The roar of the Floo flaring to life wakes me up from the doze I’d unexpectedly fallen into on the sofa with the Prophet over my face. I snort loudly as I come to, scrambling up, sending the pages scattering apart and then blink around in time to see Draco gracefully get to his feet and stomp, still graceful, off into the kitchen.
“Be right out.”
And then he’s stomping his way back into the living room clutching a bottle of Tovaritch, his expression thunderous.
“How’d lunch go?” I ask carefully, wiping drool off my chin and tilting my face up as he quickly crushes his lips into mine, before throwing himself across from me and leaning back against the armrest, toeing his shoes off and crossing his legs, long, socked feet wiggling.
“Astoria Nott had a baby boy,” he replies, unscrewing the cap and drinking straight from the bottle. I glance at the clock on the mantel – it’s just past three pm. “I miss Voldemort,” he adds vaguely.
“...I wish I could say the same,” I say after a baffled pause, watching him grimace and shudder before pulling another long gulp of neat vodka. “You know how much I love it when you and I agree upon something.” He doesn’t say anything this time, simply gulping a few more mouthfuls, each time swallowing forcefully. “Draco.”
“I hate him, Harry,” he speaks to my feet. “I genuinely fucking hate my father. I wish the Dark Lord were alive so he could kill him or something.”
I sigh under my breath, frowning as he takes another long swallow before screwing the cap back on. “Feel like telling me about it?”
“Not one bit,” he answers promptly, placing the bottle on the coffee table with a thud, getting to his feet and pulling his pale blue jumper up over his head, then unbuttoning the crisp white shirt underneath. His socks, trousers and pants follow and then he’s straddling me with his skinny knees on either side of my thighs. “Fuck me?”
He kisses me again, open mouthed and demanding this time, soft hands clutching my face, velvety tongue coaxing mine into action, the bitter vodka on it making my mouth tingle. I wrap my arms around his thin, lightly quivering naked body and hold him pressed firmly into me, longingly wishing that for once, he’d just fucking talk about it.
“Get... remove...” Draco’s hands fumble with my jeans, tugging the button free and yanking the zipper down, his breathing slightly laboured as he backs away from me, dragging my jeans down my hips, immediately hunching over and mouthing at the head of my lazily stirring cock.
“Fuck.” I let my head fall back. How the fuck am I supposed to get him to talk when I don’t ever want him to lift his truly superlative mouth off my cock?
He hums, mouth firmly sealed around the base of my rapidly filling cock and then sucks his way up, pausing to lick kittenishly into the slit a couple of times. I buck slightly, palming his head and swearing softly as he takes me down to the root again, his lips distended around my rather substantial girth, stretched wide, red and glossy.
“Draco--” I’ve to be so careful not to simply fuck madly into his throat. “Come on, c’mere.” I lean forward, stroking my palm down his spine, counting each knob under my palm. He shivers and pulls off my cock, a thick thread of spit stretching out between his mouth and the head.
I curse heatedly at the delectable fucking sight and kiss him hungrily for a few seconds. Then he draws away, looking slightly frantic as he straddles me again, his pink cock bobbing damply between us as he reaches back to hold my cock in place, preparing to sink onto it.
“Wait!” I hurriedly yank him forward and away from my cock. “Lube, babe, Jesus,” I growl, grazing my teeth along his sharp collar bones, licking into the little hollow below his throat.
“Don’t care.” He sounds frantic too, still trying to reach back for my cock, tipping his head back for my mouth. “Fuck me.”
“I am going to fuck you,” I say calmly, stilling his hands once more. I’m suddenly hyper-aware of his strangely fragile state of mind and feel ridiculously helpless. “Let’s just get us some lube first, yeah?”
He nods jerkily, bending to kiss me and then gasping softly as I get to my feet with him in my arms, his long legs wrapped around my hips. He mutters to himself under his breath as he sucks kisses up the side of my neck and despite the proximity, I can’t hear or understand a word.
I deposit him on the bed, drag my t-shirt off and fish around in the bedside drawer for the tube of ridiculously expensive jasmine scented lube he loves. He sits up, legs spread wide open, and licks over my right nipple, biting down on it when I hum appreciatively. I ease him back to kiss him properly and he makes a strange sound like he’s trying to hold something in his throat, clinging to me with an increasingly tight grip.
“Fuck me,” he whispers feverishly, digging his nails over my shoulder blades, rocking his erection up against my stomach. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me--”
“Draco,” I groan, my forehead dropping onto his bony shoulder for a second before I push myself up, squeeze some slick onto my hand, nudge his knees apart and worm one finger into him.
His hips buck slightly but he doesn’t make a sound, simply curling his hands under his knees and lifting them to his chest in a wordless demand for more, eyes shut, lips wet. I give him one more finger, scissor them for a brief few moments and then add another, quickly loosening him up, getting impatient despite myself.
“Enough,” he tells me firmly, opening his eyes and fixing me with a hard look. “I’m serious.”
His expression is oddly familiar.
A few months ago, in a situation almost identical to this one, I’d learnt how (not) to deal with Draco when he’s just had a horrible episode with his father. He’d come home on the verge of tears, had stripped, much like he did a few minutes ago, and had demanded that I fuck him at once.
Reasonably startled at his ashen face and restlessly darting eyes and trembling hands, I’d held him off and asked him to talk to me first, tell me what had happened.
Draco had silently stepped away, dressed, and left the house. He hadn’t returned until after four am the next morning and by that point I’d nearly convinced myself to go into work and start a full blown, official scout for him.
And then he’d walked in, cool as anything, and had gone straight to bed, ignoring me completely. But sometime after I got under the covers myself, when I’d gathered the courage and slung an arm around him, he’d immediately curled up into me, telling me in a low, calm voice of his argument with his father.
Those few hours I’d thought he’d gone missing were only slightly worse than the final few hours of the War had been for me; the frantic, agonising worry and fear of losing him enough to teach me a lesson in how never to question Draco when he’s evidently terribly upset and is seeking comfort via physical touch.
He’s looking at me now like he’d looked at me seconds before he’d pulled his clothes on and left the house that one time. So I hasten to pull my fingers out, and tug my jeans off fully. Then I’m leaning over him and nudging my cock inside him with a gentle shove forward, his feet coming to rest on my shoulders, his head pressing into the pillow.
He immediately flattens his hands back against the wall above his head and pushes onto my cock with an impatient buck, clearly irritated that I didn’t start thrusting the second I entered him and so I draw my hips back and begin a steady fuck, hard and sure, but apparently not good enough for Draco.
“Harder, damn you,” he grits, his eyes flashing angrily. Holding on to my patience, I pause, straightening up to kneel, lifting his arse onto my thighs as he winds his legs around my chest. I look him right in the eye as I start to pound into him, yanking him down onto my cock with each stroke, and he cries out desperately, his back arching right off the bed.
He tries determinedly to hold my gaze but I don’t let up as I roughly fuck him open and he lets out another keening cry, bracing himself on the headboard and coming with a hoarse sob, throwing his head back and shuddering uncontrollably.
Rivulets of sweat tickle their way down my back and Draco’s arse tightens further around me as he continues to come, his low, hungry moan enough to make my balls pull up tight and heavy. He’s trembling with aftershocks as I empty into him with a gritted groan, thrusting relentlessly, fucking messily through my come inside him.
He’s clutching at the pillow under his head, keeping his eyes closed as he huffs out short, sharp gasps that make his come streaked chest jerk. When I pull out and move to lean over him, I’m relieved that he lets me cradle him to myself and pepper kisses over his face.
Until I realise his cheeks are wet and I feel like punching my first right through the wall in renewed frustration.
“Please,” I plead in a whisper. “I can’t see you this upset. Please, Draco.”
“He hates me,” he suddenly sobs into my neck and I automatically tighten my hold on him while silently giving thanks to the vodka for having helped loosen his tongue. “I’m not upset, I’m angry. He said he’s ashamed of me!” he’s trembling violently and I hurriedly pull the covers up over us, soothing my hands up and down his back. “He?! Is ashamed of me?! And why? Because I’m gay. That’s literally his only problem with me, why he wishes I wasn’t his s-son.”
And I’m already furious – I think my temper had quietly started spiking the second I saw Draco exit the kitchen with the bottle in his hands and pure anguish in his eyes.
“We don’t need Voldemort, I could kill him for you,” I offer quietly and he laughs on a sob, pressing further into me, hiccupping softly. “Draco, why must you keep going there?”
“For Mother,” he says at once, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “It breaks her heart to see me walk out in a strop, and every time it happens, without fail, she calls me and begs me not to stay away from the Manor on account of Father. That I ought to ignore him and try to understand why he’s upset because apparently that’s just the sort of person he is.”
“What, a bigoted arsehole?”
I laugh quietly into his silken hair and he chortles right along with me, tilting his head up to look at me. His eyes are still running but he looks calmer and his smile is genuine. I kiss him slowly and he lets his mouth fall open under mine, sighing as I deepen the kiss, kissing me back with a sweet fervour.
When I pull away, he’s stopped crying and presses his forehead into mine with another soft sigh. “Three years,” he whispers. “Three years I’ve been with you; three years he’s had to process and accept the fact that we’re together and happy; I’m actually fucking happy. And he doesn’t give a shit.”
I press my mouth to his forehead and he lays one warm hand on my cheek, leaning lightly into my kiss. “You make me so happy, Harry,” he breathes, and my stomach flutters at the way he says it – like a prayer, like it’s something sacred, and I’m once again absurdly grateful to the alcohol; Draco is almost never this forthcoming when sober. “Why can’t he see that? Why must he, every single time, refer to you as ‘that boy’ and ask whether I’m ‘done with you’ yet? Why must he treat this like it’s a colossal joke he thinks I’m playing on him? Why must he brusquely brush it aside as if it’s something utterly ridiculous, something completely meaningless?” His voice starts to tremble again and I kiss him just to curb the tormented rush of words. He sobs against my lips but kisses me back at once, the salt from his tears on both our tongues by the time I pull away.
“It’s not meaningless,” I tell him when he pulls away to nuzzle my nose. “I love you more than you or he or anybody could ever understand. It’s not ridiculous.”
“I love you like that too,” he whimpers, cradling my face with both hands and pressing trembling lips to my forehead over my scar. “I pick you. Even if he disowns me, or writes me off his stupid will or Wards me out of the bloody Manor – I will always pick you.”
Fuck. Call me selfish, but he never talks like this and I can’t help but be grateful in a twisted way for the argument he’s had with his vile father because I’m only human and who doesn’t want to hear the person they’re madly in love with say these things?
“Draco.” I kiss him fiercely for a few seconds before I guiltily realise that I probably ought to reassure him first. “I despise that man from the very centre of my being, but I doubt he’d ever do anything like that,” I brush his hair off his face and thumb away his tears. “He needs you. The bastard needs you as heir. He can’t go anywhere else for one, can he? He wouldn’t do that, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.” He snuggles up into me. “I have you; why in the world would I ever worry?” I’m smiling into his cheek and pressing small kisses over it when he speaks again, barely audibly. “I just wish he’d see us for what we are – as something real; something marvellous. Because what we have is fucking incredible, Potter, and nobody can fucking deny that, capisce?”
“Nobody can deny that,” I say in agreement.
“Except my father, of course.”
“Oh, trust me, love." A plan shapes itself in my mind out of literally nowhere, sudden and blinding in its intensity. “Not for long.”
“How do you mean?” He shifts as if to move back and look at me and I quickly draw him closer so he can’t see the smile of dawning revelation on my face.
“Nothing,” I say hastily. “Just don’t let your peace of mind depend on that man’s approval.”
“Yeah... I really ought to work on that.”
I’m halfway through cooking dinner when I hear the muffled sounds of Draco waking up and ambling into the shower.
I know what he’s going to be like now that he’s sober and calmed down. He’ll pretend he didn’t say those things that made my heart bellow with joy; he’ll expect me not to bring up his fight with his father; and he’ll completely lose his shit if I don’t comply.
This is just what he’s like. One second he’ll be the kindest, most loving human being alive, and then he’ll realise he’s done something wonderful and immediately go about trying to set things ‘back to normal’ by saying or doing something utterly horrible.
Thankfully, I’d cottoned onto this little quirk of his a lot earlier than he’d anticipated I would.
When we first started sleeping together neither of us was keen on properly talking about it, and neither of us was particularly interested in labelling it. But then, the way things had progressed was so natural, so completely effortless that it took both of us a while to realise that it was no longer just sex.
About two months in, we’d both sort of slammed head first into what had by then become glaringly obvious.
It had been a one of those days, a Saturday to be exact, when the rain simply wouldn’t let up. Draco, in a pleasantly unusual move, had stayed the night and we’d woken up to find sheets of freezing cold rain that roared down relentlessly outside, threatening to sweep up anyone who dared to venture out.
If ever I talk of that day now, Draco immediately claims it was a pathetic, hackneyed way to spend a rainy day in, but I know him too well to believe he actually means that.
We’d eaten breakfast at noon in nothing but boxer shorts; we’d huddled under a raggedy old patchwork quilt (that Draco to this day absolutely loves) on the sofa, cradled mugs of tea and watched old romance movies, making gagging noises at the mushy bits, neither of us willing to actually switch channels.
We’d made love for hours on end, pausing only to shift from the sofa to the rug before the fireplace, from the rug to the bedroom, and from the bed to the bathtub. Draco had been strangely docile and quiet, and I’d just known for sure by then – known he was the one.
I still can’t bring myself to effectively describe just how right it all felt.
This idiot I’m in love with realised it too, but unfortunately he wasn’t quite as sanguine about it. He did fall asleep next to me that night but was gone the next morning and didn’t return my owls or Firecalls for nearly two weeks after.
By which time he’d gone and found himself a boyfriend.
I laugh about it now, but let me tell you, it didn’t feel even remotely funny back then.
I’d seen almost right away that it was just Draco’s way of hitting the panic button - latching on to the first decent looking guy he found, feigning surprise when he ‘coincidentally’ ran into me at the pub he knew he’d find me in on a Friday evening, claiming he’d been busy and had completely forgotten about my owls before casually introducing me to that fucking Bryan, with an oh, I met him at an art gallery, and Bryan, love, come meet my friend here.
He’d rather eat Bubotuber Pus than admit to this, but I firmly believe Draco was all along fervently hoping I’d call him out on his bullshit.
Which I did.
I’d tracked them down, marched right into that fucking Bryan’s flat, told Draco he was a complete moron if he actually expected me to buy any of it, and had asked him to put his fucking clothes back on so I could take him back to mine because hell, I’m in love with you and I know you feel the same about me, you prat, you’re not as good an actor as you think you are.
Draco had held his nose in the air for a full thirty seconds, glaring at me with his skinny arms crossed tightly across his skinny chest.
And then he’d clumsily pulled on his clothes, mumbled something contrite in the general direction of a shirtless and terribly bored looking Bryan, and had meekly taken the hand I’d held out to him with a glare of my own.
We’d Disapparated home and had snapped at each other across my kitchen table over cups of tea with you should have said something first, and why me, what was holding your tongue, for several minutes until he’d caved and grabbed me in a kiss that I still fondly remember as one of our best. I then took him to bed and fucked him silly for two days straight until he was slightly bandy legged and had feverishly sworn he’d never scheme again. (No, I didn’t buy that one; Draco, till date, hatches at least two plots before breakfast every day, most of them aimed at chiselling away bits of whatever little sanity he’s left me with.)
He’d moved in exactly ten weeks later. And of course, he still insists it was his brilliant machinations that brought us together in the first place because oh, Potter, you never would’ve got around to it otherwise, and of course I knew we’d eventually end up together, you’re ever so predictable, my love.
So yeah, that’s my Draco for you. And no, don’t think that way about him, it’s all just defence mechanisms; he’s an incredible person.
He’s a fucking human cactus sometimes, but incredible all the same.
“Hey, kitten,” I throw his way when he shuffles into the kitchen. He’s wearing pyjama bottoms that ride low on his slender hips and has on one of my tatty, old t-shirts that he loves sleeping in, the garment hanging loose and baggy around him, his hair damp and tousled – he looks frail and young and ridiculously perfect.
“How has that bloody nickname stuck until now?” he snaps, peering into the pot of curry I’ve got bubbling away on the range, sniffing discreetly.
I grin. “You like it, don’t pretend otherwise.” I tweak the end of his pointy nose.
“I detest it.” He swats irritably at my hand.
“Certainly not what it seems like most nights,” I mutter sotto voce, laughing as he turns pink and throws a clove of garlic at me.
“Fuck off, Potter.”
He’s still scowling as I curl an arm around his waist and tug him towards me but instantly leans into my touch when I push his fringe aside and tuck it behind his ear. “Grumpy old kitten, aren’t you?” I murmur, pushing my hands under the faded red t-shirt and pressing them flat against the warm skin of his back. He smells of the theobroma oil moisturiser he uses post-shower and push my nose into the crook of his neck, breathing deeply, my eyes falling shut at the scent of him.
He sighs softly, pressing his cheek into my shoulder as he shuffles closer and brings his arms up around me, shivering under my touch. I can tell from the way his frame retains a light stiffness that he’s still thinking about his father.
And then the idea I’ve been telling myself all evening is a terrible one, doesn’t seem quite as foolish anymore.
I look around the high ceilinged room that the tiniest house-elf I’ve ever seen has just bowed me into. ‘The Azure Parlour’, it had squeaked and I’d tried not to roll my eyes directly at it.
The room is wide and sweeping, enormous fireplace to my far right, and a wall-to-wall book shelf on my left. In front of me are three, floor to ceiling, arched French windows, the glass doors thrown open to reveal neat little balconies each with its own set of wrought iron chairs grouped around a round table.
The room stays clichéd and true to its name, everything from the curtains to the carpet done up in tasteful shades of blue. My eyes immediately land on the huge, wing-backed armchair sitting before the fireplace in front of the furthest window. Upholstered in cream and a deep sapphire blue, it’s ridiculously big, pretentious as fuck and I immediately know who it probably usually seated.
So I slowly make my way over and sink into it, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee just as the double doors swing open and the man whose chair I occupy sweeps in.
Lucius Malfoy, just like his wife and son, hardly seems to have aged in the ten years since the War. He still wears his, now almost entirely white, hair past his shoulders, still carries that thin, ebony walking stick with the silver head of a snarling snake, and still dresses like a stupid fucking ponce.
He looks around the room with his chin in the air, reminding me so much of Draco in that moment that I almost let myself grin. Then his eyes land on me sitting there in his chair like I fucking belonged here, and I’m glad I didn’t smile because the way his eyes nearly pop out of his head and his mouth opens with a hilarious, gurgling sound is worth the poker face I’ve carefully maintained.
“Potter,” he spits, instantly gathering himself up. “Who let you in here?”
“Oh, one of your several dozen house-elves, Lucius,” I reply breezily. “Sit down, why don’t you?” He looks utterly livid and I want to do a little jig at how satisfying it is. “I mean, it is your house, Lucius.”
I’m momentarily worried he might burst a vein and collapse.
But then I remember Draco’s distraught expression, his red rimmed eyes and the way they seem to have lost some of their characteristic wickedly attractive sparkle over the past week and I settle down more comfortably in my seat.
Lucius Malfoy, however, remains standing and seems to be getting more furious with each passing second that I remain seated in what is possibly his favourite chair and continue looking at him like I’m just waiting for him to order me to get up just so I can ask him to go stuff it.
“What do you want?” He bares his teeth at me and before I can open my mouth to answer, the doors open once more and Narcissa waltzes in, humming vaguely to herself, her arms laden with thick volumes, presumably about to be put back into their respective slots in the bookshelf.
She pauses in her tracks when she realises her husband is standing rooted to the spot for no apparent reason and looks around in bewilderment, following his gaze.
Draco has his mother’s smile and it warms me up as if I’ve downed a mug of Butterbeer in a single gulp when either one of them bestows that open hearted beam upon me.
Narcissa’s whole face lights up as she spots me and she immediately drops the books unceremoniously onto the nearest sofa.
“Harry!” She glides towards me almost as if she were weightlessly floating, expensive looking robes in a pale, gauzy lilac flowing gracefully around her slim frame, delicate hands extending towards me as I smile and stand to greet her.
“Darling, I didn’t know you were visiting!” she exclaims, presenting her cheek to me, small, elegant pearl earrings dancing from her ears.
“I only just got here,” I say, bending and quickly kissing both her cheeks before stepping back, still holding her hands. “Stunning, as always.”
“Charming, as always,” she quips back and we grin at one another. “I’m so very sorry I had to cancel tea the other day, darling.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I frown. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Much,” she assures me. Then she suddenly turns around to regard Lucius standing there looking utterly horrified and seems a little flustered. “Tea,” she mutters distractedly. “Tea?” she adds brightly to me, not waiting for me to answer before hurrying over to ring the bell over the fireplace.
I sit back down once she’s perched herself primly on the edge of the sofa opposite me and we both glance at Lucius still frozen in place, his face turning redder by the second, his eyes blazing with fury.
“Will Draco be joining us?” Narcissa asks, both in a wild attempt to diffuse the tension and in the fervent hope that her son will come visit her in the house he grew up in and now hates.
“He will, actually,” I inform her quietly but looking at Lucius as I talk. “He should be here any minute; I left him a note to head straight here from work.”
“Just what do you want, Potter?!” Lucius snarls suddenly and Narcissa looks mortified.
“Lucius!” She glares and her husband looks astonished at being chastised in company.
“It’s alright,” I say calmly, and then look over at his tall form slowly edging towards me. “I needed a word, Lucius.”
“You will not call me that!” he howls.
“Is that not your name?”
“Why you little--”
“Lucius, please!” Narcissa’s hands are balled into fists in her lap.
“Oh, do just sit down,” I say in my best bored voice and he looks about ready to start throwing punches at me.
“This is my house, you bl--”
All three of us turn towards the voice from near the doorway and my heart leaps in a mixture of renewed nerves and the usual mindless delight at the sight of Draco.
He’s still in his work clothes, and I can just about make out the ‘Committee on Experimental Charms’ in its tiny bright gold print below the large, ostentatious black ‘M’ over his left breast. The bright peacock blue of his Ministry robes make his skin gleam peachy white and suddenly what I’m about to do seems a whole lot easier because this man right here, beautiful and sharp, is more than worth the leap of faith.
“I got this.” He holds up a piece of parchment and I recognise it as the scrap I’d torn off one of the sheets on my desk to scribble a note on to him earlier this evening. “What-- what are you doing here?” He looks like a gazelle on the verge of bolting for its life as he stands there, his huge eyes darting from me to his father to his mother and then back to me.
“He needs a word, apparently,” Lucius snaps before I can answer. “I don’t care for anything you have to say, Potter. Kindly see yourself off my property and out of my son’s life.”
“Oh, do shut your face, old man,” I drawl, rolling my eyes, and I hear Draco’s horrified gasp from across the room. Lucius is purple in the face and looks like he’s about to explode, while Narcissa looks downright terrified. “It’s not you I want a word with. It’s him I need to talk to.” I turn to bob my chin in Draco’s direction.
“Harry.” Draco suddenly springs forward, hurrying over to me and holding one hand out. “Harry, come on,” he says desperately, grabbing my arm and almost falling over backwards in his vigorous attempt to yank me out of his father’s chair.
“Hey,” I say softly, grabbing and tightening my hold on his clammy hand. “It’s okay, listen--”
“Please, just--” He tugs harder and so I relent and stand up. “Come here, love, come along. Let’s just go home,” he beseeches, turning towards the fireplace. “Yeah? Take me home, Harry, please?”
“I need to talk to y--”
“We can talk there, we can talk at home!” he says fiercely, his grip crushing my fingers.
“Yes, remove yourself from--” his father starts in a hoarse howl.
“Do you ever really shut up?” I interrupt him to ask irritably.
This time Lucius Malfoy actually starts towards me, teeth bared, eyes flashing menacingly, his cane raised threateningly. Narcissa leaps to her feet with a gasp and Draco throws himself before me, his back knocking into my chest, one arm protectively thrown out wide, the other raised to prevent the stick from striking me.
“Father, no! Please!”
“Go on, then,” I say nonchalantly, tilting my head as I smirk at Lucius.
“Harry, be quiet!” Draco whips around and hisses at me, his face completely white. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
“Oh, one cannot expect any form of respect from an arrogant, ill-mannered orphan like him now, can they, Draco?” Lucius says venomously.
“Father!” Draco rounds back on him, his voice breaking.
“And to think you actually believe he cares for you,” he continues contemptuously.
“Him, I care for more than life itself.” I pause, glaring stonily. “You, not so much.”
“Get him out of my sight, Draco.” The older man is visibly trembling with rage now.
Draco turns around and presses into me. “Harry, please,” he whispers it this time, tugging my face around so I’m looking at him and not his father. “Please, let’s just go.”
“You have five seconds, Potter,” Lucius warns.
“Or what, Lucius?” I snort. “Just what do you intend to do, otherwise?”
And then Lucius Malfoy draws his wand and Draco hurtles at him with a panicked cry. “No, Father! What are you doing?!”
I burst out laughing and Draco throws me a look of frantic distress over his shoulder as he nudges his father backwards. I instantly shut up and then decide to just get right down to it.
“Father, please!” Draco is still frantically trying to force his father’s arm down as the man continues to glare white hot daggers at me, possibly seconds away from casting an Unforgivable. “Think of what you’re doing – honestly, he could Stun you without a wand, he’s an Auror-- he’s the Head Auror, you can’t point your wand at the bloody Head Auror. For heaven’s sake, Father, do you want to be arrested?! Please, lower your wand--”
“Draco,” I call quietly.
Draco turns around as if to shush me but then freezes when he sees me on one knee holding the ring box. Narcissa makes a slightly strangled squealing sound, her hands flying up over her mouth, just as Lucius catches sight of me over Draco’s shoulder and roughly pushes him aside to get a clearer view, his eyes threatening to pop out of their sockets as he wheezes at me in disbelief.
I grit my teeth as Draco stumbles lightly, catching himself and staring at me with his mouth open, his previously bloodless face suddenly burning bright pink.
“Harry,” he breathes. “What are yo--?
“Draco Malfoy.” I smile, looking right at him and tuning out everything else completely. “Seeing as I’m fucking insane about you and can’t imagine spending one goddamn day without you, I’d really, really appreciate it if you just fucking married me already.” I pause as Draco makes an odd, squeaking sound at the back of his throat and grin widely at him. “Will you? Will you marry me?”
“Oh my!” Narcissa’s tremulous whisper sounds beyond overjoyed.
“What fresh nonsense is this?!” Lucius finally bursts out, now truly looking on the verge of passing out in a dead faint. “Is this his idea of a joke? Draco, does he actually expect you to accept?”
“Lucius, enough,” Narcissa snaps as Draco continues to stare at me with his mouth agape. “This is absolutely wonderful--”
“It’s preposterous; Draco is not going to marry him!”
Draco finally blinks, turning slightly to regard his father in silence, his face curiously devoid of emotion.
“Let me warn you, Draco, the consequences of you accepting this man’s hand in marriage--”
“Fuck your fucking consequences,” I snap as Draco continues to stare impassively at his father. “Draco, look at me.”
He does, at once, and I stare fiercely into his eyes, willing him to hear what I’m thinking.
Remember what you said that day, I think at him. Pick me, kitten, pick us.
Draco blinks, licking his lips, and I’m nearly completely certain that he’s heard me.
“Say yes and you can forget about your inheritance, young man!” Lucius bellows, slamming the end of his cane impatiently onto the floor. “You will cease being my son; you will cease to remain a Malfoy, I swear by Merlin and Morgana!”
Draco’s expression darkens, and then he’s slowly turning his head to look over his shoulder at his father once more.
“Fuck your inheritance,” he enunciates slowly. “And fuck your name – I’d rather be a Potter anyway,” he adds and my heart, until now thrumming restlessly, practically leaps out of my chest as he turns back to me with a smile brighter than a thousand suns. “Yes,” he tells me loudly. “Fuck yes, Potter, I’ll marry you.”
I rise to my feet just in time because then Draco bodily throws himself at me and I nearly fall over backwards as he grabs me by the collar and kisses me furiously. I trip back two steps and then bring my arms around him, tightening them until he gasps into my mouth, breaking away to beam at me and cradle my face, letting out an elated little laugh, his eyes sparkling excitedly, pupils blown wide enough that the pale grey is nearly entirely obscured by black.
“You’re a piece of work, Harry Potter,” he informs me softly, kissing me again, rising onto tip toes.
“Pot – kettle,” I retort pointedly, grinning as I grab his hand and firmly push the band of platinum onto his slender finger, the diamonds nestled between each twisted knot in the metal glinting softly. “Merlin, thank god you said yes,” I add in fervid murmur and he laughs again.
“He is not going to marry you!”
We both jump slightly at the enraged roar and Draco’s face falls slightly as he turns around to face his father, keeping his fingers firmly laced through mine. Lucius still has his wand out, his walking stick thrown aside carelessly, and his hair falls around his angular face in an unkempt mess. He stands there with his feet planted slightly apart and is positively vibrating with fury.
Narcissa, on the other hand, has her hands clasped under her chin, her eyes moist, looking ridiculously pleased in general.
“Yes, I am, Father,” Draco says now and I’m absurdly proud at how the faint quaver in his voice is barely noticeable. “I’m going to marry him.”
“I will not stand for this,” the man spits. “This is ludicrous, I’ll be a laughing stock – what will everybody think?!”
“You refused to marry the Greengrass girl and now you want to marry him?!”
“I refused to marry Astoria because I’m gay,” Draco shouts, leaning forward slightly. “How many times must I tell you that before you just accept it?!”
Lucius stands there in silence, his eyes narrowing into slits. And then, “Is he the reason you refused to marry her?” he asks abruptly. “Were you responsible for his decision?” he grits at me.
I open my mouth to answer but Draco beats me to it. “Yes, as a matter of fact,” he states with forced brightness. “That night I gave you my answer? Well, I’d just slept with Harry for the first time that night. I came here directly from his bedroom, actually--”
“Draco!” His father actually staggers back a step in ire as I snort under my breath, laughing soundlessly. “I won’t stand here listening t--”
“Didn’t bother taking a shower or anything,” Draco ploughs on, raising his voice over his father’s. “Still had him all over me, his spit and sweat and sp--”
“ENOUGH!” Lucius yowls, squeezing his eyes shut and holding up a hand. Behind him, Narcissa looks like she’s about to burst out laughing and I’m shuddering with mirth.
“I LOVE HIM!” Draco bellows back and I want to take a victory lap around the room. “And he obviously loves me – why else would he subject himself to your foul treatment of him?!”
“Does family mean nothing to you, boy?” Lucius asks slightly incredulously.
“It means a great deal to him, actually,” I say before Draco has a chance to reply. “So much that despite being insulted out of this place each time he visits, he comes back. Now, he’ll claim it’s just for Narcissa, but I know better – and so do you.” I glare derisively. “You know your son thinks the world of you and not once have you failed to take advantage of that, making him feel utterly worthless every chance you get.”
Draco is trembling next to me, staring at the floor, and Lucius simply mouths soundlessly as his wife dabs at her eyes with a scrap of lace.
“He knows you consider this, us, a great big joke and nothing else,” I continue. “Like it’s something he’ll move past, something he’ll tire of. Does this--” I lift Draco’s hand so the ring is clearly visible, “--look like a sign of being tired of something? Do you honestly think your son would have agreed to marry me were he looking to eventually move past this?”
“He’s simply blinded by all the glamour, Potter.” Lucius sneers. “Who wouldn’t want to claim they’re in a relationship with Harry Potter?”
Draco emits an enraged hiss beside me but I simply snort loudly. “Believe me, your son couldn’t care less that I’m Harry Potter. He’s never given a shit. It’s part of why I’m with him, actually.”
“Look here, Potter--”
“No, Lucius, you look here,” I interrupt exasperatedly. “This is happening – your son and I are going to get married. Now you could either be an adult about this – be a good father for once in your miserable fucking life,” I savour the aggrieved twitch in his eye as his lip curls, “and be happy for your son – or you could stay the fuck out of our way, and our lives, because I promise you Lucius Malfoy, the next time my fiancé comes home looking like he usually does after visiting you, I will fucking destroy you,” I grit slowly and with emphasis. “Now for Merlin’s sake be a respectable human being and give us your goddamn fucking blessing, you wretched old buffoon.”
Lucius swells steadily, and I’m suddenly reminded of Uncle Vernon as I watch his chest expand under his showy, embroidered cream and black robes.
Suddenly though, he turns on his heel and stalks away with his nose in the air, his walking cane flying into his hand as he stomps out the doors and slams them behind himself.
None of us speak or look at each other for several seconds, but Draco’s hand stays firmly within mine and I can actually feel the tension seep out of him.
“He’ll come around, darlings, I’ll see to it.” Narcissa speaks softly and we both turn to look at her standing there, tall, poised and wearing a heart warming, elated smile.
“Are-- are you happy, Mother?” Draco sounds rather subdued and Narcissa laughs as if he’s being absurd.
“Do you really need me to answer that?” She lifts an eyebrow and then holds out one hand. “Won’t you let me congratulate you with a kiss, son?”
“Did you have to agree to stay for tea?!” Draco hisses at me, his fingers fumbling with my flies. “Fucking dolt.”
I’m pushed flat on my back on the rug before the hearth as he proceeds to roughly undress me, impatiently tugging and pulling my clothes off as I chuckle and attempt to return the favour.
“I’ve been hard since you told my father off, Jesus Christ.” he mouths along my jaw, slipping his hand past the elastic of my boxers and grasping my cock firmly, agile fingers curling around the shaft and twisting.
I groan, lifting my hips and fucking up into his fist. “I thought you might like that.” I flip us over and kneel over him, Vanishing his clothes with a snap. “It was far more satisfying than I ever thought it would be.”
“For both of us, Potter.” He laughs breathlessly as I bend and tickle his navel with my tongue before shifting my mouth lower. “Fuck, I love you. Fuck!”
I suck off his cock in a torturously slow move, flicking my tongue over the head as I pull off. “Love you too, kitten.”
“Harry,” he breathes when I sling his thighs over my shoulder and push my face beneath his velvety balls, mouthing along his pink crease until my tongue snags on his little fluttering hole. “Oh.” His head falls back with a muffled thump as I busy myself. Little sobs of pleasure, dry and rasping, drift up to me while I roughly lick him open, his warm fingers weaving into my hair.
I hold him open wider with a firm grip and suckle on the sweet flesh just inside his rim, Draco bucking and shuddering under me. “Hold still,” I growl playfully and nip carefully at the thin fold of skin along the opening.
“Please,” he sobs, arching as I lick more vigorously, watching the furled hole blink wetly, roseate and soft, blooming further open with each coaxing stroke of my tongue. “Want you inside me.”
“Promise me you’ll never cry about your father again.” I push my tongue all the way into him and he clenches around me at once, eagerly holding me inside.
“I promise!” he whimpers, tugging fruitlessly at my head until I fuck my tongue in and out of him a few times. “Merlin, Harry, please, I’m so close!”
“Promise me you’ll beg like this even when we’re married.”
“I pro-oh! I promise!” he screams shrilly, pushing into my mouth for some kind of friction. “Just-- please!” I give him a final, thorough lick, curling the tip of my tongue into him at the end.
“Promise me we’ll be disgustingly happy.” I lift my head then and look him dead in the eyes as I speak. He’s flushed, shaking with arousal and gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat in the flickering light from the fireplace, and I could swear he’s never looked more gorgeous than he does right now, and that’s bloody saying something. “It’s you and me, kitten - just us, for the rest of our screwed up lives.”
He releases my hair and reaches for me with a fiery hunger in his round grey eyes. “I promise we’ll be disgustingly happy,” he whispers seriously, brushing the backs of his fingers up my cheek, leaning up to press his forehead into mine. “You and me for the rest of our screwed up lives.” His breathy promise swaddles us like a fluffy blanket, warming me more than any roaring fire can.
I hold him by the chin and kiss him properly for the first time since I put the ring on his finger, hard, hungry and ruthlessly demanding. Draco clings to me and kisses me right back with equal urgency, pulling away only when I murmur a charm against his lips and finally sink into his freshly slicked channel with a steady forward thrust, tenderly forcing my way past the initial pressure until I’m suddenly received by the delighted, eager clutch of his burning passage.
“God, yes, Harry.” He bows off the floor, gasping for breath as he’s breached all at once. He shoves my boxers further down, past the lower curve of my arse, and grips the cheeks firmly, drawing me in even deeper and then strokes his hands through my hair when I bend to lick up along his neck, whimpering these deliciously sweet moans as I pump gently into him. “Oh my god, Harry, we’re engaged!” he suddenly exclaims almost hysterically, just as I’m deliberately sinking my teeth into his jugular.
I promptly burst out laughing, my arms giving away, and I lose the weak rhythm I’d set up. Draco blinks his eyes open and stares at me in dazed bewilderment, his swollen lips wet and slightly parted.
“You fucking weirdo,” I wheeze, laughing helplessly into the soft curve of his graceful neck.
“What, what’d I say?” he mumbles softly, lifting his legs and wrapping them tightly around my waist, nibbling sharply along my shoulder.
“Of course we’re fucking engaged!”
“And it’s a big fucking deal!” he shouts, pulling back and pinching my bicep.
“I know that!”
“Then why are you laughing at me?!”
“I don’t even know anymore.” I struggle to breathe as my heart, swollen to about ten times its size, thunders inside my chest and radiates a happiness so intense that I’m not altogether surprised at the sudden tears in my eyes.
“Are you going to just lie there with your cock in my arse or are you actually going to fuck me with it?” Draco grouches. “It’s literally the one thing you’re good at, Potter, and now you won’t even--”
I quickly kiss him silent but he continues to complain in muffled garbles even with my tongue in his mouth and so I lift up onto my arms once more, draw out nearly all the way and slam back into him, lifting his arse off the rug with the force, earning a keening moan in return.
“Shut it, will you?” I tell him affectionately, starting to ram viciously in and out of him, catching his scrabbling hands and pinning them onto the floor, biting his lip as he gasps and arches into me. “And I’m good at more than just fucking, by the way.”
“Name one other thing,” he grits, surging up helplessly as I stab at his prostate. “Merlin, Harry, that’s fucking perfect,” he adds with a lovely little sob.
“I made Head Auror; that must mean something.” Even through his wanton moaning, he manages a snide snort. “And ’m a brilliant cook,” I pant, kissing over his tightly shut eyes, excruciating bolts of pleasure shooting up and down my spine as I roughly plunge over and over into his unyieldingly tight, moist heat.
“Oh, yes, you’re a real cordon bleu chef!” His sarcasm barely comes through when he lets out a little squeal as my thrusts get harder. “Teach everyone how you make your – oh! - scrambled eggs so damn creamy – fuck, Harry, yes!”
“Just you me and scrambled eggs from now on, baby,” I rasp out, grabbing his thighs, pressing his knees down onto the floor on either side of him and fucking mindlessly into his arse, my orgasm so close that I’m already shaking from it.
“Yes! – boring! – domesticity!” He’s nearly completely out of breath, valiantly shouting out a word with each brutal thrust, bucking madly up into me. “Arguing – over – the dishes! Oh my fucking god!”
“You never do the dishes,” I remind him, groaning as my balls draw tight. “Fuck, kitten, come for me,” I order frantically, pounding forward with no particular rhythm until he’s screaming.
Draco thrashes as he comes, throwing his head from side to side, groaning shamelessly loud, tightening around me as I start to empty into him.
Our fingers automatically entwine as I ride out my climax, coming endlessly into him, cussing into his damp skin, kissing him through his helpless cries, pressing down into his quivering form.
He pants into my neck when I collapse atop him, fighting my grip on his hands, gently running the soles of his feet along my sides and over the curve of my arse.
“I hate doing the dishes,” he whimpers abruptly, gratefully snatching his hands free when I release them, pushing them into my hair and gently massaging my scalp. “I fucking hate it.”
“Fucking love you,” I huff into his neck, chuckling when he tugs me up and places quick pecks all over my face.
“I know. That’s why I make you cook and do the dishes.”
He yelps and writhes when I reach between us and teasingly twist one tiny, pink nipple, then sighing into the kiss I place tenderly over his mouth.
“It wasn’t a stupid idea, right?”
“What, barging into his house and insulting my father?” He crooks one eyebrow, grinning when I snort.
“Asking you to marry me.”
“Are you seriously already regretting it?” he asks with affected shock. “Get off me, I’m leaving you.”
I laugh as he pretends to try and shove at me, trying and failing to look offended as he breaks into another warm grin. “I don’t know what I’d have done had you said no.”
“Just how high did you think were the chances of that happening?” He sounds amused but looks genuinely curious as he strokes my face with warm fingers.
“Honestly, I don’t know.” I turn my face to kiss the pads of his fingers. “Everything is a gamble with you. You’re fucking infuriating – and totally barmy.”
“I am,” he says proudly, biting into my lower lip and tugging. “And you’re going to marry me anyway.”
“And I’m going to marry you anyway,” I concur, kissing his mouth and then his nose. “God, I’m going to marry the fuck out of you.”
“That makes no sense.” He laughs loudly, wiggling under me as I press my mouth all over him at random.
“People say us being together make no sense.”
“Oh, codswallop, Potter,” he says fiercely, clutching my hair and dragging my mouth up to his. “We’re fucking fabulous together, you and I. We’re perfect.”
“Yes, we are.”
And don’t any of you ever forget it.