@drarrymicrofic | 550 words | prompt: dream
“Welcome to Dreamscapes! Right this way, Mr Potter.” Garesa, her name badge proudly denoted, led Harry down the hall.
He shuffled along, hands stuffed into his pockets. Why had he agreed to be a tester for George? Oh right, dead twin guilt. “Harry, Fred is no longer with me to test these things. You must step up as our Saviour.”
Harry sat on the edge of the full bed as Garesa explained next steps. “The daydream potion is filtered through the air vents. It’ll induce a thirty minute daydream in which this space will allow you to safely interact. This daydream will be visceral and to you, the whole process should seem real.”
A bell dinged twice, then a third time, alerting her of more testers. “It’ll begin shortly.” With that, she stepped from the room.
The vents hummed and Harry leant back, head resting on the pillow as he waited.
The door opened and Draco Malfoy stepped inside, head turned as he looked at someone over his shoulder. Harry drank him in: lean figure; trousers a hair too tight to be proper; sharp jaw now a masculine feature rather than the aggressive point it had been as a child; ice-blonde hair curling at the nape of his neck; and wide, grey eyes.
Harry stood, crossing the carpet in three steps. Without preamble — his dreams never needed buildup — he threaded his fingers though Draco’s silky strands and pressed their mouths together. Draco gasped, mouth sliding open for Harry to deepen the kiss.
This was unlike any of his previous dreams about Draco. Usually in those Draco took complete control from the start. He was domineering, aggressive almost, yet this was sweeter. Harry felt the passion behind the kiss, but there was something more tentative, searching, about their coupling. A life-like quality that he’d never perfected in his dreams.
“That worked rather quick,” Draco murmured against his mouth, mimicking Harry’s thoughts.
Harry smirked as he pulled Draco to the bed. His hands fell on the tiny buttons of Draco’s silk shirt. His fingers fluttered, using magic more than skill to release their hold, as he flushed with pleasure at getting to undress Draco.
A knock sounded and Harry lifted his head from Draco’s chest, feeling the man’s breath quicken. He stared down at Draco, memorising the way his mouth tilted up in the corner, the soft, lidded eyes, and the sweat-damp skin. He wanted to remember every detail before the vision faded and reality set back in. Reluctantly, he sat upright and grabbed for his pants.
“Harry?” George’s voice called out tentatively.
Harry’s brow furrowed, George being anything but boisterous about his creations never boded well.
“Everything alright?” Harry pulled the door open, not daring to look back at the bed where he was sure the apparition of Draco was gone.
“Erm,” George faltered as his gaze flitted past Harry then back. “So I see that Garesa did indeed send Draco to the wrong room.”
Harry froze, muscles tight as he slowly peeked over his shoulder. Draco remained in the bed, mouth agape and eyes wide.
“Yeah, so we obviously are sor—”
“Best daydream ever.” Harry shut the door in George’s face and approached Draco, palms cupping his jaw. “Fancy another round?”
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