Harry would've never thought that spending Christmas with Draco Malfoy, doing nothing at all in particular, could bring him as much happiness as it does.

Harry's come is trickling out of my arse as I say 'I do' and promise to love and cherish Blaise in sickness and in health. The love of my life is preparing to leave the country as I smile for photographs. The excruciating agony of my heart shattering nearly brings me to my knees on what ought to have been the happiest day of my life.

"We can be friends, if you like," he says instead, nonchalant and careless. "What I'd like," Potter says seriously, "is to kiss you." Draco feels his jaw drop, feels the way his hair tumbles into his eyes when he whips around to stare at Potter. "What?" he breathes. "I think I'd like to kiss you," Potter repeats sombrely, no hint of mirth evident. "You think?" Draco says steadily, proud of himself for holding himself together. Potter's eyebrows slide up briefly but then Draco can't think or act or speak or breathe because Potter is leaning in and cupping his cheek gently. "I know," Potter says simply, and kisses Draco.

Potter is panting moist puffs of air into his face and grinding what is now a full-on erection against Draco's own, glaring at Draco with the same mixture of confusion-exasperation-helpless-raging want that Draco feels for the git, day after day, coursing through his bloodstream, making him feel at once like he's flying and drowning.

Potter begins to take me apart, each savage, pounding thrust peeling away layer after layer of everything that I am, reaming me open in a way that makes me wonder how I'll ever be able to let anybody else but him fuck me after this.

"This person is so much harder to hate. And I'm supposed to hate Malfoy. How the fuck else am I supposed to limit this to just sex?"

They don't cuddle, they don't talk about their relationship (or lack thereof) and they certainly never fall asleep in each other's arms.

Now Draco's cock is stirring, and he can't breathe because all he can think of is screaming Harry's name while Harry pins him down and mindlessly fucks him into total incoherency. Because hell yes, that would be sexy as fuck and Draco is officially in so much trouble.

Nobody kissed me like Harry did. He kissed like he flew; he kissed like he duelled - with his whole being, not caring about anything else. I had never felt as vulnerable as I did when he kissed me, seizing all and any control I had over myself. But when Harry kissed me, I felt free...

"After he accidentally gets Malfoy pregnant on a drunken fuck at a club, Harry doesn't anticipate that it'd be just as easy to fall in love with him."