Harry Potter was obsessed with his boyfriend’s hair. He could often be seen by his fellow 8th years, playing with it at dinner time. Twirling a lock of blond around his fingers, and watching the curl unravel. Running his fingers through it absentmindedly as Draco slept in his lap in the common room. Clutching at it, hungrily as they snogged by the lake. Pulling it, as he slid into the blond in their room at night. It had become something of an obsession for Harry, a healthier one admittedly than he had had in a long while. It had gotten to the point that the more Draco had let his hair grow out. Past his shoulders by Christmas, the more messy it became. It was something of a running joke amongst the 8th years. At the start of term, Draco would awaken with his hair brushed very primly, often in a ponytail despite his boyfriend’s incessant playing with it. By breakfast time the ponytail was often gone, and the hair would be loose, and free, and wild. Just like Harry liked it.
“Trying to make Draco’s hair look more like yours?” Pansy had quipped once, Harry had been massaging his boyfriend’s scalp after a rather nasty migraine. Draco merely moaned softly into Harry’s lap, and Harry smiled and continued rubbing his head and playing with his hair.
He didn’t bother doing much with it, most days. Harry had personally taken it upon himself to brush it out for the blond before they went to bed. He had even, with the help of Luna and several 8th year girls, learned a few hairstyles he could do on Draco. But they never lasted particularly long. It was far too alluring to sink his fingers into those soft blond locks and play with them.
The first time they had showered together, Harry had begged Draco to let him wash his hair.
“I’m a grown adult, I think I can handle it,” Draco had said.
“Please,” Harry replied, giving his boyfriend his best puppy dog eyes. Draco shrugged.
“Very well,” he said.
Harry grinned excitedly, and Draco couldn’t help but find that adorable. Salazar, I have it bad, he thought. Harry slipped behind him and Draco closed his eyes, handing Harry his shampoo potion. He could feel his boyfriend’s breath ghosting over his shoulder as he dipped his fingers into the pot and began to lather it into Draco’s wet hair. Draco shivered. His whole body tingled from the sensation of Harry scrubbing the potion into his scalp. So slowly, and lovingly, as if it were the greatest honor in the world to be washing his hair. It was erotic, more so than it had any right to be, and by the end, Draco’s legs were trembling. Harry merely sighed contentedly, and rinsed the potion out of his hair, leaving it softer and more luxurious than it had ever been. From that moment on, Draco never washed his own hair. It was clear Harry was a natural.
“Maybe you should become a hairstylist, you’re clearly great at it,” Draco told him later that night as he stood, brushing out Draco’s hair once more.
“Yes but it’s only your hair I want to play with,” Harry said, running his fingers through his hair. Draco shivered.
Harry grinned, “You like having your hair played with, don’t you?” Harry curled his fingers, clutching a chunk of hair, and pulled. Draco gasped, his whole body suddenly alight with excitement at Harry’s manhandling. He loved it. Harry growled, and kissed his exposed throat, sucking a love bite onto his pale flesh. Draco whimpered and whined. “Such a pretty little thing,” he whispered into the curve of his neck.
Draco moaned. “P-please,” he begged.
“Please, what?” Harry asked, kissing his throat softly, his hand still firmly gripped in Draco’s hair.
“Oh gods, Harry need you so bad.”
Harry chuckled, and pressed a kiss to his lips.
That night, Harry watched excitedly, as Draco’s pale, thin fingers, messed up his own hair as he rode Harry’s cock. “So beautiful,” Harry whispered, thrusting up into him.