Summary:Draco's a graffiti artist with a bone to pick. Harry's the P.I. tasked with catching him. Or, apparently, stalking him all over town, asking a lot of questions, and showing surprising artistic talent.
Why I loved it:This was gorgeous so sexy...I loved the pov and the building tension. Draco was so passionate about his art almost poetic. The sex was so wonderfully sexy and sensual.
Harry was perfect in this story, he started to see things the way Draco did and accept them. She has such a way with words and this story should be read over and over again.
Excerpt(optional):Last night Harry Potter let me drag my stained fingers across his skin, let me make him as red, as black, as blue, as he'd once left me. To see my fingerprints marking those perfect planes…we may be a masterpiece.
It wouldn't do to tell him that, of course.
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I had believed for many years—it had been true, for many years—that I could detect Harry Potter from across a Quidditch Pitch, blindfolded, in a hailstorm. My sense for him was intuitive, visceral. We called it loathing then, those low sparks firing at the base of our spines, that coiled wrench in the gut. When we shared a classroom or a hallway I never failed to know where he was, how far I'd have to reach to land a jinx or a kick or strategic "accidental" elbow to the ribs.
Those instincts are not the sort of thing that leave you. And though it had become a joke among my friends, the fact remained: I have always known Potter.