Harry stumbled out of the floo, sleepy, tired, and hair in such disarray that he just knew someone would grill him about it. But he’d spent the last two weeks away from home, completing an assignment with barely any rest, and the state of his hair was the last thing he needed to worry about. At least he’d taken a shower before the brief with Shacklebolt, so he wasn’t stinking up the place.
He unclipped his Auror badge from his belt and removed his robes, throwing them on an armchair, and he almost jumped out of his skin when he heard shouting coming from the kitchen: “Uncouth bastard! How have you not taken anything from my side of the family?”
And then a high-pitched laugh carried throughout the house.
Harry followed the noise, wondering what to feel upon seeing Draco Malfoy, arms akimbo and sporting suspicious goo on his hair and a glare directed at the seven-month old strapped in a high-chair, gleefully waving about a small spoon.
“James Draco Potter! I teach you how to brew Draught of the Living Dead, and you thank me by showering me with your mashed squash? Ungrateful bastard! You take after your father!” Draco paused, reconsidering. “Well, your other father.”
James shrieked another peel of high-frequency laughter.
Harry followed Draco’s hand as he gestured towards an open Potions book on the table, then towards the baby who was a small replica of Harry himself except for a slightly pointy chin. With an amused smirk on his lips, he finally made his presence known, “You do know it’s your son you’re calling a bastard, don’t you?”
There was never really any malice delivered with what could have been an endearment, even though James was born out of wedlock and was, indeed, a bastard. It had been a standing joke between them, although they wouldn’t dare say it in front of Hermione or she’d never stop lecturing them about the proper way to converse in front of and talk to a child.
Draco started, eyes cutting towards where Harry was standing. “Potter.”
James followed with an enthusiastic “Da!” before throwing his spoon in Harry’s direction, smiling a soul-melting smile that captured Harry’s heart all over again.
“Hi there, guv’nor. Giving your git of a father a hard time, aren’t you?” Harry deposited James’ spoon on the table after picking it up from the kitchen floor. He ruffled his son’s already messy black hair before dropping a kiss on his temple. For his effort, James rewarded him with a sticky palm on his stubbly jaw.
Harry straightened up and turned towards Draco who was still looking at him as though he’d never blink again. “Hey.” He caught Draco’s nape and brought their lips together with a kind of naturalness that spoke of comfort in each other’s presence.
There’d been a time when teeth knocked awkwardly, noses bumped not just because of eagerness, and one took too much before remembering to give back, but that had been years ago, when both didn’t know and never thought that this was it.
“I’m home,” he murmured against coppery-sweet lips that told him Draco had been sucking on blood lollipops, and when he pulled away, he grinned at the thin film of mashed squash he’d transferred on Draco’s chin.
Draco inhaled deeply, as though breathing in Harry’s scent to re-assure himself that Harry was really there with him. “You’re all right.”
Harry’s grin softened into a smile. “Yes.”
“I missed you.”
It would never cease to amaze Harry how Draco was so open and unguarded in their home, so completely different from the prickly, distrusting boy he was when they got together seven years prior and even two years into their relationship.
It took them seven years of enmity to realize they were better off friends, then three years to understand they could make another kind of relationship work. It hadn’t been an easy road to traverse, but they were too stubborn to lose, and now, fifteen years since that day Draco struck a wrong chord at Madam Malkin’s and Harry turned down an offer of friendship in the train, they were living together and even had a seven-month-old son who was both wonderful and a nightmare.
“I love you.”
Draco’s eyes were suspiciously shiny, but he recovered easily, gaze darting towards James to compose himself before looking back at Harry. “Yeah, well, you’d be mental not to.” He frowned when he ran his fingers through his hair and came in contact with the gooey squash James must have pelted at him earlier on.
“By the way, your son needs disciplining,” he said so flatly that it made Harry laugh.
Harry sat on the dining room bench closer to James, settled his head down on his folded arms, and watched as Draco recited Potions ingredients to James while he fed the child, interspersing his admonitions and instructions with “You are cute, so I’ll let that slide,” “Think that’s funny, don’t you, you devil-child you,” and the occasional “You didn’t get that from my side of the family!”
Outsiders would most likely be horrified at how Draco talked to their son, but Harry could perfectly see the that the name-calling was nowhere near spiteful, that it was delivered with a fondness only a parent possessed, that Draco fussed too much about the littlest things concerning their child that it was almost a gross oversight to say Draco was a bad influence — Draco simply adored James, and given his history of familial loyalty, Harry knew nobody could be a better parent, notwithstanding Draco’s worries of his own parental abilities.
“It’s ‘wolfsbane,’ not ‘goo-da-da,’ James. Dada’s your dad. And by the way, it’s not ‘dada.’ It’s Dad or Daddy. Father, or hell, even Papa. Trust you to inherit Potter’s unique ability to bodge the simplest things.”
Of course, there was cause for worry still. He wasn’t worried about James’ talking skills because, by all that was sane, Draco was quite the talker and he had little to no doubt that James would be speaking like a grown-up — and probably swearing like a sailor — by the time he was two. No, what worried him was that his son would grow up with nothing in his head but Harry’s shortcomings.
But when Draco followed up with a “good thing I love you both,” Harry decidedly forgot to worry at all.
“Hell-spawn, eat your squash!”
Harry was shaken out of his musings when a sticky glop of squash landed on his cheek. Looking up, he could almost feel Draco’s pride as he eyed James as though the little kid had just managed to end world hunger. And James, the little perpetrator, was clapping his hands and pumping his legs like the proud little criminal that he was, rattling his highchair and prompting Draco to hold onto it lest it topple over.
“James, my beautiful Potter, you would make a brilliant Beater! True, I was hoping for a Seeker, but you could cream a lot of Gryffindors with your aim! Even as a Chaser, you will own the pitch, my darling!” Draco raved, suddenly unconcerned that their son’s food was fast becoming a projectile of amusement instead of dinner.
Harry shook his head, wiping his cheek with a napkin, and grinning at his family. “Impossible sods, both of you.”
Draco raised an eyebrow at him. “James is just saying you need a thorough bath, Harry. And a haircut. And a shave.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think you gave me beard-burn.”
Harry grinned unrepentantly. “Did James say you ought to join me in the bath for a little adult fun maybe?”
Draco hurriedly covered James’ ears. “Potter! James will already be breaking too many hearts when he grows up, don’t go giving him ideas on how to do them!”
Harry rolled his eyes. Draco was never quite hesitant to talk a little too vulgarly in front of their son, but this he fussed about. “Yes, because what I said was so suggestive.”
Draco glared, but it soon dissolved when Harry moved closer, ducking his head to suck at a point on Draco’s neck. “God, I missed you, Malfoy. And you smell awfully good.” Harry trailed a tongue up the side of his neck to nibble on his ear, and he all but preened when he heard the unmistakable catch in Draco’s breathing. “Taste even better.”
“Harry...” Draco whined when Harry retreated.
Harry didn’t miss the dilation of Draco’s eyes even as he turned towards James who was now busy finger-painting his highchair table with the rest of his food. “Hey, guv’nor,” he called, “why don’t we get you cleaned up and put to bed so I can have Draco all to myself?”
He always knew his son was so agreeable to his suggestions when James allowed what would have been a toothy grin had he gotten more teeth, and stretched out his arms as though asking to be picked up, but not before dropping his spoon again and creating more mess on the floor.
With a shake of his head at the mess and a “thanks, demon spawn,” he picked up the sticky baby and turned to Draco. “I’ll see you upstairs, yeah?” He claimed his partner’s lips once more in a kiss that promised something sinful between the sheets. Or maybe against the wall. On the floor. Or whatever surface they fancied once they had time alone.
“Okay...” was the breathless whisper he heard when he left the kitchen.
By the time Harry finished bathing James, they were both soaked and smelling like baby shampoo. He was dripping as he re-entered the bedroom, and he hurriedly laid James on the bed, took off his soggy shirt, and flicked his wand to take care of the mess because even though Draco didn’t mind making a mess in the kitchen, the bedroom was an entirely different matter.
He picked up the onesie he prepared earlier, chuckling at how it resembled Spiderman’s costume. “See here, James? For tonight, you’d be spider baby because we both know how that pisses off your daddy.”
He shook his head ruefully and James gurgled something that could have been baby-speak for screw daddy. “Muggles are still more creative when it comes to superheroes, you see. Unlike wizards and witches who still think an action figure made after me is genius. Seriously! It’s been eight years!” He carefully sealed James’ diapers after a more than modest amount of talcum powder, then he easily dressed him up for bed.
“Tomorrow, you’re going to be bat baby, and since I’m now on leave and Draco’s going to be back in his lab, no one’s going to harass us about it, aren’t I right?” He blew a raspberry on James’ tummy before snapping the buttons close on the onesie.
When he walked both of them to the adjacent nursery, James began to whimper even as he chewed on Harry’s shoulder. Harry tried to hush him as he summoned a feeding bottle. “You know, you’re a cranky little guy when it comes to bedtime. Are you teething?”
James fussed even as his eyes began to droop, and Harry thought that James wasn’t a very agreeable baby after all.
“You have no talent at all, do you know that?” Draco’s voice came from the doorway.
Harry turned to him and smiled wryly. Draco was still rumpled and shirtless, but he didn’t have traces of mashed squash anymore. He accepted a kiss from Draco when the blonde came over and took James from him.
“I’ll put demon spawn to sleep. Why don’t you draw a bath?”
“Okay.” Harry handed over the feeding bottle, dropped a good night kiss on James’ head, then went to do as asked.
“Oh, and Harry?”
“Can you stop buying these tacky onesies?”
Harry laughed. “Not a chance.”
Harry let the water run in the tub, holding a cup of bubble bath under the faucet to get the bath foamy, before muttering an incantation to keep it warm. The shower he’d taken at the Ministry didn’t do anything to relieve his tension and he was looking forward to having a soak, more so because he was sure Draco would be joining him. He did so miss the cheeky prat, and demon spawn, too, of course.
Since James had been born, both Harry and Draco scheduled their work around James, although in most cases, it was Draco who was available because he had a more flexible timetable; Draco had something against sitters and Harry didn’t like to leave James to the house-elf, so as long as they could avoid both, they did.
He peeled off his damp jeans and underwear, then stepped into the tub. He lowered himself until he was completely submerged. When he came up for air, Draco was already by the bathroom door, eyes never leaving him while undressing.
Under the light of the bathroom sconces, Harry could still see the faint, almost silvery lines of the Sectumsempra scars on Draco’s chest: he still felt a twinge of guilt every now and then even when Draco had repeatedly told him that it was in the past.
On Draco’s lower abdomen was another faint scar, one that could have been taken out by a spell, but one Draco insisted on leaving as it was because it “balances my body art” — Voldemort left him a tattooed scar on his forearm, a reminder of his foolishness; Harry left him curse scars, reminders of the weakness he’d overcome; and the last one was James’ when Draco bore him, a reminder of one of the few things he said he did completely right.
James’ conception had been an accident, never before seen in Wizarding history. When Draco had gotten together with Harry, much of the people didn’t take too kindly to the relationship, and that hadn’t been a surprise as Draco was a Death Eater who’d once wanted Harry dead. It was a textbook act of vengeance: bad guy A gets less than what people think he deserves than bad guys B to Z so one of the adoring public gets an insane idea to wreak his own brand of justice. It would have been a funny kind of shop-soiled vigilante justice, except pregnancy for women is barely a thing to laugh at, let alone pregnancy for men caused by a curse that was only ever discussed hypothetically.
The dark and ancient spell was designed to ensure that the victims carried the pregnancy to term at whatever cost, only to kill both the child and the parent because there was no way a man, never provided with the right equipment in the first place, could give birth without assistance of any kind as the specifics of the spell prevented any method of child birth. Lucky for Draco, the perpetrator had been caught early on and the spell was unfinished.
For a few years, nothing seemed out of place, until Draco manifested pregnancy symptoms. No magic could touch Draco by then, but Hermione, although against termination of an innocent life, had sussed out that Muggle means proved able to get past the security measures of the spell because it had been incomplete. There had been a way out of the pregnancy.
Harry, for his part, had wanted for Draco to carry since a child is a child and deserves a life, especially when they knew a procedure, although Muggle, could be done to ensure that Draco could birth the baby. But he’d kept his opinions to himself, deciding not to colour Draco’s decision because, ultimately, it was Draco’s body that would be subjected to the strain, Draco’s mental capacity that would be subjected to trying to accept what it wasn’t designed to accept.
It had been such a surprise when Draco sat him down, listed cons that at that time overwhelmed the pros, and quite readily confided that should Harry not want anything to do with the kid, he’d accept it and wouldn’t dog Harry for child support.
That was as good as saying that he’d carry the pregnancy to term, and Harry had confessed that he’d wanted for Draco to keep the baby so there was no reason for them to up and go their separate ways.
It had taken three months of morning sickness, touch-and-go situations and numerous trips to St. Mungo’s before Harry asked what sealed Draco’s decision, and the answer came so easily as though Draco had been waiting for Harry to ask.
If anything, Potter, I’d do right by this kid.
“What are you thinking of?” Draco asked as he padded over the tub, breaking Harry from his musings.
A teasing smiled curved its way up Draco’s mouth. “Really?”
Draco joined Harry in the tub, straddling him, and wasted no time in pulling him by the back of his neck and kissing him with the abandon of familiarity. Harry groaned when their erections rubbed together. Draco tasted of squash, and underneath it, blood lollipops he’d grown fond of, and still more intrinsically, something that was completely Draco that more than told Harry that he was, indeed, home.
When Draco pulled away, Harry sighed and settled more comfortably against the tub, enough to relax the tension in his body, but not quite enough to make him forget the thrill of skin rubbing against naked skin. Draco washed his hair, running gentle fingers on his scalp, easing the tangles.
“Every time you come home, I breathe more easily,” Draco began, almost like an attack except his voice was still very quiet.
Harry searched Draco’s eyes, but they were closed-off, different from the expressive ones earlier. “I’m sorry,” he responded to a statement that Draco wouldn’t voice.
“Every time you come back to me — to us — I feel like saying thanks to all the gods,” Draco continued, caressing a new scar that extended from the side of Harry’s neck to just below his collarbone.
Harry had a successful Auror career, and although he knew Draco would rather have him doing something else, the blonde never argued with him about it, something which he was truly grateful for because he didn’t want to end up resenting Draco for getting him to change his mind about what he wanted to do. Draco respected his decision, and that was more than he could ask for.
All Draco had really always asked for in return was for him to be careful.
“Sometimes, you worry me so much I get furious. You make it so easy for me to hate you all over again.”
“I’m sorry. Every time, I’m sorry.” He never let his gaze waver until Draco dropped his guard and was honest once more.
“I know. All I ask...” Draco kissed what he was caressing, forgiving without saying much.
“Is for me to keep safe.”
“Yes,” Draco breathed out, blowing at the patch of skin he was licking.
Draco uncoiled the metal cord of the shower nozzle and directed the spray at Harry’s head, rinsing off the suds and giving Harry a mouthful of tap water, chuckling when Harry spluttered. His laughter echoed off the tiles, easing the atmosphere in the room; however, it broke when Harry bucked and he was fully reminded of the wonderfully naked body straddling him.
“Stopped you, didn’t I?”
Draco hissed as Harry moved again. “You fucker.”
“Funny you should say that.”
“I was being serious here!”
“You were, but then you started laughing.”
“Ha—” Draco was cut off when Harry dipped his head and sucked on a nipple, pulling a guttural moan from deep within Draco. He licked a trail up Draco’s chest, the pale column of his throat, to his ear.
“Move, Malfoy.” And Draco did, rocking against his cock, almost whimpering with need when Harry wrapped a hand around both of their erections. One of Draco’s hands tangled nearly painfully in his hair dropped to join his effort, urging him to pump faster, calling forth an orgasm that was two weeks due.
When they came, they came simultaneously, each other’s name a prayer on kiss-swollen lips, and Harry felt the after-sex sluggishness settle in his bones when the tide let up.
“I love you. Love you, love you, love you,” he whispered, trailing lazy kisses along Draco’s shoulder as the blonde reached behind him for one of their wands. He felt the tingle of magic creep along his skin when Draco chose to magically change the water, shivering until the Slytherin set the temperature just right.
Draco answered with a languid kiss on the mouth before he proceeded to wash Harry, soapy fingers kneading away on stress spots, drawing abstract patterns on a flat stomach, and stroking points until Harry was sure he was halfway to being ready for another round.
“You fucking tease.”
“Why, Harry, missed me much?” Draco smirked.
Harry rolled his eyes, manoeuvring Draco so the blonde was positioned between his legs. He worked the fine strands into a soft lather, massaging Draco’s scalp as gently as Draco massaged his, earning a satisfied moan that went straight to his cock. It didn’t take long for Harry to decide that Draco wasn’t all that dirty anyway and a leisurely bath for the blonde could be arranged much later. But just as he was about to voice his plan, Draco asked him about his mission, tapered fingers idly tracing invisible patterns on his thigh.
Harry knew by now that the action was anything but idle and the tone anything but nonchalant.
Sighing, he answered; Draco was never one to be distracted when he directed conversations towards Harry’s more dangerous cases.
He began rinsing Draco’s hair. “Serial. Even baited Muggles and caused a lot of problems for the Liaison’s Office. Apparently, the person who cursed you was half-brothers with Rowle — didn’t even know that the Rowles had an extended half-blood family, fucking hypocrite — and the family’s a madhouse out for revenge. Two other brothers and a sister and psychopathic pastimes and a tactician’s mind. Bloody ran us rugged four months prior to the two-week chase.” He replaced the shower head and dropped a kiss on the pale hair.
“This was that tense buzz in the Ministry, wasn’t it?” Draco prompted, getting the water out of his eyes.
“Yes. A secrecy oath was cast on the Auror division so none could talk about it to anyone who wasn’t in the DMLE, but it was lifted soon as the case was closed and I guess it’s good you asked. At least you’d be getting the facts from me.”
“How’s the press?”
“Well, when I said the oath’s been broken, I only meant it was for Ministry personnel. I suppose you’d still find your tongue literally tied if you tell even James.”
Draco sighed. “Just how deep was that new scar on your neck?”
“It healed okay.” Harry nibbled on Draco’s neck.
“That wasn’t what I asked, Potter.”
Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist, holding the blonde tighter to him, hating how tense Draco suddenly was. “It was nothing the team medic couldn’t handle.”
“Damn it, Harry! What was so hard about answering my fucking question?”
Harry took a deep cleansing breath. “I didn’t mean to be careless. I’m sorry.” And that said more than enough apparently judging by how Draco stiffened further, almost thrumming with an energy that didn’t seem to be too positive at the moment.
“Revenge, you said. Thorfinne Rowle,” Draco said the name as though it left poison in his mouth. “It all started with him, didn’t it? I tortured him, you know that right?”
“Yes, I saw. I told you.” Harry suddenly understood what Draco was thinking. “You’re thinking that if you hadn’t tortured the guy, maybe his family wouldn’t have gone over the bend. That maybe your pardon might not have angered them so much.”
Draco glared. “Of course not,” he answered defensively, but Harry knew better.
“It’s my job, Draco. I chose this. You’re not endangering me. You’re not endangering James. You’re not endangering anyone. It wasn’t like you had a choice then.”
“No, don’t finish that sentence. We’ve been over this. Yes, you were stupid” — he got a slap on his thigh — “but you were compromised, too. And I’ve told you before, I’m glad that family is high on your list of priorities because fuck if that doesn’t give me comfort when I’m away on a case. At least I know that James will always be looked after.” Harry kneaded Draco’s rigid shoulders until the blonde sighed in defeat and slumped against him.
“Merlin, I’m turning into a bloody Gryffindor!” He rested his head against Harry’s shoulder, turning slightly to favour Harry’s scar another kiss. “Why do you stay, Harry?”
Harry heard the unvoiced sentiment: It seems to be too much trouble to stay with me. “For the same reason you stay.”
Draco nodded, released a resigned breath, then smirked that familiar smirk from their school days. “The sex? The money? The envy of people for having hooked the Boy Who Lived?”
“Yeah, sure,” Harry wryly agreed, feeling Draco’s smile blossom against his neck. “I enjoy the envy of people for having hooked the man who they envy for having hooked the Boy Who Lived. Fucking nickname,” he added as an afterthought.
Draco grabbed the back of Harry’s head, bringing their lips so close together that when he talked, he was essentially kissing Harry. “You know I love you, don’t you?”
“As much as I know how,” Draco replied, voice barely above a whisper.
“I want you,” Harry whispered back, just as low.
Draco nipped at his bottom lip, then favoured him halting kisses that left him wanting more. “Then take me” — another kiss — “have me” — another peck — “I’m yours for the taking.”
“All mine,” Harry barely had enough coherent thought to voice his claim before he plundered Draco’s mouth, taking everything he had to offer.
“All yours,” Draco breathed when they came up for air, and Harry knew just what that catch in his breath meant.
It took a whirlwind of magic and kisses before Harry was able to deposit Draco on the bed, covering that pale body with his own and feeling that electric undercurrent between them that hadn’t waned in the years they were together. And if Harry were in the right mind to ponder things, he’d notice that the same current had been present even back when they’d been at each other’s throats — always dynamic, always explosive, never unresponsive and still.
Draco burrowed his hands in Harry’s hair, pulling him down, and Harry took to kissing Draco like a swimmer takes to water — seamlessly, naturally, a coming together that knew no bounds because in their home, safe and warm, there was no need for pretences, for barriers. There was no need to hold back, and Harry loved the responsiveness with which Draco reacted to all encounters: honest and complete.
Harry’s hands wandered every inch of exposed skin, mapping a territory he’d mapped before, glorifying at how Draco arched into him, grabbing at his arms, and Harry felt the action as more of a demand than an offer. He smiled as he kissed a path down Draco’s chest. Gone was the snotty bastard who didn’t know better than to lift the bench he himself sat on, but there always remained a kind of selfishness that fed Harry’s need to provide, and in that, they were balanced.
Give and take, and take, take, take because there was always so much more to give.
“Harry...” Draco moaned, basic and guttural, when Harry’s mouth reached his erection.
Harry took Draco in his mouth, and he found himself holding down the blonde’s hips as Draco instinctively bucked. He hummed around the blonde’s cock, earning a drawn-out groan and a string of expletives that was barely coherent. And Harry was selfish, too, because he gave in to Draco’s demand, attended to his partner’s wishes and pleasure because it offered him something. Something indefinable that thrummed in every fibre of his being and screamed that Draco was his. That nobody aside from him would ever know this Draco, would ever know him so intimately, religiously, every inch, every crevice, marked and branded, and for the first time in his life, Harry wouldn’t share.
And then he felt Draco scrabble for his hair.
“Stop. Not with— not without...” Draco’s words tapered off to a shuddering cry as Harry hollowed his cheeks and gave a last enthusiastic suck before allowing himself to be pulled up.
“Yes?” he whispered teasingly, licking a wet trail up sweat-slicked skin that tasted of salt and the faintly bitter after-taste of soap recently rinsed off. Draco yanked at his hair, causing him to laugh and cluck his tongue at the blonde’s impatience.
“I said not wi—” Draco was once more cut off when Harry sneaked a hand around his leaking cock and tugged. “Fuck!”
“Yes, we will get to that.”
“No...” he breathed. “No, not later. Now. Fuck me, Harry. Love me. Love me now,” he chanted haltingly between kisses, nearly incoherent from the sensations flooding him.
Harry groaned at the supplication in Draco’s voice. The blonde had told him once that Harry grounded him, an anchor when everything was getting too tough and it became too easy to lose himself. And Harry had preened then because it felt good to be needed — to be needed for more than what he could offer the Wizarding World, to be needed because the other person loved him in return and wasn’t expecting any sacrifices on his part.
Harry sealed his mouth over his lover’s, enthusiastic and claiming, and Draco responded like a man drowning and being offered a life line. When Harry ground down, Draco tore his mouth away from him, unable to restrain a ragged moan of need from leaving his throat. Too much heat, too much overwhelming sensations, and when Harry carefully turned him over, he was more than willing to obey.
Draco hissed at the opposing sensations: the cottony softness of the sheets that Harry always preferred over silk and the undeniably satiny feel of his partner against his back, searing and all-consuming. The lips ghosting over his nape and shoulders are like a branding poker, engraving Harry’s name on his very person, and when Harry once more wrapped a hand around his straining erection, he couldn’t help but thrust, groaning when Harry followed and nestled his own hardness in the cleft of Draco’s arse.
Draco bit his lip, trying to stop from coming when the man above him finally inserted a slick finger in him, exploring and touching on a bundle of nerves that had him shivering. And the constant motion, the constant rocking, had him keening, had him pushing back against the fingers now scissoring him loose, had him drowning in the heat of their lovemaking.
“Harry...please...” he whispered, breathlessly and brokenly, begging for something only Harry could provide because in the privacy of their bedroom, secured in the knowledge that Harry loved him, Draco didn’t care if he begged or appeared needy or showed that he wanted to be owned, to be part of something so big, so life-altering like Harry Potter.
Harry was more than eager to comply, swiftly but carefully preparing Draco, kissing the pearls of Draco’s spine. With a whisper against the pale skin beneath him, he surged forward and Draco steadily accepted the breach, reaching a hand out to grasp Harry’s hip.
“I missed you like this, Malfoy.”
The feeling of being filled to the brim left Draco speechless, so overwhelmed was he by Harry’s presence, finally home after long days of being away. So many years of antagonism, offset by years of acquaintanceship and friendship, then finally love, and the spark in every encounter, both in fights and in something else, never diminished, only heightened in this most basic way of communication between them. But there really was no need for words, just emotions, a push for every thrust, a groan for every slide, a hiss for every brush against that tiny spot inside of him, and a drawn out moan when Harry shifted their positions and Draco found himself on his partner’s lap as Harry moved to sit on his heels, the new position taking Harry deeper into him.
Draco reached back a hand to clasp the back of Harry’s neck as Harry sucked a love bite to the surface of pale, pale skin. And all the while, Harry never slowed in surging into him, filling him, claiming, selfish and undeniable. A sensate union that was never predicted, never imagined, but the unexpected event had been so sweet to discover.
A string of ah-ah-ahs was slipping past Draco’s lips because it was all too much, all too fulfilling, and he barely registered the burn in his thighs at the effort of lifting of himself, only to sharply draw back down and take Harry deeper, deeper still that every meeting made it impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
“Harry...Harry... Oh God, so good...”
“For the past two weeks, this was all I could think of, Malfoy. You made it hard for me to concentrate” — a groan — “I nearly got careless for thinking of finishing the mission — fuck — too fast so I could come home — Jesus, Draco, so tight — come home and feel this. Feel you...”
But Draco was beyond replying. He could hear Harry, feel the words like a caress on his overly sensitized skin, but his own words got stuck in his throat, formed halfway only to disintegrate into moans and groans and insensible pleas. But when Harry whispered an I love you against his shoulder, a different kind of shiver stole up his spine and he knew that Harry understood.
He could feel himself tightening, coming closer to falling over the edge, and even when his thighs burned from the exertion, he couldn’t keep from impaling himself over and over on Harry’s cock, not when he was so near, not when the one claiming him was the one he waited for his entire life. But Harry wasn’t cruel, and when his partner nudged him back on his front to the bed, he was glad for it, pushing back into the hardness already inside him as gratitude and feeling his mouth go dry when he heard the appreciative groan from the man above him.
He could feel it building quickly from the base of his spine, spreading fast and dangerous until his balls tightened and his cock leaked unforgivably, never stopping until it coiled so tightly in his gut, anticipating, waiting to be released. This was what he was reduced to when coupling with Harry — a writhing mass of desire, taut but pliable at the same time, open and all for Harry to do with as he pleased, and Harry never disappointed, too passionate, too dynamic, too willing to play with Draco’s strings until he was commanding every fibre of Draco’s being, strumming and plucking relentlessly until they were singing his name in equal parts submission and love.
“Harry...please, oh... Ha— ah, ah, harder... Harder...please...” he pleaded, almost a sob and nearly incoherent.
And Harry complied, snapping his hips, driving deeper and harder, pistoning in and out in a smooth slide that stole Draco’s breath, and on a particular downstroke so perfect, so timely, he came, untouched except for the slide of cotton sheets against his unbearably sensitive cock. His vocal cords worked, trying to put into words his pleasure, but the only sound that came out was a drawn-out groan, close to a scream, while he bucked and shivered, nearly violently with the force of his orgasm.
Harry thrust twice more, thrice, before he, too, came and swept Draco into the tide of his orgasm, doubling the spasms that were already wracking Draco’s body, and he nearly sobbed at the feeling of Harry’s completion augmenting his own.
He felt his partner collapse half on top of him and half to the side, and he instinctively curled closer, shuddering as Harry’s trembling bled into his own skin, both of their orgasms so great that he could taste it.
Harry peppered his nape with butterfly kisses as their shivering subsided, and he moaned when he felt the other man’s cock slip out of him with an almost obscene wet sound. Turning so he was facing Harry, he marvelled, even after all these years, at how much he fit right there, cocooned in the circle of his partner’s arms, pressed against the solid chest of the man he grew up hating only to end up loving so completely, and feeling a fluttering heartbeat under his palm when he placed it over the other’s chest.
“Had I known back then that it’d be like this, I’d have used my energy trying to get in your pants than antagonizing you.”
“Well, you were a right prat then, so I don’t know—” Harry hissed when Draco bit at the collarbone closest to his mouth. “I’m glad your violent streak hasn’t diminished through the years.”
“James slept here with me when you were away, you know,” Draco said instead, choosing to ignore Harry’s teasing. “He hogs the bed, just like you.” He shivered when he felt Harry’s magic evaporate the traces of stickiness between them.
Harry laughed, adjusting to accommodate Draco who was making himself comfortable squishing against his side. “He’s barely a year old, Draco, how would he hog the bed? And I don’t hog the bed; you just really use a very small part of it.”
Draco rolled his eyes but not exactly refuting the claim as he was mostly draped over Harry or curled tightly against him all the time and really barely occupied his own space. He’d always liked his comforts, and he hadn’t come this far just to lie in Harry’s face and say that the Boy Who Lived wasn’t his greatest comfort since they’d gotten together. There was James now, too, but that was a different matter all together.
“For your information, your barely-a-year-old son can’t stay in one position for long. If I hadn’t warded the bed, he’d have rolled off the mattress. Now that I don’t know here he got from.”
“Would you look at that, James is already his own person!”
Draco’s chuckle tapered off to a contented sigh when Harry began running his fingers through his hair, and the room was silent except for their breathing. He was already falling asleep when the monitoring spell they’d placed around the nursery started buzzing. He made to move and sit up but Harry rolled him over and dropped a chaste kiss on his lips.
“Go back to sleep. I’ll see to James.”
“Mhm.” That would be good in his opinion because his bones were still liquid and he wouldn’t have been able to support himself.
He burrowed in the space Harry just vacated and watched with bleary eyes as Harry pulled a pair of boxers from a drawer and padded towards the glass doors separating their bedroom from the nursery.
He must have fallen asleep, Draco figured, because he couldn’t remember how he ended up wrapped around a pillow when he was sure that Harry was at home and usually served as his own personal pillow. He felt the space beside him to be sure and true enough, he didn’t make contact with the warm skin of his partner. He sat up, feeling a little disorientated, and it took a while to notice the soft light coming from the nursery.
With a huge yawn, Draco got out of bed and donned a sleeping robe, wincing at the cold floor as he padded towards the nursery. He wouldn’t be surprised if he found Harry and James still up and playing because, for all intents and purposes, James was an atypical baby except when it came to keeping odd hours. In that, he was just like every child who thinks it’s their God-given right to keep everyone around them awake in the dead of the night.
When he slid the glass doors open, what he found, however, was a boxer-clad Harry sleeping on the big pillow in the corner of the room, his glasses still on his face and a drooling James sprawled across his chest. Huh. So maybe James did get his sleeping habits from him, content to neglect the huge space around him and squish against Harry instead and share body heat.
Surveying the scene, something bloomed inside his chest, which he’d probably never admit to outside of his head. For a moment, he just stood there, gazing at his little family which he thought he’d never have given his grave mistakes and his orientation. But there they were, dead to the world, drooling and filling his heart with so much emotion that he wondered how it wasn’t bursting out of his chest yet.
Harry was a blessing, undeserved as some might say but still completely his, and James was his reward for realizing his trespasses and doing something to redeem himself.
He took careful steps to avoid making noise and brushed Harry’s hair off his face when he was close enough to crouch down. Harry stirred, the ever alert Auror that he was, and blinked owlishly at him as he removed the glasses and set them somewhere safe.
“Hey.” Harry’s voice was hoarse from sleep and he canted his head to receive a kiss from Draco. He settled immediately, however, when James mewled from somewhere in the vicinity of his chest, not quite happy to be bounced around, the demanding hell-spawn.
“Hey,” Draco answered softly, gathering his robes around him before lying on the big pillow, curving himself around James’ feet and getting as close to Harry as possible. “I wonder why we’re not using the perfectly big bed on the other side of this room,” he continued, just as softly as he placed a hand on James’ back, feeling the warmth seep into his hand despite the layer of cloth separating their skin.
“I’m comfortable right here. Aren’t you?” the teasing tone was gentled by the yawn that forced its way out of Harry’s mouth.
Draco tangled his feet with his partner’s and moved his head until his nose rubbed against Harry’s lightly stubbled jaw. The pillow, although huge and soft, was hardly the best place to accommodate the three of them. His head was at a slightly awkward angle. James occasionally kicked and hit him, and trying to stay in Harry’s warmth meant he’d have to lie on his other arm, which would soon fall asleep and be a bitch of a pain later on. In a few hours, James would fuss and become like the devil incarnate until he was fed. Then there wouldn’t be enough time to get more sleep because he would have to wake up early anyway to get ready for work. Not to mention the bags under his eyes that were already too scary to contemplate without a concealment charm.
Draco sighed and curled his hand around one of James’ legs. He rubbed the tip of his nose against Harry’s skin once more, feeling the crick forming in his neck, before he answered, “Yes. Yes, I am.”