Harry greedily accepted the touch, skin ablaze. Draco was so warm to the touch that his hand on Harry’s waist felt like it might burn through him, making his heart do somersaults at the sensation, not realizing how cold he had been for a month.<br/>The salt of Draco’s tears cut through the taste of wine still on his lips, and in any other context it felt like a recipe for terrible decisions. In this, Harry’s hand slipped from Draco’s neck, brushing his thumb across the corner of Draco’s mouth to interrupt the kiss. He barely moved away to speak.<br/>"Let me take care of you."<br/>Harry’s voice was equal parts a promise and an invitation, wanting nothing more than for Draco to allow himself a moment of happiness. Harry had no grasp of the implications, no foresight of what it would mean for their working relationship. If he was honest, he felt no need to define it, either.<br/>His face was flushed, pupils blown, long past the point of being bashful. Tomorrow felt like a lifetime away, and his only coherent desire was wanting to make Draco feel good, heart achingly aware of the fact that Draco might not think he deserved it. Harry so desperately disagreed.