Cold Coffee, Dirty Laundry

Title: Cold Coffee, Dirty Laundry
Author: Anu (anubeta@lycos.com)
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: AU
Rating: R
A/N: This story has two endings, because I couldn\'t decide between them.

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Boxers, jeans, jumpers, socks, robes. Basket empty? Check. Soap, 25 cents.

Harry ran through this list before starting the washer. Then he settled down on the floor, back against the rocking, clanking machine, and pulled out a Quidditch magazine tucked inside the cover of a Muggle one. His legs spanned thrrowrrow aisle, crossed at the ankles.

After Hogwarts, he and Hermione had gone to St. Clarice’s College for Witches and Wizards together, wanting to do that before going into the Ministry as Aurors, while Ron got started on his obligatory Weasley brood before the same, working at his brothers’ joke shop. Hermione had left after three months to get married, and then accepted a job at the Ministry, leaving him here alone. Despite all his reassurances that he’d be fine, he’d get another roommate, it hadn’t happened yet.

He was lonely and maudlin, wallowing in his misery.

He rather liked it, even.

One of the dryers at the end of the row buzzed. Someone jumped, swore, and stalked over to the machine. Harry glanced up to see nice legs, a firm rounded ass, a lean back and narrow shoulders facing away from him. He sat up straighter and looked earnestly for the person’s face, seeing a wand-tip poking out of his pocket.

The white-blonde head turned to reveal the charming side profile of one Draco Malfoy, whom Harry hadn’t seen in the two years since he’d left Hogwarts. Who had a full laundry basket in his hands and was now walking out of the laundromat.

Harry scrambled to his feet.

When he got to the glass door, there were no Malfoys to be seen. Draco must have Apparated; if it was even him. Harry took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, cleaned the eyewear and put them back on.

His glasses were dirty, was all. He was just seeing things.

Really.

**

The next day was Monday, and as Harry did his business about the campus, he looked for him. Draco didn’t eat in the cafeteria at the same time as him, or walk the halls at the same time, nor did Harry see him in any of his classes. If that is, it was really Malfoy and he was actually attending here.

Until Wednesday, at least.

Wednesday, he had Physics, which although a long tedious drag, were fascinating. Almost better than Chemistry, which was like Potions all over again. In Potions, you put in frogspawn with a grimace and didn’t ask questions. In Chemistry, you learned the chemical properties of the materials and their reactions, in essence – Potions in greater detail. Physics didn’t explain Magic any better than Divination, but it was still good to know. Besides, Harry wasn’t so hot at Math, and decent at Science, so Science-y Math it was.

In this class, he’d depended on Hermione to help him, but now that he was here alone, he had to pay attention and take notes. Thus, he didn’t see the white-blonde hair until class was over, and everyone was leaving.

He knew better than to call out, he and Malfoy hadn’t been friends in school, but after his parents went to Azkaban sixth year, Draco had been quieter, not sniping at him constantly. Among the Slytherins he’d lost some of his popularity, and that year Snape’s already ugly face developed wrinkles to rival McGonagall’s. Fights were more common among the Slytherins of all years, and wisely, the other Houses knew to steer clear when Slytherins were battling one another.

Harry still treasured the memory of the time Snape’d taught a class with a vicious black eye, the Slytherins had broken into a brawl in the middle of class, and Dumbledore himself had appeared and sat in on their lesson.

So anyway, he’d made haste out into the hallway, looking for Malfoy again. Once more, whoever it was had vanished. Great. Harry wondered how to find out whether Draco had been in here or not. Hermione would know a way; she’d probably check the registration ledgers or something…wait!

Harry went back in the class and asked the teacher for a copy of the attendance record for today. Flustered, she agreed, and made a copy and handed it to him, settling at her desk to grade papers.

He stuffed the paper carefully into his pocket and left. He would be late for Latin if he didn’t hurry.

**

That night, he managed to settle down on his couch amid the debris of homework, and wondered if Malfoy was worth the trouble as he pulled the crumpled paper out of his pocket, smoothing it out to read.

Darrel Adams – Present
Gina Cox – Absent
Adrian Green – Present

And so on, down the page. Harry smiled to see his own name listed.

Harry Potter – Present

And sea searching. There were only three entries under M, none of which were Malfoy.

Kira Mirange – Present
Liddy Mogoan – Present
Steven Montare – Present

Which meant that Malfoy, naturally, was under an alias to avoid the shame attached to his family name. Harry took out a pencil and crossed out those that didn’t sound like they could be Malfohichhich left two names.

Pierce Black - Late
Daniel Singer - Present

There was a chance he’d think it very funny to go by Black, especially if it were in conjunction with impalement. Then there was the other – surely he’d want to be called something similar to his own name.

Harry tapped the pencil against his nose. There had to be a way to figure out which was which. He could track them down and find out…but what’d be his excuse? He was stalking people because he was jumpy over thinking he’d seen the ferret in a public laundromat.

His eyes fell on his empty cup of coffee. He could invite them out for one, but then it’d sound like he was a bloody poof – and he wasn’t, not a hundred percent, anyway. Only about eighty percent. He liked girls still. Just not ones like Hermione, and there weren’t many like that here at St. Clarice’s.

The phone sat next to his coffee. Well, he was fairly sure he’d recognize Malfoy’s voice if he heard it again…why not? He got up, and sat down in front of his computer. There was a student directory in there somewhere; he’d just have to find it.

**

Pierce Black turned out to be a bust.

He was a Muggleborn, no relation to Sirius, who had hung up on him when Harry asked him to describe what he looked like. Apparently, he’d unnerved the fellow.

Which left Daniel Singer.

Harry decided to invite him out for coffee, after all, it couldn’t be worse than the phone thing. On his way between classes the next day, he located locker number 403, and stuck his note between the slats.

At six, he was sitting in the coffee shop, pretending to be reading a book.

By seven, he was sprawled across the booth, book forgotten, watching the clock and the door simultaneously.

At seven thirty he left, inwardly whinging over an evening that could have been better spent doing homework or sleeping was wasted on some classmate of his who might or might not be his old school rival.

He had a beer, talked himself into thinking he was an t, at, and went to bed.

**

Sunday was laundry day again.

This time, Draco was here first again, and when they caught sight of one another as Harry walked in with his loaded laundry basket, Draco scowled, tossed his clothes haphazardly in the bin he’d brought. Then he set off at a brisk walk, not looking back at Harry.

Was Malfoy running from him?

“Draco!” Harry called, and gave chase.

Draco kept going, as if he hadn’t heard.

Harry caught up with him at the door, laid a hand on his shoulder. Draco bristled and whirled, hissing. “What do you want, Potter? To gloat? Go right ahead, you’re welcome to it, I’m sure I could bust your face without that Weasley scum standing guard.”

Harry jerked his hand back as if burned. “I don’t want to gloat, you idiot. I haven’t seen you in three years-”

“And you can just not see me for three more!” Draco snarled.

“Look, Draco, I haven’t got that many friends from school, now that Hermione’s ditched me here-”

“Oh, pity poor, poor Potter. Ickle mudbloody buddy’s run away screaming at last. If you haven’t remembered correctly, allow me to inform you that we were never friends!”

“You know, you’re just as much a snot as ever, Malfoy. Will you please quit interrupting me?”

“No. FUCK YOU!” Draco shouted, giving an accompanying hand signal.

“Fuck you too, Malfoy. That’s real proper for a pureblood.”

Draco’s face shuttered. “Don’t you ever call me that again. There are no purebloods anymore.”

“What’s this all about, Daniel?” A witch said from behind where Harry had Draco pinned to the wall, glaring fiercely.

“Nothing. Go away.” Draco told her. She scurried off doubtfully.

A light came on in Harry’s head. “Daniel, Daniel Singer. You’re Singer!”

Draco shoved at him. “Yeah, so what?”

“I sent you a note, wanted to talk to you.”

“You are talking to me.”

“Why didn’t you show?”

“Because Harry-bloody-Potter was stalking me!”

They looked at one another, panting with the effort to control their anger and not make a scene.

“Alright, fine. I’ll quit stalking you.”

“Fine.”

Harry took a step back, brushed himself off. There was a wet spot on his shirt from Draco’s laundry.

“Look. Just finish your laundry, and I’ll finish mine. I won’t talk to you, or even look at you, alright?”

“Why?” Draco’s gaze was shrewd.

“Because it’s stupid to run off with sopping and dirty laundry just because I’m here!”

Draco eyed him narrowly. “Fine.”

He went back to the machine he’d been at and began dumping things into it, starting it again.

Harry went and sorted his own laundry. On top of his pile was a pair of jeans that didn’t look familiar. He picked them up. Thirty-two regular. He was thirty-six, these must be Draco’s. He sure had short legs, Harry noticed. He looked around. Draco was glaring at his machine, contemplating giving it a kick. Nobody else was watching.

He held them up to his nose and sniffed. They smelled like sweat and horse. What kind of job did he have?

Ah well. He dumped them in with his own laundry. He’d hand them to Draco on his way out. After he got the load started, he settled down on the floor, halfway reading his magazine, halfway watching Draco drowse as he sat atop the washer where his clothes were slinging round and round with the clean cycle.

Draco’s washer finished first, and its buzz woke him with a start.

He leapt up and emptied it into his basket, and tossed it into a dryer, slamming it shut and starting it with a jab at the buttons. Harry realized he was staring, and that it was pissing Draco off. He turned his attention back to his magazine and tried to ignore everything but himself and his laundry.

When his dryer was finished, he began folding his laundry, and glanced up to see Draco watching him.

He quickly looked away.

Draco looked different from how he remembered him. That blonde hair was still combed back sleekly, but no longer needed to be slicked to remain tamed. It had grown down to his shoulders, as well. His right ear was pierced.

Harry smiled a bit. He’d changed too. His unruly black hair was in a girl’s cut, angled short at the back and long, to the hollow of his cheekbones, in front. He’d had red highlights put in – Hermione’s idea, originally, but he’d grown to like them – his eyebrows were a bit plucked, and the residue of black eyeliner from two nights ago still remained, as did the gaudy red lipstick stains. His right ear was also pierced, as well as his right nostril, both set with simple metal studs. His nails bore chipped and faded metallic pink polish.

It was no wonder, really, that Draco was staring. Everyone stared at Harry. Of course, if Draco knew that, he’d huff and look the other way, Harry was sure.

Taking Draco’s jeans in one hand and his laundry basket in the other, he headed over to his old schoolmate. Draco looked up as he approached, scowled.

“Look Potter, I’m sorry about-”
“Here’s your jeans-”
They said at the same time.

They looked at one another. Draco’s hand took the outstretched jeans. He ran his hand through his hair, half-nervously. “Just, ah, look. Sorry Potter, alright?” He looked flustered to be apologizing.

“Sure.” Harry said, hiding his mirth. “I’m still the same evil prat I always was, there’s no need to be nice to me now.”

Draco sneered faintly. “As am I, but I think it’d be best to judge for the other. We’re both liars when it comes to self-image. Cute hair, by the way.”

Harry laughed, testing the unstable element of half-civility in the air. “Thanks. You too. So, how about that coffee, then you can give me the blue ribbon?”

Draco looked confused. “Blue ribbon?”

“You said we’d judge each other on our prat-ly-ness. I expect to take first prize.” My god, the little voice in Harry’s head shrieked, jumping up and down and clapping its hands, you’re flirting with him! You big flirt!

Hablusblushed.

Draco smiled. “Alright.” He checked his watch. “It’s about two-thirty. Three, then?”

“Sure. Piazzo on 34th.” Harry answered, mind rushing ahead to the shower and primping before three.

“No sharing cups or anything romantic like that, right Potter?” Draco asked warily, grinning.

Harry winked, spun on his heel and left, waving his hips slightly, aware of Draco’s eyes on him. Why had he ever hated Malfoy? He could be reasonable, even if he was a bitch. He’d even apologized!

Yeah, the voice in his head smirked, and he’s fucking sexy.
That helps too, he replied.

**

“So, where do you work?” Harry asked casually.

“I’m a jockey.” Draco answered.

Both of them had apparently prissed up for this event, as casual as it was. Harry even caught a whiff of cologne from Draco. Some days, the femmy gig really paid off – people were just nicer to you when they thought you were a pretty girl. Draco was an excellent example, as well as being excellent.

“A jockey? What kind, disc?”

“No.” Draco said, with a bit of an irritated glare. “Racehorse.”

“Oh sweet!” Harry set down his cup. “You ride horses?”

Draco’s smile went sideways. “Better than brooms. I’m a lightweight rider – pays pretty well.”

“Of course, because a Malfoy simply must have money.” Harry affected a drawl.

Draco laughed, threw biscotti at him.

“So, where do you live?” He asked Harry. “I take it you need no job, oh Boy-Who-Lived-It-Up?”

Harry grinned. “In an apartment I got with Hermione. When she moved out I never bothered with another roommate, so I live there alone.”

“Wish I lived alone.” Draco said, making an effort to say nothing regarding Hermione whatsoever.

“Really, where do you live? I heard that the Mansion was confiscated when…” Harry trailed off.

“When my fuckstick parents got themselves caught and sent to Azkaban?” Draco’s face was dark and forbidding in the lamplight. “With Muggle relatives of my father’s. Great great great sixth cousins or something. Wish he’d offed them before he got himself caught, I really do. They’re hateful.”

Harry remembered his years with the Dursleys. “Boy, can I relate. When can you leave them?”

“When I’m twenty-one.” Draco said glumly. “In about three months, if my ‘Uncle’ doesn’t kick me out, my ‘Aunt’ doesn’t poison me and I don’t jinx their kids into oblivion.”

Harry looked at the cold dregs in his cup. Well the night wasn’t a total bust; at least he’d made peace with Malfoy, as tentative as it was.

Draco stood. “Anyway, it was nice seeing you again, Harry, even if I had my doubts at first. You’re not as bad as I thought. Slytherin and Gryffindor colors pale away from Hogwarts, don’t they?”

Harry had to agree, gave a nod and straightened his shirt as he stood.

Draco fished car keys out of his pocket. “Need a ride home?”

“You can drive?”

Draco grinned wickedly. “Sure. It’s fun.”

**

Draco could indeed drive, Harry realized, as they revved at a stoplight, to the cheers of a car full of girls next to them also raring to race.

With a screech of tires they sailed out of the light, and Harry laughed and clung to the door handle. Draco jammed the stick into gear, and nailed the gas, breaking ahead of the girls in their vehicle.

He turned a sharp corner down a narrow road that led up behind Harry’s apartments a few minutes later.

“See that trailer, there?” Draco asked him, pointing at one of the dismal wrecks in the dingy park.

“Yeah.” Harry answered, also in a whisper, though he didn’t know why, perhaps because of the unlighted street.

“I’m going to torch those Muggle bastards one of these days.” Draco said quietly, teasingly.

“They look like real nice folk, compared to the Dursleys.” Harry informed him, leaning closer to look out Draco’s window and in at the lighted area.

Draco turned to look at him, and Harry became aware that they were mere inches apart when he felt Draco’s inhales and exhales beside his own mouth. “Harry.” Draco said, his voice silvery. “You’re clueless.”

“I know.” Harry answered, looking into Draco’s gray eyes, seeing himself reflected in them.

Gradually they fluttered closed, dark lashes bold against pale skin. “I’m going to kiss you, I think, Harry.” He said softly.

“I don’t really care.” Harry answered. “Is that alright with you?”

“No.” Draco answered, and his lips were warm and soft against Harry’s as he spoke. “Never alright.”

Harry put his arm around Draco’s neck, splayed his hand on the back of his head, and pushed him closer. There was no resistance there, but their kiss was all resistance, fighting for the warmth of one another, to take and claim before the other could get there first. Harry felt blood rush sweetly far down below, a lifetime away, and moaned quietly. Draco shifted closer, put his arms around him. The car shifted a bit as he eased on the brake, then pressed it back down again, having forgotten.

Harry panted, letting Draco’s hungry mouth take charge, gasped to feel his lips tingle as Draco’s tongue thrust into his mouth, Harry sucked his tongue fervently. His nipples were hard under Draco’s thumbs, as his hands cradled Harry’s ribcage.

Gently, slowly, Draco pulled away, his eyes opening like flowers blooming, so close to Harry’s own. “Shh.” He soothed, as Harry leant forward again, to get more of the same. His warm hands left Harry’s sides, where they’d come to rest.

“Gay?” Draco asked, managing not to break the mood.

Crickets sang in the quiet.

“Bi.” Harry answered.

Draco smiled on one side of his mouth, tucked a wisp of wavy black hair behind Harry’s ear, caressing his jaw as he pulled his hand away. “You’re so very pretty.” He informed him tenderly.

Harry flushed, delighted with the compliment, eyes shining brightly in the dark.

Draco kissed him at the crook of his mouth. “We should go.”

He withdrew to his own seat, glanced over at Harry, and then began to drive again.

When they stopped in front of Harry’s apartment, Harry got out, and instead of just waving coyly and going in, as was his usual style with dates, he went around to the driver’s side, leaned down to be face to face with Draco.

“Want to go out with me to dinner sometime?”

“I was going to invite you.”

“All the same.”

“No it’s not. You’ve invited me everywhere we’ve gone. I can pay, I’m not broke.”

Harry just looked at him. “But-”

“But I haven’t got the Malfoy money, not since my parents and all that, so you think I’m like you were growing up, poor, mistreated, lonely, right?”

Harry sputtered, not wanting to admit that’s exactly what he’d thought. All his happiness died as Draco frowned.

“So I was right?” His face shuttered, beautiful eyes closed to Harry now, narrowed in anger. “Fine. You know, I’ll just find someone who doesn’t pity me, alright?”

He hit the window up button.

It closed, reflecting the streetlamp behind Harry and his saddened face. Harry laid his hand on it. “Never alright.” He said, so Malfoy would hear him.

Draco scowled, spun his tires. Harry jolted back in shock, and Draco drove off, now that Harry was a safe distance away. Harry watched him go, wondering why he should feel this sad. Draco was only an old school friend, an enemy, even.

He went inside, flopped onto his couch.

For those few seconds while they had kissed, it had almost felt like flying again, like his youth, his Firebolt, winning with a snitch in his hand.

Then the shattering crash to the ground.

But of course, it could have been all the blood in his body relocating itself. Science explained everything, he thought to himself, as he fell asleep.

Somewhere in his head the voice was sobbing.

**

He didn’t see him again for a month of Sundays.

About the time he resigned himself to thinking that Draco had found a new laundromat and he’d never see him again, he strode in, bathed in afternoon sunlight, arms full of laundry.

He went straight up to Harry. “I’m sorry I was such a di-” He said, then dropped his laundry as Harry flung himself at him, kissing as if Draco were the very air he craved. Hoochie! Ho! The voice in his head cackled merrily.

Harry grabbed Draco’s hand as they parted mouths, pulling him outside. Laundry forgotten, Harry tossed Draco in his backseat and climbed in atop him. He shut the door.

Draco grinned, biting his lip. “Going to ravish me, Potter?”

Harry pulled Draco’s shirt up and applied his mouth to the pale navel. “Oh yes.” He murmured. “Ravish, ravish, ravish.” A lick for each word. Draco shuddered.

“Mmmm!” He said desperately, as his shirt was peeled off and Harry attached himself at the nipple. His own hands clawed at Harry’s shirt, jerked it up over Harry’s head, and ran lazily, caressingly over smooth skin.

Harry buried his face in Draco’s neck, licking at the salty myriad of tastes there. He gave gentle nips now and then, satisfactorily keeping Draco’s attention while the blonde fought with his pants, trying to get them off, open, torn, whatever it was he was attempting.

Harry reached down and went for Draco’s, at once understanding the difficulty this presented. He leaned in and kissed him again, all the while relocating Draco’s hands to Draco’s fly, so he could get his own off. This worked out quite well, and Harry soon toed off his shoes and tossed his pants and jeans off his ankles. Draco took his face in his hands, looked into his eyes as Harry slid sweatily over him, thighs spread wide to give access.

“Do you want to come like this?” Harry asked.

Draco’s wide, pleasure filled eyes gave him answer, but he nodded also.

Harry dove into Draco’s mouth again, and drove against him. Draco’s arms held his shoulders fast, catlike even as he rubbed his nipples against Harry’s chest, making soft noises involuntarily. Both sets of hips rocked quickly, driving their cocks together as often as possible, grunting when each missed their mark, as precome flowed and their breathing grew too harsh to share kisses any longer.

Draco came first, arching his back and saying softly “Harry…” before it was swallowed in a groaning grimace of pleasure. Feeling the slickness pulse out between them, knowwhatwhat Draco felt, Harry tucked his head into Draco’s neck, and groaned as Draco’s encouraging hands pushed on his buttocks, and he added his own seed to that which smeared stickily between them, dripping from their cocks, rolling slowly down over Draco’s hip, trickling between his thighs.

“Ah.” Harry commented, kissing him again. “Draco, Draco, Draco.” More kisses.

“Tired already, Potter?” Draco asked weakly.

“Yeah.”

Draco smiled against his shoulder. “Maybe I’ll take a turn at ravishing you, then.”

“You do that.” Harry encouraged limply.

Draco chuckled. “Get off me, you great big galoot, and I’ll take you home and ravish you properly.”

Harry lazily heaved himself off. “This wasn’t a proper ravishment?” he asked innocently.

Draco smirked. “It served the purpose, but it takes a Malfoy to do it properly.”

“Ah. I should have known.” Harry said snootily.

Draco smiled, leaned up and kissed him. “Not bad, though.” He said, wiping himself off on his shirt, pulling on his jeans.

“Hah. Not bad indeed.” Harry slapped his ass, pausing doing the same.

“Ow, hey!” Draco squealed in protest.

“I’m sorry hunny.” Harry leaned forward and kissed that luscious pale arse tenderly. “Better?”

“Much. And don’t call me hunny.” Draco got out, barefoot, and stowed their now dirty shirts in the trunk with the rest of his laundry. Which was a lot, as if he hadn’t done washing in a month.

“Now go get the rest of our laundry, we’ll do it later.” Draco said imperiously.

Harry saluted him and strode inside.

Several people stared, then went back to their magazines as he gathered up their mixed laundry, some of his wet from the washer, and went back out.

Draco pinned him to the hood and kissed him after he put the clothes in the boot, then padded to the driver’s side as Harry climbed in the passenger’s. “Wouldn’t want to delay that ravishing, now would we?” He grinned. Draco grinned back.

And drove like a madman all the way home.

**

They fell in the door, and barely made it to the couch before whipping one another’s jeans down. Harry swept his school stuff off the couch, and arranged a smiling lover on it so that Draco was on his back, knees bent, about the middle of the couch. Grinning, Harry settled himself so that his knees were on either side of Draco’s head, and he was on all fours over a large, particularly juicy, appreciative member of Draco’s anatomy.

“And once again, I find myself being ravished.” Draco commented. “I’m beginning to see a pattern here, in fact.”

“Yes.” Harry agreed. “Balls, cock, balls, cock, and so forth.”

And for his reward of cleverness, Draco shut up for a while.

However, when Draco pulled off him, he whined around his mouthful. Draco batted him away, and Harry climbed off, sprawling beside the couch. “What?” He asked.

“Well, doll, if you’re going to ravish me properly, we’ll need lube.” Draco said in a nasal tone. He then proceeded to sprawl and admire the bobbing of Harry’s damp cock and tight shapely buttocks as Harry, grumbling, went into his bathroom to retrieve said item.

He returned, and Draco did little more than pant, moan and squeal alternately for a while, until both came with hoarse shouts and Harry flopped forward onto Draco’s sweaty back, even as Draco gracefully bent his knees and elbows exhaustedly.

“Now we’re talking ravishment.” Draco stated serenely.

“Mmmff.” Harry replied.

**

Draco woke near midnight with a cramp in his thigh and sex munchies.

He ambled into the kitchen and dug into the fridge.

Harry woke, bleary-eyed, shortly after, to hear singing and cooking. He walked in to his (too brightly) lit kitchen and stopped short at the sight of Draco frying bacon in nothing but a frilly apron and a smirk.

“Hungry?” Draco asked.

Harry didn’t answer, too busy staring. Draco’s smile widened, and he turned back to the stove to hide it.

Harry stepped up behind Draco, hit his knees, and began licking his left buttock. Draco giggled and squirmed. Harry spread him wide, and Draco turned off the stove. Legs shaking, whimpering, he clung to the counter, the stove, the cupboards, anything that kept him upright, seriously rethinking that amused giggle.

At last, Harry stopped, stood up and took him in his arms. “Muh.” Draco managed, as he was scooped up.

Harry carried him into the bedroom and flopped onto the bed with Draco in his arms. He grabbed the lube from the nightstand and without taking off Draco’s apron (it was rather cute), slicked him up. He didn’t even have to beg.

He howled instead, as the apron hid the dirty deed in their current position, missionary. Draco laughed, and tweaked his nipples. Harry kneaded his butt.

This action/reaction cycle continued until Harry pulled Draco’s head down into a kiss, and came with a whimper all over Draco’s hand. Draco grunted, sucked his tongue, and came deep inside him.

They broke apart after orgasm receded, and lay side-by-side, flat on their backs, focusing on that rude fact, that they had to breathe after all.

“Muh.” Draco said again.

**

[Ending 1]

It was a sunny May morning. Sunshstrestreamed in the windows of the Piazzo on 34th Street. Birds sang. Harry was absorbed in the Daily Prophet. A single cup of steaming coffee sat next to a plate containing crumbs.

Draco appeared at the door, and spotting Harry at their usual table, came over and slumped across the table from him. Harry set down his newspaper.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

Draco looked at him, toying with the spoon on the saucer under Harry’s coffee cup. “Harry…I think…um, I’m pregnant.”

-END-

**

[Ending 2]

It was a sunny May morning. Sunshine streamed in the windows of the Piazzo on 34th Street. Birds sang. Harry was absorbed in the Daily Prophet. A single cup of steaming coffee sat next to a plate containing crumbs.

Draco appeared at the door, and spotting Harry at their usual table, came over and slumped across the table from him. Harry set down his newspaper.

“Why’s there only one cup?” Draco inquired. “Have you not ordered yet?”
“No, I have, I just…” Harry smiled sheepishly.

“I thought we’d share.”

-END-