This is my first shot at fanfiction. It's based on actual happenings between myself and my friend Aaron, then given a Harry/Draco twist. This story can be read as a one-shot, though I already have half of the next chapter written.

I Disclaim.

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"Honey, I'm home!" hollered a lithe man with shaggy black hair, as he walked into the London loft he shared with his boyfriend of four years. The loft in itself was very open with a kitchenette area and a raised bedroom area with a bathroom attached, as the only definitive rooms; the rest of the floor plan was wide open and decorated with a very minimalistic design.

"Funny," he heard the dry reply carry from the bathroom.

Harry smiled a crooked smile as he slid the loft door shut and walked over to his computer desk, placing his coat on the chair. He then walked up the two stairs that led to his bedroom, loosening his tie as he went.

"How was your day?" he asked, getting a glimpse of his blonde through the open door of the bathroom.

Silence greeted him.

"Draco?" he tried again, walking into the bathroom. There he found his boyfriend naked and fresh from a recent shower, turned with his back to the full length mirror, looking over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Harry chuckled as he walked over, untucking his shirt from his slacks.

"I think I…" Draco started then stopped, and made a face.

"You think you..? What?" the brunette replied, catching his lovers eyes in the mirror as he rolled up his sleeves.

Draco turned and looked at Harry, "I think I have… stretch marks on my arse," he said in a tone full of pain, and grimaced.

"You what?"

"I have stretch marks on my arse." Draco said more definitively.

Harry dutifully swallowed the chuckle that wanted to break free. "Ah."

"Don't think I can't hear the laugh in your voice, Harry James Potter," Draco said scathingly, turning around again trying to get a glimpse of said stretch marks.

"What? So, you have stretch marks? Big deal." He paused and continued on, "Maybe it's because of all that ice cream you insist on ingesting daily."

Gryffindor bravery was often mistaken for stupidity. This instance, for example.

"Are you calling me… fat?" Draco asked chillingly.

Catching a glimpse of the freezing stare Draco was sending him; Harry quickly tried to fix his mistake, "No. Not at all. You're beautiful."

Draco continued to glare at him, then rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his arse, "Are they very noticeable?"

"Not in the slightest," Harry replied, wrapping his arms around Draco's waist, "I promise." He kissed the shell of the blondes ear, "Now, come on, we have reservations at Michelangelo's for dinner at 8."

Draco huffed and gave one last look in the mirror before walking after Harry into the bedroom to dress. "Fine, just know that I'm only ordering a salad."

Harry turned his attention from the closet to Draco, who was standing on the other side of their bed trying to choose a shirt, and gave him a weird look, "But you always get pasta. It's your favorite."

"Not until I get rid of those infernal marks," Draco replied heatedly, choosing a gray turtleneck sweater.

Harry continued to look at Draco, then shook his head, going back to choosing his clothes for the night.

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