Work Text:
“Here, let me.” Harry frees the shampoo bottle from Draco’s hands, lathering the soap onto his own fingers. “Tilt your head for me, love?”
Draco obliges, closing his eyes and leaning backwards into Harry’s chest. Steam curls up from the bath water, a lavender-lemon mist that fogs the mirrors and makes the room smell warm and bright.
Harry cards his fingers through his husband’s long hair, carefully untangling any knots and gently massaging Draco’s scalp. With the leftover bubbles, he draws patterns on Draco’s bare skin: swirls on his legs, stars on his arms. A heart in the middle of his chest, the curves mirroring two pink, crescent-shaped scars on either side.
They sit there a while, the only sound the soft slap of the water against the basin and Draco’s contented hum.
Eventually the bubble patterns will dissolve, and the water will get cold, and Draco will complain of the raisin-like texture of his fingers and Harry will say “shall I kiss them better?” which will make Draco blush, and then nod, and the evening will end in bed, with tangled legs and soft, breathy gasps and the smell of lavender-lemon on the sheets.
But that comes later; for now, there is still the quiet stillness of the bath, of two people resting in each other’s arms. And so Harry sinks back, and smiles.