Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the work of J.K. Rowling and is not my intellectual property. I intend no copyright infringement and seek no financial gain from this work. This work of fiction is purely for entertainment purposes.

Sticky-eyed and still half asleep, Draco stumbles into the kitchen and stops short at the scene that greets him: Harry, a paisley apron thrown on over his joggers and rumpled t-shirt, standing behind the centre island and poring intently over a large cookbook. Scorpius, still in his pyjamas, is sitting on the island, clanging a steel whisk around an empty bowl as Lyra drools happily in her high chair. There are two bags of flour, one of sugar, a crate of eggs, three giant slabs of chocolate, a new box of cocoa powder and about eight different cake tins, all laid out haphazardly, and Harry's hair is already sticking out like it does when he's a bit harassed. As Draco watches, he scrapes a hand through it again, looking up with a sigh to gently pry the whisk out of their son's hand.

"Don't make a noise, Papa's sleeping," he chides softly, handing Scorpius an oven mitt shaped like a dragon's head when the boy reaches for the whisk with a growl of rage. Scorpius immediately stuffs his hand in and pretends to 'bite' off Harry's nose with his fingers in its soft 'mouth', while Harry solemnly stays in place for it.

"Papa's up, actually," Draco announces, with an amused rasp. Harry and Scorpius' grins are nearly completely identical as they look around at him and Lyra's squeal is so high pitched that all three of them wince. "Hello," Draco greets, tousling Scorpius' hair on his way to pick up Lyra.

"'Morning," Harry says, leaning across the island so Draco can peck him on the mouth.

"It's half past noon," Draco points out, heaving Lyra higher up his flank and meandering over to the coffee pot. "You could've woken me up."

"It was almost six when you finally came to bed," Harry reminds him, rifling through one of the cabinets. "You need the rest, you look dreadful as it is," he adds cheerfully, finally plucking out a set of measuring cups.

"Thanks, you charmer," Draco drawls, spooning an unholy amount of sugar into his mug and stirring. "But I did actually nap for a bit in the nursery before that," he tells him, dropping a kiss to Lyra's temple and gulping half a mug of coffee in one go. "And how're we feeling?" he murmurs to her, setting the mug back down to brush back wispy black curls from his daughter's brow and press his palm to it.

"No fever now, I checked," Harry assures him, cutting open a bag of flour and immediately wrestling Scorpius away when he grabs at it. "Scorp! No, Sc—!" He manages to pry off Scorpius's small hands, with their incredibly strong grip, from the packet and carefully brings the ingredients to the opposite side of the island. "Stay there," he says to Scorpius, flinging another oven mitt at him – this one shaped like a frog – and receiving a cheeky grin in return.

"What are you even doing up here, hm?" Draco asks Scorpius as he retrieves his coffee and makes his way over, gaze briefly dropping to the picture of an obscenely decadent-looking chocolate fudge cake in Harry's glossy-paged cookbook. "What, just because it's your birthday, you get to climb up onto counters like a little monkey?" He bends in and blows a wet raspberry against Scorpius' neck and Scorpius screeches. Lyra immediately screeches back and sticks a drool-wet hand onto Scorpius' cheek, much to his horror.

"Lyda!" he huffs, pushing her hand off and wiping his cheek on his sleeve. "No," he says firmly, holding up an imperious finger. "Is my buh-day, Papa," he adds to Draco with another snooty huff, and Draco doesn't know whether he's tickled or horrified by how much of himself he sees in that small, haughty little pout.

"Quick, spell 'birthday'," he deadpans, and bites his upper lip to hide his grin when Scorpius looks mystified.

"Such an arse," he hears Harry mutter on a laugh, and turns, lewd retort on the tip of his tongue before he abruptly reigns himself in and sticks his face back into his coffee. When he sneaks a glance, Harry is darting him a curious, thoughtful look and Draco feels his face heat some more.

"So, you're really doing this, then?" Draco nods to the general mess on the counter. "You're actually baking his cake yourself?"

"You told me I couldn't if I tried, so yeah, I am," Harry replies, carefully measuring out flour, squinting over the rim of his glasses. Then he throws Draco that open-hearted beam of his and follows it up with a wink. "You should've known better than to challenge me, Malfoy."

"Or maybe I just really wanted you to make us cake, Potter," Draco replies slyly, holding his coffee out of the way when Lyra reaches for it.

"Either way," Harry laughs. "Oh, shit, I forgot to let the butter soften," he hisses suddenly, darting over to the fridge.

"Shit!" Scorpius chimes at once and Draco hears Harry curse under his breath again.

"Scorpius, you aren't to say that word," Draco says lamely, valiantly trying not to give into the laughter bubbling up.

"Shit!"

"Stop, or I'll make you sour old lemon cake instead," Harry threatens lightly, waving a bunch of lemons from where he's standing at the fridge.

"No!" The horror on their son's face is genuine, and completely hilarious.

"Then listen to Papa," Harry says calmly, winking at Draco again as he comes back with a brick of butter.

Draco really wants to kiss him again, more thoroughly this time.

Resisting the impulse, he drains his mug and dumps it in the sink, and returns Lyra to her chair before carefully edging the slabs of chocolate out of Scorpius' reach. "What else are we serving?" he asks, pulling over the cookbook and skimming through the recipe.

"Molly said she'd bring dinner for everyone," Harry says vaguely, sieving out the flour now. "Can I make you some breakfast, babe?"

"It's after noon!" Draco reminds him. "And we have lunch at the Manor in an hour, anyway."

"Er, I can't go, I have loads to do," Harry says at once.

Draco rolls his eyes. "Six years of being married and he's still scared of the in-laws," he mutters, sliding the cookbook back to Harry.

"I am not scared of them!" Harry says loudly, and the outrage on his face has Draco laughing openly. "As if I'd be scared of your father," he says scornfully, peeling the paper off the butter and drawing his wand.

"Yes, it's not my father you're afraid of," Draco says pointedly, lifting Scorpius off the counter after prying a tiny bottle of very expensive vanilla syrup out of his hands.

"Your mother has threatened me on more than one occasion, you know?" Harry grumbles, jabbing his wand at the butter to soften it with a little too much vigour, causing a chunk of it to melt off completely. "You wouldn't believe me, but she has!"

"Oh, I believe you," Draco drawls, collecting Lyra once more and leaning in to smack a kiss onto Harry's cheek. "You're very cute when you're all defensive," he murmurs, nuzzling his ear.

"I'm not being defensive!" Harry claims at once, narrowing his eyes at Draco's grin and kissing him on the mouth. "You'll be okay to take them by yourself?" he asks, and Draco nods.

"I need to give them both a bath first," Draco says, hastily grabbing Scorpius' hand when he tries to scamper away. "We didn't last night."

"I know, I'm sorry I was late getting back," Harry says. "We missed our Portkey and had to wait for another."

"Been there, done that," Draco snorts. "And you ask me if I miss being in the Corps."

"We were one hell of a duo," Harry reminds him for the enth time. "I miss you being an Auror more than you might miss it."

"Shouldn't have knocked me up, then, Potter," Draco says, shooting him a grin over his shoulder as he drags Scorpius out for a bit before bending down to hook his free arm around his midriff and carrying him, giggling madly, to the bathroom.

Half an hour later, Draco is almost completely drenched and has to wrestle Scorpius out of tub again with a towel-bundled Lyra tucked against his chest.

"Harry!" Draco barely has to raise his voice to call out before Harry is ambling in hurriedly, scooping up a very naked, wet Scorpius over one shoulder – Scorpius shrieking happily and beating his small fists against Harry's back – and extending his other arm to take Lyra. "You'll take them both?" Draco asks, carefully tucking their daughter into the crook of Harry's free arm. "Thanks, love, I'll just be five minutes in the shower."

Sighing and twisting sideways until his back clicks satisfyingly, Draco strips and steps into the tub, turning on the shower and letting it beat down on him until the water goes from tepid to hot. Shampooing his hair is a brisk, non-fussy thirty seconds of scrubbing, after which he massages in half a handful of Sleakeazy's almond milk conditioner. It's only when he reaches for the soap that he pauses and listens carefully for the sounds of Scorpius and Lyra taking turns to see who can scream the loudest, Harry's weary chiding barely heard over their bellowing.

Deeming them sufficiently busy, Draco draws the shower curtain with a quiet scrape and soaps up his cock, slightly hard by now just from the anticipation of a good wank. He rolls his fist over it in long, slippery strokes, soaping the folds of his foreskin and carefully reaching lower to soap his sac.

Fully hard by now, Draco sighs again and starts pulling in earnest, biting his lip to stem any involuntary moaning and bracing his free hand against the wet tiles. He doesn't bother playing with himself or taking his time – he hasn't in ages now – but just quickly pulls himself off with brisk, tight-gripped strokes, a little groan finally escaping him as he shoots out a string of precome, now nearly on the verge of his climax.

With a blunt rustle, the shower curtain is pushed aside and then Harry is stepping in, naked and smirking, eyes gleaming as they rove down Draco's body, wet and soapy. With a spluttering squeak, Draco skids and almost falls out of the tub.

"Woah!" Harry quickly grabs his elbow and steadies him. "Need a hand in here?" he murmurs, inhaling against Draco's neck.

But Draco's erection has already flagged and he's already scrabbling for a towel to cover himself up with, cheeks and neck burning with embarrassment.

"No, no," he says hoarsely, tying the towel high around his soft midriff. "I just realised how late I am. Are the kids already dressed?"

"Lyra is," Harry says with a hint of a frown. "Gilly is watching her. I managed to get Scorp's pants on before he ran off to watch TV. "

Draco clicks his tongue irritably, stepping out of the tub and vigorously drying his feet on the bathmat. "Why didn't you get him dressed first?"

"I thought you might like some company in here," Harry replies blandly, looking vaguely disappointed as Draco shuts the curtain on him and exits the bathroom.

"Don't play with your food," Draco says softly, leaning over and cutting Scorpius' lamb into tiny pieces. "Here, finish this and you can eat dessert."

"No pea," Scorpius says shrilly, trying to push his peas off his plate.

Before Draco can reprimand him, Lucius supplies, "Leave him alone, Draco, it's his birthday."

"Are vegetables banned on one's birthday?" Draco retorts dryly, but turns his attention to Lyra, leaving Scorpius to vigorously push his food around, and out of, his plate. "One bite, come on," he says, gently pressing a spoonful of mushy peas to Lyra's chocolate smeared mouth.

His hand is immediately slapped away with one tiny, chocolate-y fist as Lyra quacks in affront at him and continues gnawing at the Chocolate Frog her grandfather handed her half an hour ago.

"Thanks a lot, Father," Draco grumbles as he gives up and goes back to his own lunch. "I told you she wouldn't eat if you give her chocolate so close to lunchtime."

"You worry too much, darling," Narcissa says gently, dabbing at her mouth and smiling at Draco over the rim of her wine glass. "The elves can bring you some stewed fruit for the little one when she's hungry."

"Why haven't we been blessed with the company of my noble son-in-law?" Lucius asks suddenly, setting his cutlery down and reaching for his port.

"He's sent his apologies," Draco replies calmly, wiping up the last smear of gravy on his plate with a chunk of roast potato. "He's baking the cake for the party."

Lucius harrumphs. "Thank you for the warning."

"Harry's an excellent baker, love," Narcissa says delicately.

"Yes, and I'll eat your share of cake more than willingly, Father, don't you worry," Draco says airily.

"I'm sure you'll eat several others' shares as well," Lucius says pointedly, giving Draco a deliberate once over.

And just like that, Draco's lunch turns into lead in his stomach, his cheeks heating up alarmingly fast. "I'll eat what I please, and however much of it I want to," he snaps sharply. "I'm thirty-two bloody years old. I'd like to see you try to control my diet, Father."

"What diet," Lucius murmurs flatly, eyebrows high as he picks up his knife and fork again.

Draco leaps to his feet, sending his chair toppling back, and throws his napkin onto his empty plate. "Remind me when I asked for your opinion on my physical appearance?" he spits loudly.

With a soft hiccup, Lyra bursts into tears of startlement, dropping the headless Chocolate Frog and lifting her arms up at Draco. Scorpius is watching them, his eyes very wide, and Narcissa's lips have thinned down to nearly nothing as she glares at Lucius.

"Touchy," Lucius says loftily.

Face burning, Draco scoops up his crying daughter, looking around only to gesture to Scorpius to finish his meal before stomping out and down the corridor to the main parlour where he hurriedly cradles Lyra close and speaks in a low, calming tone until she stops crying.

Ten minutes later, he's still sat in the parlour, glaring out of the French windows as Lyra drools in his lap, when Narcissa glides in.

"Aren't you a little too old to be throwing strops, darling?" she chides gently, taking a seat opposite him with a patient expression. "You know I could have handled your father."

"He has no right to talk to me like that."

"Do you not know your father? It would be strange if the two of you weren't constantly locking horns over something." Narcissa sighs. "I spoke to him and he'll apologise. He's taken Scorpius down to the lake. Bring the baby too, come along."

"I'm not going anywhere," Draco says stubbornly. "I don't care if you and Father think I'm a fat lout now. Sorry," he adds almost at once as he sees the hurt cross his mother's face. "You wouldn't, I know you wouldn't. I just wish he wouldn't either. Are people under the delusion that I enjoy being out of shape? I was an Auror until five years ago. You think I don't wish I were still as fit as back then?"

"You've had a baby," Narcissa says quietly. "Two babies. Not a lot of wizards possess the fortitude to take up the challenge as efficiently as you did."

"Father couldn't have even if he'd tried," Draco says scornfully, his mouth quivering when Narcissa chimes out a startled laugh.

"No, you're right," she says. "He couldn't have. Luckily enough, he had me to give us you. And darling," she leans forward, expression kind, "I was out of shape for over a year after I had you. And despite all my self-consciousness, your father was lovely about it."

Draco raises an eyebrow. "Don't catch him being very 'lovely' to me, though?"

She sighs. "Because you men think other men don't take offence to the same things women do."

"I'm not a fucking woman," Draco grits, "but I'm certainly offended."

"Is it Harry?" Narcissa asks, apropos nothing.

"Is what Harry?" Draco asks bewildered, wiping Lyra's mouth with her lace-trimmed bib.

"Are you both not being… intimate?" she asks, not even blinking. "Does he have a problem with… the way you look now?"

Draco feels his lip curl derisively. "What do you take him for? He'd be the last person to hurt me like that."

"But I've noticed a certain reticence on your part around him lately."

Draco flushes. "You said something about being self-conscious? Did you regularly molest Father while feeling like that?"

"I had no need to, your father is a very affectionate husband," she replies and Draco clicks his tongue in disapproval, earning a casual shrug in reply. "What I'm saying is, darling, that sex is important at every stage of a marriage, not just the early years."

Spluttering wetly and covering Lyra's ears, Draco hisses, "Did you just say the word sex?!"

"Are you going to pretend that you and Harry have never had intercourse?" Narcissa deadpans. "Because your daughter is right there."

"Exactly!" Draco glares. "So stop talking about things like intercourse!"

"I don't think she's the one who has a problem with it," she replies, leaning forward with a crinkly smile to stroke Lyra under her chin. "You are aware that your father and I have had regular intercourse for over three decades now?"

"I'd like to leave now," Draco says, completely mortified. "Mother, for Merlin's sake, stop!"

"All I'm trying to say is," Narcissa continues calmly, "a little intimacy with your partner ought to do wonders for your self-consciousness. When you see how much they love and want you regardless of your appearance, it doesn't seem quite so embarrassing a situation."

"I don't ever want to talk to you about Harry and me being intimate," Draco says weakly. "Please stop."

Narcissa makes a slightly impatient, huffing sound and gets to her feet, plucking Lyra up from his lap and turning away dismissively. "I'd like to remind you that I probably know more about sex than you do, regardless of how adventurous you and Harry might've been. There's something to be said of experience, darling."

The party is loud and cheerful and by the time the last of their guests are Flooing out, Scorpius is throwing up because he ate too much cake, and Harry is standing in a quiet corner of the room, carrying Lyra who's fast asleep with her face buried against his neck.

Draco sits on the sofa with a miserable, sniffling Scorpius' head in his lap as Granger waves her wand in soothing circles over the boy's tummy.

"Better?" she asks gently, pressing a kiss to his belly. Scorpius squirms with a giggle, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"Sleep it off, darling," Granger says. "You're alright."

As Scorpius protests weakly about being allowed to stay up late on his birthday, Draco looks around, doing a double take when he sees his mother standing with Harry and murmuring softly to him, Harry's face very red as he glances at Draco over her head before looking down and nodding wordlessly.

Draco's just about to lift Scorpius' head off his lap and go investigate when Narcissa carefully takes Lyra from Harry, arranging her head carefully on her shoulder and checking that she's still asleep. When she walks over and blows a kiss at Scorpius, Draco gives in to his curiosity.

"What were you and Harry talking about?" he asks suspiciously. Harry still stands by himself in the corner, staring fixedly out of the window, his cheeks maroon.

"Come along, darling," Narcissa says softly to Scorpius, ignoring Draco entirely.

"What's going on?" Draco presses.

"Your father and I are taking the children to the Manor for tonight," she answers crisply. "I thought you'd appreciate the time to clean up and rest a bit."

Suddenly, everything clicks into place and Draco hisses furiously, "Does this have something to do with—what were you saying to Harry just now?!"

"Stories!" Scorpius screeches, sitting up and leaping to his feet.

Granger grins at Draco's exasperated expression and gets gracefully to her feet to go rouse her husband, who's dozing in the armchair by the fire with their sleeping daughter in his lap.

"Yes, yes, great-uncle Algar's portrait shall be brought out once again so he can regale you with the horrors of the witch hunts," Narcissa promises with a crinkly-eyed smile, before looking around to where Lucius is sat with his nose derisively in the air, nursing a tumbler of scotch. "Lucius, we're taking the children home with us tonight."

Eyebrows flying up, Lucius sets aside his drink and sweeps over. "To what or whom do we owe this honour?"

"Not me, certainly," Draco says grumpily, his neck and face getting hot.

Because Harry is now standing there and staring at Draco, and Draco can just about make out the bulge of what is most certainly an erection in his jeans.

Lucius snorts and holds out his hand for an excitedly wiggling Scorpius to take, leading him over to the Floo. Narcissa bends to press a kiss to Draco's temple before darting another look at Harry.

"Is the Manor nursery stocked?" Draco asks with a sigh. "Should I pack you a bag for them?"

"Seeing as the nursery at the Manor is about five times the size of yours," Narcissa says blandly, "not to mention the dozen elves we have in our employ, you can rest easy that your children, my grandchildren, will want for nothing."

Draco stands up and grabs her elbow when she makes to follow Lucius. "What did you say to Harry?" he asks, now slightly annoyed.

"It's rude to be this nosy, Draco," Narcissa chides.

"He's my husband," Draco grits.

"And my son-in-law," Narcissa retorts smoothly. "Surely I'm allowed to have a conversation with him in your absence?"

"Mother, what—?" Draco begins indignantly, when Gilly, their house-elf, appears with a sharp crack, drying her hands on her little apron, and starts collecting the sheets of wrapping paper Scorpius flung about the living room as he'd unwrapped presents.

"Leave the cleaning to the elf, darling," says Narcissa. "You ought to go to bed."

"I'm not sleepy," Draco says obstinately.

Narcissa's mouth ticks up on one side. "Who said anything about sleeping?" And Draco is certain that he receives the shadow of a wink from her.

"Bye, Papa!" Scorpius bellows, waving energetically as Lucius throws Floo powder into the hearth. "Dada, bye!" he adds before diving into the neon green flames. When Draco glances over, he sees Harry wave vaguely, his gaze immediately locking with Draco's.

"You're going to wake up your sister," Draco sighs lamely, pulling at his collar as he waves him off. He feels frightfully hot all of a sudden; must be something to do with how Harry's eyes are now gleaming with promise.

Granger and Weasley are next to leave, and then Draco suddenly finds himself alone in the house with Harry.

When he turns, Harry's standing right there, practically nose to nose with him, and Draco can't help the soft splutter of surprise he emits.

"I guess we get a whole night's sleep tonight," Draco says with a weak chuckle.

"We do?" Harry's voice is low and gruff and before Draco can reply, he's leaned in and kissed Draco square on the mouth, tongue and all.

"I'm—I thought you might be tired," Draco pants when he pulls away, mouth tingling wetly. Harry's hands, until now on Draco's hips, slide down to cup his arse and squeeze. "You've been up and about all day, cake and… everything," he adds feebly, not bothering to hide the shiver that wracks through him.

"Thought or hoped?" Harry murmurs, now stringing kisses up Draco's jaw, hands working his arse in a steady massage.

"Don't be stupid," Draco breathes. "Harry."

"Mm?" A little nip followed by a wet suck under his ear.

"I—I need to shower first, I have cake-vomit all over me," Draco says shakily, head falling back.

Abruptly releasing him and stepping away, Harry nods. "Don't be too long or I might come looking for you again," he warns pleasantly and Draco scowls.

"You're such a fucking tosser," he growls, roughly punching him on the shoulder before flouncing away with a huff.

He doesn't hurry. He stands there under the hot jets of water, his cock half hard and his jaw stinging sweetly where Harry bit him, and he stares blankly at the tiles, gnawing on his lip and absently running the soap over himself as he recalls the raw heat he's just seen in Harry's eyes.

They haven't fucked in over three months now; or maybe it's been longer. The last time they fooled around at all was a week ago when Harry woke Draco up by sucking him off, before promptly getting interrupted when Scorpius came banging at their bedroom door.

Everyday Draco stands before the mirror and inspects the way his hips have thickened and how his belly is soft, a bit flabby, and still bears the faded scar from where they'd cut him open to pull Lyra out almost a year ago. He thinks, now, of how he's been very careful never to change or get undressed in Harry's presence, how they've kept the lights off the scant few times they've made love since Lyra was born, how he always squirms away when Harry goes to run his hands over him proprietarily, how he's quick to make an excuse to escape the room whenever they're alone.

He knows Harry won't care about the changes his body has undergone, knows he still wants Draco as much as he'd wanted him seven years ago when they'd first fallen into bed together right after they'd narrowly escaped a horde of Inferi, grateful for being alive and impatient to finally just fuck after months of nothing but subtle flirting and longing stares.

But Draco finds himself unable to get over the insecurity that comes with weight gain. He knows Harry, knows that he'd touch and kiss and fuck Draco with the same enthusiasm as always. But Draco's own self-consciousness is a permanent fixture at the back of his mind, hovering there and cruelly reminding him that he no longer had the same fit body that Harry loved and used to practically worship, and how it's probably only Harry's innate kindness that's preventing him from saying anything to Draco about it.

When the water finally turns cold again and his erection stays stubbornly in place, Draco steps out with a sigh, drying his hair with a charm and towelling himself down haphazardly before donning the terry bathrobe hung on the back of the door. Then he brushes his teeth and works some hair serum into his barely damp hair, all the while imagining various scenarios in which Harry declares he's too fat to fuck and goes to sleep in the guest room.

When he goes out into the bedroom, he finds Harry waiting for him, shirtless and sitting up against the headboard. There's a bottle of wine and two glasses on his nightstand. The lights have been dimmed and the air smells pleasantly of sandalwood and roses, Draco's favourite air-freshening charm.

Harry himself looks absolutely gorgeous, Draco thinks rather broodingly. Even though he likely hasn't combed his hair in a week, despite the clunky glasses he wears, his Muggle ripped jeans – none of it puts Draco off. Harry's arms and chest are still lightly muscled, abdomen taut and flat, hip bones begging to be touched and licked.

"Took your time, didn't you?" Harry says mildly. He doesn't look angry or irritated that Draco had made him wait. In fact, his serene, calm smile siphons out some of Draco's nervousness. "Come on, then," he adds, patting his lap.

With a deep breath, Draco slowly makes his way over, still garbed in the bathrobe as he climbs onto the bed, and crawls over to Harry, straddling his thighs with a sigh, letting his arms rest loosely on his shoulders.

"Turn off the lights," Draco murmurs when Harry weaves a hand into his hair and leans in.

"Why?" Harry whispers, kissing his cheek. "I'd like to be able to look at you."

"Why?" Draco retorts in turn. "It's—it's not as if you've never seen me before."

"Draco," Harry's mouth brushes gently over his eyes, his forehead, his cheekbones, "I haven't looked at you in months. I haven't touched you in months. I haven't tasted you properly in ages." He pulls back and meets Draco's eyes squarely. "I'd like to look at you while I fuck you, if it's all the same, thank you."

"It'll feel better in the dark," Draco mumbles but Harry is already plucking at the knot on Draco's bathrobe, laving ticklish little licks along his neck. "Harry..."

"Off," Harry mutters, trying to push the soft terry from Draco's shoulders. Draco stands up on his knees and shrugs it off, gasping when Harry immediately lunges forward and sucks one tight, pink nipple into his mouth. "Fuck, baby," he moans softly, as Draco cradles his head close and trembles.

"Harry," Draco says again, quite at a loss for words already.

With a nipping suck, Harry switches to the other nipple, gently grazing his teeth around it and teasing the peaked tip with his tongue. "Want to—want to..." he trails off, now licking a long stripe up Draco's sternum, right up his neck, past his chin until he can sink his tongue into Draco's mouth.

Body burning with arousal, skin flushed and limbs covered in gooseflesh, Draco submits wholly to the kiss, sucking at Harry's tongue before shoving his own into his mouth, sliding them together in a slick press. Harry moans again, hands desperately mapping Draco's body – his back, his arse, his flanks, his stomach, his thighs, leaving each patch of skin he touches on fire.

His erection is a persistent bump under Draco's and it's almost without thought that Draco reaches down and fumbles with Harry's flies until he's holding Harry's pulsing, throbbing cock.

"Fuck," Draco gasps, when his spit-damp nipples are thumbed at roughly. "Fuck!" he yells again, when their cocks slide against each other, the heads catching for a swift second.

"So beautiful," Harry breathes against his mouth. "Want you so much..."

"Y-you do?" Draco asks, bewilderment pushing its way to the forefront suddenly.

"It's been torture, you bastard," Harry says gruffly, biting him a whole collection of hickeys on the sides of his neck. "The amount of control it took not to just wrestle you down and put it to you—"

"Then why didn't you?" Draco winds one hand through Harry's wild mane and tugs, panting lightly as their gazes lock again. "Why haven't you touched me in so long?"

"I thought it made you uncomfortable," Harry replies, and there's no room for dishonesty in his tone. "I thought I made you uncomfortable. You wouldn't even change in front of me, you prat."

"I'm still fat," Draco blurts defensively, his face flaming. "You should know that before you— oh!"

His yelp of shock is barely heard over Harry's frightening snarl as he manhandles Draco off his lap and onto the bed on his front.

"You're fucking mental, you always have been," he snaps at Draco's arse as he yanks his hips up off the bed.

Draco is already gasping for air. "Still married me, didn't you?"

"Thank fuck I did, look at you," Harry groans, palming his arse wide open so that Draco is left shivering with cool air running up his crack.

"Have you taken off your glasses?" Draco asks, pulling a pillow close and pressing his burning face into it. "Can you not see me properly?"

Releasing his arse, Harry crawls over him, hunching down to murmur against Draco's neck, "I see you, baby," following it up with a loving lick up to his ear.

Shivering, Draco tries again. "But I'm—"

"Oh, do shut it, Malfoy," Harry snaps, going right back to his arse. Peeling him open again, he buries his face in vigorously, glasses getting shoved up his brow, tongue immediately forcing its way through Draco's rim.

"Merlin!" Draco's squeak of pleasure is once again lost in the rather feral growl Harry gently bites into his arsehole, his tongue painting broad strokes from Draco balls up to his tailbone, each lick against his rim softening it further.

"So fucking hot," Harry grits, persistently licking him open, tongue sawing in and out of his arsehole. "Fuck you, Draco. Fuck you for staying away so long."

"Fuck you, P-Potter," Draco retorts hoarsely. "Oh god, fuck! Yes! More!"

And Harry gives him more, ruthlessly licking and teasingly sucking until Draco can feel saliva dripping down his crack. He slides in one finger, and then two, in quick succession, and makes his way straight to Draco's prostate, flicking at it mercilessly until Draco is screaming into the pillow and striping the bedspread with ribbons of come, collapsing flat onto his front.

"Fuck," Harry rasps, straightening up and continuing to finger him as he whimpers and twitches.

"Wait, give me a second, you fucker," Draco gasps.

"No," Harry replies shortly, now pushing in a third finger and kneading at his prostate.

Draco's cock, sticky and half-hard, twitches and throbs, jumping with each sly press against that swollen nub inside him. Harry flicks his tongue at the sweat-dampened hollow of Draco's tailbone, winding his free arm around his waist and jerking Draco's hips higher before biting a savage mark onto Draco's arse cheek.

"Ah!" Draco rears up, coming to stand properly on all fours, knees spread wide. Panting, hair falling into his sweaty face, Draco cranes his neck to glance at Harry, whose chin is gleaming with saliva, teeth slightly bared as he stuffs his fingers in and out of Draco. "Fuck me," Draco tells him quietly, bucking back onto the three stiff digits. "Fuck me, Harry."

"Gonna," Harry nods, pulling his fingers out and replacing it with his thumb, massaging just the inside of his rim until Draco is arching like a cat. "Turn over."

"What?" Their eyes meet again and Draco shakes his head. "N-no, you can have me like this."

Pulling his thumb free, Harry simply flips him over matter-of-factly, pushing Draco's thighs wide open, pressing his knees to his chest. There's a twinge of pain along his thighs as Harry repositions him and Draco wants to tell Harry that he's not quite as malleable as he once was, but Harry is running ardent fingers over the scar on Draco's soft belly, lowering his head to lick into his navel and then abruptly pull Draco's cock into his mouth.

Jerking in startlement more than pleasure, Draco scrabbles to clutch Harry's hair again, guiding his head in a slow bob down his length, rasping out hot, breathless gasps. Harry's hands never stop moving over him, running over his stomach and chest and sides and nipples, the tip of his tongue fitted into the slit, his lips tight around Draco's cock.

"I'll come again," Draco warns after barely a minute of this, his thighs shaking with exertion, his forehead beaded with sweat. "Harry, fuck me, or I swear I'll come again."

It's Harry's bright green gaze that first rises, to meet Draco's, before Harry slowly pops off his cock, licking his lips and giving him a sly smirk. He wriggles out of his jeans and pants. "That's not a very frightening threat, just so you know," he drawls, pressing Draco's knees further back onto his chest and shuffling forward on his knees. "But seeing as I'm likely to pop within three seconds of being inside you, I guess it won't hurt to fuck you when you're already this close."

"Stop talking," Draco grits. "Less talk, more fucking."

"So demanding," Harry sniggers, lubing up and thumbing his cock into place, the tip of it tickling Draco's rim. "You've barely touched me all these months, baby, I'm entitled to a bit of teasing."

"I thought I asked you to stop talking," Draco snarls, reaching down to squeeze the base of his erection. "Oh!" Mouth falling open at the press of Harry's cock into him, Draco holds himself perfectly still.

But Harry's cockhead has barely breached him before he's pulling out again, barking a laugh at the murderous glare Draco shoots him. Pressing in again, Harry pushes halfway in before yanking back again, grinning wickedly when Draco thrashes and kicks out violently.

"Do it!" Draco practically yells, and then Harry is finally, finally pushing all the way into him, arms trembling on either side of Draco, cock sliding in on a torturously slow press until his pelvis is tight against Draco's arse.

"Finally!" Harry whispers on a groan, his head falling back, his hips still and unmoving as he simply stays put.

Draco can barely contain himself. Eyes rolling back at the welcome burn of being completely breached, he hurriedly grabs Harry's shoulders to brace himself, a low, keening moan escaping him when Harry shifts minutely and presses up against his prostate.

And then with a deep breath, Harry starts to move, soft, throaty grunts sounding from him as he snaps his hips back and forth, sweat sliding down his temples, face and neck flushed with strain from holding onto his climax.

"I don't have long, baby," he whispers, shutting his eyes and tossing his head back. "Fuck, Draco!"

"Come in me," Draco murmurs back, drawing him down into a kiss. "Come inside me, Harry." His voice is barely audible over the slap slap of flesh hitting flesh, both of them damp with sweat, Draco's stomach still tacky with come, his cock being steadily stroked by Harry's abdomen. "Nearly there," he whimpers, wrapping both arms around Harry. "I'm—Harry, I want to come—"

Harry moans roughly, thrusting madly as he comes, fucking his come into Draco with rough, jarring strokes that knock the breath out of him.

"Please!" Draco yelps, before Harry is abruptly pulling out and crawling back down to swallow Draco's cock, throat opening up to take him deep, tongue pressed against the sensitive underside of the glans.

Screaming, Draco comes again, pulsing hard down Harry's throat, his balls throbbing painfully where they're drawn up against his body. Harry doesn't stop sucking the whole time, only pulling off with a rueful smack when Draco drags him off his softened cock.

"Did my mother ask you to fuck me?" Draco pants, twisting his hands in Harry's hair until he grimaces in pain.

Harry laughs, his head held at an awkward angle under Draco's bony grip. "Something like that, yeah," he replies. Crawling between Draco's laxly spread thighs, Harry leans down for another slick, sucking kiss. "Remind me to send her flowers, mm?" he says, nuzzling Draco's nose.

"I'm mortified," Draco says flatly.

"Well, someone had to step in." Harry laughs. "You wouldn't let me touch you or even look at you properly and Merlin knows that you'd have bitten my head off if I'd brought it up with you."

"How can you still want me?" Draco asks abruptly, sounding partly petulant and partly genuinely curious.

"How shallow do you think I am?" Harry retorts, unamused. "You're still fucking sexy as fuck, you idiot; you think I haven't been dying to fuck you all these weeks?"

"Then you should have," Draco grumbles, with a mischievous laugh, when Harry gapes at him in incredulity. "What? You're known internationally for your bravery. Aren't you brave enough to ask me for a fuck?"

"No," Harry says pointedly, both of them huffing with laughter.

"I wish we were smart enough to take advantage of the kids being out of our hair," Draco says, stroking Harry's swollen mouth with his thumb. "We ought to get our sleep."

"Who says we can't?" Harry asks, eyebrows slowly rising.

"Me," Draco says crisply, wrapping his legs around Harry's waist and locking his ankles. "Fuck me again, Potter. You have months of catching up to do, you lazy bastard."

"You're going to pay for that."

"Oh, I'm counting on it."

~end~