Theo followed Lestrange’s lead, not quite aware of where the seeker was going until he was on his knees in front of him. There was a pleasant shiver creeping up his spine as he leant forwards to better reach him, but he broke away soon after to drop down from his chair to the floor himself, if only so he didn’t careen headfirst off it. Or accidentally clip him with his knees.

Being down here had put them on a more even level, and it might not be especially dignified - and not the most comfortable floor in the world either, Theo considered fleetingly, wondering when these boxes had last been refitted - but he did not exactly have the presence of mind to much care. Not when Lestrange’s lips were much softer than he had thought; not when there was this feeling in his gut to contend with.

And Lestrange did not seem in the least uneasy about this  - clearly he had done this sort of thing before, which meant it must be fine, must be normal, someone knew what they were doing - and anyway the kissing felt good, being near somebody felt good, almost unexpectedly good. The diminished distance between them, too, gave Theo leave to explore this a little better as they kissed, to actually touch someone else without excuse: he let his hand move from the back of Lestrange’s neck down to the muscles of his shoulder, across the ridge of his collarbone, eventually, absently, finding himself clutching at a fistful of the seeker’s shirt.

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