Don't Move (dm.hp)

T E N

Pillow talk is highly overrated, in Draco's opinion. He woke slowly, his mind drifting in and out of consciousness, until he noticed that his bed was unusually warm and there was a weight on his waist that definitely was not there on previous mornings. He carefully rolled onto his other side and fought the urge to gasp when he came face to face with Harry. So, it hadn't been a dream. Harry fucking Potter was in his bed. And his arse hurt. He studied Harry's face for a few minutes, taking in the curve of his lips and the slope of his nose in an attempt to burn the image into his memory forever.

"Hi." Harry whispered softly. Draco's body tensed up as Harry opened his strikingly green eyes and stared into Draco's grey ones. Draco didn't know what to say back. What is one meant to say to their probation officer after having sex with said officer? 10-4? Didn't that mean 'all good', or something?

Draco settled for simplicity. "Hi." He whispered. The feeling of awkwardness was rapidly building inside of him.

"What time is it?" Harry groaned, burying his face in the pillow and tightening his hold on Draco. The blonde glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table and informed him that it was half past seven. "Fuck." Harry mumbled. "I have to go."

Of course he did. "Yeah, okay. I'll walk you out?" Draco most certainly did not want to walk him out. He would prefer to cocoon himself in his blankets and possibly never emerge. He would stay there, swaddled in the memory of the night before, for the rest of his life. Although, a shower might be nice first.

"You stay here." Harry sat up and stretched, then got up to search for his clothes. Once he was dressed, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to Draco's forehead. "I'll see you in a few days." He slipped out of the bedroom, and soon Draco heard his front door close. He stared up at the ceiling with wide eyes. This had to be a major conflict of interest. If anyone found out... nobody would, no, nobody could know. It wasn't as though Draco had anyone to tell, anyways. His pillow, perhaps, but his pillow had been there the whole time, so that was unnecessary. Pillow talk. He chuckled at the pun.

Draco knew three things for sure.

One, he was absolutely infatuated with Harry.

Two, Harry was possibly absolutely infatuated with him.

Three, Harry had been the best fuck of his life.

Draco covered his face with his hands, hiding his burning cheeks from his companion, the ceiling. Harry had turned him into a horny, begging puddle.
How embarrassing.

•••

After a shower and some much needed breakfast, Draco curled up on the sofa and turned on the TV. He found some drama filled, mindless reality show and let his brain shut off for a while. Currently, there were too many emotions for Draco to process, so he did what anyone would do, and decided not to process them. At least not at that very moment. He drifted off at some point between Rich Wife #1 throwing wine at Rich Wife #2, and a glamorous girls trip to the Bahamas.

An hour later, Draco jerked awake with an uneasy feeling. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and his heart was racing. He felt like he was being watched. He assumed that Harry had come back and was fondly admiring him from somewhere, as Draco now left the door unlocked for him, but Harry was nowhere to be seen. He cautiously rose to his feet and went to the kitchen- all clear. He retrieved a flashlight from a closet in the entrance hall and set off searching the house. Which, in retrospect, was probably not the smart thing to do as he was unarmed and didn't have any means of calling someone for help.

The house was empty. Draco tried to shake off the anxious feeling, deciding that more Rich Wife #1 and #2 drama would distract him. Some tea, too. Tea was comforting. He flicked on the kitchen light and turned to grab a mug from the cupboard when his heart nearly beat out of his chest- on the marble countertop sat a bouquet of blood red roses. From his own garden, to be precise. They hadn't been there half an hour ago. He approached the flowers the same way one might approach an aggressive dog. Tentatively, he lifted the bouquet to look for a note, any indication of who might have placed them there. Nothing. Draco desperately wished he could call Harry, to ask if he had left them there, or to simply request his company. He reminded himself that unlike himself, Harry had a job and responsibilities. He couldn't just drop everything at Draco's convenience.