𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄

Part 18

1.

It is a few days after Christmas when Harry tells Draco, “Come out with me.”

“Come out where with you?” Malfoy drawls. He picks at his fingernails for a moment, then looks at Harry. “What are you on about now, Potter?”

“I mean come out with me on a date,” Harry says.

Malfoy’s smirk wavers into a scowl. “Why would I do that? Muggles would-”

Harry holds himself back from rolling his eyes. “I know, I know,” he says, “Muggles would see you and I and then they’d think you were a poof and you’re not.”

Malfoy sniffs. His cheeks spot pink and he grumbles, “Yes.”

Harry lets it rest throughout the day. It has been a rainy winter and the cold, miserable weather only makes being cooped up inside at home seem even worse, seem smaller and more cramped, what with Pyrrha, Abraxas and Viola all home for the holidays. His head aches sometimes in the evenings, reminiscent of the Ministry of late, loud and unceasing, having to end arguments again and again between Viola and Abraxas as they bicker over the telly and argue over the bathroom in the mornings and who gets the last chocolate crisp Dobby baked last night.

They lie in bed. Harry watches the rain drizzle down the windows, illuminated a sickly orange by the streetlamps of the suburbs over Malfoy’s shoulder. Malfoy’s back is pressed against his chest and his hand rests on Malfoy’s belly, under the hem of his pajama shirt, his thumb stroking the soft skin.

He stretches his toes out and twines his legs with Malfoy. Malfoy jerks and says, “Your feet are cold,” when Harry wiggles closer into Malfoy’s warm body.

Harry sighs into Malfoy’s shoulder, smiling as Malfoy shivers next to him. He moves his thumb across Malfoy’s belly as he kisses Malfoy’s neck, pressing his lips onto the skin of his jaw, his ear, sighing heavily into Malfoy’s ear. He can feel Malfoy’s pajama trousers move and he pushes his own hips forward into the small of Malfoy’s back, letting Malfoy feel his own erection.

“Come out with me,” he says.

Malfoy stiffens. “Why are you so intent on me going out with you?” he drawls.

Harry grunts. “Just come out with me. You can pick the restaurant, I don’t care. I want to take you out. Just us.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Malfoy asks. He pulls away from Harry and removes Harry’s hand from inside his pajamas. Harry’s cold fingers lament the loss of the warm skin, his own personal furnace. He buries his body deeper in the sheets and shifts over onto the spot in the mattress that Malfoy has left vacant and warm as he inches away from Harry, scowling.

“You can make the Muggles squirm,” he suggests, “by thinking that you’re with me.”

“I am- but I’m not a poof!” Malfoy hisses. He falters, hissing and falling back on the pillow, his eyes closed and his mouth curving as Harry cups his cock through his pajamas. Harry’s thumb is slow and steady, stroking his cock like his belly, smiling just the same when Malfoy croaks, “Fine, fine”. Harry runs his fingers down the length of Malfoy’s shaft, feeling it twitch under his palm, feeling him harden as his breath catches.

“Good,” Harry says, pulling down Malfoy’s pajama trousers, down to his knees before he presses his lips to Malfoy’s lower belly. Malfoy sucks in a breath and holds it until he exhales, moaning and clutching at Harry’s head, pushing him, urging him downward.