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Draco could see the the iris clearly.
The sounds around him had fallen away ages ago, his world reduced to mere centimeters of space and time.
It seemed fabricated from textiles, from wool thread. The strands overlapped each other in an intricate, organised mess. Fate lines, Draco thought. The green never failed to impress Draco. Logically, he knew there was no controlling it, but he had always expected to see tones of blue, yellow, or brown mashed so well together that it gave away the allusion of a green eye. But no, the iris was purely green. Purely memorizing. The iris fell away to the pupil, a black hole growing bigger and bigger as it stared lazily back. A beautiful sunrise of a black sun on another planet. Draco could see the reflection of the window, just starting to glow with the soft morning light. He could see the curtains moving loftily in front of the window, silent and graceful. Draco felt a breeze caressing his skin, cool enough for goosebumps, but warm enough to be able to suppress a shiver.
Harry’s eyes were something else. They were complex, with colors and layers, and Draco could never quite seem to crawl out of their depth. He could never find the will to, either. They were a beauty that Draco had never believed he would be able to see. An inescapable beauty that Draco would be content to lose himself in forever.
Harry’s eyes flickered over Draco’s face, and dilated further.
“You like what you see?” Draco supposed he had meant it to come out teasing and self-assured, but Draco could only hear the softness in his voice, his breathlessness.
“Shut up,” Draco whispered back, refusing to move his eyes from Harry’s. They were breathing into each others mouths, ever so close, and Harry’s thumb started to stroke Draco’s hip in gentle strokes.
“Pshh,” Harry responded, ever so softly, fondly. “You love my voice.”
“I really do,” Draco breathes back. Not holding his thoughts back was new, but Draco had never tried as hard as he had for Harry for anything in his life. “But when you speak, your face moves, and I can’t afford to lose the image of your eyes before I have memorized them.” Draco shared one more breath with Harry before he rasped out, throat suddenly tight, “Just let me have this. Just this once.”
Harry’s breathing had frozen, his thumb stopping on Draco’s hip just underneath his sleeping shirt. His body had tensed, and as close as he was, Draco could see his eyes get glassy, melting before his gaze.
Harry worked his jaw for a couple of seconds until he finally choked out, “I want you to remember my eyes, but it is taking everything I have not to kiss you right now.”
Draco sighed, eyes still moving unflinchingly from Harry’s.
He raised his hand to run his fingertips over Harry’s face with the lightest caress, so light it felt like Draco had just imagined the heat of Harry’s cheek on the pads of his fingers.
“Well then, I suppose I can do this later.”
With one smooth move, Draco rolls on top of him, grinning. Harry, beaming, slides his hands up Draco’s thighs, resting on his hips, sliding underneath his shirt, striving always for contact with Draco’s smooth skin.
Harry raises his head, and Draco’s eyes finally leave him to focus on his lips instead. With soft kisses, shallow, long, and full of meaning, Draco tries to convey how much he has seen in Harry’s eyes, how much he wants to believe them, and everything he knows he could never convey through his own eyes. Harry moans, and smiles into the kiss, and Draco thinks that maybe, just maybe, part of the message has been received.