Expectant || Drarry

11

As it turns out, several rounds of vigorous sex on a daily basis stands a definite chance of improving the quality of a pregnant wizard's life.

Draco feels slightly guilty that he's only now starting to enjoy his pregnancy so much. Although he attributes a majority of the enjoyment to the innumerable orgasms Potter has started giving him every day, he believes it also has something to do with the relief that has come from the elimination of all that tense uncertainty that hung around them every time they were in a room together. Potter is open and very giving with his affection and while this is very convenient in the face of Draco's raging libido, it also means that Draco isn't as lonely as he'd been for months - years, in fact.

He thrills in the element of domesticity that's now bled into his life. No longer does he restlessly wait for mealtimes so he can see Potter, or carefully time how long he's spent around Potter before he starts seeming too eager. He doesn't have to mindfully keep his distance from Potter and can touch the sexy bastard as much and as often as he fancies. It also helps that Potter genuinely is fantastic company.

They don't officially share a bed yet, though. On the nights they fuck in either one of their beds, neither of them makes to return to their own room, falling asleep together comfortably enough. But on the nights Potter is out and isn't back by the time Draco falls asleep, he does wake up alone (and disgruntled).

And when they're not frantically fucking or desperately snogging, he and Potter take walks together, go to the cinema, go out to brunch or dinner, or very simply, just stay home reading or watching television - together; always together. Draco doesn't think he's spent this much quality time with anyone in the past, whether he was sleeping with them or not. It's fascinating and also rather terrifying; fascinating because he actually finds himself enjoying it, all of it, not just the sex, but just being with Potter in general.

Terrifying because he finds himself enjoying all of it, for they still haven't actually talked about, or in any way addressed, what they are now.

Despite how forthright and honest a person Potter is, Draco doesn't quite have the guts to broach the subject because he's too busy enjoying the blissful little bubble that they're both living in and he doesn't yet want to risk popping it.

By the time July rolls to an end, it's blisteringly hot and nearly always threatening to break into an epic thunderstorm. They don't venture out much during the day, preferring to stay indoors, sucking on ice lollies in varying states of undress with the Cooling Charms on. Potter doesn't go out by himself very often either, attending a lot of his meetings via Floo calls or not at all, spending most of his free time with Draco desperately writhing under him.

The evening of Potter's birthday finds them both in the pleasantly cool living room on the second floor, surrounded by baby books, most of them, shockingly enough, Potter's. Draco had found stacks of them on Potter's bedside tables, volume after volume of rare, wizard-pregnancy books and several more books about Veela and Veela mating.

"Selfish of you, keeping these all to yourself," Draco had remarked with a scowl.

"Oh, please," Potter had scoffed, turning to him, "Like you'd have accepted them without a barbed comment or two."

"Yes, but I would have accepted them."

"Fine, I'll offer you the next new book I purchase."

"Can you even read or does your elf read them to you?"

"And that's why I didn't bring these to you."

"Don't be such an ultra sensitive arse, Potter."

"I believe yours is the only ultra sensitive arse here, Malfoy."