Dishes
Harry woke up slowly and groggily to a dull morning light shining on his face. Damn Draco for opening the curtains just enough so he knew it would shine just perfectly in Harry's sleeping eyes. Harry mumbled and rolled over but he knew it would do no good. He was awake now and that was it. If he weren't so tired he would have mumbled angry curses at Draco for knowing him so well. Although he guessed that if you dated someone for two years you were bound to learn their morning habits.
As Harry's senses unwillingly woke up along with his brain, the first thing Harry heard was the distant sound of running water. He tried to ignore it but it was like a dull throb at the back of his mind, telling him something was wrong but just barely out of the reach of his still-foggy mind. Harry sat up and ran a hand through his ruffled bed-head. Although he wasn't sure he could really refer to it as bed-head, seeing as how his hair always looked like he had just woken up no matter what he did.
Then there was that sound again. What was Draco up to anyway?
Thoughts filtered at a snails pace through Harry's mind and he grudgingly got out of bed. It might be possible that Draco was cooking something, he could sometimes be known to cook Harry breakfast in bed whenever he was being particularly, well…it was always either apologetic or seductive. If he was being apologetic the blond would usually being the breakfast on a tray with a flower and a pout on his face, but if he was being the latter of the two he would bring the breakfast to Harry while wearing nothing but an apron.
Harry shook his head and dismissed the thought. Whatever Draco was doing in the kitchen it was not cooking breakfast.
Harry supposed there was nothing to do but go down the stairs and see for himself what his boyfriend was up to. He grudgingly began his descent down the stairs as if he was leaving behind…well, as if he was leaving behind a very warm and comfy bed that he very much would like to crawl right back into.
Damn that Slytherin.
Harry finally made it to the bottom of the impossibly long staircase. He really wasn't a morning person. But since he made it this far, he figured he might as well go on. Steeling all his manly Gryffindor courage, he then proceeded to barely peek his head around the corner so he could peer into the kitchen.
Draco was standing in front of the sink, whistling quietly under his breath, doing the dishes.
No, nothing odd about that.
Except he was shirtless.
Draco was doing the dishes, shirtless.
Harry subconsciously leaned closer as he watched Draco's muscles move under his skin. Suddenly he was promptly pulled from his staring as his face collided with a cupboard. Realizing what he was doing and clearing his throat he sauntered over to stand behind his lover as he continued to wash the dishes like nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Harry gulped harshly as Draco accidentally dropped the sponge and slashed soap on his bare chest. He couldn't help but notice as it slowly dripped lower and lower down Draco.
Then suddenly he was hit by a thought.
Harry turned to look at Draco, his eyebrows soaring to his hairline in confusion, "Uhm, Draco? Why exactly are you doing the dishes? Couldn't you use magic for that sort of thing? Or get one of the house elves to do it?"
Draco stopped his motions and turned predatorily toward Harry.
"What?"
Harry gulped again, "I asked you why you were doing the dishes."
Draco smirked his trademark Slytherin smirk, "Because you think it's sexy."