Harry and Draco meet each other's friends and family for dinner.

“I don’t have any friends, Potter,” Draco says, and the last name hurts, is meant to hurt, even though Harry knows Draco is feeling defensive and vulnerable. Still, Harry feels a sting right through his ribcage. “How can this possibly be reciprocal? I can’t take you round to my friends, my family is -”

“You have friends,” Harry says, steadily. “And family. Andromeda and Teddy.”

“They like you better,” Draco pouts, and Harry feels affection bubbling up to the surface despite himself. 

“We’ll start with them, then,” he concedes. “And work our way up to Hermione and Ron.

Draco doesn’t say no, and Harry inwardly celebrates a small victory in getting Draco to come out of his cocoon of defensive self-loathing. 

“Er, hi,” Harry says, feeling a bit stupid. He thrusts the flowers at Draco, hoping that Draco will be distracted by them and maybe not notice how awkward Harry is being. “I got you flowers.”

Draco reaches a shaky hand out and takes them, still looking at Harry with an expression of incredulous disbelief. “Harry.”

“I’m sorry if they’re not the kind you like,” Harry says quickly. “I didn’t - I just saw them while I was out shopping, and I thought you would, er, like them. Maybe.”

Draco’s looking down at the flowers, and he leans forward to smell them, closing his eyes. When he opens them, he sees Harry as if for the first time since he's opened his door, and the expression of astonishment that was on his face previously is quickly tucked away. 

“They’re perfect,” he says gently. “Harry. Thank you,” and he looks at Harry as if he means it. 

I want to hold your hand

“God, Harry, can’t you… take off your clothes, I want -”

“Maybe.” Harry is too caught up in how good this feels, to hump against Draco like a teenager, both of their cocks trapped in warm, cozy fabric. He feels mindless. It’s so easy. 

“I want to touch you,” Draco says, and it sounds less like he’s begging and more like a prayer. “Harry.”

“Here,” Harry says, keeping his joggers on but taking both of Draco’s hands. He laces their fingers together and pins them on the rug above Draco’s head, Draco’s long, elegant, fingers trapped in his rough grip. “Now we’re touching.”

Blackjack

Do you remember when I took you to the Riviera, Harry, right when we were first falling in love with each other, and we spent all night by the sea? You let me put my hands all over you, you let me bury you in the sand, and then uncover you, over and over, all your gorgeous muscles disappearing and emerging, your beautiful cock, ignored, straining inside that speedo, while I petted and adored every inch of you? Can’t we go back there again, leave all of this behind, and be together, just for a weekend? I’ll make that dish with the oysters again, the way you like. We can take the boat out to our favorite little cove, have a picnic on the water, drink champagne, and I’ll touch you wherever you need it. Tell me where you need it, and I’ll kiss you there, I’ll lick you and suck you there. You won’t need to beg for it, darling. It’s already yours. 

Merlin, Harry, sweetheart,, my love, not a day goes by that I don’t think about you. She means nothing to me. NOTHING. I could see her two months a year, at the most. We could live apart entirely, and you and I could have our own apartment, or we could live in the country. I’ll resign and stay home all day, waiting for you, ready to fill you up, ready to feed it to you. 

Why do you hesitate? Am I a poor lover? Am I too weak, too strong, do you even know why you won’t come to me? Why you won’t let me adore you? I am yours in everything but name, darling. Say the word, and I will be there with you. 

My sweetheart. My darling. Harry. Please. 

Harry wins a fight.

“Fuck yourself sideways, Potter,” Draco said, sliding the ring onto his left pinky finger and twisting it about in the scant light of the parlor. “I’ll wear it wherever I please, which is everywhere I go, and people can think what they like.”

Harry led the antique dealer out of the room and slammed the door behind him victoriously. People can think what they like, Harry thought. Which is that you’re wearing my ring, and you belong to ME.”

They were still fighting, but not anywhere close to as badly.

That’s not to say they weren’t continuing to draw blood or showing up to work with the occasional bruised jaw or blackened eye, healed to mostly yellow and gray smudges. That was 100% on the agenda. Malfoy was still a brat - albeit, a brat that was a head taller than Harry and could kick him around, but a right cunt nonetheless, who deserved every punch Harry managed to land on him.

Power Bottom - Chapter 1

They fought spectacularly. Worse, even, than before they started having sex, as prior to Harry being used as Draco Malfoy’s personal adult novelty item, they were rarely in very close proximity to each other. Now, if Harry wanted to get his dick wet on someone who consented to being physically assaulted, he had to contend with Malfoy’s personality.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34397794/chapters/85601134

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32348431

Reveals are up and I’m so excited to share my latest work for h/d wireless!

Paint it Black - Chapter 10

“God, you’re so handsome,” Harry said. “You look like a Viking in a Calvin Klein commercial.”

“That’s one reference I don’t get,” Draco said, frowning. “Who’s Calvin Klein?”

“He made my underwear. Hey, did you really mean it when you said I could drive your car?”

Draco sighed in mock annoyance. “Yes, I suppose I’ll let my famous, handsome, boyfriend who just rode my cock into oblivion drive my new Jag. But only because you’ve twisted my arm.”

“Excellent.” Harry wiggled closer, throwing his arm over Draco’s abs. “I’m not your boyfriend, though.”

“Is that so?” Draco grinned into Harry’s hair. They’d been introducing each other as boyfriends for months. Harry was making a joke. “What am I, then? Your sugar daddy?”

Harry poked him. “Sugar daddies are rich. You’re broke, and I’m loaded.”

“Aren’t sugar babies meant to be nicer?” Draco said, twisting away from Harry’s hand, which was mercilessly tickling his ribs.

“I’m only saying, “boyfriends” doesn’t describe it. You like,” Harry’s voice had gone serious, “take care of me. All the time. Make sure I have everything I need.”

Now Draco’s voice went serious too, and a bit raspy, as he choked around the words. “Harry. It’s my life’s wish to make you happy.”

“Right, so then what’s the word for that? Someone who does - what you do for me.”

“Take care of you? Make you happy?”

“Yeah.”

Draco blinked, and thought about whether he wanted to say the word he knew for what he was doing. As he paused, he felt the word enter Harry’s mind as well, and Harry blushed, and buried his head back in Draco’s shoulder.

Read more on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093866/chapters/77477135#chapter_10_endnotes

Paint it Black - Chapter 9

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Harry snarled. “I’ve seen your portfolio. I read every page.”

Harry imagined that if a Hippogriff lost a feather in the Auror office, he could hear it hit the floor from thirty meters away. No one uttered a word. He and Draco watched each other for what felt like an age.

“Ah,” Draco said, carefully breaking the agonizing silence. “And I take it you did not find the contents pleasing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Harry felt the tears catch in his throat, but his eyes were perfectly dry. “Of course I didn’t find them pleasing.”

Draco’s eyes cast back down at the floor. They weren’t quite as dry as Harry’s. He looked perfectly humiliated. As well he should . “Right.”

“Is that all you have to say?” Harry was nearly shouting.

“Potter, I’m sorry you were offended. Truly.” Draco finally looked Harry in the eye. A single tear fell down his face. “But that portfolio is my livelihood. It’s my business. My quills - they’re trained on the script in it. I can’t fulfill my orders without it. Is there any way you could -”

“Are you actually asking me to return it?” Harry cried disbelievingly.

“I understand you’re upset, Potter, and I admit that the contents may have been over the line -”

Harry threw up his arms. “Over the line! That’s an understatement, Malfoy. No, you can’t have your portfolio back. It’s been entered into evidence as part of a criminal investigation -”

“A criminal investigation?” Draco said, having the gall to look surprised. “What -”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093866/chapters/74199579#workskin Paint It Black, Chapter 8 by Cassiopeias_shadow Flammus Acribus Addictus “Then, too, was his own long-suppressed need to declare his love publicly, a need he knew all lovers since time immemorial must have shared. The current fashion was to “shout it from the rooftops,” a thoroughly urban idiom, nevertheless mirrored by every major artist who ever lived. Every painter, every sculptor, every poet: they’d all immortalized their muses in the eternity of their work. Potter was his. If only Draco could create something half worthy of him…”

The art that Draco had loved had always gotten under his skin and transformed him in ways he wasn’t aware of, sometimes until years later, until he had the experience to understand it. Bach had been that way, and so had his most favorite sculpture.  Laocoon . The suffering, the intensity, settled into him without appreciation. What did he know, as a pampered child, of rage and wretchedness? And then, once he knew it, the snake from Laocoon made real in his house, eating his pets, it was the only thing he could think about. He had been stuck on the other side of a war from his most beloved enemy, he’d been half drowned in the surf, strangled and eaten by a giant snake, gasping for air, and fighting, and losing, all the same.

Perhaps something similar had happened to Harry, Draco hoped. Perhaps he had seen Draco’s sculptures, his worship of heroism, and had a dim, half-formed thought that he, Harry, was a hero, that Draco was worshipping him .

Draco knew the thought would be dim and half-formed because Potter, laughably, didn’t think of himself as a hero.  Even if Draco told him how much this book meant to him, he wouldn’t understand. Not yet.

But maybe, if Harry let Draco spoil him the way he deserved, fall at his magnificent feet. Maybe then.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093866/chapters/69852540

The three of them returned to a Manor literally soaked in blood, in dark magic. Draco had wanted to spare his mother cleaning up the bodies in the dungeons, but his father deserved to see them - deserved to see the way they festered, deserved to mop up after them, to levitate them into piles for collection.

And so that’s what they did, for three days in a row, and at the end of it, Lucius asked him, simply, “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

And Draco had said, “Yes.”

He condemned himself later for not finding something better to say, something to soften the blow, something like, “you did the best you could,”, but Draco was elbow deep in necrotic tissue, in cemented brain matter vanished bit by sticky bit off blood-stained flagstones, in soiled rags and snakeskins. He’d been working for three days to clean the mess Voldemort had left behind in his former home, which now had all the charm of an abandoned concentration camp, and he’d come to the conclusion that beauty didn’t come from discipline, it didn’t come from good breeding, and it didn’t come - not under any circumstances - from evil. From people like his father.  Beauty only came from goodness.  

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093866/chapters/69674043

Harry thought for a moment, and then decided to go ahead and say what was on his mind anyway. He had nothing to lose. “Is that what you think about me? That I’m -” he choked a bit on the lump in his throat, trying to get the words out - “that I’m ‘crudely appealing’?”

Draco’s head snapped to the left, and he looked at him square in the face. “Not at all,” Draco said. “No - Harry, not in the slightest.”

“I didn’t realize you had an interest in heroes,” said Harry, for lack of anything else intelligent to say.

“It passes the time,” Draco said quietly. “Doesn’t do much in the way of beating back the loneliness. If only I had the powers of Pygmalion, I’d find sculpture much more interesting.”

Read more on ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093866/chapters/69123378