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They wrestle their way into the hotel room. Draco manages to take his hands off Harry just long enough to spell the door unlocked and kick it closed again behind them. Then he's back in Harry's arms, kissing and stroking and pulling Harry's shirt and robes off. Demanding and expectant. Harry helps him, struggling out of the upper layers while trying not to lose contact. Harry moans into Draco's mouth as they collide again and stumble back into the warm room.

Draco pushes him off, gently but still inches too far away. Then Draco quickly divests himself of his own heavy dress robes, folding them across the back of the nearest chair and unties his cravat with a practiced hand. Harry forgives him for the few inches of distance between them if it means Draco's taking off more clothing.

Draco flicks his silky blond hair out of his face and tugs the cravat free of his collar with familiar grace. Harry feels the movement in his gut, a sharp tug of desire as Draco carefully strips off the layers of pure-blood impeccability. The silk necktie flutters to the floor and Harry isn't sure what he wants more, to touch or to watch. Who's he kidding, he just wants Draco. Any and every way he can get him.

"Like what you see?" Draco asks, smug and so smooth it's a purr.

"Yes," says Harry. The admission still takes him by surprise, even now. He's not sure he'll ever be able to fully articulate how much he wants Draco Malfoy. Luckily, Draco seems to get it well enough for both of them.

"Good."

Draco stands directly in front of Harry, holds his eye and starts unbuttoning his white silk shirt. Each button comes undone too carefully and too slowly, each inch of creamy skin more tantalizing than the last. Everything about Draco sends his heart racing and his fingers itching to feel. Anticipation builds under Harry's flesh, until it becomes near intolerable and he's nearly overcome with desire, so strong it's visceral. Harry struggles to breathe.

"Please?" Harry says, not even sure what he's asking for. Begging, already Potter? asks a voice in Harry's head. A voice much like Draco's. But apparently that isn't quite where they're going tonight.

"Soon," Draco promises instead of mocking, then he lets the silk shirt slither off his shoulders and drop to the floor, joining the cravat at his feet. Harry thinks his heart might stop next.

With his shirt off, Draco's pale skin and jagged scars turn a thousand shades of edible gold in the candle light. Harry is already naked from the waist up, so now they match as much as they ever do, Harry's dark skin and reckless hair a constant contrast to Draco's pale elegance. There's something about that which is even more alluring because of it, the differences bringing them closer than their similarities ever have.

Just when Harry thinks he might die from the anticipation, Draco steps up close again.

"I won and now I want to admire my prize, Potter. That's you, in case you forgot. My very own Saviour, naked and begging for it."  

Draco's voice hits that drawling and spoiled schoolboy tone, the one that hits Harry right in the libido every time. Each posh syllable twists through Harry like a lust potion.

"I'm not naked yet," Harry teases, with false confidence. It doesn't work, he's already breathless and obvious. Draco's smug smile just proves it.

"Hmmm, and why is that?"

Draco grabs Harry by his belt and tugs them even closer. Harry gasps and what little breath he had left is lost when they touch. Hip to hip, chest to chest, scar to scars, and Draco kisses him, so soft it's barely there.

Despite the endless tease, Harry can feel Draco's erection pressing into his own where their bodies meet. He moans, he wants that cock in his hands, or his mouth, or maybe somewhere deeper if Draco lets him. He wants it all, and he wants it so much he doesn't know where to start.

"Far too many clothes, Potter," Draco says, snatching him back into the moment and saving him from his own indecision. "I need you naked if you're going to fuck me into next week."

Draco still calls him Potter, even after… everything. It still sends a shiver down Harry's spine, every damn time too. A thrill of recognition and nostalgia so deep it's part of him.

He doesn't actually wait for Harry to react. Draco starts unbuckling Harry's belt himself while distracting them both with more of those too soft and too sweet kisses on Harry's throat. Draco pulls the belt free and tosses it across the room. It hits something with a clattering sound and neither of them bothers to look away, too lost in each other and the exquisite tension building between them.

"You look so good like this, Potter." Draco speaks so quietly it could be a whisper. So quietly it might get lost, if Harry let it. "Just perfect."

He follows his words with his hands, running them over Harry's desperate skin, feeling every inch of him and gripping him tight enough to hold them both together. He kisses Harry's neck again, just there, right where he knows it makes Harry shudder. Harry gasps again and thinks he might break apart. Just being this close is too much and not enough.

Draco kisses him, slow and deep and luxurious.

Harry isn't sure how everything fell back to this excruciating pace. They'd been near frantic on their kiss-broken rush back to the hotel room; grinding against each other like the desperate teenagers neither of them got to be. Then Draco started something else, with his voice and his pacing and his heartbreakingly incomplete striptease and here they are. Where they always end up. Half way naked and panting. Harry lost and breathing in the intoxicating scent of Draco's cologne and skin and-

Draco steps away again, too far and too sudden. Harry is stranded in the middle of the poorly lit but expensively decorated hotel room. Harry blinks at him and Draco winks and smiles at Harry's confused expression.

"Wha-" Harry starts to speak.

"Trousers off, Potter," Draco says in a voice which brooks no argument. He crosses his arms and raises a single eyebrow, the very picture of arrogant expectation. "I need you naked, remember?"

Harry whimpers and rushes to comply. He drops his trousers and pants in one bold manoeuvre, gets it over with before he can overthink it. No matter how many times they do this, no matter how many times Draco has stripped him bare in more ways than one, Harry still gets nervous. Especially when it's slow and thought out. He's never known what to do when he's put on show, always scared he'll mess it all up. Part of him still waits for rejection, even now.

"Fuck yes, you gorgeous thing." Draco's voice is so full of awe Harry doesn't know what to do with it. Doesn't know how to deal with all that desire, all that wonder, when it's directed at him and he wants it. Merlin, how he wants it.

Harry feels himself blushing, hopes it isn't too obvious in the low light, but finally gets his trousers off. He steps free of the fabric and stumbles, shoes still on. Tripping himself better than any jinx Draco has thrown at him. Draco catches him by the elbows, and grins again, the smug bastard.

Once Harry has caught his balance, Draco slides to his knees with infuriating grace.

"Allow me," he says, in that cocky drawl. The one that gets right into Harry's blood. He kisses Harry's hip bone and Harry's cock twitches with unrealised expectation.

He looks up at Harry through golden lashes and Harry feels even more lost in Draco's eyes. He wraps both hands around one of Harry's thighs and drags his fingers down Harry's leg with agonisingly clear intention. Harry lets him, even though he wants to scream for more. Because it'll be worth it. It's always worth it. Somehow Harry feels even more exposed, with Draco on his knees. Something about looking down at the man he normally needs to tilt his head upward to kiss. Draco, penitent before him yet still totally in control. It reminds him viscerally of the first time Draco sucked him off, and makes Harry want so many things he's never learned to name. He tries very hard to keep breathing.

Draco helps Harry out of his shoes and socks, watching him the whole time. Hands delicate and warm on Harry's skin.

"Merlin, Potter, your cock ."

Something in Harry's gut clenches -- all this raw lust is almost too much. Harry risks the very edge of a smile. Harry finds himself assured by the lack of half-expected rejection -- even now, he's still thrilled when Draco wants him back.

"You have seen it before," Harry manages to say, half mocking and half pride. Too fragile to hide behind.

"I know." Draco smirks up at him, something playful and dangerous in his eye. "And it never stops surprising me. I don't think you'll ever stop surprising me."

Harry swallows. He feels even more naked than he is when Draco looks at him like that. Talks to him like that. Draco's voice caresses Harry's skin, just as sensual as his touch.

"This," Draco strokes him, the very edge of a caress ghosting past his prick before travelling up to rest on his hip. "Is going to feel fantastic inside me."

Draco traces the hard line of Harry's cock with the very tip of his tongue. Just once and so lightly Harry shivers and wants to cry.

Draco doesn't just stand, he flows back to his feet. Smug and fucking perfect.

"Now, let me admire the rest of you," Draco says with all the imperiousness he's ever possessed. "Can you do that, Potter?"

Harry is tempted to rebel but he nods instead. Draco stalks around him in a deliberately predatory circle, that wicked smirk curling his lips and pinning Harry in place more than the request. Harry bites his lip and stands as still as he can. Trying not to tremble. Draco's fingers trail softly over Harry's bare waist then up over his shoulder, leaving a line of hot anticipation in their wake. He lays his hands on Harry like an earthing wire, keeping them connected and retaining all of Harry's focus right on him. Harry watches him as though they're dueling: careful and close and waiting for the next move. He tries very hard not to flinch under Draco's scrutiny.

"You are gorgeous like this," Draco tells him, "the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen."

It's as if Draco's never seen himself. The twitch of Draco's smile makes Harry wonder if he said that aloud even though he knows he didn't. Maybe his adoration is simply written on his face.

Harry fights a losing battle with another blush, flexes his fingers, straightens his back and resists the urge to cover himself or hide. Draco halts his progress, one hand on Harry's hip while he leans over the opposite shoulder. His contact is still feather-light, barely there and maddening. His voice equally smooth and unrelentingly seductive. Harry reminds himself to breathe.

"Good boy," Draco says, smug because he knows how Harry's going to react. "Such a very good boy, Potter."

Harry feels the words all over. Warm and glowing, and Godric that's embarrassing but it works anyway. Harry bites his lip, the light sting of pain holding back the inevitable submission. Draco's praise, no matter how uncomfortable the implication, wends its way through him better than a warming charm. It heats places he didn't even know he had before Draco unearthed them, places he didn't know were cold.

Draco drops another too chaste kiss on Harry's shoulder before he starts walking around him again. A seductive circle, examining every ounce of Harry's exposed skin and drinking him in. Sizing him up, and despite himself Harry still expects to be found wanting. Draco never lets him think that for long, not anymore. He's still touching, lighter than a spell. Each careful sweep of skin chased by aching heat.

"You've got no idea how good you look, do you?" Draco asks. "So bloody gorgeous, Potter. Your skin, the way you move." Draco's voice drops into a husky register that echoes in Harry's blood, shuddering and nameless and primal. "Merlin, you're blushing, I can feel it." Draco squeezes Harry's waist slightly, for emphasis, where his hand momentarily rests. "You're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen, and you always will be."

The pure honest truth in Draco's voice burns Harry like Fiendfyre and leaves him gasping even though Draco is still hardly even touching him. Each caress and every touch a reminder of something more to come, only ever almost close enough. He winds Harry up slowly like a mechanical toy. Harry doesn't mind as long as he knows he's Draco's favourite mixed metaphor. Broken and needy and being slowly, so slowly, being pieced back together.

"You'll look even better fucking me so deep I can't feel anything else, can't think or see or know anything but you, Potter." Draco's voice is still too stable when Harry's about to come just from this. "You always look like you've just had the shag of your life, but this time you're really going to. You're going to slide into me, and you're going to be so good to me, Potter. Fill me up with this perfect fucking cock. Sinking into all that tight, wet, heat -- you want that, don't you?"

"Yes," Harry makes himself respond. If he doesn't Draco will just drag it out even further. The satisfied curl of Draco's smile is worth the effort, anyway. Always is.

"Good."

It has the same effect it always does. The sheer pride leaves him shivering. Draco rewards him with another smoldering kiss that's over far too soon.

Draco stands directly in front of him and smiles, wicked and promising.

"Touch me," Draco tells him. Part permission and part command. God, Harry's never been good at taking orders, but these are the ones he wants to obey.

"Touch my skin, Potter." Draco says it like a prophecy, like ritual magic or prayer. Irresistible and irrevocably powerful.

Harry reaches out, hesitant at first, crossing the scant inches left between them. He trails his fingers soft and softer still over Draco's chest. Harry has a love and hate relationship with Draco's scars. They're sensitive and spider-silk smooth. Draco's breath catches, and holds, and for a moment Harry's sure Draco will push him away. No matter how many times he doesn't, Harry can't quite believe that he's really allowed to do this. Forgiveness hurts almost as much as fear.

"Touch me like you want to, Potter. You know what to do, just what to do, just do it."

Harry follows his hands with himself. Presses up close to the solid line of Draco's strength holding on as if there's a chance Draco might still run away. There's something unfathomably erotic about Harry's bare body on Draco's half-dressed one. Something tender and fresh and aching. He's trapped his hand between them, aimlessly stroking one of the more vivid gashes over Draco's ribs. His other hand runs up Draco's side and Draco stretches into his touch. His hands are broad and rough on Draco's precious flesh, scratching over the delicate lines of his bones. He brushes one too-clumsy thumb across the flushed pink nub of Draco's nipple and Draco gasps, like a gift.

"Just like that." Draco's voice is milk and honey. Harry thinks he might drown in it.

"Like this?" Harry dares to ask, his voice is almost as coarse as his hands. He rubs Draco's nipple again, close enough to tease, if he dared.

"Exactly," Draco says. Encouraging and teasing all at once. "Like that." Almost breathless. "Such a very good boy, Potter."

Harry does it again. Listening for the edge of a moan on Draco's breath. They press together and Harry gives in to all the temptation and allows his hands to roam across Draco's silken skin. Pulls in closer to feel Draco's chest on his. And the way Draco responds is everything he wants and doesn't know how to ask for. He's not sure if it's the feeling of warm flesh or Draco's reaction he loves more.

The fact that Draco wants him back still catches Harry off guard sometimes, still seems improbable and utterly unattainable. Yet here he is, so close that he's everything Harry can see and feel. Everything Harry wants right there, close enough to taste. Here he is pressing back into Harry's touch, wanting him back and telling him he's good at it. It's enough to cut Harry open like Sectumsempra . Sometimes being this close to Draco makes Harry feel like he's bleeding out, light headed, adrift and aching. Then Draco brings him back from the edge, with his tantalising words and indulgent touch.

Draco rolls his hips, and Harry can feel him, hard and ready against Harry's hip. Harry wants him so badly it hurts.

"Please?" Harry says for the second time tonight.

"As if I'd say no, Potter. Do you have any idea how much I want you right now?"

Harry doesn't answer. Isn't sure he can. He shakes his head, just a fraction. At least Draco doesn't make him say it.

"Kiss me," Draco commands instead.

Harry moves to take Draco's lips but Draco tilts his head back and slips out of reach, like the snake he is. Offers his throat instead, an inviting stretch of creamy skin offered up for Harry's inexpert ministrations. Harry whimpers, because he wants Draco's lips and tongue, but he accepts Draco's offering for the indulgence it is. Because if Draco's lips are free he'll keep talking, keep guiding them both right to the edge of everything Harry doesn't know how to ask for. He's aware of his own heart, fluttering like a snitch behind his ribs and his pulse a runaway Thestral in his veins.

"Just like that," Draco says again. Soothing him, goading him, a dare and a promise. Harry does it again, bite and lick, kiss and taste.

Draco's hands find Harry's arse and squeeze, yet another temptation. Draco pulls their hips into a better alignment and rewards each of Harry's kisses with a thrust of his hips. Harry's prick scratches against the fine wool of Draco's trousers. Hard and neglected and just as eager for Draco's touch as every other part of him. He's leaving a trail of desperation on the front of Draco's incredibly expensive slacks, but if Draco isn't complaining then Harry isn't stopping.

"You are so good with your tongue," Draco tells him. "That feels so good, just there…"

Harry can feel the blush heating him up as much as Draco's voice. Can't help smiling into Draco's neck and feels himself flush even deeper when Draco chuckles. Before they started shagging Harry had never heard Draco's actual laugh. Never even knew that he had more than one. Now Harry knows them all like old friends who bring comfort even when they don't need to. There's no mockery in this particular laugh. It is warm and dark and full of shared secrets. Skin and joy kind of secrets.

Harry almost turns away, flustered by his own reactions again, almost breaks contact but Draco doesn't let him. One of his dextrous hands leaves Harry's arse bereft but finds Harry's jaw instead. He pulls Harry's face up to meet his own and they kiss like there's nothing else between them. They kiss like drowning and dying and waking from a dream. When it ends, all too soon, it leaves Harry off balance and blissful.

Draco looks him dead in the eye this time. Harry can't name the colour of Draco's eyes. Grey just doesn't do them justice -- silver shot with storm-clouds is the closest he can find.

"You," Draco says, with the kind of precision he normally reserves for the most difficult potions. "Are so very good with your tongue. I love the way you make me feel; you're always so eager to please. I'm going to let you lick every inch of me, if you want to. You are so damn good to me, Potter."

Harry wants to look away but Draco's hand is still on his face. His touch so light that Harry dare not break it. More irresistible than any Imperius, more controlling than any chain or Incarcerous has ever held him. Harry bites his lip, not sure what to say and brought back to himself by the slight sting of pain. Draco just keeps looking. Harry's lungs hurt from holding back the denial on the tip of his tongue.

Just when it's too much Draco kisses him, hard and bruising and perfect. Harry melts into it. Yields and holds on and kisses back with all his endless desperation. Brutally, blissfully real.

Draco's hands are finally roving over him with genuine and possessive sincerity. Grasping and grabbing and digging into Harry's flesh. As if the dam has broken and now he needs Harry, just as much as Harry needs him. Harry grips him back, holds Draco's hips and grinds against him, seeking friction and release that he knows won't come yet but losing himself in Draco's passion anyway. They are locked in a profound and all-consuming kiss. Harry doesn't want it to end, wants to surrender himself into that kiss and never come back.

Draco shoves him off, sharp and shocking. Leaves Harry gasping and wanting and suddenly too cold. Harry is getting very sick of all this distance, and stopping, and practical considerations.

"Bed, Potter." Draco finally sounds affected, just as needy and breathless as he makes Harry. " Now ."

The growl in Draco's voice gets Harry moving.

He fumbles once, tumbling rather than leaping into the massive four-poster bed. Draco laughs again, lust-rough and sensual. Draco finally--finally--removes his trousers while Harry watches, helplessly pinned by Draco's burning gaze and sprawled on the bed. Harry finds himself thanking every deity he can think of when Draco is revealed in all his alabaster glory. The graceful line of his cock is finally free of the trousers which have been imprisoning it. It's flushed and hard and Harry wonders if Draco will let him taste it.

Harry glances up just in time to catch Draco's eye. He's amused, watching Harry's fascination with open interest. Harry's treacherous skin flushes once more, hot and anxious at being caught out. Draco looks ravishing, as usual.

"Hi," says Harry, without thinking.

"Is that for me or my prick?"

"Both?" Harry grins back and shrugs.

Draco does the adorable thing where he twitches his nose while trying to suppress an outright laugh. Then before Harry can fully process it, he leaps on Harry from the foot of the bed. Harry forgets all about the nose-thing because Draco's bare flesh is pressed to his and they're kissing like their lives depend on it.

"You are utterly ridiculous Potter." Draco nuzzles into Harry's jaw and the open fondness in his voice is even more overwhelming than the rest of it. "Utterly, perfectly ridiculous."

It's yet another diversion, because just as he speaks Draco reaches down between them and wraps his hand around Harry's cock. Harry chokes, not prepared for the intense rush of pleasure and very aware of Draco's prick nudging up next to his own.

"You're so good like this," Draco says, then licks Harry's exposed throat. "Writhing under me. Fucking perfect, Potter. You were made for this. Made to be touched like this." Each sentence is punctuated by a flick of Draco's wrist and an arch of Harry's back.

"Please," Harry gasps past yet another rush of splendid sensation.

"Anything, Potter. What do you want? Just tell me and you can have it."

"You."

"How?"

"Any way you'll have me."

"As you wish," Draco says, with another wicked grin.

He bites Harry's ear before pulling back and seeking his wand. He finds it, from who-knows-where, and casts something which makes Harry's skin tingle even though it's not being cast on him. When Draco's hand returns to Harry's cock it's slick and warm and absolutely everything worth having.

Harry cries out, closes his eyes and lets the bliss of Draco's touch wash over him.

"I want you inside me, Potter," Draco bends in close and whispers in Harry's ear. "I want you to fuck me. I want to ride you like a Granian, Potter."

He waits, the complete bastard, waits for three whole breaths before leaning back in and saying, breath hot on Harry's ear, "May I?"

Harry almost comes, right then and there.

"Yes," Harry says, maybe whines. "Yes, goddamn you. Yes!"

When nothing happens for a whole horrible second, Harry opens his eyes. Draco is smirking down at him, knowing and smug and fucking fantastic. Dazzling.

Harry takes a breath to question the unacceptable lack of action, but Draco steals it from him with a mind-melting kiss. Incoherent and incandescent, Harry is incinerated by it. Consumed and disintegrated by pure heat, blown-away in a conflagration of desire and visceral consummation. Just when Harry thinks it can't get any better, thinks he might dissolve in a rapturous haze of Draco, they move, just a little. They shift and Draco claims him, body as well as soul. Before Harry can fully comprehend what's happening his cock has breached Draco's body. It's hotter than the kiss. Incendiary.

Draco cants his hips just right, little hitching thrusts of his thighs, drawing Harry in deeper and deeper with each movement. Harry sobs, actually sobs and throws his head back. Draco tangles his fingers in Harry's hair and guides Harry to meet his gaze.

"You're gorgeous," Draco tells him, more seriously than the carnal moment deserves.

" This is gorgeous," Harry dares to say as he grasps the perfect curve of Draco's cock. Draco laughs, Harry can feel every jolting shiver of it through his entire body. Then Draco is kissing him again. Harry twists his wrist just right and they're moving together, frantically seeking the same stimulating euphoria.

"Fuck yes, Potter." Because apparently Draco can still speak. Can still taunt Harry with his silk and satin voice while Harry shatters apart under him, inside him, because of him. "Just like that. You are fucking amazing, Potter. Just a little deeper."

Harry obeys the implicit direction and finds the strength, somehow, to respond. Bucks up harder to meet Draco on the down thrust. The sound Draco makes in response is incomprehensible, primal and wholly erotic.

"More," Draco gasps. Finds his voice again as they find their new rhythm. He's devastated and devastating. "Just, oh fuck, just like that." He's rambling and ravishing; Harry wishes he could focus on it but he's wrecked as well, shattering apart on pure pleasure. "So fucking good, like this. Fuck… the way you fucking feel…"

Harry surges up and kisses away the words. Not because he doesn't want them, but because he wants to hold on to the moment just a few seconds longer. His whole body is wound tight, his balls clenched up higher and his skin stinging with the magic of almost. It's everything he has in him to hold back just a little longer.

"Potter," Draco gasps as he comes. Hot and slick over Harry's hand, and his body clenches, tight and quivering. Harry whimpers too.

Harry comes hard and shuddering, one final thrust, one final blissful release. The sound he makes is bitten short as he bites Draco's shoulder. Every last line of tension unfolds, for three wondrous seconds he's completely and perfectly free. Draco holds them both through the last throbbing moments. As usual Harry needs it, needs Draco to reel him back in as much as he needs him to help him free fall in the first place. It's so hard to let go when he knows what dying feels like; they don't call an orgasm the little death for nothing.

"Excellent work, Potter," Draco says, tone gently mocking them both. "Truly," he catches a breath. "Truly excellent work."

He kisses Harry once more, unhurried to the point of lackadaisical, then he tumbles effortlessly off Harry's prone and panting form.

They lie next to each other catching their breath. Draco lazily tangles their fingers and pretends it isn't as soppy as it seems.

"You really are getting rather good at that, Potter. Even if I do say so myself. Exceptional, even."

"Smug wanker," Harry says, can't really get up much accusation when he's still coming down from such a spectacular orgasm.

"I hate to break it to you, but that was not wanking, Potter."

It's always Potter in private. It's become a secret, sensual thing, hinting at their tumultuous history even though these days Draco says it like a benediction. As if Draco can't think of anything better than Harry sodding Potter. When Harry had thought about what this might be like, after the war but before they fell into bed, he'd assumed it might be the other way around. He'd thought that Draco would only call him Harry in private. Thought he'd thrill at the sound of his first name on Draco's lips. But it just sounds odd. Now it's more normal, but it is a public thing. It's about distancing them from their history in public, proving they were friends at first then later proving other things too. So in public it is always 'Harry' or sometimes, in an amusing twist of fate 'my husband' as in 'my husband will hear about this'. If he really wants to remind someone of Harry's status, Draco might refer to him as Senior Auror Potter. But never, ever just Potter . That one is just for them, now. Harry kind of loves the way in which only he and Draco could turn schoolyard animosity into yet another kink. A constant reminder of where they're going and how far they've come.

Harry chuckles and Draco opens his eyes and raises both eyebrows in a silent question.

"Potter," Harry says in explanation.

"That's Potter-Malfoy , to you thank you very much," says Draco, in his poshest and most haughty voice.

"Don't," Harry groans. "We literally just had sex, don't do the voice."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, Potter. None at all," he says, in the exact voice he knows perfectly well pushes every kinky button Harry has. Draco spent long enough uncovering them that he better bloody well know what they are.

"I hate you," Harry says, without much venom. He's still not sure talking is the best use of his breath right now. Least of all if his husband is going to use it as an excuse to turn him on again.

"You love me," Draco corrects him with total confidence.

"That too," Harry agrees, amicably enough. Draco really is a smug git but he's right, after all.

Draco rolls over and kisses him, unhurried and lingering. "I love you too," Draco admits, when he gives up on smothering Harry to death with affection.

"Good," Harry says, then he draws Draco closer for another of those tender kisses neither of them quite admits to liking the best. "Happy anniversary."

"Happy anniversary, Potter." Draco pauses and gives Harry a considering look. "Although, it would be better if you ran me a bath."

"So demanding," Harry says, even if his voice is still too enamoured to sting.

"You like it when I tell you what to do," Draco tells him. "And besides, I'm sure I'll be suitably grateful. You'll really love that."

Harry sighs. It's true but that doesn't mean he has to admit it. He can already tell that Draco's planning to seduce him again -- luckily he can't quite find it in himself to mind.