"Vegetables"

By Minagorishi

Wow, I really have not written in forever…I'm sorry—my muses have been too stressed for writing anything other than angsty poems. This is a one-shot spawned from my current boredom, as well as an inside joke between a friend and I. The story is post-Hogwarts and post-Voldemort. Please enjoy!

Disclaimer: I regret to inform all my readers that I no longer own Harry Potter, or anything other than this plot. What's that you say? I never owned Harry Potter? Then what the Hell was that—oh, right, it was a dream. My bad. It was a nice dream, with whips and chains and all sorts of lovely things—oops. Oh, well, this is still guy-on-guy, as well as mention of M-Preg. If you don't like it, spare yourself the effort of reading this fic—I do not accept flames from homophobic imbeciles. Thank you.

…

"Harry," Draco whined, pouting at his husband of six years. Harry smiled at him quizzically from his place on the bed, silently inviting him to continue—"How much do you love me, Baby?"

Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "I love you like a fat kid on a diet loves vegetables, Lover."

This comment earned Harry a hard smack upside his head with a pillow. "OW! Hey, Drake, what the bloody Hell was that for?"

Draco sneered at his husband. "That was, by far, the most awful, unromantic way of telling someone you love them that I have ever heard in all my life!" At this point, Draco was near hysterics, as he was beginning to believe that Harry maybe didn't love him, after all.

"Why is it unromantic? I'm fat, and therefore on a diet, and vegetables are my favorite foods" Draco gaped at the quidditch-toned, godly body before him in shock.

"Harry Potter-Malfoy! How in Salazar's name can you call yourself fat? You're the number-one most gorgeous quidditch player for the fifth year running! Honestly, wherever did you get that idea? And since when do you like vegetables?" Harry blushed lightly, muttering something under his breath, which sounded vaguely like "Hermione."

Draco saw red.

"Granger told you that you were fat? She's bloody well one to talk, waddling around like she is with the Weasel's runt in her."

"Drake! Be nice! She's my friend! And I am fat!"

"Harry, Baby, you are far from fat. Honestly, do you truly think that I, Draco Malfoy-Potter, would allow my precious husband to become fat and therefore unsightly?" Harry shook his head reluctantly. "Although, if I was pregnant with a mini-Weasel, I'd probably say some pretty nasty things, myself."

Harry looked up at Draco, eyes tearing, "You slept with Ron? Its because I'm fat, now, isn't it?" Ironically enough, Ron had gained over 50 pounds upon his marriage to Hermione (who turned out to be a better cook than his mother) and was now sporting a rather large beer-belly. Many jokes were passed around in the Auror department at the Ministry of Magic (where both Ron and Hermione were employed) that Hermione had knocked Ron up and he had yet to give birth.

Draco hit his husband upside the head with the pillow again. "Are you listening to a bloody word I'm saying, Harry? One—you are not fat. Two—I have the world's most gorgeous quidditch player slash Savior of the Wizarding World in my bed every evening, so why in Merlin's name would I shag Weasel King? And three—you shouldn't listen to pregnant women when they say mean and spiteful things like calling you fat. Honestly, Harry, you're almost acting as though you're pregnant instead of me."

Harry smiled at the lump on Draco's stomach. "I suppose you're right, I'm just overreacting. I'm sorry, my love."

"You'd better be. And once you tell me how much you really love me, I'm going to go give Granger Hell for saying that to you."

"I love you," Harry said, moving his hands under Draco's nightshirt, pulling the thin fabric up along the way, "so much that I want to ravish you right here and now. I love you," he continued, capturing his husband's mouth in a fiery kiss, "more than I love any food whatsoever, more than I love quidditch, and more than I love my friends."

"Much better, but what are you waiting for, Harry? I command you to ravish me!"

Harry smirked devilishly. "With pleasure."

Just as Harry was about to fulfill his command, his cell phone rang.

"Blasted Muggle contraptions," Draco spat bitterly. "Blasted, mood-killing—please do not tell me you are actually going to answer that, Harry!"

Harry did indeed answer the phone call. "Yeah? No, Ron, I haven't heard from Ginny recently, not since she tried to kidnap me two years ago," Harry glared at Draco while he said this; he still believed that Draco had something to do with the girl's avoidance of him and ultimate disappearance. "Can we baby-sit? Tonight? Hey! Not fair! Give it back, Draco!"

Harry pouted at his husband, who had stolen the phone. "Listen, Weasel: we are not babysitting your snotty little brats tonight, you hear me? Also, if your retarded, Mudblood wife dares to ever call my beautiful husband fat ever again, I will hex you both into next millennia. Farewell." With that, Draco hung up the phone.

"You don't have to be so mean to my friends, Babe. I know you're not fond of them—"

"Actually, Harry, I think I may love your friends." Draco interrupted with a smirk.

"You may what?" Harry gaped, mouth gaping in shock.

Draco was grinning, now. "Yes, Harry, you heard me correctly—I love your friends. In fact, I do believe that I may love them just as much as I love vegetables."

Harry burst into raucous laughter at this, not noticing it when his lover slyly turned his phone off and threw it under their bed.

"Now," Draco said. "May we return to my ravishing?"

Yup—that was my cutesy little one-shot (I repeat: ONE-SHOT—this means that this story WILL NOT be continuing). Please revew!