The weight of Draco’s leg over his made Harry’s stomach flip, effectively deafening whatever Draco so casually was telling him. It caught Harry off guard, finding it to be a thrilling turn of events.<br/>Even though Harry’s heartbeat was loud in his ears, he had grown intimately familiar with the sound of Draco’s voice, able to recognize Draco was talking business. It made Harry’s head spin, stupidly.<br/>When Draco had moved his leg beneath it, Harry’s hand hadn’t followed, allowing it to shift to the inside of Draco’s thigh without having had to move. It was a charade with no audience, the implication of stolen touches during meetings or dinners; the gesture was both incredibly juvenile and secretive, unacknowledged, striking something within Harry that made his cheeks flush.<br/>“Yeah?” he prompted with very little awareness of what tangent Draco had picked for them to discuss, and, if he was honest, with little other interest but to keep Draco talking.<br/>Harry’s eyes were still on his hand against the dark fabric of Draco’s trousers, watching his hand move upwards another inch.<br/>“Which?”