It's Funny by qwerty83
Chapter Notes: I hope you like this little Harry and Draco one-shot!
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Even though Draco is the taller of the two, they always fall asleep like this. That’s just the way they are. Harry lies on his back with Draco nestled on top of him, the side of his face flat against Harry’s chest, his forehead resting comfortably in the crook of his husband’s neck. Harry always buries his chin in the soft, sweet-smelling tangle of silver-blonde hair - the silver strands ever outnumbering the blonde ones since the birth of their first child two years ago. And it’s funny, no matter what Harry’s day has been like, no matter how many maddening excuses he has received in explanation of missing homework by his students - everything just floats away. Here, he always feels that, wherever he may have been all his life, he has finally come home.
Never more content than when they are close like this, Harry always encircles his arms tightly around the taller man’s body, sometimes letting his fingers trail lightly up and down his spine, gently teasing him in the way he know Draco likes. And sure enough, sooner or later, the fair-haired Slytherin always retaliates with a playful kiss at the base of his neck. It’s funny how Harry can always tell that his husband’s lips are curved into a small smile as he does this.
Even after their eight long years together, his breathing still quickens as Draco’s lips caress his skin in that slow, deliberate manner with which he executes every movement. Eight years of knowing every inch of the man lying next to him, yet still Harry shudders with pleasure at his touch, and Draco always knows exactly what to do to make him moan even more.
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It was Draco who proposed to Harry.
The Gryffindor affectionately jokes about it to his friends. “I don’t think he would have forgiven me if I had done it - Malfoys like to be in control….” To Harry it may have seemed like a spur-of-the-moment decision, but Draco had actually been thinking about it for a long time. He was just waiting for the right moment. And that late spring afternoon, it had seemed like the right moment. It’s funny, he hadn’t woken up that morning expecting it to be the day that he would propose to Harry. Even as little as five minutes before it occurred he hadn’t seen it coming.
They happened to be standing in the kitchen of the flat that they had shared for eight months, Draco having just poured them each a glass of orange juice to cool themselves against the uncharacteristic heat wave for that time of year. He turned round to face Harry, and it just happened. Even years later he still wouldn’t be able to place exactly what it was, but in that split second as his own eyes met those piercing green ones, he knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this man. It was as simple as that. So he extended his arm to hand the glass to Harry, asked if he wanted any ice in his orange juice, and then asked him to marry him.
He didn’t have anything to offer. No ring, no proclamations on bended knee. Only himself.
It was a good thing that the Slytherin had not relaxed his grip on the glass he held out, because Harry actually froze in shock. Draco had often heard the expression before, but to witness it was really quite comical. “No ice, then,” he had joked. Draco decided to hang on to the juice; the dark-haired man seemed to be struggling even to breathe, so holding a glass was completely out of the question. Hand-eye coordination probably shouldn’t be attempted.
Looking back on that day, neither would really remember who initiated contact. All they do recall is that, for that perfect moment, both their worlds stood perfectly still as they just held each other. And it’s funny, if you stand by the sink and tilt your head a little to the left, you can still see the dent on the kitchen floor where the glass dropped from Draco’s hand.
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“Do you still love me as much as you did back then?” Draco’s voice startles Harry back to the present.
Harry smiles in bemusement. A devastatingly handsome lop-sided grin, Draco notices, as he peeks upwards to prompt an answer to his question. Harry bends down to plant a tender kiss on his husband’s forehead, and shifts his position so that their faces are only inches apart. It’s funny how Draco always knows when Harry is thinking about the day that he proposed. He brushes his fingers lightly against Draco’s neck and tilts his chin upwards until his gaze locks with his.
“If it’s possible,” Harry whispers softly, gently stroking the blonde fringe out of those captivating grey eyes, “I love you even more.”
And as they relax into the warmth and contentment of just being in each other’s arms, it’s funny “ both their worlds seem to be standing perfectly still once more.