Current mood:

accomplished

Bagels and Barbecues and Strawberry Ice Cream (H/D, 1/1)
One-shot, COMPLETE. H/D, explicit sex. A continuation of Avocados and Pears and Slytherin Sweaters.


Bagels and Barbecues and Strawberry Ice Cream
Sequel of sorts to Avocados and Pears and Slytherin Sweaters
by ms_semicolon
23 June 2007


There was one asiago cheese bagel left in the bag. Draco considered, for a long moment - then took it, crumpling the now-empty bag and stuffing it into the over-full trash can under the sink. With a steak knife plucked from the cutting block, he bisected the bagel neatly across its width, then slid the two halves into the toaster oven and thumbed the toasting lever. A few steps to the refrigerator gave him the imported Danish butter that he preferred. As the bagel toasted, he poured himself a cup of coffee, stirred in sugar and cream and took his mug to his place at the table; a few moments later, he brought his newly-buttered bagel to join it, and settled in to enjoy his breakfast.

A few moments later, heavy footfalls sounded on the steps, as the Weasel clomped downstairs. "Morning, mate," he said, passing Draco on his way into the kitchen. There came the sound of rustling, as his housemate searched for something; then the Weasel came back out, staring down at Draco's plate. "Oi, that the last bagel?"

"You snooze, you lose," Draco said placidly, crunching another bite of toasty bagel between his teeth.

The Weasel made an annoyed sound and disappeared back into the kitchen, emerging shortly thereafter with a can of Coke and a paper towel containing two sugar-frosted pop-tarts. "Now that's a loathsome breakfast combination," Draco remarked, upon seeing it.

"Yeah, well, I'd intended to have a bagel," the Weasel shot back gruffly, "if SOMEONE hadn't intervened..."

"Next time, buy more," said Draco, unrepentant, and popped the last of his first half bagel into his mouth.

Then there was silence, the companionable silence of familiarity, as the housemates ate breakfast together - a silence that was broken, quite suddenly, by a clatter of feet tumbling over themselves in a headlong rush down the stairs, and a breathless voice echoing shrilly from the stairwell. "...late, I'm late, I'm LATE! Oh, where are my books? My Potions text, oh, where did I leave it, oh NO..." as Granger rushed into the living room, hair a halo of tangled disarray, clothes rumpled and flung on with great haste, one shoe on and the other in her hand as she attempted to put it on while simultaneously slinging the strap of her satchel over her shoulder.

"Hey, Hermione," the Weasel interrupted.

"Not now, can't you see I'm LATE? Where's my notebook, where did I... oh, THERE," diving at the looseleaf and frantically struggling to cram it into her bag, nearly tripping over her untied shoelace in the process.

The Weasel shook his head ruefully. "HERMIONE!" he bellowed; and Granger looked up, temporarily halted mid-flight, blinking owlishly at him. "Hermione, it's SATURDAY!"

Granger continued to blink at the Weasel; Draco could see the flow of thoughts chasing each other across her mind, as reflected in her harried face, as the realization of what his words meant began to dawn upon her. "Saturday?" she repeated, as if she'd never heard the word before.

"Saturday," confirmed the Weasel, looking to Draco as if he was trying very hard not to laugh.

Her mind was working furiously now, Draco could tell, processing this new bit of information she'd been given. "Saturday," Granger said again, as if tasting the word in her mouth, testing its flavor. Then all at once, her legs seemed to give way beneath her; she collapsed backward, into the overstuffed recliner chair, looking dazed and relieved at once.

The Weasel did laugh then, a jolly, sympathetic sort of sound. He got up and went to her, took her limp and trembling hands in his own. "Come and have a cuppa tea, love," he urged her, still chuckling, "it'll soothe your nerves, or so Mum would say."

"Tea," Granger murmured, "yes, tea is good," allowing herself to be tugged to her feet and guided, with the aid of an arm curved protectively around her back, to her place at the dining table. Once there, she ran shaking fingers through her bushy hair as if to tame it, working hard, it seemed, to calm her rapid breaths and ease the last remnants of her panic - then stared across the table at Draco, hard. "Shut up," she said to him.

Draco gazed back at her, making no attempt to hide his amusement. "I haven't said a word."

"You were THINKING it," Granger informed him severely, as the Weasel brought her a cup of water and a teabag, tapping the rim of the cup with his wand to set it to steaming.

"Only that if I'd sold tickets to that performance, we'd have had our next month's rent paid for," Draco said innocently, earning him an even sterner look from Granger - an effect quite spoiled by her mussed hair and rumpled clothes; she looked waiflike and helpless, rather than intimidating.

"Want a Pop-Tart, love?" the Weasel was asking her, and Granger was shuddering and offering her denial, when Draco's attention was drawn away from the couple by another set of footsteps coming down the stairs. Even if the other two members of the household hadn't been accounted for, he would have known those footsteps by their sound: neither as heavy as the Weasel's, nor as light as Granger's, and always sounded somehow as if they were skipping. Involuntarily, Draco's breath caught in his chest, the way it always did when his partner drew near after even a tiny period of separation; hastily, he chewed and swallowed his last bit of bagel, took a sip of coffee to sluice any remaining crumbs from his mouth, the better to prepare for the impending greeting to come.

"Morning," Harry said through a yawn, coming through the living room toward them. He was freshly showered, hair damp and tousled, and dressed in well-worn, delightfully snug jeans and a green shirt that Draco had bought expressly for the purpose of having his partner swipe it from him; the color set off Harry's eyes perfectly. He came around the dining room table, headed for the kitchen, and coffee - paused at Draco's chair, bending down and reaching out as Draco's head angled up to meet him; the two connected with the ease of frequent practice, and the resultant kiss was long and sweet. Even as they parted, Harry's hands lingered where they rested, one on Draco's shoulder and the other brushing his collarbone, as if savoring the touch too much to relinquish contact just yet. "Morning," Harry repeated softly, this time for Draco alone, his voice low and intimate, sending a frisson up Draco's spine, and Draco gazed up into his eyes and let his smile answer on his behalf.

The moment passed; Harry moved on, fetched himself a cup of coffee and a slice of the Italian bread he favored, spread thinly with ginger-rhubarb preserves, and came back to the table to settle into his own place. Only then did he take in the sight of Granger, still frazzled and befuddled despite slow sips of tea to calm her nerves, and the Weasel hovering protectively nearby and feeding her bites of buttered wheat toast. "I miss something?" Harry inquired.

Draco clarified the situation. "Granger decided to entertain us by proceeding with her morning under the assumption that she'd overslept for school."

"Ah." Harry glanced at Granger, who glared back at him - she seemed to be glaring at each of them in turn, even the solicitous Weasel, as if doing so might erase their collective memory of her gaffe - and wisely opted to refrain from further comment.

* * * * * * *

Later, though, when they were alone, Harry said to Draco, "That must've been funny..."

"It was indeed a sight to behold," Draco agreed, and spent some time detailing for Harry exactly how Hermione had made her entrance, in detail precise enough to make Harry laugh uproariously.

Harry had the barbecue going, and the flames were leaping high into the air as they stood by, waiting for the fire to settle down. Hovering around Draco, by virtue of a simple Levipatella charm, were plates of food to be grilled: hamburgers and a chicken breast for the Weasel, a salmon fillet for Granger, a New York strip steak and skewer of jumbo shrimp for Harry, a tuna steak and cylinder of filet mignon for Draco, and skewers of vegetables - ostensibly for all of them, but Granger and Draco would split most of the proceeds, with Harry stealing as many of the mushrooms as they'd allow. Draco had done the preparation, cutting up the vegetables, shelling the shrimp, coating the chicken in barbecue sauce, marinating the meat and fish, but it was Harry who always took charge of the grilling, wielding his spatula and tongs with as much skill as his wand, judging exactly the right time to put on each item so that everything would be done perfectly, and all at the same time.

It was a warm afternoon, exacerbated by the heat of the fire; Draco wiped at his brow with the back of his hand, thankful for the cool breeze that drifted across the backyard, rendering the temperature bearable. The screen door opened and slammed shut, and footsteps clumped across the back deck and down to the lawn - Weasley, bringing them each a beer. Draco accepted his gratefully, with a nod of thanks. "Hermione's making peach cobbler," the Weasel said, "and she needs me to pick up flour and whipped cream. Anything else we need from the store?"

"We got enough beer?" Harry said absently, gazing at the fire as if to gauge its temperature by sight alone.

"Cooler's full, and the whole bottom shelf of the fridge," the Weasel affirmed.

"Get some more bagels," Draco told him, and the Weasel laughed. "And I would like a box of frozen miniature egg rolls. If they don't have them at the supermarket, stop at the convenience store on the corner; they have them there."

"Oi, mate, having me make STOPS for you," grumbled the Weasel, but he didn't offer more than the token protest as Draco dug into his back pocket for his wallet, retrieved a few bills and handed them over.

He let himself out the back gate just as the first distant hoot of a train whistle reached them, signalling a train coming down the tracks that bordered their backyard. Harry looked up immediately; he loved the trains, always had. And Draco held a certain fondness for the trains himself - it had been during the passage of one of those trains that Harry had kissed him for the very first time, and since that time, every passing train seemed to solidify their relationship anew.

Draco moved closer to Harry as the familiar rumble began to sound along the tracks, the faint whine and screech of the wheels accompanying the whistle; and as the train burst forth into the span of track adjoining the backyard, Draco kissed Harry, a soft pressure of lips against lips, quietly undemanding. Harry's arm curled around his back and held him close as they kissed, and Draco thought of how good it had been, these past few months of their growing relationship, as the bond between them had grown deeper and surer with every kiss, with every passing night together.

He struggled to say as much to Harry when they parted. "We're so good together," haltingly, "and it just keeps getting better and better," in a near-whisper, "every time we touch, or kiss," flushing, deep rose staining pale skin, for speaking of his feelings didn't come easily to him. "Being with you is all the warmth in the world, for me," cringing a little inside, feeling incredibly vulnerable - what if Harry laughed at him, at his fumbling confessions of emotion? What if Harry found it all amusing and silly?

But instead, Harry's arms wrapped tightly around him, clutching at him, clinging: close, so close that nothing existed in the world except for Harry and himself - and there was the fervent press of Harry's lips against his shoulder, his neck, his cheek, his mouth. Then, the feeling of those lips brushing against his earlobe as Harry murmured into his ear, four words that slammed Draco's heart to standstill before setting it thumping furiously, four words that resonated through his entire being as nothing else quite had.

Draco pulled back, searching Harry's face frantically for confirmation of what he'd just heard. "Say that again," he commanded, almost fierce in his sudden fear that he'd been mistaken.

Harry smiled, his expression softening and brightening, his eyes holding a sparkle suspiciously like hidden tears. "I love you, Draco," he said.

The train still rumbled past, sounding the way trains do; distantly, traffic passed on the road. Wind rustled through the branches of the trees as a bird sang unconcernedly, and how was it possible that it was all still just the same as it had been a moment before? Because everything had changed, everything in the world had changed for Draco with those four words, and it seemed inconceivable that things beyond the two of them in this backyard could continue unaltered by this stunning revelation.

It took him a moment to find his voice again. "Love... me?" and if his words sounded needful and pleading, well, Draco had gone beyond pride, now, in his desperation to understand and believe this strange and wonderful gift Harry had given him.

Again, that wondrous smile, of Harry's heart opening to enfold Draco in warmth. "Love you," Harry confirmed. "You. Draco. Draco, my love. I love you."

Draco drew a deep breath, released it raggedly. "I," he said, hesitantly, a little awkwardly. Why should it be so hard to say? Because it mattered so tremendously much, that was why. "You," he continued, determined now to speak the words that were forcing their way up through his chest, despite all nervousness on his part. "L-love. Love you." Another deep breath and harsh exhalation. "I love you," Draco said, and felt the world shift again beneath his feet. Kisses were one thing, and sex, and sharing a bed, and letting him swipe clothes, but this... these were the words that changed worlds, changed lives; these were the words that changed everything. "I love you, Harry."

And Harry beamed. You could have illuminated a Quidditch field for a night game by the light of that smile, Draco thought incongruously. "I know," Harry said, and threw himself into Draco's arms.

Draco caught him, held him close and tight. Nuzzled him, pressed little kisses against his skin, all the while feeling those words echo through him, over and over. Such small words. Such simple words, to change two lives so utterly. The train went along its merry way, seeking out its destination beyond their backyard, and the traffic on the main road kept on passing by, and the wind in the trees and the birds went about their own business, and still Draco held Harry, immersed himself in the feel of Harry holding him, and savored the feeling of loving, and being loved.

When at last they parted, Harry had to throw more coals on the grill and light it all over again to get things to the proper temperature - the Weasel wondered good-naturedly why dinner was taking so long, while Granger fussed over her cobbler and worried about it being over-done - and Draco let them fuss and wonder, disinclined to share his and Harry's secrets with even the two who passed (though Draco was loath to admit it) as their closest friends. His leg brushed against Harry's as they ate; they exchanged small secret sideways glances - and with each private look, Draco was caught up anew in Harry's sparkling eyes, felt his heart flutter in response.

Nothing had changed, really. Yet everything had changed, and the world was a brighter, warmer place because of it.

* * * * * * *

The dinnertime delay made them late to the game, but only a little late. It was the middle of the second inning when they arrived, and the game was still scoreless, meaning they hadn't missed much. They climbed up into the bleachers and slid into their seats, making themselves comfortable in the mostly-empty section, clutching bottles of soda and bags of peanuts, both boiled and roasted. Draco had bought himself an ice cream bar, a strawberry pop, and wasted no time ripping open the wrapper and nibbling at the exterior.

It was a minor-league team, the Bats, which meant that the atmosphere was smaller and friendlier than a professional ballpark would have been, and also that the tickets were cheaper. Their first excursion to the baseball games had come about because of four free tickets Granger'd gotten her hands on, and idle curiosity, but since then they'd developed a certain interest in the game. The Weasel, in particular, seemed to have developed an active involvement; he knew the rules, now, and could point out the various players by name, number and position. To Draco, though, a baseball game meant simply a pleasant evening spent in the company of friends - the game itself, he found rather boring, next to the fast-paced activity of Quidditch; even Muggle "soccer" would have been preferable, from a sporting point of view.

Harry stretched out his legs, discreetly pressing his calf against Draco's; and Draco smiled to himself and edged imperceptibly closer to his partner - his lover. After the afternoon's revelation, he would have greatly preferred to spend the evening alone with Harry, expressing his feelings in more tangible, physical ways... but the tickets had already been bought, and there was no help for it but to go along. With any luck, Draco thought, the game would end on time, and NOT become one of those tedious extra-innings games, and he and Harry could be home by a reasonable time, to express those feelings then...

He licked at his ice cream pop, taking his time, savoring the flavor. Strawberry ice cream was a particular favorite of Draco's, though a luxury in which he tried not to indulge too often - too many sweets were harsh on the waistline, and Draco liked his fit body just the way it was. At baseball games, though, the strawberry pops were too tempting for him to resist. Absently, Draco sucked at the tip of the ice cream pop, curving his tongue to lave along the side and take in more flavor.

And became aware of a small strangled noise. Frowning, Draco turned to glance at Harry, found the other man staring at him wide-eyed. "What?" Draco wondered aloud.

"Nothing," said Harry; it came out as a squeak.

With a mental shrug, Draco turned back to his ice cream, tonguing it idly as he gazed down at the field. The Bats were at bat - the pitcher threw the ball, the batter swung, connected, tossed the bat aside and began to run, as the crowd cheered for the hit.

Beside him, Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then did it again. Draco cast him another sideways glance. "Everything all right?"

"Fine," Harry said breathlessly, adjusting the jacket he'd brought with him so that it lay across his lap.

Draco eyed Harry worriedly for another moment, but could find no sign of anything amiss. He turned back to the game, mildly interested to see whether the next batter would be able to advance the runner to the next base. The warm air was starting to melt his ice cream pop; he was going to have to eat faster. To take care of all the liquid melty bits threatening to drip into his lap, Draco slid the length of the pop into his mouth, sucking as he withdrew it, which took care of the problem nicely...

To his side, Harry made a sound that was unmistakeably a whimper. Concerned now, Draco turned to look at him again; his partner seemed flushed. "Harry, are you ill?"

"N-no," Harry faltered, squirming, "I just... um..." seemingly frantically casting about for an explanation.

Baffled, Draco studied Harry closely - followed his gaze to the ice cream pop Draco was holding. But what... why...

...the ice cream pop Draco had been sucking on...

...Ohhhhhhh!

Realization dawned, glinted brightly in Draco's eyes as a combination of mischief and merriment. Experimentally, he brought the pop to his lips, tongued the tip of the pop lightly, his eyes never leaving Harry's - watched Harry shiver in response, and felt himself grin. "Well, in THAT case," he said very softly, for his and Harry's ears alone, and began to lick and suck the ice cream pop in earnest.

He didn't look at Harry again, for fear of being too obvious, but Draco was acutely aware of every breath, every gasp, every shift and shiver of the man seated beside him, as he lavished attention on his ice cream the same way he would have devoted himself to Harry's cock. Imagined for a time that it was Harry's cock, rising before him rosy and needful, and felt his own body respond with a sharp twinge of desire. Granger and the Weasel were in their own little couples-world, nestled cozily together as he explained to her some finer point of the sport, neither one having attention to spare for their companions, so it was just Harry and Draco, locked together in their own little world of tantalizing, teasing arousal...

Harry's hand settled on Draco's arm. "Stop," Harry whispered plaintively.

Draco spared his partner another glance then. Harry's flush had deepened, his breathing grown more rapid, and the look on his face was less one of arousal than pain. Instantly, Draco felt ashamed at his own presumption. "Sorry," he muttered, low-voiced.

The hand on his arm tightened, holding on. Harry leaned close, lips against Draco's ear. "Don't be sorry." His whisper was rough, urgent. "You're too sexy, is all. I need to calm down or I'm going to explode. All right?" Draco nodded, embarrassment fading; and Harry's free hand glided, hidden from casual onlookers, over Draco's thigh before drawing back.

It took a couple of minutes, during which Draco dispatched the remainder of his ice cream pop by more conservative means; but soon Harry was leaning across Draco to touch Granger's sleeve, explaining to her and the Weasel that he didn't feel quite well, and he was going to head for home... "I'll go with him," Draco spoke up, affecting just the right tone of concern as would be properly appropriate for an ill partner, and soon enough the two of them were on their way, moving through the ballpark toward the exit.

The sun was on the tail end of setting, twilight slipping inexorably into dusk, and the streets leading from the ballpark to their bus stop were quiet and devoid of pedestrians other than themselves. Harry spoke first, his voice quiet. "You really are very sexy," he said, as calmly as if he were discussing the weather. "You and your ice cream pops. I shall go to sleep and dream of you, you know, you and your strawberry lips."

"I didn't realize what I was doing at first," Draco felt compelled to point out.

"Yes, I know. That made it all the more sexy." Harry turned to him and smiled, that bright heart-filling smile as when he'd told Draco he loved him. "We really are good together. In every way."

"We are," Draco agreed, smiling back.

"And when we get home, we'll be good together in bed," continued Harry, still in that matter-of-fact tone. "Those strawberry lips, all over me. I'll never ever look at strawberry ice cream the same way again," and Draco laughed out loud, treasuring the moment, the happy warmth in Harry's eyes, and the knowledge that he was loved.

* * * * * * *

Fortune favored them by sending a bus swiftly. The ride home and the walk from the bus stop took a scant half hour, hardly any time at all - but every moment weighed heavily upon Draco, who could think only of Harry's words about "strawberry lips" and the night that lay ahead of them. Finally, though, they were on the doorstep, Harry turning the key in the lock and murmuring the words to allow the wards to let them through, stepping into the blessed privacy and comfort of home at long last.

Draco turned to find Harry gazing at him, eyes luminous in the dark room and filled with silent hunger. "Upstairs, I think," said Harry, his voice still calm despite the tempest of passion brewing in his expression; and Draco nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Harry led them both to Draco's room, and Draco paused to lock the door behind them; turning around, he found himself with a sudden double-armful of lover pressed up against him, lips fastening on his own and kissing him urgently. "Draco," Harry moaned, and the sound of his name delivered in that tone sent an adrenaline surge of passion straight to Draco's groin, leaving him instantly hard and wanting.

"Harry," Draco murmured, letting his hands roam over Harry's body. Slid his hands underneath the t-shirt and eased it up and over his head. Popped open the button of his jeans and nudged the zipper down, smoothed both trousers and boxers to his ankles in the same quick gesture. Harry toed off his sneakers, and Draco tugged the pants free from his legs - leaving Draco on his knees before a naked, aroused Harry, which was right where he'd wanted to be.

The familiar, beloved shape of the cock rising before him did look a bit like a strawberry pop, Draco thought wryly.

He leaned forward and reached out with hands and mouth to lavish attention on his beloved, and was rewarded by Harry's shuddering cries as he licked and sucked and stroked his tender bits with skill acquired from long practice. "Strawberry lips," Harry gasped, and Draco smiled around Harry's cock and sucked all the more, until the soft moans sharpened into a keening whine, until Harry's body was taut with need and ready to burst... until Harry cried out sharply, as his orgasm took him, hard and sweet, in a series of long spasms.

Draco swallowed and held on, prolonging the spasms and making the pleasure last for Harry as long as he could, until he heard Harry sigh happily and felt his lover's hands ruffle through his hair. "Strawberry lips," came the words again, fondly; and Harry's hands tugged at him, urged Draco to his feet. "But now it's your turn. Come here, I want to please you..."

Then Harry's lips were on his again, parted, tongue probing inside and tangling with his own, as his partner's hands moved to divest him of his clothing quickly and surely. He'd been preoccupied with Harry's pleasure before, but now he was wholly aware of his own need, and when his lover's fingers brushed across his crotch to unfasten his zipper, Draco couldn't help but cry out. "Yes, love, I know," Harry murmured softly, and kissed him again, reaching down to massage the part of Draco that needed his touch the most.

Soon enough they were both undressed, and Harry entwined his fingers with Draco's and led him to their bed. Insistent hands pressed Draco down against the mattress, then parted his legs to make room for Harry to nestle between them. Draco moaned as Harry bent his head and took him deep into his mouth, hips thrusting upward to insinuate his aching cock deeper into that wonderful tight warmth, needing more, wanting... His own climax was as quick as Harry's had been, sharp and intense, spreading pleasure and languor in its wake.

Afterward, he nestled close to Harry and kissed him, tasting himself on the other man's lips. "I love you," he said, just for the sake of saying it.

"And I love you," Harry said, and smiled, reaching out to trace a circle around Draco's nipple with one finger.

Draco smiled back, and kissed Harry again. "Think we could manage another round?" he inquired, reaching down slyly to curl his fingers gently around Harry's soft cock.

"Oh, I hope so!" Harry's smile broadened into a grin; his hips moved against Draco's hand, thrusting into his loose grip. "I'd like to feel you inside me. If that's all right."

"Hmm." Draco pretended to think about it. "It's a lot to ask, but I suppose I could manage..." Already his cock was hardening in response to the thought.

"I'd be ever so grateful." Harry pressed close, rubbing himself against Draco. "Ever so grateful," he repeated, in a soft, breathless tone, arousal growing by the moment.

Draco kissed him passionately, tenderly. "Anything to please you," and though the words might have been teasing, the tone most definitely was not.

He eased Harry back against the mattress and began to cover him with kisses - shoulders, chest, stomach, down to his cock, which responded to the attention eagerly. Harry's hands came up to caress Draco, stroking softly, as Draco licked and sucked at Harry's cock again, bringing him to full readiness. His own desire was taking care of itself - being with Harry always had that effect on him, as did the very suggestion of being inside him. It was Harry's pleasure and comfort which occupied Draco's thoughts as he knelt between Harry's legs and murmured the wandless spell to cleanse and prepare him, as he reached out with questing fingertips to complete the preparation. As always, he wanted to be sure Harry was fully ready, both aroused enough and relaxed enough to accept and enjoy intercourse completely.

A few minutes later, two fingers buried deep and massaging the pleasure point, Harry writhing and moaning beneath him, and his cock hard enough to cut glass - and Draco judged, hazily, that the moment was right: he withdrew the probing fingers, drew Harry's legs up over his shoulders, positioned himself at Harry's entrance, and slid into the tight, hot haven of his lover's body, moaning at the feel of it.

Harry cried out with every thrust, as was his way, so that Draco thought nothing of the sounds except to feel their evidence of his partner's pleasure - but after a few thrusts, he became aware that they weren't quite cries at all, but words. "Love. Love. Love you. Love you," gasped with every stroke, their meaning driven home by the stark emotion in Harry's emerald eyes fixed upon his own - and that message was more than Draco could bear; his heart filled to bursting, overflowed, and drove the passion in his loins to do the same. He held back as long as he could, desperate to give Harry the pleasure he needed to reach his peak... finally, finally, he felt his lover's body contract around him with the force of his climax, and Draco slammed in hard and sobbed as he yielded to his own.

Unlike the first time, in this aftermath there was no room for lighthearted banter or casual talk. Emotion coursed through Draco, so deep and rich that he could hardly stand the intensity of it. He kissed Harry, and tears sparkled in his eyes. "I love you," he whispered, and barely managed to keep from crying.

"I love you," Harry repeated back to him, clinging tightly, and a lone teardrop slid down his cheek to dampen Draco's face.

* * * * * * *

This morning, a full bag of bagels to choose from. Draco selected sesame, toasted it and poured himself coffee, and soon was ensconced at the table at his usual place.

The Weasel passed him the comics section of the paper. "Shame you missed last night's game," he remarked, "our team won it in extra innings, four to three."

"Shame," Draco echoed, struggling to repress a secret smile.

Granger came down next. "I feel like scrambled eggs. Does anyone else want scrambled eggs?" she offered.

Weasley, being no fool despite appearances to the contrary, agreed with alacrity; Draco, too, accepted the offer quickly. Granger, he knew, would chop up the remains of last night's grilled vegetables and add them to the eggs with a liberal helping of shredded cheese, served with salsa on the side: the result would be filling and quite tasty. "Make some for Harry, too," he spoke up, knowing that Harry would most likely wake up ravenous after last night's workout.

"Is he feeling better, then?" Granger inquired, with concern.

"Oh, yes," Draco said, with a perfectly straight face, "he's right as rain, now."

It took some time before the object of their discussion emerged, by which time Granger was well into her cooking and Draco was on his second cup of coffee. Again, Harry had showered prior to coming down - his standard behavior after a night of sex - and was appealingly damp and tousled in his borrowed Slytherin t-shirt and jeans. "H'lo," he said, moving slowly and a bit gingerly... Draco smiled, knowing what activity in particular had left Harry in such a state, and resolving to spell away the ache after breakfast.

"Morning," the Weasel grunted, and "Good morning! I'm making eggs for everyone," chirped Granger cheerfully; but Harry's eyes were fixed on Draco as he came through the dining room. As was usual, he bent to collect his morning kiss - murmured, "G'morning, love," into Draco's ear before kissing him, and Draco felt a warm shiver of pleasure course through him.

"Good morning, love," he responded, and Harry kissed him again, then once more for good measure.

When he'd finished, Harry moved toward the kitchen, to get himself coffee; Draco stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Sit down," he said gently, "I'll bring it to you."

"It's all right," Harry protested mildly.

Draco silenced him with a look. "Sit," he said.

Harry did so... gingerly. Draco bit his lip, and managed not to laugh.

He fetched Harry his coffee, by which time Granger was serving up dishes of eggs. "Are you sure you're feeling better now? We were worried about you last night," she was asking Harry anxiously, as she set his plate of eggs before him.

Harry's eyes found Draco's, and sparkled. "I'm fine," Harry said truthfully. "Everything's fine. Everything is perfect."

And Draco smiled, and privately agreed.