Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Summary: Draco cleans!  Harry works!  Be amazed!

Author Notes:  I love to have Draco dancing and singing to music from the 70s and 80s.  It just fits into my lovely little (yes, delusional) picture of him.  There is no rhyme or reason to this story.  I just wanted a spot of fun.




Draco slipped into a pair of old khakis and pulled on his favorite pair of black Converse high tops. He grabbed a rust colored tee shirt from the dresser and went thundering down the stairs into the kitchen.

Harry was at the stove, pushing eggs around in a frying pan. He grinned at Draco as he entered, pulling the rust shirt over his head.

"Don't you just look cute?" Harry remarked. "You look like a university boy!"

Draco swiped a piece of toast from the counter and kissed Harry's cheek. "Is that a good thing?"

"Oh yes," Harry assured him, his green eyes flickering with pride. How was it that Draco made even Poor Student Chic look so damn good? "But why, exactly, are you dressed like that?"

"Today," Draco announced dramatically. "I'm cleaning the house."

"You're what?" Harry shook his head, sure that he had misheard his boyfriend's declaration. "I'm sorry, I thought you said cleaning. But surely you must have said preening, right?"

"No, Harry," Draco corrected him in an eternally patient tone. "I said cleaning."

Harry blinked, holding his spatula upright like a conductor's baton. He stared at Draco in utter incredulity.

"Harry," Draco pointed to the frying pan that was beginning to smoke behind his startled lover. "Mind the eggs."

**

After breakfast, Harry left for work with a bemused expression locked firmly on his face. He could not process the fact that his lover of seven years, Draco Malfoy, spoiled brat extraordinaire, was going to clean anything. He would have been less surprised if Draco had told him that he intended to shave his head and join a group of Aborigine for a year's study of dingo dung.

"I want to do it," Draco had told Harry in a voice that allowed no argument. He kissed Harry once and then gently pushed him out of the house. "Now, go to work and let me play house."

As the door shut in his face, Harry sent up a quick prayer to any deity he could remember ever being mentioned to him. He figured he better not be picky about affiliation in his request that his house still be standing when he returned home that evening. With Draco in charge, he needed all the help he could get!

**

Draco shut the door on Harry and turned to the first order of business: Procuring Cleaning Music. He went to the Muggle radio that was sitting by the couch in their small living room and clicked it on. Commercials. Figures.

He flipped the dial on the radio until he came across a song with a funky beat: "Baby Got Back". Excellent. One of his all-time favorites!

The grungy blond picked up his wand and began dancing around the living room, pointing at each piece of furniture and muttering: "Ustday!"

Immediately, dust flew from the surfaces and with a flick of his wrist, Draco sent the offending particles sailing out the open window. Another craftily cast spell set the rugs to shaking themselves out as Draco manually fluffed the couch cushions.

All the while, Draco shook his rump in time to the music and rapped along. "Dial 1-800-MIXALOT and kick those nasty thoughts! Baby got back!"

This was going to be a breeze!

**

By early afternoon, Draco was exhausted. He had finished the living room in record time, however, the bathroom stumped him for hours. How was it possible that two men could cause such a mess? And the soap scum! Ye gods! Even his most powerful cleaning spell had not worked. He had had to actually scrub the shower walls with a rag and soap. He did not understand why you would add more soap to a soap scum situation, but that was what Helga of Helga's Housecleaning Horrors had said to do. And who was he to argue with Helga?

The bathroom, thanks to Helga, was now sparkling clean. Not to mention Piney Fresh.

Draco collapsed on the large bed in his and Harry's room. The last room to clean. He just needed a bit of a lie down.

He glanced around the room making a mental "To Clean" list. Put away clothes. Change sheets. Take dishes downstairs (he had wondered where all of their glasses had gotten!). Put fresh flowers in the vase.

Draco smiled. Harry loved fresh flowers. Especially tulips. Draco was more of a dandelion kind of man.

"But Draco," Draco could hear Harry's exasperated chuckle in his head. "Dandelions are weeds, not flowers. People generally hate them!"

"Right," Draco had responded flippantly. "Just like me."

From that day on, the Potter-Malfoy lawn had been a veritable sea of dandelions. Harry refused to do away with even one of Draco's revered "flowers". In fact, Harry made a point of picking one dandelion from the yard as he came in each afternoon from work to present to Draco.

With the memory of Harry tucking a yellow bud behind his ear as inspiration, Draco pulled himself out of the bed and clicked the radio on once again.

AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long" blared back at him. The happy homemaker grinned in delight! What a great song! Rock & Roll!

With his wand flicking this way and that, Draco began dancing. Lost in the rockin' music, Draco leaped onto the bed, eyes closed, gyrating madly.

It was upon this scene that Harry stumbled. His eyes widened in shock at the sight of his lover bouncing up and down on their bed to—AC/DC?? No. Harry rubbed his eyes and looked again. Yes. It was true.

Harry remained utterly silent despite his overwhelming urge to laugh as Draco played the air guitar with gusto. He moved behind the door where he could watch but not be seen.

Draco gripped the bottom of his faded shirt and yanked it over his head, causing Harry to gasp. God, but Draco was gorgeous.

Still oblivious to Harry's eyes on him, Draco spun the shirt over his head several times before releasing it—sending it flying across the room. Harry watched it land on a framed picture of himself and Draco on a roller coaster at a Muggle Theme Park.

As the song faded out, Draco fell back onto the bed, his chest heaving from the exertion of The Dance. He closed his eyes and smiled at his silliness. What an excellent song. Thank god no one was about to see his display—

The feeling of something soft brushing against his lips brought Draco's eyes flying open. Harry stood over him, a dandelion between his fingers. Draco blushed, instantly knowing that Harry had witnessed his theatrical dance.

"I love it when you blush," Harry told Draco, brushing the dandelion head over Draco's pink lips and down his neck.

"I don't blush often," Draco protested weakly, his voice catching in his throat as the dandelion circled his left nipple.

"Was that AC/DC?" Harry asked nonchalantly. Draco could only nod as Harry trailed the dandelion down his chest to play at his exposed belly button. "Do you know the song that is playing now?"

Draco forced himself to concentrate on the music once again. Oh yes, he knew this song, too. It was one of Harry's favorites. "It is Peter Gabriel. 'In Your Eyes'."

"Right," Harry ran the dandelion down Draco's toned arm and dropped it in his open palm. In one fluid move, Harry straddled Draco's khaki encased hips. "Do you want to dance again?"

"No," Draco shook his head quickly. "I am through dancing for today."

"Mmm," Harry's eyes were unfocused behind his glasses. "But this is such a good song—"

"Oh," Draco blinked. "Well, we could dance. Did you want to dance with me, Harry?"

"No."

"No?"

"Not dance with you," Harry clarified as he slowly lowered his head.

"Oh!" Draco cried just as Harry's lips met his.

All thoughts of dancing were quashed as Draco's hands came up to draw Harry closer to him. The dandelion fluttered to the floor.


~~


The squeaky clean End