In the simple bed just wide enough to fit its two owners, a young deathly pale man slept. Splayed out on his stomach, the usually tense wizard's body was relaxed and he was so far gone that he snored, though it was slight and quiet. His back was a map of scars, the most prominent being an ugly deep bite on his shoulder that would never fully heal. Some scars were results of others – one being another prominent scar, a deep indented scar left by Harry Potter, crossing his front, starting near his left armpit to zigzag over his flat stomach and end low on his right hip, almost reaching the thigh. Other minor scars were battle scars and unfortunately expected for those of his generation. The majority of his scars, otherwise, were self-inflicted. But that had been a while ago, and he had since come to terms with himself. The young man huffed in his sleep, his sleepily innocent face creasing as his dream turned sour. His face dug into his over-sized pillow, ruffling his naturally straight and platinum-blond hair which hadn't changed much since his teen hood with the exception of being just slightly shaggier and relaxed in style.
The small movement instantly woke his bed companion, the witch not being much of good sleeper. Like her lover, she was physically imperfect due to the Battle that had dominated their teenage lives – but unlike her lover, none were self-inflicted. The brunette relaxed and yawned, her first instinct having been to check on the man beside her. Just a dream, he'll wake soon. As she reached up to re-secure her bouffant curly hair into a somewhat loose bun, an old scar that could never be mistaken as a tattoo was still visible on the inside of her left arm. Those close to her had tried in vain to remove it, but the witch had prevented them shortly, wise enough to understand the curse Bellatrix Lestrange had indented into her. Yawning again, the witch closed her eyes as the dawn light weakly brightened up the sparse bedroom, highlighting her face with its since faded cuts. She turned away as the man beside her shifted restlessly, starting to return to consciousness, and slipped carefully out of the bed. Nude, she picked up an old shirt with a barely readable joke about bacon that had belonged to her father, and slipped it on along with fresh underwear.
As she slipped out the room, the door giving a weary creak, Draco woke up with a frown. Turning on his back, he turned his face away from the dawning sun and placed his long bony hand onto the space beside him. Finding it warm, he relaxed. She'll be making the tea. Pressing his index finger in the gap between his eyebrows, the wizard was already forgetting the dream that had discomforted him. His senses were waking up, and he could hear his long-time lover efficiently pottering around their kitchen. He listened as the kettle came to a boil, listened to cupboard doors opening and closing, the hum of the fridge loudening as the door was held open slightly longer than usual. Maybe she's already deciding what's for lunch. His nose twitched as he smelled the freshness of the tea bags Hermione favoured, the slight sourness of the milk she surely had on the bench, and a vague scent of raw meat. And he waited as the bare stairs of their small and old-fashioned house creaked in protest under a certain witch's dainty steps. As their bedroom door groaned open, Draco's lips quirked in amusement and, dare we say it, tenderness.
"Are we having steak for lunch?"
"Urgh, that's not very fair, Draco."
Despite her complaint, Hermione smiled in response to her husband and planted the mismatched mugs on the table-stand beside the bed that Draco thought was ugly. Truthfully, Hermione thought it was ugly as sin as well, but she found it at a car boot sale for next-to-nothing and it was just pure stubbornness that kept it in their simple home. Her hands free, she slipped under the covers on the bed and pressed up against the pale man.
"And yes, I thought we'd have steak today. The full moon will be here soon, and I've noticed your appetite has been increasing so.. It was meant to be a surprise treat."
"Sorry. And the milk's starting to go off."
"I know, the expiry date is in a couple days."
Finished with the mundane chat, the witch leant away and half laid down on her back, pushing off her shirt as her wizard's nimble fingers pulled down her underwear, dropping it off the bed.
"I didn't know you had leopard-skin patterned pants."
Laughing, Hermione reached out for her naked husband and pulled him tight against her lean body, pressing lazy kisses to his neck as her hands roamed his angular back, familiar with and ignorant of his scars. The wizard's lips quirked once again as he listened to Hermione's quiet laughter, his hand slipping down to her legs to part them for him to slip between. Her body was pliant, and he nudged his lower half against her, teasing. They had no need for foreplay, and he soon pushed into her, settling his hips into rhythm as she sighed softly, pressing kisses against his body as he murmured sentiments to her. The morning sun lit onto Draco's back, and when Hermione looked up into his face, sharp and angular and currently flushed, she thought not for the first time that he was beautiful. Tightening around him, Hermione let out a husky laugh as he groaned, bucking his hips. Teasingly, she continued and their love-making grew wilder, ending in a harsh gasp. As Draco lost strength in his arms, he fell beside his heavily breathing wife and pressed a kiss on her jaw line.
"We couldn't have just had a lazy screw?"
"No, it was much more fun this way."
Draco huffed with amusement as Hermione laughed her response, turning her body to face his.
"The tea's cold now."
"I know, I don't care. This was better."
She pressed her full lips against his thin lips tenderly.
"I love you."
"I love you."
Hi guys, I'm sort of back :) All I can say about the past year of inactivity is I lost my mojo, but I'm starting to get a bit of it back.
To ease back into writing, here's a one shot! I've sort of used my Hermione and Draco from the Transformation story. Just a bit of aww, I guess x