#deserve everything

It’s early morning, far earlier than Harry would normally wake up, but the light is bright, and the room is chilly, just the way it always is, window open even to winter air.

The bed dips behind him, and Harry looks over his shoulder, smile ready, expecting to see Draco awake, morning soft, smoother, fewer edges for Harry to cut himself on. He can never decide which Draco he likes best, if he likes any of them best, which one’s real, which one is years of practice slid so naturally into place. But Draco isn’t awake. He’s facing away from Harry now, arms splayed across the mattress, legs tangled in the sheets. He’s restrained, even in his sleep, normally, and for a moment Harry is alarmed.

Neither of them has had a nightmare in years, at least, not one bad enough to wake the other up, but Draco doesn’t look tense, doesn’t look on the edge of wakefulness, trapped in abject horror of war. Concerned, still, Harry drags a hand down Dracos back, fingers trailing the ladder of his spine, the wings of his shoulder blades. He remembers a time when he could count his ribs. Now, there are only dimples, right at the base of his spine, soft in surrounding muscle and fat.

“Draco.” He whispers, hushed. He doesn’t want to startle him awake. If he’s having a nightmare that can only end with Harry on the wrong side of a wand, has ended like many times, and Draco is always a mess, after. Far more so than when Harry can coax him awake slowly.

He brushes his hand up again, his fingers slide through blond hair, back down, this time letting them settle in the dimples, stroking.

“Draco” he whispers again, as his husband turns over, groaning, burying his face in the pillow, tugging discarded sheets back over sharp shoulders.

He lets his hands rest on a hip, now, bringing his other to stroke along the bridge of Dracos nose, across sun tanned freckles Draco insists don’t exist, down the side, towards dry lips.

“Are you alright, love?”

“M’fine. It’s early Harry, sleep.”

“Are you sure? What were you dreaming about?”

Draco sighs, rolls closer, settling a warm cheek against Harry’s shoulder, cold nose against his jaw.

“M’fine, Harry. You don’t need to worry.”

He sounds a little more awake now. Voice soft, soothing, the way he used to talk when Harry would get overwhelmed at work, at school, on shift, together.

“Alright.” He says, presses his cheek to Dracos forehead, shivers when his nose drags cold, still, across his neck. “What were you dreaming about then? You were moving”

Draco hums and squeezes, tight across Harry’s ribs, props himself up on an elbow. Harry opens his eyes, watching a slow smile emerge, warm, makes Harry’s breath catch, still, even after all this time.

Draco smooths a thumb under Harry’s eye, kisses him, once, long, indulgent, soft and warm, wraps his hand around the side of Harry’s neck before settling back into Harry’s shoulder.

“You. I was dreaming of you.” He pauses, breath slow and even against Harry’s side, his throat. “I was dreaming of you. We were dancing.”

Harry smiles, doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. He’s already drifting back to sleep, can feel the images of him and Draco dancing along the edge of his consciousness, through a ballroom, ghost music playing, soft and light, Draco’s smile wide.

me: ...but...but... murderers..?

gotham: we have bruce turning half evil due to brainwash

me: ...sociopaths?

gotham: uhhh... we have selina pretending she’s gonna murder someone even though we all know she won’t

me: MURDER CHILDREN!!!! >:(

gotham: FINE! HERE, HAVE THEM!!!