𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

Seeing is Believing

Their first weekend living together, Harry had discovered some interesting things about Draco.

It was the kind of stuff Harry would never have taken notice of before; the sort of things that you never realize about someone you know and love until you’re forced to share space with them for a continued period of time.

And they were mostly things that came to light because they differed so drastically from Harry’s normal routine.

There was the running, which Harry had known before, but which actually came with the addition of overall physical awareness; Draco was apparently under the impression that his body was, in fact, a temple, and that junk food and beer were entirely sacrilegious.

The following observation that threw Harry a bit was that Draco didn’t really eat very much. He had a birdlike tendency to consume very small amounts at frequent intervals, and Harry, having been taught the Weasley ways of home cooking, found this utterly bizarre. Draco would sneer at Harry’s carefully prepared lasagna and opt for an apple instead, blathering on about carbs and good versus bad sugars as Harry ate. Then he would go execute several sets of crunches in the living room, as if the very contemplation of pasta might have made him gain weight.

Not that Harry minded; the payoff was Draco’s toned self wandering shirtless around his house, so he couldn’t find much to complain about. However, it did strike him that Draco was an extremely deliberate being; he was trim and well-muscled because he intended to be so, whereas Harry had more or less become accidentally strong due to Quidditch and all the evil-battling. Draco was thin because he had a disciplined eating regime, and Harry was thin because….well, he hadn’t been fed properly for the first eleven years of his life.

Even the ways they initiated sex was different. Draco would go momentarily quiet, which Harry had realized he only did when he was deep in thought. Harry would leave him alone to contemplate, thinking that whatever it was, Draco would tell him when he was ready. Moments later Harry would be doing something mundane like washing dishes and Draco would enter the room with desire sparkling in his eyes, his movements swift and calculated. Harry could almost see lust rolling off of Draco, who would lean in and use a low, soft voice, almost a growl, and say whatever it was that had made his eyes go silver and iridescent….

“I was thinking how wonderful you would look tied to the bed…”

“I was thinking about that moment, right after you come, when you’re still inside me…”

“I was thinking that I want to watch you get yourself off and then let me suck you clean..”

….and Harry would get completely distracted from whatever menial task he was doing. Draco loved to slowly undress Harry as he talked, loved to watch Harry get hard before ever even touching him; something in Draco reveled in Harry having such a physical reaction to mental and emotional stimulation rather than direct groping.

Harry was much less premeditated. One second he would be leaning in to place a simple kiss on Draco’s mouth, a thank you for making the bed or a small way to communicate affection, and the next he would be pressing Draco against whatever flat surface was available, tangling his fingers roughly in Draco’s hair, tongue insistent in Draco’s mouth as he forced the blonde’s thighs apart and entered him with fire coursing through his body, his brain a thick miasma of sound and stimulation and Draco.

There were other, smaller things, too. Like that Draco was a very quick reader, and he had a habit of picking up anything with print and examining it thoroughly if he was forced to sit down for more than ten seconds. He was a lively person, always moving somehow, always thinking, eyes alight and intelligent, movements graceful and continuous. Harry wondered if Draco ever relaxed the way normal people did.