This short, sweet story done as a Get-Well card for my good friend Ashley aka LittleNightDragon who had come down with a nasty cold. Ashley, even though you told me that you're better now, still hope you love this story and that it brightens your day.
An Average Day
Harry was always the first to get up, five forty-five right on the dot. Partially due to his days of the Horocrux-hunting, also due to his time living under the roof with those Muggle relatives he was forced to acknowledge as family (only by blood). The second the alarm clock shrieked, he'd mutter a string of curses and gibberish, detangling himself from his husband's hold, one hand reaching out to silence the beeping cry with a hard slap.
It was ironic that he'd the one to wake up early when most nights he was usually the one who'd go to bed much later.
Draco, despite being a refined Pureblood with procedures of early-morning rising drilled into his head, slept in later. Much longer if he had it his way. What could he say? The bed was so warm, so cozy; it was hard to pull away. Which forced Harry, a teeth-scrub and shower later, to use one of the three methods.
1). He'd tickle, nudge, and even threaten until Draco moved further and further away from his reach, tumbling off the bed and falling flat on his arse, contributing the stream of laughter that gushed from Harry.
2). He'd let his dear, adoring husband who he loved so much (and thought looked adorable sleeping) rest for just a few more minutes.
3). He'd wake him up with his lips, his hands, and tongue until Draco's body was one big, tightly-wound coil that'd snap into a million delicious pieces.
Close to an hour later a freshly-groomed but still too tired Draco, yawning loudly, wiping the sleep off his eyes, would stumble into the kitchen, following the scent of smoked bacon spicing the air. He'd press a kiss against the back of Harry's neck as his husband turned the bacon and flip through the pancakes, and then made his way over to the coffee marker, preparing his usual order.
At the first sip of hazelnut coffee (perfectly blended with the right amount of cream and sugar), Draco felt a pair of strong arms wrapping around his torso, pulling him against a naked chest, before he felt a soft kiss against the nape of his neck. For a second, Draco would be still, soaking in the warmth of Harry's bare skin, the comfort of his arms, the feel of his lips.
He'd stood there for a second, take another sip of his good coffee, and let out a sigh of pure contentment. Then turned around to catch those lips, mouths opening, tongues playing.
Which was broken apart a minute later by the chorus of eeews coming from their kids who finally peeled themselves away from bed, a trait Harry often said came from their anti-morning Papa, which Draco responded to with a glare or hit. Six year old James making a horrified face as if he witnessed an animal digestion, four year old Albus laughing at Harry and Draco's bemused faces from getting caught once again, his twin brother Scorpius smiling as he helped his baby sister walk into the kitchen. Two year old, Lily, escaping from her brother's hold and walking over to Harry, raising her arms up, demanding to be held by Daddy. A demand Harry always obliged to with a chuckle.
Breakfast was always a circus. Children immediately leaping from their seats like heathens the second plates of food were set down. Grabby hands snatching up spoonfuls of scrambled eggs and bacon stripes. A snippy comment from one brother igniting a food fight with all three, hurled aims of soggy cereal and syrup-coated waffle bits their amino. Chaos ceasing when the owl came in with the latest letter from Teddy and the kids eagerly listened as Harry read out the recent mishaps the first-year Hufflepuff had gotten himself into.
The aftermath of breakfast was better than the post-event but not smooth. Not with one child wanting to go back to bed, suddenly struck with a sore throat or weak cough, or one wanting to dress himself instead of wearing the clothes their parents laid out the night before, or one ranting that the other went through their room or side and took their favorite shirt, which led to another fight.
But always by eight, Harry would leave with James hand in-hand through the floor Floo, James to his school where friends and teachers awaited, Harry to St. Mungo's with a slew of patients to see.
Draco had his hands full, handling the twins and Lily through their games and lessons, looking over case studies for the latest trial he was pulled into. Then after the lunch and the kids were put down for a nap, he'd meet with his clients in his office through firecall and let them know whether or not he'd accept the job, going over alternate routes or planning their attack in court. By two, a client left determined or sullen, and the kids would awake from their nap, reenergized for more (and energy-draining) fun.
Arguments happened often between Harry and Draco. For Merlin's sake, just because they were married didn't mean the bantering stopped. It would be alarming if it did. However, despite the popular belief of the public and even their friends and family, it wasn't as explosive and huge and constant as they thought it was. Sure, sometimes Draco's annoyance was made crystal clear over Harry pulling a last-minute double shift at the hospital (really, Potter, you mean to say you're the only medi-wizard in the whole building?). Harry's annoyance clear (and loud) as a bell over Draco's spoiling habits with the kids (for Merlin's sake, Draco, just because they pout doesn't mean you buy the entire shelf of figures) and when his parenting style sometimes got a bit harsh. Sometimes a snippy comment cut too close to home. Sometimes one would attract an unwanted, wandering eye (or eyes) and the other would try their hardest not to tear them out-or whack for the clueless dope for not paying more attention.
But fights came and went. Sometimes they lasted an entire day, even a week if things got really nasty, but always at the end they made up. Like taking time off work to send each other's favorite treats via owl, surprising each other with an early appearance and a treat out to lunch, sweet kisses that led to very, very good sex.
By three Harry returned, bleary-eyed but still smiling, with James who ran at Draco full-charge for his hug while his siblings ran to Harry, Albus and Scorpius attaching themselves to each leg. Lily holding up her arms, a request to be picked up again. Reunited, the parents engaged in more games of tag, hide and seek, toy-playing.
Harry was the chef of the family, a decision that was immediately made after an unfortunate incident involving Draco and a waffle-skillet proved Draco and kitchen spelled out disaster. Not that it was a bad thing, even if Harry had to constantly bring up that stupid story and the fact Draco lose both eyebrows and a quarter of his hair. Harry was a magnificent cook, able to serve up everything and anything from lemon-shrimp pasta to macaroni and cheese with hot dog pieces that always delicious down to the last bite. Draco, on the other hand, handled drinks from much-needed morning coffee, Shirley Temples for the kids that put the restaurants' own to shame, and adult-fun drinks for him and Harry. So it was a fair compromise.
By seven Lily was tucked in with a sweet lullaby and back rub. By eight Albus and Scorpius were fast asleep after with a song and a story. By nine Jamie was put to bed with a song, a story, and a request for another one.
After the kids were asleep, Harry would flop onto the couch like a boneless lump, smiling in gratitude at the bottle of wine and tall glasses Draco brought over as he joined him. Over those glasses, they talked about their day. The patients Harry dealt with that ranged from easy-going to crazy and downright nasty, the new co-worker scribe who kept mixing up prescription notes. The cases Draco reviewed that looked like the makings of a sloppy case, the terrified client that wanted an easy pledge-bargain, the nasty history between the defendant and the accused. And, of course, the nosy press who tried to barge their ways through the wards to see if they can find an unflattering picture or snippet of conversation that would sell in the papers.
Most nights they retreated back to their back for some downtime that included hot kisses, teasing touches, and no clothes. Other nights they just exchanged a sweet peck here and there and laid still, resting their aching muscles. But the nights always ended with their limbs entangled together, exchanging soft kisses and smiles before they drifted off to dreamland.
Only for their day to start over again the next morning.