After getting Kreacher to whip up a second breakfast, the rest of the day passed quickly. Despite Harry taking a few days leave to move house the Auror office owled a little after eleven for his opinion on a developing case – Draco only let him go because he promised to make homemade lasagne for dinner when he returned – which saw him disappearing through the Floo just before twelve. Draco spent the day finishing the magazine he began earlier, spending some time in the room they had made the study consulting the stock levels of his experimental potions lab at Phineas Bourne's, a set of labs founded in honour of the experimental brewer, where he earned his living as an inventor. He was perfectly capable of staying away from work for a few days, but that didn't mean he couldn't order more Asphodel root when he realised he needed some, and perhaps it would be wise to stock up on dragon scales, and maybe some eye of newt if he was going to reattempt last week's brew…. Draco was just about to find out an order form when the delicious, hearty smell of lasagne rose up the staircase and through the open study door. He went down to the kitchen to find Harry removing the food from the oven – Draco had always prided himself on impeccable timing, and arriving at the exact moment Harry bent over to take the dish from the oven was a perfect example of his skill – and setting it on the countertop.

"I didn't hear you come home." Draco said from the doorway. Harry didn't appeared surprised by the voice – his Auror training meant he was virtually impossible to sneak up on – and he turned to greet Draco with a warm smile.

"Wanted to surprise you." He replied with a smile, picking up his wand from the table and waving at a draw which – when it sprang open – Draco saw held cutlery. Another flick of his wand saw them zoom out of the draw and through into dining room. "I'll bring the plates through." He said, nodding toward the door without dropping his smile.

Draco gave one in return and turned on his heel, heading to the dining room where he saw a bottle of his favourite elf-made wine waiting in the middle of the table beside two empty glasses. When Harry came in with two plates of lasagne, he barely had time to put them down before Draco jumped forward, seizing Harry by his collar, grabbing his lips in a fierce kiss and pushing him against the wall.

Unlike their burnt breakfast, this meal made it out of the kitchen. Much like their burnt breakfast, however, it was inedible because by the time both lay panting and spent on the dining room carpet and remembered the meal was there it had long gone cold.

"At least that's another room down." Draco said as he poked at the lasagne in disappointment, before turning to pour himself a glass of wine of a suitable size to take the edge of his regret for the missed meal.

-oio-

The next day Harry went to meet Weasley and Granger for lunch in Diagon Alley. Harry hadn't invited Draco, much to his pleasure. Although he could be courteous when his presence was absolutely necessary, such as Harry's birthday party, he much preferred to maintain an outright distance from such people. Granger, he would admit, could provide an intellectual level of conversation if one ignored her blood heritage, but the thought of eating beside Weasley with his utter lack of simple table manners was enough to turn Draco's stomach.

Harry usually asked, though… Perhaps he was beginning to understand that Draco would rather shred his favourite dress robes with a series of irreversible Diffindo's than voluntarily spend time with Harry's friends.

Finding himself alone once again he returned to his study to complete the stock order he'd started the day before. He double checked the items he'd marked down, twirled his quill between his fingers as he considered adding powdered Bicorn Horn to the list – because people like Harry might nibble on the ends of their quills, but a Malfoy would never do anything so undignified – before noting it down. Whether his stores were low or not, the powder stored well and would no doubt be needed sometime. Once he had sealed the parchment and sent the order with his owl he returned to his study, pouring over the textbooks lining his bookshelf. His eyes lingered on the first, his copy of Most Potente Potions, which was placed beside Budge's Book of Basic Potion Skills. Draco curled his lip as a quick glance of the other shelves told him that they were certainly not arranged in the order in which he'd packed them which accorded to his own highly specialised system of organisation. Harry must have been the one to unpack in here because Draco had given Kreacher specific instructions to place his books on the shelf one by one in the exact order in which Draco had packed them. It was no use calling the elf back now, Draco had to admit, because he didn't know the system. He would rearrange them himself and then take out his frustrations on Harry when he returned – it was his own fault after all, what kind of idiot unpacked when they had a perfectly capable house elf?

Draco took every book from its incorrect placement on the shelf and soon lost himself in a surrounding of volumes. He organised each into piles by topic – yes, as Harry had pointed out more than once, they were all potions, but all covered finely different areas of the art - and level of difficulty. He then alphabetised each category by author and then, finally, determined the order of importance to his current job to make a decision as to what order each group should be slotted onto the shelves. Then, of course, his back copies of Potion Master's Monthly we're kept separately on the bottom shelf, organised by date of issue. He was so busy slotting each neatly into place he didn't hear the crack of apparition that would have told him Harry was home.

"What are you doing?" He asked, leaning against the door frame of Draco's study with an easy smile.

"What am I doing?" Draco repeated, removing the questioning tone and replacing it with a sneering one. "What am I doing?" He echoed again, his tone becoming harsher. "I've spent my afternoon reorganising my entire collection because you couldn't do the basic task of unpacking them in the order that I had packed them in." He knew his tone was prissy, but this mattered to him, like saving people and hair that defied all concepts of gravity mattered to Harry. Organisation was key.

"If you were that bothered you should have done it yourself." Harry replied, clearly not taking Draco's tone of voice for the warning it was,

"I had informed Kreacher that the exact way my books were packed was the way they were to be placed out." He snapped back, heaving his last book - Potions les plus Meurtrières by Jacque Vérany, a text which made the effort of reading in French most worthwhile - onto the shelf with a considerable amount of restraint to ensure it ended up in its proper place and not flying toward Harry's face. "But no. You being an absolute imbecile just had to go and single-handedly destroy my entire categorisation system."

Suddenly Harry slipped up behind him, winding an arm around his waist. "You can't stay mad at me forever…" He murmured, pressing an open mouthed kiss against Draco's neck. The contact was like water dousing the flames of Draco's anger and, as Harry pressed more kisses down the path of his neck, he found his shoulders sagging as the tension rippled from them.

His body may be a traitor to desire, but as a Malfoy, he was always in complete control of his mental faculties. "I can't." He admitted readily, knowing the apparent lack of resistance would throw his lover. A pause of Harry's lips against his skin confirmed his expectations and Draco smirked, taking his opportunity to prise himself from Harry's grasp and turn to face him. "But I can certainly teach you a lesson."

The confusion in Harry's eye was soon melted away by the desire which overtook them, heating his emerald eyes with fire and he asked; "Like I did yesterday?"

"Perhaps," Draco shrugged the gesture light and non-committal. "Although the lack of kitchen utensils maybe a problem there." He allowed his gaze to burn into Harry's for a moment before deliberately averting his gaze as he travelled to the desk of his study. "I may be able to find an alternative…"

"What do you have in mind?" Harry asked, stepping forward to follow Draco with all the eagerness of a crup puppy following its owner. Draco stifled his smirk, his anger already forgotten at the thought of having Harry at his will, however he wanted; from the look on his face, he certainly wouldn't need any potion to do that.

He turned the full heat of his gaze on Harry, deliberately pausing as tension built between them, his question hanging in the air. "I could do many things." Draco purred eventually, with a tone of promise to his words, knowing he would be driving Harry's fantasies wild with longing by this point. Draco would say this for his lover; he never would have imagined a Gryffindor-turned-Auror to be capable of such dirty thoughts.

It was simply delicious.

It wouldn't be long before he gave into the temptation and asked for one of the wild thoughts dancing in that pretty, scarred head to come to life.

"Like what?" Harry whispered, as if on cue.

Draco was unable to hold back his smirk as he turned his back, striding confidently behind his desk. It was a position of power, he knew, from his father taking the position when he had spoken to him countless times through his youth.

In Draco's current situation, it also helped to hide the growing tent in the material of the front of his trousers.

"I'm going to take you over this desk, I'm going to fuck you raw." Draco's voice was dark and deep with desire and he watched, with concealed delight, as Harry's eyes lost any trace of their emerald in the depths of black arousal that built within them. "What's more, I'm going to make you beg for it."

The darkness of arousal in Harry's eyes waned, just for a second, to allow a bright flash to pass through them; Draco recognised it instantly. The lure of a challenge; Draco had told him he would beg and Harry, being Harry, would only be too willing to defy him.

"Is that so?" His lover asked, proving just how well Draco could read every inch of his body.

Draco didn't respond. Instead, he smirked knowingly, before dropping himself into his chair. He watched as Harry's eyes widened with surprise; moving to sit as Draco had, in his leather chair with his legs splayed wide, revealed the long, thick line of his cock, pressing achingly against his trousers. Yes, he had hidden it by standing behind the desk. But now his game plan had changed. Now he wanted Harry to see everything.

Everything.

Without a word he pulled down both his trousers and pants, pushing them only far enough away so that his cock could spring free. As soon as the length was exposed to the air Harry's eyes found it, heavy with arousal. He licked his lip, so quickly that Draco wondered if he was even aware he'd made the gesture.

"Of course you'll beg." Draco retorted, responding to the last time Harry had spoken as he took his own cock in palm. "You can't resist my cock."

Harry, rather wisely in Draco's opinion, didn't respond. But Draco didn't need his words to tell him how he had made his lover feel. Draco watched as his fisted himself almost lazily, slowly beating his grip from tip to shaft; Harry's body told him everything he needed to know. His eyes, drowning with want, never left Draco's cock as he stroked himself. His cheeks were pink with pleasure and his fists were curled in on themselves, as if he were trying to restrain himself from touching… Ah, yes. Of course, the biggest sign of Harry's need was the bulge in his trousers, the hard line of his cock pressing against the awful muggle denim he insisted on wearing.

Draco languidly traced his thumb over the head of his cock, teasing a bead of pre-cum from the slit and rubbing it over the head until it glistened. Harry's gaze still hadn't left his working hand, now trained on the thumb that worked so leisurely.

Just two more strokes was all it took for a moan to escape Harry. When it did, he snapped his gaze up, meeting the fiery challenge of Draco's eyes.

"Fuck." He murmured, as if his moan had broken all reserve, and launched himself across the room.

Before Harry could reach him, however, Draco lifted a hand, stopping Harry in his track.

"I seem to recall telling you that you would beg." He informed his lover, his voice as smooth as silk.

"Draco.." Harry whispered, and Draco raised his hand higher, silencing him again.

"Easy." He smirked, knowing he had Harry exactly where he wanted him. "Not so fast. First, you'll strip."

As effortlessly as if he were under Imperius Harry followed Draco's orders. His jumper fell to the ground first, followed quickly by his t-shirt, then his denims. Piece by piece, Harry's body was revealed to him. Once he was naked Draco lifted his hand again, this time raising a single finger. He spun the finger in a twirling motion, gesturing for Harry to turn around. "Now you'll bend over the desk." He instructed, his words still as fine and as soft as silk.

Harry swallowed, but yet again, followed Draco's instructions without complaint. He leant over the oak, exposing himself beautifully to Draco's thankful eye. He stood, allowing his trousers and pants to fall, stepping out of them as he moved toward Harry. He leant over him, purposely shifting so his cock lay between Harry's cheeks; the movement alone earned a shiver of desire from the man beneath him.

"Now," he breathed his words hot and heavy against Harry's ear. "You'll beg."

A sharp inhalation of breath told Draco all he needed to know; Harry would attempt to resist, of course – why would Draco consider him a worthy partner if he didn't?, but ultimately he would surrender. As predicted, no further sounds slipped from Harry's lips. Draco dipped his body down impossibly further, so every inch of his skin pressed against Harry's, so the hardness of his length ached against Harry's entrance teasingly.

Honestly, Draco hoped Harry would hurry up and get on with it. It was as teasing for him as it was for his lover. "Go on." Draco encouraged, his voice low, coaxingly seductive. "Beg."

"And if I don't?" Came Harry's sharp reply. Draco smirked at the response, knowing that now he had Harry engaged in a dialogue, it wouldn't be long before his refusals fell to pleads. He rolled his hips, delighting in the groan that came from the other man's lips, reminding him exactly what he would be missing out on if he didn't.

"You want it, Potter." Draco breathed, and from the squeak beneath him, knew he had been right to use Harry's last name. When Draco was being this way – harsh and unyielding – he knew Harry liked to be addressed as they did when they were teens. "You won't get it. You won't get my dick, fucking you. Not if you don't beg."

"Oh fuck." Harry groaned, his words as delicious as the finest glass of elf-made wine, sweeter than honey and hotter than anything Draco had ever tasted. "Please."

"Please?" Draco echoed, an unspoken demand for more.

"Please." Harry repeated, this time his voice nothing more than a whimper. "Please. Fuck me. Please… Please…" His final pleads were nothing more than mewls and – mainly because he could hold back no longer himself – Draco drew himself back, murmured a lubrication charm and plunged himself between Harry's cheeks without preparation, without warning. His lover hissed from the sting Draco knew he had caused – he knew Harry wouldn't care, it was times like this his lover liked pain with his pleasure – and arched his back as Draco pushed inside. Draco wasted no time in setting a harsh, punishing rhythm of thrusts, gripping Harry's hips in a desperate attempt to hold back in losing control completely. Desire overwhelmed Draco as Harry moaned at the feel of his cock pounding into him, as his lover took himself in hand and pleasured himself in time to the thrusts. Draco had planned on forbidding this, on not allowing Harry to come as punishment, but he was lost in the bliss of his own arousal, too wrapped up in his own excitement to care. Once Harry began to touch himself, it was no time at all until he was coming, emptying himself into his lover and hoarsely calling for Harry to do the same. He did, and not long after Draco had softened, Harry was painting Draco's desk with the evidence of his pleasure.

Draco pulled himself away, pulling Harry up into a standing position before dropping them both onto the office chair behind him.

"There might be more to this muggle thing than I first thought." Draco murmured into the back of Harry's wild hair, unsure if his lover heard him over the loud pants of him regaining his breath.

-ioi-

On their way up to bed that night Harry paused at the door right at the head of the stairs. "Do you fancy sleeping in here tonight?" He called to Draco's retreating back.

Draco, already at the door of their bedroom, turned back to look to Harry and then behind him. "The spare bedroom? Why?"

"Well… It was just an awful waste to turn down your wake-up call this morning, that's all…" Harry said with a sly smile.

"Oh really?" Draco replied, giving a smile to rival Harry's. "And what makes you'll be lucky enough that I'll offer such a call again?"

Harry stepped forward, taking Draco by the collar of his robes and pulling him in for a kiss. He was only too willing to accept, delighting in the warm feeling of lips against his. Harry broke the kiss all too soon and took a step back, although he didn't drop his hand from Draco's robes. "I do consider myself pretty lucky."

As it turned out, Harry was as lucky as he believed himself. What was more, he didn't need to wait until the morning for that luck to come in.

-oio-

Draco had to awake early the next morning for a day at work; the time he had taken off for the move had passed far quicker than he had realised. He awoke early, slipping away from Harry laying naked beneath the sheets of their spare room and into the bathroom to shower. He had been tempted to wake Harry with kisses, hot and wet across the expanse of his back, nibbling up to his neck where he would sink his teeth in… He'd had the time to spare, as he'd woken long before his alarm, but he chose not to. As he lay in the soft sheets of their spare bed, he mentally ticked off the rooms in his head; hallway, living room, bathroom, kitchen, dining room, Draco's office – Draco paused a moment to bask in that delicious memory – and the spare bedroom. That only left one room – their bedroom – the room Harry had been so determined to wait until last.

Under the warm spray of the shower Draco was unable to stop himself from hardening as he thought of how he and Harry would truly share their new bed tonight, and before long he was pleasuring himself in firm, sure strokes with his moans drowned out by the rushing water. His mind was full of images of riding Harry's cock atop of their brand new sheets as he came, the burst of white washed away by the shower as quickly as they came.

After that, Draco's day seemed to pass agonisingly slowly. He entered his lab to find his newly ordered supplies waiting and unpacked them before checking for messages since he'd been away. Apparently Rowland, one of the more senior brewers, had some thoughts on Draco's experimentation with the Wiggenweld Potion and wanted to see him as soon has he returned from work. Draco sighed in impatience, his hands itching to get back to his cauldron even after a few days away. However, he knew better than to ignore a request such as that and spent the next hour in an extremely boring meeting discussing the effects of his changes to the potion so far. The only positive to come from the meeting was that he had been working on the Wiggenweld Potion for a while and hence knew every change he had made in such detail he could recite it in his sleep, which left his mind free to daydream of all the wonderfully wicked ways he could fuck Harry into their mattress when he got home. Once released from Rowland's office he went back to his lab and set about the potion with newfound gusto; the other man's obvious disbelief that Draco would produce any real results had stung his pride and, of course, when it came to a Slytherin's – and a Malfoy's – matter of pride, they would prove any disbelievers wrong with grace and elegance. Even if he had to sweat rivers, even if he had to pour his own blood and tears into this potion he would achieve what he set out to do, before presenting it to Rowland with an air of arrogance which suggested the work had been easy. Daydreams of Rowland's astonished face took over those of Harry's moaning one – and that was very hard to do – as Draco chopped, boiled and brewed his ingredients. He worked with determination, carefully noting every change he made, every flicker of colour and every emission of gas the potion gave in return, until it simmered – finally complete – in his cauldron over a large, burning fire. He watched as the sheen turned from a pale, soft pink to a bright, glimmering shade of green which bubbled gently at the surface. Draco smiled, satisfied, and reduced the heat under the cauldron. It would need to simmer for 24 hours before he could be certain, but Draco was sure he had managed the alterations Rowland had scoffed as being impossible. He set the charms which would keep the fire at the steady flicker of flames the potion required, as well as the more complex charm that would simultaneously record every change in the potions state and alert Draco if anything went wrong.

Not that it would, of course, Draco thought to himself with a smirk as he left the cauldron simmering under a final protective bubble. He was Draco Malfoy; he was smart, calculated and he was damn well good at his job. And, he thought with an even deeper smirk, he had Harry Potter, of all the wizards in the world, waiting at home for him.

Draco locked his labs, closed the wards which would forbid anyone but himself entrance – they were, naturally, frowned upon by the company he worked for, but he wouldn't put it past Rowland to try and tamper with his work – and left the building for the nearby apparition point. As he walked thoughts of the morning returned to him and by the time he was opening the door to his and Harry's home, he was already half-hard and ready to drag his lover straight to the bedroom.

As he pushed open the door to their house, however, he paused in his tracks as a delicious smell reached him. "Harry?" He called out as he took off his cloak.

"In here." Came the reply from the dining room. Draco followed the sound – and the smell – to find Harry standing beside the table next to a lasagne, another bottle of Draco's favourite wine uncorked, offering him a glass. "To make up for the one that got ruined." He said, nodding toward the steaming dish on the table. Despite himself, Draco smiled. He didn't do soppy gestures of affection – the previous meal had been in bribe and trade, something his mind understood – but he couldn't help the warm feeling in his chest as he took the glass and allowed Harry to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

The thoughts he'd had travelling home were far from forgotten as he sat at the table but, Draco reasoned as his stomach growled hungrily, they could wait until after dinner. As they ate Draco watched Harry; Draco watching wasn't unusual, but the way Harry was acting was. He was all too enthusiastic as Draco told him about his developments with the Wiggenweld Potion – not that Harry didn't care, but usual his lack of regard for potions bore through – he kept reaching to refill Draco's wine glass but never seemed to drink anymore for himself and, most worryingly, he never seemed to look at Draco for too long; his eyes darted around the room, from his food to the walls to Draco's emptying glass, but never Draco himself – at least, not for long.

"What's wrong with you?" He snapped. It was sudden but, as a Malfoy, he was never one to skirt around issues. Perhaps his tone had been a little too harsh in hindsight, but the unsettled churning in his stomach that Harry's behaviour had caused was starting to affect him more than he would like to admit.

Harry stopped in surprise, with his fork halfway to his mouth, the expression of a kicked crup on his face. "What do you mean?" He asked, blinking worryingly.

Draco pulled back his snappy tone, but still made sure his voice was measured enough so his worry didn't show. Well, not too much of it, anyway. "You're jittering around like you've swallowed a whole batch of Jumping Draught."

Harry blinked once more, slowly, and lowered his fork. Draco's heart seemed to jump into his throat as the hand that had once held the fork reached out to cover Draco's. "I'm sorry." Harry murmured, rubbing a relaxing pattern over Draco's hand with his thumb. "I guess I'm just nervous, about living together and all, I mean… It's pretty…"

Draco swallowed. He knew exactly what Harry meant. "Yeah." He breathed in return. Because it was.

Harry stood, used his hand over Draco's to pull him up too, and pressed their lips together. It was soft and gentle but somehow wasn't the same as the chaste kisses they often shared. Despite its tenderness it was firm, solid and real against Draco's lips and it stayed that way as Harry guided him out of the room and toward the staircase. As they reached the foot of the stairs Harry broke the kiss – only for a moment as his eyes flickered upward – then sealed them together once more. As he did he wound his arm tight against Draco's waist and, without warning, apparated them straight to their bedroom.

The urge to call Harry a show off, the urge to shoot him a roll of his eyes and a deprecating glare died right on Draco's lips at the look in Harry's eyes as they landed. Harry's eyes were burning such a deep, burning emerald that he instantly became lost in them. The kisses continued, just as they had before, as Harry lifted his hands to Draco's robes. He worked at the fastenings leisurely and his tongue lapped Draco's lips at the same pace, as if he had all the time in the world. Each attempt Draco made to push them toward the bed, to rid Harry of his t-shirt or to speed up the removal of his own clothes Harry gentle dissuaded, holding their bodies in place as Draco's robes fell to the ground. He unbuttoned his shirt with the same agonising slowness, opening each as if it were forged from pure gold. After what seemed like hours Draco's shirt joined his robes and – finally – Harry began to urge them towards the bed. This time Draco's attempt to remove his lovers top was not discouraged and it joined the pile of clothes on the floor behind them as they dropped onto their bed between kisses. As he lay back, sinking into the pillows behind him and breaking their lips apart, Draco's eyes fluttered open. Harry's gaze was just as strong, but it wasn't something Draco had seen before; of course he'd seen them this dark, burning with desire, but tonight… Tonight they held something different. Something more. Something that Draco… He swallowed, and dismissed the thought before it could truly form, losing himself in the touch of Harry's lips as they fell down his neck and chest as if mapping his body to memory.

The look stayed with Draco as Harry's lips burned into his skin and he didn't try to rush his lover again. He simply lay back, eyes closed, writhing under the skilful lips that covered him. After a while, both of their trousers and boxers followed the suit of their other clothes and Harry hovered above Draco, their faces inches apart. The look in Harry's eyes hadn't faded, only deepened, and it almost blinded Draco as close as they were together. A murmured charm Draco knew too well told him what would happen before he felt the slick rub of Harry's finger against him. Without a word Harry eased himself inside and opened Draco with gentle, unhurried strokes of his finger before a second slipped into join it. At the feel of the second Draco gasped, the intensity of the moment coupled with the sensation of being so intimately filled (despite the fact they'd had sex countless times) too much to hold back. Two fingers became three and Draco moaned, rocking his hips to meet with Harry's strokes. When he pulled out and settled himself between Draco's legs he paused, hovering silently above as if asking for permission. Crazy, when they'd been shagging for years.

But, somehow, in the moment that had built between them, just right. Draco licked his lower lip and nodded, opening his legs a little wider to confirm the gesture. As he did Harry sank down, guiding himself into Draco. Each thrust was long, slow and seemed to fill Draco entirely. Each drive of Harry's cock seemed to land exactly on his prostate, the intensity of the pleasure only heightened by the way Harry refused to lower his gaze from Draco's. The whole experience was different from anything they'd ever done before; even as Harry picked up speed the air still seemed to crackle between them. Draco drew his lover in for a kiss, unable to cope with how the look in his eyes was affecting his heart, and tried to reciprocate the open emotion in Harry's eyes through his tongue. He must have been successful as Harry moaned out into the kiss, a soft, keening sound before he broke away, green eyes seeking grey again, as Harry called out.

"Draco…"

The sound of his name came with Harry's release, warm and filling and so right. So right that Draco couldn't hold back his own orgasm and he succumbed, his pleasure guiding him over the edge.

When Draco opened his eyes Harry had slipped out of him, yet still hovered above. He lifted a hand, slowly tracing the side of Draco's jaw, his fingers gently caressing his cheek.

Harry opened his lips; "I…" He began but trailed off, swallowing as if swallowing his nerves. Now, Draco understood why he had been so jittery as they ate. Now Draco understood why he wanted to save their bedroom until last.

Now Draco knew.

"I love you." Harry whispered against his lips.

"I…" Now it was Draco's turn to pause. He tried, for from the moment the words had left Harry's lips, Draco knew something else too. He knew it so strongly he was amazed he hadn't known before. He opened his lips, and tried again. "I…"

"I know." Harry smiled, and dipped down to kiss him. Relieved, Draco let his feelings flow physically, winding their tongues together until Harry parted their lips and dropped down onto the bed beside him.

"Perhaps," Draco began as Harry pulled him into his arms. "I can admit that muggles don't have such bad ideas after all."