Life, Draco had decided, rarely gave you what you expected.
As a child, Draco had imagined a life filled with affairs and intrigue, power and respect. His whole existence had been mapped out, as straightforward as the family tree that adorned the Morning Room in his Manor.
Just as his own father, and grandfather before him had preciously guarded their lands, wealth and the impeccable purity of their blood, so would he. He’d marry, Draco had imagined, an affluent heiress perhaps. He’d father a white-blond Malfoy heir of his very own.
This is your destiny, Lucius had said. So it was, so it will always be.
But War, a ruined family name, and a father in Azkaban tended to demolish such long held plans. Community Service had changed Draco irreparably. The spoilt, ill-natured and destructive young man that he’d been was sacrificed on the altar of experience. Prejudice rarely survives experience and Draco had seen with his very own eyes that the categories of pure-blood, muggle-born and squib made no real difference to a persons value. All that truly mattered was the content of a person’s character.
Draco enjoyed a quiet existence now, studying and reading. He was entirely content with the company of his colleagues at Hogwarts, his best-friend Pansy, and his boyfriend Harry Potter.
And, yes, of all the unexpected factors in Draco’s current life, the thought that he had a boyfriend, and that Harry was that person, was perhaps the most astonishing.
Draco had known he was gay since since he was a child, ever since he’d stared at the posters of Appleby Arrows players and wondered, frantically, why their muscles made his stomach coil and his heart flutter in arousal.
He’d repressed those feelings as a matter of course. There was no room on the exquisitely embroidered Malfoy family tree for a man who desired other men. Draco knew, even before he could elucidate the thought, that this was a part of his life that he needed to hide, oppress and reject. Tradition, Draco believed, was surely bigger than his own inclinations.
But meeting Harry again after the War had shown him what an utter misconception this was.
Harry had offered to train Draco in the spells that he would need to pass his Defence Against the Dark Arts NEWT. It was just a formality really.
Draco knew the theory: he could recite the textbook from back to front, but some of the trickier spells still eluded him. Without an excellent grade in every exam, Draco knew he’d never be accepted onto the Teacher Training course Le Fey University. He already had too many black marks against his name. His tiny dream of being more than his Malfoy name would have been squashed before it had really begun.
Harry Potter had been a tough task-master, making Draco practice Confringo and Incarcerous until his fingers were nearly bleeding. Harry hadn’t been happy until Draco’s Leg-Locker Curses and his Sponge-Knee Charms were perfect. He’d frowned when Draco couldn’t produce a Protego within five seconds, and had made him practice until he could bring forth the Shield Charm in a heartbeat.
On their very last session, a week before Draco was due to take the exam, Harry had wished him the very best of luck.
“I’ve enjoyed this, Draco,” he’d said. “These tutoring sessions. Far more that I’d imagined I would, really. I’ll miss this. Casting spells alongside you. Your company, too. Truth be told, Draco… You’ve been good enough to pass for weeks.”
Draco hadn’t spoken. The energy in their tiny, disused classroom had seemed to contract with a frisson of their shared magic.
Draco had looked at Harry, really allowing himself to gaze upon the other man for the very first time in their lives. Harry’s eyes had been luminous, a shining green that Draco couldn’t remember having ever seen in nature. Draco had taken a quivering breath before reaching out to lay a gentle hand upon Harry’s arm.
“And I’m going to miss you too. You’re not the person I thought you were.” Harry had told him, just before he’d leaned in to kiss Draco with a tender, powerful passion.
Draco had stepped backwards in shock. This was a part of his life that he’d waited forever for, and yearned for so clandestinely. Draco had wanted and wanted, and known that it was never to be.
And, as soon at their lips had parted, Draco had immediately regretted pulling away. Merlin! Harry Potter- the boy he’d longed-for for since they’d both been children- had been kissing him! And Draco, wretched fool that he was, had stopped him.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for ages,” Harry had said, for Draco was still to dazed to speak. “And I think you want me too. I’m not wrong, am I Draco?”
“Um-mm,” Draco had murmured uselessly. He’d looked back at Harry’s smile. The freckles that scattered in a constellation over his nose and cheeks, and those dimples that Draco had somehow never noticed before. He felt his heart skip a beat, and the last of his Malfoy prejudices shatter into a trillion small shards.
“No. You’re not wrong,” Draco had whispered. “I do want this.”
Draco knew he’d never been brave. That he’d never have an ounce of that spirit that the Gryffindors were so famed for but, for the first time in his life, he’d tried to be courageous. Draco had gathered up ever last raw nerve, and had kissed Harry back.
And it was as wonderful as he’d dreamed.
Harry had met Draco halfway, his lips terribly pliant and soft beneath Draco’s own. Harry had traced their outline with his tongue, and Draco had dizzily opened his mouth, deepening their kiss. Everything about the moment had felt heightened, powerful, and Draco had felt his whole body tingle as he surrendered himself to the experience. Kissing Harry was so much better than he’d ever dared to dream.
That had been three years ago, and Harry hadn’t stopped kissing him since.
The previous three years had been the happiest of his whole life, of that there was no question. This quiet, domestic world with Harry at his side was still the existence that Draco would have chosen had he been offered a thousand lifetimes.
Quiet and domestic living had, however, had a more unexpected side effect on Draco; a side-effect which had crept upon him slowly and assuredly over three years. He’d gotten slightly bigger as each year had passed. A life stripped of fear and anguish was one where the simple delights could be enjoyed.
Every simple delight, however, had added to his waistline.
Draco’s figure, once so waspish and svelte was now better described as soft and comfortable. His pert little belly poked out against his shirts in a tiny curve where they’d previously been baggy and loose. His bottom had rounded out, filling his trousers with a soft cushion of velvety skin. Draco wasn’t fat yet- far from it- but his old angular body, his hard lines, had been left far in the past.
Draco didn’t really miss his skinnier build, but those old prejudices were sometimes hard to shake. He often sensed his father’s mocking tone ringing though his head, hearing the voice of Lucius chastising him as a youngster while he took sweets straight out of Draco's hands.
“A Malfoy doesn’t get fat!” his Father had hissed, his furious spittle tracing a line across Draco’s cheek.
An experience like that couldn’t help but leave a mark on a person, Draco thought sadly. He wondered whether he’d ever be free of those angry, degrading memories. It seemed deplorable, somehow, to sully his life with Harry with such thoughts, such vile conditioning.
“You look amazing,” Harry had reassured Draco only the night before. His voice had been full of admiration. “You always did, love. But now you look healthy-”
“Healthy?” Draco had mocked, prodding his tummy and grimacing at the slight wobble that the movement produced. “I think you mean fat, Potter! I can see the headlines now! Death Eater eats Himself to Death! It’s inevitable, Harry. I’m going to be the size of a bloody planet come Christmas.”
“Always so melodramatic,” laughed Harry, pulling Draco close. “You’re just about perfect now… The exact right size to hold, to cuddle…”
Draco had snorted at that comment but he hadn’t pulled out of the hug. “You’re a fat-bloody-fetishist, Potter. Circe! Mother was right about you… Said you’d ruin my figure with your obsession with ruddy Treacle Tarts-”
“You’re not fat,” Harry said. “Look at your hip bones. They used to be so pointed. They’d leave bruises on my back when we lay together… Now they’re cushiony and comfortable. Shoulder blades that move under a padding of satiny, healthy skin. Ribs that used to stand out. There’re far less prominent now, Draco. Please listen… You’re not fat.”
“Malfoys don’t get fat,” Draco had muttered, half-heartedly, hearing his Fathers jeering voice.
He looked at his reflection, at the weight that had settled low on his body, a soft layer covering over his bum, hips and lower belly.
“And this one hasn’t gotten fat,” Harry said, snaking his arms around Draco’s middle for a quick cuddle. “He’s just gotten himself to a reasonable weight for his frankly ridiculous height. And can’t quite see how loved and delectable he really is.”
Hogwarts had broken up early that December, and Draco had managed to arrive home just before the entire floo system had collapsed. There’d be no visitors for a few days, Draco thought with a small smile.
The term had been long and arduous; parents and students alike had been challenging, and Draco thought idly back to his own schooldays. His teachers must have been saints, he thought, possessed of far more patience than he himself had.
A thick blanket of snow had fallen, settling over Harry and Draco’s North London home and the result was a world where it was entirely too much trouble to actually go out. The streets seemed muffled with a blanket of whiteness, and Draco set to work pressing warming spells on the living room and bedroom. He wanted everything to be cosy, warm and perfect when Harry returned in a few hours.
Harry arrived home exactly when he was expected, a miraculous event in itself. He apparated directly into their kitchen, miniscule flecks of snow still patterning his hair and shoulders. Harry’s glasses steamed up immediately and Draco had laughed, spelling them clear in a matter of seconds. His boyfriend had never quite managed to master some of the simplest spells, but that was no matter: Draco thoroughly enjoyed looking after Harry.
They kissed for a few moments, Harry placing a steadying arm around Draco’s middle. Draco couldn’t help but lean into the embrace, feeling all the stresses of his working week melt away. This, like their every kiss was as intimate and as loving as their first time.
Harry, Draco had come to realise, loved with his whole heart.
Harry’s kisses, and his touches were the physical embodiment of this love, and were as vital to the man as oxygen. Even so, Harry had brought the cold in with him. His nose against Draco’s was chilly, and his skin no warmer. Draco reluctantly broke their kiss, briskly rubbing Harry’s arms and kissing his forehead.
“You’re frozen,” Draco said, wiping away an errant snowflake with his hand. “You didn’t apparate straight from the Ministry, did you? Wherever did you go on a night like-
“I brought your favourite,” Harry interrupted, pulling several small packets out of his Auror bag. He placed them straight on the table, and cast an Engorgio with a swirl of his wand. The packages were Draco’s favourite Chinese takeaway, and the sweet smell of Sweet and Sour Chicken, Roast Duck and Cantonese Fillet Steak immediately filled their kitchen. “I knew you’d be hungry after work, and I can never resist your face when I’ve been to Springwater. You look like all your Christmases have arrived at once.”
Draco felt his stomach coil into a knot at the smell; each dish was so sumptuous and rich, and together they produced a scent that was just heavenly. He was hungry too; just a snatched sandwich for his dinner and that had been hours before… Of course, Draco knew he probably shouldn’t: a flash of Lucius’s disproving glare blinked though his head. Draco shut that thought down at once though.
This banquet was a treat from his beloved, and he was bloody well going to enjoy it. His stomach growled in pleasure at the thought of the food to come, and Harry caught the noise.
“Hungry?” he teased, grinning. “’Cause I can put it under a stasis spell… Make us both an omelette-”
“Don’t you bloody dare,” Draco hissed, levitating plates and utensils onto the table. “I’m bloody starving.”
The pair of them sat down, and Draco reached out to take the food that his boyfriend had so kindly brought. He enthusiastically loaded up his plate, filling it with rice, King-Prawns, roasted cashew nuts and Hors d’Oeuvres. His first mouthful was a beautifully pink piece of Sweet and Sour Chicken and a crisp piece of green pepper, all dripping with a wonderfully salty, lemony sauce.
Draco simply couldn’t help himself; as he ate he made a small moan of appreciation.
The food really was that delicious. It tasted sensational, and as Draco chewed he was rewarded with sweet, thick sauces, crisp vegetables and rich meats that all combined to make the perfect meal. He ate with gusto, pausing only to clear his mouth with a cool glass of water. Delicate, juicy prawns, fresh, sharp peppers and succulent steak all combined to fill Draco’s belly.
It really was quite the feast. Eventually Draco’s plate was empty, and he leaned back in his chair, sufficiently sated. He looked over at Harry, whose own plate looked sorely neglected.
Harry, Draco realised, had been watching him eat.
“You’re trying to feed me up Potter,” Draco smiled lazily, feeling full and satisfied as the rich food settled in his stomach “trying to make me chubbier than I am already. Bringing home Chinese. You know how little resistance I’ve got-”
“Hardly,” Harry scoffed, spelling away the remains of the takeaway with an Evanesco, “but I’ll admit, it’s lovely to watch you relishing your food. There’s no shame in enjoying yourself, Draco. You never used to let yourself relax. I’ll never be able to stop looking at you-”
Draco was silent as he considered his boyfriends words.
Food had always been such a source of anxiety before he lived with Harry; how much or little he ate, or whether his food choices were appropriate for a wizard of his societal standing. Dinnertimes as a child had been a destructive, devastating battleground.
His parents had monitored his plate like hawks, constantly on the hurt for sugary, fatty items. Symbols of a weak mind, his mother had said. Only choose food that reflects your status, his father had barked. Draco remembered long afternoons where he’d felt faint with hunger, his mind swarming with a pure fury and his stomach churning and empty.
Weight made you dilatory, made you a victim. Draco had listened to these words, and he’d believed them.
Draco had swallowed his parents words down to his famished core. In their three years together, Harry had listened to Draco’s panicked utterances on this subject so many dozens of times, but he’d never once criticised. Never once seemed bored with the topic. Never once tried to redirect him.
Harry had only ever been supportive and loving. Harry had listened without judgement when Draco admitted that he’d never eaten muggle food. He’d never said a word when Draco had eaten all the cake from their fridge, so overwhelmed by the freedom to eat the rich sweetness without judgement that he simply couldn't stop. Harry hadn’t even criticised when Draco had ran away from his twenty-first birthday party, too frightened by the little-known foods on the menu to possibly stay in the restaurant.
But now, after three years together, and a lot of hard work, Draco was finally started to see himself as Harry did.
As a person with a strong, healthy body that was loved and valued whatever fluctuations the scales read. Harry’s support had been consistent, his message unchanging: Draco was wanted for the person he was inside. It was Draco’s character that Harry had fallen in love with, he said, Draco’s sense of humour. His dedication, and his silent, indisputable strength.
“I can tell you’re thinking,” Harry said, looking back at Draco. His silence had stretched just a little too long. “I always know when you’re ruminating. I didn’t mean to make you feel self-conscious, love. I know I shouldn't say these things, that it makes you uncomfortable. I just love you, that’s all-”
“That’s what I was thinking about,” Draco admitted, swirling the last half inch of water around his glass. “How loved I always feel when I’m with you.”
He was silent for a moment, thinking about how to best phrase his next words. “Actually, I wasn’t uncomfortable with you looking at me. I was thinking about how far I think I’ve come… Father’s been on my mind a bit these last few days. Thought about him before we had our dinner actually. But it’s not affecting me the way it used to.”
“But that’s wonderful,” Harry said, taking Draco’s hand in his own and knotting their fingers together. “It breaks my heart when you knock yourself down. I'd never try to deliberately feed you up, you know that. Offer you food you’d enjoy to celebrate the end of a long-bloody-term… I might do that-”
Draco laughed, and pulled Harry into a kiss at his words.
Draco could feel the contours of Harry’s smile beneath his lips, and then Harry had opened his mouth wider, intensifying their kiss. His boyfriend had emitted the tiniest of noises when his tongue had swept against Draco’s own, and all the while Harry’s hands held Draco’s torso in a careful close embrace, reminding him that he was both loved and safe.
And it seemed to Draco that the two of them stayed in position, lost in a kiss that Draco wished never had to end. His mouth knew far better than his brain, and seemed unable to brake the contact. The pair of them were following a routine that they’d honed to perfection. Three years of lovemaking meant that Draco knew Harry’s body better than he even knew his own, and they shared a familiarity that was sacrosanct. Their relationship was everything to each other.
Even so, Draco eventually broke their kiss with a smirk.
“It has been a long-bloody-term, love,” he said, carding a hand lightly though Harry’s hair. “But I can assure you that there's other enjoyable ways to celebrate. Ones that don’t necessarily involve takeaways. I might even have pre-warmed our bedroom… I do so know how you hate cold toes, Harry. I couldn’t bear to listen to your griping-"
“Griping? Hmm. I doubt I'll be thinking about my toes, Draco… Not when my boyfriends invited me up into our bed-”
Harry pressed his hands against the small of Draco’s back then, letting his fingers walk slowly downwards, tracing over the curve of his arse-cheeks and cupping his soft hips. Draco sighed quietly, undulating under Harry’s confident touches. Draco’s whole body quivered when Harry skated his hand around his hip, and rolled his palm over the hard lines of Draco’s hard cock.
“Invited you up to our bed, and obviously rather keen on the way things are proceeding,” Draco murmured, gently rutting his erection into Harry’s hand. “And I can feel you are too. Shall we move things along, darling?”
“Gladly,” Harry said and he side-apparated the pair of them into their bed.
Draco had made love with Harry countless times in their three years together, but he had never once forgotten what a privilege it was to be intimate with a person that you truly loved.
Every time they were together Draco fell in love with Harry anew; all it took was a glimpse of his mussy birds-nest of hair, and his green eyes that seemed to gaze into his very soul. Harry’s lips were red and wet from kissing, and he stared at Draco with an overt, unashamed desire. Their mutual magic shimmered between them, as tangible still as it had been the day they’d very first kissed.
“Merlin, fuck,” Harry rasped, holding Draco close as they lay naked, arms tangled closely around each other’s bodies, “Just how are you so beautiful? Every single line of you is glorious.”
Harry’s naked body told Draco how true his words were.
Harry’s cock lay heavily against him, flushed a dark, excited pink. It was red at the tip, and sticky precome already trailed over his toned, sparely haired stomach. Draco simply couldn’t resist stroking Harry’s member, and he delighted in his boyfriend’s hardness, how exquisitely hot and ready Harry already felt.
Draco wanked him for a couple of strokes, firm and fast, his fingers all over Harry’s slit, gripping tightly in precisely the way that Harry preferred it.
Harry gasped at Draco’s teasing touches, his eyes hazy with lust.
“Stop,” Harry laughed, still bucking his cock into Draco’s hand, “You bloody fiend. I’ll come. I know I will! I won’t be able to help myself.” He made an ineffectual move to try and bat Draco’s hand away, but Draco could tell he was really enjoying himself. Harry finally managed to dislodge Draco’s mischievous hand by gripping him on the back of the head, pulling Draco into an ardent kiss which was nearly bruising in its intensity.
“Are you sure?” Draco gave Harry’s cock a final squeeze as they pulled apart, “because you liked my hands on your cock the other morning… Made you late for work if I recall correctly-”
“Only because I didn’t have enough time for your arse,” Harry rumbled, clumsy with the lid on their jar of lube. Draco had to help him with a wandless spell before it was eventually removed.
He got himself into a comfortable position on his side, primed entirely for Harry’s fingers to spread him open wide. Draco just adored this part of lovemaking; the anticipation, the sheer intimacy that were those first few raw moments after had Harry entered his body. Merlin. Draco felt like their bodies had been designed specifically for each others pleasure.
“Mm mm. I really like that,” Draco moaned as Harry’s slick finger made contact with his furled arsehole, slowly spreading the wetness around. His boyfriend slid in a single finger. “That’s so lovely. Please don’t stop.”
Draco took his own cock in hand, wanking it alongside his boyfriends loving preparations. Harry was always so good to him, Draco thought. Taking his time to make sure he was really prepared.
“I never have before,” Harry replied, and Draco could hear the smile in his voice. He pulled his fingers nearly all the way out, before pushing in again with two. “Still feel nice?”
“Oh yes,” Draco enthusiastically agreed, grinding his hips back against Harry’s hand. “Ready for you now, love. Ripe and open, ready to take your cock.”
Harry took him at his word, waiting just a beat for Draco’s body to fully adjust before he withdrew his fingers.
“And you always take cock so well, love. Always fucking incredible for me.”
Draco heard the wet sound of Harry lubing up his own cock, and then he gasped as he felt the head of Harry’s girthy cock push into his well primed entrance. Merlin, even after innumerable sexual encounters that first stretch still felt addictive. Draco loved nothing more in the world than being filled to the very brim by his beloved.
“Salazar! That’s so bloody wonderful,” Draco panted. Harry’s hips nudged against his rounded arse-cheeks as he bottomed out, stretching Draco wide.
Draco rocked his body up to meet Harry’s own, enjoying the squash of their flesh against one another; he basked in the smooth roll of his softer new body with Harry’s every thrust. Draco could feel his belly and backside ripple with the measured rhythm that Harry had slowly built up until he was pounding into him. And, Draco thought with wonder, he was absolutely loving it.
“Please… Please,” Draco begged, feeling his whole body shake with pure arousal. “I’m close, Harry. Please. I’ll come soon.” Every slide of Harry’s prick was edging Draco closer to his orgasm, awakening his body and driving him just a little out of his mind with need.
“Then come,” Harry said a little breathlessly, and he leaned over, pressing a kiss to Draco’s shoulder. “That’s the idea, love.”
And then Draco was coming, his climax a free-fall into oblivion.
One second before he’d been wavering, hovering on the edge, and then a second later Draco had felt it cascade though his whole being. It was like a pulse of magic that crested thought his very soul. In some dark recess of his mind, Draco was dimly aware that Harry had also orgasmed, his lover’s cock pulsing deep within him. They collapsed after that, a damp, sticky knot of arms and legs that grasped onto each other for dear life.
This, Draco knew, was true bliss and he wanted it forever. Sex had never felt mundane or workaday between the pair of them; it was still divine, and still so wondrously vital.
Draco lay on his side, with Harry spooning against his back. Harry’s body was musky with sweat, and Draco could feel the speedy race of his boyfriend’s pulse under his skin. After a few moments, Draco felt like he was finally able to speak. The reverberating aftershocks of his climax had stolen Draco’s words, but they were already fading into a sweet memory.
“Thank you,” Draco said, adjusting himself so that there was no space between his Harry and himself. He yawned quietly, letting a first wave of tiredness course slowly through his body. “That was exactly what I needed… The perfect celebration after a long term, I think.”
Harry pushed himself up onto an elbow, and looked down at Draco. His gaze was tender, and full of love.
“I think it’s gotten better,” Harry replied, “our lovemaking.” He ghosted a hand over Draco’s small soft tummy, and across his plushy hips. “You’re letting yourself enjoy sex more. Getting lost in your pleasure… Worrying far less about how you look.” He pressed a kiss against Draco’s jaw, and squeezed him tight. “And you look amazing.”
“You said that very same thing yesterday,” Draco said, closing his eyes and letting his mouth curve into a smile. “So you just keep on saying it, Harry. Then I’m going to have to start believing you-”
“That's it settled then,” Harry laughed. “I’ll tell you that you look amazing every day until we’re old and grey. How does that idea sound?”
But Draco didn’t reply. A long day, and the most superb evening he could remember had made him rather drowsy.
He deserved this, Draco thought, just as sleep overwhelmed him.
Deserved to allow himself to feel happy, loved and wanted, just exactly as he was. To feel as amazing as Harry believed him to be.
And, if he had Harry beside him, Draco had the feeling that he’d eventually get there.