#drarry dabble

Looking turned into kissing turned into sucking Harry off in the loos of the club.

Draco is still kneeling in the stall, head thrown back, cock spent from coming untouched, panting.

When the bus stops, Harry pulls Draco with him towards the edge of town.

“What is this place?” Draco asks, quickly stepping up so he walks next to Harry instead of being pulled forward.

Harry smile. “The town I grew up,” he says. It’s small and quiet. But it’s where his best memories lay. And his worst. He points towards the playground. “That’s where I learned to play. Dad used to take me along with him as soon as I could walk. And when he was gone, Sirius continued the tradition.”

Draco hums and stops. Harry turns to look at him. His eyes are serious, his lips pushed together. “Do you remember your parents?” he asks.

Harry shakes his head. “No, I was too young. The only thing I have are the stories Sirius and Remus told me.” He walks on, towards the edge of town. The little cottage is still there. Harry stops right in front of it. He hasn’t been here in years. Not since that day the police came to get him from school to rush him to the hospital, only to learn that it was already too late. That his last guardian was dead.

He'd been sat at the same table for hours, a notebook in front of him with the page still blank. He'd already eaten a scone and drank half of a very large amount of coffee. His body was humming and yet dazed and slow. He could have melted into a large armchair and napped if he'd wanted. It was a truly beautiful way to feel.

The bell chimed above the door, and just as he had been for several hours already, Harry looked up. He made no move to wave or gesture, didn't even put down his pen when he noted that he wasn't waiting anymore. He did smile a lazy smile as he was approached.

"Damn fucking public transportation in the bloody fucking rain on a muddy fucking Wednesday. I swear to God, I am never going to enjoy living in this city."

Harry didn't reply as Draco's usual tirade of curse words and fluffing happened to him. He shook off his coat, flattened down his hair, straightened his cuffs and collar, brushed off his cheeks. It took a moment for Draco to come in from anywhere, and there was no point interrupting.

"Not to mention that Collier's Wood is very fucking far away, Harry. Very far. And the client didn't even have the freaking draft ready, so I took the tube for an hour for very little bloody reason."

He continued to sigh as he removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

"The only saving grace is that he made rather excellent lunch and I suppose it's good that I showed my face but when I tell you I need a coffee, you'll understand that it is not a suggestion—wait, have you not even started that? Harry! You've been here ages."

Draco had finally sat himself down, and Harry had pushed the warm cup towards him quietly. His face flushed and he put his chin on his hand to watch Draco take a sip.

"Thank Merlin for coffee. I swear, Potter, if you're not done by the time we leave for dinner, I'm hiring someone to do it for you."

"HI, Draco," Harry murmured finally.

Draco's whole posture shifted. His shoulders relaxed, his face softened. He reached across the table, pulled the pen from him, and gripped his hand.

"Hi, love," he replied, his gruff anger completely dismissed.

"I did start. It feels too heavy."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's...been a day."

"This is a nice cafe, though, isn't it?"

Draco looked around smiled. "It's okay. Mostly you're a sucker for a fall aesthetic, but I can see the appeal. Go on then, tell me what you have."

Harry smirked and flipped back a page. "I, Harry Potter," he read, "being of sound mind and body—"

Draco laughed. "Fuck you!"

"What?" Harry teased. "Isn't that how all your wills start?"

Draco swatted at Harry's head. "If you don't sort out how to write absolutely beautiful vows in the next hour, I'm taking back the proposal and the wedding is off."

"Darling Draco, heart of my heart and liver of my liver—"

"You are literally the one who wanted to write our own. We could just read from the bloody book."

"When we first met, I utterly hated you. When we first met again, you swore at me for a full five minutes and I knew right then and there that we would one day be standing here, pretending either of us give a damn about being married."

"My mother will murder you."

Harry laughed. "I'm kidding. I finished them."

"What? You did?"

"Course," Harry shrugged. "I've been here for hours."

"Let me see!" Draco demanded, swiping at the notebook.

Seeker reflexes kicking in, Harry pulled the paper from his grasp. "No fucking way. You wouldn't show me yours."

Draco relaxed back in his chair and smirked a wry smile. "That's because I haven't written them," he said.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Draco just shrugged.

"God I hate you," Harry teased.

He leaned back in his chair too, picking up his mug and inhaling deeply. Draco smiled warmly and winked.