Epilogue:

"God, you weigh a lot. A tonne or more."

"Draco! There you are—I've been waiting ages!"

They fling arms about one another, and Draco uses the opportunity to count down Harry's ribs, whilst being careful not bang his lover about with his briefcase.

"Oomph! Yes, here I am. And I was kidding, just now. Did you even eat anything while I was away?"

(Harry doesn't weigh a tonne, not at all; he's far too skinny again and Draco's instantly resolving he'll have to make certain to feed his Harry an excess of biscuits and beefsteak to make up for it. And to provide them both energy, because it's been too long trip and tedious away and Draco needs this one little thing? One little thing, that's all. Which is to say, 'shagged'. Yesterday.)

"You're wasting away, darling," he tisks. "Don't make me worry."

"Oh, shut your silly face," Harry sasses, hustling up even more closely to Draco's chest and forcing him to drop his satchel altogether. "Deceitful prat, I'm perfectly well, cheers, been eating mash and pasta like mad; you know how Mum is? And what's more? I happen toknow exactly what you want, what you need, my big, bad PM. And…" He grins, the daring one that always twists Draco right 'round his little pinkie, every time. "I'm game, love, ever so game. You?"

He grabs at Draco's arse cheeks, a double handful, and that leads instantly to heated snogging.

"Oh! …God, yes," Draco gasps, when he can.

Draco is game for anything to do with Harry, really.

"And you'll have it, every bit of it, ducks, and never mind what I ate or didn't," Harry promises him, green eyes very serious behind the slight askew spec. "Not important."

"No…"

"What's important is you're back again and I missed you, something fierce."

And the shout-outs by nosy reporters and the popping flash of the slew of cameras makes not a damned difference; been there, done that—no longer important. That little crises has been nicely weathered over, ta. Besides, Draco boasts a very decent arse on him and he knows it. The public will likely only appreciate him all the more for it, too. Between that and the Eyebrow Arch of Doom, he'll have them coming and going.

"I just want to show you how much, all right? I'll give it you, everything, with all of my heart. Also all my nice fat dick, Draco," Harry whispers for Draco's ears alone, and that's all he needs hear to make this particular journey's end brilliant. "That's yours, too. Right where you want it. And I know you want it."

"...Aungh!"

(And sexy promises aside, and hasty groping, this is without a doubt 'actually love', because Harry does, actually. He does, and Draco, as well, and he positively cannot wait for a great lot more of Harry's brand of Biblical 'knowing' when they're finally at home again and not stuck in this bloody airport terminal. And that's not to even mention all the bloody queers and poor closeted souls in the whole of the country, who are likely glued to their tellies as their favourite-ever PM is blissfully molested by his boyfriend, and who will keep their blatantly 'out' PM firmly appointed for years to come.)

(Heh!...To come.)

End.