It was pure skill that had kept them together, really. There was no rhyme or reason for it, but it certainly saved them the time and energy that would have gone into rearranging again. He's not complaining.

His breath hitched at her nails down his chest, leaving behind faint red trails; it wasn't the last of the noises, and he groaned low in his throat as she lowered herself back over him, gripping her hips a little tighter to help her move over him. From that position, Draco wasn't really running the show, and while he was happy to let her set the pace of their movements, he refused to just lie back and let her do all the work: his hips rocked up in small motions to meet hers, his own nails digging little half-moon into her flesh.