Threatening To Love You.

Title: Paper-thin Dreams.
Author: Pekeleke
Pairing(s): Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter.
Rating: M
Challenge: Written for the adventdrabbles 2021. Prompt #15: Meet me under the mistletoe.
Word Count: 966
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 14 of my Christmas Series: Threatening To Love You.
Summary: “Whoever in the world has heard of something as inane as a future boyfriend? He'd come up with that ridiculous label to keep himself emotionally detached for however long it took until his paper-thin dreams ripped. Now Draco marvels at his own idiocy and Harry's generosity of spirit in indulging his silly whim.”

Paper-thin Dreams.

Draco has never been so turned on in his life. He'd realized, somewhere in the back of his mind, that the future boyfriend label wouldn't apply to Harry for long. Draco has been hopelessly attracted to Harry for years, but he'd been too aware of their complicated past to contemplate approaching the man.

Despite appearances to the contrary, Draco is deeply insecure. Blaise likes to blame his father for that, but that's just his friend's adorable way of refusing to accept the truth: Draco is too pale, too skinny, too neurotic, and far too sharp-tongued to ever attract a decent man. Furthermore, Harry has a title of his own and is too rich himself to be lured in by Draco's money, so— deep down, Draco has been understandably wary of his long-time crush's sudden confession of affection. Whoever in the world has heard of something as inane as a future boyfriend? He'd come up with that ridiculous label to keep himself emotionally detached for however long it took until his paper-thin dreams ripped. Now Draco marvels at his own idiocy and Harry's generosity of spirit in indulging his silly whim.

During the Games&Sports' department party, Harry shows him such open devotion that Draco can no longer doubt his sincerity. Draco wants him. He has always wanted him. And tonight, finally, Draco has made up his mind to trust Harry completely. Never a particularly circumspect soul, Harry dotes on him cheerfully. Draco has never attended a public event with a companion more attuned to his every need or more willing to indulge them. Harry gladly protects Draco from the evil goats, refills his glass whenever it empties, fetches him at least one variety of every hors d'oeuvre on the menu, and ferociously stares down any man over forty who even looks like they were planning to approach Draco.

Harry also informs anyone willing to listen, and since he happens to be The Darling Hero Of The Wizarding World, that means literally everyone present, that Draco is his future boyfriend and is, therefore, already spoken for. So no handsy old men are allowed to 'bother' Draco anymore. Or else. The look of abject terror on the faces of Henderson and his cronies amuses Draco to no end, charming away the last battered remains of his emotional barriers, so he instantly caves in when Harry spots a bunch of greenery dangling from the balcony roof; points at it with a trembling index finger and demands, "You'll meet me under that sprig of mistletoe in the next five minutes if you care at all about my sanity. You look like a million galleons in that dinner jacket, Draco. I've been dreaming of wrinkling it since I first saw it."

Six minutes later, Draco's narrow back is firmly pushed against the wall beside the balcony's French doors while the Savior Of The Wizarding World tries his best to devour his pale neck one knee-meltingly slow kiss at a time.

Draco had dreamed about this exact outcome all along but hadn't allowed himself to imagine it'd come true. Hadn't dared speculate how it'd feel to have Harry's greedy lips, his worshipful hands, all over him. Snogging in ministry corners, no matter how heavily, can not compare to this. Holding hands on the way to Draco's favorite bistro for lunch hadn't felt like this either. That had been acknowledgment. The permission Harry had needed to stop trying to be subtle about his feelings. This is hunger, unchecked. Passion the likes of which Draco has never known before.

"You smell divine, and taste better than all those fancy canapes of yours," Harry whispers. Draco groans when Harry's lips latch onto the sensitive spot behind his ear, worrying the skin there and probably leaving a mark. Draco smiles. He'll wear Harry's mark with pride tomorrow morning. Draco has always wanted to belong to someone kind and strong. Unlike his father, Draco longs to be cherished. He's not interested in dominating the people he loves.

"Home," Harry mouths that raw-toned word against Draco's reddening skin, turning his very bones into goo, "Please, tell me you're coming home with me."

Draco groans again, already too excited to answer verbally. He wraps his arms around Harry's neck instead and kisses him enthusiastically. Harry swears colorfully, presses closer, and tugs impatiently at Draco's shirt buttons. The world narrows to a tiny cocoon where nothing but blind pawing, uncoordinated rutting, and heavy breathing exists.

"Off. Get this off. Now, Draco."

Draco laughs, giddy with the rush of being so ardently desired by the man he's been obsessed with for half his life, "Not here, you, berk. Take me to your place. I want to make love in your bed."

Harry's green gaze turns glassy with lust. He tugs Draco even closer and Apparates them right out of the Ministry, which is probably impossible for anyone but him. They materialize in a messy home office. When Draco lurches in his arms, Harry lifts him onto a desk and kisses him even more breathless. Draco melts into the kiss, fingers digging proprietorially on Harry's silky-soft hair. Harry growls and pulls frantically at his dinner jacket.

Draco laughs, relishing Harry's impatience, and pulls away from his boyfriend's lips to pull the exquisitely tailored jacket off his arms. He's is about to drop the garment unceremoniously on the floor when his name, written in one of the papers that litters it, catches his attention. Draco freezes. Then he stumbles away from the desk, away from Harry's arms, and stares uncomprehendingly at the wrinkled piece of paper bearing the first words of a message Draco recognizes instantly:

Malfoy,

I'm going to kill you. Slowly -

Draco picks up the discarded draft with trembling fingers and demands in a tone as cold as ice, "What is the meaning of this, Potter?"