EXCLUSIVE: The Boy Who Lived… with Malfoy? Potter’s Dating Life Exposed!
@drarrymicrofic | wc: 550 | prompt: hesitate
“Well,” Harry said, the second Draco’s front door slammed behind them, “that went a bit shit.”
Draco turned on him slowly. “I thought it was salvageable until she asked whether you’d ever pictured me naked.”
“I said no!”
“You said no comment! Seriously, Potter, you were distracted the whole time.”
Harry blinked. “That was because I was picturing you naked.”
Draco stared at him.
“What?” Harry asked. “I’m only human.”
Draco made a strangled noise and swept towards the drinks cabinet. “I need something strong enough to erase the last forty minutes of my life. Possibly the last twenty years.”
“Bit dramatic.”
“Skeeter asked whether we were lovers, Potter.”
“She asks everyone that.” Harry dropped onto Draco’s sofa, sprawling deliberately, all messy hair and open shirt at the collar. “Also, you didn’t exactly help.”
Draco paused with the whisky bottle in hand. “Me?”
“Yes, you. All that sneering and ‘Mr Potter and I have a complicated history’ rubbish.”
“It is complicated.”
“It’s not that complicated.”
Draco poured too much whisky into one glass. “You are the one that hesitated first when she asked what we were to each other. Is friends not in your vocabulary?”
“Are we friends?” Harry asked, looking up at him beneath his lashes. “Because I thought you’d prefer me to say fuck buddies.”
“We are not—”
“What am I doing in your flat, then?”
Harry stood. Draco hated how casually he did it. He stopped too close.
“What am I doing here, Draco?”
Draco lifted his chin. “Being irritating.”
Harry stepped closer. “Try again.”
“Being impossible.”
“Warmer.”
Draco swallowed. “Being presumptuous.”
Harry’s smile was wicked. “You’re going to fuck me, are you not?”
Draco set the whisky down very carefully, face going hot. “For someone who froze in front of Rita Skeeter, you’ve found your tongue remarkably quickly.”
Harry’s gaze dropped to Draco’s mouth. “Could find yours too.”
“Potter.”
“Malfoy.”
“We are friends,” Draco said.
Harry laughed. “Right. Brilliant. Friends.”
“Harry—”
“No, it’s good. Really. Let me call Ron and ask whether he wants to shove me against a wall.”
Draco caught Harry by the front of his shirt and pushed him back against the nearest wall. Harry went willingly, annoyingly smug for half a second, until Draco pressed in and watched the smugness fade away.
“What do you want me to say?” Draco asked. “Since apparently you’ve decided directness is tonight’s theme.”
Harry’s breath caught as Draco leaned nearer, though not kissing him yet.
“I want you to say I’m not your friend,” Harry said, voice low, “I want you to say you were furious because I hesitated. Because you thought I was ashamed of you. Which I’m not.”
“You looked like you were.”
“I looked terrified because for one second I thought you might not want me to say it first.”
“Say what?”
“That you’re mine. That I’m yours. That Skeeter can print whatever headline she likes, so long as she spells boyfriend correctly.”
Draco forgot how to breathe, but not how to snark, because he said, “Boyfriend is a rather juvenile term.”
Harry’s smile returned. “What would you prefer? Lover? Partner?”
Draco made a face. “Fine,” he said, fingers still twisted in Harry’s shirt. “You’re my boyfriend.”
Harry’s green eyes went soft. “Yeah?”
“Yes, Potter. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Harry kissed him.
