Author's Note: Explanation for this story: I'm in Ohio, wishing for warm weather and attempting to knock myself out of this funk writer's block. Plus I wanted to play around a bit with purplish prose and dialect. I hope everyone likes it. – DMH

He followed the slow rotation of blades with his gaze, taking in the slight instability of the shaking base along with assessing the source of the rhythmic rattling noise; the ceiling fan's pull chain. He considered standing up on the bed he was currently sprawled upon to set the fan to a faster speed, but that plan required not being lazy, so he threw it out the window.

The window was open anyway and the cricket-serenaded night breeze was finally beginning to circulate. Today had been a hot and muggy day filled with sweat and the threat of getting stuck to anything; feet to wooden floors, arms to countertops – even his back to the thin sheets. God forbid one's car had leather upholstery.

He frowned at that thought and memory of pain in the back of his legs just because he wanted to go to the grocery store for a bag of ice (all of which had long since melted). He was only taken out of his reverie due to a loud sloshing noise and the opening of the bedroom's bathroom.

"I took a cold bath."

His gaze shifted from the fan's blades to his naked love standing in the doorway with just a lazy tilt of his head. "I can see that. You're still all wet."

"It feels good, Harry. I left the water in for you… if you want to cool down," his love replied with a soft smile, all the while shyly playing with the paint peeling off the frame of the door. He turned his head toward the window and shook it slightly, though he doubted his lover noticed the subtle motion.

"The night air is coming in. Let the water out and come back so I can feel how cool you are."

His naked lover nodded and disappeared, his actions in the bath were as vocal and clear as his question, "When did you get back? How long have you been lying down?"

"Probably as long as you've been in the bath," he called back, rubbing one hand down his bare stomach and allowing a few fingers to dip into the hem of his only garment at the moment, a pair of black boxer briefs.

"You look sexy," his naked love said from the doorway, now idly playing with strands of water-darkened blond instead of paint chips.

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Come show me," he suggested and his dripping love glided to him across the scuffed wooden floor, crawled across the queen mattress and into his lap. "Mmm, you feel good."

"Yeah?" the wet lover whispered into his hair as he nuzzled the damp paleness of a long, white neck.

"Yes," he mouthed hotly against the cool skin, causing his lover to arch against him – flat chest to flat chest, nipples tight with cold and arousal. He listened to his lover breathe in the scent of him, relished as a tongue against his shoulder tasted the salt of him. His own tongue explored the cool skin's clean taste until it dug out heat. Blushes of pink and hot red exploded under his lips and the resulting aftershock of trembles forced his body to buck into the one above it.

"Harry!"

He began to kiss gasps of his name from his lover's lips. Sliding his hand in between them, he yanked his shorts, now wet with previously cold bathwater and arousal, as far down his thighs as possible.

"Need you!"

His lips moved to skin that was not cool anymore and he ached to take more of that heat for himself. He pulled his lover against him selfishly and was given even more moans.

"Don't stop!"

His fingers followed a path of sweat down his love's spine and into the cleft of the smooth lower back. He tentatively slipped them further down, deeper, and was rewarding with blessings in the form of words.

"Harry – inside me!"

His love, wet with only sweat now, used his shoulders as an anchor, gripping them tightly so as not to float away. God, his baby's heat felt good against him, all rotating hips and pounding heartbeats.

"Love you – Love you!"

No resistance was given to his two fingers as he pressed them into soft heat. He actions brought about art – a long, pale torso arching back poetically, crowned with tiny pink nipples and cascaded with a shallow river of sweat. He licked at the river, sucked at the nipples and fingers gripped his dark hair at the roots.

The pain brought back focus for the task at hand. This was not the time to fall into the hazy mirage of foreplay, he was an instrument of his lover's ultimate hot pleasure and it was necessary to act accordingly.

"Fuck me… Please, Harry, please…" So he did, with twirls of his two fingers as he pushed and pulled them in and out of the tight hole, moving in deeper with every new thrust, pulling out further with every new parry. His love predictably went wild, clawing at his shoulders and neck, whining for more and hard and fast.

He pressed his fingers against the spot and stayed until everything went still again – the motor of the fan was heard along with the songs of the crickets. He swore his heartbeat stilled in those few seconds.

Then finally – "God!"

He smiled as his lover descended upon him in kisses and roving hands, stroking in between their bodies, and playing intriguing games with the tips of his fingers against the tips of other appendages.

"I need you now."

"I need you, too."

"Love you."

He agreed with a grunt and a nod, slipping his fingers out of the place his heat needed to be. "Love you so much… Gonna fuck you so hard…"

He pushed his love back and stared down at his everything, taking in everything.

Draco would never be made of soft curves or full features. He was all sharp lines, all velvet skin over hard muscle. Pointed nose, angled elbows and knees, sharp shins. So damn beautiful Draco was, with his ivory skin and his angry red erection, neglected and leaking against his shaking stomach. He traced his forefinger against the tip and Draco sang for him with his entire body; emptying his lungs with a violent gasp, arching his back so that his sharp hips offered themselves as sacrifices to this passion. His love's eyes were shut tight, but tears managed to escape.

"I love you so fucking much, Draco."

Pale eyes opened and Harry thought his wet love looked like an angel in that moment. He pushed the blond hair stuck to Draco's temples away and leaned forward to kiss the revealed skin. "I fucking love you."

"I love you, too, Harry. I love you so much," rumbled Draco's deep voice in return, beautiful and soft and warm even through the thick heat of their passion. Long arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him down so that he was snug between his baby's skinny legs. "Show me how much you love me…"

"I'm gonna fuck you into this mattress."

"Do it. Love me."

"I'm going to."

"Love me – ah!" the blond squeaked as fingers reached down and loosened him more. "- til it hurts! Ah! Fuck me! Love me like that!"

"Hard?"

"Hard!"

Harry leaned back and spit on his hand. Draco watched him as his stroked himself and he looked straight into those pale angel eyes and sank deep home into his love, his baby, his everything. His wet lover.

And they crested until crickets' serenades gave way to birds' songs and the intimacy of night was overcome with the familiarity of morning. And cool summer breezes and hot summer suns paled in comparison to the contented warmth of their bed.

A/N: How was that? – DMH