TEN REASONS WHY I LOVE YOU HARRY: (From Draco's POV)
1. The entire time they'd spoken, Draco had watched Potter, and finally those nomadic eyes wandered up to meet his own. A second passed, and then two and something, electricity or magic or perhaps it was as simple as recognition, hovered between them in the air. And then Potter's eyes closed and slowly reopened, and with his shy smile—Merlin, it might just kill Draco—he leaned forward and said, "The bangers and mash and Shepherd's pie here are the best I've ever had. I usually get them." Charmed Wool by winnett
2. If he’d known he was going to see Potter, he would have stayed sober and hard because if there was one thing that Draco had learned in the months that he and Potter had been doing whatever it was they were doing, it was that Potter was dangerous. He’d always known that to some degree, of course, known that Potter had some kind of weird hold over him that made him do stupid things to get his attention or prove him wrong. But that was before he’d known this Potter, the one that came to him in the middle of the night and wrung pleasure from him until Draco was mindless and shaking and begging for release. The Potter who knew all of Draco’s secrets, who drew Draco’s emotions out of him as easily as drawing water from a well. The Potter who lingered in the back of Draco’s mind, who left traces on his body, sense memories that would appear at random, the feeling of lips on the nape of his neck, of fingertips along the inside of his arm, of breath ghosting over the curve of his arse. The Potter who refused to pretend, refused to deny what he wanted. The Potter who wouldn’t let Draco pretend either. Baby, It's Cold Outisde by bryoneybrynn
3. Alarmed, Draco watches him wander out of sight, hands shoved in the pockets of yet another worn-thin pair of jeans. Beneath the trailing frayed hems, he notes that today, one sock is blue and the other has black and white stripes. Draco doubts that people who can’t even match their socks can read minds, but one never knows. A clairvoyant Potter is a very frightening prospect. On A Clear Day by saras_girl
4. Three nights later Draco has just finished brushing his teeth when the hinges of the front door creak. The toothbrush clatters onto the sink, then he's rushing through the hall, a small voice in his mind telling him he ought to be more careful, stay behind with his wand and wait so the advantage is on his side. But the wards are keyed to let only one person through without sounding an alarm. Draco stops in the door frame, reaching out to steady himself because Harry's standing on the other side of the room, seemingly unharmed. He's wearing the jeans Draco hates because they have holes in them and an old Weasley jumper and his hair is sticking up in all directions and Draco needs to take three rapid breaths because Harry's never looked as gorgeous before. The Longest Night by coffeejunkii
5. He loved the play of muscle beneath his skin, stroking his fingers along any he could reach. He well knew he was married to the most gorgeous man in existence, the most maddeningly layered, complicated, amazing man alive. To Create A Life by ravenpan
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timeasmymeasure
Re: HARRY'S THREAD
Date: 2014-02-07 07:12 pm (UTC)(From Draco's POV)
1. The entire time they'd spoken, Draco had watched Potter, and finally those nomadic eyes wandered up to meet his own. A second passed, and then two and something, electricity or magic or perhaps it was as simple as recognition, hovered between them in the air. And then Potter's eyes closed and slowly reopened, and with his shy smile—Merlin, it might just kill Draco—he leaned forward and said, "The bangers and mash and Shepherd's pie here are the best I've ever had. I usually get them." Charmed Wool by
2. If he’d known he was going to see Potter, he would have stayed sober and hard because if there was one thing that Draco had learned in the months that he and Potter had been doing whatever it was they were doing, it was that Potter was dangerous. He’d always known that to some degree, of course, known that Potter had some kind of weird hold over him that made him do stupid things to get his attention or prove him wrong. But that was before he’d known this Potter, the one that came to him in the middle of the night and wrung pleasure from him until Draco was mindless and shaking and begging for release. The Potter who knew all of Draco’s secrets, who drew Draco’s emotions out of him as easily as drawing water from a well. The Potter who lingered in the back of Draco’s mind, who left traces on his body, sense memories that would appear at random, the feeling of lips on the nape of his neck, of fingertips along the inside of his arm, of breath ghosting over the curve of his arse. The Potter who refused to pretend, refused to deny what he wanted. The Potter who wouldn’t let Draco pretend either. Baby, It's Cold Outisde by
3. Alarmed, Draco watches him wander out of sight, hands shoved in the pockets of yet another worn-thin pair of jeans. Beneath the trailing frayed hems, he notes that today, one sock is blue and the other has black and white stripes. Draco doubts that people who can’t even match their socks can read minds, but one never knows. A clairvoyant Potter is a very frightening prospect. On A Clear Day by
4. Three nights later Draco has just finished brushing his teeth when the hinges of the front door creak. The toothbrush clatters onto the sink, then he's rushing through the hall, a small voice in his mind telling him he ought to be more careful, stay behind with his wand and wait so the advantage is on his side. But the wards are keyed to let only one person through without sounding an alarm. Draco stops in the door frame, reaching out to steady himself because Harry's standing on the other side of the room, seemingly unharmed. He's wearing the jeans Draco hates because they have holes in them and an old Weasley jumper and his hair is sticking up in all directions and Draco needs to take three rapid breaths because Harry's never looked as gorgeous before. The Longest Night by
5. He loved the play of muscle beneath his skin, stroking his fingers along any he could reach. He well knew he was married to the most gorgeous man in existence, the most maddeningly layered, complicated, amazing man alive. To Create A Life by