Title: All That Draco Needs To Keep Him Warm
Author: Punkheid
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I've not turned into JK since my last disclaimer. /
Genre: Fluff!
Warnings: Slash. Oh how good it is not to have to warn of crack!
Rating: G
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Summary: I wrote this on an absolutely boiling day. For Scotland anyway. I didn't need the duvet and that was what sparked off the idea of this. Draco slanted.
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The heat beats down, squashing conversation into the heat-waved stone of the balcony and pulling pants of scorching air from dry lips. Harry lies spread-eagled; his head on Draco's boiling stomach, his white t-shirt sweltering. The ice cubes didn't help and they were too tired to turn it into sex. Below them the distant roar of dusty traffic can be heard: shoppers making their way to the city centre, delivery drivers dropping off their wares. Neither man could imagine even walking to the corner shop, let alone traipsing round the shopping centre. As they squint against the glare they can make out seagulls drifting on presumably cooler thermals high above, and are profoundly jealous.
Later, when the roasting heat turns to clammy stillness with evening, Draco has one leg thrown over Harry's hip, the rest of him held away to conserve coolness. They hold wet cloths to their foreheads in an attempt to beat off the feverish temperature. Harry's sweat-soaked t-shirt lies on the floor where Draco tossed it - no-one is allowed to drink Harry's sweat but him.
When Draco wakes, hours later, thunder is rumbling in the distance and rain is beating soothingly against the glass doors to the balcony. The heat is gone, replaced by refreshing cool and Draco curls back around Harry, nestling into the naked crook of his arm. He decides, with sleepy resolution, that he's only so toasty because of the lingering warmth of the afternoon and pushes away the memory of 3am on a November morning, quilt pushed to the floor, watching the frost form on the window through the moonlighty crack in the curtains and curling further into Harry's softness. He had seen his breath in the air and wondered drowsily why he was so warm. Now, as he lightly runs his fingers along Harry's spine, he lets a smile tug at his lips and hides it in Harry's hair. Harry feels it anyway, and nuzzles Draco in his sleep, and Draco, because the blond knows Harry won't remember this, he lets him do it slurpily, even though it's in his hair.