Yulicchi

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Malfoy’s hands stretched out the stiff tendons on the tender inside of Harry’s knee, nimble fingers digging in deep–deeper. Harry winced through the pleasure-pain.The whimper escaped him, unbidden. Underneath Malfoy’s ever-professional Healer demeanour, his mouth twitched as Harry melted further back into the armchair.

Malfoy studied his face closely as his fingers worked whilst Harry fought the flush rising to his face.

It was the same every. bloody. session.

Eventually the tendons loosened. A low hum from Malfoy as he set down Harry’s knee gingerly, wiping his oil-slicked hands.

Harry gulped, looking away from Malfoy’s hands, back to his face–which didn’t help the direction of his thoughts.

“Incline the other knee.” 

“Huh?” Harry said, looking from where Malfoy’s fringe fell into his eyes to his other knee. “How?”

Draco stepped up onto the pedestal in Madam Malkin’s. "New to the wizarding world, I suppose?" The pale boy sneered. "I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. Pureblood, Sacred Twenty-Eight."

Harry looked him up and down. "Congratulations. Do you want a medal or a biscuit?"

Draco blinked. Then he laughed, sharp and delighted. "You're cheeky. I like you."

"I'm Harry."

"Harry who?"

"Harry Potter."

Draco's eyes widened. "The Harry Potter?" He stuck out his hand. "Pleasure to meet you.”

Harry shook his hand. “Have you been to Hogwarts before?”

“No, but we can figure it out together. Friends, then?" Draco smirked.

Harry smiled. "You're insufferable."

"And you're snarky. We'll get along famously."

~~~~~*~~~~~

The Hat barely touched Harry's head.

"Slytherin," it shouted.

Harry walked to the green table. Draco grinned, patting the bench beside him.

"Told you," he said.

Breathless and spent, Draco tumbles down onto the bed. He’s laughing. A real, genuine laugh. He turns his head and finds Harry beside him, flushed and amused and a little bewildered.

The reason why sits on Harry’s finger.

A gold band.

The only thing he’s wearing.

“So?” Draco asks, shifting to face him properly.

“So what?” Harry counters.

Draco is in no mood to draw the process out. He crowds into Harry’s space, nipping gently at the sweat-slick skin of his neck, then soothes the sting with a kiss.

Against his ear, he says, “You’re wearing it.”

Harry looks at him, eyes half-lidded. “So I am.”

“I’m going to presume, then.” Draco takes Harry’s hand, draws it up, kisses the ring he had slotted onto his finger half an hour ago, then holds it tight.

“Presume?”

“That you’re saying yes. You didn’t say it earlier.”

Harry’s lips twitch. “You didn’t exactly give me the chance.”

“Is it a yes, Harry?” Draco presses.

He knows it is. It has to be.

How can it not be after everything? After the war and the trials, after both of them becoming Aurors, after the fights and the arguments, after the shared drinks where absolution was found at the bottom of a pint glass and resurrection between the sheets.

How can it not be yes, when even after all that, they spent months denying themselves the joy and love of each other because they both felt like they didn’t deserve it?

Harry tightens his fingers around Draco’s.

He tilts his head, fondness written plainly across his face. “I’m inclined to acquiesce.”

“Inclined to acquiesce,” Draco repeats mildly. “Wow. Swallowed a thesaurus, did you?”

“Swallowed something,” Harry mutters, arching a brow. “Swallowed your brain through your—”

Draco pinches his waist. Harry laughs, and then Draco is tickling him properly, ruthless with it, fingers digging into every vulnerable place he knows by heart.

“Draco—fuck—stop—”

“Answer the question.”

“I did!”

“You used four syllables too many.”

Harry squirms beneath him, panting and helpless and wearing Draco’s ring.

“Yes,” he gasps at last. “Yes, I’ll fucking marry you.”

Draco stills and for a moment, the room goes quiet around them. Then Harry reaches up, cups Draco’s face, and smiles.

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: incline | wc: 25

One tilt of Harry’s chin is all it takes.

Eyelids flicker. Lips part. Then, his jaw lifts.

It’s a question. Draco answers it.

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.