Sweet\'s Little Collection

Day Forty-One:

Draco lifted a towel from the pile, still warm from that silly muggle contraption Harry had insisted on. He shook it out, bringing it to his chest before folding it width-wise once, then once again. He laid it out on the counter, then folded it into threes, longways. He smoothed his hands over the terrycloth surface, inhaling the fresh scent of the detergent Harry had taught him to use. The first time he assumed the package contained one use. They'd had to scour their flat with cleaning and drying charms, and purchase another one of those... What are they called? Washthings. Nevermind. He still wasn't able to keep track of all these muggle things and what you use them for, but he surprised himself by finding an intense satisfaction in the mundane task of folding laundry.

He set his towel aside, drawing another from the pile and starting the process over again. Harry wandered in, wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing his neck from behind. Draco feigned a scowl. "Really, Potter. I am trying to finish this. Your randy little teenage hormones will just have to wait." Harry chuckled, and the sound shot straight to Draco's groin. "Come now, Malfoy," Harry replied, emphasizing the other's surname. "We haven't been teenagers in over a decade." Draco cast aside his half-folded towel, and turned in Harry's arms. His eyes were glinting with amusement. "Yes, but you are still as randy as you were when we were seventeen." Harry kissed him soundly on the lips, and Draco moaned against his mouth. "Yes, my love, I am. But, then again, so are you." Draco grinned in the way only Harry had ever seen, and pulled him close, kissing his husband again.