Everything Drarry

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 456 | prompt: butt

The first time Harry tried to ask Draco Malfoy out, he got as far as, “So, Malfoy, are you—”

Then Ron appeared, dropped three case files on Harry’s desk, and said, “Good, you’re both here. Please tell me one of you knows where I can find a cursed ferret, I’ve been doing the rounds.”

Draco looked at the files. Harry looked at Ron.

“Not now,” Harry said.

Ron dropped into a chair. “It’s either now or I set fire to the paperwork.”

The second time, Harry cornered Draco in the Ministry lift.

“Malfoy,” he said, shifting his grip on his briefcase, “I was wondering if you’d like to—”

The lift doors opened and Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped in.

Harry immediately changed course and said, “—review the… broom-related… tax fraud?”

Draco stared at him. “Potter, that was six months ago.”

Kingsley looked between them, then very wisely chose shuffling through the paperwork in his hand over whatever this was. 

The third time, Draco was alone outside after work, collar turned up against the cold, smoke from his cigarette curling silver around his fingers.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, walking up, before he could lose his nerve.

Draco looked over. “Potter.”

“I was thinking we—”

“There you are,” Pansy said from behind him, pulling her gloves on. She looked between them and smirked. “Am I interrupting something?”

Draco’s mouth curved. “Only Potter’s latest attempt at a sentence, apparently.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Good night.”

Pansy waved and looped her arm through Draco’s, tugging him away, already complaining about the cold.

Harry watched them go and made a private note to find a way to rid of the entire concept of timing.

A few weeks into this, Hermione had apparently had enough.

They were all crammed into a corner booth at the Leaky, warm with laughter and too many rounds, when Harry glanced at Draco across the table.

“Malfoy, I—well. I was wondering if—”

Everyone else’s conversation died all at once, and their eyes were on him. Harry’s mouth stayed open, uselessly shaped around words that had apparently decided to abandon him.

Across the table, Draco only raised a perfect blond eyebrow, which did not help.

Hermione did not even look up from her drink. “Draco, Harry wants to know if you’ll go out with him,” she butted in. 

Ron and Blaise said, in unison, “Oh, finally.”

Harry turned his head slowly towards Hermione. “Hey, I had that!”

“Did you though?”

Harry was about to retort when Draco’s knee brushed his beneath the table. When Harry looked back at him, Draco was smiling.

“Well, Potter?”

Harry swallowed. “Dinner?”

Draco’s smile softened. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Draco fell speechless at the sight before him. He was in the middle of talking to Pansy when Potter had walked in and stole the breath from his lungs.

A white shirt, see-through enough to still see his chest hair, stopped at his navel where a generous strip of sun-tanned skin teased Draco relentlessly.

To make matters worse, Potter also wore the most scandalous pair of muggle jeans Draco had ever seen. The material hugged his thighs, and when Potter turned for the bar, he noticed they only further highlighted other... assets.

“Close your mouth. You're gaping like a fish,” a voice unhelpfully supplied from his left.

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 173 | prompt: incline

Across the very, very, very boring Ministry gala stood the object of Harry’s undivided attention: Draco Malfoy.

“You don’t have to glare at the pointy git all night,” Ron said.

“What?”

“Ron’s right, you know,” Hermione added. “You might have a better time if you tried forgetting Malfoy exists.”

Harry was only half-listening. Across the room, Malfoy inclined his head in their private way, ever so slightly, towards the left.

Harry coughed. “Er. Yeah. I think what I actually need is some… air.”

Ron clapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit. Come back with a fresh mindset and less Malfoy.” Hermione nodded her agreement. 

Harry slipped through the crowd and out into the empty corridor. Moments later, Malfoy followed.

“You look bloody hot in those robes,” Harry said.

“Yes, they are rather thick, and it is quite stuffy in there.”

“The other hot, you git.”

Malfoy’s mouth curved. “Mm. Come here, then.”

Harry was diligently washing the dishes when he felt Draco move in and snake his arms around his middle, hot breath ghosting across his neck. 

“Yes, love?” Harry asked, inclining his head to the side. Draco’s lips found their mark, placing lazy kisses while Harry continued to scrub.

“You’re taking too long,” Draco whined, his hands travelling lower and lower until Harry’s breath hitched and knuckles blanched around a dinner plate.

“I’m almost done, Draco,” Harry breathed.

“Oh, I think you’re done now,” Draco teased. 

“Am I?” His cheek was rewarded with a squeeze that tore a groan from his throat.

Harry’s head fell back to Draco’s shoulder with a heavy sigh and a curl to his lip. The dishes could wait, Draco’s greed could not.