“How about love?” Harry asked, hoping Draco would look up from his stupid homework.
“You’re the one who likes pet-names, not me.” Draco’s eyes were still on a boring Advanced Potion’s book and he was tempted to summon it away.
“What’s the difference between the two?” The flipping of a page taunted him, and he really hated the damn thing.
“Erm,” Harry’s fingers tapped against the library table, lost in thought. “I don’t know, different sentiments?”
An arched brow was his response and the silence was another strike against the book in Harry’s opinion.
He slumped down with a loud enough groan that Madam Picket glared at him. He had thought Madam Pince had been bad, but she had nothing on their magi-university librarian.
“Call me that and I’ll hex you.”
Well damn. Harry didn’t get it. Pet-names did something to him; the way it could show how someone cared, the softness in the titles and the butterflies it gave him. Why wouldn’t Draco like that?
Love. Harry’s stomach tightened on instinct and he could feel the heat in his cheeks. That was one of his favorite feelings, it always came with a smidgen of embarrassment, but he wasn’t sure if it stemmed from how much he liked it or something else.
He looked down at the table, unsure of what to say. If Draco truly didn’t want a pet-name, then he’d listen, but part of him felt disappointed, which left him feeling guilty.
Harry looked up to see Draco’s book on the table and his eyes searching his face.
“Please,” Draco said softly, far too softly. Probably why Madam Picket liked him.
When Harry walked around the table, Draco pushed his chair back and pulled him onto his lap.
“Tell me what’s got that frown on your face.” Fingers brushed against Harry’s lips and he tried not to smile.
“I want to call you something.”
There was amusement in the way Draco’s lips quirked and Harry did not appreciate it.
“You can call me by my name.”
“That’s boring!” Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck.
“Not to me,” Draco said and there was something in his voice that had Harry tilting back, forehead wrinkled as he took in a soft pink flush on his cheeks.
Draco looked at Harry’s chest, eyes not meeting his.
“I’ve never been Draco to you, Harry.” The whisper was accompanied by a deeper flush and Harry wanted to trace the colour with his fingers—so he did.
“It’s intimate, don’t you think?” Draco asked, eyes flicking up briefly before they fell once more. “It shows how far we’ve come, allows me to be someone more than a surname and I get to share that with you. I like when you call me Draco.”
“I’ll call you whatever you want,” Draco continued, nearly breathless. “As long as you call me by my name.”
“Okay,” Harry murmured before he let his fingers fall and he replaced them with his lips; soft kisses to heated skin.
He still wasn’t sure he understood but if Draco liked it, that’s all that mattered in the end.
Barely a whisper but the effect was instantaneous. A small shudder and a tightening of hands around him had Harry watching his face.
The look Draco gave him was familiar, that was a look that described how he felt every time Draco muttered love, whispered baby or smiled through a darling. That’s what he had been wanting for Draco, that’s what he had wanted to share.
Intimacy wasn’t universal, experiences weren’t always shared and that’s okay. Harry was looking forward to learning more, learning other things Draco loved.
“Draco,” He said again, and again. He never wanted to stop.
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