He cradled her face in his hands. She gave a low sob against his lips.
“This — is the way I wanted it to be,” she admitted to him. “With you. I wanted it to be like this with you.”
He went still, and she felt her tears sliding along his fingers. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry it wasn't,” he said, pulling her closer, his thumbs grazing over her cheekbones.
Had he always been so warm? She wondered sometimes how much of her memory of kissing him the night after she'd healed him had been real. Or if she'd been so drunk she'd invented parts to replay in the moments when everything felt too void of any tenderness.
“It's fine,” she said, pressing her head down on his shoulder.
”It's not. Let me give you this now.”
He drew her lips back to his and kissed her. Slow and intent.
Like a star, he was glittering and ice-cold from afar, but when the space was bridged, the heat of him was endless.
He kissed her deeply while his hands slid along her body. His fingers traced her spine and over her shoulder blades, ghosting across her skin. He pulled her shirt off and kissed along her collarbones. His hands felt like home as he slid his fingers into her hair, drew her head back and pressed his lips against the base of her throat.
She tugged on his shirt until he pulled it off. Then she brought his mouth back to hers and kissed him again. Her fingers followed along the curve of his jaw, the tendons of his neck, and over his shoulders. He was thinner, and he had so many new scars he felt almost unfamiliar.
He kissed along every inch of her. He pulled her bra off and slid his palms over her breasts. He kissed down her sternum until her head dropped back and she was gasping. The heat of his touch felt like it had kindled itself inside of her. She found herself catching fire until she ached.
He watched her unwaveringly, as though committing every reaction to memory so that he'd always know it.
It wasn't too fast or too much for her to be ready for. He went as slow as she wanted him to.
When he pushed slowly inside her, his eyes were fastened on her face. “Is this good for you?”
She gave a faint gasp and nodded. Because it was. No pain. It was just good.
“This is good,” she said, gripping him by the shoulders. She could feel the scars from his runes under her fingers.
His forearms were around her head as though framing her, and his fingers were twisted in her hair. When he started to move, he pressed his forehead against hers.
When he kissed her, it felt like the beginning of something that could be eternal.
At first, it was so gradual she almost forgot that there was more to it. It could have stayed like that, and it would have been enough. The weight, and warmth, and sensation of his skin against hers. She breathed in against his shoulder; he smelled like oakmoss with the undertones of cedar and papyrus sedge. Underlying it was the scent and taste of his sweat.
Her association with beds was as a place of last resort; where everything was cold and empty, and she hoped that whatever nightmare came wouldn't be so awful she'd regret lying down at all.
There wasn't any cold here. The whole world had ceased to exist beyond Draco and his body against and inside her. He knew how to slide his hands across her skin so that she was gasping, kiss her so she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, and move inside her so slowly that at first she didn't even notice the coiling tension inside of her.
But of course there was more, and Draco was looking for it. All his meticulous attention to when her breath caught, and what angle made her move in response. Watching her eyes, entwining his fingers with hers and noting when her hold tightened.
He kissed her and he kissed her. Slowly, the pace, and the friction, and the contact increased and grew into something more than comforting.
But when he slid his hand between her legs, she flinched. She wasn't sure if she could do that part.
It was too—
The last time when he had put his hand there—
She gave a stifled sob and turned her head away. He stilled, withdrew his hand and cradled her face, kissing her.
“You get this part. This is yours,” he said.
“I just — I don't know how to do any of this. The way the books explain it isn't the same,” she said, drawing her chin down and speaking quickly. “And last time, when you touched me there — no one ever had before and when you did you said—” her voice broke off. “I always — think about it now. That I'm — that I'm — that I'm—”
“I'm sorry,” he said, and his hand entwined with hers tightened. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I've ruined so much of this for you. Let me give you this. Let me show you what it's supposed to be like.”
She hesitated for a moment before she gave a cautious nod.
He dipped his head so that his mouth was near her ear. “Close your eyes.” His breath whispered against her skin.
Her eyes fluttered closed, and he kissed her.