FIC, Grocery Shopping, Draco/Harry, NC-17
Title: Grocery Shopping
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Wherein Harry and Draco fight and then have really intense sex in a back room in a grocery store.
Genre: PWP
Word Count: 2,515
Warnings/kinks: Very explicit sex (rimming and anal) in a pseudo-public place
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. If I did, Harry would be wearing a pair of really lovely pink cotton panties that Draco would proceed to take off with his teeth. ^__~
Dedication: To the lovely and talented and all-around wonderful ryokoblue, for her birthday. I hope this is along the lines of what you wanted, hon! #hearts#
“That’s vile,” sneered Draco as he snatched the block of Limburger cheese from his and Harry’s shopping basket, shoving it disgustedly onto a nearby grocery shelf.
“Hey!” frowned Harry, picking it back up again. “I happen to like it.”
“Well, I don’t,” said Draco, grabbing for it.
“Then it’s good thing the decision isn’t up to you,” retorted Harry, keeping his hold on the thing as Draco tried taking it from his hand.
“It’s smelly and it has no taste,” complained Draco, trying more urgently to ease the offensive foodstuff from Harry’s grip.
“I don’t care, we’re keeping it!” responded Harry, having to drop the basket from his other hand to get a better hold, the packaged cheese slipping out slightly from beneath his fingertips.
“Like hell we are! I won’t have it in my house!” said Draco, using both hands to try to pull it from the other boy.
“Draco, you’re making a scene!” hissed Harry, doing his best to keep his grip, and then-“And when did it become your house? Last time I checked, it belonged to both of us!”
“I’m not making a scene-and you know what I mean, damn it!” snapped Draco, leaning back on one leg and giving a sharp tug. “Ah-ha!” he crowed as the horrid thing was jerked from Harry’s hands, its plastic wrapping pulled and torn.
“You are such an insufferable prat!” said Harry hotly, irritably peeling off the stretched scraps of thin plastic left curved and sticking to the tips of his fingers, flicking them impatiently to the floor.
“I’m not a prat, I’m just right!” stated Draco, carelessly flinging the mangled cheese into a low bin to his side.
“You’re an absolute git,” said Harry angrily, bending and grabbing up the basket again. “You’re rude and inconsiderate and you never ask me what I want, because everything is always about you, isn’t it?!”
“It’s nasty cheese!” protested Draco.
“It’s not just about the cheese, you idiot!” yelled Harry.
“What’s it about, then?!” demanded Draco.
“It’s about your bad attitude!”
“What?! Now wait just a minute, Potter-you can’t just go changing topics on me like that!”
“You are so bloody dense sometim-mmph!”
Draco’s mouth was on his mouth and he was being kissed; Harry couldn’t say a thing around Draco’s tongue.
“Mmph!” he said again-he wasn’t done; this wasn’t over!-but Draco’s hand had somehow snaked around behind him to cup his neck and the back of his head, and the other was pressed against the side of his hip: Draco’s fingers just barely slipping under Harry’s shirt to touch the warm, pale-soft skin just above the waistline of his jeans, and Harry was being crushed against the long line of Draco’s body, his lips aching.
“What did you do that for?” he demanded when Draco pulled away, and Draco said, “Because I felt like it,” and nipped a little sharply at Harry’s bottom lip, and Harry grabbed his shoulders and kissed him back demandingly, his frustration palpable between them, and Draco pulled a little at the roots of Harry’s hair and slid his tongue tenderly along the ridges of Harry’s teeth; against the roof of his mouth.
When they broke away, Harry had a hard-on and every inch of him was buzzing, electrified: tingling with imagined aftershocks. Draco didn’t look any better off. It was indecent-people were staring at them.
Harry recognized what Draco was thinking and he looked around, flushing-blushing-embarrassed, but wanting, too; “This isn’t the place,” he said-“We can’t, not here,” but Draco had already grabbed his wrist and was walking away, pulling Harry along behind him and muttering, “Bathroom, bathroom-where’s the fucking bathroom in this place?”-but then he spotted an Employees Only door and started heading towards that, unlocking it with a quick murmur and closing it firmly behind them, and then they were alone inside the quiet half-darkness of a stocking room, right behind the orderly lines of chilled orange juice-they could just-barely see the store and the shoppers beyond them, if they looked closely enough through the small spaces in-between the cartons-and then they were kissing, they were plastered together and Harry was dropping the basket (cursing the way it clattered and groaned-too noisy, too likely to get them caught) and Draco was pushing him into a wall of cardboard boxes, tasting and taking and rough: making Harry grab at his shirt and tilt his hips upward, up towards him.
“You’re a total wanker, always said you were-” mumbled Harry disjointedly as Draco’s hand cupped his rear-a kiss-
“Stop whinging,” said Draco distractedly into the soft cupid’s bow of Harry’s mouth-a kiss-
“-doesn’t mean I forgive you-”
“-don’t care, I’m not asking for-”
“-utterly deplorable, I hope you know that-”
“-going to shag you until you can’t think straight-”
Harry pulled away, then, saying, “We can’t do this, we shouldn’t do this-we’ll be caught-”
His trousers and underthings had somehow ended up bunched around his knees, which were pressed against cool tile and held as wide as they would go.
Draco was on his knees behind him, leaning forward and kissing Harry at an awkward angle that made both their necks strain, and their lips were smashing together and their teeth were clacking, too, and their tongues were shoving into one another’s mouths somewhere around their argument.
Harry didn’t know when all that had happened-it seemed so fast, and he’d been busy: he didn’t know how he’d ended up on all fours with his naked arse in the air, inviting-and had it been him that had unbuttoned Draco’s polo? How had his t-shirt gotten pushed up under his underarms? When had they reached the floor? He couldn’t recall.
“We can’t-” he said again, but he wanted to. He wanted to.
“Shut up,” said Draco, and Harry said, “Don’t fucking talk to me like that!”, but then Draco’s tongue was dragging downwards along his spine and settling into the cleft of his arse, and Harry abruptly forgot the rest of what he was going to say.
“Draco,” started Harry, but he didn’t get past that, because Draco was suddenly licking around his tense, exposed entrance-his tongue doing lazy loop-de-loops across that sensitive stretch of skin: lapping at the pink, puckered ring and making Harry squirm and shake and make low noises in the back of his throat-and then Draco was pushing his tongue inside of him, and it was wriggling and seeking and hot: desperately wet and lewd and wanton as it twisted unrelentingly inside Harry’s arse; thrusting, slippery, and unspeakably erotic-almost too much to bear: almost, almost, just almost; Harry wasn’t ready, yet-not just yet.
“Fuck,” hitched Harry-a mangled, marvelous sound-pressing back against Draco’s tongue and squeezing his eyes shut, watching sparks float behind his closed eyelids and forgetting, for a brief second, how to breathe.
He could feel Draco pushing his smile into him, and it probably should have bothered him more than it did.
Then Draco grabbed Harry’s parted thighs, and his tongue kept invading him in hot little jabs, and Harry’s cock bumped against his bellybutton as he stifled his moans with his hand.
And all-of-a-sudden Draco was taking his tongue away-and it made Harry feel so empty, you couldn’t even imagine it-and Draco was saying, “I’m going to fuck you, now-and you’ll have to be very quiet, or someone will find us,” and he sounded so awfully, awfully smug.
“Fuck off,” breathed Harry, but then Draco’s fingers were in his mouth and he had no choice but to suck on them; preparing them so Draco could prepare him.
Anything he might have said then was lost on Draco’s fingers; Harry licked at them and made Draco hiss-Harry did it so well: a natural; Draco had taught him how to do things properly early on-and soon, Draco was pulling his fingers from that pink, talented mouth and pressing a finger into Harry’s opening (soon, soon, so soon, maybe sooner than Draco would have liked, but Harry was ready-they’d done this before, and Draco knew exactly how much Harry could take-and he couldn’t wait another minute, he just couldn’t), and Harry was allowing him in: accepting the slick digit inside himself and rocking back into Draco’s hand.
“Another,” gasped Harry, and so Draco pushed a second finger inside of him-stretching him out-and when they were both panting and needy for what came next, thoughtless to anything but that, Draco removed his fingers and wrapped his hand around his length, guiding himself to Harry’s entrance-the slippery, blunt tip of his cock poised and gently promising against that tiny ring of muscle-and then he was sinking in, pushing slowly past Harry’s inevitable resistance and then easing in all the way-hurrying when Harry leaned back impatiently-and then he was totally inside of him (enveloped), and they were moving, moving, starting slow but quickly picking up the pace, careening towards completion, and Draco was gripping so hard at Harry’s hips that his knuckles had gone white-it was sure to leave bruises; they’d need to heal that, later-and Harry was moving back, back into his thrusts, making needy little noises and hushed pleas-please, please, please-that suddenly seemed very loud in the still, surreal gloom all around them.
“Quiet, quiet-” said Draco; “-or do you want to be caught like this?”-and Harry could tell the thought pleased him-“Do you want people to see you on all fours, with my cock inside you-begging me for more, needing me to fill you up entirely? Do you want everyone to watch me fuck you senseless, out of your mind-wanting all of me; wanting everything I give you; wanting every-” thrust, “-little-” thrust, “-bit?” thrust.
Harry would have yelled at him, would have cursed him and stormed away, except Draco was picking up the pace-burying himself inside Harry’s smooth, straining warmth over and over and over so Harry couldn’t breathe, neither of them could, Harry couldn’t-
Then Draco hit Harry’s prostate with his cock-making Harry start, making Harry tighten up all around him so Draco thought he might come right then, right then, until he got control again-and he kept hitting it so Harry wanted to moan, wanted to scream, but he couldn’t, he didn’t dare, all he could do was scrabble at the linoleum floor and try his very best to keep from getting too loud.
A slight, stray moan escaped from Harry’s throat as Draco moved inside him, in and out, and Harry pressed his thumb against the slit of his sensitive, leaking head and rubbed his precome all around it in sweet, delicate-small swirls-moving to grip his length in his hand, touching himself; seeking release-Draco’s throbbing cock so deep inside of him that he thought he just might choke, he felt he just might be pushed right through the row of cold orange juice and everyone would see, and he didn’t care-he didn’t think of it, he could only bite his bottom lip a raw and thoughtless red and keep himself from keening, from groaning and sighing and throwing himself back against Draco’s cock as he was fucked three feet away from people who had no clue what was going on behind their tidy display of juice and butter and yogurt; who never even would have guessed.
“My Harry, my gorgeous Harry,” murmured Draco into the shell of Harry’s ear, too far gone to know what he was saying, and Harry too close to the edge himself to tell him; Harry’s hand squeezed into a fist as he rocked and worked his other hand around his shaft, his fingers curling over his balls (a caress), then pushing lower, lower, so his fingertips touched the bare inch of skin between his balls and his opening, pressing against that secret expanse-just barely brushing against the edge of his own arsehole, touching Draco’s length as he pushed into him and flittering against the place where Draco’s balls bumped against his entrance-and then Harry stuffed his knuckles in his mouth and bit as he came, bit himself because he couldn’t make a sound and he was coming, coming all over in a messy splatter of white, and he could feel the copper twang of blood welling around his teeth, but he didn’t care, he just didn’t, because everything was flying away from and him he was outside of himself-pushed right out of his body, and yet acutely there, his lean muscles going taut, clenching: trapping Draco’s cock inside of him as his orgasm dragged out an eternity in just seconds-and then he slumped, his shoulder thumping painfully to the floor as all the tension drained out of him, and Draco cursed and had to drag his hips up a little more before Harry regained his bearing enough to support himself with his knees and both his elbows, tightening his arse around Draco’s cock deliberately: whispering soft, dirty things-fuck me, fuck me, I love it when you fuck me, fill me, fuck me, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes-Draco loved to hear him say it, loved knowing that Harry wanted him, wanted him inside him, wanted to be his-it got him off every time: he loved having Harry ask for it-and then he was snapping his hips into Harry’s rear erratically, thrusting and thrusting into him as Harry clamped himself around him and breathed exactly what he wanted, how good this was, and Draco came: spilling himself inside him, holding tightly to Harry’s waist and the swell of Harry’s arse-watching the sleek lines of Harry’s back move in front of him and leaning down to brush his cheek against that absurd spill of arbitrary black-and, God, how he loved Harry’s hair: the way it smelled and the way it felt and the way it only did what it wanted to do despite people’s best attempts at taming it-and he closed his eyes and gently slid his hands up Harry’s sides and came soundlessly inside of him, kissing the vulnerable slope of his shoulder and knowing, as he always knew, that this was his match, this was everything. Only something that consuming, that necessary, could have ever kept them together despite their best attempts.
“Fine,” said Draco, sometime later, as he buttoned up his shirt-“you can have the stupid, smelly cheese; it’s not like I care,”-and Harry zipped up his jeans and laughed and laughed and laughed-and, after a minute, Draco did, too.
And even after-or perhaps it was because-they fought and laughed and kissed and loved and argued over groceries and a million other things they would soon forget, they were perfect with one another; they were exactly what they needed to be.
They were beautiful.
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Wherein Harry and Draco fight and then have really intense sex in a back room in a grocery store.
Genre: PWP
Word Count: 2,515
Warnings/kinks: Very explicit sex (rimming and anal) in a pseudo-public place
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. If I did, Harry would be wearing a pair of really lovely pink cotton panties that Draco would proceed to take off with his teeth. ^__~
Dedication: To the lovely and talented and all-around wonderful ryokoblue, for her birthday. I hope this is along the lines of what you wanted, hon! #hearts#
“That’s vile,” sneered Draco as he snatched the block of Limburger cheese from his and Harry’s shopping basket, shoving it disgustedly onto a nearby grocery shelf.
“Hey!” frowned Harry, picking it back up again. “I happen to like it.”
“Well, I don’t,” said Draco, grabbing for it.
“Then it’s good thing the decision isn’t up to you,” retorted Harry, keeping his hold on the thing as Draco tried taking it from his hand.
“It’s smelly and it has no taste,” complained Draco, trying more urgently to ease the offensive foodstuff from Harry’s grip.
“I don’t care, we’re keeping it!” responded Harry, having to drop the basket from his other hand to get a better hold, the packaged cheese slipping out slightly from beneath his fingertips.
“Like hell we are! I won’t have it in my house!” said Draco, using both hands to try to pull it from the other boy.
“Draco, you’re making a scene!” hissed Harry, doing his best to keep his grip, and then-“And when did it become your house? Last time I checked, it belonged to both of us!”
“I’m not making a scene-and you know what I mean, damn it!” snapped Draco, leaning back on one leg and giving a sharp tug. “Ah-ha!” he crowed as the horrid thing was jerked from Harry’s hands, its plastic wrapping pulled and torn.
“You are such an insufferable prat!” said Harry hotly, irritably peeling off the stretched scraps of thin plastic left curved and sticking to the tips of his fingers, flicking them impatiently to the floor.
“I’m not a prat, I’m just right!” stated Draco, carelessly flinging the mangled cheese into a low bin to his side.
“You’re an absolute git,” said Harry angrily, bending and grabbing up the basket again. “You’re rude and inconsiderate and you never ask me what I want, because everything is always about you, isn’t it?!”
“It’s nasty cheese!” protested Draco.
“It’s not just about the cheese, you idiot!” yelled Harry.
“What’s it about, then?!” demanded Draco.
“It’s about your bad attitude!”
“What?! Now wait just a minute, Potter-you can’t just go changing topics on me like that!”
“You are so bloody dense sometim-mmph!”
Draco’s mouth was on his mouth and he was being kissed; Harry couldn’t say a thing around Draco’s tongue.
“Mmph!” he said again-he wasn’t done; this wasn’t over!-but Draco’s hand had somehow snaked around behind him to cup his neck and the back of his head, and the other was pressed against the side of his hip: Draco’s fingers just barely slipping under Harry’s shirt to touch the warm, pale-soft skin just above the waistline of his jeans, and Harry was being crushed against the long line of Draco’s body, his lips aching.
“What did you do that for?” he demanded when Draco pulled away, and Draco said, “Because I felt like it,” and nipped a little sharply at Harry’s bottom lip, and Harry grabbed his shoulders and kissed him back demandingly, his frustration palpable between them, and Draco pulled a little at the roots of Harry’s hair and slid his tongue tenderly along the ridges of Harry’s teeth; against the roof of his mouth.
When they broke away, Harry had a hard-on and every inch of him was buzzing, electrified: tingling with imagined aftershocks. Draco didn’t look any better off. It was indecent-people were staring at them.
Harry recognized what Draco was thinking and he looked around, flushing-blushing-embarrassed, but wanting, too; “This isn’t the place,” he said-“We can’t, not here,” but Draco had already grabbed his wrist and was walking away, pulling Harry along behind him and muttering, “Bathroom, bathroom-where’s the fucking bathroom in this place?”-but then he spotted an Employees Only door and started heading towards that, unlocking it with a quick murmur and closing it firmly behind them, and then they were alone inside the quiet half-darkness of a stocking room, right behind the orderly lines of chilled orange juice-they could just-barely see the store and the shoppers beyond them, if they looked closely enough through the small spaces in-between the cartons-and then they were kissing, they were plastered together and Harry was dropping the basket (cursing the way it clattered and groaned-too noisy, too likely to get them caught) and Draco was pushing him into a wall of cardboard boxes, tasting and taking and rough: making Harry grab at his shirt and tilt his hips upward, up towards him.
“You’re a total wanker, always said you were-” mumbled Harry disjointedly as Draco’s hand cupped his rear-a kiss-
“Stop whinging,” said Draco distractedly into the soft cupid’s bow of Harry’s mouth-a kiss-
“-doesn’t mean I forgive you-”
“-don’t care, I’m not asking for-”
“-utterly deplorable, I hope you know that-”
“-going to shag you until you can’t think straight-”
Harry pulled away, then, saying, “We can’t do this, we shouldn’t do this-we’ll be caught-”
His trousers and underthings had somehow ended up bunched around his knees, which were pressed against cool tile and held as wide as they would go.
Draco was on his knees behind him, leaning forward and kissing Harry at an awkward angle that made both their necks strain, and their lips were smashing together and their teeth were clacking, too, and their tongues were shoving into one another’s mouths somewhere around their argument.
Harry didn’t know when all that had happened-it seemed so fast, and he’d been busy: he didn’t know how he’d ended up on all fours with his naked arse in the air, inviting-and had it been him that had unbuttoned Draco’s polo? How had his t-shirt gotten pushed up under his underarms? When had they reached the floor? He couldn’t recall.
“We can’t-” he said again, but he wanted to. He wanted to.
“Shut up,” said Draco, and Harry said, “Don’t fucking talk to me like that!”, but then Draco’s tongue was dragging downwards along his spine and settling into the cleft of his arse, and Harry abruptly forgot the rest of what he was going to say.
“Draco,” started Harry, but he didn’t get past that, because Draco was suddenly licking around his tense, exposed entrance-his tongue doing lazy loop-de-loops across that sensitive stretch of skin: lapping at the pink, puckered ring and making Harry squirm and shake and make low noises in the back of his throat-and then Draco was pushing his tongue inside of him, and it was wriggling and seeking and hot: desperately wet and lewd and wanton as it twisted unrelentingly inside Harry’s arse; thrusting, slippery, and unspeakably erotic-almost too much to bear: almost, almost, just almost; Harry wasn’t ready, yet-not just yet.
“Fuck,” hitched Harry-a mangled, marvelous sound-pressing back against Draco’s tongue and squeezing his eyes shut, watching sparks float behind his closed eyelids and forgetting, for a brief second, how to breathe.
He could feel Draco pushing his smile into him, and it probably should have bothered him more than it did.
Then Draco grabbed Harry’s parted thighs, and his tongue kept invading him in hot little jabs, and Harry’s cock bumped against his bellybutton as he stifled his moans with his hand.
And all-of-a-sudden Draco was taking his tongue away-and it made Harry feel so empty, you couldn’t even imagine it-and Draco was saying, “I’m going to fuck you, now-and you’ll have to be very quiet, or someone will find us,” and he sounded so awfully, awfully smug.
“Fuck off,” breathed Harry, but then Draco’s fingers were in his mouth and he had no choice but to suck on them; preparing them so Draco could prepare him.
Anything he might have said then was lost on Draco’s fingers; Harry licked at them and made Draco hiss-Harry did it so well: a natural; Draco had taught him how to do things properly early on-and soon, Draco was pulling his fingers from that pink, talented mouth and pressing a finger into Harry’s opening (soon, soon, so soon, maybe sooner than Draco would have liked, but Harry was ready-they’d done this before, and Draco knew exactly how much Harry could take-and he couldn’t wait another minute, he just couldn’t), and Harry was allowing him in: accepting the slick digit inside himself and rocking back into Draco’s hand.
“Another,” gasped Harry, and so Draco pushed a second finger inside of him-stretching him out-and when they were both panting and needy for what came next, thoughtless to anything but that, Draco removed his fingers and wrapped his hand around his length, guiding himself to Harry’s entrance-the slippery, blunt tip of his cock poised and gently promising against that tiny ring of muscle-and then he was sinking in, pushing slowly past Harry’s inevitable resistance and then easing in all the way-hurrying when Harry leaned back impatiently-and then he was totally inside of him (enveloped), and they were moving, moving, starting slow but quickly picking up the pace, careening towards completion, and Draco was gripping so hard at Harry’s hips that his knuckles had gone white-it was sure to leave bruises; they’d need to heal that, later-and Harry was moving back, back into his thrusts, making needy little noises and hushed pleas-please, please, please-that suddenly seemed very loud in the still, surreal gloom all around them.
“Quiet, quiet-” said Draco; “-or do you want to be caught like this?”-and Harry could tell the thought pleased him-“Do you want people to see you on all fours, with my cock inside you-begging me for more, needing me to fill you up entirely? Do you want everyone to watch me fuck you senseless, out of your mind-wanting all of me; wanting everything I give you; wanting every-” thrust, “-little-” thrust, “-bit?” thrust.
Harry would have yelled at him, would have cursed him and stormed away, except Draco was picking up the pace-burying himself inside Harry’s smooth, straining warmth over and over and over so Harry couldn’t breathe, neither of them could, Harry couldn’t-
Then Draco hit Harry’s prostate with his cock-making Harry start, making Harry tighten up all around him so Draco thought he might come right then, right then, until he got control again-and he kept hitting it so Harry wanted to moan, wanted to scream, but he couldn’t, he didn’t dare, all he could do was scrabble at the linoleum floor and try his very best to keep from getting too loud.
A slight, stray moan escaped from Harry’s throat as Draco moved inside him, in and out, and Harry pressed his thumb against the slit of his sensitive, leaking head and rubbed his precome all around it in sweet, delicate-small swirls-moving to grip his length in his hand, touching himself; seeking release-Draco’s throbbing cock so deep inside of him that he thought he just might choke, he felt he just might be pushed right through the row of cold orange juice and everyone would see, and he didn’t care-he didn’t think of it, he could only bite his bottom lip a raw and thoughtless red and keep himself from keening, from groaning and sighing and throwing himself back against Draco’s cock as he was fucked three feet away from people who had no clue what was going on behind their tidy display of juice and butter and yogurt; who never even would have guessed.
“My Harry, my gorgeous Harry,” murmured Draco into the shell of Harry’s ear, too far gone to know what he was saying, and Harry too close to the edge himself to tell him; Harry’s hand squeezed into a fist as he rocked and worked his other hand around his shaft, his fingers curling over his balls (a caress), then pushing lower, lower, so his fingertips touched the bare inch of skin between his balls and his opening, pressing against that secret expanse-just barely brushing against the edge of his own arsehole, touching Draco’s length as he pushed into him and flittering against the place where Draco’s balls bumped against his entrance-and then Harry stuffed his knuckles in his mouth and bit as he came, bit himself because he couldn’t make a sound and he was coming, coming all over in a messy splatter of white, and he could feel the copper twang of blood welling around his teeth, but he didn’t care, he just didn’t, because everything was flying away from and him he was outside of himself-pushed right out of his body, and yet acutely there, his lean muscles going taut, clenching: trapping Draco’s cock inside of him as his orgasm dragged out an eternity in just seconds-and then he slumped, his shoulder thumping painfully to the floor as all the tension drained out of him, and Draco cursed and had to drag his hips up a little more before Harry regained his bearing enough to support himself with his knees and both his elbows, tightening his arse around Draco’s cock deliberately: whispering soft, dirty things-fuck me, fuck me, I love it when you fuck me, fill me, fuck me, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes-Draco loved to hear him say it, loved knowing that Harry wanted him, wanted him inside him, wanted to be his-it got him off every time: he loved having Harry ask for it-and then he was snapping his hips into Harry’s rear erratically, thrusting and thrusting into him as Harry clamped himself around him and breathed exactly what he wanted, how good this was, and Draco came: spilling himself inside him, holding tightly to Harry’s waist and the swell of Harry’s arse-watching the sleek lines of Harry’s back move in front of him and leaning down to brush his cheek against that absurd spill of arbitrary black-and, God, how he loved Harry’s hair: the way it smelled and the way it felt and the way it only did what it wanted to do despite people’s best attempts at taming it-and he closed his eyes and gently slid his hands up Harry’s sides and came soundlessly inside of him, kissing the vulnerable slope of his shoulder and knowing, as he always knew, that this was his match, this was everything. Only something that consuming, that necessary, could have ever kept them together despite their best attempts.
“Fine,” said Draco, sometime later, as he buttoned up his shirt-“you can have the stupid, smelly cheese; it’s not like I care,”-and Harry zipped up his jeans and laughed and laughed and laughed-and, after a minute, Draco did, too.
And even after-or perhaps it was because-they fought and laughed and kissed and loved and argued over groceries and a million other things they would soon forget, they were perfect with one another; they were exactly what they needed to be.
They were beautiful.