Just like every night, Harry rolled over and said, "You don't have to stay."
I gritted my teeth. Didn't he see that I stayed because I wanted to? Because maybe, oh-I-don't-know, I liked it? Because he needed me? Because this was important to me?
"Warmer over here," I said tersely. Harry should never see how much this meant to me.
He just grunted, closing his eyes. "Not like you're gonna sleep, Malfoy."
Slap. In the face. I winced. Every time he said that - dammit, did he have to bring that up? I slept. Some. Late at night, when everyone else was breathing heavy, I drifted off. I could sleep without the drugs, without the pills...just...not very much.
"I am not insomniac," I said haughtily, hating him, hating him. Damned Potter. Why couldn't he want me sleeping with him? Hell knew he needed me in the bed. Why couldn't he like it?
"Whatever." He didn't open his eyes and he didn't look at me. He didn't touch my face and trace my lips. He didn't grip my shoulders and dig his nails into my back. He didn't breath, "I love you, Draco," and he didn't fucking mean it.
But once his breathing slowed and he started to fuss, plagued by his nightmares, he did.
He started out by whining, gripping his blanket to his chest and scrabbling with his fingers, searching for a hold on something, anything. His face scrunched up and those pathetic needy sounds whimpered out of his mouth, until I couldn't take it. Until I gave in. Until I rolled over and pried the blanket out of his death grasp - earning the loudest whine yet - and pushed myself close to his body.
I'm not doing this for me. I am not doing this for me, I reminded myself as my face heated up. I am not doing this for me.
Harry cooed with delight, wrapping his arms around me haphazardly, clutching my t-shirt. He buried his face in my neck, making those damned adorable sounds and oh shit this - this - this feeling - oh shit -
I bit back the whine scratching at the back of my throat as he started suckling on my neck, grazing the sensitive skin and - damn you feel too good, too good, too - ohhh - "Ohhh, Potter," I gasped. "Don't - "
He sucked harder, and I just gasped and fretted and squirmed in our awkward tangle of arms and legs and - oh shit, legs. "Potter..." I hissed, but hell if I wasn't enjoying this, this, this...what was it? What were we? His ice-cold hands touched bare skin just beneath my shirt, and I whisper-shrieked and forgot - forgot -
"Ahh..." sighed Harry, happier than ever, and did I mention that some weird shit made him happy? Damned if I knew why this was the only thing that kept the nightmares away - sex dreams, I guessed, but where I fit into that I wasn't sure - and - and - oh shit he need to stop that -
His fingers brushed my sides, checking me, checking to make sure that it was me, because he'd fuss and fret if it wasn't. Ginny, Harry's girlfriend, told me that. "He'd fall asleep and start cuddling me and everything would be fine, until he'd notice that I didn't have your freakin' scars and then it'd be all over."
Satisfied, Harry cooed again and nuzzled my collar. His hot breath made me feel faint, or maybe that was the blood pulsing all through my body and aching - oh, hell was I ever aching. Potter should not have this effect on me. He should not - oh shit.
He was kissing at me again, and what kind of a creep kissed someone in their sleep - but did it matter - because this felt so good. And he was so soft. And all of this was too much, too hot, too sweaty, too - too -
I am not doing this for me!
His tongue slipped over the little hollow in my throat and I whimpered before realizing it. His hands clutched at my ribs, brushing the soft - sensitive - skin and oh shit did he even realize what he was doing to me? This feeling was...was too much. The heat was building and I couldn't take it and did he even know what a fuckin' tease he was? And why did I let him do this to me again? Because he was my - he was my -
My nothing.
I let out a sort of sob and moan as Harry kissed along my jawbone. His mouth felt so damn good - I am not doing this for me - but he was still my nothing. These...these...these feelings didn't change us...didn't change the fact that we weren't anything, anything except a couple of guys who needed each other to sleep -
"Mmm..." went Harry, snuggling closer, his open mouth dangerously close to mine. I could barely see him in the darkness, but I knew every freckle on his face - I am not doing this for me - and the little dimple in his right cheek - and oh damn I wanted to kiss him so bad -
"Mm." He pushed his face closer, needy, demanding. My heart thumped and my ears flushed and how could he be so active in his sleep? He couldn't be getting any rest - "Mmm," he sighed, pressing his cheek to mine, snuggling in. Taking over. He had me wound around his finger and, oh, he knew it.
His hands pushed into my stomach, searching. I swallowed and choked and moaned out, "Harry" but he didn't stop. Hell, when did he ever listen to me, awake or not? I closed my eyes tight and shifted uncomfortably against his too-hot body, reminding myself - I am not doing this for me.
His probing fingers found the waist of my pajama pants and - oh shit - lower, and I gasped and clutched at him and pressed my face into the pillow - and - "Harry!" - and heat rushed all along my body and don't get turned on, don't get turned on -
Humming appreciatively, Harry nudged his knee between my legs and oh shit why do I do this - and I lost - all - coherent - thought -
I hate Harry Potter.
He quieted down eventually, arms wrapped around me and blankets tangled over us and pillows thrown aside or forgotten. His breathing quickened every so often, like he was about to wake up, and I hushed him, soothingly, hating him. Why the hell did I do this? Why did I fucking care so much about him? So he had nightmares and couldn't sleep unless someone slept with him. So what? If wasn't like he fucking loved me for what I did for him! I was the only one who - who -
I hate this.
As morning crept up, slowly, exhaustingly, I nudged what was left of my thumb between his lips and he sucked readily. He'd always suck his own thumb at night if I wasn't there, and it was one of the most adorable things I'd ever seen. It calmed me down, somehow, but I wasn't...doing this...yawn...for me...
I think I slept, some, but restless and aching and unsatisfied. I jerked back to consciousness with my body raging angrily at me, pissed off at Harry and needing relief. I groaned...too early, too tired, not enough sleep...but I never got enough sleep...so I rolled out of his bed.
Harry cried out, arms grasping at the empty blankets. He always missed me when I left. He whimpered, curling up into a ball, and if it wasn't so close to waking-up time he'd probably pee himself. Pathetic kid. Why did I love such a pathetic kid? It hurt, hurt, hurt...hurt that I couldn't wake up next to him, because he'd never forgive me if he found me in his arms. We were just friends. He'd never let me sleep with him again, and then he'd never sleep again, and then he'd end up like me. Insomniac.
It hurt. That he only missed me when I left.
But I'm not doing this for me.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading! This is a one-shot, but I could be persuaded to write more if you guys liked it :)
Please review!