"Draco?" Harry called, slipping his dark Auror robes from his shoulders and throwing it on the arm of the sofa beside him. He picked up the Prophet from the coffee table in front of him, taking a quick glance through the pages before flinging it disinterestedly back down on the surface. He looked behind him, towards the hallway. "Draco?" he called again. There was no answer. Harry frowned. Usually Draco would be waiting for him when he came home from work no matter how late it was. And it wasn't late, only just past evening, Harry thought as he checked the hour, though the sky outside the windows had been dark for a while.
Draco wasn't in the kitchen either when Harry went to inspect, nor was he in the library where Harry would normally find him catching up on his medicinal studies, or hunched over a new potions book Harry had found for him on his countless trips across the country.
Perhaps he'd gone to bed early? Harry pondered, deciding he should check on him before he found himself some dinner.
When he got to the bedroom he paused, his breath catching slightly at the sight of Draco on their bed. Draco lay sleeping, spread out on the mattress, his head tilted to the side and an arm curled over his head. His dark onyx bed shirt had bunched up over his waist, exposing the pale, sculpted skin of his abdomen, and his bottoms settled sinfully low on his hips. Harry swallowed hard, his hand clenched hard on the handle of the door. He should probably let Draco sleep—he'd been so busy studying for his medi-wizard exams that he'd hardly any time to rest in between his training and his internship at the hospital. But the more Harry stood there, hesitating at the doorway and watching the slow, gentle rise and fall of Draco's chest, he knew he wouldn't be able to just walk away. He couldn't.
Instead, Harry drew closer, quietly so as to not startle Draco awake, slipping off his shoes as he went. His heart beat sped up unwantedly, skipping when Draco turned his head slightly forward in his sleep, a soft unintelligible array of words slipping from between his lips. Harry maneuvered himself onto the bed, coming closer between Draco's marginally spread legs, hands on either side of the blonde's waist, not touching, just watching—Draco's platinum blonde hair lying in disarray across his forehead, the manicured eyebrows, the lashes, long lashes that lay perfectly against Draco's skin, and lower, where his lips were parted, lips that Harry would never get enough of—
He looked down, unable to stop himself from leaning down closer until his head was level with Draco's navel, letting his breath run across the skin, loving the way the small blond hairs stood on end, his ears perking up when Draco let out the loveliest sigh in his sleep; and Harry bent lower, so that his lips could touch the skin, slowly and gently leaving a trail of kisses around his stomach—hearing Draco's breathing pick up and then an indulgent moan, the sound going through Harry's ears and straight to his groin. He chanced a glance up and was met with a sliver of steel-gray eyes, glazed with need.
"Hi," Harry said quietly, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
"Harry…hi," Draco said, his voice barely above a whisper, sleep still clouding words.
Harry let his eyes fall back on the taught skin below him, letting his tongue trace the kisses he made just moments before, knowing that Draco had dropped his head back as another small moan escaped him. He saw more than felt the twitch beneath Draco's loose pajama bottoms and Harry's mouth moved lower, to the waistband, nipping and biting gently, taking his cues from the sounds now issuing freely from above him. Harry's own trousers were uncomfortably tight—his face growing warm at the small thrusts of Draco's hips that the blonde couldn't seem to control, and legs spreading further open, inviting, wanting—Harry's hand reaching down to palm his own erection, and when Harry moved his lips over the dented fabric, grazing his teeth at the straining tip, Draco's sharp intake of breath and a desperate murmur Harry recognized as his own name and Harry very nearly growled, grabbing Draco's hips forcefully, pulling him up, Draco using his hands on the bed as leverage to sit up, reaching over now with his arms clinging on Harrys neck and his legs wrapped firmly around so that he was straddling Harry, who brought him closer, closer, very nearly crushing his sleep-warmed body to him; and there was nothing. Nothing but the space between their lips, and even then there was only a fraction of a second before their mouths connected in a most delicious, frantic, needy embrace. Harry moved his hands over Draco's back, under the fabric of his shirt, needing to touch skin, reveling in the feeling of Draco's very hard, very warm arousal against his stomach and Harry smiled….