Slytherin Green

"No, no, no, Potter," Draco said as he backed hurriedly away. "No, I mean it. Hey, I said nummmph!"

Pulling his lips away from the blonde's, Harry grinned playfully at Draco and smirked, "What was that? Numph was it?"

"Very funny, Har-- Potter. Now I demand that you unhand me at once, you brute. I am still very angry at y-you," he faltered as Harry's lips went back to work, this time on his neck. "The way you behaved! I was embarrassed for you from across the Hall. I imagine you created quite a mess, drooling all over the table. I'm surprised Weasley didn't have to put your tongue back in your mouth for you."

"No, my tongue remained perfectly in control of itself the entire time," Harry replied matter-of-factly.

"Yesss, I s-see that," Draco hissed, as Harry showed him how in-control of his tongue he was. "Wh--. Will you please stop that?" insisted Draco, once his mind cleared and he remembered that he was upset.

Harry looked up at Draco's serious expression and took a disappointed step back. "What is it? You aren't really angry about Hans, are you?" The look on Draco's face as Harry said the name answered the question. "Draco, you haven't any reason to be upset. I gave him a little tour of the castle, that's all."

"Oh? And did you show him the old fencing room as well? How about the fifth floor broom cabinet? Moaning Myrtle's old bathroom? That classroom that shows up every third Saturday?" asked Draco coolly.

"Draco, you know I'd never take anyone to any of our places," Harry answered, slightly offended.

"Well, did you discover a new spot, then? A new place for you and Hans?" he accused with venom.

"Draco. He is a new student here and needed someone to show him around. That's exactly what I did, no more, no less," Harry explained. "I didn't even want to do that; McGonagall volunteered me for the job."

"Yes, well, I didn't see you fighting to get out of it, "replied Draco, huffily. "And besides, I'm sure McGonagall didn't force your tongue out of your mouth when he walked by. I saw the way you were looking at him." In a fit of childish frustration, he crossed his arms and turned away from Harry.

Harry had known, from the first time he laid eyes on Draco, that he was a painfully spoiled brat. The better Harry got to know Draco, the more he knew it to be true, and the more he was annoyed by it. Yet, somehow, it was also one of the things that Harry loved about him, and he wouldn't change it for the world. There was something so terribly cute and vulnerable about seeing Draco pout which made Harry want to gather him up in his arms and vow that Draco would never want for anything again as long as he lived. This time wasn't unlike any of the others, and what Draco wanted now was Harry--something Harry was more than willing to offer.

Winding his arms around Draco's delicate waist, Harry pushed his chest into Draco's back, his chin resting perfectly on Draco's shoulder. Harry sighed heavily, half out of relief that Draco had let him be wrapped up in Harry, and half from the sheer rightness that always overcame him when he was so close to Draco. Despite his best effort to stubbornly ignore Harry's presence, Harry could feel Draco lean back ever so slightly.

"Draco. I did not have hot, sweaty Swedish sex today." At this, the blond in Harry's arms stiffened and moved forward slightly. Pulling Draco back against his chest again--where Harry always thought Draco was meant to be--he continued, "And you know better. Did I look at him? Yes. Did I find him attractive? Yes. Would I like to find out for myself just what makes Swedish Meatballs so tasty--?"

Draco quickly pulled away from Harry again and whirled around to face Harry. Smiling knowingly, Harry remarked, "Ah, I knew that would do it, " and grinned so innocently that Draco wouldn't resist smiling back, even if a little bitterly. "Yes, Hans is attractive, but so are a load of other guys. You don't see me running off with any of them, do you?"

"Not yet," Draco pouted.

"Yet? I know you, Draco Malfoy, and I know that you understand full-well that I'll not be doing anything of the sort anytime soon. I'm onto you, you know. Fine. If that's what you want, fine. Draco," Harry stated firmly, looking into his boyfriend's eyes. "I would never leave you for a quick shag in an empty classroom. As a matter of fact, I doubt I'll ever leave you for anyone or anything, ever. Does that make you feel better? If the sexiest boy in all of England walked up to me and seduced me within an inch of my life, I suspect that even as he swept me off my feet, I'd reflect that his hands don't feel as nicely as yours do against my skin; no, you're a much better feet-sweeper than he is. I love you, and that can never be changed by some Durmstrang-reject, got that?"

When finally that evil pout melted from Draco's face, it was replaced with that even more terrible satisfied grin that always graced his countenance when he knew he'd gotten his way. Even as Draco leaned closer and pressed that awful grin into Harry's lips, Harry thought vaguely that he ought to be upset at being so skillfully manipulated by Draco, again. As Draco laced his fingers together behind his head, however, none of that seemed to matter much.

When this kiss ended, Harry looked deeply once again into Draco's eyes--ice blue, and yet somehow the warmest place Harry had ever been. "Besides," he said, casually. "Why would I want a Swedish Meatball when I have my very own English Tart?"