HIS ALONE

The shadows were still long, clear indication that it was far too early to be up on a Saturday morning. But nature's call was insistent, and with a disgruntled sigh, Draco slid from beneath the cocooning warmth of their bed and made his way, barefooted and barely cognizant, to their en-suite. Dozing while standing, he took care of his business, one steadying hand on the tile wall, the other ensuring aim. When he was done, ever fastidious, he rinsed and dried his hands, and then shuffled back into the bedroom.

He'd scarcely opened his eyes during the whole of his sojourn, but he did as he reached the bedside, not wanting to plant his bony knee in the middle of his partner as he crawled into bed. It wasn't the fact that he'd done just that once or twice previously; honestly, it wasn't. He just wasn't in the mood to listen to Harry come awake cursing a blue streak. It was lovely and quiet and he didn't want to disturb the peace. So he opened his eyes as his thigh connected softly with the side of the mattress, and stopped, breath leaving him on a soft sigh.

He never got tired of looking at Harry, never. Even when he was a mess, or tired, or cranky. He watched the moods that flitted over his mobile face with a combination of fascination and tenderness. Harry was an unread book, an unopened Christmas present. Each glimpse into his heart, his mind made Draco feel as if he were the one who'd received a gift, for of all of the people who thought they knew Harry Potter, Draco knew that in actuality he was the only one who really did. Harry's public persona belonged to the wizarding world, but the real Harry, the private Harry; that was his.

This Harry, the one who lay so bonelessly, face turned into Draco's pillow as if seeking his scent, striated musculature outlined in the colors of the creeping dawn; this was his. No one else was privy to this complete relaxation, this utter trust. He studied the hills and valleys of muscle, covered in the smooth unblemished skin, the strong arms that lay loose at his sides. God, he was beautiful, he thought not for the first time. No man should be so completely, utterly beautiful. Draco knew that he had been described as such, but that was only because the people talking had never seen this. The way Harry dressed, the mess that was his hair, his refusal to abandon the simple wire-framed glasses; all of those things hid parts of himself away, kept them private. In a life that rarely seemed entirely Harry's own, Draco understood why and didn't seek to change him, in no small part due to the fact that he really didn't want to share precisely what he was looking at right now. Harry hid that almost otherworldly beauty, and Draco got to keep it all for himself. It was a win/win, as far as he was concerned.

Harry made a sleepy noise in his throat and shifted on the stark white linens, rolling slightly to his side. His black cotton briefs caught beneath him and inched down, revealing a sharp, tempting hip bone, and the light that filtered in through the sheers clearly showed that while Harry was still sleeping, one part of his body was moving on a different wavelength. Draco studied the smooth, rounded bulge in the clinging fabric, a slow smirk moving over his full lips. Careful not to move the mattress too much, he knelt on one knee and leaned forward, running his nose over that hard hip, running his lips along the waistband of the dark briefs. He paused to place a chaste kiss just beneath the tempting indentation of Harry's navel, then moved lower, nuzzling the bulge of his cock with his chin, then his cheek, inhaling the clean, warm, soap and skin and man scent of Harry.

Strong legs shifted beneath the blankets, and Draco heard a long, slow inhalation come from above his head. He glanced up as black lashes fluttered and then lifted over sleepy green eyes, and smiled wickedly in greeting, taking the waistband of the briefs between his teeth before easing them down just enough to free Harry from the constricting fabric.

"Good morning," Draco said, his voice deep and sleep roughened. He ran the tip of his nose over the velvety skin and ridges of the swelling cock, feeling the pulse of blood through the veins as it filled. His tongue gently grazed the head and Harry made a needy, welcoming sound in his throat, and Draco smirked even as he engulfed the whole of him in a smooth, practiced motion. He loved it when it was like this; soft but not limp, still small enough to fit in his mouth but becoming less so by the second. Hallowing his cheeks, he pulled from base to tip, and felt Harry's blunt fingers slide into his hair and curl.

"Draco," Harry gasped, hips lifting into the pull of that wicked mouth. Draco soothed him with a slow slide of fingers over his hip, smiling around the fullness in his mouth.

Oh, yes. This Harry was his, and no one else's.