The hot water was doing wonders for Draco's cold skin and slowly developing bruises. He was lucky really, those little fucks had all been wearing Converse. If they'd had proper trainers on, or even boots, he probably would be in the hospital right now. He rubbed his hair and the water bounced off him, massaging his sore muscles. He hoped Harry wouldn't be mad at him for wasting so much water, but he couldn't seem to speed up. 

He was able to reflect on how much his evening had changed in only a couple of hours. Finding himself on the wrong end of those kids' feet had felt pretty damn awful at the time, but when he considered it he was extremely lucky they'd not had any knives, and they'd only really got a few swings in each before getting bored and scarpering off on their BMXs. And if he hadn't been attacked, he wouldn't have stumbled upon Harry to come to his rescue.

Was it too much to hope, that they could maybe be friends after this?

Draco shook his head. He'd just have to be patient. He didn't want to push the other guy, but he hoped perhaps he wasn't imagining the connection he felt between them.

Harry seemed to pick his shower products based on colour rather than anything else; everything was a sort of an autumnal orange, all the lotions and gels, even the hand towels. Draco wondered if that was on purpose to match the Au Chat Noir posters, or by accident. If it was on purpose he felt it supported his Team Gay theory.

The shower gel he was using was a spicy orange scent, and Draco couldn't help but imagine that's how Harry smelled. That they would smell the same, be immersed in the same fragrance; it sparked something in him. The wine and the hot steam in the room were making his head swirl, and he found his thoughts drifting to a place where Draco got used to spicy oranges, used to having them around, used to his clothes surprising him with their perfume every now and again.

And then he found his hand dropping below his waist, imagining Harry wasn't downstairs after all but rather a lot closer. He wondered what he would look like with water running down his face and glistening orange suds slipping over his skin.

Draco promised himself he would take it slow with this man he had just met, that there might not even be anything there at all. But for the next few minutes, he imagined there was a great deal indeed.

xxx

Harry wasn't doing as well as he'd hoped. He'd had to count up the till three times now and he still wasn't convinced he'd got it right. Sod it, he thought. He already knew he was out about fifty pounds thanks to that wine he'd recklessly opened, but it had been worth it, so he couldn't bring it on himself to care. The counters had all had a quick wipe down and he had people coming in tomorrow early to deal with the delivery, so as he deposited the day's takings into the safe he reckoned he could probably call it quits. He'd been gone about twenty minutes and he hoped Draco wasn't bored. He had some more of his own wine upstairs, and now he was thinking he should have opened it to let it breathe. Or maybe Draco was already asleep, maybe he was too late?

Harry's insides ran cold as he double checked the locks and flicked off the last of the lights. He'd be pretty disappointed if that was the case. He'd hoped he could maybe get to know him a little more, beyond the incident this evening. What did he do for a living, where did he grown up, what was his last name?

His heart was definitely beating a little harder as he ascended the stairs back to his flat. What if he was imagining the whole thing and after tomorrow Draco just said thanks and wasn't interested in seeing him again. He sighed. He wasn't going to find out hanging around on the stairs.

Before he'd even opened the door he heard the hairdryer was going, but he wasn't prepared to be met with the sight of Draco stood in his living room, dressed solely in Harry's navy joggers, drying his white-blond hair and looking out the window into the darkness of Victoria Park. He was beautiful. Even with the faint purple hints of bruising coming through on the sides of his torso, his skin was pale and perfect, moving over well-defined muscles. He had good posture and the curve of his shoulders was like that of a swimmer. Harry blamed the wine when he instantly imagined what it would be like to cling on to those shoulders.

The hair dryer clicked off as Draco suddenly spotted Harry in the window's reflection. Shit, he'd meant to put his t-shirt on, he really had, he'd just got a bit late after his...time...in the shower and not wanted to put it on until his hair was dry and the Arnicare had absorbed into his skin. And now here he was, damp hair, no shirt, looking like he'd been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin.

"I found this in the bathroom cabinet," he said stupidly, holding up the hairdryer. "I hope it was alright to borrow?"

Harry realised, yet again, that he was staring. His mouth might even have been open. "Sure, of course," he stuttered, trying to remind himself that this was actually his flat and he needed to play it a little cooler unless he wanted to make a fool of himself. He turned the lock on the door and dropped his keys into the bowl on the side table. "You find everything okay?"

Draco decided to abandon his hair, and began winding the cord around the dryer before pulling the plug from the wall to return it to the bathroom. "Yeah great thanks," he said honestly. "I feel so much better now."

Harry watched him pop out of sight for a second, and he knew he let a moment of panic slip onto his face. What should he do, how did you entertain guys in your flat? It was different from uni where you usually just fell back through the door after a night out, snogging, and generally aimed yourself at the bed.

Draco re-emerged, t-shirt now on, which Harry thought was a minor travesty, but of course he kept his mouth shut.

"I guess you're pretty tired," he said before he could think, then cursed himself profusely. Why didn't he just admit defeat now!

Draco thought for a split second Harry was saying he was done for the night, but he decided to push his luck. "Actually, he said, spinning round to fetch his empty glass from the coaster on the table (which read Je ne parle pas Francais.) "I was hoping for a top up?"

He knew he didn't imagine the look on Harry's face; happiness? Relief? Whatever it was Draco was glad he'd taken a chance.

"Sure," breathed Harry, going round the island that marked the divide between living room and kitchen. His heart was singing. More wine meant at least another half an hour of talking. Maybe he should put some music on? he thought and he crouched down and skimmed his eyes along his own wine rack inside the island. What was cool, what might Draco like?

"How about a Pinot Noir?" he asked as he stood, then almost dropped the bottle as he realised Draco was leaning over the counter, watching him, and they were now almost face to face.

A smile twitched at his lips. "Sounds fabulous," he said. He was happy Harry didn't seem mad he'd finished off their first bottle whilst he'd been downstairs.

He watched as Harry relaxed a little and opened a cupboard to get two new wine glasses. Draco wouldn't have thought of that, he would have just used the old ones and mixed the different grapes, which would probably be quite vulgar to Harry. The idea of irritating Harry like that amused him further.

"What?" Harry asked, noticing the smile lighting up Draco's grey eyes.

"Nothing," he replied, but he still had that lop-sided grin, and Harry's insides threatened to liquefy.

He popped the cork and sniffed it, frowning at Draco. "You're laughing at me," he teased.

Draco held his hands up, like he had done when he'd first stumbled into Harry's bistro, and grinned even further. Just on that one side though, without the cut.

"I'm not I swear," Draco insisted, coming around the counter and resting his back against it. I just think you're quite cute, he wanted to say. He watched Harry pour them quite generous glasses, which was a good promise for stretching the night out a little further, then picked one up for himself and handed the other to Draco.

"Cheers," he said. "To an unusual night."

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "To my White Knight," he said, and touched their glasses lightly, so they rang out like a bell.

Harry rolled his eyes as he swirled the wine in his glass, inhaled the aroma, then took a little sip as he breathed in through his slightly parted lips. Oh those bloody lips.

"You know," he said, as Draco reformed his thoughts. "Knights traditionally slay dragons."

Draco felt his heart rate increase. He knew there was no going back now. "Yeah?" he said, pushing off the counter so he was just resting his right hip against it, and he and Harry were now facing each other. "Well, I'm not exactly a traditional boy."

Traditional...what? Could he be any more clichéd? He rolled with it though, probably in part due to the smooth red wine slipping over his tongue.

"Really?" said Harry softly. Was he saying what he thought he was saying? He suddenly felt very hot.

Draco's eyes were locked with Harry's emerald ones. "Yeah," he said, swallowing his nerves. "And I could be wrong, but I don't think you're one much for tradition either?"

Harry wasn't quite sure how his knees hadn't buckled. Maybe they were just paralysed with fear. "Not really," he admitted. He breathed in and out, and suddenly, Draco wasn't quite as far away any more. It seemed like there were only inches between their faces, and his lips tugged into that lop-sided grin.

His eyelids were lowered, coppery lashes skimming cheekbones as he focused on Harry's mouth. "Thought so," he whispered, as he closed the final breadth, and softly touched their lips together.

Harry unceremoniously banged his wine glass onto the counter, freeing both his hands to slip through Draco's soft, damp hair, their lips fighting as they both fell into the kiss. His mind whirled as he felt Draco's hands slide onto his waist, tracing up his back as his tongue pushed through Harry's lips and tasted the wine lingering in his own mouth.

The moment stretched forever, and yet was over in an instant as Draco suddenly pulled back, leaving Harry to inhale, bereft. Their foreheads rested together as they panted, hands entwined in hair, eyes all but closed. Harry could still see Draco's mouth though, still see the tender corner where those fuckers had split his lip.

He touched it as gently as he could with his thumb. "Did I hurt you?" he breathed.

Draco responded by cupping his hand with his own and nuzzling the side of his face into his palm. "No," he said, before raising his eyes and giving the smallest of grins. "Well, maybe a little, but I don't mind."

Harry's insides flipped over, but Draco didn't give him a chance before he'd ducked back in for another kiss, pulsing their mouths and tongues together, bumping the bridge of his nose against his glasses, running his hands down Harry's back and through his hair. He was a little taller than him, and Harry quite liked the brief glimpses he stole, looking up at this beautiful dragon he'd somehow managed to find in his home in the middle of the night.

Draco's hands were becoming well acquainted with the top half of Harry's body, and something inside him sang as he leant into the kiss, ignoring the sharp pricks of pain his lip gave him. He knew who was giving it to him, and he found it sort of exciting. He was here because of that lip, and that lip had brought him to this moment. With these lips.

He gripped against Harry's white shirt, feeling his body underneath, holding him as he gasped for breaths between kisses. He had a lithe body, like someone who spent all day running about on their feet, and it wasn't long before Draco found he wanted more. Needed more.

His fingers skimmed around Harry's waist, not breaking the kiss, but tracing up his chest and fumbling against the buttons hiding that body from him. So many fucking buttons! But when Harry realised what he was doing he stilled, mouth poised millimetres below his own, as he gave the smallest of nods. I give you permission.

Draco pushed back into the kiss, slowly taking the time to prise each button free. He really, really, wanted to rip the damn thing apart, but there was something delicious about the wait, about feeling Harry tremble in trepidation under his touch. "I want you," he whispered, barely catching breaths between kisses.

Harry reeled, flooded with sensation at Draco's words as he reached the final button and spilled Harry's shirt open, the air hitting his chest he could feel rising and falling heavily under Draco's persistence. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, shaking the shirt off and letting it drop to the floor. He remembered the sight that had greeted him when he'd entered the flat. Now he was bare chested, he wasn't wasting much time in peeling Draco's top back off.

Draco's gave a little gasp as Harry's fingers worked their way under his shirt, they were cold and the sensation tingled up his spine. He let Harry move the t-shirt up, let his hands gently explore the areas those ASBO kids had hurt him. He felt vulnerable, but the trust he had that Harry wouldn't hurt him further swept through him like wildfire. He wanted to be vulnerable for him.

Harry's hands reached the top of his ribs, and Draco pulled away from the kiss, raising his arms like a wanted man admitting defeat. Harry's green eyes locked with his again as he slipped the t-shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor without a care and running his hands back down Draco's chest, across his sides, up his back.

"Do you believe in fate?" he rasped.

"Right now?" Draco replied, copying Harry's moves, letting his hands roam, his breathing seeming to drag all the way through his body from his toes through every, single, tingling muscle. "Fuck yeah."

Harry looped his fingers over Draco's waist band, tugging the joggers he'd leant him and moving towards the bedroom. "Good," he smiled into the kiss.

Draco let himself be led, their feet stumbling together across Harry's living room as he kept his hands in that black hair, mouth against those full lips.

Harry pushed open the door and left it like that. It gave enough light so he could see Draco, but not enough so Draco could see the mess that was scattered about the floor, or on the drawers...or falling out of the wardrobe. He felt a laugh rise through his chest, knowing it vibrated against Draco's lips without anything he could do. "What?" Draco hissed, pulling at Harry's belt.

"Nothing," Harry mimicked from his words earlier.

"Good," Draco mimicked right back.

They tumbled onto the bed, which was mercifully free of debris. Harry moulded under the bigger weight of Draco, sinking into the mattress as the scramble against his jeans continued. Harry took the opportunity to slip his hands below the joggers, and just like he'd hoped, Draco had neglected to add any boxers.

Draco's mirth thrummed through his throat and into Harry's. He liked that. So Harry continued.

He ran his hands up and down, kneading Draco's flesh, hyper aware to feather touch his tender spots, feeling desperate to pay more tribute to other, more sensitive ones, and so his hands slipped from behind to front, groping for Draco's arousal, making him gasp.

"Get these fucking jeans off," he snarled, and Harry laughed, letting him go and yanking at the denim, kicking his loafers of, trying to take the socks with them.

Draco stilled. "Keep the socks on," he growled.

Harry would have argued blind an hour again that couldn't have possibly been sexual, but at that moment, pressed underneath his blond dragon, locked with his grey eyes, his heart all but stopped.

"Is that what knights do?" he whispered, lacing kisses down Draco's neck.

Draco grinned, even though he knew Harry couldn't' see it. "It's what knights do who don't want to end up burnt to a crisp."

"Fair point," Harry gulped. He paused a moment, then slipped his fingers around his glasses, casting them aside on the bedside table.

He was naked now below Draco, aside from the socks. Draco turned and nestled his elbows either side of his head, resting their bellies together, kicking off the ends of his joggers. "Are you sure about this?" he whispered.

"No doubt," Harry breathed back, cupping his face in his palm.

And who was Draco to argue?

xxx

Harry stirred, several hours later, when the sun was peeking through the curtains and the clock was still offensively early. But the wine was gone and every inch of his body ached in the most wonderful way, and he turned to grab his glasses, then folded himself around the boy sleeping next to him, running his fingers through his hair as lightly as he could so as not to wake him.

He failed, but then he wasn't convinced Draco was truly asleep in the first place. "Are you okay?" he asked softly as the blond boy stirred.

"Yes," he said simply, peeking out from under the duvet. His halo of snow-white hair stilled Harry's heart, until he realised, at least for that moment, it was all his. "You?"

Harry took a moment to smile. "Perfect," he said, trailing his fingers down the side of his face, before softly running his thumb along his lower lip.

Draco stretched out under him, like a cat, lengthening, posturing, before coiling back under Harry's watchful eye. "Did you ever think," he mused. "That last night would end up like this?"

Harry barked out a laugh. "No, not in a million years," he admitted. "But when you came through my door...I hoped."

Draco rewarded him with that lop-sided grin. "You sly dog you," he admonished. But Harry cut him off with a slow, long kiss.

"No," he told his dragon after a while.

"I just have faith in happy ever afters."

The End

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