Title: Sleeping In on a Sunny Afternoon
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: PG-13 for very-faintly-implied sex
Summary: A conversation in a bed. D/H.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
"You make me tired," said Draco, his elbow on his pillow and his head propped on his palm, the fingers of his other hand brushing idly along the smooth, straight line of Harry's jaw.
"What do you mean?" asked Harry, on his stomach beside him.
He kissed at the underside of Draco's wrist—or maybe just a little under that; it was whatever he could reach.
"I don't understand you," said Draco. "I try so hard to, but I don't. I never do."
"I think you understand me better than anyone," said Harry.
"I don't," said Draco.
"Well, I appreciate that you keep trying, anyway."
Harry smiled, and Draco kissed him.
"I love you," said Draco, not meaning to say it, but meaning it, anyway.
"See?" said Harry. "You do understand me."
"It was that simple?" said Draco.
"Was that simple for you?" asked Harry.
"It was and it wasn't," said Draco.
"Exactly," said Harry, his small, Seeker hand light and warm over Draco's, which was now resting comfortably along the expanse of Harry's cheek.
"Well?" said Draco.
"I love you too, of course, you prat," said Harry. "I was getting to it."
"Making me wait for it, were you?" asked Draco.
"I wanted to see how long you'd last," said Harry lazily.
"You're wicked," said Draco, and nipped at Harry's full, pink bottom lip, licking at it to soothe the tiny hurt.
"Turn over," said Draco, and Harry peered up at him and laughed, and turned over onto his back.
Talking, then, was no longer necessary; not for this, not with them.
It really was as simple, and not simple, as that.
