What Draco doesnāt fully realize, is that Harry loves it.
He might constantly nag about his clothes going missing, he might complain that Draco never wears his own bloody shirts around the house anymore, and he might never even find some of them again, but Harry definitely recognizes the shivery, possessive heat that crawls all over his skin any time Draco does it.
His boyfriend has taken a particular liking to one of his old, worn Quidditch jerseys; and seeing how it bears the Gryffindor house colours, Harry is that more enamoured with the idea of Draco wearing it.
Harry loves how Draco brings the collar up to his face to smell it every once in a while when he thinks nobody can see him. He loves that Draco secretly switches the jersey for something else from time to timeāan unspoken hint for Harry to wear it for a bit, just until it smells like him again.
Harry just loves Draco wearing his clothes, how it practically screams āProperty of Harry Potter"ānot that he would ever call Draco that in the literal sense, itās a different kind of belonging.
It never fails to render him hot and speechless: Draco, standing in the kitchen in the morning, a cup of tea in his hands, wearing his jersey and nothing else. The shirt is a little too big, just loose enough to get a small glimpse of a pinkened arsecheek under the hem. Just big enough to show a little collarbone, a trail of purplish lovebites disappearing under the fabric. Lovebites that Harry left there last night as he kissed and licked and sucked every inch of his loverās skin.
In moments like that, Harry realizes that Draco is completely, irrevocably his, just as much as he is Dracoās. And Harry still canāt fully believe he gets to see him like thatādreamy expression, tousled hair, a soft smile, and that damned jersey.
(And, what the fuck, heās lovesick even when Draco is standing just a few feet away.)
It never takes long for Harry to just vanish the cup with a flick of his wrist, take a few quick strides, and Draco only manages a āWhat theāā before Harry is devouring him against the counter. He disapparates them straight onto the bed a few minutes later and the jersey stays on, rucked up to his armpits, the crimson fabric stark against porcelain skin.
Itās one of their favourite ways to spend a Sunday and what Harry might not fully realize, is that Draco loves it just as much.
Dedicating this one to @veelawings, my darling, tagging me in thisĀ was a Big Brain Energy move. No booty shorts this time, but I hope this Draco is absolutelyĀ āMade to be licked, topped and loved.āĀ <3
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