A/N: I'm sorry I disappeared from this story for so long! I am still working on it, I currently have two chapters in the works for it but they're difficult ones so they're taking ages (Evie finding out about Draco's past, and Evie going to Hogwarts, respectively). And THEN I found this year's Flufftober prompts on Tumblr (I reblogged them on my page, esta-elavaris, for anybody who might want to take a gander) and I thought they'd be perfect for this story, even if the scenes they inspire tend to be a wee bit shorter. The good news being they should be fairly frequent, because I don't want to still be writing flufftober prompts come January. So here! Flufftober Day 1 = wearing each other's clothes.

[This one is set sometime during the first half of LBL - when their official relationship is relatively new.]

Draco could not find his clothing. Well, not his comfortable clothing. At Marilyn's fifty-thousandth insistence that it was strange and disconcerting to see him lounging around with her wearing a shirt and proper trousers, he'd given in one day when they were out shopping together, and bought a pair of soft grey jogging bottoms (or joggers, as she called them) to pair with his old red and black Bulgarian National Quidditch Team jersey. Mostly because he knew that if either of her housemates ever caught sight of his fine black silk pyjamas, he'd never hear the end of it. It was his attempt at blending in. When either of them asked what sport the jersey was for, he mumbled something that sounded sufficiently posh until their eyes glazed over and they lost interest. The outfit had grown to be of great use to him here, and he'd begrudgingly admitted that it was much more comfortable to laze about in those rather than a blazer and a tie.

Or it would have been, had his girlfriend not been so fond of stealing them. Grumbling to himself, he stood in the middle of her bedroom in nothing but his boxers, and contemplated the clothes he'd worn yesterday. But it was much too early for anything that didn't have an elasticated waistband.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he contemplated waiting for her to return from the kitchen and then reclaiming the clothes from her himself - a prospect they'd both enjoy - but she didn't know he was awake yet, which meant she'd only be making tea for one in the kitchen, and if he didn't move swiftly he'd have to make his own cup, and Marilyn's were better. It was her superpower, she insisted. Time was of the essence. Groaning, Draco knew what needed to be done…and took up the lavender silk dressing gown that hung on a hook on the back of the door.

The house was freezing as he stepped out into the hallway - most of the windows were only single-glazed, and the downstairs was always utterly baltic first thing in the morning before anybody turned the heating on. It was usually all the encouragement they needed to linger in her bed well past any reasonable hour on chilly mornings, loathing to get up and face the cold. Draco grimaced, and sorely regretted not stealing a pair of her fluffy socks, too - although that might have been overkill. The dressing gown alone was dangerously un-live-downable if Sarah found him like this.

What sounded like guitar music drifted from the kitchen, and as he drew nearer he heard the humming and the clink of dishware. The Beatles, he recognised after a few moments. She'd tried many a time to explain the hype around them, but Draco had never much understood it. To his ear, they had a hundred songs that all tended to sound like the same five songs. As he padded silently into the kitchen, though, and found Marilyn humming along and swaying her hips - hips clad in his clothing, no less - he thought maybe he could see the appeal of the band.

Closer, let me whisper in your ear…say the words you long to hear…I'm in love with you…The Muggle singer was singing on, backed up by the occasional vocalisations of his bandmates, as well as that of Marilyn, singing along to the backing 'oooh's and hums more than she did the actual words, the baggy jersey drowning her as she moved. Even the jogging bottoms were laughably big on her lithe frame, riding down with every sway of her hips. The way she had to carefully move to keep too much strain from being put on her bad knee was barely noticeable - he wouldn't have noted it at all, had he not been looking for it. Draco was half tempted to continue watching silently, seeing how low she'd let them get before she paid any mind, but when she lifted the kettle to fill it, his mind was made up.

"Put enough water in for me, too."

She jumped - literally jumped, a good half a foot - and he stepped swiftly forward to grab her upper arm so she wouldn't do herself an injury trying to regain her balance. Only once she was safely and stably back on both feet did he let go.

"You're a menace," she said - warmly, like it was a compliment - as she set the kettle down onto the bench "How do you move so bloody quietly?"

"The deafeningly loud radio helps a bit. And you're a clothes thief, by the way."

He pecked her on the lips, and then stepped back so she could go about filling the kettle.

Marilyn smiled "Prove it."

"Well I'm afraid I hardly have my name sewn into my clothing - but I find it hard to believe you're a big Bulgarian quidditch fan."

"Maybe I fancy Viktor Krum."

Draco scoffed "You have better taste than that. Where did you learn that name?"

"When that paper of yours isn't speculating over our exploits, it's focusing on his."

"My. I didn't know we had competition."

"If you go out wearing that, we won't need to worry about seizing the headlines. But then I might gain some competition of my own - that really is your colour, you know. Although when you said your lot typically wear robes, that's not exactly what I pictured."

Draco rolled his eyes, but endured the teasing with a better nature than he might've had it come from literally anybody else. Mostly because he was enjoying watching her flounce about in his clothes. It was a rite of passage in relationships, he knew that well enough, but he'd always rolled his eyes whenever whatever woman he was spending his time with as of late seized the chance to strut around in a piece of his clothing. Perhaps because they didn't look like Marilyn when they did.

Rather than voice any of those complimentary, embarrassingly mushy thoughts, though, he chose instead to cross his arms and lean against the fridge.

"Hurry up and make my cup of tea, wench."

It earned him an amused snort, and she valiantly left the soft smile on his face as he watched her entirely unmentioned.

A/N: The Bulgarian National Quidditch Team is literally the name of the team. I couldn't believe it when I found the wikia - I'd expected something a bit less on the nose, but hey ho. Also I like The Beatles, so the opinions expressed here are firmly Draco's and Draco's alone B)

I'm also going to do something similar with these Flufftober prompts with my Norrington/OC Pirates of the Caribbean fic for those of you who follow that, but I need to wait until the fic is finished first, which it almost is, so I'm stockpiling them for now.