Harry sighed irritably. "Draco, come away from the bloody TV. I knew it was a bad idea to get one, all the studies about it ruining sex lives and rotting your brain are true!"
Draco didn't look away from the screen, where a slim, black-haired man in a ridiculous amount of sparkly, skintight clothing skated and jumped to a song about poker or whatnot. "Johnny Weir is brilliant, Potter, I'm just going to finish watching this routine."
"That's what you said an hour ago!" Harry yelled. "And now you've watched all of 'Johnny Weir: Fashionista on Ice'and 'Johnny Weir and Lady Gaga: The Collaboration, Art, and Choreography!'"
Draco tore his gaze away from the TV. "Fine, Potter." He paused the DVD and sauntered over to the kitchen table, where Harry was sulking and their dinner was still steaming under a Keep Warm charm. He dropped into Harry's lap, wrapping his arms around Harry's shoulders. "You do know why I like him so much, don't you?"
"Because you wanted to be a Wizarding ice skater and used to skate on the pond behind the Manor when you were small?"
"Close--that's true, but it's also because he looks like you, Potter. Same hair, same gorgeous arse." He leaned in and whispered, "If only I could get you to wear the 'Just Dance' costumer."
Harry burst into laughter. "That gold thing? I'd look awful!"
"I know, but I'd love to take it off you," Draco leered.
Harry shook his head, grinning fondly. "You're incorrigible."
"It's why you love me," Draco said, and kissed Harry's nose.
"It's really not," Harry said, "but I do love you, Johnny Weir obsession and all."