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No sunlight could pierce through the thick folds of their curtains—something that Draco was quite thankful for as his eyes slowly cracked open.
The darkness was comforting for a throbbing head and spent muscles, and he attempted to make himself fall back to sleep. Unfortunately, no matter how much he tried, he just couldn’t go back to dreamland. Not even the soft sounds of Harry’s snoring could coax him back to slumber. He let out a sigh, now resigned to shake the remaining traces of sleepiness out of his system.
Good thing he liked seeing the smile on Harry’s face whenever he brought him breakfast more than sleep.
The Muggle device on the bedside table declared the time in bright red lights. 6:13 AM, it said. Definitely not an appropriate time to get up on a Sunday morning. It hadn’t even been five hours since he went to sleep.
Draco slid out of bed as quietly and swiftly as he could. He looked back, finding that he and Harry had ended up with their backs facing each other. He hadn’t moved from his position at all, but Harry had always been a very fussy sleeper.
As he finally slipped out of the sheets, Draco stumbled and staggered forward, finding his limbs rather weak. He braced on the headboard and quickly regained his footing, looking back to check if Harry had woken. He hadn’t, thankfully.
Remembering the reason why his limbs felt like jelly made Draco’s fair skin turn slightly pink. Harry had been rough with him last night, just as he wanted. But really, there was nothing that the Boy Who Scored can dish out that he wouldn’t be able to take. In fact, he was rather annoyed whenever Harry asked him if he was alright or if he was starting to hurt in any way. Draco may have a pointy, lanky frame, but that was just genetics. Harry couldn’t break him if he tried, but then Harry wouldn’t even dare to think of trying.
And because of Harry’s natural caring instincts, Draco would always have to be wilier in his attempts to get Harry to unleash his wilder, rougher side—in this case, have Harry shag him silly until they have no regard as to what they break along the way. This was truly an obstacle, but of course Slytherins always got what they wanted. Draco knew he had to revert to his old ways whenever Harry refused to slam his hips against his back. After all, nobody could get under Harry’s skin like he could. He taunted Harry with tales of his exes and how they cared for Draco well, how Harry was getting boring lately, and oh, is this how it’s going to be from now on? Because Draco would rather stay with a boyfriend who knew how to fuck.
Eventually Draco had his forehead, cheek, and the back of his hand all red as he had collided with the headboard repeatedly.
Thinking back on it, his gibes had been rather tame and unimaginative, simply playing on Harry’s jealous streak. Draco had to admit he’s gotten quite rusty at being an obnoxious git—his insults rather more juvenile than ire-inducing. He grimaced, realizing how soft he had become. He couldn’t possibly be content with such petty insults, now could he? More importantly, it was an insult to the trademark Malfoy swagger. He still had a reputation to keep up.
Still, planning to regain one of his best assets would have to wait until after breakfast.
Draco approached the door and looked over his shoulder, finding Harry splayed all over their king-sized bed. He smiled, totally endeared by the image before him. Harry’s antics in bed said so much about his personality, like how carefree he really is, judging from the undignified position as he slept—the wide stretch of his arms ready for an embrace, his heart open for all the world to see.
And when he fucked… well. Let’s just say Draco could probably write a book if he had to explain the numerous symbolisms of Harry’s actions when he fucked.
To be honest, Draco never minded making breakfast, as much as he hated even just lifting a finger to help around the house. He would never admit to this verbally and would always complain as he begrudgingly prepared the food, especially when Harry was looking. Harry used to offer to do it instead since he was usually the one who cooked their food anyway, but Draco would always vehemently decline and accuse Harry of not wanting to eat his breakfast. In time, Harry got used to this, and would grin boyishly as Draco went on his tirade of how easier things would be if they just got a house-elf or a maid.
Of course, Harry would never believe Draco no matter how hard or almost genuine his tone was. Neither of them would ever want to sacrifice their privacy even for convenience. What he didn’t know was that the main reason why Draco grumbled bitterly was because his breakfast could never be as delicious or elaborate as the ones Harry made.
Breakfast took around 20 minutes to prepare, even though it was just some toast, strawberry jam, and a pair of dark chocolate drinks with marshmallows on top. It was a little chilly today, though that may probably be attributed to the fact that Draco went around the house with nothing but the silver band that Harry gave him. (Yet another reason why it was a stupid idea to let anybody else in their house.) He put everything on a tray and levitated it to the bedroom.
As he entered, Draco noticed that Harry was already awake, though simply laying on the centre of the bed, looking all comfortable and a little bit smug. Draco quirked a brow.
“Morning,” Harry greeted, voice raspy from sleep, as he rubbed his eyes. He groped for his glasses and put it on, before scooting back and patting the space beside him. “Come here?”
“Yeah, just putting this down.” Draco levitated the tray over onto the desk on the far end of the wall, then he made his way towards the windows. “Still sleepy?”
Harry only shrugged and shifted, pushing himself up a bit against the headboard, but not quite straightening. Draco knew that stance—Harry was very much awake but just too lazy to get up. Harry did that almost every day of the week and Draco always chewed him out on it since it was making him more prone to sliding back into bed when he had work or other things to do during the day. Instead Draco just chuckled, bending next to Harry, and kissed on top of his forehead. He didn’t really feel like being snarky just yet. Harry looked taken aback but Draco decided to ignore the dumb look, then pulled on the curtains a little.
It was raining outside, and Draco shivered. No wonder he felt cold. The sound of raindrops against the window pane was comforting, the grey skies adding to the soothing atmosphere. Draco opened the curtains wide, indifferent to having flashed the masses. Not that there were any actual masses out and about at this ungodly hour.
Draco made his way to his side of the bed, sitting upright, then looked at Harry, as if waiting for more instructions.
“Closer,” Harry murmured. The startled look on his face was priceless when Draco just nestled against his chest without any sarcastic remark. He chuckled as Draco nosed on his neck. “Feeling a bit docile, are we?”
Draco lifted his head and gave him his most scathing ‘shut your mouth’ look. Harry thinned his lips and gestured a zipper closing over them, but he still sported an amused smile and a twinkle in his eye. It was followed by a sigh that came from deep in his chest, then a soft caress against Draco’s arm as he pulled him closer.
It wasn’t that Draco was too tired to be the insufferable brat that he usually was, but these little breaks from his routine were nice. And Sundays really were good days to relax, if not the only time to relax, since he would need all the energy to get through Mondays.
Draco stayed quiet, eyes closing as he nuzzled Harry’s shoulder, while Harry nuzzled his hair, murmuring about how soft it was. Draco remember his earlier musings about being soft, but decided that the Malfoy swagger and breakfast could wait.