Threatening To Love You.

Title: Three, Two, One. Kiss.
Author: Pekeleke
Pairing(s): Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter.
Rating: M
Challenge: Written for the adventdrabbles 2021. Prompt #12: Christmas Full Moon
Word Count: 963
Warnings: Explicit Language. Dramatic Draco. Humor.
Disclaimer: The characters, setting, and the HP franchise are owned by JKR and not me. I make no profit from writing this piece of fanfiction.
A/N: Unbeated. Ch 12 of my Christmas Series: Threatening To Love You.
Summary: “Draco hadn’t realized he ranks higher than his precious fans in Harry’s priority list. Draco wonders how many late-night kisses and hurried lunch dates it’ll take before he ranks even higher than Weasley. The little jealous kid Draco used to be is delighted at the thought that such a thing is possible.”

Three, Two, One. Kiss.

Draco barely manages to make it back to his department’s floor, a mere five minutes before one o’clock. He runs his hands through his disheveled hair, cursing those blasted goats all the way to hell.

He can’t believe he’s about to present himself red-faced, wild-haired, and out of breath to his future boyfriend just because six of those foul-smelling, four-legged fiends managed to escape their holding pen, forcing him, Brian the goatherd, and poor Juliet to run like lunatics, and catch them.

By now, Draco is so wholly exasperated with the folks from Sports&Games, that he’s considering canceling their stupid soiree and taking the hit to his department’s reputation. The longer he indulges those idiots’ ridiculous whims, the harder they’ll make his life in the future. Draco takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, massaging the sides of his forehead to ease the awful headache starting to bloom there. When he opens his eyes again, Harry stands before him, a frown of concern marring his already scarred forehead.

“What’s up, Buttercup?” Harry greets him softly, lifting a confident hand to squeeze Draco’s shoulder in a gesture that reeks of caring, affection, and comfort. Draco doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve any of those things, but he’ll take them anyway. He’s a greedy soul. Draco is Slytherin through and through. Avarice comes with the territory.

“Buttercup?” Draco frowns in confusion, “I thought it was sunshine.”

“You didn’t seem to like that one, so I’m trying something new.”

Draco feels himself instantly relax as Harry guides him toward the lifts, “I don’t like Buttercup either. It’s too feminine.”

Harry fakes a shocked gasp, “It is not! Christmas Full Moon or Delightfully Fuzzy Peach is feminine, but Buttercup is gender-neutral, you, prat.”

Someone tries to intercept Harry in the atrium, but he acts like he can’t hear them, takes hold of Draco’s arm, and sets such a punishing pace toward the public fireplaces that even Draco’s long legs struggle to keep up, “Are we putting out a fire? That bloke was trying to talk to you,” Draco huffs, out of breath, and his cheeks grown even redder than they already were when Harry answers.

“He’s just a groupy, Draco. I’m not letting one of those interrupt our time together. I’ll sign his bloody autograph when you’re too busy to go out with me.”

The swirl of the Floo masks Draco’s gasp of shock. He hadn’t realized he ranks higher than his precious fans in Harry’s priority list. Draco wonders how many late-night kisses and hurried lunch dates it’ll take before he ranks even higher than Weasley. The little jealous kid Draco used to be is delighted at the thought that such a thing is possible.

As soon as Draco steps out into the street behind Harry, his future boyfriend casts a wandless cleaning and anti-wrinkle charm on him. Draco is so impressed by the casual show of power that he forgets to squawk in outrage at the prat’s over-familiarity. Draco doesn’t like people casting spells on him, especially when the magic is non-verbal. Harry’s magic shouldn’t have made it past his personal wards, but that’s a problem to worry about another day.

“There. Now you’re back to your prim and proper self,” Harry says, leaning closer to whisper in his ear, “There were goat footprints on your robes.”

Draco’s gray gaze widens in horror, “You let me leave my department with dirty robes?”

Harry shrugs, “I was going to point it out straight away, but you were looking so stressed that I forgot.”

“You. Forgot.”

“I was busy trying to cheer you up.”

“That’s— Urg! Can’t you stop being so dammed sweet? It’s giving me a cavity, and I refuse to have unsightly teeth.”

Harry laughs, interlaces their fingers, and pulls Draco ever-so-gently down the street, “But I want to be sweet to you, Honey-bunny. How else will I convince you to kiss me in the back alley of your favorite bistro?”

Draco smiles shyly. He’s not used to the kind of playfulness Harry is displaying. But he likes it. He more than likes it. He loves it.

“I’m beginning to think I might kiss you regardless,” He confesses self-consciously, and Harry stops dead in the middle of the street and turns toward him, googling incredulously.

“Really?”

Draco’s blush must have reached the most mortifying shade of unsightly magenta, judging by the heat in his cheeks. Still, he forces himself to stare at Harry’s eager face steadily and whispers, “Really.”

“Merlin! C-can I kiss you right here?”

Draco blinks. He feels a little awkward as his gray gaze sweeps the busy pavement with mounting panic, “You want to kiss me here? I thought you wanted to go slow.”

“You told me last night that snogging like boars in heat was fine!”

Draco gasps, affronted, “Nobody mentioned boars of any kind, Potter.”

“It was a metaphor, you, git. And stop calling me Potter when you’re huffy; it reminds me of school. Now can I snog you here or not?”

Draco gapes at him in bewilderment, “You still want to kiss me?”

“Of course,” Harry says, looking at him like Draco is the one who’s gone crazy.

“Er— aren’t we in the middle of a fight?” Draco asks uncertainly.

“You call this a fight?” Potter asks, bemused.

“What do you call it?” Draco asks curiously.

“Banter,” Potter says, and Draco bursts out laughing.

“If that’s your idea of flirting, you need all the help you can get.”

Harry smiles winningly at him, comes close enough to encircle Draco’s slender waist in his arms, and whispers conspiratorially in his ear, “I don’t need any help, Handsome. I’ve caught the man of my dreams already, and I’m gonna kiss his socks off, right here, in three, two, one. Kiss. ”