lomonaaeren | [one-shots]: Working Relationship, PG-13, for megyal

Title: Working Relationship
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~1000
Warnings: Suggestion and innuendo, ignores the epilogue, a tiny pinch of angst to whole cups of fluff.
Summary: Harry is worried about the way Draco seems to be suffering a general malaise. The cure may be simpler than he thinks.
Author’s Notes: This is a thank-you gift fic for

megyal, who gave me a snowflake gift and requested H/D and the prompt of “medicine.”

Working Relationship

“Draco?”

Draco, curled on the couch, didn’t lift his head when Harry walked through the door. Harry hesitated, glancing instinctively from his boyfriend’s bowed head to the grey sky beyond the windows.

He’d thought Draco’s mood had changed with the arrival of winter, what with the biting wind and the constant lack of sunshine and the slush—churned into nasty piles that looked like loads of horseshit—that currently occupied London’s streets. But Draco had snapped at him the other day that it was nothing so “simple” as the change of seasons, and curled up tighter, like an offended cat. He’d even refused to eat the meal Harry had cooked that night, which was beyond unusual.

Then he’d thought Draco might be upset because he was spending so much time at work (catching the last of the renegade Death Eaters would do that to an Auror), and he’d come home early on purpose today. But apparently it would need more than that to excite Draco.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, moving closer.

Draco hunched his shoulders and gave Harry a glare through his fringe. Harry had to bite his lip hard. Draco looked like a sulky little toy dog moping over being denied its favorite treat. But he doubted Draco would forgive him if he smiled now.

“It’s been a month,” Draco said, his voice scored with anxiety and hurt. That banished Harry’s laughter more quickly than anger could have done. “Do you realize that?”

Harry sat down on the chair in front of the couch and stared at Draco, honestly at a loss. “A month since what?” The only thing he could remember off-hand that he’d done a month ago—at least, the only thing that was unusual—was staying away overnight on a case, and Draco had acted the same as usual when he came home. And anyway, Draco had sometimes spent longer than that away from home when a picky, secretive client wanted a jewel appraised on their property. Harry didn’t make him suffer because he was lonely.

Draco leaned forwards and looked at him until Harry had to clasp his hands to keep from squirming.

“A month since we had sex,” he whispered. “When were you going to tell me that you wanted to stop?”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “It has?” He honestly hadn’t remembered. It seemed there were so many cases this month, and he hadn’t been in the mood, and Draco hadn’t suggested it either. He simply turned away coldly when Harry reached for him, and usually fell asleep. Harry had assumed that Draco hadn’t been in the mood either.

How can I do something wrong both by trying to touch him and by not trying to touch him? Harry thought, running his hand through his hair.

Then he remembered, and wanted to roll his eyes. It doesn’t need to make sense. It’s Draco.

“It has?” Draco mimicked, opening his eyes so wide that Harry scowled. He was sure he didn’t look like that. No one could look that naïve and stupid. “Yes, Potter, it bloody well has. One would think you didn’t want me anymore, if I didn’t have some reassurance that I am eminently desirable, all a man could want.” He retreated into the corner of the couch again, arms folded so tight that Harry thought he’d crack his own ribs.

Harry refused to rise to the bait. Draco was spoiled and self-contradictory and petulant, but he wasn’t unfaithful. He got the “reassurance” he was talking about by glancing into the mirror each morning.

“I’m sorry about that,” Harry said. “But I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. And you know me, Draco.” He shrugged helplessly. “I go along with a routine and don’t think much about it, and then it’s a month later and I’ve forgotten someone’s birthday or anniversary, or I’ve been doing things that annoy people all this time and I didn’t realize.”

Draco sniffed, but the tight folding of his arms relaxed a bit. He liked it when Harry freely admitted his faults. “One could also say that your libido has never been the most active part of you.”

“No, it hasn’t.” Harry saw a chance to regain some of the ground he’d lost. He leaned forwards and fixed his eyes on Draco. “Do you know how rare it is that I want someone?” he asked softly. “Actually want to touch someone’s skin and hair and slide my hands slowly down their spine to cup their arse? Actually want to feel them resting next to me or twisting on top of me or to wake up beside them?”

Draco’s eyes widened again, but this time more slowly and without any mocking purpose. “You don’t mention that often enough,” he said.

“No, I don’t.” Harry caught one of his hands and raised it to his mouth. Draco tensed once as if he would tug it away, but Harry ignored the warning and curled his tongue into the middle of Draco’s palm instead.

The silent struggle went on for some minutes, with Draco gritting his teeth and Harry not doing anything, just sitting there with his tongue tasting skin. Then Draco grabbed his head and drew him into a furious kiss.

Harry willingly went along with it, smiling into Draco’s lips. Draco always seemed to think apologies were things that happened to other people, shameful and secret and dirty things. Most of their rows got settled by Harry soothing them instead.

But he didn’t mind, because that was the way Draco was, and if Harry had wanted someone else, he would have been with someone else.

Besides, he thought, as Draco yanked his head to the side and bore down on his neck with teeth and tongue, the things I consider shameful and secret and dirty, he doesn’t.

It was a nice working relationship altogether, and it was a very smug Harry who let himself be dragged into the bedroom.

End.