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“Why do you always do that?” Harry asks, stretching his arms above his head. He isn’t sulking yet, although Draco bets it's only a matter of a few seconds before Harry starts to act like a pouty child.
Draco hums noncommittally. “Do what?”
“You know, go for a bath even after I cast a cleaning charm. It’s almost as effective as taking an actual bath, anyway…” —Oh, Harry is definitely pouting—“Plus you get to stay here and cuddle with me.”
Draco can hardly hide his smile. Harry might’ve been the one to defeat the Dark Lord with a curse he learnt in his second year, but mature and grown-up he was definitely not.
“Do you want to join me?” He’s never said it like that before, so blunt and direct, and he cringes a little at himself.
Thankfully, Harry doesn’t notice his crude phrasing and only sighs wistfully, “I don’t think I can get it up again quite so soon. We’re not exactly teenagers anymore.”
Draco’s walking around their room now, trying to find where his pants are —honestly, give the man half a chance and Draco’s pants would never be found again— but he absentmindedly says, “I didn’t mean to have sex.”
“Why would we take a shower together and not have sex?” Harry says, his voice wondering. “That seems like such a waste.”
Draco turns around to raise an eyebrow. “Well, first of all, I’m inviting you in for a bath, and not a shower. Besides, shower sex is highly overrated. The last time I sucked you off in the shower, I got soap in my eyes. Or did you forget?”
Harry starts to laugh even before Draco finishes his sentence, as he does every time Draco brings up their failed experiment of sex in the shower. It certainly seemed funny now, but it had definitely not been fun to have to try and cast cleaning charms at his eye while sporting a hard-on.
Draco rolls his eyes. “I’ll take that as a no, then,” as he makes his way to the bathroom. Maybe he’d add the jasmine scent, or lavender perhaps... or maybe he’d use one of those magical charms, the one that looked and smelled like orange fizz and gave him a fresh, clean scent. The possibilities were endless. He could already feel his stress dropping away at the thought of having a nice, relaxing bath…
“I’ve never had a bath, you know?”
And everything in Draco’s head halts. He couldn’t have meant—
“What do you mean, you’ve never had a bath?” He says, barely turning around. He’s actually proud of his voice staying level. If Harry had meant it in the way he thought…
“I mean just that. I’ve never had a bath before.” Harry’s voice is so matter-of-fact, so blasé and natural, as though he hasn’t turned Draco’s world upside down with those words.
He wheels around abruptly and stomps over to where Harry’s still sitting naked under a pile of blankets, and tilts Harry’s chin up to face him. To his everlasting credit, Harry only looks mildly confused. He must be getting used to Draco’s dramatics. “You’ve never had a bath,” Draco intones, his voice (still!) level. It’s not a question—he’s not deaf, he heard Harry say it twice—but he still needs to confirm that he’d heard correctly, that Harry has actually never had a bath before. At Harry’s slightly bemused nod, Draco’s voice falters a bit. “Pray tell, Potter- what the fuck have you been doing with the last twenty-two years of your life?”
At this, Harry’s face goes a little funny and Draco feels his heart sink a little as Harry says, “Defeating an evil megalomaniac can rather put someone off from taking baths in their free time, did you know?” But he’s smiling a little as he says it, so Draco didn’t completely fuck that up.
“Shut your trap, Potter, you know what I meant.”
Harry smiles again, this time more genuinely as he explains, “Well, the Dursley’s weren’t exactly going to allow me to use their bathtub to leisurely while away the time that could be better used to wash the dishes, you know? That was obviously not an option.”
Draco’s not an empathetic person. As much as he loves being a drama queen, he’s absolutely pants at actual, real emotions. He hates talking about them and unless he’s smacked upside the head with a sensitivity reader, it’s unlikely he’ll ever be able to recognize them either. It’s an unusual characteristic for a Slytherin, but there it is.
But he does know what anger feels like, he does know the bubbling of fear and loathing in his veins. He feels it every time someone brings up his father… or the Dursley’s. He hates them with a fiery passion, for treating a small child with such cruelty that Harry still doesn’t know how utterly abnormal his childhood experiences were. He hates them for making it seem so natural to love their son, but hate Harry at the same time and just- fuck. He hates them, probably more than Harry does, because he’s the one who can see the extent of their damage on his lover.
But that’s neither here nor there, and Draco forces his (albeit entertaining) thoughts of triple homicide to the back of his mind and pays attention to Harry’s pathetic little story. Turns out, there isn’t much more.
“What?” Harry says, bemused. “What do you want me to say?”
“Merlin, did you not have bathtubs in the Gryffindor tower? Or was that reserved only for Slytherins because we were the ones who would be able to appreciate it?” Draco’s honestly so confused. Which world have they been living in?
“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs, “We didn’t use the bathtubs all that much. Didn’t have the time to wank in there like some posh kids,” and now he’s smirking at Draco, that unfairly sexy smirk while being stark naked in Draco’s bed, inching forward as his hands climb up Draco’s shoulders and clutch at his blond locks... and Draco’s about to say sod it to the whole bath thing, he needs Harry now—“But you went to the Prefect’s bathroom! It’s literally a bath! How did you NOT have one in there?”
Harry pauses a hair's breadth away from Draco’s lips. “Do you honestly want me to answer that right now?”
“Yes!”
Harry leans back and groans, tipping his head back against the pillows. “I don’t know! I went in late at night, there were hardly any bubbles left and Moaning Myrtle was hanging around to get a peek at my fucking dick! Forgive me if I didn’t appreciate my bath because I was being ogled by a ghost!”
Draco rolls his eyes. "Touchy now, are we?" Harry rolls his eyes back at him and then pulls a face, his tongue sticking out.
“You're the one asking weird questions. What even was the point of all that?”
“I don’t know,” Draco says. “I just- I love baths, you know?”
Harry quirks up a lip. “Oh, really? You disappearing into the bathroom for hours on end never seemed suspicious to me at all.” His smile grows, turning slightly wicked. “I thought you were just having a nice leisurely wank in there.”
Draco swats at him halfheartedly. “Arse. What is it with you and being obsessed with the idea of me wanking in the shower?" He sighs. "I- I don’t know. It’s just weird, I guess, that I love them so much, and you’ve never had one before.” He pauses for a second. Should he? Ah, he thinks, in for a knut. “The offer still stands. You want to join me?”
Suddenly Harry looks unsure, all traces of teasing disappearing from his face. “I don’t know,” he says, echoing Draco. “Isn’t this like, some kind of ritual for you? You unwinding from the stress of a long day at work? Wouldn’t I just- you know, get in the way?”
Draco sits back down on the bed heavily, heart breaking at the expression on Harry’s face. He wants to pull Harry into a hug and just hold him in his arms, touch him, make him understand that Draco Malfoy is arse over tits in love with him. That it’s an impossibility to imagine that Harry Potter would have chosen him to love and cherish, that Harry’s a better person than Draco will ever be. That he’s worth so much more than he believes.
Instead, he offers a smile and reaches out a hand to touch Harry. His voice has gone impossibly soft, almost fond as he says, “You will not. I promise you. Please, come with me?”
Fifteen year-old Draco would have been horrified at this display of emotion and affection.
But Harry’s face lights up so brightly, he can’t even feel the residual urge to bottle down his emotions, to keep it all hidden, boy, they’ll take advantage.
Instead, he takes Harry by the hand and leads them into the bathroom.
__
“You lived in the Muggle world, not on another planet! Who uses soap in their hair?”
Harry rolls his eyes. He’s pretty sure it’s been his default reaction to anything Draco has ever said since they were both eleven. He doubts it’s going to change anytime soon.
“I don’t know, this is all I’ve ever used. What do you use in your hair, then?” Even as the words leave Harry’s mouth, he feels a sense of regret. Draco’s bathtub is lined with an arsenal of concoctions and potions and he doesn’t need a lecture on what is best for his skin or his hair or whatever.
Instead of launching into a long tirade of what works best on his hair, Draco moves across the bathtub to settle behind Harry, his chest pressing against Harry’s back.
Harry’s about to protest, to ask Draco what’s wrong, what are you doing when he hears the squick of a bottle being opened and long fingers smoothing something into his unruly hair.
Draco’s fingers are slow and methodical, the pads of his fingers gently rubbing circles into Harry’s scalp, and Harry can’t help but relax into Draco’s hold, pressing into him as Draco hums gently into his shoulder.
“This is shampoo,” Draco says, his voice soft in the way Harry loves. “You’re supposed to use it in your hair to clean your scalp. And please, for the love of Merlin, don’t do it every day. It’s meant to only be used two to three times a week.” He continues to press his fingers gently, and Harry just about melts with how good it feels. “For me, it’s different because I have thinner hair and it’s lighter than yours, so I’d need to do it a bit more often.”
Harry hums, eyes sliding shut as his head drops back onto Draco’s shoulder, and Draco huffs out a laugh. “Oi, you.” Harry lets his mouth spread into a slow smile, still keeping his eyes shut. “I can’t wash your hair like this, move your head off me.”
“Don’t want to. Like it like this.”
Draco actually does let out a laugh at that, a genuine, surprised one, and Harry opens his eyes quickly. He doesn’t want to miss the expression on Draco’s face when he laughs like that, all scrunched-up nose and crinkles around his pretty grey eyes.
Draco’s fucking gorgeous, he thinks to himself, his blond hair all wet and dark from the water, eyes warm and open, his brilliantly white teeth exposed as he smiles down fondly at Harry. “I didn’t think you’d like it this much.”
“Well, I do.” Harry tilts his head slightly to press a kiss on the side of Draco’s neck. “So don’t stop.”
Draco rolls his eyes, but he does continue and Harry shivers with pleasure as Draco slowly massages his head. He didn’t know anything could feel this good. But when sitting in a tub full of hot water, leaning against his boyfriend-- yeah. This is heaven, he’s pretty damn sure of it. No wonder Draco likes his baths so much.
Draco eases his hands out after a few more minutes, and Harry jerks awake, enough to slur out an embarrassingly desperate “Wait!” before he realises that Draco was just trying to get some space so he could rinse out Harry’s hair.
Draco’s face is a study in caricature because he looks like he’s crossed between amusement and affection and his face is twitching as he tries to stop the laughter from bubbling out of him. Harry wants to be annoyed, but he’s too relaxed now and can only manage a gentle pinch of Draco’s thigh before he’s bowled over by deep satisfaction once Draco starts to wash his hair carefully with warm water.
“It’s nice to see you like this, all curled up and relaxed,” Draco tells him, his voice low and gentle. “Usually you’re strung up so tight, it would take a miracle for you to be this unwound.” He starts massaging Harry’s hair again, and Harry can only whisper a sigh of satisfaction when he feels those fingers moving across his scalp again. God, it has to be magic, there’s no way anything could ever feel this good.
“This is a conditioner. It’s supposed to retain your hair’s moisture. You don’t need a lot of it because your hair’s so thick, and if you put too much, it’ll make your hair too flat.” Draco’s voice is so slow and smooth, like sweet molasses. Harry sinks into it comfortably. “Not that it’s a problem for you, of course. Your hair is always a bird’s nest, although if you’ve only used soap your whole life I can see why.”
That last part is a muttered mess of words, and Harry can almost feel Draco vibrating with that kind of righteous anger whenever he feels like Harry’s been deprived of some crucial development or experience. If he’s going to admit it to himself, he kind of likes it.
Oh, who is he kidding? He loves it. Draco being so angry on his behalf, to the point where Harry sometimes has to physically restrain him from flying off the handle while talking about Harry’s Muggle relatives? It makes Harry feel wanted, like he’s not imposing on someone’s kindness, that Draco actually wants him for who he is.
But Draco’s shaken off the visible signs of whatever anger he must have felt just now, and Harry envies him his iron control. He understands why Draco does it, of course— but he also can’t help being in awe of it.
“Turn around, will you baby? I need to wash you off.”
Oh. Oh.
Harry feels himself flushing, his cheeks turning warm even though he’s submerged in hot water, his smile growing into something softer and more embarrassed.
Draco’s busy with settling Harry into the right position, bringing him chest-to-chest with Draco, straddling Draco in the bathtub— but Harry can’t wait. He puts two fingers under Draco’s chin, tilts up his head, and presses his own lips against the pair he knows so well now.
Draco’s a bit surprised, Harry can tell, as he swallows Draco’s stuttered gasp by biting gently on his plush bottom lip, tugging at it with a needy intensity. Finally, finally, Draco gets with the program and places his hands on Harry’s hips firmly, tilting his head to capture Harry’s lips in another bruising kiss, mouths moving in sync as they gasp and breathe together. It feels fantastic, with the water surrounding them all hot and steamy, their skin wet and warm from the heat of the room.
Draco pulls back suddenly, his hands gentling the frantic undulations Harry’s hips had set up. Harry chases after him, a whine escaping his lips as he wants more, needs more of Draco.
“Stop, stop. I didn’t ask you to come in here for sex, babe.” Shit. Harry’s turning a fire truck engine red now, he can feel it staining his cheeks and his chest-- all because Draco called him babe, because he called him baby. It’s not the pet name itself, or at least he doesn’t think so. It’s the way Draco says it, the way his lips mouth the word, so low and soft, just for Harry.
He sighs and rests his head on Draco’s chest. “I know, I know. It’s not the sex for me either, not right now. I- I uh, I liked it when you called me baby?”
He chances a look upwards- oh Merlin. Draco’s staring at him all starry-eyed, his mouth falling open, his face turning pink (although it could just be the temperature of the bath- but somehow, Harry doesn’t think it’s just that.) His usually stormy grey eyes have turned a beautiful molten silver, and he’s looking at Harry with the sort of adoration that comes only from-
Draco’s clearing his throat and he’s about to say something, and- “I love you,” Harry says, absolutely the last thing he’d expected himself to say.
There’s a long silence.
And then Draco clears his throat once again, this time sounding more stuffy than it had earlier. “Did you mean that?” His voice is sandpaper rough like he’d swallowed back tears. “Harry, did you mean that?”
Harry can only stare at the sight in front of him. Draco’s eyes are red-rimmed, but he’s biting back the biggest smile Harry’s ever seen. He looks so- so-
Harry surges forward again, hands grasping at Draco’s face to bring him closer, to press his own lips against Draco’s, kissing him again and again and again. Tears slip out from his eyes too, unbidden, as he chokes out a laugh, unable to let him go for even a second. “Of course I meant it, of course, Draco. I love you, I love you, God, I love you-” and Draco’s clutching at him with a sort of giddiness that Harry’s experiencing too, and Draco’s saying, “I love you too Harry, I love you so much-” and all Harry can feel is a sense of completeness. That he’s finally here, that he’s come this far to finally know what love is. What love can feel like, all-encompassing and safe and so fucking beautiful.
He pulls back enough to place a shaky kiss on Draco’s forehead, his lips still trembling with the force of emotion. “I love you. So much.”
And Draco lets loose his blindingly brilliant smile, and Harry’s never felt so full before. He’d say those three words every second of every minute of every day for the rest of eternity if it meant that he’d see Draco look like that again.
“I love you too, Harry. I love you,” Draco says softly, shyly- and Harry can only pull him close and listen to the rhythm of Draco’s heart thumping in his chest. It’s never easy for Draco to open up, no matter how much time they’ve spent together, and Harry’s a little floored at how effortlessly Draco says those three words to him now.
“Or should I say baby?” The smirk in Draco’s voice is clear, even though Harry’s not looking at him.
Harry groans, his cheeks flushing again. “I didn’t know I’d like it, okay?”
“You didn’t know you’d like being called baby? Or pumpkin, sweetheart, light of my life-” Harry tries to wiggle his way out of Draco’s hold, water splashing the edges of the tub, but Draco stops him, laughing and pressing a couple of kisses on his neck. “It’s okay, honey. I like it too.”
Harry crosses his arms in a huff but leans back into Draco's embrace. “You’re ridiculous and I don’t know why I put up with you.”
“It’s because you love me, darling,” and Draco’s voice hitches when he says the word love, obviously thinking of their raw confession barely two minutes ago. “It’s because you love me.”
And Harry really, really does.