Disclaimer: I don't own Draco or Harry or any of their world, and I'm not making a profit. All rights to WB and J.K. Rowling.
Author's Note: This is just fluff that came pouring out when I was trying to write something serious. Who knows, maybe I'll finish the version of this that is meant to be angst, but I doubt it. This is just a glimpse into what I think would be a complicated but lovely relationship. Hope you enjoy it.
OOO
When Harry woke, he was instantly aware of three things. First, he had a headache that rivaled every headache he had ever had, including the ones during the war. Second, he was in the bathtub. Third, he wasn't alone.
"Fuck," he mumbled, trying to sit up without disturbing Draco. Merlin above, it would be Harry's fault that they had gotten pissed and ended up sleeping in the tub, and Draco was unpleasant enough when he was woken before he was ready. Unfortunately, Draco was almost completely on top of Harry, his arms and legs entangled with Harry's, and there wasn't an easy way out of the tub without dumping Draco off to the side. With a huff, Harry began the slow process of getting up while trying to disturb the sleeping dragon as little as possible.
"Potter, I'm trying to sleep," Draco growled, tightening his grip around Harry's neck.
"I've gotta piss," Harry mumbled, shifting Draco's legs to the side. With one eye opened, Draco's glare was still ferocious enough to make Harry nervous. If he kept it up, they wouldn't be having sex anytime soon. Desperate to get to the toilet, Harry decided that kissing Draco's arse for the rest of the week was better than wetting himself in the tub.
"Why the fuck am I in the bathtub?" Finally aware of his surroundings, Draco's bloodshot eyes narrowed as Harry carefully climbed out of the tub, wobbling a bit on his unsteady feet.
"No idea."
"No doubt it was some ridiculous cock-up of yours." Draco clung to the edge of the tub looking miserable while Harry relieved himself with a groan. When he was finished, he turned to watch his boyfriend. Draco was attempting to stand up, but lacked the strength in his weakened state.
"Yes, my fault. Bed, now." With a grunt, Harry helped Draco out of the tub, half carrying him to the bedroom.
"I see your hangover hasn't seemed to have had any effect on your language skills." Even with a throbbing headache and a sore neck, Draco was incapable of holding his tongue. Harry tuned him out, dumping him unceremoniously on his side of the bed. He shuffled to the other side and plopped down, pulling the coverlet over his head.
"Go to sleep," Harry ordered, unwilling to let Draco get to him. He was in no state to argue.
"I'll remember this in the morning, Potter." Harry rolled his eyes, snuggling deeper under the covers. He felt Draco tug on them, hogging them like usual. Harry pulled them back a little, making sure to stay in the warmth. Draco pulled harder, slowly gathering the covers on his side of the bed. When Harry's feet were exposed, that was the last straw.
"Do you mind?" Harry snapped. He tugged the covers back to his side, re-covering his feet. Draco pulled them to his side, uncovering Harry's head in the process. They glared at each other for a long moment, daring one another to make the next move. Harry slowly dragged the blankets back over himself, keeping his eyes locked on Draco's while he did.
"Fuck you!" With one almighty tug, Draco managed to haul the entire sheet and coverlet to his side of the bed. Before Harry could react, he had wadded them up in his arms and stomped across the room. With a petulant sneer, he kicked the door open and stormed down the hall to the guest bedroom, where he angrily slammed the door.
"Damn it," Harry muttered, sprawled on his back with nothing covering him except his t-shirt and boxers. His head pounding, Harry rolled himself out of bed and pried one corner of the fitted sheet off the mattress. He slid under the thin material, pulling his pillow under it so that he was completely covered. Ignoring the cold, Harry was asleep before he could think about the day ahead of him.
OOO
Sure enough, when Harry made his way down to the kitchen, Draco was perched on his chair with his nose in the Prophet, doing his best to ignore Harry's existence. The smell of coffee kept Harry moving as he padded across the cold floor. Not even a warming charm had kept the cold at bay. After pulling a mug off the shelf, Harry made to pour himself coffee. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised that the pot was empty. Of course Draco wouldn't make enough for them both. With a heavy sigh, Harry busied himself with remaking the pot.
"How long are you going to be angry with me this time?" He was used to the frosty mornings.
Silence.
"Is there anything expensive that you want that I can buy you to show how sorry I truly am?"
Silence.
"Draco, I'm sorry for wanting to be completely under the covers!"
Draco's snort was so quiet that Harry might have imagined it. More silence.
"Goddamn it, I'm sorry! Just stop ignoring me."
"I'm not ignoring you. I heard every word you said, Potter." Draco lowered his paper long enough to glare at harry for a moment, then returned to pretending to read. Harry rolled his eyes.
"Fine. I'm going to get dressed and head to the office. Then I'm going to go to the pub with Ron tonight. And we'll see if you're able to feed yourself for a night." Harry stomped to the door, his coffee forgotten, satisfied that the look Draco gave him had been a little bit worried. Draco Malfoy couldn't cook if his life depended on it. This was how it always went, Harry reflected. They got mad over something ridiculous, fought the battle for a few days, and then made up spectacularly, vowing to never argue again. A few weeks later, they would be back at it. It kept life interesting, which was enough for Harry.
OOO
Harry floo'ed home after work, determined to ignore Draco while he changed out of his Auror robes, then meet Ron at the Leaky. Before he could get to ignore him, however, the blond man was waiting for Harry, leaning against the fireplace with his arms crossed over his chest. Draco gave Harry a loaded glance before he walked away down the hall.
Harry found him in the bedroom, perched on the edge of the bed. In his arms were the sheets that had caused them distress. On the bed there were new sheets and a new comforter, which was crimson.
"I thought maybe if we had our own, we would sleep a little better," he said quietly, gesturing toward the bed. He watched Harry closely, looking for forgiveness. Draco, who was impossible at every turn, annoyingly arrogant, controlling, and born to argue, had bought Harry crimson sheets. Gryffindor colored sheets.
"You bought me my own blanket?" Harry felt his throat tighten. Draco nodded, dropping the sheets in his arms to move to where Harry stood.
"I don't like fighting with you, Harry," Draco whispered, leaning in to kiss Harry's forehead. Harry nodded, wrapping his arms around Draco's slender waist.
"Then don't be such an arse," he suggested, grinning into Draco's neck.
"Don't test me, then. I would have gladly shared with you if you hadn't started the game of tug-of-war!" Draco stiffened in Harry's arms, ready to argue.
"You're right. I'm sorry. I would be glad to have you as my blanket, you know." Harry looked into the gray eyes before him with a shy smile. Draco allowed himself to smile for a second before fastening a haughty look on his face.
"Besides, the thread count on those sheets you bought is too Plebian. So don't think I've done this all for you."