Potter gave him a long, considering look. Then he pulled on Draco’s wrist, bringing Draco’s arm up. Closer. He pressed a kiss to the inside of Draco’s wrist. Potter’s lips were soft and warm and the shock of it stole the air from Draco’s lungs. He dragged in a great, shuddering breath.
Potter pressed another kiss to Draco’s skin, this time a little further up his forearm, right under the curling tail of the Dark Mark’s snake. Potter’s lips parted slightly, the wet heat of his breath scorching Draco’s skin. His mouth moved up further still, pink lips sliding over the black burn of the Mark with aching tenderness. Again and again, Potter pressed his mouth to Draco’s scarred skin. He took his time, covering every inch of the Dark Mark with soft kisses and then continuing on to the pale, clear skin above it, all the way to the crook of Draco’s elbow. Draco watched his progress, frozen, still labouring for breath, his eyes stinging.