He tasted cotton and vomit. He didn't quite know where the former came from. The latter hadn't made an appearance yet, so he lurched from bed and ran for the loo, hitting the rim just in time. Perhaps four beers were a bit much for someone who didn't drink regularly anymore. At least that's what he thought as his arm hung limply over the edge of his toilet, his slick forehead resting there with no intention of moving anytime soon. His breath rebounded from his skin, putrid. On second thought, it might be a good thing to move. Ever so slowly, he used one hand to flush while the other held his torso upright. The world spun for a moment, then came round again.

Vigorous was too mild a word for how Harry brushed his teeth. The paste slathered across his gums and lips splashed around with the erratic jolting of his tired arm. He didn't bother to look at himself in the mirror, knowing that he needed a shower, but a bit too lost to care. All he did was slap some cold water across his face, towel off, and walk back into the bedroom.

"Straight from Merlin, you are, 'Mione." Harry sighted in on the hangover remedy and downed it, tossing the empty phial into the bin. Feeling slightly more refreshed, he dug around in his wardrobe for a fresh shirt and pajamas. It took a moment, but he was alert enough to start a fry-up.

Enough bacon was slapped into the pan that Harry was sure he wouldn't be hungry for at least a few hours. Eggs followed, but they were sloppily scrambled. He dashed some salt and pepper in, keeping it mild. Grease-laden plate in hand, he was just about to sit down at the table when his discarded wand began humming on the kitchen counter. A large sigh puffed out, but he shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth lazily, grabbed his wand, and headed toward the door. It was open before he made it there.

"What th—" His words were muffled by more than the bacon, however, as an angry blonde was storming past his front door, slamming it behind him, and stalking fiercely down the hallway. Harry stood there dumbstruck.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"

"Uh, what?"

"You heard me, Potter! Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" By this point, Draco had reached him. The bacon was nearly all inside of his mouth, with just a small bit poking out. Harry chewed thoughtlessly, wide green eyes staring without a reply. "Earth to Potter." He snapped two fingers in Harry's face.

"Merlin's tits, Draco. Give a man a chance to wake up."

The intruder had Harry backed up against the kitchen wall and, after hearing Harry's sleepy expletive, turned around to see the plate of morning sustenance sprawled precariously on the edge of the table. He rolled his eyes dramatically, poking Harry in the chest. Reaching out tentatively, Draco revealed the very edge of the bite mark.

"You knew what this meant." He did not continue, but waited for Harry to come to his senses and interject something—anything. Harry simply pursed his lips and nodded once. "And you didn't tell me."

"I thought you knew. Or at least I thought you'd have some idea when you weren't trying to eat me." The goofy grin was back. His brunette waves had fallen down across one eye, obscuring it from view. Instead of reaching up and hooking it behind his glasses like he normally did, he simply shook his head a couple of times, hoping it would settle back.

"You are impossible, Potter."

"But I have bacon?" This was said with a throaty chuckle and Draco couldn't help himself. His head dropped forward as he smirked and shook his own head a couple of times. Inhaling deeply, his nose rubbed just against the inside of Harry's neck.

When he looked up, Harry's eyes were blazing in the morning sunlight coming through the curtain and Draco braced himself. "Completely and utterly impossible." It was at that very moment that Harry thought he'd lost his mind, for Draco leaned forward and brushed his lips against Harry's. A soft touch, feather-light that turned into a heated need. Draco's hands wrapped around Harry's waist and pulled him closer. "You smell… different." It was deep, hungry. His mouth slanted and licked, leaving an open invitation to Harry's. The brunette responded eagerly, his neck rolling forward to follow Draco as he tried to back away. They maintained contact, fingers tracing whispers across the blank canvas of the other. Just as suddenly, it stopped. Harry put a palm on Draco's chest and spread his fingers, pushing just enough to create distance between them.

"Potter." It was groaned, forehead to shoulder, as Draco once again pressed lips to Harry's skin. The shivered inhale in response was almost enough to ignite them again, but Harry stepped out from beneath him, leaving Draco with his hands braced against the wall, panting slightly.

"Draco, we need to talk about this."

"There is no this. There is no us." He was gesturing wildly between them now. "There is just one giant cock-up on your shoulder." It was pretty difficult to take him seriously when Harry could easily see Draco pressing his palm against the erection in his trousers to shift his obvious arousal. His blown pupils and unsteady breathing weren't helping, either.

"Draco, do you truly understand what this means?" The bite was fully exposed. It was not red or angry now. The mark had healed into distinctly teeth-shaped lines, white and raised off of his chest. At the first sight of the entire thing, Malfoy closed his mouth, licking his lips.

"I asked around, but I don't know a ton of werewolves like you do, Potter." The sneer was there, but marginally less venomous. Harry walked over to his bacon, which was quite cold. He cast a warming charm on it, then pulled out a chair.

"You might as well have a seat, Malfoy. I'm going to eat while we talk." Draco snorted softly, but turned a chair around to sit on the edge nonetheless.

"Then talk."

"Well… what you did. It's called a mating mark." Harry paused for just a moment, but Draco interrupted anyway.

"Be serious, Potter." Harry's eyes dropped a little, and he just played with the last piece of bacon on his plate, twirling it around in circles.

"It's called a mating mark. You didn't break the skin, so I won't turn." The side of Harry's mouth popped up a little at this, as if it was amusing, but somehow sad. "You, as a werewolf, can mark whomever you wish. You can even mark more than one person." Draco's face looked ever more delighted at this.

"You don't say? That's good news." Harry's face fell just a bit more. Draco made to stand.

"But…" he hesitated, as Draco hovered over the chair, then sat again. The word was so quiet, he was surprised that the other man heard it at all.

"But what, Potter?"

"But no other werewolf can touch me. I'm claimed." It was out in a flutter of words that were hard to follow, but Draco seemed to grasp it easily enough. That piece of bacon was scrunched now, perhaps not even good enough for eating; Harry shoved it into his mouth anyway. This gave both men a chance to think. Harry chewed in silence. Draco stared gape-mawed at him without moving. With nothing more to do, he swallowed and looked up into Draco's eyes. At the moment, they were a cool, soft grey; the color of an April rain.

"I-I didn't know." The words stumbled out of Draco's mouth before he thought about them.

"I know you didn't. I don't blame you." Truly, he didn't. At least that's what he told himself as Draco stood, face scrunched into some sort of confused grimace, and strode out of the cottage. Harry stared sullenly down at the cold plastic eggs on his plate, jumping when his wand buzzed to let him know that Draco passed his wards.