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The earth was damp and soft under Draco's fingers, digging under his nails and coating his skin in a thin layer of cold, black soil. He was flushed, and it wasn't just because the sun was high above them, and the apple three they were crouching under gave so little shade. There were several reasons, some better than others but all of them so un-Malfoy-like.
The thing was that if Draco wasn't a fool, he wouldn't have allowed his gardener to persuade him to help. But Draco was a fool. A desperate, love-sick, pining fool who has been in a constant state of blushing ever since he employed Harry Potter as his gardener. He couldn't believe there wasn't magic running through Potter's veins, because despite the man not having all the linen and silk shirts, all the hairstylists and servants, he looked like a god who found himself in the world of mortals just to plant some gardenias by Draco's swimming pool.
It's been two months since Draco spent his first morning on his balcony, staring longingly at Potter's figure bellow, nearly shimmering in the sun. His excuse had always been and always will be that under Potter's supervision, the garden was becoming a little patch of Eden, and Draco couldn't resist not watching is grow and flourish under the soft kisses of the early summer sun. He doubted anyone believed him but it was easier than to say that he only ever swam in the evening because he didn't dare to even think how he might react if Potter met his eyes.
It was routine by now. Draco would wake up in his lonely bed with the first notes of birdsong, he would have breakfast in the summer kitchen, which overlooked his small, private, sandy beach that blended into the azure waves of the Mediterranean sea, he would take a book from his library, almost at random since he ever found concentration to read them anymore, and he would head back to his room, open the doors of his balcony, and settle in a slightly uncomfortable chair overlooking the gardens below him. He would spend hours on end, pretending to read, letting his eyes wander over lush bushes and stretching threes, delicate flowers mixing on the edges of orchard, the glistening, fresh water of his barely used swimming pool until they found the glowing figure with sun-kissed, olive skin, whose curls matched the soil he dug and whose smile he only saw once, weeks ago when Potter had just come to work for him.
It was a banal affair, a pathetic sort of situation that really wasn't all that important if Draco dared to look from an outside perspective. A little bit of one-sided, unrequited lust, combined with months of aching for something, fear of getting caught starring and amazement about the possibility that someone as divine as Potter could exist. It was nothing whatsoever to worry about, really, and yet, for every morning spent daydreaming about Potter's hands around him, Draco spent hours tossing and turning in his sleep, uncertain of what was to be done about his problem.
Today, however, Draco realised that no matter how good his plans were or how sure he was of the control of his feelings, the universe will always be there to flip him off and turn his world upside down.
It was a Sunday. A sunny, mid-June, perfect, little Sunday. The thing about Sundays was that Potter had a day off. Always. Without exception. So, Draco's morning routine changed in one significant way. Instead of reapplying sunscreen in hopes his skin doesn't turn into the colour of Potter's roses, he would eat his breakfast slowly, savouring each bite and then, with his hair lacking any product and a glass of icy lemonade, he would go to the pool. He would doze off in the soft, morning sun and when he felt like the temperature was too high for his liking, he would slip into the water, graciously and with style because that was the only way he ever did things. He would swim laps, over and over, his skin tingling with freedom. He always felt his best in water which was one of the reasons he moved into this manor after the death of his parents even though his options were nearly endless. The way the water licked his back and his arms, his thighs completely free and cloth-less as he only ever wore speedos, was nearly as magical as watching Potter bend and stretch while working in the luscious greenery of his garden.
There was this unique privacy that filled Draco with joy when it came to his manor. There were no people living or residing near him, and the nearest town was half an hours drive. All his employees were old, grumpy people who couldn't care less what Draco's doing or with whom. So swimming for hours in nothing but swim briefs was an easy, joyful thing to do. And even if it was inappropriate to any extent, who was there to see him?
Well, his gardener apparently.
Draco's instinct was to hide but where does one side when they are in an open swimming pool? His fingers closed his nose and he pushed himself under the surface. The second the top of his head was submerged, frustration filled his head. This was his stupidest idea yet and he didn't understand how something so dumb could even cross his mind, but then again, all kinds of foolish things crossed his mind whenever Potter was near him. He dived deeper and swan to the side of the pool, pushing his body out, slowly, the sun catching every single droplet that slid across his marble skin. Once he was out, he grabbed his towel and busied himself with drying his hair as Potter approached him from the other side of the courtyard.
"Such a pleasant surprise, Mr Potter," he greeted, cursing all the gods when his voice wavered near the end. "Have you forgotten something?"
"Not exactly," Potter shook his head and Draco tried not to stare at his muscled forearms as he twisted garden shears in his hands. "Er... I'm here since I didn't get to finish with the peach trimming and I've heard it's going to rain next week. But please don't let me disturb you!"
"Oh you're not disturbing, Potter," Draco chuckled, waving his head dismissively. "If anything, I fear I might disturb you."
Potter shook his head lightly, his face turning beat red as he hurried towards the cool, green shade of the orchard. Draco settled on his deck chair, closing his eyes and letting the quickened heartbeat inside his chest overwhelm him. It was so ridiculous, how flustered he felt after a word or two were said in his direction in Potter's sweet, honied voice. If it wasn't for his cool, professional mask he might've just embarrassed himself.
He stayed by the pool, absorbing the sun and if his eyes found their way to Potter and his sweaty, translucent T-shirt that clung to his gorgeous, lean back, it wasn't a big deal at since he should supervise his employees every now and again.
It was nearly noon when he stood up, gathered all of his clothes and planned to discreetly return inside without any Potter-related incidents. That, however, turned out to be quite impossible as Potter was currently kneeling by the flower beds that stretched by the garden lane which was Draco's only way to the house. He walked quickly, avoiding looking at Potter but just as he passed him, he realised that it was unusual for him to be planting anything this late in the day. He turned on his heel without thinking and asked, confused and slightly worried, "What are you doing?"
Potter looked up at him, his straw hat titling with his head. He smiled politely but Draco couldn't miss the way his eyes flickered up and down Draco's barely clad figure. "The wind last night was way too strong for these dahlias. I'm just adding more soil, making sure they're not torn from their roots."
"Ah...", Draco nodded, his brows still furrowed. He intended to move, to leave but for some reason, he kept staring at the colourful flowers, and Harry's hands, dirty with soil and his smile, hesitant but as bright as the sun above them.
"Wanna help, Mr Malfoy?", Potter asked carefully, leaning backwards to sit on his heels as Draco made his decision. Draco's face softened and he smiled back at his gardener, dropping his towel and his sunscreen to the floor and crouched down.
"Only if you call me Draco," he shrugged and moved closer to the flower beds. "I always feel old when people call me Mr Malfoy... bleh."
"Sure, Draco," Harry snorted and then added after a moment, "But you must call me Harry."
"But that would be extremely unprofessional!" Draco frowned expecting Potter to apologise but he only continued smirking, self-satisfyingly.
"And me calling you Draco isn't? You can't have both, Mr Malfoy."
They held each other's gaze for a long, aching moment before Draco's shoulders slumped and he sighed in an overly exaggerated manner.
"Fine! Tell me what to do with these flowers, Harry!"
Harry laughed and Draco's breath hitched. His eyes were wide and his heart beat faster than ever for he was certain that the sound of Harry's laugh could be compared to angels singing, to nymphs giggling, to the world being born every morning over and over.
"Come here," Harry asked, offering him a hand and Draco blinked.
"Pardon?"
"So I can show you what to do?" Harry tilted his head and he looked at Darco with a look that could be called concerned but Draco felt there was more amusement in the curve of Harry's lips that worry.
"It's not hard at all...", Harry murmured when Draco kneeled closer and turned towards the flowers. "All you have to do is, move the leaves aside - hold it with the stem so they don't bother you - and just press the earth down, towards the stem. Like this!"
Draco watched as Harry did it with one plant and then another, his brows furrowed, burning lines into his forehead. He looked at the plant before him and did as he just saw Harry doing. He wrapped his fingers around the leaves and the step, holding them together, gently and when he had a clear look on the soil, he pushed it firmly with tips of his fingers. The cool earth covered his fingers. For a moment he allowed himself to enjoy the short laugher of Harry's when he watched him work but then Harry was moving closer and Draco's heart skipped a beat and panic rose in his chest.
Harry's hands were surprisingly soft when they covered Draco's to guide him and there were sparkles, shivers, tiny bits of excitement rolling all over Draco's skin at the faintest shift of Harry next to him.
"Don't push with the tips of your fingers," Harry instructed. "You'll only get your nails dirty. Push with all your fingers together, and slowly."
Harry's fingers laid on Draco's as they pressed the soil in, slowly, so slowly Draco couldn't even tell if they're moving but they were. When that plant was done Harry moved his hands off and brushed then against his shorts, brushing away the dirt. Draco watched him, a crease between his eyebrows furrowing every second Harry's smile stayed on his face. His eyes flickered from Harry's to his mouth and back in a moment that froze the air and when he caught himself starring like a dumbass, unconsciously leaning towards the man before him, he closed his eyes and quickly shook his head to get rid of all the nasty thoughts that flooded his mind.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice strained and his heart fast, the air thick and warm, making it hard to breathe. "I'm being highly unprofessional."
"What? No, you're really not," Harry shook his head quickly. "If anyone is unprofessional it's me. I apologise."
"No, you haven't done anything wrong," Draco said and went to stand up but Harry caught his wrist.
"Please, Draco, help me finish. Don't go."
"I can't! This is wrong. I'm sorry but I shouldn't have stopped, I just -"
"Draco, we haven't done anything wrong," Harry assure and stood up to stand close to Draco's body. It was glowing in the sun and if the circumstances were different, Harry would take time to just stare at the acres of perfect skin but Draco's eyes were pained and his thoughts were troubled.
"What's worrying you? We haven't done anything wrong...", Harry repeated and Draco snorted with a mumbled, "Yet."
"What do you mean 'yet'?", Harry asked, confused, his smile wavering. "What are you afraid we're going to do?"
"Nothing, I just... forget I said anything!"
"No, please, Draco... Tell me."
Draco looked at him, his face tense and the hand Harry was holing, shaking.
"May I kiss you?" Draco's voice was tiny against the sounds of nature around them and Harry's heart stuttered, unsure whether he'd heard the words correctly.
"I'm sorry, what?"
And the moment passed, Draco's face closed and as he muttered an apologie, he turned, quickly picked up his things and ran inside in a blink of an eye.
"Draco, wait!", Harry called but the blond didn't turn. Harry's hat fell off as he ran towards the house he'd never entered before. He caught Draco just as he was entering, Harry's finger catching Draco's wrist once again and pulling him closer.
"Draco, stop and listen to me," he said, gently, his hands moving up until they were a firm hold on Draco's upper arms.
"You don't have to say anything, Mr Potter," Draco stated clearly, avoiding Draco's eyes and breathing heavily.
"Draco, please," Harry asked again and cupped his cheek until their eyes are locked and Draco's brilliant silver was filled with vulnerability.
"What do you even have to say? I've done something wrong and I've apologised and I'll leave you alone now. You don't have to say anything and-"
"Draco."
"What?"
"Yes," Harry murmured with a gentle voice that sounded like the cold water of Draco's pool against your skin while the sun was burning hot.
"What 'yes'?" Draco's voice trembled and he leaned into Harry's touch, shivering as Harry's thumb pressed into his cheek.
"Yes," Harry repeated. "You may kiss me."
Draco watched him for a moment, waited for the punch-line, for the joke but when Harry's eyes stayed just as genuine, and his smile stayed just as kind, he muttered, "Oh thank God!", and kissed his gardener like he's been aching to do the entire spring. He knew when the separated and Harry's forehead leaned against his own that spring may have been lonesome but summer, summer is going to be divine.