorn tail hair.”

“I know,” says Harry. Draco smiles sleepily. “Suits you.”

“Tell me more.”

“You’re feet,” Harry tells him. He bends Draco’s leg and lifts his foot, and he kisses the arch. He hasn’t examined many feet, but he thinks Draco’s must be the softest. Then he kisses the sharp ankle bone. “And skinny ankles.”

This time Draco laughs. “You are too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Draco says. “And knobby knees.”

“Knobby knees,” Harry echoes, grinning. “You’re clean fingernails.”

“You’re bitten fingernails,” says Draco. He skims his lips over Harry’s fingers, and then his palm. “And rough hands and dark skin.”

“You’re light skin,” says Harry. He lifts Draco’s arm, kisses the steadily fading mark that is as much a part of his body as his clean fingernails and pointy nose. “And inside you’re blood and guts and atoms.”

Draco smiles, pleased, as if Harry has just recited back to him a secret they share. As if he’s the only one who knows what’s inside Draco’s body, because he’s the only one who’s been allowed to look. 

“And you,” says Draco. Harry frowns. 

“Me?”

“You’re inside of me,” he says. “With the blood and guts and atoms.”

Harry almost smiles, because it almost sounds corny: then he realises it’s not corny at all, and he stares at Draco a long time.

“You’re inside me too,” he says finally.