desire .

Dinner For Two

ao3 author: mormoriarty17

summary: Domestic!Drarry fluff with a bit of smut. Dom!Harry and Whiny!Draco trying to make dinner.

 “Harry James Potter. You do know that I don’t give a flying fuck about what happened to you today at work, yeah?” Draco raised a perfectly groomed brow and turned to push open the heavy door to their shared Muggle London flat.

“Oh shut it, Malfoy. You love me.” Harry shrugged off his rain-soaked leather jacket, and placed it on the coatrack next to the door. He cocked his dark eyebrow right back at Draco, as if to say what’s up with you?

“Is that right?” Draco grabbed his shoulder and spun Harry around; pulling the other man closer, and teasing his lips open with his tongue.

“Yeah, pretty sure it is.” Meeting the unspoken invitation, Harry crushed his body enticingly close to Draco’s; his wiry muscles hard beneath his thin cotton shirt. His soft lips parted to make way for the other’s tongue, which searched the hot expanse of Harry’s perfect mouth. His lover returned the favor, and then rested a hand against Draco’s warm chest.

“Shite.” Draco whispered, finally remembering. Harry pulled away slowly, and stared into Draco’s piercing twin pools of grey. Draco dropped his gaze quickly and looked down at his shoes. Italian leather, of course.

“Draco. What’s wrong?” Harry asked, his expression showing genuine concern.

“Forgot to get dinner.” he replied sheepishly.

“I’ll cook.” The other man offered.

“Thank the gods. I thought I might have to beg for your Chicken Parmigiana.” Draco chuckled softly.

That might have been his biggest mistake.

Harry Potter hated liars.

“Oh. So you didn’t forget. Did you?” the raven-haired man looked almost angry. But there was a flash of something devious in his smoldering green eyes that Draco couldn’t put his finger on. He took two steps forward and had Draco cornered.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Oh, I just might make you cook tonight.” he smirked.

“Fuck. You know whatever I cook goes straight into the rubbish.” Draco pouted, sticking his bottom lip out. It was the truth; Harry was the one who could cook; he was the wizard in the kitchen. Wizard humor. Ha, bloody ha.

“Oh yeah? Well, that’s your fault, you big fat liar.” Harry looked almost devilish. His eyes sparked with a fire that Draco envied seeing, and so he provoked him even more.

“Hey! I’m not fat!” he glanced down. Hmm…He was getting awfully spoiled by Harry… “Well, what are you going to do if I don’t want to make dinner?” The blond was treading carefully, his voice lowered and his words soft.

“You will. I’ll make you.” With that, Harry grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the wall Draco was pressed against. Already kiss-swollen lips brushed his forehead, and then softly drifted to his cheekbone. A chaste kiss was placed to his temple, then everywhere else but his mouth. Draco writhed under Harry’s grasp, but Harry just held him down harder.

A tongue darted out, and licked the shell of his ear. Harry’s low voice growled; tingling on the wet trail that he’d just made. He felt a warm hand slip under the hem of his shirt, finally resting fingers on the bare skin of his back. The feeling of five points of heat on his skin sent tremors down Draco’s spine. And blood straight to his groin.

“Are you going to cook now, Draco?” Harry asked again slowly, his breath hot on his neck. Draco lifted his stormy grey eyes, unable to hide his arousal.

“I…um- Harry!” Harry had reached his hand unnoticed to the waistband of Draco’s trousers, and now held his cock completely in his palm.

How did I not notice that?

 

“Now, Draco?” His voice was timed with a rapid stroke up and down, and a gentle squeeze around the head.

Draco gasped. “Uh. Fuck yes, sure. Whatever, anything. I will. Of course. B-but don’t stop.” He babbled quickly, nearing incoherency with every second. The blond made a move, but couldn’t make it towards their kitchen in their awkward position.

“How could you possibly cook?” Harry laughed. “With my hand down your trousers the whole time?”

Well, that would be nice… Draco let out a hitched sigh. “Maybe…we could just…order in then?” he asked hopefully. “Or if you must, you could stop.”

“Don’t be silly. Why could I ever stop, Draco? I’m not that hungry.” Harry backed away, still clutching Draco’s arm; and led them into the bedroom. Once inside, he pawed at Draco’s silver shirt buttons, and then resorted to practically ripping it off.

“Harry, that was my favorite shirt.” he whined. It wasn’t actually his favorite shirt; he just liked whining because Harry gave him whatever he wanted. And he felt like whining.

“Well, I think you can bloody well live without it.” Harry’s tongue circled the other man’s nipple; which immediately went hard under his touch, and then he reached down to unbutton his own shirt. Now it was Draco’s turn to get aggravated at clothing. He growled and all but tore the offending white material away.

“Eager, are we?” whispered Harry, unzipping his trousers and shaking them off.

“You have no idea.”

“Gods, I’m starved.”

Please, please, please! Draco pleaded with his eyes.

“Fine. I give up. I’ll cook.”

“Yay!”

“Wow. Hermione’s right. I do spoil you like a little child.” he chuckled.

“But you do it because you love me, right?”

“I sure as hell do. Come on, you’re going to help me this time.” Harry got up and headed to the kitchen with Draco in tow.

“But I’m absolute rubbish at cooking.” Draco whined again.

“That you are.” Harry smiled. “But I never said you were helping me cook…You can be my taster.”

“Yay!” Draco cheered once again, and heard Harry mutter something about like a bloody child under his breath.

Well, that had been a worthwhile argument to settle.

Harry pulled out two cloves of garlic, parsley, three tomatoes, a ball of mozzarella, and a wheel of parmesan from their refrigerator. At least their temperamental kitchen wasn’t acting up today. Harry popped four slices of garlic bread into the toaster.

“Ahh! They’re coming to kill me!”

Draco came back from the loo with a questioning look on his face. “What was that?”

“Hmm?”

“The ‘Ahh! They’re coming to kill me’?”

“Oh. Well. It was the toaster. Not me.” He pointed at the offending object and shook his head. “Yeah, that’s what you get trying to mix Muggle kitchen appliances with magic.”

“No matter,” Draco sighed as he took a seat at their kitchen table. “As long as I get my pasta.”

“No ‘thank you’ for Harry?”

“Well, would you rather a thank you or a sexual favor?” Draco batted his eyes innocently.

“Oh, I think you can choose for me.”

“Okay then. Thank you for making dinner tonight, Harry.” he said with a perfectly straight face.

~fin~