My entry for @drarrymicrofic, prompt Verklempt. Editing this as just this second I remembered that “lemonade light” comes from a Pulp song, Acrylic Afternoons - so am retrospectively crediting that here now. Apologies for the first 60 notes of no credit, it was totally unintentional and just down to my terrible memory!
“Why don’t you come over?” he asked casually, and when they came through the Floo together they didn’t need to say anything, and it was all a quiet focused blur of body against body.
They were both a bit hungover from the night before, and before they undressed each other, Malfoy closed the shutters against the thin lemonade sunlight so Harry wouldn’t have to squint when he lay on Malfoy’s bed, looking up into Malfoy’s face. It should have been awkward, Harry with his pounding headache, Malfoy a bit red-eyed, unshaven, rumpled-looking; and on top of all that, neither of them really knowing what they were doing.
But actually, it was just so good. Everything felt right, and after a while Harry broke off their kiss to cast a Lumos, all the better to see Malfoy properly. When Harry started to touch him, Malfoy blushed all the way down his chest, and then Harry was straining against the heat of Malfoy’s mouth, sheets rippling under his clutching hands, and the pleasure was so clean and easy that Harry wondered why they had waited so long.
“I don’t sleep well,” Malfoy said later that evening, as though he hadn’t spent the afternoon dozing sweetly, uncurled across half the bed, body a loose line pointing towards Harry. And Harry said, “I don’t either,” wondering what it would be like to wake shivering in the dark from a nightmare to find Malfoy beside him. All that heat to warm himself at.
“Stay the night?” Malfoy asked, and instead of answering, Harry rolled closer and kissed him again, like it was all very simple. And maybe it was.
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