Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder [oneshot]
Gift from: kisslicknipsuck
Title: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
Word Count: ~5800
Rating: NC-17
Contains: (Highlight to view) *a bit of angst*
Notes: So much thanks to digthewriter for beta-reading for me♥ To cassisluna, I struggled a little with your gift since I'm not one for established relationships, but I think it turned out well all the same, so I hope you liked it:)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: "For someone who claims not to be a child, you sure do act like one," Harry snapped, angry with himself the moment the words left his mouth. Losing his temper was not going to lift Draco's mood. It would only make things worse. So he shut his eyes and took a deep breath around his clenched teeth to calm himself. It was an uphill battle.
Harry pushed their bedroom door open, a tray in his hands. "I brought you some tea," he said quietly as he took in Draco's pouting expression.
He crossed the room and set the tray on the low table in front of the sofa. "What do you want for dinner?" he asked offhandedly as he went about pouring them each a cup. The clean aroma of the tea drifted through the room when Harry poured it into Draco's favorite mug-a relatively small cup with a beautifully intricate peacock curled around it in luminous shades of blue, silver, and green on a black background. Sugar and milk followed once the brew had cooled enough and Harry turned to pass the mug to Draco, who still hadn't answered him.
"If the storm lets up soon, I was thinking we could go out and make snowmen. The snow is perfect for it."
Draco accepted the tea but didn't drink it. He held it wrapped in his hands and transferred his pouting frown from the blizzard outside down to the light amber liquid. Steam secreted itself up from the mug and Draco blew it away absently before speaking.
"Do I look like a child to you? You may take pleasure in acting like one but leave me out of it."
Harry resisted the urge to growl with frustration. It wasn't as if he hadn't expected that sort of response. It was the only kind he got lately. Ever since Draco had found out that he wouldn't get to spend Christmas with his parents-no visitors under house arrest-he'd been upset. He'd never had a Christmas without them.
And Harry was trying so hard to cheer him up-had been for the past several weeks. Their house was dripping with decorations meant to get Draco into the holiday spirit: tinsel, fairy lights, ribbons, pine boughs, glass ornaments and figurines, candles, advent calendars on every wall, and the tree took up half their living room downstairs on the main floor.
He made plans for what the two of them would do on Christmas day. Rather than spending the day with the Weasleys as he would normally, he'd had dinner and exchanged gifts with them the night before because he knew Draco wouldn't want to spend the day with them. Instead, he'd make dinner for just the two of them. It would be an intimate holiday.
They'd overeat, nap together by the fire, play games, tease each other about their gifts, and maybe even have sex under their massive Christmas tree. Draco wouldn't lament not seeing his parents so much because Harry was going to make it an unforgettable first Christmas for them.
At least, that had been the idea. But Draco wasn't making it easy. Not that Harry had expected him to. Draco never made anything easy. It was getting to be a bit much, though, even for Harry. Every inquiry as to Draco's opinion on their plans was met with silence or impatience. Every invitation to do things together, even non-holiday-related things, were shot down. And it seemed everything Harry said or did was subjected to uncalled for belittlement.
Draco's cruel indifference to his attempts at playfulness was beginning to wear on him. It was almost as if he didn't want to spend any part of the holidays with Harry. Sometimes it was almost as if he didn't want to be with him at all.
He shook his head to dislodge those thoughts from his mind and sat down beside Draco with his own cup of tea. "What do you want to do then?" he asked as he examined Draco's profile. "We could open a few gifts early. There are certainly enough of them."
Draco sneered at him. "What part of I'm not a child did you not understand?" He sniffed at Harry, looking down his nose at him, and turned his back to him to glare into the fireplace.
"For someone who claims not to be a child, you sure do act like one," Harry snapped, angry with himself the moment the words left his mouth. Losing his temper was not going to lift Draco's mood. It would only make things worse. So he shut his eyes and took a deep breath around his clenched teeth to calm himself. It was an uphill battle.
"Well, excuse me for missing my family during the holidays. How terribly inconsiderate of me." Draco didn't deign to look at him while he berated him. Instead he turned his disgusted sneer on the mug of tea Harry had provided him before maliciously slinging it at the wall in anger, barely missing the window.
Harry jumped when the mug hit the wall. It shattered on impact. Tea dripped down the papered wall like discolored, watery blood; the shards of porcelain littering the previously pristine white carpet. He stared at it in bewilderment. And also a twinge of anguish. He'd bought Draco that mug for their six month anniversary (along with a few other more adult things). He'd professed to love it. Joked that he'd been surprised by Harry's good taste.
"You don't know what it's like," Draco accused as he surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction. "Having your family withheld from you. Spending the holidays without them."
"I'm your family, too, aren't I?" Harry piped up, tearing his gaze away from the destroyed mug. "I'll be with you."
"It's not the same!" he shouted, getting to his feet and stalking towards the door. "I want them, not you, Potter." Yanking the door open viciously, he stormed out of the room without looking back.
Harry stayed stunned where he was, tea still untouched in his hands. It wasn't like Draco to have an outburst like that. Hell, Harry hadn't heard him raise his voice since their sixth year. Petulance in the face of not getting what he wanted wasn't uncommon but this was definitely something else.
How had things gotten so out of hand so quickly? It was his fault, obviously. Harry shouldn't have antagonized him when he knew Draco was so upset. He should go after him, he thought, apologize. Make it right before it could fester.
He didn't move.
Hearing Draco call him by his surname like that, as he hadn't done since Harry had spoken for him at his trial, sent a wave of sorrow over him like a splash of cold water. He flinched against it, his insecure thoughts returning to him once more, and he couldn't seem to force his body to obey him. So he stayed where he was, letting Draco run off on his own.
I want them, not you. The words rang through his head over and over in a tortuous echo, making his chest tighten painfully. Draco was pulling away from him. His face felt hot; his eyes burned. His breathing was becoming laborious. He would not cry, he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut and grinding his teeth together again. He wouldn't.
All he'd wanted was to give Draco a happy Christmas. For them to make some memories together. But Draco didn't want him or his new memories. He'd rather be alone with old ones, it seemed.
Tears winning the battle against his scrunched eyes, he set down his tea to hold his head in his hands.
--
Draco sulked. He was very good at sulking-had lots of practice. And Harry's incessant cheer was making it all the easier. He ground his teeth and scrubbed shampoo into his hair more aggressively than necessary at the thought of it. The hot water in the shower poured down his back soothingly while he continued to brood. Steam fogged the windows and the citrusy scent of his soap pervaded the thick air. After lathering, he turned and stepped into the spray to rinse the suds away.
What was Harry playing at anyway? All the decorations and gifts and planning. Was he trying to upset him further? What other possible reason could he have for constantly reminding Draco that he wouldn't get to see his parents for Christmas? He kept asking Draco what he wanted to do on Christmas Day, over and over, and it was all Draco could do to keep himself from hexing him right in the face.
Wasn't it obvious what he wanted? Why did he have to keep asking?
Hair sufficiently rinsed, Draco shut off the water and exited the shower, closing the glass door behind him. He curled his toes into the loose fibers of the rug just outside the shower as he dried himself and his hair with a chocolate-colored towel, which he then dropped to the floor and stepped closer to the fog-repellant mirror to begin his nightly self-maintenance. Shaving, and moisturizing, and lotions, and hair products, and ears, eyes, nose, mouth, and every nook and cranny between would be seen to in their proper order-starting with his still-wet hair, of course.
Harry always teased him for his attention to personal upkeep. Called him a girl. The first time he'd seen him do it, he'd made a show of checking Draco for a penis. Naturally, Draco had been insulted (embarrassed) and sharply reminded Harry that the only reason he looked as gorgeous as he did was because of his ritual, so he'd better watch his mouth or he'd let himself go. Harry had only laughed and told him he'd find him beautiful even if he was wrinkled, beardy, covered in grime, and dressed like a House-Elf-and also that Draco might prefer to watch Harry's mouth for him. He had.
That was the only time in recent memory Draco had completely forgone his ritual. And ever since then Harry had made a habit of finishing his own ablutions as quickly as possible so as to devote his attention to distracting Draco away from his own. He'd yet to succeed a second time, regardless of where he put his mouth on Draco's body, but he still tried and Draco had come to relish the game despite his outward protestations.
A fact he'd only just realized now that he found himself alone and unburdened at the start of his routine. The lack of Harry felt like a lost limb. He kept moving through the familiar process, massaging a leave-in conditioner in his hair, rubbing moisturizer all over his body, expecting to see Harry watching him in the mirror or feel him pressing against him to derail his movements. When that failed to happen, it surprised him. It was silly of him, but he couldn't help it. Harry's absence by his side was strange.
It was lonely.
His shoulders sagged somewhat when he finished primping and he stared blankly at himself in the mirror. He was as lovely as ever-all long limbs and pale expanses of skin, flawless but for the scar across his torso. His hair hung in wet locks tucked behind his ears to air dry (drying charms made it too brittle). Gray eyes raked over the reflection in the mirror, satisfied with what they saw, and then wandered away from himself to glance over the empty bathroom where Harry should have been to tease him and berate him for leaving the towel on the floor.
"We don't have a House-Elf, Draco," he'd say.
"No, even better, I have you."
Scowling at the memory, he turned away from his reflection and headed to bed alone.
--
"I just don't know what else to do." Harry sipped the lager Ron had offered him when he'd arrived at his and Hermione's cottage outside of Devon and hung his head back over the edge of the wooden kitchen chair he'd collapsed in the moment he'd walked in the door. "Everything I do sets him off. He doesn't want me around anymore." The admission set his eyes to burning again and he shut them against the sensation.
"Oh, Harry, I'm sure that's not true," Hermione said from across the small, square table. Ron sat to his left. "He's just upset about his parents. Give him some time."
"It's been weeks, Hermione, and he's just gotten worse. He won't let me comfort him."
"When has he ever let you comfort him, mate?" Ron put in. "Malfoy's too proud to admit he needs it."
"He said he didn't want me anymore."
"You know he didn't mean it," Hermione said. "We all say things we don't mean when we're upset. You know that."
He did. But this wasn't a solitary incident. Sure, Draco had only said it in so many words the one time, but he'd been pushing Harry away for weeks now.
"She's right, Harry, we've said some terrible stuff to each other before, remember? But we didn't mean it and we both knew it. We got over it and we're still mates, yeah? We just needed some space-some time to see what berks we were."
Harry lifted his head, sighing, and took another swig of his drink. They were right, of course, but that didn't make the fresh wound of Draco's rejection hurt any less, just like his rows with Ron hadn't hurt any less when they were happening either.
Space. Ron said Draco needed space. They both did, really. Harry didn't have any patience left for Draco's attitude anymore. He needed some time away, too. Maybe then he'd be able to think of a way to fix things between them.
--
Their bed was practically untouched. Draco had slept in it, yes, but he didn't move much in his sleep, so his side of the bed was barely rumpled. Harry's was pristine, the sheet edges still tucked neatly beneath the mattress. They shouldn't have been. Harry was a messy sleeper, if such a thing existed. He moved and wriggled under the covers-which had better not be restrictive lest they be violently wrenched this way and that-and usually ended up sprawled all over Draco like a clingy puppy. By morning, their bed looked like a bomb had gone off in it.
Harry had never come to bed-a fact he would have been painfully aware of even if there hadn't been physical evidence of it. He hadn't slept well, unable to shake off his restlessness. Harry had never come to bed. He'd never come home after slipping out the night before after their latest fight. He hadn't been there to warm Draco's side. Or weigh down his chest. Or wake him up with his constant shifting. Or annoy Draco into curling up against his back.
He'd never realized how much he relied on those things to get to sleep. Without them, Harry's absence made itself known in maddening silent screams in Draco's imagination. It shivered along his skin and bit at his exposed right shoulder where Harry's sleeping head should have been.
Glaring at the neatness of Harry's side of the bed, he grabbed the edges of the sheets and duvet and ripped them free from the mattress. He jerked them towards himself, rolling around in the bed, kicking the sheets away, yanking the duvet over his head, and beating everything within reach with his pillow until the whole bed was the proper disaster area it should've been.
He tumbled out of the bed, pillow still clenched in one fist, and frowned at the mess he'd made while his breathing calmed. It was made difficult by the tightness in his chest and he hated it. With a wordless shout, he threw his pillow at the bed, completely missed it, and smashed the glass lamp on Harry's bedside table instead.
The sound of shattering glass shocked him into stillness for a moment. But he recovered quickly, and with a sound of disgust, he whirled on the spot and stalked out of the room to locate breakfast downstairs-
-of which he found none because Harry was usually the one to prepare it. With him gone, there was nothing but an empty kitchen to greet Draco.
For the first time, he felt the emptiness of the house-the stillness that only he interrupted. The floorboards didn't creak because no one tread upon them. Doors didn't squeak because no one opened them. Pipes didn't rattle because they weren't turned on. Fires didn't roar in their places because no one lit them. Kettles didn't whistle, radios didn't chatter, cabinets didn't bang shut, chairs scrap across the floor, newspapers crinkle, clothing rustle.
Nothing.
Only Draco's breathing as he stood in the kitchen. Alone. Even their owl was nowhere to be seen.
Where was Harry? Why had he left him in this dead house? Why hadn't he come back? Why hadn't he come to bed? Why had he left?
Anger washed over him briefly. Harry had abandoned him, he told himself. When he'd needed him most, Harry had left him. How could he do that to Draco?
But he knew. Hadn't he told Harry that he hadn't needed him countless times? That he didn't even want him? Once. Only the once. But that had been enough. Harry was gone and it was his fault. Harry might not come back and it was his fault.
Despair tinged the edges of his anger and he had to fight to hold onto the fury. If he gave it up, he'd break down. And grown men did not have emotional breakdowns. That's what his father had always taught him and he repeated the words in his head like a mantra. But it wasn't working very well.
He stumbled towards the dining table by the window to sink into a chair, his legs suddenly unsteady. His eyes were burning and his chest was even tighter than it'd been after his tussle with the bed clothes. He rubbed at his face as if to wipe the anguish away-and failed.
Papers littered the tabletop and Draco's gaze flowed over them absently while he tried to regain his composure. Tears were filling his eyes and distorting his vision but he still recognized his mother's neat, flowing penmanship on a bit of parchment. He snatched it up, his eyes clearing, and set to reading the letter addressed to Harry.
Dear Mr. Potter,
I must say I was surprised to receive your letter. Xerxes usually comes bearing Draco's letters. But I am glad to have heard from you, Mr. Potter. Neither Lucius nor I have received a letter from our son in nearly two weeks. We were worried for him. And correct in doing so, as you mentioned.
He has always spent Christmas with us, and our Draco is a lover of our Christmas traditions, so I do not doubt that he is not taking the abrupt departure from our yuletide customs unbecomingly. Naturally, Lucius and I are also aggrieved at not seeing our only child, but it is a small comfort to know that he will not be alone. We are very grateful to you for caring for our son during this time we are forced apart. Draco is more sensitive than he will likely ever admit, so your attentions will no doubt be received warmly. Thank you so much, Mr. Potter, for your compassion towards my son. I wish you both the best.
Happy Christmas,
Narcissa Malfoy
p.s. I have enclosed the recipes used for all our family Christmas dishes as you requested. The Elves were not keen on parting with them, however, so please send them back at your latest convenience.
-N.M.
Draco fingered through the dozens of recipes without actually seeing them, not sure what to think about Harry contacting his mother, let alone her words in response. Your attentions will no doubt be received warmly, she'd said. He looked away from the letter as if averting his eyes from his mother's disapproving gaze. He'd been anything but warm to Harry lately.
Shame bubbled in his belly and he had to walk away from his mother's kind words to Harry. He wandered over to the icebox to search for something to eat-he wasn't hungry but thought perhaps eating would distract him-and found the icebox stuffed beyond capacity with anything and everything one might need to prepare a traditional Malfoy Christmas dinner.
He blinked at it all. Harry was going to recreate his family dinner. For him. To comfort him. Because he was caring and compassionate like his mother had said. Because he loved Draco and wanted to make him happy. And what had Draco done in response?
I want them, not you.
"Salazaar's balls, he was right. I'm acting like a child."
A precariously placed tomato fell from the lowest shelf and rolled across the floor to bump against Draco's foot.
He laughed.
--
The last two days had seen Harry being passed around his friends like a wayward vagabond. He'd stayed that first night with Ron and Hermione, but they had final preparations for Christmas Day to make the next morning, so he'd buggered off to harass Neville and Luna for a bit. He eventually had to leave to let them get off to their holiday in France.
George had housed him for the rest of the day, entertaining him with his and Lee's latest inventions. Angelina arrived that evening, though, so he'd spent the night in a hotel to give them time alone. Charlie dragged him around for last minute shopping the next day, so Harry could carry his bags and packages for him.
Seamus and Dean had hosted him at their pub that night after getting him properly pissed, but tossed him out unceremoniously the morning after, because it was Christmas bloody Eve and Harry needed to get ahold of his own bollocks and go back to Draco. Downing the Hangover Potion they tossed after him, he went for a walk through Diagon Alley instead.
They were right, though. He really ought to get back to Draco. He didn't want his lover to spend Christmas alone, after all. But he wasn't sure how he'd be welcomed. Or if he'd be welcomed at all.
The spicy scent of pumpkin and coffee lured Harry into a café he'd been passing and he sat down in a corner booth with a steaming mug of the dark brew (minus the hair of the dog offered by the owner). Somehow he managed to muck about in the shop until it closed in the early evening-wasn't all that hard when his hangover made him doze off every time he sat still long enough. The owner didn't mind, though, since Harry managed to consume at least a dozen cups of coffee and a scone or two during his stay. Harry left him a generous tip anyway.
Out on his arse once again, Harry reckoned he ought to go home. All his friends would have had plans already and he didn't want to impose any more than he already had done. Besides, it was fixing to storm tonight and he didn't want to get caught out in it. Snow was already starting to fall in thick clumps that burst when they landed on Harry's cheeks.
Brushing away the snowflakes, he made his way to the nearest Apparition point while trying desperately to bolster his Gryffindor courage. He still didn't have a plan for dealing with Draco, so he'd just have to do what he always did: go in unprepared and hope luck was on his side.
--
The smell of roast goose punched him in the face when Harry Apparated into his living room. A fire roared cheerily in the hearth behind him and the Christmas tree tinkled with moving fairy lights that glittered off the ornaments and cast stars on the walls surrounding it. Through the door leading to the kitchen, Harry could hear someone bustling around the room, clanging pots and jingling silverware. Apprehension forgotten and jaw on the ground, he moved towards the sound.
Draco was covered in flour. It was in his hair, on his face, and all over his clothes. If he'd noticed, he clearly didn't care. He was wearing Harry's ridiculous red and gold snitch-patterned apron and was very precisely setting the spoons in their places beside the butter knives. The table was in the middle of the kitchen, Transfigured to be much larger, and heaving with all the things Harry had been planning to make Draco for Christmas dinner. Goose, turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, roasted potatoes, brussel sprouts, green beans with bacon, cranberry sauce, pigs in a blanket, chestnuts, parsnips, rolls, biscuits, and bucket-load of gravy.
Harry's gut rumbled as the barrage of smells wafted over him and he was sharply reminded that he'd only eaten a couple of scones all day.
"You came back."
Harry's eyes snapped from the food up to Draco, who was now adjusting the forks and meticulously avoiding looking at Harry.
"I wasn't sure if you would. But I figured it'd be tonight, if at all, so I made dinner."
"I didn't know if you wanted me to come back."
Draco's back straightened at his words. "Don't be daft," he commanded Harry as he stirred the gravy.
Harry almost smiled at the familiar petulance in his voice. Almost. His doubts still twisted his insides. "But you said-"
"I know what I said!" Draco snapped, making Harry jump. Gravy splashed over the edge of the bowl and Draco growled at it. He put the stirring spoon down and viciously flicked his wand at the spill before holding his arms at his sides rigidly and forcing himself to calm down.
After a moment, he swallowed and said more quietly, "I know what I said. It was out of line. I didn't mean it." He gestured at the whole room with both his arms and added, "Obviously."
"You did all this for me?"
"No," Draco said, scowling. "I slaved away all day to prepare this feast for Xerxes."
The horned stygian owl peeped from his perch on the windowsill at the mention of his name and eyed the goose covetously. Draco glared at the bird and, judging by a few conspicuous holes in the goose, Harry surmised that he'd already helped himself to it.
"I was going to make all this for you tomorrow," Harry said, stepping further into the room now that he was sure Draco wasn't going to throw him out.
Draco nodded. "I saw the letter mother sent you." He reached out to touch it on the counter where he'd moved it so he could set the table.
Harry moved closer to Draco, concerned by the yearning look on his face. "I'm sorry you won't get to see her tomorrow," he said quietly, touching Draco’s shoulder hesitantly. He leaned into it so Harry took the liberty of sneaking his other hand into Draco's and nuzzling gently into the soft hairs on his neck.
Draco sighed and squeezed Harry's hand. "At least you're here," he said in a whisper and then turned to face Harry, pulling him into a kiss.
Harry sank into the kiss, giving way to it when Draco sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and dragged his teeth over it. He threaded his fingers into Draco’s hair to tug him closer and deepen the kiss.
"Harry," he gasped, pulling away only minimally. "The food's going to get cold."
"Warming Charm," Harry said, licking the shell of Draco's ear.
"Xerxes will devour the goose if we leave him alone with it." Draco shot an accusatory glare at the owl over Harry's shoulder. Xerxes was unmoved.
Harry shrugged. "Let him. It's Christmas. And there's plenty of other food."
"Yes," Draco said, closing his eyes against the spikes of pleasure that shot up his spine when Harry rubbed his hand over the growing erection pressing against his trouser front. "There's a whole turkey even."
"Let's go upstairs." Harry took his hands in his own and made to lead him to their bedroom.
"Not upstairs," Draco countered, tugging on his hands. "By the fire. It's warmer." Also, Draco hadn't wanted to sleep alone in their bed, so he hadn't been up there to clean up the mess he'd made a few days ago. There was still glass everywhere.
Harry obeyed without another word, pulling them into the living room. They moved together, Harry walking backwards with Draco's hands in his, eyes locked until Harry was halted by the back of the sofa.
Draco pressed against him, pushing their groins together and coaxing Harry into another kiss. Harry clenched his fingers into the front of his shirt, anchoring them together and pulling the shirt out of his trousers at the same time. The drag of the fabric over his skin tickled the fine hairs on his belly and he shivered in the comfortably toasty room.
Pale skin exposed, Harry slid his hands up Draco's back and dragged his blunt nails back down again, earning himself a hiss from Draco. The sound drizzled over his neck where Draco had been laving attention. He leaned into, exposing his neck further, and moaned when Draco's mouth closed over his pulse point again. Biting gently and then kissing the ache away. His hips involuntarily thrust against Draco's thigh every time his teeth brushed his abused skin and he scrambled over every reachable part of his body looking for the best place to hold on. He settled on a shoulder and the back of his neck while a leg came up to cradle his hip.
Draco pulled away from his neck to lift him up just enough so that Harry was sitting on the back of the sofa. He pushed his knees open and insinuated himself between them, holding Harry's hips to keep him steady. He was taller than Draco now and had to lean down with his arms around his shoulders to kiss him.
"I'm glad you're back," Draco whispered as he set to work unbuttoning Harry's winter jacket, which he'd yet to remove when arriving home. "If you ever leave for that long without telling me again, I'm burning the house down."
Harry snickered but sobered quickly at the look on Draco's face. The tightness around his eyes belied the jest of his words and it wasn't lost on Harry. He pushed the hair off Draco's forehead and kissed the sweat-damp skin.
"You were gone longer," he said and kissed him again and again all over his face.
"Harry…"
"And if you ever call me Potter again, I'm burning the house down." He accentuated his threat with a tug to Draco's hair and a nip to the tip of his nose.
Draco snorted. "Then what am I supposed to call you when you're being stupid?"
Harry smacked him on the shoulder but relished the familiar smirk on his lover's lips. "I'm glad you're back, too."
"Well, obviously. You'd be lost without me."
Hopelessly, Harry thought when he considered how he'd spent the last few days. He wasn't about to admit that to Draco, though.
"Shut up and take your clothes off already, git," he said, shoving Draco back and hopping down onto his feet again to do the same. His jacket fell down his arms to the floor; he shed his Weasley jumper and the Muggle shirt underneath it, and started in on his trousers. Belt unbuckled, flies open, he pushed them down with his pants and stepped out of them, kicking them aside.
His cock bobbed between his legs, glad to be free of the restrictive clothing, and he sighed with relief. Taking himself in hand, he turned to watch Draco.
--
Draco never took his eyes off Harry while he disrobed himself. How could he? When every article of clothing revealed more skin and tantalized his imagination further, how could he possible look away? They'd been apart for too long. Too long since Draco had seen those dusky nipples and dark hair sprouting up around his chest to trail down to his navel and beyond.
The sight made his mouth water and he nearly forgot he was supposed to be undressing as well. He had to move quickly to catch up. Buttons taken care of, he shrugged out of the dress shirt and tossed it towards a chair.
Harry's cock sprang free as the man pushed his trousers down and Draco's own jumped. He licked his lips as his gaze focused between his lover's legs where his prick was wagging at him from only a few strides away. His hands stopped on his own zipper when Harry wrapped a hand around himself, stroking languidly. Draco glanced up at his face and found Harry watching him knowingly with twinkling eyes-the bastard.
"Need some help?"
"Hardly," Draco answered superiorly, standing straighter and looking down his nose at Harry's self-assured smile.
Harry shrugged. "If you say so." Wriggling his arse up onto the back of the couch, he let himself fall backwards onto the cushions-out of Draco's sight.
Unacceptable.
Draco stripped his remaining clothes off in record time and rounded the sofa in three long strides. Harry was sprawled on his back with arms over his head, his whole body on display. He smiled invitingly up at him as he opened his legs, hooking one over the back of the sofa and bending the other at the knee to rest his foot on the floor.
Draco's brain short-circuited. He was on Harry before he even realized he was moving. Their cocks slid together when Draco slotted himself between Harry's welcoming thighs and they both rutted towards the other at the sensation.
Harry tasted like coffee, warm and tangy on his tongue. He savored the flavor, reaching deeper for it and swallowing the whimpers he found along with it. Harry shook beneath him. His legs were wrapped around Draco's hips, trapping their cocks together in their embrace.
The friction between them built steadily. Sweat beaded on their skin, exacerbated by the warmth pouring out of the fireplace over their nakedness. Draco's heart pounded in his chest while his hips did their level best to match the galloping rhythm.
He heard Harry cry out, felt his release douse the both of them, but he didn't slow down and Harry didn't let go of him. He held on with his legs and rubbed Draco's shoulders while he whispered rambling endearments against his cheek, pressing sweet kisses to his sweaty face between words until Draco came with Harry's name on his lips.
He sagged against Harry and made to move off of him, but he was held in place by Harry's legs around his hips and arms around his shoulders, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his sweaty back. He settled where he was, slithering downwards just enough to rest his head comfortably on Harry's chest, and submit himself to his lover's gentle petting.
The food in the other room, along with so many other things, were forgotten as the two of them lay entwined together by the fire in the sparkling shadows of the Christmas tree.
Title: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
Word Count: ~5800
Rating: NC-17
Contains: (Highlight to view) *a bit of angst*
Notes: So much thanks to digthewriter for beta-reading for me♥ To cassisluna, I struggled a little with your gift since I'm not one for established relationships, but I think it turned out well all the same, so I hope you liked it:)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: "For someone who claims not to be a child, you sure do act like one," Harry snapped, angry with himself the moment the words left his mouth. Losing his temper was not going to lift Draco's mood. It would only make things worse. So he shut his eyes and took a deep breath around his clenched teeth to calm himself. It was an uphill battle.
Harry pushed their bedroom door open, a tray in his hands. "I brought you some tea," he said quietly as he took in Draco's pouting expression.
He crossed the room and set the tray on the low table in front of the sofa. "What do you want for dinner?" he asked offhandedly as he went about pouring them each a cup. The clean aroma of the tea drifted through the room when Harry poured it into Draco's favorite mug-a relatively small cup with a beautifully intricate peacock curled around it in luminous shades of blue, silver, and green on a black background. Sugar and milk followed once the brew had cooled enough and Harry turned to pass the mug to Draco, who still hadn't answered him.
"If the storm lets up soon, I was thinking we could go out and make snowmen. The snow is perfect for it."
Draco accepted the tea but didn't drink it. He held it wrapped in his hands and transferred his pouting frown from the blizzard outside down to the light amber liquid. Steam secreted itself up from the mug and Draco blew it away absently before speaking.
"Do I look like a child to you? You may take pleasure in acting like one but leave me out of it."
Harry resisted the urge to growl with frustration. It wasn't as if he hadn't expected that sort of response. It was the only kind he got lately. Ever since Draco had found out that he wouldn't get to spend Christmas with his parents-no visitors under house arrest-he'd been upset. He'd never had a Christmas without them.
And Harry was trying so hard to cheer him up-had been for the past several weeks. Their house was dripping with decorations meant to get Draco into the holiday spirit: tinsel, fairy lights, ribbons, pine boughs, glass ornaments and figurines, candles, advent calendars on every wall, and the tree took up half their living room downstairs on the main floor.
He made plans for what the two of them would do on Christmas day. Rather than spending the day with the Weasleys as he would normally, he'd had dinner and exchanged gifts with them the night before because he knew Draco wouldn't want to spend the day with them. Instead, he'd make dinner for just the two of them. It would be an intimate holiday.
They'd overeat, nap together by the fire, play games, tease each other about their gifts, and maybe even have sex under their massive Christmas tree. Draco wouldn't lament not seeing his parents so much because Harry was going to make it an unforgettable first Christmas for them.
At least, that had been the idea. But Draco wasn't making it easy. Not that Harry had expected him to. Draco never made anything easy. It was getting to be a bit much, though, even for Harry. Every inquiry as to Draco's opinion on their plans was met with silence or impatience. Every invitation to do things together, even non-holiday-related things, were shot down. And it seemed everything Harry said or did was subjected to uncalled for belittlement.
Draco's cruel indifference to his attempts at playfulness was beginning to wear on him. It was almost as if he didn't want to spend any part of the holidays with Harry. Sometimes it was almost as if he didn't want to be with him at all.
He shook his head to dislodge those thoughts from his mind and sat down beside Draco with his own cup of tea. "What do you want to do then?" he asked as he examined Draco's profile. "We could open a few gifts early. There are certainly enough of them."
Draco sneered at him. "What part of I'm not a child did you not understand?" He sniffed at Harry, looking down his nose at him, and turned his back to him to glare into the fireplace.
"For someone who claims not to be a child, you sure do act like one," Harry snapped, angry with himself the moment the words left his mouth. Losing his temper was not going to lift Draco's mood. It would only make things worse. So he shut his eyes and took a deep breath around his clenched teeth to calm himself. It was an uphill battle.
"Well, excuse me for missing my family during the holidays. How terribly inconsiderate of me." Draco didn't deign to look at him while he berated him. Instead he turned his disgusted sneer on the mug of tea Harry had provided him before maliciously slinging it at the wall in anger, barely missing the window.
Harry jumped when the mug hit the wall. It shattered on impact. Tea dripped down the papered wall like discolored, watery blood; the shards of porcelain littering the previously pristine white carpet. He stared at it in bewilderment. And also a twinge of anguish. He'd bought Draco that mug for their six month anniversary (along with a few other more adult things). He'd professed to love it. Joked that he'd been surprised by Harry's good taste.
"You don't know what it's like," Draco accused as he surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction. "Having your family withheld from you. Spending the holidays without them."
"I'm your family, too, aren't I?" Harry piped up, tearing his gaze away from the destroyed mug. "I'll be with you."
"It's not the same!" he shouted, getting to his feet and stalking towards the door. "I want them, not you, Potter." Yanking the door open viciously, he stormed out of the room without looking back.
Harry stayed stunned where he was, tea still untouched in his hands. It wasn't like Draco to have an outburst like that. Hell, Harry hadn't heard him raise his voice since their sixth year. Petulance in the face of not getting what he wanted wasn't uncommon but this was definitely something else.
How had things gotten so out of hand so quickly? It was his fault, obviously. Harry shouldn't have antagonized him when he knew Draco was so upset. He should go after him, he thought, apologize. Make it right before it could fester.
He didn't move.
Hearing Draco call him by his surname like that, as he hadn't done since Harry had spoken for him at his trial, sent a wave of sorrow over him like a splash of cold water. He flinched against it, his insecure thoughts returning to him once more, and he couldn't seem to force his body to obey him. So he stayed where he was, letting Draco run off on his own.
I want them, not you. The words rang through his head over and over in a tortuous echo, making his chest tighten painfully. Draco was pulling away from him. His face felt hot; his eyes burned. His breathing was becoming laborious. He would not cry, he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut and grinding his teeth together again. He wouldn't.
All he'd wanted was to give Draco a happy Christmas. For them to make some memories together. But Draco didn't want him or his new memories. He'd rather be alone with old ones, it seemed.
Tears winning the battle against his scrunched eyes, he set down his tea to hold his head in his hands.
--
Draco sulked. He was very good at sulking-had lots of practice. And Harry's incessant cheer was making it all the easier. He ground his teeth and scrubbed shampoo into his hair more aggressively than necessary at the thought of it. The hot water in the shower poured down his back soothingly while he continued to brood. Steam fogged the windows and the citrusy scent of his soap pervaded the thick air. After lathering, he turned and stepped into the spray to rinse the suds away.
What was Harry playing at anyway? All the decorations and gifts and planning. Was he trying to upset him further? What other possible reason could he have for constantly reminding Draco that he wouldn't get to see his parents for Christmas? He kept asking Draco what he wanted to do on Christmas Day, over and over, and it was all Draco could do to keep himself from hexing him right in the face.
Wasn't it obvious what he wanted? Why did he have to keep asking?
Hair sufficiently rinsed, Draco shut off the water and exited the shower, closing the glass door behind him. He curled his toes into the loose fibers of the rug just outside the shower as he dried himself and his hair with a chocolate-colored towel, which he then dropped to the floor and stepped closer to the fog-repellant mirror to begin his nightly self-maintenance. Shaving, and moisturizing, and lotions, and hair products, and ears, eyes, nose, mouth, and every nook and cranny between would be seen to in their proper order-starting with his still-wet hair, of course.
Harry always teased him for his attention to personal upkeep. Called him a girl. The first time he'd seen him do it, he'd made a show of checking Draco for a penis. Naturally, Draco had been insulted (embarrassed) and sharply reminded Harry that the only reason he looked as gorgeous as he did was because of his ritual, so he'd better watch his mouth or he'd let himself go. Harry had only laughed and told him he'd find him beautiful even if he was wrinkled, beardy, covered in grime, and dressed like a House-Elf-and also that Draco might prefer to watch Harry's mouth for him. He had.
That was the only time in recent memory Draco had completely forgone his ritual. And ever since then Harry had made a habit of finishing his own ablutions as quickly as possible so as to devote his attention to distracting Draco away from his own. He'd yet to succeed a second time, regardless of where he put his mouth on Draco's body, but he still tried and Draco had come to relish the game despite his outward protestations.
A fact he'd only just realized now that he found himself alone and unburdened at the start of his routine. The lack of Harry felt like a lost limb. He kept moving through the familiar process, massaging a leave-in conditioner in his hair, rubbing moisturizer all over his body, expecting to see Harry watching him in the mirror or feel him pressing against him to derail his movements. When that failed to happen, it surprised him. It was silly of him, but he couldn't help it. Harry's absence by his side was strange.
It was lonely.
His shoulders sagged somewhat when he finished primping and he stared blankly at himself in the mirror. He was as lovely as ever-all long limbs and pale expanses of skin, flawless but for the scar across his torso. His hair hung in wet locks tucked behind his ears to air dry (drying charms made it too brittle). Gray eyes raked over the reflection in the mirror, satisfied with what they saw, and then wandered away from himself to glance over the empty bathroom where Harry should have been to tease him and berate him for leaving the towel on the floor.
"We don't have a House-Elf, Draco," he'd say.
"No, even better, I have you."
Scowling at the memory, he turned away from his reflection and headed to bed alone.
--
"I just don't know what else to do." Harry sipped the lager Ron had offered him when he'd arrived at his and Hermione's cottage outside of Devon and hung his head back over the edge of the wooden kitchen chair he'd collapsed in the moment he'd walked in the door. "Everything I do sets him off. He doesn't want me around anymore." The admission set his eyes to burning again and he shut them against the sensation.
"Oh, Harry, I'm sure that's not true," Hermione said from across the small, square table. Ron sat to his left. "He's just upset about his parents. Give him some time."
"It's been weeks, Hermione, and he's just gotten worse. He won't let me comfort him."
"When has he ever let you comfort him, mate?" Ron put in. "Malfoy's too proud to admit he needs it."
"He said he didn't want me anymore."
"You know he didn't mean it," Hermione said. "We all say things we don't mean when we're upset. You know that."
He did. But this wasn't a solitary incident. Sure, Draco had only said it in so many words the one time, but he'd been pushing Harry away for weeks now.
"She's right, Harry, we've said some terrible stuff to each other before, remember? But we didn't mean it and we both knew it. We got over it and we're still mates, yeah? We just needed some space-some time to see what berks we were."
Harry lifted his head, sighing, and took another swig of his drink. They were right, of course, but that didn't make the fresh wound of Draco's rejection hurt any less, just like his rows with Ron hadn't hurt any less when they were happening either.
Space. Ron said Draco needed space. They both did, really. Harry didn't have any patience left for Draco's attitude anymore. He needed some time away, too. Maybe then he'd be able to think of a way to fix things between them.
--
Their bed was practically untouched. Draco had slept in it, yes, but he didn't move much in his sleep, so his side of the bed was barely rumpled. Harry's was pristine, the sheet edges still tucked neatly beneath the mattress. They shouldn't have been. Harry was a messy sleeper, if such a thing existed. He moved and wriggled under the covers-which had better not be restrictive lest they be violently wrenched this way and that-and usually ended up sprawled all over Draco like a clingy puppy. By morning, their bed looked like a bomb had gone off in it.
Harry had never come to bed-a fact he would have been painfully aware of even if there hadn't been physical evidence of it. He hadn't slept well, unable to shake off his restlessness. Harry had never come to bed. He'd never come home after slipping out the night before after their latest fight. He hadn't been there to warm Draco's side. Or weigh down his chest. Or wake him up with his constant shifting. Or annoy Draco into curling up against his back.
He'd never realized how much he relied on those things to get to sleep. Without them, Harry's absence made itself known in maddening silent screams in Draco's imagination. It shivered along his skin and bit at his exposed right shoulder where Harry's sleeping head should have been.
Glaring at the neatness of Harry's side of the bed, he grabbed the edges of the sheets and duvet and ripped them free from the mattress. He jerked them towards himself, rolling around in the bed, kicking the sheets away, yanking the duvet over his head, and beating everything within reach with his pillow until the whole bed was the proper disaster area it should've been.
He tumbled out of the bed, pillow still clenched in one fist, and frowned at the mess he'd made while his breathing calmed. It was made difficult by the tightness in his chest and he hated it. With a wordless shout, he threw his pillow at the bed, completely missed it, and smashed the glass lamp on Harry's bedside table instead.
The sound of shattering glass shocked him into stillness for a moment. But he recovered quickly, and with a sound of disgust, he whirled on the spot and stalked out of the room to locate breakfast downstairs-
-of which he found none because Harry was usually the one to prepare it. With him gone, there was nothing but an empty kitchen to greet Draco.
For the first time, he felt the emptiness of the house-the stillness that only he interrupted. The floorboards didn't creak because no one tread upon them. Doors didn't squeak because no one opened them. Pipes didn't rattle because they weren't turned on. Fires didn't roar in their places because no one lit them. Kettles didn't whistle, radios didn't chatter, cabinets didn't bang shut, chairs scrap across the floor, newspapers crinkle, clothing rustle.
Nothing.
Only Draco's breathing as he stood in the kitchen. Alone. Even their owl was nowhere to be seen.
Where was Harry? Why had he left him in this dead house? Why hadn't he come back? Why hadn't he come to bed? Why had he left?
Anger washed over him briefly. Harry had abandoned him, he told himself. When he'd needed him most, Harry had left him. How could he do that to Draco?
But he knew. Hadn't he told Harry that he hadn't needed him countless times? That he didn't even want him? Once. Only the once. But that had been enough. Harry was gone and it was his fault. Harry might not come back and it was his fault.
Despair tinged the edges of his anger and he had to fight to hold onto the fury. If he gave it up, he'd break down. And grown men did not have emotional breakdowns. That's what his father had always taught him and he repeated the words in his head like a mantra. But it wasn't working very well.
He stumbled towards the dining table by the window to sink into a chair, his legs suddenly unsteady. His eyes were burning and his chest was even tighter than it'd been after his tussle with the bed clothes. He rubbed at his face as if to wipe the anguish away-and failed.
Papers littered the tabletop and Draco's gaze flowed over them absently while he tried to regain his composure. Tears were filling his eyes and distorting his vision but he still recognized his mother's neat, flowing penmanship on a bit of parchment. He snatched it up, his eyes clearing, and set to reading the letter addressed to Harry.
Dear Mr. Potter,
I must say I was surprised to receive your letter. Xerxes usually comes bearing Draco's letters. But I am glad to have heard from you, Mr. Potter. Neither Lucius nor I have received a letter from our son in nearly two weeks. We were worried for him. And correct in doing so, as you mentioned.
He has always spent Christmas with us, and our Draco is a lover of our Christmas traditions, so I do not doubt that he is not taking the abrupt departure from our yuletide customs unbecomingly. Naturally, Lucius and I are also aggrieved at not seeing our only child, but it is a small comfort to know that he will not be alone. We are very grateful to you for caring for our son during this time we are forced apart. Draco is more sensitive than he will likely ever admit, so your attentions will no doubt be received warmly. Thank you so much, Mr. Potter, for your compassion towards my son. I wish you both the best.
Happy Christmas,
Narcissa Malfoy
p.s. I have enclosed the recipes used for all our family Christmas dishes as you requested. The Elves were not keen on parting with them, however, so please send them back at your latest convenience.
-N.M.
Draco fingered through the dozens of recipes without actually seeing them, not sure what to think about Harry contacting his mother, let alone her words in response. Your attentions will no doubt be received warmly, she'd said. He looked away from the letter as if averting his eyes from his mother's disapproving gaze. He'd been anything but warm to Harry lately.
Shame bubbled in his belly and he had to walk away from his mother's kind words to Harry. He wandered over to the icebox to search for something to eat-he wasn't hungry but thought perhaps eating would distract him-and found the icebox stuffed beyond capacity with anything and everything one might need to prepare a traditional Malfoy Christmas dinner.
He blinked at it all. Harry was going to recreate his family dinner. For him. To comfort him. Because he was caring and compassionate like his mother had said. Because he loved Draco and wanted to make him happy. And what had Draco done in response?
I want them, not you.
"Salazaar's balls, he was right. I'm acting like a child."
A precariously placed tomato fell from the lowest shelf and rolled across the floor to bump against Draco's foot.
He laughed.
--
The last two days had seen Harry being passed around his friends like a wayward vagabond. He'd stayed that first night with Ron and Hermione, but they had final preparations for Christmas Day to make the next morning, so he'd buggered off to harass Neville and Luna for a bit. He eventually had to leave to let them get off to their holiday in France.
George had housed him for the rest of the day, entertaining him with his and Lee's latest inventions. Angelina arrived that evening, though, so he'd spent the night in a hotel to give them time alone. Charlie dragged him around for last minute shopping the next day, so Harry could carry his bags and packages for him.
Seamus and Dean had hosted him at their pub that night after getting him properly pissed, but tossed him out unceremoniously the morning after, because it was Christmas bloody Eve and Harry needed to get ahold of his own bollocks and go back to Draco. Downing the Hangover Potion they tossed after him, he went for a walk through Diagon Alley instead.
They were right, though. He really ought to get back to Draco. He didn't want his lover to spend Christmas alone, after all. But he wasn't sure how he'd be welcomed. Or if he'd be welcomed at all.
The spicy scent of pumpkin and coffee lured Harry into a café he'd been passing and he sat down in a corner booth with a steaming mug of the dark brew (minus the hair of the dog offered by the owner). Somehow he managed to muck about in the shop until it closed in the early evening-wasn't all that hard when his hangover made him doze off every time he sat still long enough. The owner didn't mind, though, since Harry managed to consume at least a dozen cups of coffee and a scone or two during his stay. Harry left him a generous tip anyway.
Out on his arse once again, Harry reckoned he ought to go home. All his friends would have had plans already and he didn't want to impose any more than he already had done. Besides, it was fixing to storm tonight and he didn't want to get caught out in it. Snow was already starting to fall in thick clumps that burst when they landed on Harry's cheeks.
Brushing away the snowflakes, he made his way to the nearest Apparition point while trying desperately to bolster his Gryffindor courage. He still didn't have a plan for dealing with Draco, so he'd just have to do what he always did: go in unprepared and hope luck was on his side.
--
The smell of roast goose punched him in the face when Harry Apparated into his living room. A fire roared cheerily in the hearth behind him and the Christmas tree tinkled with moving fairy lights that glittered off the ornaments and cast stars on the walls surrounding it. Through the door leading to the kitchen, Harry could hear someone bustling around the room, clanging pots and jingling silverware. Apprehension forgotten and jaw on the ground, he moved towards the sound.
Draco was covered in flour. It was in his hair, on his face, and all over his clothes. If he'd noticed, he clearly didn't care. He was wearing Harry's ridiculous red and gold snitch-patterned apron and was very precisely setting the spoons in their places beside the butter knives. The table was in the middle of the kitchen, Transfigured to be much larger, and heaving with all the things Harry had been planning to make Draco for Christmas dinner. Goose, turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, roasted potatoes, brussel sprouts, green beans with bacon, cranberry sauce, pigs in a blanket, chestnuts, parsnips, rolls, biscuits, and bucket-load of gravy.
Harry's gut rumbled as the barrage of smells wafted over him and he was sharply reminded that he'd only eaten a couple of scones all day.
"You came back."
Harry's eyes snapped from the food up to Draco, who was now adjusting the forks and meticulously avoiding looking at Harry.
"I wasn't sure if you would. But I figured it'd be tonight, if at all, so I made dinner."
"I didn't know if you wanted me to come back."
Draco's back straightened at his words. "Don't be daft," he commanded Harry as he stirred the gravy.
Harry almost smiled at the familiar petulance in his voice. Almost. His doubts still twisted his insides. "But you said-"
"I know what I said!" Draco snapped, making Harry jump. Gravy splashed over the edge of the bowl and Draco growled at it. He put the stirring spoon down and viciously flicked his wand at the spill before holding his arms at his sides rigidly and forcing himself to calm down.
After a moment, he swallowed and said more quietly, "I know what I said. It was out of line. I didn't mean it." He gestured at the whole room with both his arms and added, "Obviously."
"You did all this for me?"
"No," Draco said, scowling. "I slaved away all day to prepare this feast for Xerxes."
The horned stygian owl peeped from his perch on the windowsill at the mention of his name and eyed the goose covetously. Draco glared at the bird and, judging by a few conspicuous holes in the goose, Harry surmised that he'd already helped himself to it.
"I was going to make all this for you tomorrow," Harry said, stepping further into the room now that he was sure Draco wasn't going to throw him out.
Draco nodded. "I saw the letter mother sent you." He reached out to touch it on the counter where he'd moved it so he could set the table.
Harry moved closer to Draco, concerned by the yearning look on his face. "I'm sorry you won't get to see her tomorrow," he said quietly, touching Draco’s shoulder hesitantly. He leaned into it so Harry took the liberty of sneaking his other hand into Draco's and nuzzling gently into the soft hairs on his neck.
Draco sighed and squeezed Harry's hand. "At least you're here," he said in a whisper and then turned to face Harry, pulling him into a kiss.
Harry sank into the kiss, giving way to it when Draco sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and dragged his teeth over it. He threaded his fingers into Draco’s hair to tug him closer and deepen the kiss.
"Harry," he gasped, pulling away only minimally. "The food's going to get cold."
"Warming Charm," Harry said, licking the shell of Draco's ear.
"Xerxes will devour the goose if we leave him alone with it." Draco shot an accusatory glare at the owl over Harry's shoulder. Xerxes was unmoved.
Harry shrugged. "Let him. It's Christmas. And there's plenty of other food."
"Yes," Draco said, closing his eyes against the spikes of pleasure that shot up his spine when Harry rubbed his hand over the growing erection pressing against his trouser front. "There's a whole turkey even."
"Let's go upstairs." Harry took his hands in his own and made to lead him to their bedroom.
"Not upstairs," Draco countered, tugging on his hands. "By the fire. It's warmer." Also, Draco hadn't wanted to sleep alone in their bed, so he hadn't been up there to clean up the mess he'd made a few days ago. There was still glass everywhere.
Harry obeyed without another word, pulling them into the living room. They moved together, Harry walking backwards with Draco's hands in his, eyes locked until Harry was halted by the back of the sofa.
Draco pressed against him, pushing their groins together and coaxing Harry into another kiss. Harry clenched his fingers into the front of his shirt, anchoring them together and pulling the shirt out of his trousers at the same time. The drag of the fabric over his skin tickled the fine hairs on his belly and he shivered in the comfortably toasty room.
Pale skin exposed, Harry slid his hands up Draco's back and dragged his blunt nails back down again, earning himself a hiss from Draco. The sound drizzled over his neck where Draco had been laving attention. He leaned into, exposing his neck further, and moaned when Draco's mouth closed over his pulse point again. Biting gently and then kissing the ache away. His hips involuntarily thrust against Draco's thigh every time his teeth brushed his abused skin and he scrambled over every reachable part of his body looking for the best place to hold on. He settled on a shoulder and the back of his neck while a leg came up to cradle his hip.
Draco pulled away from his neck to lift him up just enough so that Harry was sitting on the back of the sofa. He pushed his knees open and insinuated himself between them, holding Harry's hips to keep him steady. He was taller than Draco now and had to lean down with his arms around his shoulders to kiss him.
"I'm glad you're back," Draco whispered as he set to work unbuttoning Harry's winter jacket, which he'd yet to remove when arriving home. "If you ever leave for that long without telling me again, I'm burning the house down."
Harry snickered but sobered quickly at the look on Draco's face. The tightness around his eyes belied the jest of his words and it wasn't lost on Harry. He pushed the hair off Draco's forehead and kissed the sweat-damp skin.
"You were gone longer," he said and kissed him again and again all over his face.
"Harry…"
"And if you ever call me Potter again, I'm burning the house down." He accentuated his threat with a tug to Draco's hair and a nip to the tip of his nose.
Draco snorted. "Then what am I supposed to call you when you're being stupid?"
Harry smacked him on the shoulder but relished the familiar smirk on his lover's lips. "I'm glad you're back, too."
"Well, obviously. You'd be lost without me."
Hopelessly, Harry thought when he considered how he'd spent the last few days. He wasn't about to admit that to Draco, though.
"Shut up and take your clothes off already, git," he said, shoving Draco back and hopping down onto his feet again to do the same. His jacket fell down his arms to the floor; he shed his Weasley jumper and the Muggle shirt underneath it, and started in on his trousers. Belt unbuckled, flies open, he pushed them down with his pants and stepped out of them, kicking them aside.
His cock bobbed between his legs, glad to be free of the restrictive clothing, and he sighed with relief. Taking himself in hand, he turned to watch Draco.
--
Draco never took his eyes off Harry while he disrobed himself. How could he? When every article of clothing revealed more skin and tantalized his imagination further, how could he possible look away? They'd been apart for too long. Too long since Draco had seen those dusky nipples and dark hair sprouting up around his chest to trail down to his navel and beyond.
The sight made his mouth water and he nearly forgot he was supposed to be undressing as well. He had to move quickly to catch up. Buttons taken care of, he shrugged out of the dress shirt and tossed it towards a chair.
Harry's cock sprang free as the man pushed his trousers down and Draco's own jumped. He licked his lips as his gaze focused between his lover's legs where his prick was wagging at him from only a few strides away. His hands stopped on his own zipper when Harry wrapped a hand around himself, stroking languidly. Draco glanced up at his face and found Harry watching him knowingly with twinkling eyes-the bastard.
"Need some help?"
"Hardly," Draco answered superiorly, standing straighter and looking down his nose at Harry's self-assured smile.
Harry shrugged. "If you say so." Wriggling his arse up onto the back of the couch, he let himself fall backwards onto the cushions-out of Draco's sight.
Unacceptable.
Draco stripped his remaining clothes off in record time and rounded the sofa in three long strides. Harry was sprawled on his back with arms over his head, his whole body on display. He smiled invitingly up at him as he opened his legs, hooking one over the back of the sofa and bending the other at the knee to rest his foot on the floor.
Draco's brain short-circuited. He was on Harry before he even realized he was moving. Their cocks slid together when Draco slotted himself between Harry's welcoming thighs and they both rutted towards the other at the sensation.
Harry tasted like coffee, warm and tangy on his tongue. He savored the flavor, reaching deeper for it and swallowing the whimpers he found along with it. Harry shook beneath him. His legs were wrapped around Draco's hips, trapping their cocks together in their embrace.
The friction between them built steadily. Sweat beaded on their skin, exacerbated by the warmth pouring out of the fireplace over their nakedness. Draco's heart pounded in his chest while his hips did their level best to match the galloping rhythm.
He heard Harry cry out, felt his release douse the both of them, but he didn't slow down and Harry didn't let go of him. He held on with his legs and rubbed Draco's shoulders while he whispered rambling endearments against his cheek, pressing sweet kisses to his sweaty face between words until Draco came with Harry's name on his lips.
He sagged against Harry and made to move off of him, but he was held in place by Harry's legs around his hips and arms around his shoulders, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his sweaty back. He settled where he was, slithering downwards just enough to rest his head comfortably on Harry's chest, and submit himself to his lover's gentle petting.
The food in the other room, along with so many other things, were forgotten as the two of them lay entwined together by the fire in the sparkling shadows of the Christmas tree.