Archive of Our Own

“There’s something odd about this report,” Draco mutters, his pale eyebrows creased in concentration as he studies the files Robards dropped on his desk half an hour ago. “This raid seems like a walk in the park. It doesn’t convince me at all, Harry.”

Harry watches the way Draco’s elegant fingers nervously tap on the dark wood, and his mind is flooded with memories of the night before. Of those fingers tracing intricate patterns on Harry’s skin, of the way they looked, all slicked-up as they disappeared inside Harry. He feels his cheeks heating up as he remembers the little moan that escaped Draco’s lips when he entered Harry, the way his soft lips parted on a shuddered gasp as soon as he started moving inside him, making Harry fall apart and clinging to Draco as he came with his name on his lips.

“Are you listening to me?” Draco asks, waving a hand in front of Harry’s face. “Salazar, your cheeks are all red. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Harry nods nervously, feeling his trousers suddenly get uncomfortably tight. 

“All fine,” he replies, his voice hoarse and low. “What were you saying?”

Draco huffs in exasperation and scowls at him.

“Seriously, Potter?” he says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “If I hadn’t been your partner for the past five years and I wasn’t used to you constantly daydreaming, I would have already strangled you by now. But as things stand, the last thing I want is to be reassigned because of the premature death of my incompetent partner. What if I end up with Weasley? Or, even worse, with Finnigan?” Draco shudders and throws the report at Harry. “Read this. Now.”

Harry sighs and starts skimming through the thick folder, wondering why on earth his job as an Auror consists of so many long hours poring over bloody paperwork. He’s a man of action. He wants to be out in the field, solving crimes and saving people’s lives, not reading about how Mrs Johnson believes her cottage in the countryside has been occupied by smugglers of unicorn horns.

“This is nonsense,” Harry mumbles, flicking through the pages. “She’s 154 years old! She probably forgot how to deactivate her own wards. It happened to Mr Stevenson last month. Ron and Sophie had to go all the way to the Isle of Wight to find out the old wizard was just barmy.”

“But what if Mrs Johnson is right?” Draco asks, packing his emergency bag as he prepares to leave. “Robards wants us to go and check on the cottage, so get your shit together because I refuse to skip lunch. They’re serving lemon meringue pie at the canteen today, and there’s no way in hell I am missing it.”

Harry smiles, looking at the way Draco’s lips purse as he checks the contents of his bag for the third time. It’s a ritual that never ceases to draw Harry’s attention. Draco’s fingers close around the emergency Portkey to St Mungo’s, making sure it’s in the pocket of his Auror robes, then he straightens his collar and takes a deep breath. He looks absolutely pristine, his robes perfectly pressed without a single wrinkle, and all Harry wants to do is ruffle his hair and crease his clothes, to make Draco lose his composure. Harry feels like he is one of the few people on the planet who gets to see Draco Malfoy unravel, his gaze soft under pale eyelashes, body loose in Harry’s bed as he leans forward for another kiss.

This thing between them is so new and fragile. They’ve only been on a handful of dates. They’ve slept together five times, but Harry can’t wait to have Draco again, to run his hands all over Draco’s unexpectedly warm body, to make him moan and gasp. They’ve decided not to tell anyone, to keep it a secret in order to make it last. 

Harry has had his fair share of disastrous flings that ended on the front cover of the Prophet , and Draco is a very private person. Harry wants to take things slowly, to savour this new intimacy between them. He has worked so hard to get to know the real Draco, to sneak his way into Draco’s life and become his friend. It took a lot of convincing to make Draco realise Harry was serious when he asked him out on a date, but it was so worth it.

Harry is besotted. He has been for a good couple of years, but it took him ages to realise it.

He’s desperately in love with the blond git, but he hasn’t had the courage to tell him, not yet. He’s terrified of scaring Draco away with the strength of his feelings, with how much Harry wants him and loves him. So he’s going to do what he’s absolutely pants at doing, and he’s going to wait. He’s going to keep his love hidden for a little longer, at least until he’s sure there’s a chance Draco could possibly start feeling the same way about him.

“Ready to go?” Draco asks with a small smile, one of the soft ones that Harry has only seen reserved for him and Draco’s cat, Mr Snuffles. 

“Yep,” Harry replies, taking his cloak and following him to the Apparition Point.

The cottage is in a remote village in the Shetlands, and Harry shivers in his winter cloak as the freezing wind hits him in the face as soon as he Apparates. 

“It’s the one with the blue door,” Draco says, pointing at a small cottage with a thatched roof and an unkept front garden. It looks abandoned and decrepit, and Harry wonders what the hell they are doing here, in the middle of sodding nowhere, freezing their arses off because of an old batty lady.

“Let’s get this over and done quickly,” he mutters, casting a few quick disarming spells at the door. “I want a cup of tea. A slice of chocolate cake would also be nice.”

“Wait,” Draco whispers, holding a hand in front of Harry’s chest, but it’s too late. The door bangs open, and a series of spells hit them before Harry can cast his renowned forceful Protego .

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, a cut on his arm and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He turns to look at Draco, but the blond seems unscathed. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Draco replies, his jaw clenched tight as he takes Harry’s wrist and drags him behind the recycling bin. Harry casts a Protego before they duck down. Another series of hexes are thrown their way but are repelled by Harry’s shield charm. “We need reinforcement.”

Harry sends his Patronus, asking for more Aurors to come and help them, grimacing as he realises that they’re going to get bollocked by Robards again. Draco is not going to be impressed with him…

“I’m going to try to disarm them,” Harry mutters, wiping his bleeding nose with the back of his arm and making Draco wince.

“Let me fix your wounds first,” Draco murmurs, fingers gentle as he gingerly tilts Harry’s chin and casts a wandless healing spell on his face. Harry adores the feeling of Draco’s magic on his skin, like a lovely caress. He wishes he could enjoy it more, but the smugglers hidden in the cottage keep on sending spell after spell at them. There’s the crack of apparition, and a flash of familiar orange as Ron and Chloe appear just outside the gate, followed by Seamus and Dean.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Seamus shouts, but a stinging hex hits him across the chest, making him fall as Dean casts a protective bubble around them.

“Did they have to send Finnigan?” Draco grumbles next to Harry. “Robards should have sent his pet hedgehog whilst he was at it. He would have been more usef-”

There’s a sudden explosion, and Draco’s words get lost in the deafening sound of Harry’s Protego being shattered by a Bombarda that sends them both flying.         

“Fucking dickheads!” someone shouts in the distance, and Harry can barely understand what’s going on, because his ears are ringing and his face is against the soft grass. He lifts his head, heavier than concrete, and blinks several times as his vision is blurry. He realises he’s not wearing his glasses, and he squints as he tries to understand what’s happening around him. His eyes focus on a prone figure next to him.

“Draco!” he shouts, lunging in spite of the pain and reaching for his partner. “Are you okay?”

Panic rises in Harry’s chest as he brushes fine hair off Draco’s forehead, swearing under his breath as he touches Draco everywhere, making sure he’s breathing, that his heart is beating. He can’t lose him. Shit , he hasn’t even told him that he loves him.

Draco opens his eyes and stares back at him, bringing a hand to his own temples, a bruise already starting to form on his porcelain skin.

“We’ve disarmed them, Harry,” someone says behind him, but all Harry can think of is Draco. Is he injured? Is he going to be okay? Harry has lost too many people, and he can’t lose Draco. 

“Does it hurt anywhere, my love?” Harry asks, his voice trembling as he clutches his wand, casting the few basic diagnostic spells he knows.

“I’m…” Draco starts, his voice uncertain. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks.

“Just a bump on the forehead,” Draco mumbles, staring at him.

“Merlin, fuck,” Harry breathes out. “You scared the hell out of me, love.”

“Wait, what did you just call Malfoy?” Ron asks, suddenly coming into focus. 

“Er…” Harry mutters.

Shit.

Shit, shit, fuck.

He said it, didn’t he?

Harry realises with dread that he’s just called Draco ‘love’.

Twice.    

“Were you hit by a dodgy hex?” Ron asks, frowning. Harry can see the confusion mirrored on Draco’s face, mixed with something else that he’s struggling to read, especially without his glasses. 

He suddenly has an idea.

“I think I have, sweetheart,” he says to Ron, and then grimaces at how wrong it sounds.

“Shit, mate,” Ron says, shaking his head and snorting. He Accios Harry’s glasses and hands them to him. “Trust you to get hit by something that makes you a sap.”

“Shut up…cutie!” Harry blurts out, and Ron laughs even harder, but Draco scowls and looks for his wand in the grass, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. He starts casting spell after spell at Harry, his frown deepening as apparently nothing conclusive comes out of his examination.

No shit, Sherlock, Harry thinks. He’s made it all up. Except for a few broken ribs and a bad cut on his arm, there’s nothing wrong with him. Draco treats Harry’s wounds with competent ease, but he still looks concerned.

“Hey, Seamus!” Ron calls. “Come here and talk to Harry when you’re done with those wankers.”

Harry rolls his eyes, and finds Draco staring at him with a scrutinising expression on his face.

“I’ve never heard of a hex that makes you use terms of endearment with anyone,” Draco says, looking worried. Harry’s heart constricts in his chest, feeling bad for making Draco worry about him, but relishing the thought of Draco caring so much that he looks like he’s going to lose it. “I’m taking you to St Mungo’s straight away. We need to get the best Healer to have a look at you.”

“What’s up?” Seamus asks with a smile.

“Nothing, dearie,” Harry replies, flinching. He needs to stop this farce, before it all blows up in his face. The healers at St Mungo’s will see through his shit in less than five seconds.

“Come on,” Draco says, offering Harry his Portkey. It’s shaped like a toy car, and they both grab one of the wheels as the world starts swirling around Harry, and the familiar unpleasant tug behind his navel makes Harry feel nauseous. They land in an examination room that starts blaring alarms as soon as Harry’s arse touches the bed. A Medi-Wizard with a handlebar moustache and thick glasses barges into the room, wand in hand, his eyes determined as he casts the quickest diagnostic spell Harry has ever seen.

“I’m Medi-Wizard Newman. What happened to him?” the wizard asks, and Harry’s eyes open as his robes disappear. He yelps as he’s left there sitting in his red underwear with golden snitches flying around. He blushes as he feels Draco’s eyes roaming across his body and stopping on the embarrassing boxers with a raised eyebrow. Harry wasn’t expecting to get lucky today, what the hell…

“We were in a raid and were hit by a series of hexes and jinxes,” Draco explains, so professional and collected that Harry wants to drag him into bed and rut against him until Draco loses his composure. Maybe later, if Draco can see past his silly underwear. Oh, and the made-up spell. “Auror Potter was hit by a spell that makes him use terms of endearment with anyone.”

“Interesting,” Newman says, massaging his imposing moustache. “Could you speak to me, please, Auror Potter?”

“Nice to meet you, honey bunny,” Harry says, feeling like a complete and utter idiot. The Medi-Wizard’s eyes open wide, and he moves a little closer, casting another series of spells and muttering interesting a few more times before he sends his Patronus to a colleague.

“Margery, come to examination room six. There’s something you need to see.”

Medi-Witch Frampton turns out to be even more enthusiastic, especially after Harry calls her buttercup.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she murmurs as she lifts Harry’s arm to peek under his armpit. Harry tries to remember if he used deodorant in the morning before heading off to the Ministry. 

“I think we ought to keep you in for further examination,” Newman says, and Harry groans, tilting his head back in exasperation. He considers just telling everyone the truth when he feels Draco’s fingers gently brushing against the back of his hand on the bed.

“We’ll stay,” Draco says, his grey eyes locking with Harry’s. “For as long as you deem necessary.”

The Healers leave them for a few minutes, and Harry sees Draco’s expression finally soften as the blond looks at him longingly and leans forward for a quick kiss that leaves Harry breathless and desperate for more. When their lips part, Harry reaches for Draco’s face, wrapping his hand around his neck and bringing him closer for another deep kiss, until Draco is letting out a tiny moan at the back of his throat.

“Harry,” Draco murmurs as Harry kisses the corner of his mouth. “They’re going to be back in a few minutes. It wouldn’t be appropr- oh fuck, how do you do it every time? Kiss me there again, hmmm…”

Harry sucks on the sensitive spot under Draco’s ear and feels long fingers stroking his arm, then his leg.

“I’m going to get hard, love,” Harry warns, suddenly remembering that he’s only wearing a pair of loose boxers. “Fuck, too late.”

“I’m just going to stand here in a corner,” Draco announces, his cheeks flushed in the prettiest way as he avoids Harry’s gaze and takes a few steadying breaths.  

“We can still go on our date this evening,” Harry says, trying to think calming thoughts to will his erection away before the Healers come back. McGonagall with a party hat. Mr Weasley wearing sandals with white knee socks. Snape on a tricycle. That will do. “We don’t have to cancel just because I got hexed. I’m sure it will be ok, my love.”

“We can reschedule it,” Draco says, his cheeks suddenly turning a deeper shade of red after he hears Harry’s last words. Harry wants to do it again.

“But I was going to wine and dine you, love.”

Draco’s lips quiver, and Harry is suddenly desperate to cross the distance between them and hold him close. 

Harry has never had a chance to use pet names with anyone. He’s never had a boyfriend or girlfriend. Not since Ginny, and they were still so young back then. No one has ever used a term of endearment for him, except for maybe Molly when she gets a bit tipsy and sentimental on Christmas day. 

Harry wants it all. He wants to be able to call Draco the silliest names that pop into his head. He craves to be called things like ‘darling’ and ‘sweetie’, like he’s heard Ron and Hermione do to each other, or all his friends who are disgustingly in love and never afraid of showing off how happy they are.

He wants that with Draco.

“I had a bad feeling about that cottage,” Draco says, moving closer, a guilty expression on his face as his eyes still avoid Harry’s. “I should have asked for reinforcements when we got there.”  

“Hey, don’t make that face,” Harry whispers, his fingers interlacing with Draco’s. “Nothing’s wrong with me, darling.”

The door suddenly opens, and Harry immediately lets go of Draco’s hand. A group of witches and wizards come in, wands ready, eager to examine Harry. After a series of fruitless spells and further ‘interesting’ murmured in his direction, the Healers decide they have no idea what’s wrong with Harry (the answer is clearly nothing, but he doesn’t have the guts to confess at this point).

“Maybe it’s a new type of spell,” an elderly witch comments, inserting her finger in Harry’s bellybutton and making him jump. “Or an unfortunate combination of two spells that interacted with each other. Like the Hopkins case.”

“What happened to Hopkins?” Harry asks, purely out of curiosity, and then remembers his own fake curse, so he quickly adds, “Hun.”

“He ended up with a beak instead of a mouth,” another wizard mutters absentmindedly whilst taking notes on a clipboard. “Wouldn’t stop quacking, poor chap.”

“We could call it the Potter curse,” the witch suggests, and Harry starts shaking his head.

“Please don’t,” he says. “I already have enough stuff named after me…sweetie pie.”

“We shall call it the Darling Curse,” handlebar moustache declares pompously. Harry rolls his eyes, but then shrugs when they all stare at him, waiting for his approval.

“Alright, I guess. Can I go home now?” he asks. 

“We should keep you overnight, in case it gets worse,” handlebar moustache says.

“How can it possibly get worse?” Harry asks, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. 

“Dirty talk,” the elderly witch deadpans. “We’ve seen one of these curses before. It was the most peculiar thing.”

“Err…” Harry mumbles, but Draco crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“I could look after him at home,” he suggests. “If you think Auror Potter is stable enough and the curse is not life-threatening. I have another emergency Portkey to St Mungo’s, and I could use it should Potter start saying inappropriate things to me.”

“That sounds reasonable,” the Medi-Witch replies. “We’ve run every single diagnostic spell under the sun, and he is as healthy as a horse.”

“Brilliant,” Harry replies, finally relaxing and smiling at the thought of spending the rest of the day in Draco’s company. “Can we please go now, sunshine?”

“Not before you sign these documents,” handlebar moustache says, handing Harry a huge pile of parchment. Half an hour later Harry finally finds himself in the comfort of Draco’s home. 

He always expected Draco’s house to be cold and austere, full of expensive and posh antiques, but Draco’s home is actually comfortable and impeccably decorated. It’s a small two-bedroom house by the sea, the back garden leading directly to the beach. The walls are painted in pastel colours, and the furniture is made out of light birch wood. Draco said he had enough of the oppressing atmosphere of the Manor, of the high ceilings and dark rooms. His house is airy and light, and it makes Harry feel at home, more than Grimmauld Place. Maybe it’s because it smells of Draco, or maybe because it’s full of his things, but Harry loves it to bits. They always meet up here when they have to work overtime, or when they want to celebrate solving a case and they’re too exhausted for the pub.

They exchanged their first kiss in Draco’s house. Harry remembers the exact place in the kitchen, right next to the coffee machine. It was mid-morning on a lazy Sunday, and the light of early spring illuminated the room with a gentle glow that made Draco’s fine features look almost ethereal. There was a soft smile on his face, one that Harry had never seen for anyone other than him, not even for Draco’s beloved cat. It was easy, so much easier than anything else between them, to just lean forward, tilting his chin up to reach for Draco’s mouth. It was lovely and sweet. Draco’s lips still tasted of apricot jam, and Harry lost himself in the feeling of having Draco’s arms wrapped around him, bringing him closer, while he kissed him softly and tenderly.

“What are you thinking about?” Draco asks now, making Harry blush as he stares at the coffee machine, his lips parted. 

“Nothing,” he mutters, trying to regain his composure. “Just fancy a cup of tea. Would you like one too, my love?”

Draco nods, his cheeks still flushing when he hears the pet name, making Harry want to just reach for him and snog him senseless against the kitchen counter. 

The thing is, Harry is secretly enjoying this.   

He loves being able to call Draco love and darling. He enjoys the effect it has on Draco too, realising that he’s not horrified nor bothered, as Harry expected him to be. Harry boils the water and then fills the mugs, letting the tea brew whilst Draco feeds his cat.

“You’re a hungry little kitten, Mr Snuffles,” Draco murmurs affectionately, stroking his cat’s black fur. “You’re my cute little kitten, you are.”

Harry smiles as he watches the absolutely adoring expression on Draco’s face as he pets his beloved cat. He wishes he could be Mr Snuffles, and not for the first time.

“Draco, your cat is morbidly obese,” Harry points out with a cheeky smile, and Draco huffs in indignation.

“It’s the fluffy fur that makes him look bigger,” Draco replies stiffly, and Harry laughs.

“I picked him up the other day and he weighed a ton,” Harry says, enjoying the way Draco’s nostrils flare. “He nearly broke my arm.”

“Then it’s time you hit the gym, Potter,” Draco replies haughtily. Harry corners him against the kitchen counter, pressing his chest flush against Draco’s. “What are you trying to do?”

“Kiss you,” Harry replies, noticing the way Draco’s eyelids flutter and his cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink. “I missed our secret afternoon snogging session in our office, my darling.”

“You don’t seem bothered,” Draco blurts out as Harry’s lips are a mere inch away from his, making Harry move back to look him in the eyes. “The pet names. You kept on blushing at the beginning, especially with Weasley and the Healers. But you’re fine now.”

“I…” Harry starts, then swallows loudly. “I guess I’m getting used to it. I can go home if it’s bothering yo-“

“No,” Draco interrupts him, grabbing the front of Harry’s robes and dragging him closer. “I didn’t get to eat my lemon meringue pie because we got stuck in St Mungo’s. You need to make it up to me.”

Harry hums, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and then he finally reaches for Draco, making him let out a blissful sigh as Harry kisses the corner of his mouth and then captures his bottom lip and sucks on it.

“Missed you, my love,” Harry whispers before pressing his lips against Draco’s and deepening the kiss. His tongue slides inside Draco’s mouth, tasting him and making him moan softly as Harry’s hands start wandering down his back. Harry didn’t bother fastening his Auror robes again after the Healers were done examining him, and Draco’s fingers sneak under his t-shirt, his palm warm and familiar against Harry’s skin. “We could take this upstairs.”

“You’re recovering,” Draco murmurs, letting out a soft gasp as Harry starts kissing his way down his pale neck, hoping to leave marks on Draco’s sensitive skin. “The Healers said to keep an eye on you. What if aaah…Salazar, that mouth of yours should be illegal, fuck . Maybe we should do something relaxing.”

“There’s nothing more relaxing than lying on a bed, darling,” Harry breathes out a puff of warm air against Draco’s skin. He nips at the soft flesh, licking a long stripe along Draco’s Adam’s apple, feeling him shudder in his arms. 

The familiar feeling of apparition doesn’t surprise Harry. 

Draco has done it wandlessly several times already, especially when taking him to his bedroom. They land on Draco’s soft duvet, and Harry stifles a laugh as Draco hovers above him on all fours, taking advantage of the change in position to start undressing Harry, hands frantic and hurried as they move fast over him. 

“I thought you wanted to do something relaxing,” Harry teases.

“Shut up and get naked,” Draco replies. The Slytherin eventually groans and casts a spell that leaves them both naked and gasping, their hot skin coming into contact and making Harry marvel at how Draco is so smooth and soft, despite his slender figure.

“Want you so badly,” Harry mutters as Draco grinds into him, already hard. Harry grabs their cocks into his fist and starts pumping them, moaning at how amazing it feels.

“I want you to fuck me,” Draco whispers, and Harry’s eyes open wide as he stops moving. The few times they’ve gone all the way, it was always Draco who was on top. Harry doesn’t mind; he likes it either way, but Draco seemed to clearly have a preference.

“Are you sure, love?” Harry asks, fingers sliding through silky strands as Harry tucks a lock of white-blond hair behind Draco’s perfect ear. “You didn’t seem that keen the other times. What made you change your mind?”

“I-I…” Draco stutters, his cheeks flushing as he stares into Harry’s eyes. “I’ve never done it before,” he confesses. Harry gapes at him, holding him closer and running his hand soothingly over Draco’s back.

“Oh,” he simply replies. 

“I’ve only had a couple of partners before you,” Draco says, and Harry feels a surge of jealousy in his chest at the mention of Draco’s previous sexual encounters, but then Draco reaches for his lips and kisses him soundly. “Don’t make that face. It was nothing serious, and I never felt…I didn’t feel comfortable enough to try it, but with you…it’s different with you, because I…”

Harry’s heart starts beating faster, a warmth spreading in his chest as he reaches for Draco’s lips and kisses him breathless, until Draco is soft and loose in his arms.

“I will be gentle,” Harry promises, “and we’ll go slowly, my darling. I want you to enjoy it.”

Draco nods, and Harry summons the vial of lube, the one Draco has brewed himself and that smells like cinnamon and nutmeg, Harry’s favourite spices. He makes Draco kneel on all fours, his face resting on a pillow. Harry kisses his way down Draco’s spine, taking his time as he feels Draco shivering under him, so he casts a warming charm. 

“Harry,” Draco murmurs, his breath hitching in his throat as Harry’s mouth reaches the base of his spine and then descends lower. Harry casts a cleaning charm before ditching his wand, using his fingers to stroke the perfect globes of Draco’s arse.

“If you feel uncomfortable or want me to stop at any time, just say so, my love.”

Draco lets out a little whine, nodding against the pillow and then closes his eyes on a gasp as Harry runs his tongue over his hole. A shudder shakes his slender body when Harry starts slowly licking him open, spreading his cheeks with his hands, fingers digging into soft flesh.

“Harry,” he breathes out when Harry’s tongue slides inside. “Oh fuck…Merlin, please don’t stop. Oh, gods, you’re so good at this.”

Harry hums against his skin and continues fucking him with his tongue, until Draco is a whimpering mess, and his cock is leaking, untouched, onto the expensive sheets. Harry grabs the lube and pours some onto his fingers. He slides the first one into Draco’s hole slowly, watching Draco’s reaction as it sinks inside him, knuckle by knuckle. Draco moans when Harry starts moving, meeting Draco’s gentle pushes with his lips, begging for more.

“Can I add another one?” Harry asks soon, gently nipping at Draco’s buttock, then leaving a tender kiss there. Draco nods and Harry slides another finger inside, getting Draco ready for his cock. He’s hard and desperate to sink inside Draco’s tight heat, but he wants to take his time, to make sure his partner won’t feel any discomfort. 

“More, please,” Draco begs after a moment, turning to stare at him with desperate eyes. “Harry, please. I need you inside me.”

Harry groans and inserts a third finger, feeling Draco tight and hot around him, relishing the feeling of his hole sucking his fingers in, and wondering how amazing it will feel to sink inside Draco’s hole. He adjusts his position, and Draco suddenly gasps, keening at the feeling of Harry’s fingers brushing against his prostate.

“You like this, my love?” Harry asks, pushing harder. Draco moans loudly, and Harry feels too desperate to wait any longer. He lubes up his cock and takes his fingers out with a wet and debauched sound that makes him groan and Draco whine. “I’m going to go slowly, okay?”

Draco nods, face flushed and eyes watering as his lips part on a gasp when Harry lines up his cock and slowly pushes inside him.

“Oh fuck,” Draco murmurs, his voice betraying how wrecked he already is. “All the way in, please. I want to feel you inside me, want to feel you later too. Oh shit, Harry…”

Harry pants as he tries to go slowly, but Draco meets his shallow thrusts, and he grabs Draco’s hips to pull him closer.

“Darling,” Harry says, his voice cracking as he feels sweat trickling down his back.

“I want to kiss you, Harry,” Draco mumbles, turning to look him in the eyes. “Please, can we change positions? I want to look at you while you fuck me.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Harry mutters, sliding out of Draco’s impossibly tight heat and grabbing a pillow to put under Draco’s bum after he turns. Harry casts a cleaning charm on his own mouth, desperate to kiss Draco. “Like this, lift your legs up, my love. Yes, spread your cheeks for me...to take my cock. Merlin, I’ve never been harder in my whole life. Oh fuck, you’re so tight.”    

Draco wraps a hand behind Harry’s neck and pulls him down for a searing kiss, moving his hips as Harry gives up on trying to go slowly and starts fucking him properly. Draco moans inside his mouth, and Harry doesn’t think he will be able to last for much longer. He feels stupid for feeling so close to his orgasm after such an embarrassingly short amount of time, but then Draco is stroking his own cock and seems to be close to coming too.

“Talk to me,” Draco says. “Please, Harry.”

“My darling,” Harry says, feeling like his heart is about to burst as he calls Draco the pet names that have been on the tip of his tongue for so long. “You’re my love, my wonderful beautiful love. You mean so much to me, my darling. Draco, I-“

Draco opens his lips on a shuddered gasp and comes all over his own belly, a desperate little mewl escaping his lips as he shoots his white sticky release, painting his pale skin with it. The simple sight of it, of Draco coming undone and clenching around his cock, makes Harry tip over the edge and come harder than ever, deep inside his lover.

“Fuck…” Draco breathes out as Harry moans, the aftershocks of his orgasm making him shudder in Draco’s arms, still inside his tight hole. “I want to do that again.”

Harry laughs and slowly slips out, watching in awe as Draco’s hole twitches, Harry’s come trickling out. Harry circles the puffy pink rim with one finger, and then inserts it inside, letting his own come coat his finger as he gently fucks Draco again.

“Look at you,” Harry murmurs, and Draco whimpers, holding his arms tight. His cheeks are flushed and eyes stormy. “You really enjoyed getting fucked, didn’t you? You took my fingers and my cock so well, my darling.”

“Are you sure your curse isn’t getting worse?” Draco asks, arching his back and gasping as Harry’s finger slides deeper inside. “The Healers said dirty talk was a possible side effect, aahh… ”  

“Mhhh,” Harry mumbles, reaching for Draco’s lips, kissing him hard and filthy, until they’re both breathless and a little sticky. “Time to hit the shower, love.”

Draco ends up on his knees in the shower, sucking Harry’s cock with abandon and making a show of it as he fingers his own arse, his blond hair wet and sticking to his forehead.

“Hmm,” Draco moans, mouth stretched around Harry’s length.

“Like that, sweetie,” Harry gasps. “Deeper. Fuck yourself on your fingers, wait. Add another one, like that. You’re so good for me, pet. I’m going to come soon; will you drink my come like a good pet?” Draco nods, his eyes locking with Harry’s. “Good, stroke your own cock, harder, I want to see you come all over yourself again. Fuck, Draco…”

Harry comes inside him for the second time that day, eyes shut as pleasure ripples through his body.

“Dinner?” Draco asks when he’s all dry and fully dressed again, Harry’s old Puddlemere top resting low on his milky-white collarbones. He looks undone, his hair curling up ever so slightly and making Harry wonder if Draco uses potions or spells to make it look impeccable every time he leaves the house. Harry loves him like this, all loose and soft, his long fingers finding Harry’s as he rubs his cheek against Harry’s shoulder.

“That would be nice,” Harry replies after borrowing a pair of Draco’s posh pyjamas for the night. “I’m starving. Shall we order something, sweetie?”

They get Indian take-away from the family restaurant at the end of Draco’s road, and they eat it on the sofa, Mr Snuffles curled up on Draco’s feet, purring softly.

“I wonder if they’ll manage to find a cure for your curse by tomorrow,” Draco muses, sending the dirty plates to the kitchen with a flick of his wand. 

“Would it be so bad if they didn’t, my darling?” Harry asks, studying Draco’s reaction, loving the way his cheeks flush and his eyes crinkle at the edges. Draco simply smiles and then drags him to bed.

Harry falls asleep cradled by Draco’s warmth, his boyfriend’s chest pressed against Harry’s back, making him feel safe. 

They have breakfast together in the morning, and Harry feels like he would give all the Galleons in his Gringotts vault to have this every day. To be able to gaze at Draco’s ruffled hair as he sips his tea, a copy of the morning papers in his hands, the reading glasses he only uses at home perched on his nose.

“You’re beautiful, my love,” Harry murmurs stupidly, because it simply feels like too much, like he can’t keep the words in anymore. Draco blushes and calls him a sap, but his fingers find Harry’s on the table and he interlaces them.

When they get to the Ministry, Harry realises that it won’t be as easy as he thought to keep up the farce of the Darling Curse. Word has spread and people keep on asking him how he’s doing just to have a taste of the curse – and possibly a laugh at his expense. 

“Morning, gorgeous,” he tells the Ministry’s octogenarian receptionist. “Nice to see you, boyo,” he says to the Minister of Magic as they cross paths in the lift. 

“How are you doing, Harry?” Seamus asks with a cheeky grin as soon as Harry and Draco enter the Auror Headquarters.

“I’m okay, hot stuff,” Harry replies, frowning when Seamus bursts out laughing and Draco raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Robards wants to see you two,” Dean says, his head peeking from the tea room. “I think he wants to talk to you about your Tootsie-wootsie Curse.”

“It’s called the Darling Curse,” Harry corrects him, then quickly adds, “Dreamboat.”

Dean and Seamus both start laughing, and Harry decides to ignore them as he mentally prepares for the bollocking he’s going to receive. Draco stands stiffly next to him in the Head Auror’s office, looking even paler than usual, and Harry feels sorry because it’s all his fault.

“Potter, Malfoy,” Robards greets them, his eyes dark with the usual stern expression on his face. “I read Weasley’s report about your raid yesterday, and I am not at all impressed by the way you dealt with the raid. You clearly underestimated how dangerous the situation was.”

“It was my fault,” Harry blurts out. “Malfoy said from the start that he thought the situation was more serious than it looked, but I wrongly assumed it was another-“ 

“It has also come to my attention,” Robards interrupts him, ”that you have been hit by the most peculiar curse, Potter.”

Harry can hear low voices whispering from behind him, and he imagines his colleagues eavesdropping as Robards always fails to cast silencing spells when he needs to tell someone off, just to add insult to injury.

“That’s correct, Sir…Snuggle-puff,” Harry blurts out, wincing at how awful it sounds and at the horrified expression on his boss’ face.

“What the-“ Robards starts, and Harry can hear muffled laughter from outside the door as Draco closes his eyes and winces. “Potter, are you for real?”

“The Healers still haven’t found a cure,” Draco intervenes, saving Harry from needing to call Robards something even more embarrassing. “But they’re hopeful.”

“In that case,” Robards says, opening the door of his office with a flick of his wand and sending all the eavesdropping Aurors scampering. “There’s only one thing for you to do.”

Twenty minutes later Harry sighs dramatically and then groans, trying to take a look at Draco from behind the towers of paperwork surrounding his desk.

“He’s given us months’ worth of reports to fill in,” Harry moans in despair. “There’s stuff from before we were even born. Cold cases on missing cats, Draco!”

“Shut up and keep going,” Draco replies from behind his own pile. “We can’t do field work with you calling the criminals ‘doodlekins’ and ‘cutie-pie’, can we?”

“I’m sorry, my love,” Harry murmurs, feeling genuinely upset and apologetic for dragging Draco into this mess. He hears a sigh from behind a tower of parchment and then a fluttering sound. A tiny origami crane flies over the piles of documents to land in front of Harry.

Harry’s eyes widen as he opens it with trembling fingers, finding a hidden message written in Draco’s impeccably elegant cursive.

Will you have lunch with me? I heard someone bribed the canteen ladies to get treacle tart on the menu today.

Harry grins and stands up.

“You did not,” he says, staring at Draco’s impassive face.

“I never said it was me,” Draco replies, his cheeks colouring ever so slightly. Harry braves the trembling towers of reports, that threaten to topple over and make his job twice as hard, to place a gentle kiss on Draco’s cheek.

“I’d love to have lunch with you, my darling.”

They pretend not to be together whilst they eat, and it’s so hard by now because all Harry wants is to do is taste treacle on Draco’s soft lips, to make him blush every time Harry calls him darling, or my love, to feel his warmth under Harry’s fingertips.  

By six in the evening, Harry’s brain feels fuzzy, so they decide to call it a day and head home. Harry wonders if he should pretend to be magically cured overnight just to avoid having to do more paperwork, but then his scheming is interrupted by Arthur Weasley entering their lift as they’re heading downstairs.

“Hello, Harry,” Arthur says with a smile. “How are you doing? Ron told me you got hit by the most peculiar curse.”

“Yes,” Harry admits, feeling exhausted and sheepish. “Unfortunately, that’s true…stud muffin.”

Arthur’s horrified expression soon gets replaced by his kind, albeit awkward smile, and Ron’s dad quickly bids farewell to them as he leaves the lift and hurries to the Apparition point. Harry sighs and thinks that he really ought to pretend the effects of curse have run out overnight.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Draco asks, grabbing his wrist as Harry heads for one of the Floo fires. There’s no one around, so Harry moves closer.

“Grimmauld?” Harry ventures, but Draco shakes his head and lets his hand slide down, until his palm is safely secured against Harry’s.

“I don’t think so,” Draco mutters, dragging him along. “You just called Mr Weasley a ‘stud muffin’. You’re clearly getting worse, and I need to keep an eye on you. Come home with me.”

Harry can’t help but smile, feeling so happy that his cheeks hurt and his heart is beating like mad in his chest.

He gets to spend the evening curled up on the sofa with Draco and his cat.

He gets to call Draco all the pet names that his enamoured heart whispers to him. 

He gets to love Draco, and he doesn’t think he will ever be able to stop.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Draco murmurs in the darkness, his chest pressed against Harry’s back, fingers stroking Harry’s belly, dipping under his t-shirt. Draco places a gentle kiss on his neck, at the top of his spine, nuzzling the thick, messy curls that he seems to love so much. “I wish I could have you to myself all the time.”       

“Me too,” Harry confesses, sliding his hand along Draco’s thigh and pulling him closer. “We can stop pretending that we’re just friends, if you want. We could just…date, darling.”

“But I like the fact that it’s just you and me,” Draco mumbles after a while, his breath warm against Harry’s skin. “I love the fact that no one bothers us. You know they’ll ask a million questions, and it will be all over the papers. The Death Eater and the Saviour. I just want it to be Draco and Harry…for a while longer.”

“Me too, my love,” Harry says and then turns to kiss him.

Draco makes him breakfast in the morning, which is something that Harry absolutely loves. He spent years preparing food for the Dursleys, then making his own after the war. It’s nice to just sit at the kitchen table, in Draco’s bright and familiar house, watching him frown as he carefully weighs the flour to make him pancakes. 

Harry feels loved.

“At what time is your appointment at St Mungo’s?” Draco asks as they’re getting ready to go to work.

“Half past five, why?”

“I’ll come with you,” Draco says, avoiding his eyes. “You’re rubbish with Healers, and you always forget what they tell you to do. At least if I’m there I can take notes.”

Harry presses a gentle kiss on his cheek and smiles, knowing full well that it’s just an excuse to spend more time together.

The day goes by extremely slowly, and Harry hates paperwork so much that he contemplates several times just confessing the truth to be done with the fake curse. But then he remembers what it feels like to call Draco my love, to watch his eyes shine just for Harry, a glimmer of something precious hidden in those silver irises. 

Harry spent his childhood hearing Petunia call Dudley the most ridiculous things. Then after the war it was Ron and Hermione’s turn. He feels it’s unfair that he never got to use those pet names with the person he loves the most. That no one has ever used them with him.

So he tells himself that he will only do it for one more day.

On Thursday, Harry calls Robards sugarplum, which makes the whole office explode into fits of hysterical laughter. He still gets to spend the evening stroking Draco’s hair and whispering sweet nothings in his ear, so he tells himself one more day. 

On Friday evening they go to the pub, and he accidentally calls Pansy Parkinson duck.

“The fuck did you just call me, Potter?” she snarls, pointing her wand at him.

“It’s a t-term of endearment,” Harry stutters. “I’ve been curs-“

He doesn’t even manage to finish the sentence because he’s hit by the most powerful Bat-Bogey Hex he’s ever experienced in his whole life, which makes him regret arranging Pansy and Ginny’s first date. But Draco gives him an earth-shattering blowjob in the toilets of the Leaky Cauldron later in the evening, and Harry tells himself he will keep this up for one more day. 

On Sunday, he calls George heartthrob and Percy snuggle bear, which he knows he will never live down. But when he gets home, he finds Draco curled up on his old sofa, a book in his lap.

“You left your wards open,” Draco comments without lifting his eyes from the page, flicking his wand to send a steaming cup of tea towards Harry. It’s milky and sugary, just the way Harry likes it.

“They were not open,” Harry replies, sitting down next to him, their thighs pressed flush. “I’ve modified them so that you can always come in, love. Whenever you want.”  

“Hmm,” Draco murmurs, letting Harry tuck a loose strand of silky hair behind his delicate ear. “Mine are the same.”

One more day.

The Healers seem increasingly confused, but they don’t lose hope. 

On Tuesday evening Harry catches Draco and Hermione deep in conversation, looking his way a few times as they exchange whispers and frown far too much for Harry’s liking.

“What are those two up to?” Ron asks as he stirs the sauce for the pasta. Harry groans; he’s got a bad feeling about this.

On Wednesday afternoon, just as Harry is ready to give up and confess his crimes after Robards has dumped a new pile of dusty documents on his desk, Draco stares at him, and his grey eyes widen.

Harry knows that look. The slightly parted lips, the arched eyebrows and the corner of soft pink lips curling up in what is going to be a smug smirk. It’s Draco’s I’ve figured out a complex case face.

The problem is that they’re not working on any case at the moment.

Harry prepares for the worst, but then Draco’s eyes meet his and his gaze softens. He doesn’t smirk, but instead a sweet smile appears on Draco’s beautiful face.

“Darling?” Harry asks, his mouth suddenly dry.

“It’s getting late,” Draco says, closing the folder he was studying. “Let’s go to my place. I’ll make you that Thai green curry that you like so much.”

Harry’s Auror instincts tell him that it’s a trap, and he should probably run, because Draco is a Slytherin through and through. But the soft smile he’s giving Harry makes him go weak in the knees.

“That would be nice, love,” Harry says, packing his bag and preparing to leave.

When they get to Draco’s house, the blond disappears for a minute to send an owl, and then he comes back to the kitchen in a hurry, his cheeks pink and eyes bright. Harry feeds Mr Snuffles while Draco rolls his sleeves up and starts making dinner.

“Everything okay, darling?” Harry asks, and Draco simply nods, casting a series of spells on the knives and veg. Harry thinks that maybe he’s imagining things. It’s been a hard week, and coming up with new pet names on a daily basis has been exhausting. He even had to sneak out of work to pop into an internet café and google new terms of endearment, because he was running out of ideas. He ended up using some foreign ones too, and Draco looked particularly smug when he corrected his pronunciation of “mon petit chou” after lunch.

Draco’s owl returns as Harry is doing the washing up, and a smile blossoms on Draco’s face as he reads the small parchment clutched in his long fingers.

After dinner they snuggle up on Draco’s comfy sofa, Harry’s head on a pillow in his boyfriend’s lap.

“Do you remember when you told me about your childhood?” Draco murmurs, and Harry tenses at the mention of one of the topics that still makes him freeze and want to escape. Draco’s fingers slide through his messy curls, stroking gently and making Harry relax little by little.

“Yes,” Harry replies, closing his eyes and resting the book on his chest.

“You said that it upset you not to know what your mother and father called you when you were little, or which lullabies they sang to you.”

Harry nods, tears prickling the corners of his eyes, letting Draco’s touch ground him, his fingers so gentle and yet reassuring.

“She used to call you ‘sweetheart’ and ‘little pea’,” Draco says with so much tenderness that Harry’s eyes open, desperate to lock with Draco’s. “And your father used to call you ‘sugar in my tea’, because he had a sweet tooth just like you. I asked Hagrid, and he told me that’s what they used to call you.”

“Draco…” Harry murmurs, his voice breaking as he sits up and swallows loudly. “There’s something I…”

“Shh,” Draco says, taking his hand and standing up, “let’s go to bed.”

Draco takes his time undressing him, slowly peeling off layer after layer as he peppers Harry’s skin with kisses and runs his warm hands all over his body. He kisses his way down Harry’s chest and then wraps his hot mouth around Harry’s hardening cock, making him gasp as Draco swallows him whole and then starts teasing him with slow, tentative licks and featherlight strokes on the inside of Harry’s thighs.

“Draco…” Harry whimpers, fingers sliding through silky white-blond strands. “You’re going to make me come, love…”

“Hmmm,” Draco hums, the wet heat of his mouth enveloping Harry and making him pant. 

A lubed-up finger slowly enters Harry, making him arch his back and moan loudly as Draco licks a long stripe from his balls to the tip of his leaking cock. 

“Stop teasing me,” Harry says, his voice already wrecked by the time a second finger slides inside him, arching up to find that delicious spot that makes Harry keen and beg for more. By the time Draco is fucking him with three fingers, Harry’s nearly in tears, pleading for Draco’s cock to be inside him.

Draco smiles that mischievous smile that Harry has grown to know and love. He lines his cock up and then slowly sinks inside, his lips a mere inch apart from Harry’s. Draco’s pink tongue flicks out and teases Harry’s top lip, then dips inside his mouth.

“You feel so tight, kitten,” Draco murmurs. Harry’s eyes widen as he stares at him. “You always beg so well. It makes me want to see you fall apart in my arms.”

“What did you just call me?” Harry asks, his voice small and tentative.

“I’ve been ahhh…thinking,” Draco replies, rocking inside him with shallow thrusts that soon turn desperate and fast. “Merlin, you feel so good, kitten.”

Harry moans loudly, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Draco’s arse, pulling him closer, wanting him deeper as Harry lifts his legs to get the perfect angle.

“Fuck…” Harry keens as Draco repeatedly hits his prostate, feeling the pleasure building in his belly.

“I’ve been thinking about your curse,” Draco says, his voice strained as he pounds into Harry. He stops for a few seconds, trying to catch his breath, and Harry groans in frustration. “About the fact that you always come up with new pet names for everyone but me.”

“Draco…” Harry murmurs, biting his bottom lip, wondering if his boyfriend is mad at him. But Draco’s eyes are soft as his forehead rests against Harry’s and his hips start moving again.

“I’m the only one you call love and darling ,” Draco whispers. “The only one, kitten. You think I haven’t noticed aahhh the way you look at me all the time?”

“Darling, mhhh…”

“You think I don’t look at you in the same way, kitten?”

Draco’s hand wraps around Harry’s cock, and all it takes is a couple of quick strokes and Harry’s coming all over his stomach, a shuddering gasp turns into a deep moan that escapes his lips. Draco groans and fucks him harder for a moment, until he comes inside him, calling Harry’s name and burying his face in the crook of Harry’s neck.

They just lie there like that for a few minutes, trying to catch their breath, Draco’s fingers fluttering like a restless little bird on Harry’s skin.

“Are you mad that I made it up?” Harry asks, and Draco chuckles against his neck. He slowly pulls out, making Harry whimper, but then Draco is kissing him languidly, his lips sweet and soft. The gentle caress of Draco’s wandless magic cleans them up, and Harry finds himself staring into grey eyes.

“Tell me why you did it,” Draco says gently, moving so that he’s lying next to Harry, his leg swung over Harry’s thigh and long, pale fingers tracing lazy patterns on Harry’s chest. 

“I…I was worried that you were hurt, and it just came out,” Harry confesses. “And I thought that people were going to get suspicious, so I made up the curse.”

“No,” Draco says, gently patting Harry’s bicep. “Why did you call me that in the first place?”

“Oh…” Harry murmurs, his cheeks catching fire.

“Be a Gryffindor, come on,” Draco teases.

“Because I love you,” Harry finally admits. The smile on Draco’s face when Harry utters those three little words is the best thing he’s ever seen in his life. “And I was scared that you…”

“I love you too, kitten.” 

Draco holds him closer, his strong arms making Harry feel warm and safe.  

“So you’re not mad?” Harry asks, placing a kiss on Draco’s forehead.

“Well, you did spend a week calling everyone the most ridiculous pet names I’ve ever heard,” Draco argues, arching an eyebrow. “I think you ought to make it up to me.”

“How?” Harry asks, amused.

“From now on, you’re only allowed to use pet names with me,” Draco declares. “From the silliest to the sappy romantic ones that make you cringe.”

“Deal,” Harry says, barely managing to contain the happiness that is making his heart threaten to beat out of his chest. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too, kitten.”