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Draco woke up to a warm, stubbled cheek pressed against his temple. He stirred with a contented sigh, and then soft lips were leaving a trail of kisses over his brows, the bridge of his nose, his chin.
Long, messy curls tickled his cheeks, and he chuckled, batting Harry away groggily.
“Shoo,” he mumbled, turning his face away even as he kept his legs firmly tangled between Harry's and his arm tucked under Harry's warm waist.
“Oh, you don't like being awoken with kisses?” Harry teased, lips trailing over Draco's jaw and nibbling his earlobe.
“Not when it tickles,” he muttered.
Harry chuckled against his neck, and Draco groaned again. He loved the git, but he really did not appreciate tickles first thing in the morning.
A hand slipped up the other side of his jaw, holding Draco's face still, and he only had one second to suspect Harry's intentions before Harry attacked him, lapping at his jaw and cheek and upper lip.
“POTTER!” Draco squeaked, jumping out of the embrace and rubbing the spit from his face, aghast.
Harry just laughed at him, eyes shining with mirth. Draco wanted to be furious with him, but when he looked down, he found a ray of morning sunlight illuminating Harry's face and chest just right and making him, regrettably, irresistible.
“You're disgusting,” Draco informed Harry, straddling him and frowning down at him. Harry just grinned, clearly proud of himself under Draco's weight. Too relaxed, oblivious to how easily he had fallen into Draco's trap.
“Let's see how you like some of your own medicine,” was all the warning Draco gave before leaning down and licking all of Harry's stupid, gorgeous face, delighting in Harry's hopeless cries for help.