Chapter Text
Pansy would say that it has become a routine or - Merlin forbid - a habit. Waking up in Potter’s bed after a night of fantastic sex (the boy who lived? The boy who fucked more like), leaving the bed before that idiot woke up, searching for his clothes and stepping out of Grimmauld Place, preferably without being seen by Potter’s creepy house elf. Has it happened more than once? Sure, Draco can admit that. Has it happened more frequently in the last few weeks? Yes, Pansy, yes it did. But! That doesn’t make it a routine. It doesn’t make it a thing.
Pansy just thinks that it has become a routine because she’s suddenly been caught up in a relationship with the She-Weasel of all people. Draco doesn’t really listen to his best friend when she starts to swoon about Ginevra’s muscles, her charming smile, and her exquisite form during quidditch. And as if that isn’t enough, nowadays Draco also has to listen to Pansy moping about when her girlfriend is at yet another away game with the Chudley Cannons.
It’s sufficient to say that Draco has had enough and he would not listen when Pansy-suddenly-hopeless-romantic-Parkinson wants to tell him about him basically having a boyfriend. As if Harry sodding Potter would ever be his boyfriend. As if Harry would ever consider Draco…
Anyway. So it is decidedly not part of a routine when Draco wakes up on the morning of December 1st and finds himself in a familiar bed, under familiar smelling covers, with a familiar heat next to his body. He blinks until his eyes can make out a few shapes in the still-dark room. Draco tries to locate his clothes from under the covers, saving up the delicious warmth. He spies his suit trousers lying on the floor, one leg in the bedroom and one still in the hallway, keeping the door just slightly ajar.
A tiny blush creeps up his neck as he thinks back to last night. How Potter had relentlessly pushed and pulled Draco through Grimmauld as soon as Draco had apparated into the living room after his day of work. (It was just two weeks ago that Potter had casually mentioned that he had added Draco’s magical signature to the apparition wards and that he could now come over whenever he liked. Whatever that meant.)
Draco was barely able to say hello before he found himself in Potter’s strong arms and Potter’s lips on his own. Everything after that was a bit of a blur. A tongue stroking his own, teeth marking his fair skin, hands grabbing his hips, pulling on his clothes. And then bliss.
Draco always told himself that he would not fall asleep. He’s been failing spectacularly for about half a year now. But he’s always gone before Harry - before Potter woke up. He always went home to change his clothes and floo to the ministry.
And that’s why Draco sits up in bed and refuses to take a look to his right at the sleeping man still snuggled under the fluffy duvet.
It’s not exactly cold in the room but Draco still shivers a little. He’s not too proud to admit that his body yearns for him to not get up. To get back under the blanket. But just to get a bit more sleep, of course. No other reason, obviously. He sighs, just a little, and turns to his right.
He was correct, of course. Harry’s still asleep, the blanket pulled up over his shoulder but his arm stretched out to his left as if he was reaching for something on Draco’s side of the bed. No, not his side of the bed, just the side he has accidentally slept on. Potter’s hair is a mess as usual but his features are soft and relaxed. Not a sign to see of his stern Senior Auror expressions or his dimples that appear whenever he laughs.
A few years ago Draco would have never been on the receiving end of this laugh and would definitely never have been in the position to see Potter this relaxed and vulnerable. But apparently, a few things have changed. Apparently, a few pub nights with Draco’s ministry colleagues who were friends with Potter’s Auror colleagues who then in turn convinced Potter himself to show up were enough for them to start talking. And laughing, because Potter is funny nowadays, who would’ve thought. With a brilliant mind and kindness that he shouldn’t be able to have after everything that has happened to him. A kindness which he then proceeded to grace Draco with.
Another tiny sigh leaves Draco’s mouth. Once again there’s this sharp tugging in his chest that he’s been feeling for the last couple of months. He really needs to make an appointment with his healer. But first, he needs to leave. So he turns away from the sleeping savior and gets up. He walks towards his discarded clothes, one step, two steps, three, and then, “What the fuck?!”
“Wh- What?” Potter mumbles behind Draco’s back. “Why are you up?”
“I need to leave,” Draco responds softly, not even caring that he woke Harry with his sharp exclamation. He can’t stop staring through the small gap in the curtains.
“What’s up?” Potter asks behind him again. There’s a rustling noise and the sound of naked feet walking toward Draco.
“There’s snow,” Draco mumbles. Strong arms wind around his middle, warmth immediately surrounds him and goosebumps erupt all over his very naked body.
Soft lips press a small kiss into his neck before Harry’s chin lands on his left shoulder, his arms pulling Draco even further into his chest.
“There is,” Harry replies and Draco can feel his cheeky grin. “It’s winter, you know.”
“I guess it is,” Draco whispers. He can’t stop staring at the snowflakes drifting to the ground outside. The naked branches of the trees in Harry’s garden move in the wind, casting shadows over the old house.
“Hey,” Harry whispers back and presses another kiss into Draco’s skin. “Are you all right? You’re shaking, baby.”
There are a lot of things that Draco should notice at that moment. For example that he’s still standing naked as the day he was born in his school rival - turned colleague - turned fuckbuddy’s bedroom while said man is holding him like a lover would, calling him pet names. And in some part of Draco’s mind, he does notice all of those things. He just keeps on staring, his eyes moving from left to right, recognizing all of the flake’s different shapes and forms, falling peacefully to the ground below.
“It’s the first snow without - mum.” The last word was barely there but Harry still understands. At least Draco thinks he does.
Instead of an answer, there’s suddenly a blanket draped around both of their bodies and the curtains are drawn. Draco shivers again while Harry’s powerful magic rushes over his body and fills the room.
Harry starts to sway them, humming gently into Draco’s shoulder. After a few minutes, Draco feels himself relax, falls deeper into the embrace, and closes his eyes.
“Sorry for that,” he mumbles.
“There’s nothing to be so-”
“I will be out of your hair right away I just need to get my-” Drace starts, suddenly thrown back into the situation but before he can move any further, Harry stops him with a hand on his chest and turns him around until they are face to face.
Big, strong hands cup Draco’s face, lifting his chin. Green, green eyes searching for Darco’s grey ones. “Don’t go,” Harry mumbles and whispers a kiss onto his lips. Draco feels how his body wants to follow those soft lips. Feels once again this strange tugging in his chest. “Aren’t we done with playing this game?”
Draco swallows. “What game?
Harry rolls his eyes and chuckles softly. Everything is soft and cautious on this cold December morning.
“The game where I pretend to still be asleep and watch you walk out of this house. Where you pretend that you don’t want to stay with me and that this is all casual for both of us. Where we tell our friends that we’re not a couple although we never fall asleep without each other anymore. The game where I pretend that you’re not the first person I want to tell about my day. Where I pretend that I don’t miss you from the second you leave my bed and that I don’t fully relax until you are back in my arms.” He exhales slowly. “That game,” he whispers and strokes his thumbs under Draco’s eyes.
“Do you,” Draco starts and swallows. “Do you think that you could want that with me?”
“Want what?” Harry asks, eyes so earnest and fond-looking that Draco can’t keep his mouth closed.
“To be with me?”
A soft chuckle rumbles through Harry’s body. “Baby,” he groans and then closes the distance.
First, there are lips and hands, then there are sighs and moans, then there’s the bed and their bodies, and then once again - bliss.