Harry sat alone in bed. It was late at night and Draco had Floo-called earlier to tell him he was be home very late, too late for Harry to stay up 'til because Kingsley would be on his arse if he was late for work the next day.
("I'm very glad you and your husband are happy together, Mr. Potter, but that gives you no excuse to be an hour late to work simply because 'Draco wouldn't let you leave the bed.'")
The covers were pulled up to his waist, Draco's stolen shirt adorning his torso. It was an Egyptian cotton t-shirt, and it smelled like Draco. Those were his two favorite night-time senses; soft or plushy things, and things that smelled of Draco. The collar of the shirt was tugged up under his nose, the heavenly scent becoming one with his body, mind, and soul.
The book in his lap was buckets more interesting the previous night when he was using it to tease Draco with, 'No sex, I'm reading.'
That game is always(3) fun to play, especially when Draco is horny.
But, alas, Draco was not there to tease, which was unfortunate in every way, shape, and form.
Harry sighed and closed his eyes, "This is boring...," he mumbled to himself.
Not an hour later he set his bookmark between the pages, set his book down on his bedside table, and curled up around his plush green dragon. He fell into an un-restful sleep, nose deep in the smell of his Malfoy that was just enough off to make sleeping difficult.
Prolly gonna be a sequel to this because I'm a fluff bucket :3