Chapter one
It was dusk, and a light pinkish orange glow hit Draco's face. He turned away from the window and buried his head in his boyfriend's chest. But it was summer and the heat of the room, combined with the body heat of his sweating partner, was too much for him. Getting up and heading off for an ice cold shower that would shrivel up his extremities in shock, Draco decided that he hated summer.
He got to the bedroom door and tried to open it with a minimal amount of noise, hunching over the handle and pulling it down slowly, and lowering his own breathing as the door moved away from the frame. One loud creak of the hinges and the morning routine started. "Draco?"
The voice was sleepy and Draco just wanted his shower. Abandoning his fight with the door, he strolled back over to the bed and flopped on top of his boyfriend, bestowing a kiss that mingled their diabolic morning breath. Draco was sure the kiss was pleasurable for neither of them.
"Morning," greeted Harry, wrapping his arms around Draco's shoulders and peppering kisses over his face with a smile.
"No Harry!" whined Draco, "I'm gross! Let me go shower."
"You could never be gross." The kisses continued, but Draco was having none of it. Nobody wanted a sweaty boyfriend.
"Get off, you brute! I need to bathe before my skin soaks up the sweat, or else tomorrow I will sweat the sweat from today, and it will be twice as smelly and four times as foul."
"Draco…"
"No. I need water! Soap! And bloody conditioner! My hair, Harry! Look at it, it's practically limp!" Draco pushed himself up and waltzed back to the door, flinging it open until the handle hit the dent in the wall and walked out into the corridor in all his naked glory. Harry just shook his head in amusement and decided to get a little more shut-eye.
xxx
Draco's showers lasted at least forty minutes and took half the country's water, and Harry took this time to jog. There was a large park near their flat and it took a good half hour to run around. He always stopped by the lobby to collect their mail and chat to Erin the Day Security before heading up to the fifth floor that they called home. Each floor had two apartments. Thankfully the building was wide and they lived quite comfortably in their thousand square foot flat. However, it was a regular occurrence for Harry to be assaulted by his neighbour from the sixth floor when returning from his morning run.
"Hello Harry," said Mrs Wiltson, sixty years old and smiling seductively at him from the stairwell. Harry grinned weakly at her as he rattled around for his keys, somewhat desperately. The last time he accidentally locked himself out of the flat, the old hag had advanced on him at two in the morning in "sexy" see-through pink lingerie, wiggling her wrinkly breasts at him and offering him a place to stay for the night.
"Hello Mrs Wiltson," he replied, pulling the holy keys out, "Is Mister Wiltson alright?"
"He's fine," she said, not interested in talking about her husband, "Eating in front of the telly. Are you doing anything tonight dear? Robert could go to the shops for some cigarettes…we'd be alone then...to catch up." Harry tried to jab a key into the door blindly, accidentally using the car key instead of the flat one. Mrs Wiltson tapped one of her grey Victoria curls hanging over her forehead and began down the last few steps towards him. He-Who-Defeated-The-Dark-Lord felt fear like no other running through him as his asphyxiated old neighbour advanced on him. Just as she was able to reach out and land a shrivelled old hand onto his arm, the door opened, and in the threshold stood Harry's vision of perfection, his saviour. Oh thank Merlin!
"Morning Mrs Wiltson," smiled Draco, scrubbing his hair with a towel as he surveyed the scene with deep delight. Poor Harry looks traumatised. "Were you and Mr Wiltson okay last night? It was unbearably hot wasn't it?"
"Yes…very hot." Mrs Wiltson had a very delicate balance in her opinion of Draco. She found him alluringly handsome, but hated him with a passion for foiling her plans to entice Harry into a ménage a tois arrangement with her invalid husband.
Draco reached out and grabbed a handful of Harry's shirt, tugging him gently over the threshold, "We won't hold you any longer, Mrs Wiltson. Harry's got to get ready for work. Have a nice day."
She did not look at all happy with that, but put on the smile she used when pinching little children's cheeks and said, "You too. Good day, Harry."
"Good day Mrs Wiltson -" Harry's farewell was cut off as Draco slammed the door shut. "Oh thank you!" cried Harry in relief, "You saved me from a wrinkly death!"
"Then you can show your appreciation and make me breakfast," smirked Draco, slapping Harry on the bum and walking off down the corridor towards the bathroom. Harry kicked off his trainers by the front door and went to the kitchen.
xxx
Harry put the last of his Quidditch gear in the car and the climbed in behind the wheel. Draco was standing on the path, waiting for him to leave. He was dressed in one of Harry's silk shirts, swamping his smaller frame so much that one could hardly see the shorts he was wearing. His hair was messy and static as it dried naturally, and his face was gloomy because he could already anticipate it was going to be a bad hair day.
"Hermione phoned. We're supposed to meeting them at eight."
"Is Weasley going to be there?"
"Why wouldn't he be?" asked Harry, puzzled. Draco shrugged and didn't say anything, just looked off down the road and then back to Harry. He stepped off the curb and leaned through the window, pressing his lips to Harry's briefly.
"See you tonight."
"See you later. Feed the snakes for me, okay?"
"Okay. Go on, before Mrs Wiltson starts to think you have the day off." Both men looked up at the sixth floor windows, one of the curtains pulled back slightly from the frame to show a beady pair of eyes trained down upon them.
"Erm…right…" said Harry, putting the key in the ignition.
xxx
He had already fed the pythons, whose tanks were set into the wall above the television, and watched with morbid apathy as the mice were swallowed live, and the lump of prey slid down the jugular and raised the skin as it made it way down the gullet. And now…he was bored. Standing on the balcony, he looked down over the park of Muggle children pretending to be monkeys on a metal frame, horse riders making slow trots around the roads and holding up traffic, cyclists weaving in and out of joggers, and mothers walking their children to school. All very mundane, all very boring.
"I'M BORED!" screamed Draco. Several people below looked up at his voice, but then continued on their way.
One scabby teenager looked up at him and yelled, "Jump!"
Draco scowled. He didn't have a broom! He might actually die if he did jump. What was that Muggle trying to do?! Kill him? Rudeness! How dare that little git try and murder him. Draco would have AK'd the bloody midget if it weren't for the fact that Harry claimed it was unethical. However, some form of retaliation was needed.
Draco moved back inside, heading for the kitchen with the perfect revenge already plotting about in his mind. There was just one little problem. He would have to work the Muggle technology Harry had insisted they buy. Whilst the toasting-do-hickey was easy enough to work, the cooker was another thing! It pretended to be a flat cauldron but it was actually a cube of doom. Very erratic and it always let off funny smells that made him light headed and made Harry yell at him to 'turn the damn gas off before you kill us!'.
Moving into the spacious kitchen, Draco faced off against the cooker. "Look, I don't like you and you don't like me…but I need to teach that Muggle a lesson and you are going to help me whether you like it or not. Got it?" The cooker didn't reply so Draco assumed that it had begrudgingly agreed to cooperate. Doing as Harry had shown him, Draco gently turned the machine's nipples and pressed a smaller nub down until a click sounded and fire lit up on one of the cooker's circles. Draco sighed with relief. For some reason the cooker didn't like him touching its bits. It always worked for Harry, and Draco was not entirely convinced that Harry was not having some sordid affair with the cooker because he was very confident with its nipples and flames of passion, despite all of Harry's laughing.
Now that the cooker was aflame, he pulled a mini-cauldron from the cupboard and set it on top of the fire. He much preferred these mini-cauldrons to the ones he had to use when he was younger; the plastic handles didn't scold like iron cauldrons through dragon-hide gloves. Rummaging through the cupboards and fridge, Draco came back and began to make a concoction so deadly smelly, Harry would be complaining about the whiff for days on end!
Throwing in week old Indian takeaway, mixed with grated mouldy cheese, and topped with a splash of bubble-puss potion, Draco stirred the contents of the saucepan lovingly, wondering what else he could add to make the mixture truly diabolical. Inspiration hit him like a sack of Snitches and he rushed into the living room, snatched the box from the top of the snake tanks, and rushed back into the kitchen. Opening the box, he took out two of the sausages and grated them like he did the cheese, watching as the bits floated on the surface before melting into the rest of the mess. They had snake-sausages because Harry was too squeamish to put live rats into the tank, so he bought mice-meat shaped like sausage. Draco preferred to watch the blood bath. If he wanted to see sausage-eating he would eat his own breakfast in front of the mirror.
He turned off the fire, apologised to the cooker for fondling it again, and waited for the mixture to cool. Once it was lukewarm and beginning to coagulate, Draco poured it into several old birthday balloons he had salvaged from the cutlery drawer, and placed them into a washing up tub.
Waddling onto the balcony, he placed the tub on the floor and looked over the edge, extremely pleased to see the murderous fiend was still standing in the street. Selecting the biggest balloon from the tub, the outside slightly slick because one of the other balloons had leaked in the bottom of the bowl, he held it over the balcony edge and aimed.
SPLAT!
xxx
Draco hated washing up. It was the bane of his existence, and if Harry were there he would have offered sexual favours to avoid such a task. However, washing up was a necessary evil that even pretty people had to endure, because the last rule to any good revenge plot was to destroy the evidence.
He managed to get through the horrible task of washing up by chuckling evilly about the expressions of outrage and confusion on the Muggles' faces. The best part, other than the slime covered teenager, were the spooked horses, bucking their riders off till they were nothing more than trampled puddles of goo. After firmly deciding that lobbing snake chum out of the window was an excellent idea to be used again, Draco stacked and dried all the mini-cauldrons and stirring utensils before declaring himself bored again.
The brief concept of getting a proper job flittered through his head, but he quickly stifled that train of thought by throwing himself down in front of the television and tuning in for some mind numbing porn. Unfortunately, Harry always locked the porn channels after Draco had comatosed himself for three days after discovering 'playboys TV' and became a fossil in the sofa cushions. Therefore, Draco was left to watch…oh no…anything but the bloody sports channels!
xxx
Draco knew he was late, but that was okay because he was blonde and being late would fashionably match his hair. He also refused to run to the restaurant because Malfoys don't run and he was only meeting lowly Gryffindors. They could bloody wait!
Stepping into the familiar Chinese restaurant that had too much red for Draco's taste, Draco took his coat off and flung it at a nearby suited minion to put on a peg. He strolled up to the girl standing behind the greeting podium with a pile of menus at her elbow. Her name was Qing and she had a fetish towards turquoise jewelry. Her ears and neck were laddered with jade and moody pebbles. Draco hated her; she chewed gum like a cow in a field and flirted too much with his Harry.
"I'm with the Granger party."
"Right this way, Mister Malfoy." Draco gritted his teeth but followed her silently through the restaurant to the large party of people taking up a table against the war wall near the kitchens' door. Sitting at the table was Dean Thomas and his Mudblood girlfriend, Natalie McDonald, to his left was Seamus Finnegan, the fiery Ginny Weasley, the inseparable bloody twins Fred and George Weasley, George's boyfriend Lee Jordan, and Fred's girlfriend Angelina Johnson, who was currently chatting to Hermione Granger over the gap of a spare chair between them. Next to Hermione was another spare chair, and then Harry, whose face had lit up upon seeing Draco's approach.
"Hello Cretins." Draco snatched the menu out of Qing's hand and glared at her to move on. She sent a flirtatious smile at Harry, which went unnoticed because he was too busy gazing up at his boyfriend. Once she shuffled back to the front of the restaurant, Draco dropped into the spare seat between Hermione and Harry.
"You're late," said Hermione while Draco bestowed a kiss upon Harry's smiling lips.
"Yes, but I'm blonde."
"That's your excuse for everything," she said, "It's not a very valid or logical one."
"I am inclined to disagree," said Draco dismissively, opening his menu and scanning it for the unhealthiest choice that would become his regal upbringing, "I think it is very logical. If you were blonde, then Harry would want to go out with you instead. Isn't that right, Harry?"
"Don't be silly," said Harry, "I don't fancy Hermione."
"Well at the moment you don't. But if she had blonde hair, then who knows?! WAITER!" Hermione and Harry sent looks to each other while Draco summoned a waiter with an obnoxiously loud tone that made everyone look round at their table. "You call this service? Hurry up or I shall spend my gold elsewhere!"
"What would you like, Sir?" asked a nearby waiter, coming to stand at Draco's elbow with a pen poised over a notepad.
"Special fried pork chow mien with extra sauce and three egg rolls for the appetizer. Oh, and two Malibu shots, please, and a pint of Carlings," Draco smiled around like he hadn't just ordered a heart attack with noodles and chucked his menu into the waiter's arms. Everyone else ordered a smaller, less fatty version of their own choices, and as the menus were being passed down the table, a commotion was created by Ron. Weasley slid into a chair beside Hermione and smiled at everyone, greeting all of them and spouting what seemed to Draco to be a very insincere apology about time management. Draco scowled. Weasley was definitely not blonde - he wasn't allowed to be late. That was just plain rude.
"What was keeping you so long, Weasley? Even I'm here! There cannot possibly be an excuse to be this late."
"Draco…" began Harry, the smile he had been sporting since his boyfriend's entrance glided off his face. Harry hated when Ron and Draco fought, he felt like he was being torn apart and made to choose.
"New guy in the department met superglue for the first time and stuck his leg to his chair. It took ages to get him separated, but then we had to get the upholstery off his skin," Ron informed Draco. Draco had to admit the idea of a man becoming intimate with an office chair did bring a smirk to his face. Harry let out a sigh and Draco frowned, reaching his hand under the table and linking his fingers through Harry's.
"What's the matter, Potter?" he whispered, leaning so that just the tip of his tongue touched the shell of Harry's ear. Harry drew in a breath.
"Nothing. I'm fine," assured Harry, he was just glad Draco and Ron hadn't launched at each other over Hermione's lap. Draco gave him a scrutinising once-over and leaned in, giving him a sweet, soothing kiss.
"You'd better be okay," warned Draco, slitting his eyes in disbelief before turning his attention back to the rest of the table, still holding hands with Harry under the table. Harry smiled.
"How was training today, Harry?" asked Ron, leaning around Hermione and Draco to look at his friend, his elbows angled all over the table in a terribly unrefined manner.
"It went well, but I think I got a couple of bruises because I got hit by a Bludger. It was an accident, Moran didn't mean to hit it my way -" as Harry droned on, Draco vowed to hex Moran the next time they met and his concentration slid to focus on the twins and Lee. They had their heads together, whispering furtively while pointing at the tiny ceramic candle pots in front of them. The twins' business had bloomed over the years, and Lee Jordan joined the bandwagon after getting on George Weasley's shag list. Angelina didn't seem at all fazed by her own boyfriend's inattention to anything other than candle pots, and was happily chatting to the littlest weasel, Ginny. While Draco was contemplating whether the twins had ever deceived their partners and done the old switcheroo, or if they had just done a foursome, or if Harry would agree to a foursome with the two ginger terrors - not that he abided gingers of course, but twins wasn't an opportunity to be sniffed at - or as he contemplated whether the twins had kinky incest love when they were younger, a pair of hands deposited a pint and two shot glasses in front of him. Tearing his eyes away from the twins, Draco looked at Harry. Harry was already watching him. Quirking an eyebrow questioningly, Harry leaned across and whispered, "No, because I don't share. So stop thinking about it."
Draco looked at his shot glass, "I don't know what you mean."
xxx
Harry tried to support his boyfriend's dead weight across the threshold, but they ended up stumbling in because Draco thought he saw a coin on the ground and wanted to see if it was a Knut or a penny. "Upsy daisy," giggled Draco drunkenly when they toppled and Harry's shoulder jammed painfully against the door, "Tha's s'not a penny. IT'S DIRT! Harry! Look! Dirt! How's it get 'ere?"
"Probably from my Quidditch boots. They made us run laps today," informed Harry, moving his paralytic boyfriend to the sofa. The television was blaring loudly on the history-sports channel. He must have forgotten to turn it off, thought Harry as he unlaced and tugged off Draco's shoes. Standing up, he moved off into the kitchen to fetch the blonde a glass of water, otherwise a hangover was going to be impending.
Draco watched as Harry walked away, leaving him alone with nothing but the glowy box that pretending to be like wizard pictures. The pictures were moving and Draco shook his head a little, trying to get his puffed-up eyes to focus on the images. Ooh…tight clothes. He stared at the screen with a level of fascination only achieved if you were drunk and gay. Draco watched the men running through the streets, and saw their sex appeal that had attracted the crowds of the city, and his ears tuned in to the commentary like his head was under water.
"What the bloody hell have you been doing?! It smells rancid in here!" cried Harry from the kitchen. Draco blinked at the screen, watching the tight clothed men in millions running through London and pouring water over their heads in desperation. Draco opened his mouth and asked,
"Harry…whassa marathon?"
xxx
End-eth chapter one
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