AN: And here we are at last!
Chapter 5: Tucked In
On an intellectual level when Draco said the Manor had been bulldozed and built anew Harry understood that. When it came to actually seeing it, though, Harry found himself holding his breath long after they'd found a private place to apparate.
Only after a long moment of staring by the gates could Harry conclude that yes, this was a different Manor altogether. The architecture was more modern, and parts were still clearly under construction.
Draco watched Harry watch the Manor, wondering if it was too much to be back here. What had happened to Granger here especially was a horror Draco was sure Harry would rather forget. Their own 'struggle' for the wands that Draco gave up on purposefully happened here, too. Was Harry thinking of that, too?
"Let's go," Harry nodded, and Draco snapped his fingers to open the all-new gates, white and massive with cursive 'M's in the center. The hedges that had once lined the front yard were all ripped up, traded in for leafier plants that provided the same protective privacy cover. The rest of the front yard interior was empty, rolling grass cleaned out for something to be installed that hadn't been decided on yet.
The path of small stones leading up to the front door crunched under their feet. "Clearly it needs a lot of work," Draco prefaced, a bit embarrassed at the state of it. He had spent so much time pursuing his career that the house wasn't nearly as done as he'd have liked it to be ten years into the project.
"It's nice," Harry responded quickly. He was no longer holding Draco's arm, the two walking side-by-side up to two massive white doors. "I like the style. It doesn't look like the old one."
"And it never will, no matter how much my father nags me," Draco declared. He had apparated them to the beginning of the driveway to give them enough time to talk about what was to come. "Harry, I really must ask you again if you are okay with this."
"With the house or with you?" Harry gave him cheek right back against that serious tone Draco had taken up. He was concerned, that was nice, but Harry had made his choice. He gave Draco as mile as they came to a stop before the doors. "I think both suit me just fine."
Draco's eyebrows shot up. He still wasn't entirely sure that this wasn't a wet dream gone terribly awry. "Well then. If you say so." Draco turned the golden doorknob and opened the door to the grand staircase with the opulent chandelier hanging overhead. He lit the candles with a wave of his wand and the room lit up to reveal refined furniture and art.
"The first floor is mostly done," he went on because showing someone the inside of this house when it wasn't finished always made him nervous. "That's been my main focus. My room was always on the third floor, so I put it up there this time, too. The second floor needs more love, and don't even get me started on the fourth and fifth"
"I like it," Harry said again, his first and final verdict on the matter. Draco seemed oddly nervous about how he would receive it from how he was fidgeting with his hands. Really, Harry would have liked anything, but this far exceeded his low standards to the point where compliments were necessary. "It's well put-together. I'm pleasantly surprised at how much red there is in here."
That made Draco laugh. "I don't hold a prejudice against the color, no," he confirmed. Draco stepped forward, allowing himself a moment of admiration for his work as well. Now that he wasn't linked to Harry by arm there was the benefit of being able to look at him head-on for further admiration as well.
Draco's eyes scanned the room and Harry bloody Potter looked like he belonged here. It was the suit, and the décor, and the way Harry was smiling. Knowing that smile was for him lit a fire in Draco's chest.
Draco led Harry around the first floor, showing him the kitchen and dining rooms and quite the assortment of parlors. He narrated his building process as he walked, hoping to give Harry some insight into why things looked the way they did.
Harry was utterly enraptured. Suddenly Draco Malfoy's opinion on curtains and rugs were very, very important to him. He listened closely, following Draco from room to room. Someone could get lost in here with how many halls led to more bathrooms and more sitting rooms. What he had said before turned out to be truer than ever—this was a lot for one person to live in.
"There is also the matter of the rear yard. It used to be a flourishing garden, but all the plants withered and died from dark magical influences." Everything around Tom Riddle seemed to drop dead without him even trying, and yet Harry had evaded that fate twice. Draco would be lying to say he wasn't jealous of that kind of power.
Harry peeked out a window. "That's a lot of space," Harry observed. "You could put a Quidditch Pitch out there and have room to spare. What are you going to do with it all?"
"The Malfoy Gardens will bloom once again," Draco said with the utmost determination. "Hedge mazes, fountains, koi and toad ponds, and flowers as far as the eye can see. I had some of my best childhood memories out in that yard." His face fell when he joined Harry at the window and all of that was gone. How in the world was he to bring back such splendor?
The Gardens had been managed by the Malfoy family for generations to grow so strong. Each matriarch of the house took up the task, a bit sexist in Draco's modern opinion, and added their own signature plants in. All of that was destroyed in a matter of months with Voldemort skulking about. Draco was glad the peacocks—for all the times they had been his adversary—were transferred to the French estate once the flowers started to rot on their vines.
This amount of space for childhood fun was beyond Harry. So much space to run, so many corners to hide in with all the plants… He couldn't say he was fond of hedge mazes after fourth year but it must have been a true delight for a kid. Harry could feel Draco staring at him. "You'll do it," Harry nodded with the utmost confidence. "Bit by bit, you'll get there."
Draco wished he was as sure of himself as Harry Potter seemed to be. He'd come back here with him not just willingly, but he had been the one to suggest it.
"Let me show you the third floor," Draco nodded and stepped away.
Harry followed.
The grand staircase was a marvel all in itself. The metal railings that spiraled around it was so thin but expertly-carved to look like blossoming flowers in chains. This level of pomp reminded Harry of Hogwarts but these stairs weren't trying to kill him or change destinations so he was late for Potions again.
The second floor was too dark to see much with no light through the windows and no lamps or candles in sight. Harry figured that Draco liked it better that way, not having to see all that empty space it was his duty to fill. Harry had always been jealous of Draco's life—his wealth, his parents who loved him—but it seemed being a Malfoy was a heavy burden to shoulder.
Harry was half-tempted to reach out and touch Draco's shoulder as he followed, but ultimately kept his hands to himself.
"This way is my room," Draco said and brightened noticeably once he had something else to show he was actually proud of. Draco opened the double-doors with a swish of his wand and stepped inside. Being in here made him feel safer, more secure than ever. The bed was made perfectly, and the bookshelves around the room were perfectly-aligned. "The best room in the house, obviously."
When those doors opened and Harry stepped through he couldn't shake the feeling that he was trespassing on sacred ground. Draco was clearly willingly showing him, but seeing this room still felt sacrilegious. This was where Draco Malfoy slept, and that made Harry's throat tight.
"The washroom is through that way, and my closet—" Draco swung those double doors open, too. "My armory."
Within was a deep, wide room full of fabrics of all colors. Harry stepped forward for a better look and smiled. "You have a vanity dedicated just to sunglasses?"
Draco's cheeks warmed up. "Essential to any summer outfit or subtle hangover," he explained and closed the doors, feeling a bit exposed on that tidbit of information. Draco hadn't shown anyone new his room in a long while.
"It's really nice," Harry complimented quickly after, not wanting any more doors to close. "All of it is..." Harry tried to rack his brain for a word that wasn't 'expensive'. "Very you." It was refined, and subverted Harry's expectation of it looking like the Slytherin commonroom with all these calming shades, some even near lavender. No, this was no pale imitation of childhood, this was an adult man's bedroom. Harry felt his heart slowly rise in his throat. He was in Draco Malfoy's bedroom.
"Thank you," Draco nodded. "I have high standards and this room finally meets them." Draco put his hands in his trouser pockets and looked around at the room, ruminating on his own genius.
Harry swallowed. Should he ask what was really on his mind?
"It really is better with daylight, but the lamps and candles make do for now," Draco went on aimlessly. "Oh, there's the scroll from Safeword." He snorted a laugh to himself.
"Draco?"
Draco turned around to direct his full focus on Harry. "Yes?" Why did Harry saying his first name like that make his chest so tight?
"Can I—wait, may I see the guestroom?"
The little correction of grammar Harry made was so cute it had to be criminal. Why was he trying to be proper around him, and why was it so endearing? His voice was rougher compared to Draco's posh accent, but Draco liked that about him.
"Absolutely," Draco replied. That was what Harry had wanted then, and it appeared he hadn't wavered on that. "Right this way."
With his heart in his throat and his eyes on Draco's back, Harry followed. It wasn't a long walk at all until they were in front of a door—just one door, no doubles. When Draco opened it to reveal a room of a simpler kind of elegance than Draco's room had sported it made Harry smile.
Shit, was he amused by this? Was that a good thing? Draco fretted with his ring, twisting it as Harry evaluated further, looking happy but not saying much.
It was large, not as large as Draco's but certainly bigger than any of Harry's previous bedrooms had ever been. "I like it," Harry said after a long and thorough inspection. There were cool cream and blue colors reminiscent of a robin's nest all over the décor, and a bed that looked soft enough to cushion the moon. It made Harry feel calm.
"It's still very much a blank canvas," Draco assured him and started a slow, nervous pace on the far side of the room as he pontificated further on how all of this could change, and how the bathroom was fully-stocked.
Harry heard Draco's words but somehow felt like he was hearing past them. Was Draco nervous? Yes, Draco Malfoy looked nervous, and was rambling on about soap or something. Harry's traitorous mind conjured the image of Draco in the bath and it took some serious willpower to wipe it away.
He turned to the bed with the tips of his fingers tingling. Cautiously, Harry approached it. He spread his fingers wide and smoothed them along the comforter, so downy and plush. Draco had stopped talking.
"Only the highest thread count, of course," Draco said of the sheets. He wondered what Harry's fingertips felt like and was breathless a moment.
There was something hypnotic about this bed. Before Harry knew it he was yawning, and yawning loud.
"Am I truly boring you so deeply?" Draco teased, his default response around Harry. "Or are you just looking for someone to tuck you in?"
Harry blinked a few times before trying to rub the exhaustion from his eyes with the back of his hand. "No one," he said, casting his gaze away. "Has ever tucked me in."
"What?" Draco asked, eyes wide and dumbfounded.
"I mean, my parents did, but I only have one memory of it that I'm frankly not sure if it's even real. Madam Pomfrey had to have because whenever I was injured I woke to having a blanket on… but that's it."
Draco shook his head. "That's not right." It was probably rich coming from an Ex-Death Eater what was right and what wasn't. Still, Draco searched for Harry's eyes again. "Are you tired? It is getting late, and..." Draco straightened his shoulders. "You can stay here, if you like. I will sleep in my room and you in here, and you can leave any time you want through the Floo. But—you should sleep if you're tired."
Was Draco seriously offering that? Harry leapt at a reply before Draco could change his mind. "Those are your Healer's orders, then?"
The corners of Draco's lips twitched upward. "Shall I fetch you pyjamas, then?" Draco countered, always game to raise the stakes when it came to Harry Potter. This game of chicken made both their hearts pound.
"I suppose I can't sleep in this. Yes, it is getting late, too…" Harry was prepared to drop as many excuses as needed to stay here when Draco was the one who suggested it. "May I also get my clothes from before back?"
"Ah, of course." Draco reached for his charmed bag and produced the clothes for Harry. "Please, wash up all you like. I'll be back in a moment with nightclothes." Draco was acting like the perfect gentleman host, and smiling like he was ready to take a bite out of Harry.
Harry nodded, mouth too dry to reply. Wearing Draco Malfoy's pyjamas? Though clean from the wash they would be what the other man slept in, wriggled into and out of for access to himself.
Once Draco was gone it was time to wash up, apparently. The bathroom was in the same blue palette as the guestroom, but there were much beachier accents in here. Shells on the curtains, for soap dishes, on the walls—Harry could even breathe in and smell the ocean from a charmed conch shell resting on the toilet. So many products, too. He didn't think he was welcome to them, and used the soap sparingly.
There was a massive tub that had a showerhead and jets. Harry yearned for a soak like that on his aching neck and shoulders.
While he only used the sink for no, Harry got on with the freshening up with a remarkable enthusiasm. When Draco returned all that was left for Harry was to clean his glasses. There was a knock on the door and Harry almost dropped them.
"Are you decent enough to receive your clothes for tonight?" came Draco's muffled voice.
With a little laugh Harry let his shoulders relax. "Yes, I am."
Draco opened the door and bore the bundle in his arms. The pyjamas were a satiny red, flowing and free for maximum comfort. "For old time's sake," Draco teased.
"…I would say something snide back but these look really soft," Harry marveled quietly, running his fingertips over the fabric.
He took the pyjamas in his arms, nodding a thanks as Draco closed the door once more.
In the mirror on his side of the door Harry saw himself dressed pretty damn well. It was almost a pity to take it off. But then there was the bundle in his arms, slowly unfolding to reveal gold trimming. Harry snorted. Draco really had thought of everything.
Harry didn't linger long on his own naked image in the process of changing—he never had. It seemed these days Harry didn't have anything nice to say about himself. He had no idea how to be 'hot' to girls in Hogwarts when he thought that was his fate, but he really had no idea how to be attractive for men. He touched himself quite a bit, but would he ever want a man like himself? Harry frowned to remember seeing himself at every angle when people pretended to be him during the war to distract Death Eaters. What a damn nightmare.
Being here tonight felt nothing like it had the last time, that much was sure. Harry was free to go, to back out of whatever was happening here, but he didn't dare.
The pyjamas slid on easily, fabric gliding over Harry's skin. When he looked at himself dressed in this splendor he felt better not for the expense likely put into it, but for how it covered him up from himself. There was nothing left to do now but walk out.
The nightmare of a war faded away to a dream in low lights. Draco was sitting at the edge of the bed, now himself dressed in a sleeping robe of green that made his light hair all the brighter. No matter how low the lights, Draco Malfoy's hair always glistened in them.
The covers were pulled back for Harry. Draco, fully devoted to the challenge given—the tucking-in of a lifetime—extended a hand to help Harry into bed. Harry's eyes remained on the clearly-planned robe color alignment; he'd seen the size of Draco's closet.
The back of Harry's head met with the puffed-up center of a pillow and the rest of his body sank down into a greater comfort than he had ever felt before.
Draco sat on the bed at Harry's side. "You get what you pay for, you know," Draco couldn't help but point out. "Linens are an investment as much as mattresses. Speaking of—is this too soft?"
"It's perfect," Harry responded with a sleepy grin.
"Excellent." Draco stood so he could gather the sheets and comforter up. Once he had a grip on the right side he moved to do exactly as all those who'd tucked him in over the years had done. Draco tucked in the left side and moved to gather the blankets around the feet for extra warmth. Harry's circulation was poor from how cold his hands had seemed in the evening.
Harry stayed perfectly still through all of this, gaze unflinching on Draco's face when it scrunched as he moved the blankets in.
"May I?" Draco asked, a finger on Harry's temple and one on the rim of his glasses.
"Yes," Harry allowed, closing his eyes.
Draco took off the glasses slowly to make sure he did not bend or break them. They were placed on the bedside table with the same loving attention. Draco kept the nearsightedness in mind, or so he would say if pressed, and got quite close to Harry's face. "While you were changing I fetched you a glass of water. IF you need anything else, I am right down the hall."
"Thank you," Harry whispered in return. This level of attention had him blushing profusely, but he was smiling all the same.
"You are quire welcome." Draco pressed a palm to Harry's forehead as if checking for fever and Harry thought nothing of it. It was when Draco began to move the hair up off his forehead that Harry began to fear.
Once the scar was out in the open Harry could never take it back, like the 'detention' carving on his hand and the other injuries that lingered. Harry's stupid destiny had ruined a lot of relationships and while yeah, Draco knew he was the 'Golden Boy' did he really know how much he hated it?
Harry's thoughts were interrupted Draco did something that sent a shock through his whole system. Draco leaned in and pushed his lips to Harry's emblematic scar. Draco kissed it not once but twice in long, tender intervals before standing up straight again.
"Goodnight, Harry," Draco whispered like a prayer.
"Goodnight, Draco." Harry let his tired eyes finally close in bliss, the real kind. He had done a lot, and walked more than his usual pacing around the flat. He quietly celebrated the kisses he'd gotten, glowing even in his exhaustion. Harry was tired, and apparently felt safe enough to fall asleep before Draco even left the room.
Draco looked over his shoulder to observe this with immense satisfaction. He murmured the spell to extinguish the lights and walked back to his room, a renewed pep in his step. Perfect execution, points for style—Draco had done all he could to nail what this really was, an audition to be Harry's Daddy.
Draco returned to his room and left the door open a crack just in case. Tonight they would sleep, and if Harry was still considering him, then he would still be here in the morning.
Try as he might to not get his hopes up, Draco Malfoy's heart was one of a romantic. IF he proved himself in this trial maybe it could mean he'd changed entirely as a person, and achieved something else all on his own.
In their separate rooms the men dreamed of vibrant fabrics in all colors, desserts, and each other.
Morning came for Draco first, a slow rise as he got used to being awake again. There was a sharp skip in his heartbeat when he remembered the previous evening. Had it all been some wonderful dream? There was no way, absolutely no way Harry Potter had asked to be taken to the Manor and shown the room Draco intended for his future submissive.
In a quiet panic Draco crept down the hall bathed in morning light, peeking in the door to see if he had truly gone mad enough as to imagine a whole evening of romance with someone he hadn't spoken to in a decade. His stomach flipped to discover Harry bloody Potter still all tucked-in, sleeping deeply and peacefully in a bed that he knew well the meaning of sleeping in.
Harry looked so much younger like this, his face less pressed in concern now that his mind was off in dreamland. What could he be dreaming of? Harry's raven hair covered his eyes, the bird's nest having reformed with a vengeance in the tossing and turning of the night.
Draco swallowed. There was no time to waste, it seemed.
Gathering his sleeping robe around himself over the shirt and long pants Draco made his way down the grand staircase like a lady holding her skirts. Draco had always loved that about wizards getting to wear robes, even though he did find the time to appreciate a good muggle suit, like he had last night. Potter cleaned up damn well—oh, wait, yes, they were using first names now.
Draco giggled to himself and twirled off the bannister on the main floor. Harry, Harry Potter was in his guestroom fast asleep.
Before Draco had even gotten to the kitchen he had raised his wand and chin high in perfect sync, ready to cast a cavalcade of spells so this got done as quickly as possible. He would need to double the recipe, but he had this routine down to under fifteen minutes for when he was called to the hospital unexpectedly. Draco never let himself go to work on an empty stomach, even if it meant a sugary snack from the vending contraptions they'd installed in the lobby.
Saying his incantations with perfect pronunciation—Flitwick would be proud if he wasn't likely still horrified by his existence—Draco began a measured dance around the kitchen.
Cabinets flew open, a shallow glass pie dish landing gracefully in front of Draco. He floated two eggs over it, cracking them precisely down the center. Next came milk and sugar, a whisk flying over to start whipping the substances together.
Draco measured out the perfect amount of cinnamon and vanilla extract for two and used his wand to tip them over into the dish as well.
All the while the oven had been firing up behind him, Draco murmuring spells for heat and to bring the pan over to be buttered. With a thick glob of European butter Draco tilted the handle so that every inch was coated. The breadbox opened and out shot four pieces of a thick brioche. It was then that Draco could set down his wand.
By hand he dipped each slice into the pie tin on both sides, coating them in the mixture thoroughly before transferring them onto the bubbling, greased pan. Cooking was much like making potions to Draco, and he'd always done well with those. It occurred to him when thinking of potions that he would need to owl Theo soon to see how business was going.
Theodore Nott would understand perfectly when Draco told him—if Draco was allowed to tell him—that Harry bloody Potter had been occupying most of his free thoughts and now time.
Humming to himself because if he ever did get to tell his friends about this they'd all properly lose their shit, Draco flipped over the French toast as it began to take on a golden-brown texture. He was making excellent time according to the clock on the wall, and that only puffed Draco up more.
He was getting too far ahead of himself.
Focusing on the task at hand, making the crispiest and sugariest French toast of all time, Draco found a steadier state of mind. He was making breakfast, and soon enough he'd be serving it in bed to someone who likely hadn't had breakfast in bed either if he'd never been tucked in. These facts of life were too depressing and Draco had taken it upon himself to show Harry what he deserved to be getting all this time.
The man who objectively deserved breakfast in bed the most in the world—for without his stupidly brave actions there would be neither breakfast nor beds left to this world—had probably only gotten something like this in the Hospital Wing he frequented back in school.
Draco was hotter than Madam Pomfrey, too, that was for sure.
Learning of Harry Potter's homosexuality sorted out a great deal of their childhood looking back, didn't it? The following, the staring, the verbal spats where they couldn't stop gazing longingly at each other's lips—Draco had thought it all to be one-sided but now knew better.
He flipped over the French toast in the skillet, judging both sides with a few more flips before deciding each piece to be done. He stacked two on two plates, topping off the dishes with magically-spread powdered sugar and maple syrup. Next came the fruits and berries around the edges, and finally, the glasses of water and fresh-squeezed orange juice.
Draco really had been meaning to get the Manor's fruit trees up and running again in the back but they proved finicky no matter what growth potion he poured on them. For now he got his oranges from a Marlborough Farmer's Market not too far from the Manor. Wiltshire was of quiet, green country, with lots of space in between neighbors and magic wards to keep the muggles from discovering the Manor existed in the first place.
Aside from the occasional glare when wearing particularly garish outfits the farmers didn't care to know his address or even his name. It had been like that now with many in long, English stonewalled silence. Draco tried to get their growing advice as well, but they were even tighter-lipped than usual on the tools of the trade to Draco.
With two plates fixed and ready to go, Draco levitated a tray lined with Irises and lavender sprigs. There was always the chance that Draco could return to the third floor and find it empty, and that would be a hurricane on his parade, but he hoped he was still up there. Irises stood for faith, hope, and trust.
Draco made it all the way up the stairs down the western third hall to the guest room and froze at the half-open door. He couldn't see anything with this tray in his face, and he had to concentrate on the spell. In it was, even if doing so made a fool of him.
"Breakfast is served," Draco announced with a knock and walked into the guestroom with eyes wide and alert for the morning. "How often do you eat breakfast?" Draco followed up suspiciously.
Harry had already been awake when Draco came in but the follow-up question so early in the morning—it implicated him, as well. "Not enough," Harry settled on. He licked his lips openly at this display of breakfast delight and turned his wakening eyes to Draco. "Thank you, for breakfast, if I'm really allowed to eat this—"
"Allowed? Who do you think I made the other plate up for, my other gentleman callers?"
Oh, so Draco was fully verbally combative in the morning, too. Harry was doing his best against an absolute master here. He looked down at the French toast and realized Draco was a master in many ways, many ways indeed.
"Thank you," Harry repeated pointedly, and reached for a fork. The fruit was fresh by the taste of it. "It's the first time someone's, for a non-medical reason, given me breakfast in bed."
"I thought so," Draco replied smugly. The irony of his profession was glorious as well here. "And you are very welcome. Let me know if you prefer it another way."
Harry was too busy eating the best damn French toast of this life to comment much on it. "Thish is—this is magnificent," he signaled, hand brandishing a full fork.
"I am glad you like it. Simple but tested recipe, and timed."
"You and your timers," Harry nodded after a particularly-big swallow. Draco tried not to stare too obviously at his neck. "I like it."
The two ate, bodies wanting from how much they'd walked the night before.
"Don't you have to get to the hospital? It's Monday," Harry inquired when that dawned upon him.
"I put in for a vacation day last night before bed. I am taking an extended holiday, all paid, and so HR Department rejoiced, Hallelujah," Draco went on, all to say: "I have a lot of unused vacation days. I keep telling myself I'm saving them for a few months of dedication to the Manor…." Draco's lips twitched. "But that's not why I took off. I want to be here, Harry, with you, as long as I can."
"I don't know what I'm doing," Harry admitted with French toast crumbs on his chin and a sparkle in his eye for the man who'd tucked him in. "I don't know what I want most of the time, but what I asked for in that magazine hasn't changed."
"There will be rules," Draco nodded quite seriously before sullying his own posture for the last cinnamon-y bite. Such a beautiful morning to be snacking with a snack like this little twink. Draco wondered how Harry would react if he called him that. "On both sides, of course."
"Everything I said in the messages," Harry brought up.
"Yes, received and processed," Draco replied illustratively. "You have to submit to a full, professional Healer physical by me," Draco sent right back. "Twice a year."
Now that made Harry laugh. "Okay, should've seen that one coming." Harry wriggled, sitting up straighter. "Agreed, yes. I'm half-expecting you to have papers to sign."
"That comes later," Draco assured Harry. "But before it I need more from you. Is there more you need from me?"
"Well, uh," Harry tried. His mind was racing. There were a lot of things that Harry needed from Draco now that he thought about it. A talking-to, a firm hug, a heavy slap—he was letting his mind get away from himself already. There was one thing, though. Harry couldn't be discussing terms like this without having at least that between them. "There is this one thing I need first."
"Anything," Draco assured him.
Harry put down the fork and reached out for Draco's hands to find they were given to him immediately, soft with long, elegant fingers. There was only one way to know now in Harry's mind, only one thing he needed to check.
With a squeeze of his hands Harry pulled himself to up to kiss Draco square on the mouth, lips searching for any response. Draco pressed back, fulfilling a dream he'd never admitted he'd harbored since first year. Fireworks erupted around and echoed off the both of their skulls, huddled together closer now in the bed. Harry sent the tray to a nearby table wordlessly and wandlessly and Draco seemed to become all the more enthused for it. Harry was powerful.
Against the gentle prying of Harry's lips Draco returned his kiss deeper, firmer. Thrumming with life. When Harry felt himself being pulled in deeper he retracted, wanting to keep a clear head about the decisions he made right now, just like Draco wanted. "That is a satisfactory answer, thank you," Harry nodded, lips still crying out for more.
"Had to test the chemistry?" Draco inquired of what Harry had just done.
"No, I just… I wanted you to know that even outside of these… things we like, I like you. I think the world is so much better with Draco Malfoy in it and I've always thought that."
Draco kissed him again, this time brief but with greater yearning.
"Draco…" Harry whispered, fully content to lay here and snog Draco into the next millennia, but they had business to discuss first.
"Rules," Draco stated again, the tip of his nose brushing against Harry's.
"Well, maybe if you say what your rules are, I'll tell you what I honestly think of them." Harry hadn't a clue how to navigate this, especially when there was a gorgeous man pressed to his side. Harry made more room for him, and Draco shifted closer.
"Agreeable indeed," Draco nodded as he conjured forth the rules he'd been working on for years. "Rule One: If we are to enter into this arrangement it would become a main, monogamous focus. I take this seriously."
"I agree," Harry said more quickly than he thought he would. "I have this strange feeling you're terrible at sharing."
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Draco defended with a smile. "Rule Two: This room is your Safe Space. If you wish to be unbothered here then it shall be so for as long as you wish it. You can ban me from it if you wish."
"Sounds good. I would want to go back to my flat sometimes, too."
"Whenever you wish. Now, Rule Three I touched upon before. My physical inspection of your body includes as many manners of updates as you claim comfortable. Everything is on the table for questions."
"Like?" Harry asked, raising a brow. He hadn't let Draco's hands go and was glad to be clamped on them now. He was nervous even during this, but he pushed on. Harry wanted this, he wanted Draco, and denying and repressing that had only bled poison into his life. It made sense that Draco wanted to check his health, then.
"I want updates on recreational substances you take when not in my presence. I want to hear about the drinks you have, the joints and cigs you smoke, what have you. You can have all of it, but you need to play safe," Draco began. "And I'll want your sexual history, complete, as well as your sexual present, if you will. I don't let my submissives masturbate without my permission. Would you give up touching yourself, give over control of every orgasm to me?"
Harry licked his lips to taste what lingered of Draco. "Yeah, okay," Harry nodded, trying not to have his voice sound so thin. 'Orgasm' in Draco's posh accent made Harry near enact it like a command. "I would."
"Rule Four: You must always be honest with your limits, and never push yourself to take more pain or kink than is sane for my sake. I know it's a shitty word, 'sane', but 'safe, sane, and consensual' is a movement now, really. Sane, what does sane mean really?" Draco repeated, giving Harry's hands another little squeeze.
"We could find out together," Harry offered in a whisper.
"Yes, that we could…." Draco moved his hand up Harry's wrist to his shoulder and behind his neck so he could scratch him gently there. "Do you like nicknames? I do."
"I hadn't noticed," Harry replied completely deadpan, brows raised. Draco laughed first and then they both laughed. Yes, Harry had seen him at his worst. "But I think you knew I liked them, too. Not the weird kid ones you came up with, but the way you said them."
"You like that, hm? Accusatory? Slut, whore, trollop of ill-repute come to sneak into Daddy's bed?"
Harry went as red as his pyjamas. "Well, yes." He moved over more in the bed so Draco could evenly join him. "And I like the sweet ones, too. I can be a brat, and misbehave when I want that kind of attention, but I can be good and follow instructions, too."
"I am sure you can," Draco purred from deep in his throat. Draco's entire body was responding to this testimony of absolute faith. "It brings us to Rule 5: Discretion. What that means for us, well, is up to you. I am not against informing others of your gentlemanly calls to my house but we really cannot tell most of them the founding principles of why you come here."
"I'm helping you with the house," Harry offered.
Draco blinked. "Is that a: 'I'm helping you with the house!' cover-up or an actual 'I am helping you with your house'?" He was in deep disbelief if it was the latter, not even allowing himself to imagine that.
"I said hardworking. Thanks to Neville I always got great marks in Herbology, too. I could take a crack at some flowers, even if they're just small ones at first. Irises—" Harry observed of the tray he'd placed to the side. "What do they mean?"
"Hope, faith, and trust," Draco replied through his smile. "You have free reign of this mess of a house, Harry. There is literally nothing you could do to make things worse, so, please, have at whatever part tickles your fancy. You really aren't required to work on it."
"I'll take a crack at it—what the hell? Why not?" Harry's 'why not's of late had been depressing but this one felt imbued with the spirit of Draco's flowers. Green eyes met silver. "Any more rules?"
"That's it for the formal tenets, really. Be good, get what you want, be bad, get something else you want and a limp for a few days," Draco reviewed aloud.
Harry sputtered a laugh at that. "Well, damn. 'Draconian' sure is right. A fitting name at least," Harry recalled from Draco's self-description in the messages. "But I accept the rules, Draco. 'Hardworking' was right on my ad, too. I haven't been living up to it for a long while but right now I feel as if I have a reason to. I have no job to call out on vacation from—I've been searching for meaning like this."
"We will discuss more before each scene," Draco assured Harry. "You may always ask questions, or make requests. I appreciate your offer to work on the Manor, I truly do, but you do not have to. I am not your Aunt and Uncle."
A smile formed slowly on Harry's lips, the corners curling up like paper under a flame. "You're damn right you're not my Aunt and Uncle, Draco," Harry retorted, eyes glinting. "You're my Daddy."