For a few moments - countless, uncountable, she loses track completely - they're just a tangle of limbs and a meeting of mouths and urgent hands. She finds a pace, a little frantic and urgent, rocking against him and grinding down until it feels like he can't get any deeper, and she keeps at it. Over and over, while one hand stays tangled in his hair, and the other roams.

She touches his shoulder, traces his arm all the way up to where his hand cups her breast, scrapes her nails against his wrist in reaction to his thumb teasing against her nipple; in encouragement, because "There, stay close, ah, stay - Draco..."

His name stumbles out of her mouth so easily, it almost feels like this part was meant to be. They were meant to stumble into bed together and learn each other's names through this, exactly. The consummate intellectuals, somehow burning each other up with the physical proof of their lust.

She pulls on his hair lightly, just to bring his head up so she can crush her lips against his again, and again.

"Keep..." between kisses, panted out, "talking..."