Mon Petit Gâteau — Part II.


Harry was done by four, which was record time for him. After ascertaining that his assistants and apprentice were on top of things, he quickly gathered his belongings and made his way home. He took a long, thorough shower with the soaps he liked to save for special occasions and washed his hair more carefully than usual. If it couldn't lie flat it could at least look shiny, he figured.

Choosing an outfit was more difficult. Harry had already decided to bring Malfoy to Le Chantecler. It was a distinguished establishment, which Malfoy was sure to appreciate (he hoped), with the benefit of not being ostentatious or outrageously expensive. More importantly, however, was the fact that it had a secret floor reserved for Wizards, an extensive wine list, and desserts that were, while not as brilliant as Harry's (if he did say so himself), still bloody delicious.

Making arrangements on such short notice wasn't easy, but Harry somehow managed. It helped that he'd offered his services and collaborated with the restaurant in the past. It also didn't hurt that he was Harry Potter.

But back to this dressing business. Harry eventually decided on four outfits but wasn't quite sure if he should wear dress robes or a muggle suit. He thought he looked better in the latter, but would Malfoy prefer him in robes?

It took him a long time to convince himself that it didn't matter what Malfoy thought and choose the suits. Which left him fretting over another issue—black and green or black and red?

He thought the red complimented his complexion more and helped him look not so, well, pale. But Hermione had always insisted that green brought out his eyes in breathtaking ways (much to Ron's amusement). So Harry supposed his options really came down to pasty with gorgeous eyes or non-pasty with regular eyes.

Harry thought about their setting (a dim room, seated across from each other), considered the house Malfoy had come from, and finally made his decision.


Harry arrived at the patisserie with twenty minutes to spare. Figuring that Malfoy would arrive promptly at seven (if not later), he passed the time fielding questions from his assistants, ignoring the lascivious looks Samielle kept sending his way, and making sure, to everyone's indignation, that they hadn't set the kitchen on fire while he was gone.

They eventually kicked him out, and Harry left with his arms raised in surrender. His chuckling cut off abruptly when he realized that Malfoy was already there, standing by the shelves like he didn't have a care in the world.

Malfoy looked up and his impassive expression cracked. Harry, for his part, was too busy admiring (looking, he corrected unconvincingly) the pale grey suit Malfoy was wearing. It looked surprisingly good on him; snug around his frame without appearing restrictive or awkward, but rather flattering instead. He thought, in amusement, that perhaps they'd both decided on attire that would bring out their eyes.

"You look great," Harry offered a long moment.

A flush spread across Malfoy's face but his expression didn't change.

"Likewise."

Harry shouldn't have been so amused by this, but he was.

"I'd worried that perhaps I'd overdressed. Good to know that I hadn't."

"Yeah, er, sorry about that. Not mentioning where we're going, I mean. If it's alright with you, I thought we'd have dinner at Le Chantecler?"

Harry had wondered how long it would take him to start quirking those eyebrows of his.

"I'm surprised you managed to land a reservation, considering."

Harry shot him an arrogant grin, which only widened when Malfoy scoffed. He didn't say anything about Harry using his name to get his way or anything like that, though, so he counted it as a win for himself and a maturity point for Malfoy.

He briefly considered that Malfoy probably didn't see a problem with it because he'd be benefiting from it as well, but then inwardly shrugged. The important thing was that Malfoy hadn't said anything.

"What time is the reservation?"

"Seven-fifteen."

"So certain that I'd arrive on time, huh?"

Harry looked at him. "You've always been punctual, Malfoy."

Harry's stomach warmed when the tightness around Malfoy's eyes softened a little.

Harry glanced at his watch—which read 7:03—and said, "We should probably head out now. We can apparate directly inside, but I'd rather we arrive a little early. You ready?"

Malfoy nodded briskly, and Harry held out his arm for him to take. He reached for it, hesitated, and then brought it down again.

"What is this, Potter?" Malfoy all but whispered.

"What do you mean?"

Clearly Malfoy didn't appreciate him playing dumb because his eyes flashed and he scowled.

Harry retracted his outstretched arm and rubbed the back of his neck.

"It's…er…well, I suppose…" Harry trailed off, and winced when Malfoy's gaze grew frostier. "A date," he eventually rasped. "It's a date."

He breathed a mental sigh of relief when the eyes gazing at him chipped a bit.

"But why?"

Harry shrugged, because he couldn't really answer that.

"I don't know, Malfoy. It just. It just feels right."

Malfoy nodded, as if that made sense. Harry supposed that in a way it did.

"We hate each other," Malfoy pointed out. He didn't really sound all that convincing.

"No, we used to hate each other. Now… well, we don't really know each other well enough to hate each other."

"Do you think it's likely that we wont?" Malfoy asked, disbelieving.

He shrugged again. "You're asking me something I can't possibly answer. I wish I could, but I can't. Based on experience I guess we could very well end up getting to know one another and still hating each other—"

"Then why—"

"But I don't think that's going to happen," Harry interrupted him firmly.

They stared at each other for a long time, both trying to find something in the other's gaze.

Malfoy blinked rapidly for a moment and then his eyes became considerably soft. Harry let out a sigh of relief.

He didn't know what it was Malfoy found in his eyes, but whatever it was was enough to make him look more at ease than Harry had seen him in weeks.

"This is insane," Malfoy muttered, shaking his head.

Harry gave into the impulse he'd been fighting for ages. He pulled a few wayward strands of Malfoy's blond hair—and nearly closed his eyes at how soft it felt—and tucked it behind his ear.

Malfoy looked shocked, but the look tapered away to something more pleasantly surprised.

Harry held out his arm again. "Scared, Malfoy?" he mocked, eyes gleaming.

Malfoy let out a bark of laughter. "You wish," he said fiercely, then hooked his arm through Harry's. They apparated.


The date went better than Harry had expected. Apparently Malfoy could be utterly charming when he put his mind to it, to the extent that, by the time dinner was over, Harry had felt positively dazzled. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a great time eating out with someone who wasn't Ron and Hermione.

It had been a little awkward at first, neither of them knowing what to say and trying to hide it with excessive sips of wine. It didn't help that there was so much bad history between the two of them, and that one careless remark could very well result in hexes flying. So they spoke tentatively of Quidditch and music and current Wizarding politics in both Britain and France. Things started to pick up a little when they started discussing the newly elected British Prime Minister, Helga Badofsworth, who they both thought seemed promising. This stunned Harry, who had thought Badofsworth's progressive views and ongoing policies to help integrate muggle technology into the Wizarding World would have upset Malfoy, him being a pureblood and all.

Malfoy caught his disbelief, but thankfully didn't get mad about it.

"I work in the muggle liason department of Whitsongshire's Publisher's, Potter," Malfoy waved his hand airily, "my job is all about being au courant."

So apparently Harry had a kink that involved Malfoy speaking French. Who would have thought?

Malfoy spoke more about his job—what it entailed, his traveling privileges, how it as interesting as it was frustrating—and conversation flowed much easier after that. They spent two hours chatting about nothing and everything as the waiters replaced course after course. When dessert finally arrived, Harry was so full he flirted with the idea of popping a button open on his trousers. In the end he settled for discretely muttering a spell that loosened his waistband. Despite Harry's efforts to be inconspicuous, Malfoy still caught on and smirked at him. The git.

Dessert—a small serving of pear gelatin for each—came and went, and they split the bill between the two of them—

("I invited you, it's only proper that I pay, Malfoy!"

"As if I'd let you treat me like I'm some pauper. I'm perfectly capable of paying for the both us, scar head!"

"Oh, that's mature!"

"I'll give you mature!")

—and left. It was warm out when they stepped foot outside the hotel, and the sun was only just beginning to set. The sky was a vivid fusion of pinks, oranges, and reds, with flecks of white and gold peeking through the clouds and setting them aglow.

"What are you thinking?" Malfoy asked from beside him. They were standing so close their shoulders brushed.

"The clouds look like candy floss," Harry said.

Malfoy chuckled. "Are sweets the only thing that run around in that head of yours?"

Harry turned said head to look at him.

Malfoy's face was upturned, nose pointed towards the sky. The blinding light of dusk fell ethereally over him, making his hair sparkle like candy glitter and his skin glow like whipped cream. His irises looked almost silver as he stared up at the sky, wide-eyed and glimmering with appreciation.

"Not the only thing, no." Harry said unsteadily.

Malfoy glanced at him sideways, and whatever he saw in his Harry's gaze made color rise on his pale cheeks.

Harry wasn't sure what prompted him into moving. Honestly, he hadn't even been aware of him doing so—not until he came toe to toe with Malfoy, so close their noses almost touched and he could see flecks of blue around his pupils.

Malfoy exhaled shakily and Harry felt it ghost over his lips like a kiss. He chased the tingling away with his tongue and shivered when he saw Malfoy trace the movement with his eyes.

"What are we doing, Potter?" Malfoy asked, voice trembling.

Harry closed his eyes. "What we should have done a long time ago."

Harry felt a tentative brush of lips against his, and then the world spun.


They apparated in the middle of Harry's apartment as a heap on the floor, the rug skidding beneath them as they landed. Malfoy grunted in pain, but that was all, so Harry counted it as a win. No immediate screaming implied that they'd made it with all their parts intact.

Nothing ruined a date like being splinched.

Malfoy grabbed the front of Harry's tux and hauled him on top of him, and Harry made an indecent sound as their lips came together again. Kissing Malfoy was intoxicating, he soon discovered. He could still taste the tartness of the wine and the sweetness of the gelatin on Malfoy's tongue and he could hardly get enough.

"Merlin," Malfoy groaned, opening his mouth wide in invitation.

Harry wasted no time in accepting. He licked his way across Malfoy's teeth, his gums, the inside of his cheek, and tangled their tongues together until Malfoy was gasping into his mouth.

Their faces were slick with spit when they finally drew apart. It should have made him feel embarrassed, perhaps even grossed out, but it didn't. Instead, it aroused him—especially when Malfoy licked his lips like he could still taste Harry on him and wanted to savor the taste.

Harry pushed himself to his knees and quickly shrugged out of his jacket. He made to undo his tie but Malfoy grabbed his hand and shook his head.

"Leave it on," he ordered. His tone sent shivers down Harry's back.

"Kinky bastard," Harry retorted, but he dropped his hand and moved to unbutton his shirt anyway.

Malfoy tried to help, but his fingers were too clumsy to accomplish much of anything, so Harry swatted them away. Not that Harry was doing much better. He ended up just tearing the bottom half of the shirt apart, deliberately ignoring the sound of shredding silk and scattering buttons.

"Someone's eager," Malfoy drawled.

He was spread out on the floor, propped up on his elbows with an arrogant smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Harry wanted nothing more than to snog that smirk right off the git's face.

He shifted forward, arms encasing, and shoved his knee in between Malfoy's legs. Malfoy dropped to his back with a moan that sent sparks zigzagging down Harry's spine.

"Who's eager now?" Harry panted, thrusting his knee as he leaned down for a kiss.

"Bugger off, Potter," Malfoy said before drawing Harry into his mouth.

They snogged for what felt like hours. Harry discovered that Malfoy loved having his tongue suckled and his lips nipped at. There was a spot behind his ear that, when licked, made him keen loudly enough that Harry had to throw up a silencing charm. Kisses down the length of his throat made him shiver uncontrollably. Mouthing at his collar made his eyes flutter shut.

Harry also discovered that Malfoy had very sensitive nipples. He very nearly came on the spot when he pressed his thumb against the hardened nub and Malfoy threw his head back and moaned, even despite the multiple layers.

Harry picked up the pace after that.

He pulled Malfoy up to sit and all but tore off his jacket. He tossed it somewhere, hoping that Malfoy wouldn't get too upset with him in the morning when he discovered it a wrinkled mess (Harry figured creases would be easier to get out then semen, though). That done with, he moved onto Malfoy's shirt. He'd barely popped off a handful of those frustratingly tiny, cockblocking buttons of evil (and was seriously considering tearing the whole thing off and paying Malfoy for it later, preferably in blowjobs) when Malfoy pushed Harry away and closed the gap of his shirt with a white-knuckled hand.

Harry paused and blinked, confused. "Malfoy—what? Is something wrong?"

Malfoy was breathing heavily, and his cheeks were flushed, and he was looking everywhere but at Harry.

"I think I should go," he rasped.

Harry felt his heart sink.

"Woah, woah, woah!" He broke in. "Listen, if something's wrong, if I was doing something wrong—"

"It's not you!" Malfoy snapped.

Harry could all but see the walls coming up.

"Then what?" Harry implored. "Malfoy, you have to tell me what—we can fix it, alright? Just let me know what's going on."

Malfoy dropped his head and shook his head. "I—"

Harry waited for a long moment, shifting uncomfortably as his erection pressed tightly against his trousers. He willed himself to ignore it and calm the fuck down.

It wasn't easy.

"You?" Harry prompted, unable to stay silent.

Malfoy mumbled something that Harry couldn't catch.

"What?"

A few more minutes passed in quiet. Harry was about ready to give up, to apologize for possibly rushing (and ruining) things and call it a night, when Malfoy's voice, low and angry and rough, broke the silence.

"…I'm fat, Potter," came the gritted reply.

Harry felt even more confused. He opened his mouth, ready to say something along the lines of "So?", when it dawned on him, what Malfoy was really trying to say.

Harry fell back on his heels in shock.

Oh.

Oh.

"Oh," he said, ineloquently. He inwardly cursed himself when Malfoy's fingers tightened into a fist.

"This was a bad idea," he muttered lowly, scrambling up to his feet. "A really fucking bad idea. What was I thinking? Stupid, stupid…"

It took Harry an embarrassingly long time to properly take in the meaning of Malfoy's words and the fact that he was leaving, possibly for good.

He rose to his feet and grabbed Malfoy's hand before he could reach for his jacket.

"Malfoy, don't."

"Don't what?"

"Malfoy, look at me."

He wouldn't, so Harry maneuvered himself in front of him. He didn't let go of his hand.

"Hey, that doesn't matter to me—"

"Well it matters to me!" he shouted.

If anyone deserved a best-foot-in-your-mouth award, it was Harry.

"I didn't mean that," Harry argued, tightening his grip on Malfoy's hand when he tried to jerk it away. "Malfoy—I-I just. Ugh!" he exploded, startling Malfoy into finally looking up. "Malfoy, you know how terrible I am with words! Just—just give me a moment to get it out properly, alright?"

Malfoy nodded slowly, eyes narrowed. He was looking at Harry like he was a hippogriff he didn't want to spook. Harry would have laughed if the situation weren't so serious.

"It doesn't bother me," Harry said slowly, "because I like my partners with a bit of meat on their bones, okay?"

There. Short and straight to the point. Harry didn't think it seemed offensive, but then it was Malfoy he was talking to. Harry was sure Malfoy could find insult in a "hullo."

"So what then, Potter? I'm some fetish to you?"

Refraining from banging his head against the wall almost hurt. "No, Malfoy. Don't put words in my mouth."

"Then what are you bloody getting at?"

"I'm trying to say that I like you the way you are!" Harry snapped.

Malfoy folded his arms and scoffed. "Of course you do, Potter. There's absolutely nothing—"

"If you'd like to know, I find you far more attractive now than I ever did when we were teenagers!"

Malfoy sneered at him. "Oh really?"

"Yes, really," Harry stressed. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, annoyed that he couldn't get Malfoy to see.

"Do you want me to be honest?" Harry finally asked.

"No, I want to you lie to me."

They'd only been on one date and already Harry wanted to throttle him.

"You were a weird-fucking-looking kid, alright?" He said, and pushed on before Malfoy, whose face had turned an unattractive red, could open his mouth (quite possibly to curse him). "You were bony, and pointy, and quite frankly I always felt like I'd cut myself on you if we ever touched. You always looked sick and hungry and I wouldn't have touched you with a ten foot pole if you paid me a million galleons."

Malfoy very much looked like he wanted to knife Harry right this moment. In fact, Harry was pretty sure that he was reaching for his wand right now. Harry hurried on before it could come to that.

"But now…" Harry looked at Malfoy beseechingly. "You look healthy, Malfoy. Healthy and soft and warm and touchable. You look like all the ice around you has melted and left behind this fucking gorgeous creature who I want to thoroughly fuck and then snuggle with afterwards. I think you're little tummy is adorable, and I love the way your chubby fingers feel on my skin—god, I can't even imagine what they'd feel like inside me. And your arse—Malfoy, have you any idea what your arse looks like in those trousers? I've wanted to walk around with my hands in your back pockets all day."

Harry looked down, no longer able to meet Malfoy's stunned gaze. He rubbed the back of his neck and swallowed deeply, and was utterly thankful that he'd taken his shirt off already because the room had become unbearably hot, even if his state of undress made him feel uncomfortably vulnerable.

"You're gorgeous to me," Harry made himself finish awkwardly.

Neither of them said a word for a torturously long moment. Harry was so busy trying to figure out how to magic a hole into existence underneath him when Malfoy exhaled slowly.

"Oh," he said. "Well. That's alright then."

Harry's gaze snapped to him and he gawked.

"That's alright then?" He demanded. "Seriously? That's all you've got to say?"

Malfoy's face was utterly red but at least he was looking Harry in the eye.

"Well, what in the world would you have me say to that?"

Harry didn't even have to think about it. "Oh, I don't know, how about a "thank you, Harry" or a "I like the way you look too, Harry" or a "get over here and ravish me already, Har—"

Harry barely got the words out before Draco was on him again, kissing him like he was a starving man and Harry was his only source of sustenance for miles.

(Harry really did have a bad habit of thinking in food analogies.)

He croaked something about a bedroom, but it didn't come out quite the way he liked—that is to say, in any way coherent—so he settled for dragging Draco to his bedroom, pushing him down onto the bed, and crawling over him.

When Harry made to remove his shirt, in between hip thrusts and desperate kisses, Draco made no objection to it. Harry pulled it open and helped him shimmy out of it. Then he sat back and awarded himself a long look.

He'd bloody well earned it.

Malfoy was blushing furiously, and Harry was transfixed by the way it bloomed across his face and spread down his neck and across his chest.

Malfoy was, perhaps, a little chubbier than he'd appeared when clothed. His pecs were soft and swollen, supporting wide, pink nipples that hardened under his gaze. His stomach was flabby and round, like a pillow, and Harry could almost imagine what it would feel like to rest his head on it at night. He bit back a smile at the thought.

There were soft rolls at his sides that he knew would feel incredible to grab onto when they fucked. In fact, Malfoy was made to be grabbed everywhere, from the curve of his stomach to the swells of his chest to the supple meat on his shoulders and arms.

He was pale—almost ghostly so—and had only a faint smattering of blond hair scattered across his chest and down his stomach, disappearing into the waistline of his pants.

Harry wiped at his mouth and was surprised not to find drool there.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Harry breathed, crawling over him.

"You're not so bad yourself, I suppose," Malfoy retorted, sounding just as breathless.

Harry pinched his nipple in retaliation, and smirked when Malfoy squeaked.

"Arsehole—ah!" Malfoy groaned as Harry kneaded the injured nub with his hand.

"Git," Harry retorted distractedly before ducking his head. He sucked Malfoy's nipple into his mouth and Malfoy gasped. He pushed his torso upward, request all too clear, and Harry wasted no time in obliging.

The sounds Malfoy made as Harry ravished his chest were intoxicating. He moaned when Harry sucked the puckered nub, whined when he traced his tongue around it, hissed when he teased it with his teeth. His whole body arched when Harry blew cool air over it and he watched, enraptured, and goosebumps broke across his skin.

"So fucking gorgeous," he said, pushing himself up for another kiss. Malfoy grabbed his hair and nearly smashed their faces together.

Harry's hands roamed as they snogged, exploring. Malfoy was so fucking soft it was ridiculous. Harry's fingers sunk wherever he pressed, leaving dull red marks that faded disappointingly fast. There were ridges on his lower stomach—stretch marks, he soon discovered—and Harry spent a substantial amount of time tracing the puckered lines with his fingers and nails.

"Weirdo," Malfoy said.

He'd been too engrossed with the patterns on Malfoy's skin to care.

How they managed to remove their trousers and pants in between desperate kisses and touches that were wrought with impatience, Harry didn't know. One moment Harry was despairing over the layers of clothes separating them and in the next he and Malfoy were thrusting against each other without a stitch of cloth in sight.

Like magic, Harry thought. And then had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

Malfoy's erection was scorching and hard against his. Every thrust made Harry's eyes threaten to roll to the back of his head. And Malfoy—fuck, but was he desperate for it. He was rutting against him like Harry was the only thing keeping him from dying.

Harry was faring no better.

"Are we going to get off like this?" Malfoy asked breathily. He moaned a curse when their cocks slapped together.

Harry didn't know what to do. As amazing as frotting against Malfoy felt, he didn't want to come this way. He especially didn't want their first time to end like this, with them coming all over themselves like they were bloody teenagers.

What Harry really wanted at the moment was to sink inside Malfoy and fuck him until they were both screaming. The other way around would be good, too, he thought. Harry hadn't been fucked in an absurdly long time and now, just thinking about it, made him almost desperate for the burning stretch and overwhelming fullness that accompanied it.

Perhaps now was not the time for that, though.

Pushing the tantalizing thought from his mind for the time being, he bent down, brushed a few strands of wayward blond hair away from Malfoy's ear, and whispered, "Want to 69?"

Malfoy's groan against his neck had him reaching down to clamp a restrictive fist over the base of his cock.

This wouldn't be taking long at all.

"Gods, yes," Malfoy said, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "Hurry the hell up, Potter, we haven't got all day, Merlin, could you be any slower—"

Harry laughed, amused by his impatience, and quickly got onto his knees and flipped around.

Malfoy must have approved of the sight because he choked out "Merlin!" and grabbed at Harry's hips so roughly that he was resigned to having bruises there for a while.

Clearly Malfoy wasn't kidding around because within one blink and the next Harry was scrambling to get purchase on the bed as Malfoy swallowed him down. He cried out as Malfoy tongued the head of his cock, dipping his tongue into the sensitive slit, before engulfing his aching member to the hilt once more.

Suddenly the expression "being fucked to death" made a lot more sense.

"Potter!" Malfoy growled. Harry couldn't tell if he sounded more frustrated or aroused. "Get on with it, would you?"

Needing no further prompting, Harry shifted himself so as not to put the entirety of his weight onto Malfoy, settled himself comfortably, and got to work.

Malfoy's cock was nothing like Harry's. Whereas his was thick and dark, Malfoy's was thin, though long, and pink, with a curve that had Harry fighting off daydreams about what it'd feel like inside him.

There was precum swelling from the quivering head and Harry bent down to swipe at it. Malfoy jerked and gasped, and Harry closed his mouth to savor the taste.

"Potter, please," Malfoy whined. The body underneath him was trembling with tension.

Harry mercifully opened his mouth wide and took Malfoy in deep with a single swallow.

Malfoy cried out and Harry redoubled his efforts, desperate to hear more of such sounds from him. The game lasted all of ten seconds before Malfoy got hold of himself and returned his attentions to Harry's cock. After that, Harry could do little else but moan as Malfoy sucked him and try not to choke on Malfoy's dick as Harry returned the favor.

One brush of Malfoy's fingers against Harry's balls and he was done.

He held out for two more bobs and then he was choking Malfoy's name in warning. Malfoy didn't let go and Harry had a second to worry about that before his orgasm crashed through him and he emptied himself into Malfoy's mouth. Harry nearly collapsed from the strength of it, and it took every ounce of his power to keep himself upright.

Malfoy suckled Harrys's twitching cock until there was nothing left. He then released it with an obscene pop.

Somehow Harry managed to get his trembling fingers around Malfoy again, to squeeze and twist and pull. He rolled his balls between his fingers, caressed them with his thumb, and parted his lips over the glistening head just in time to catch Malfoy's release. Harry groaned as shot after shot of it hit the back his mouth. He swallowed, and continued to pump Malfoy's cock even after it stopped spurting his pleasure. He stopped only when Malfoy gritted his name and tried to turn way.

Harry ceased his movements but did not let Malfoy's cock go. He held onto it, hoping like hell that Malfoy didn't find the act too creepy, until he'd gained enough strength in his arms to pull himself up, turn around, and drop his head onto Malfoy's stomach. The skin there was slick with sweat but it was warm, and soft, and Harry honestly didn't see himself moving any time soon.

"Surely you're not going to stay there all night?" Malfoy asked weakly. Harry glanced up to see him watching him, embarrassment breaking through his post-orgasm daze.

Harry yawned, suddenly more tired than he could remember being in a long time.

"Comfortable," Harry murmured, shifting his head. The sweat on his skin was cooling, and Harry shivered at the sudden chill. He wandlessly summoned a blanket and covered himself with it.

"You're incorrigible," Malfoy said, sounding both exasperated and fond.

Harry snuggled further against his stomach and closed his eyes.

"Stayin'?" he slurred. He tried to stay awake to hear Malfoy's answer, but he was so tired, and Malfoy was comfortable and soft and warm. Sleep took him before he could catch Malfoy's soft response.


The next time Harry opened his eyes the sun was beaming past his curtains, shrouding the room in varying shades of light. He grunted and shifted, wondering why the hell his pillow appeared to be moving, and then startled when he remembered.

Malfoy!

Harry lifted his head and looked up. Malfoy was lying there, propped up on Harry's pillows with his hair splayed around him like a halo, golden because of the light of the morning sun. He was watching Harry intensely, quiet and still as if the moment was a dream that could be shattered into irreparable fragments with the slightest movement.

Harry broke it.

"Mornin'," he said sleepily, resting his head on Malfoy's stomach once more, though his eyes remained open, alert.

An indecipherable look flashed across Malfoy's face for a moment, but then it softened into something that made the breath catch in Harry's throat.

"Good morning, Potter," he said, sitting up.

"Slept well?"

Malfoy smiled wryly. "Decently. See, there was this sack of potatoes laying across me all night, making it rather hard to move…"

Harry laughed. "You should have just pushed me off if I was that heavy."

"I considered it, but then figured it would be a rather imprudent thing to do to the man who would be making me breakfast in the morning."

"Oh, am I?" Harry teased, delighted.

Malfoy nodded regally. "In bed, preferably."

"You're so spoiled, Malfoy."

"I prefer the term 'pampered accordingly'."

Harry laughed again. "Oh, alright then," he conceded, sitting up. He allowed himself one lewd look over Malfoy's bare body—to which Malfoy huffed—before Harry politely covered the both of them with the blanket. "What would you like?"

Harry watched as Malfoy's face morphed into something unnerving.

"Perhaps…something sweet?" he asked, so low that Harry very nearly didn't hear him. Malfoy sounded both hopeful and embarrassed. Harry, his chest tightening a little, tried to chase the latter emotion away with a soft smile.

"How does blueberry pancakes with chocolate biscuits sound? I make the best pancakes and biscuits, I assure you. No one else's will ever taste the same again."

Harry beamed when Malfoy scoffed and rolled his eyes at him.

"Prove it, then." Malfoy said. The words were normal, expected. It was Malfoy's tone, however, that made Harry pause. The way he'd sounded—Harry was certain that Malfoy was talking about something a lot heavier than Harry's adequacy in the kitchen.

Harry inhaled deeply. He stared at Malfoy for a long moment, then reached over and slowly grabbed his hand. He interlaced their fingers, and Harry, unable to keep himself from glancing down, marveled at how good they looked together—how perfectly they fit.

"I will, Malfoy." Harry said.

Malfoy, eyes never leaving their entwined hands, nodded.

With a soft smile Harry tugged on their hands until Malfoy looked up. "C'mon, mon petite gâteau. You're helping."

Malfoy pouted and whined all the way to the kitchen, but when Harry instructed him to wash his hands and gather some of the ingredients, he did so without complaint. They worked silently side-by-side, whisking batter, mixing spices, and cracking eggs.

When Harry slid the tray of biscuits into the oven and stood up, it was to see Malfoy watching him, clad only his wrinkled shirt with a dollop of cream on his cheek. He was looking at Harry like he was the most delicious thing in the world and Harry had never wanted any experiment to turn out so well as theirs.

"You're thinking in food analogies again, aren't you?" Malfoy teased. He had a bit of blueberry on his teeth.

Harry's heart felt fit to burst.

"Always, Draco," he said, then pulled Malfoy in for a very sweet kiss.


The End


Chapter Notes:

1. Le Chantecler – this is apparently an extremely popular and expensive restaurant in France. I took a lot of liberties with it.

2. Au courant – means to keep with the times and know the latest developments of things.

3. Chapter titles are from the utterly adorable "Cuppycake Song" by Judianna Castle.


Author's Note:

I was going through my old unfinished fics (there are a lot of them) when I came across this baby. I only had the first few paragraphs written, but after reading them I was immediately intrigued and wondered if I'd be able to pick up where I left off. I ended up being able to, though whether or not I did my old idea any justice, I can't say. In any event, I had fun writing this.

I really hope you guys enjoyed this! Please let me know what you thought about it. It's been a long time since I've written anything featuring Harry and Draco so I'm a little nervous about how this turned out. If there's anything you think might need improvement, let me know.

Thanks so much for reading. Happy Holidays.