"Yeah, 'tis morning." Draco said as Harry streched, his back arching off the bed as his sleepy gaze met Draco's
Not for the first time the bright green of Harry's eyes put Draco in mind of a cat, at the dark smudges that outlined them ntensified the likeness.
Idly Draco wondered what harry's animagus form would be, whether it would indeed be the cat that Draco saw reflected in Harry's stare.
Harry sighed happily and smiled at Draco. How was it that he felt so comfortable waking up in Draco's presence already. Although this was only the second day of the weekend that Draco had won, Draco's bed felt like the most natural place in the world to wake up in.
Draco's definitely changed since the war, Harry thought, he trusts me. And actually, I trust him too.
Was it too familiar to kiss Draco's lips? Harry smiled serenely again, the back of his hand brushing Draco's.
"Last night was good," he said quietly, speaking to the ceiling. It was easier than facing the sharp, grey eyes of his bed-mate.
"Did I just hear that right?" Draco replied, an unmistakable tint of humor in his voice. "Who would've thought it? Harry Potter likes to wear make-up."
"Not makeup." Harry rubbed absently at his eyes, fingers coming away smudged black. "Eyeliner and mascara doesn't count as make-up."
"What does it count as, then?" Draco's voice was too close for comfort; his hand had stealthily made it's way onto Harry's thigh and was now tracing small circles in the fine hair.
Harry shrugged, "I don't know, but it's not make-up."
Draco shook his head at the vehemence in Harry's voice. "If you say so."
"I do."
He could almost hear the pout in Harry's voice, and smiled at it, leaning over to drop a light kiss on Harry's cheek. It was strange, even after their intimacy of last night such gestures still felt slightly odd to Draco. He found that already he was falling in love with Harry, he cared for him. Not something that the Prince of Slytherin was overly accustomed to.
In a way it scared him, he didn't like the idea of loosing control so much, but some small part of him wondered what it would be like to have someone to really share his life with. He'd spent too long having nothing but short encounters, single nights with handsome boys that he picked up in clubs.
He laughed, and even to him it sounded bitter and cynical.
Harry reached out a hand to cup the side of Draco's face.
Draco leant into that touch, savouring the warmth and tenderness, despite the roughness of those strong hands. It was Potter, for Salazlar's sake. It was ridiculous. It was...
Harry groaned just then, as Draco's fingers pressed absently into Harry's thigh, thumb denting the soft skin just right of Harry's balls, and Draco felt a ripple of something unwholely sinful pass through him.
"Do you ever feel as though... as though..."
"Nothing should ever be this good," finishes Draco, working his hand through the straggly mess that was Harry's hair. He brushed a thumb over Harry's smeared eyeliner and sighed. "I think I'm familiar with the feeling, yes."
Comments 4
Not for the first time the bright green of Harry's eyes put Draco in mind of a cat, at the dark smudges that outlined them ntensified the likeness.
Idly Draco wondered what harry's animagus form would be, whether it would indeed be the cat that Draco saw reflected in Harry's stare.
Harry sighed happily and smiled at Draco. How was it that he felt so comfortable waking up in Draco's presence already. Although this was only the second day of the weekend that Draco had won, Draco's bed felt like the most natural place in the world to wake up in.
Draco's definitely changed since the war, Harry thought, he trusts me. And actually, I trust him too.
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"Last night was good," he said quietly, speaking to the ceiling. It was easier than facing the sharp, grey eyes of his bed-mate.
"Did I just hear that right?" Draco replied, an unmistakable tint of humor in his voice. "Who would've thought it? Harry Potter likes to wear make-up."
"Not makeup." Harry rubbed absently at his eyes, fingers coming away smudged black. "Eyeliner and mascara doesn't count as make-up."
"What does it count as, then?" Draco's voice was too close for comfort; his hand had stealthily made it's way onto Harry's thigh and was now tracing small circles in the fine hair.
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Draco shook his head at the vehemence in Harry's voice. "If you say so."
"I do."
He could almost hear the pout in Harry's voice, and smiled at it, leaning over to drop a light kiss on Harry's cheek. It was strange, even after their intimacy of last night such gestures still felt slightly odd to Draco. He found that already he was falling in love with Harry, he cared for him. Not something that the Prince of Slytherin was overly accustomed to.
In a way it scared him, he didn't like the idea of loosing control so much, but some small part of him wondered what it would be like to have someone to really share his life with. He'd spent too long having nothing but short encounters, single nights with handsome boys that he picked up in clubs.
He laughed, and even to him it sounded bitter and cynical.
Harry reached out a hand to cup the side of Draco's face.
"It's okay."
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Harry groaned just then, as Draco's fingers pressed absently into Harry's thigh, thumb denting the soft skin just right of Harry's balls, and Draco felt a ripple of something unwholely sinful pass through him.
"Do you ever feel as though... as though..."
"Nothing should ever be this good," finishes Draco, working his hand through the straggly mess that was Harry's hair. He brushed a thumb over Harry's smeared eyeliner and sighed. "I think I'm familiar with the feeling, yes."
Reply
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