sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry for the late update! So much work and so little time but thankfully the muse visited me this evening and not only does this chapter have a decent length and well-researched authentic quidditch terms (disclaimer any rules etc you may have found in Quidditch Through the Ages are of course JK Rowling's creation and not mine) but also ends with a sizzling slash scene that warrants reviews please!

Thank you and goodnight!

PART EIGHT

"…He's down! Ooh that was a nasty collision there ladies and gentlemen – Brinsbourne's Jennings takes a Bludger to the balls, down he goes… twenty-eight minutes into play now, it's really on – Portree's Nick MacGerris passes to Quigley – pass, pass, pass, he lines it up – close! Saved! Play stands, Brinsbourne Beaters favour 40-30. It's a close game out there – foul! Has he given it away? Smith fouls for cobbing – and Potter dives, Morgan in pursuit – it's a feint! Potter away, Morgan – ooh so close – brushes the grass but escapes collision…"

Draco sat on the edge of the side bench, the knuckles of his left hand tight white around his broom. The last match before Christmas was always bloody. The Brinsbourne Beaters were only a point above their new nemeses at the top of the league table – today's opponents, the Pride of Portree, who had snuck quietly up the scoreboards, were pulling out all the vicious gameplays around to try to knock them off their top-spot. Next to him Ben, the Chasers' strategist, had his hands fisted tightly in his hair, his knees jogging up and down, eyes flying everywhere as they followed the actions which was unfolding at a hurtling pace.

"Potter dives again – rolls – Bludger glances off him – close call that …Morgan intercepted by Hollyfeather and the Snitch disappears!"

Draco took a couple of deep breaths, watching the offending Bludger swoop away from Harry again.

"MacGerris has the Quaffle, dodges Hollyfeather – he scores! Portree tie 40-all and everything to play for – that was uncalled for! MacGerris takes a Bludger to the right elbow – Circe that looks painful-"

"Rhys," Draco's hand shot out and restrained the younger man firmly.

"He's hurt!"

"He's your opponent, now sit." He kept an eye on Portree's healer, Michael. "He's strapping it."

"Is that bad?"

"He's going to be subbed."

"Oh, god."

Time was called. The teams alighted, gratefully accepting towels enriched with warming charms, and bottles of water while they waited. Draco conferred with Greg, who had been tending Jennings' Bludger injury. It didn't look like he'd be able to get back on a broom for a while. "Reid, start warming up," Wandersley decided, walking up and down with his ever-present clipboard. Draco made his way towards Harry, who met him halfway, using the time on the ground to do a fast diagnostic spell on his shoulder.

"Is it tight?" he asked, cautiously kneading him.

"No… a little. It's bloody cold up there."

"Well if you catch the Snitch like you're supposed to we can go home and put the kettle on," Draco griped, his breath misting in the cold air. He was thankful for his heavy winter cloak and the warming charm he'd cast on the scarf around his neck.

Harry laughed. "What a rock and roll lifestyle."

The blond shook his head at him. "You'll be fine – but do try to get this over with won't you? You're giving me a heart attack out there."

"I'll see what I can do."

Play resumed, and if anything the taste of warmth has made the pace even more frantic – the players became blurs of purple (Pride's uniform being a deep purple colour with a vibrant gold star on the chest) and white (Brinsbourne's colour was a dazzling white with electric blue zig-zags that Draco had often teased Harry about as they weren't wholly unlike the shape of his scar) around the pitch, the Quaffle a tiny red dot, moving constantly. The Brinsbourne Beaters scored twice more in ten minutes, giving them a comfortable lead on points, but one what would be worth nothing if Portree got hold of the snitch.

"Come on Harry," Draco muttered, grimacing at the sky which was suddenly pregnant with looming rainclouds. He cast an impervious charm on the medical equipment (and on his cloak). Not a moment too soon – fat, splatting droplets of cold rain began to fall, soaking the players in an instant. Draco could just about pinpoint Harry, his uniform plastered to his back as he battled through the inhospitable elements and dodged the murderous Bludgers; they seemed to get agitated when wet.

The commentary became disjointed, the noise of it carried and buffeted on the wind. Draco strained to concentrate, fumbling with the dials on his ominoculars, momentarily stunned when one of their Beaters fell right out of the sky mere feel from his seat. He scrambled up, Greg overtaking him – the wound was to the head, but thankfully not life-threatening – he cast a brief nod of thanks toward Portree's healer, who appeared to have spun 'arresto momentum' toward the free-falling blur of white.

The game was progressing too quickly to take another time out, and another player was subbed in quickly. The swap left them out of back-ups now (apart from Rhys, and the thought of Harry being injured made him feel sick); they needed to finish the game soon. He squinted up at the scoreboard and found that Portree had snuck ahead, 90-50, and play was at an hour and twelve minutes in. Time was spiralling fast away from them.

"Potter feints, intercepting Morgan who pulls out of his dive…and Potter goes into a 'mermaid' – he's seen gold! He's seen it folks – ah! So close, the snitch disappears, Morgan fouls – a disgusting display of blagging as he pulls on Potter's broom tail – is Potter's broom angling to the left? – Hollyfeather skirts 'round Smith, he sc-saved! What an execution! Bad luck, Hollyfeather looking tired now …Great play – Snitch! Morgan! Morgan dives! He's seen it! Potter loops over Reid and they broom-drop mid-flight – wow! Never seen – excellent execution! Potter takes Reid's broom then – he's gaining Morgan – ah! He – Potter – blatches Morgan! Potter, a bad foul! But the snitch is snitchnipped by Quigley – Referee …err – yes, two fouls cancel each other – and where did the snitch end up?"

Draco felt the tendons in his neck go taught, watching Harry get Reid's broom under control – it was a fair swap, he knew the seeker would need a broom without a damaged tail if he was going to dive properly, but he also couldn't remember if Reid's was used to Harry riding it. He wiped the palms of his hands on his trouser leg a couple of times, sweating despite the cold.

"Seekers dive! 20 foot to ground – 7 – Morgan pulls up, Potter – merlin! Potter skims the pitch, the Snitch is there - !"

Draco shut his eyes, the sight of Harry hurtling toward the ground on a foreign broom making him queasy.

"Potter! - - Potter's done it! OH my heart, what a match! And there's the whistle, it's all over, it's all over! What a match! Potter victorious, Brinsbourne Beaters close the first half of the season, well deserved, the top of the league – the press have broken the box barrier – Potter does it again-"

Draco half sprinted, half stumbled, as fast as his wobbly legs would carry him, focused on the blurry outline of Harry lying on the pitch.

"Harry – don't be hurt you stupid bastard-"

"Draco-" a hand reached up and pulled him down beside him. A laugh burst out of Draco's throat, tears burning his eyes. "Draco, I'm fine. I'm fine." He pressed the snitch into the pale hand, still breathing heavily with adrenaline. "Yours."

"You stupid idiot," Draco breathed, pressing his mouth to the brunette's. Flashbulbs exploded around them, but for the moment he didn't care. "You bloody, beautiful, idiot." His knees squelched on the mud.

"Did I scare you?"

"Out of my life."

"Me too, for a moment." Draco shook his head at him, stunned but elated. He pushed the sopping hair off Harry's forehead. "Is Reid's broom okay?"

"Fine," Draco said, not bothering to look. "God." He kissed him again, not caring who saw, who said… whatever. They sat on the ground for several minutes, not getting up until Morgan came over to shake hands.

They lingered for some time at the stadium. There were scads of autograph hunters hoping for Harry's signature, and he was contractually obliged to sign a minimum of fifty, so he tried to get at least half the amount done before hitting the showers. The Hollyhead Harpies had fully turned out for the match, and Draco spent a while chatting to Megan, a mutual friend of theirs, while he lingered near Jennings, who was still finding it to sit down even with the aid of multiple numbing charms. Draco winced in sympathy, hoping the chaser didn't plan to reproduce.

"Oy Tom," Megan called, leering, "how's the testicles?"

Jennings rolled his eyes, looking up from Greg's careful ministrations, trying to get him comfortable enough so that he could walk to the treatment room. "Fuck you," he said in a friendly tone, "why don't you come and find out?"

Megan laughed, turning away to greet an avid group of autograph hunters who had been trying to get her attention.

"Finally she notices me, and I get my bloody balls smashed up," Jennings muttered plaintively, waiting patiently while Greg asked Draco for a second opinion.

"No sex," Draco admonished, "I'll know."

"Bloody hell," Jennings looked down at his offending area and took a couple of tentative steps, a look of great discomfort on his face. "I'll bloody kill Max, that bludger was meant for him!"

Harry jogged back over, leaving Reid to deal with the mob of fans who had congregated by the warm-up ring. He looked less pale now that the shock of his near-fatal dive was wearing off. "Hey," he greeted, giving Jennings a sympathetic nod, "Oh, hi Megan." He slung a damp arm around Draco's waist, "I need a shower - I'm frozen. Meet you outside the treatment room in twenty?"

Draco cast a glance toward the stretcher supporting the fallen beater, who was still out cold. "Better make it thirty."

"Kay."

Draco half watched Harry making his way slowly toward the changing rooms, waylaid several times by clumps of fans, accepting the odd pat on the shoulder from trainers and players from other teams. At one point, a small dark-haired little boy ducked under the public barrier and ran straight into the seeker's leg. Draco stood very still then, watching, as Harry squatted down to the child, shook hands with him and gave him an encouraging smile before lifting him over the barrier into the arms of his parents, who looked embarrassed and relieved. He signed an autograph for them and shared a laugh before ruffling the boy's hair and disappearing into the changing rooms.

"Draco? You alright?" Greg touched his elbow lightly.

"Fine," he said distantly. "I need to-" Suddenly he was by the changing rooms, as though apparated, although he hadn't consciously meant to. "Harry."

Harry turned quickly in surprise, shirt in hand en route to the showers, his clammy pectorals gleaming damply in the clinical lighting. "I thought you needed half an hour?" He wiped himself off briefly with the shirt and chucked it into the laundry bin. "Something wrong? Darling?" His hands came up to Draco's biceps, framing and soothing at the same time. "Hey, you're shaking, come in here." He led him into an unoccupied medical room and locked the door behind them, oblivious to the goosebumps rising on his own torso.

"I love you," Draco told him, feeling a little dazed.

Harry quirked that special smile at him. "Me too. You look a little flushed. You're not still worried about that dive, are you? 'Coz I'm totally fine. We'll go flying with Ted when school breaks up and I'll show you what I d-did," he offered, stumbling on the last word as Draco pressed up against him and met his lips, parting his mouth quickly. "Draco? Mmh, mmh…okay… mmh…" Draco's hands seemed to be in his damp hair and his back, his shoulders and the sodden seat of his quidditch breeches, all everywhere at once. Harry panted, feeling slightly stunned. "Hey, come here." There was a physio bench along the far wall, and they moved across to it and sat down side by side. Draco was holding his hand tightly. Harry caressed him lightly with his thumb.

Draco shut his eyes for a moment, weighing his words. He felt Harry brush the hair back from his forehead and smiled, leaning into the touch and opening his eyes again to look at him. "Teddy comes home in three days."

"Yes."

"While he's home we should – talk – we should talk to him about having a brother. That okay?"

Harry turned round bodily to look at him. His eyes were bright and clear. "Oh my god. Are you – really?"

He nodded, chest tight with emotion. "You're such an amazing dad, Harry, and I haven't told you that enough this year. And I know we talked about it briefly after… everything that happened…but I'm also aware that I didn't really give you an answer. I held it back. But I don't need to hold back. I want to have another child with you. I love our family, and I love you."

"Oh my god," Harry said again. He was staring at him as though he couldn't quite believe it.

Draco was holding both his hands now. "It's crazy, I just – I just saw you, just now, out there with a boy and I just – I don't know Harry, I want this. I want it so much."

"Me too, Draco," Harry choked slightly, both laughing and streaming with happy tears. "Thank you, I – I won't let you down, I swear." Draco made a shushing noise, moving his arms up around his shoulders, holding him closer. Harry sniffed, giddy. "How? When? Oh my god I can't believe this!" He laughed again.

"I did think about the how when I first read your letter, those last few lines."

"Hopeful lines."

"Yes. I thought, adoption? I don't want Teddy to feel estranged from a child who shares blood with one of us, and there are so many unwanted children."

"We could give them a good home," Harry said eagerly, face shining.

Draco felt his mouth twitch. It was hard to stop smiling. "I think so. As for the when, we can start looking into it, together, and then put our names down and I guess hopefully we would time a new addition for your retirement year, which is Teddy's last year of school. Something we do all together, as a family."

They held each other for several minutes. Harry couldn't be sure what Draco was thinking, but for him the moment triggered a powerful reflection on what he could have lost by his own idiotic actions. He held the blond a little tighter. "I always wanted to be adopted by a good family," he whispered, not sure whether he had really intended to voice the thought.

Draco nuzzled into his bare shoulder, the skin warming through gradually. "I know."

888

Harry was finding it hard to take his eyes off Draco since their emotional epiphany in the medical room. Laughter, revelry and general noise was exploding all around him, yet he felt strangely disjointed from it all. His lover was standing across the room conversing animatedly with the healers from Portree, Greg at his elbow. He still didn't look completely healthy to Harry, but Merlin was he ever beautiful. Harry lifted his beer to his mouth, absently taking a swig. The mid-season match always culminated in a huge industry party, and as man of the match he should probably be making more effort, more noise, but if he was honest with himself he was hoping he could take Draco home soon.

"Hey!"

Harry turned his head slowly; one half of him still tuned to Draco even as he turned to greet Rhys, who had his arm around MacGerris, whose arm was in a sling.

"Harry, you know Nick," Rhys was saying, a bright blush colouring his cheeks and neck.

"Good to see you again mate," Harry said, shaking his good hand. "How's the arm? Or are you sick of that question by now?"

Nick laughed. "Had worse. Nice dive."

"Nearly gave myself a heart-attack," Harry admitted, brushing off the compliment. He noticed Alex and a sandy-haired man talking with some beaters from the Montrose Magpies, and frowned before forcing himself not to look. "You two look cosy - Wandersley's going to think you're defecting."

Rhys glanced over his shoulder quickly, finding their manager in the throng. He wasn't paying any attention to them. Harry and Nick laughed at his jumpiness. "Arse," Rhys grumbled, signalling to the bartender. "Besides, it's not a secret."

"Good job Nick," Harry grinned, saluting them with the beer bottle. He turned and paid for their drinks for them, and they headed towards a newly vacated table. Draco turned and caught his eye briefly before returning to his conversation. He smiled their secret smile. Jennings joined their table, still walking sort of bow-legged, but looking happy, two girls from the Harpies in tow. They pulled in chairs commandeered from around the room and began dissecting the afternoon's gameplay. The analysis got progressively heated, but it was a lot of fun and Harry felt himself being drawn into the discussion as they began comparing the strategies of the top league players.

The evening drew on, members of their little group joining then leaving, replaced by more. One of the Harpies, their keeper Rachel, was about to go on maternity leave, and the women at their table spent several minutes cooing and touching her tummy. Harry found it hard to stop grinning at that point, restraining himself from doing the same. Lots of the male quidditch players across the league were dads, but only a scant handful of the female players, as after pregnancy few found they wanted to return to the game. The Harpies had a reputation for strident feminism and it was hard to judge which way Rachel might go, although she was assuring her team mates that she fully intended to return. From a competitor's viewpoint, Harry rather hoped she wouldn't, as her keeping skills were second to none, and hopefully her replacement wouldn't be quite so good.

A long fingered hand threaded into the unruly locks at his nape and he tilted his head back, looking into Draco's face. The blond dropped a chaste kiss to his forehead, moving to drape his arms comfortably over his shoulders. Harry leant his head against his torso as Draco joined easily into the conversation. At one point he did lay a hand on Rachel's swelling abdomen, his status as a healer giving him carte blanche to take a more hands-on approach. He shared a secret glance with Harry as he did so, and they both knew they wanted to go home now, and away from the ruckus. They extracted themselves casually, shaking hands with Rachel's husband and slipping unobtrusively away.

888

It was dim in the outer corridor leading to the floos and appartition points. Harry pulled Draco against him, groping for an alcove. He saw a brief flash of moisture as the blonde's front teeth caught his bottom lip for a moment, eyes teasing. "Unhand me Potter," he drawled unconvincingly, stepping backward slightly into the nook.

"Make me," Harry grinned, nipping him playfully on the jaw, earning a huff of repressed laughter and a shiver.

Draco's long fingers threaded across his scalp, tilting his head back slightly before biting his bottom lip, "exhibitionist," he murmured softly. Their eyes met. Harry let his face fall as unguardedly as possible. He felt spellbound and submissive and he loved Draco. The pads of Draco's other hand drew down his cheek. "Shall I take you home?" he asked, head on one side.

Harry swallowed. "Yes, please."

"Come on then," he decided, taking the brunette's hand decisively and marching them sedately toward the apparition point, although Harry felt like he would have run. Would have flown.

They materialised on their front step with the minimum of fuss, Draco's key already in his hand. Their street was quiet, illuminated by stars and streetlights (though the latter more so). Harry felt a cool breeze lift the hairs on the back of his neck as he listened, eyes half closed, to the clicks of the deadbolt locks. He shivered pleasantly, recognising Draco's breath on him; imagining the pale pouting lips pursed slightly as they expelled a sensual stream of air against his skin. A gentle hand on his lower back propelled him through the door and into their warm hallway, where he stood like a dazed lemon while the blond relieved himself of his cloak, scarf, and gloves. He paused, then repeated the process on Harry, their lips meeting gently over the clasps of his long winter coat.

"My man of the match," Draco breathed, the final letters rolling off his tongue with a soft 'tch' across the lobe of Harry's right ear. Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again and swallowed. He knew better than to interrupt Draco in 'man of the match' mode. Desire coursed through him as he hesitantly raised his eyes to the calm blue windows of the blonde's face. They were already darkening. Harry swallowed again, his mouth full of saliva, and adjusted his gaze to the blonde's throat, where an unruly pulse gave a jump. He felt, rather than saw, the blonde's hands rising to his face, cupping his jaw and trailing a single finger on each side, behind his ears. He let his eyes fall closed, and heard Draco swallow, his lips close-by once more. He waited patiently, until: "Tell me you submit."

A breath he hadn't realised he was holding expelled from between Harry's lips, and he felt the hallway carpet under his knees. "I submit," he mouthed soundlessly into the hand on his right.

"I can't hear you."

He looked up into the blonde's face, drawing his open mouth across the hand and wrist as he did so, detecting a flicker of uncertainty. They hadn't played this game in a long, long time. "I submit," he repeated, forcing breath he didn't have into forming the words. There was a single, aching beat, then Draco smiled and stepped around him.

"Take your shoes off before coming to bed," he drawled carelessly over his shoulder.

Harry sagged against the warm radiator, relieved.

888

The sheets were cold on Harry' back as he tried to arrange himself casually. Eventually he gave up and perched nervously on the edge of the bed. He still couldn't quite believe that Draco was playing the 'man of the match' game, and hoped he wouldn't cock it up. He had always known that Draco found it both arousing and commanding to have a magically powerful and physically strong man like Harry submit to him, albeit in the privacy of their bedroom where no one would know about it but them. No one had ever said as much, but it was likely assumed that Harry was the aggressor of their relationship, and Draco his willing and sometimes wantonly giving chattel. Not so.

Generally speaking they did not exercise sexual power games. They didn't threaten withholding of sex when they fought, or flirt with other men to incite jealously (although of course the withholding of sex would sometimes occur naturally after a particularly strong argument). They weren't overly kinky, and they didn't play particularly 'dirty' games – not to say that they hadn't ever indulged, but ten years was a long time, and they had fallen into a sexual rhythm that was both comforting like an old pair of socks and still satisfying like giving an itch a good old scratch. That didn't sound particularly romantic, when Harry thought about it like that, but it was the truth.

More truths included his continuing overwhelming sexual attraction toward Draco (characterised mainly through his unwavering devotion to performing orally on the man) and their apparent telepathy in the bedroom. He knew things that Draco liked, like the certain tendon in his throat he liked to be bitten on particularly hard, and the spot on his shoulder he liked to be kissed on before rolling over in the morning, and the way Harry would spread him very slightly if he was taking him from behind. He liked all those things and many more that Harry knew of – pushing Harry's head down he liked, but the other way round was prohibited – luckily Harry also liked it, and would certainly tell the blond if he didn't.

Things he didn't like included sex in the shower (due to an overwhelming fear of slipping, despite the charms, although he did like a shared bath on rare occasions), indecently affectionate public displays, being watched when he cleaned himself you-know-where (a basic necessity, and Draco hated feeling 'dirty') and being tied up or blindfolded. Considering the last, the 'man of the match' game had surprised Harry at first. However, once he realised that it wasn't quite that kind of game, they had relaxed into it and the format had remained similar for the past four years.

Even though the 'man of the match' idea would imply that it was in fact Draco at Harry's beck and call for the night, in reality that wasn't the plan at all. Draco might be reserved in some respects, but he greatly made up for this in other areas, and one of them was being a dominant 'bottom,' teasing Harry into submission and making him beg unreservedly – something they both, happily, got a kick out of. He was enthusiastic and inventive, something Harry was a little shy about, and never failed to address his partner's pleasure (without disregarding his own). And he liked sex. He liked sex a lot. Once, in the early days of their emerging relationship, when the brunet still hadn't quite acclimatised to Draco's libido, the blond had referred to himself, degradingly, face screwed up and mouth a horrible twist of a thing, as a bit of a whore…

"Your own personal shag puppet, isn't that right?"

"Don't talk like that."

"Why shouldn't I? You like it when it's happening. When I can't stop. You -You get off on it."

"I'm not listening to this."

"—Harry, come back here!"

Harry closed his eyes briefly. Had it only been a few weeks since he'd lost control in this very bed, goading Draco into losing it too, only for the blond to refer to himself as a tamed slut mere moments afterwards? His eyes opened again, ears listening intently. There was water running in the bathroom. Whilst not expressly forbidden, he knew that Draco would hate it if he entered during that particular ritual. He stood up, arms and legs suddenly restless, and paced a couple of times. Would this work? Could they do this? How would it make Draco feel about his body? About Harry touching him? Harry licked his lips a couple of times, staring blindly around the room, focusing on nothing. He tried and failed to remember the last time he'd seen Draco eat that day and cursed himself. Draco would not have invoked the game if he hadn't really wanted it. Harry knew that.

He sat back down on the edge of the bed, fingers curling on the hems of the loose boxer shorts he'd pulled on, and waited.

When Draco finally emerged the wait had done its work: the brunet had passed beyond doubt and was back to feeling aroused, and the conflicting emotions only caused his brain to cloud further with desire at the sight of the man silhouetted in the bright light from the en-suite behind him. The only noise as he approached was the slap-slap-slap of faintly wet feet on the floorboards of their bedroom, suddenly muffled by the rich pile of the sheepskin rug as he came to a stop between Harry's knees, spreading them apart until he really couldn't go any further. The blond put two fingers under his chin. "Are you still aroused, Harry?"

"Yes." Harry blinked at the helpless hoarseness of his own voice. He wet his lips and caught the blonde's eyes with his own. "I find you very arousing."

Draco smiled slightly. "Good." He nudged the nearest part of Harry with a knee. "Do I get a kiss?"

Harry liked this. It was undeniable. First, he let his tongue, and teeth, and lips worship the soft, sandy trickle of hair that led from Draco's navel to his groin. He worked carefully, hands smoothing over the blonde's belly just for a moment. The lack of a flinch felt like a victory. The bath towel dropped onto the rug with a muffled thud, and Draco's hands smoothed over his hair, his shoulders and his upper back as he worked on him; kneading and caressing and encouraging. Then suddenly, without warning, roughly forcing him forward, making him gag, just for a single panicked second, before he was released again. He leant back, panting. Draco shifted forward, comfortably sprawling in his lap, waiting for Harry to regain breath.

"I want to taste you."

He offered his mouth willingly, and got Draco's tongue as a reward.

After that initial icebreaker, the night took so many twists and turns that Harry could barely keep up. Draco dominated him in ways he hadn't used (at least, not all at once) for years. He rolled around on their large bed with him until he had Harry pinned beneath him, then proceeded to give him the most intense oral attention he could. Before bringing the brunet to satisfaction he changed his mind and sat astride his chest, freeing his long hair from its customary bands and combing it out gently, taking his time. A few errant strands fell across Harry's face as he watched, spellbound. He came as soon as Draco let him run his fingers through it.

Draco's eyes were inky dark as he pulled one of Harry's thighs over his shoulder. He prepared the brunet slowly, lips against the knee by his jaw, telling him that they have all night. Harry tells, or rather babbles, that he loves him.

"Fuck, fuck Draco…"

"-Draco, please!"

"Come on then."

They had a 'break' around two hours into the game, mapping each other's bodies in the low light. It took a little longer for Harry to recover than Draco, and he combed out the long platinum hair again as the blond went down on him a second time, gently teasing him. The long hair rippled gold and silver in the glow of the candlelight (Draco disliked muggle lighting in the bedroom, and at times like this, Harry agrees). An outsider may have thought that the tables of submission had turned at this stage, but Harry knew better. He felt completely at Draco's mercy.

Luckily, Draco was merciful, as always during sex.

They lay side by side, panting, the image of Draco's pale body riding him, using him to get off, emblazoned on the inside of Harry's eyelids. His lips felt slightly bruised from the forceful kiss the blond had used to steal his breath, even as every last inch of Harry's renewed arousal had disappeared deeply into his body. Uniting them. He had felt his heart thrum and wondered whether he was feeling Draco's beat at the same time. After a few drawn out moments, lying there as the final tremors eased out of their muscles, he felt the tip of Draco's nose touch his arm, and then, very gently, let his lips follow it. The game was over.

888

Draco opened his eyes very slowly, letting the harsh winter sunlight filter in gradually, before blinking a few times. An ear-to-ear yawn cracked his face in half and he groaned into his pillow, rolling his shoulders. A gentle kiss landed on that spot. He smiled secretively to himself, and turned over.

"What's that?"

Harry shifted the papers on his lap and showed him the header. "Ted's broom insurance. I need to owl it off this morning if he's going to practice at the club over the holiday."

Draco heaved himself up on an elbow. His throat felt scratchy and their final, rigorous bout of lovemaking that night had left him noticeably… not sore, but, well, 'noticing' he supposed. Harry bent his neck again and kissed him deeply, gave him a little air, and then went deeply again.

"Wait, just – finish this first." He put his free hand against Harry's shoulder, who laughed and offered him the quill.

"Just needs a co-sign."

Draco signed, and they looked at the parchment for a moment, allegedly to check that all was in order, but in actuality to look at both their names under the 'parent' field, and they both knew it. Even after so many years it was the little things that made their adoption of Teddy so …real, somehow. Harry kissed him on the crown of his head. "Be right back," he said, padding half-naked out of the room, no doubt toward their small owlery.

Draco lounged, luxuriating in the real start of the Christmas break and anticipating Teddy's return in a few days' time. Waking up with Harry was in itself a novelty in some ways. The brunet quickly returned to the bed, and they lay in a comfortable silence, Draco's back to his chest. He drew the tips of his fingers over Harry's muscular arms a few times.

"Draco?"

"Mm."

"You make me so happy."

He turned to look at him. "You make me happy too," he returned, the last words muffled against Harry's mouth. "What?" There was a certain mischievous look in the brunette's eye.

"Shall we have breakfast in Paris?"

Next chapter - Paris! Isn't it nice to see the author giving Harry and Draco what they want for a change?

Please review, it's lovely of you :-)