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Sweet Dreams (are made of this)

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Draco stumbled through the Floo, blinking dazedly around the silent flat. It was dark, the only light coming from the gently flickering flames of the fire, and Draco could see that Harry had done his particular brand of cleaning – shoving everything into corners and haphazard piles under the table. Draco wrinkled his nose, knowing he wouldn't be able to do anything tomorrow until he had tidied up properly. But at least Harry had tried; Draco supposed he could give him points for that.


He yawned as he walked down the hallway, noticing the remains of a dinner for one left on the counter as he passed the kitchen. Draco winced at the sight; his shift was supposed to have finished eight hours ago, and he and Harry had had plans for a romantic dinner to celebrate their third anniversary. And instead here he was, almost comatose after having worked an extra eight hours, and Harry had had to fend for himself for the evening. What a fucking cock up.


The bedroom was pitch black beyond the door, Harry preferring to spell the windows to keep out even the meager light from the streetlamps; he had trouble sleeping when the room wasn't dark enough. Draco moved closer to the bed through muscle memory, narrowly skirting the chest of drawers and the armchair in the corner. He was pretty sure his eyes were already closed.


The sounds of a body shifting beneath the sheets came to him as he stripped himself out of his lime green robes, and then Harry made a sleepy, questioning noise.


“Mmh, Draco? S'tha' you?”


“Shh, sorry,” Draco whispered, dropping his clothes to the floor. He'd pick them up in the morning; he was far too tired to do anything but pass out right now. “Go back to sleep.”


“You're later than I thought you'd be, from your owl.”


“I know. Last minute emergency, took longer than I thought to fix it.” Draco groped his way over to the bed and pulled back the sheets.


“What happened?”


Draco's eyes had become a little more accustomed to the dark, and now Harry was a black shape in front of him, leaning up on an elbow, his hair a shock of negative space in the otherwise black room. “An incarcerous cast too strong. The ropes were cutting off the patient's circulation. It took us hours just to saw through the knots.”


“An auror mission gone wrong?”


Draco smiled as he felt Harry reach out for him, hand sliding around his waist. “You know I would have said so in my owl if it had been one of your colleagues.” He yawned, his jaw popping with the force of it. “It was a bondage experiment gone wrong.”


He felt Harry snicker next to him. “I told you we should give classes on that.”


“Nnnuh,” Draco replied, head thumping gratefully into the pillow. “That'll have to wait for another night, because I'm about to pass out. Unless you have a somnophilia kink I don't know about.”


“How would you? You'd be too busy snoring to find out.”


“I do not snore.” Draco wondered vaguely if his voice sounded as indistinct to Harry as it did to him. He slowly became aware that the room wasn't as dark as it had been, and he blinked his eyes open to a soft yellow ball of light, floating above their heads. “What are you doing?”


“Shh,” Harry repeated back to him. “Go to sleep, I've got you.”


Draco's eyelids obeyed Harry's soft command without any input from his brain. A moment later, he felt Harry's broad palms sweeping down his back, spreading warm fragrant oil across his skin. Firm fingers dug into the knots in his shoulders, pressing and rubbing in deep, smooth circles, slowly removing the tension built up from sixteen hours on his feet. He felt the slightly rough callouses on the pads of Harry's fingers as they moved across his skin, built up from years of Quidditch playing. Harry's palms slid slowly down Draco's back, thumbs pressing into the muscles to either side of his spine, fingers gliding over his ribs with just enough pressure to keep it from tickling. He rubbed circles into Draco's kidneys, heel of his palms moving slowly just over the swell of his buttocks. His hands swept down around the sides of Draco's hips, and he smiled lazily into the pillow as he felt fingers sneaking over to give his arse cheeks a playful squeeze.


Harry continued his slow, deep massage, moving down Draco's legs, strong fingers wrapping around his thighs and squeezing, pushing circles into the tender calf muscles, thumbs pressing balls of pressure along his achilles tendon, the soles of his feet. Then he moved back up, taking one of Draco's arms and massaging from shoulder to wrist, pulling gently on each fingertip and soothing the knuckles, before moving onto the next arm. He moved so slowly, so methodically, that by the time Harry returned to his back, Draco felt as though he had melted into the mattress as all the tension he'd been holding throughout the day was slowly drawn from him by Harry's talented fingers.


He was also incredibly turned on, his dick hard and leaking, trapped between his stomach and the sheets.


“Okay?” Harry asked, and Draco moaned an affirmative, all higher brain function sucked out of him along with the tension. Harry's hands left him for a moment before returning, fingers liberally slicked with lube, gently pressing his cheeks apart. He touched one fingertip lightly to Draco's hole. “How about now?”


Draco couldn't speak, caught between the sleepy, floating high induced by the massage and the deep, burning want coursing through him. He hitched his hips higher in response, sighing as Harry chuckled quietly, pressing harder with his fingertip.


“You're so relaxed,” Harry mused. “You feel like you hardly need any prep at all. I think I could take you right now.”


“Yessss,” Draco murmured into his pillow, voice breaking halfway through the word.


“Except that I like prepping you,” Harry said, and Draco felt him shift position, crouching down between his spread thighs. He felt Harry's hands separating his cheeks, pulling them wide, thumbs pressing in to touch his hole, dipping in and then tugging lightly. He knew it was coming but he still couldn't stop the surprised moan from slipping out as Harry lightly touched his tongue against him, licking around the furled opening before slowly pressing inside. Draco loved this, could happily spend hours being rimmed by Harry, the slick, wet feel of his tongue opening him up, licking its way inside. Harry had a very talented tongue, possessing the ability to melt Draco's brain with even the simplest of kisses, but when he put it to this use, Draco wondered how anyone could survive without it. A person hasn't lived if they haven't had Harry Potter's tongue in their arse. It was as close to God as Draco was ever likely to get.


Harry's tongue continued to plunder his hole, spit sliding down over his perineum to his sack. Every so often, his thumb would slide in alongside, massaging around in a light circle and then slipping back out so that his tongue could go deeper. Draco couldn't stop his hips from moving with it, rocking downward to get some friction on his cock and then back up to get more of Harry's mouth on him. He thought he was going to fly apart by the time Harry decided to draw back, hands still holding him open.


“Looks like that somnophilia kink will have to be satisfied another time,” Harry murmured, his voice light, amused. His breath was cool against Draco's fucked out hole, and he whined. Harry moved his fingers in a reassuring motion. “Relax,” he whispered. “I told you, I've got you.”


A moment later, and Draco felt the delicious burn and pressure of Harry's cock filling him, one slow, aching thrust until he was all the way inside. He felt Harry lay down on top of him, legs pressing against the outside of his own, the gentle scratch of his chest hair against Draco's oiled back. Harry waited for Draco to adjust to the full feeling, pressing feather light kisses across his shoulder blades. When Draco finally began to make little huffing noises at the lack of movement, Harry chuckled, biting him lightly, and shifted his hips.


Draco stuttered out a moan at the first retreat and slide back in as Harry began to fuck him slowly. He'd positioned himself at just the right angle so that his cockhead slid over Draco's prostate with every inward stroke, lighting his skin on fire and making sparks fly behind his closed eyelids. Pleasure filled shivers wracked his body with every measured thrust, and Draco reached back blindly with one hand, grabbing onto Harry's hip and pulling him in tight against him. Their movements were shallow in the position they were in, Harry pulling out only an inch before driving back in to the hilt, their bodies melded together from neck to toes. Harry slipped his arms under Draco's, fingers wrapping around the bones of his shoulder to pull himself in with every achingly sweet push. Sweat gathered between them, mixing with the sweet scent of the massage oil, permeating the room with the smell of sex and them and Draco breathed it in. The sheets rubbed against his cock with every movement, sending delicious sparks down through his groin. The ache for release was building, and Draco struggled for a moment, trying to work out how to move his limbs enough to get a hand beneath him. He felt fingers on his chin, tipping his head further to the side.


“Shh,” Harry whispered to him again, lips barely touching Draco's, stealing his gasping breaths. “Just let go, I've got you.”


His orgasm crashed over him, whiting out his vision, his legs locking into place as he rode the waves of intense pleasure that moved inexorably through him. He felt his release beneath him, slick wetness sliding across his stomach and the sheets as Harry fucked him through it. He felt fingers in his sweaty hair, grasping and pulling lightly as Harry chased his own release, and Draco let himself lay there hazily, aftershocks tingling through him all the way to the tips of his fingers.


“Fuck, Draco,” Harry muttered into his ear, and then he stilled, hips pressed flush against Draco's arse cheeks as he spilled inside him.


“Happy anniversary,” Draco mumbled, not surprised to hear himself sounding fucked out and dazed.


“Mmm.” Harry kissed him with a light press of lips against his before moving away. More light kisses tracked a path down his spine as Harry gently pulled out, and then the bed moved beneath them as Harry got up. “Be back in a sec,” he said, fingers ruffling Draco's hair fondly.


Draco stayed right where he was, both muscles and brain too sated to even think about moving out of the wet patch. Harry was back moments later, a warm damp washcloth in his hands. He cleaned Draco up, gently smoothing away the lube and come and sweat from between his legs, pushing a hand under Draco's ribs to roll him over onto his back. He cleaned Draco's stomach with the cloth and then spelled away the wet patch, banishing the cloth back to the bathroom. Draco loved being cleaned up the Muggle way; there was just something so much more intimate about it than the cleaning charm they sometimes used, like Harry was taking care of him. He smiled lazily up at Harry.


“What?” Harry asked, climbing back into bed. He raised his hand up to the ceiling and the small yellow orb blinked out, plunging them back into darkness.


“Nothing.” Draco pulled impatiently at Harry's arm until he was laying down, so that he could use his chest for a pillow. “Have you got work tomorrow?”


“Mmm.” Harry lifted his hand, sliding his fingers through Draco's hair. “Just some paperwork for the Collins case. Shouldn't take more than a couple of hours. You?”


“I'm not on shift again until Thursday. I do want to pop in to check on the Turpin boy, but other than that, I'm free.” He felt Harry smile against a kiss pressed into his hair. “I'm sorry I missed our anniversary dinner.”


“You can make it up to me tomorrow.”


Draco thought about all the ways in which he would do that, starting with an early night in bed. He fell deeply asleep to the sound of Harry's even heartbeat beneath him, a smile on his face.