Are you still in need of prompts? If you have time, may I request an incredibly fluffy keitor piece where they're just cuddling. Partly your stereotypical cutesy cuddling but also the kind of cuddling where you just... drape your entire bodyweight on top of the other person. Like that post about the cats!
This prompt was supposed to be four paragraphs but it turned into four pages. Also I apologize because I don’t know if I’d call this fluffy, but there is definitely lots of cuddling.
Anyway, this took me an unnecessary amount of time to finish and it’s 3:30 am so I’m just gonna post it now before I change my mind.
I hope you enjoy!<3
Edit: You can now read on Ao3!
Keith Kogane was not soft. He was all hard edges, sharp and defined like the knife he carried. He was unyielding and relentless, a small, burning flame that could turn into a raging inferno when provoked. Touch him or those he held close and he’d make you bleed and burn. His hands were calloused and his jaw line set. An immovable object.
No, Keith Kogane was not soft.
And yet…
Lotor forgets, sometimes, the…fragility, of humans. How easily they break and bruise. How their skin turns purple and bleeds under rough hands that throw hard punches or their bones bend and snap when they fall too far.
Keith is not soft, but humans are, and though Galra blood runs through his veins, Keith is very, very human.
“You’re staring,” Keith murmurs, eyes half-lidded and sleepy.
“I’m sorry, I- are you sure you’re alright?” Lotor can’t tear his gaze away from the bruise near Keith’s left eye. The stark purple colors stand out from the rest of his face, and Lotor realizes then that bruises on humans look worse than bruises on Galra, more worrisome, more painful.
“M’fine,” Keith mumbles from his spot on the couch before shutting his eyes again. “You’re not supposed to let me sleep, though.”
Lotor clears his throat. “Right. Sorry, I’m just not used to…”
“To baby sitting concussed people?”
“I was going to say playing nurse, but yes, essentially. And you are allowed to sleep, just in forty dobash intervals and that’s just because Kolivan worries about you too much.”
Keith let’s out a small huff of frustration, but his expression is fond more than anything. “Yeah,” he says with a small smirk. “Yeah I know. But this couch is so uncomfortable I’d be surprised if I could sleep for five.”
This is true. The Blade of Marmora base was efficient and practical. Effective for creating a functional space in which to take down Zarkon but not much else. Nothing about it was catered towards comfort or luxury.
Perhaps that is why Lotor says what he does, or maybe it is something else, something like compassion, something like the feeling he gets when he looks into bright violet eyes…
“You could rest on my lap, if you’d like.”
Keith’s eyes widen in surprise. “Why?”
“It’s efficient.” Lotor tries to convince himself as much as Keith. “You’ll get more rest which will get you back into the field faster.”
Keith just keeps staring.
“Of course you don’t have to. It was just an offer.” Lotor backpedals as he picks up the book on his lap. “Do whatever you’d like. I’m fine either way.” He tears his eyes away from Keith and back to his book, although he’d long forgotten what the previous pages had said.
They resume sitting in silence, Lotor refusing to look back up but still all too aware of the distance between them. He feels like it’s mocking him, now that the invitation to close it has been spoken.
He doesn’t even know why he asked in the first place. It isn’t like him, to do things like that. Every action he takes, every word he says, has a purpose. Lotor is a strategist. It’s a trait he takes pride in. He had a plan when he worked under Zarkon, he had a plan when he joined the Blades, and he has a plan now, although, under Keith’s unwavering gaze, for the life of him he can’t remember what it is. But this moment, Lotor knows, isn’t it. It’s unplanned, spontaneous, dangerous. It’s-
Oh.
The cushions beside him bend as Keith shifts and his head rests gently on Lotor’s lap. “Wake me up in forty.”
Well then.
“Alright.”
Keith settles into a more comfortable position and lets out a small sigh as his eyes shut.
Lotor pauses before leaning back into the sofa. No, this certainly was not planned…
But it is not unwelcome.
Lotor hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but given the exhaustion that has been seeping into his bones since the Narti incident and a warmth he hasn’t felt in years radiating from Keith’s body, it isn’t a surprise.
What is a surprise is the position he finds himself in.
He is lying on the couch, feet nearly hanging off the edge, and Keith’s body is splayed on top of him, head resting near his collarbone, eyes blinking up at him beneath his bangs.
The position is compromising and dangerous. Vulnerable; for the both of them. Funny, though, how he makes no move to change it.
“You didn’t wake me up,” Keith says.
“Clearly.”
Lotor expects him to move, after that. Expects him to get up, to see Kolivan, to leave Lotor wondering what this feeling in his chest means. But he doesn’t. He continues lying on top of him, body relaxed, eys half-lidded, disarmed completely.
The oddness of it all brings a question to Lotor’s mind, something he’s been meaning to ask. “Do you trust me?”
Keith’s gaze flits around the room, landing everywhere but Lotor’s face. “No.”
“You’re lying.” It’s not an accusation so much as a statement of fact. He may have only been around for a few months but Lotor has been with the Blades long enough to learn that their youngest member is terribly bad at lying.
Keith glances back up at him and sighs. “It’s not…it’s not that I don’t trust you…” Lotor can feel his whole body tense up.
“It’s that you don’t want to,” Lotor finishes, “even though you do.”
Lotor understands, because he’s the same way.
He doesn’t want to trust these people. He shouldn’t, not if he wants to protect himself, not if he wants to stay safe. He needs to maintain distance if he wants to remain intact, to get out of this war unscathed.
But there’s something about Keith.
There’s something about the way he launches himself at a problem, the way his intuition guides him, the way his eyebrows furrow when he thinks. There’s something about his sharp edges, his upturned smiles, his fiery eyes…
It’s something that disarms Lotor to his very core. And it scares him.
But he loves it.
Keith stares up at him. “How do you do…that?”
“What?”
“Know what I’m thinking all the time.”
“You do the same to me.”
“But- it…it’s different, somehow, with you. I don’t… I don’t know how, it just is.” His whole face is contorted in confusion, like he’s trying to solve a problem but it’s not adding up the way he expects.
“Is it a bad thing?’
“No… it’s amazing.”
That is not the response Lotor anticipated. It makes him feel… nice.
Amazing.
Lotor looks at him, the man sprawled over top of him, and lightly brushes the hair out of his face, careful to avoid the bruise.
Keith Kogane is not soft. He is all hard edges, quick, strong. He is a furnace, burning bright and hot like a star. He is stubborn, he is intelligent, he is incredible.
Keith leans into the touch, closes his eyes.
Soft.
“Let it be known,” Lotor whispers softly, “that the feeling is mutual.”
Keith lets out a soft hum and a small smile. “Kolivan came by earlier, said I could sleep all I want. You mind?”
“Not at all,” Lotor responds, but Keith’s eyes are already shut.
Lotor leans his head back and lets out a sigh, fatigue making a visit yet again. Sleep had always been a chore for him. A necessary evil. Rest was always fitful and cold. Lonely. But this?
He gently rubs circles into Keith’s back as he closes his eyes, his contradictory soft and hard edges blending into one, body warm against his own.
rental store encounters; for the scaredpotternet secret santa exchange!
for: @actuallydrarry! happy holidays! i hope you like it <3
pairing: draco malfoy/harry potter
rating: general audiences
words: 1815
notes: this is my first ever hp fic?? what even??? excuse the shitty title lmfao if i ever come up w a better one i’ll change it asap
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Harry turned to find himself in front of the scowling face of Draco Malfoy, who for some reason, looked well beyond pissed off, though Harry could only guess why. He was pretty sure that the last time they saw each other was at the Ministry, and even then that interaction had consisted of only a curt nod and a strained smile on Harry’s part, so Harry couldn’t help but wonder what on earth he had done this time to receive such an expression.
“Draco.” He tried to keep the slight annoyance from seeping through. Part of him had hoped that with Scorpius and Albus becoming friends, they would in turn maintain a more amicable relationship, but what Draco seemed to give him instead was some sort of exasperated tolerance. Harry would never admit it out loud, but it aggravated him to no end.
“Potter. Do you have any idea what you’ve got in your hand?”
Harry raised an eyebrow at this, looking down instinctively at the DVD he had been about to rent. “What’s a movie got to do with this?”
Draco looked at him as if he couldn’t believe Harry had the audacity to ask such a question. “It has everything to do with this. Do you have any idea what time it is?”
Harry opened his mouth, a sarcastic enough response at the ready, but Draco beat him to it.
“Let me try to explain, then. It’s near midnight, Potter. Midnight. I drove—drove! Because fuck apparition points, apparently—two bloody hours to the closest muggle video rental store that’s still operating because Scorpius decided that the best Christmas present to give to his most adorned best friend, was nothing else but a surprise, ‘authentic’ movie night during the Eve. As if the boy didn’t know pirating existed. Now, I would do anything for my son, believe me, and I’ve stayed up longer than this, but after the sodding day I’ve had at work, and the nagging my mother has been doing for the past week to get me to finish shopping for those damn gifts-“
He stopped himself mid-rant suddenly as if to compose himself, pinching the bridge of his nose, and Harry took a step back, clinging to the tape. He had an idea of where this conversation was about to go.
After taking a breath, Draco continued. “I would love nothing more than to be at home, tucked in and finally passing out from nothing but sheer exhaustion. But instead, I’m here, looking for a particular DVD, and you, of all people, have the last and only copy. So, it would be beyond wonderful if you could just hand that over to me, I’ll pay for it, and we call it a night. Scorpius is satisfied, Albus will be elated at the surprise, and you’ll be the one who made it all possible. A Happy Christmas indeed. What do you say?”
Harry knew that the easy way out of this would be to say yes. In truth, it was the more sensible option too, seeing as everyone would end up content one way or the other with the outcome Draco had presented him with. And so, Harry decided to just avoid a fight altogether by giving Draco the DVD, but not before he asked the one question that had been prodding him throughout Draco’s speech.
“Why this movie?”
Draco looked just about ready to explode.
“Calm down, Draco. I didn’t say I wouldn’t give it to you. All I want to know is, why this one?”
“For the love of Merlin, why does it even matter?”
“Because I could have just told you to shove off entirely and not give a damn since I was here first anyway. Don’t give me that expression—look me in the eye and say you wouldn’t have done the same thing.”
“I suppose.” He drawled. “All right, if you’re so keen. This movie just happens to be one of Scorpius’ favorites. Just a shame it’s near impossible to find.”
“I would know.” Harry muttered.
“What was that?”
Harry rolled his eyes, finally handing Draco the tape, who gave him a rather gruff “thank you.”
“You know, Draco, I never imagined our longest conversation to be about a muggle movie of all things, and in some shabby rental store of all places.”
Draco didn’t miss a beat. “You’re telling me you spend your days imagining the length of our conversations?”
“Maybe if they were more pleasant, sure.” Harry quipped.
A ghost of a smile was on Draco’s lips. “Interesting.”
Silence passed between them once more, and though some part of Harry felt rather awkward with it, he found himself feeling more upset, and maybe even a little disappointed when he realized their conversation seemed to be at its end.
He quite enjoyed talking to Draco Malfoy, despite the initial hostility he was presented with. If only Draco would actually bother getting to know him, though.
“It’s not that I don’t ‘bother’ to, Potter. It’s not my fault you’re completely unapproachable.”
It took Harry a moment to process Draco’s words, and another for him to realize he had said his thoughts aloud. He was torn between being annoyed (again) and mortified. “Unapproachable? You’re the one—exasperated tolerance!”
“I’m not even going to pretend I know what that means.”
Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Don’t act like I’m the one being cryptic here.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. If you must know, and since you appreciate frankness so much, I haven’t ever found your company to be completely unpleasant. Always a tad inconvenient, of course, especially when we were still at Hogwarts, but that was never up to you, was it?”
Taken aback as Harry was by Draco’s words, he also knew that he was far from finished, so he did his best to keep quiet and waited for him to continue.
After what seemed like a moment of quiet contemplation, Draco went on, his voice softer this time. “Who knows, maybe if I hadn’t had pureblood propaganda shoved down my throat since I was in my mother’s womb, we could have even gotten somewhere. But alas, I was practically drenched in it. And so, I avoided you, and you avoided me. Or tried to, for the most part. It’s practically become second nature for us now. Avoidance, running away. Wouldn’t you agree, Harry?”
At this point, Harry was at a loss for...well, everything at the moment. Draco’s words had hit too close to home, and he found himself recalling all of their past interactions, seeing them in another light. While he was right to assume that Draco had been quite tense with him, a bit curt, had he not been doing the same very things?
Harry had been hoping for a fresh start since after the War, had been wondering since their eighth year why their relationship was still as strained and hopeless as it was since they were children. He had been putting the blame on Draco all this time, when really, he too had played a big part in their relationship not being able to progress. All those times he took a different corner to avoid awkward conversation, the shortness in his tone, the slight anxiety in his smile. For years, he had been wanting Draco to make the effort, when he was too scared, too blind to initiate anything on his own. Harry was just as much at fault, if not more. He felt guilty for completely ignoring what Draco’s feelings could have been on the subject, for remaining oblivious and inconsiderate.
“Don’t get emotional on me now. Please remember that such thing as shared blame exists. It’s been years, and your savior complex is still in full force, isn’t it? Gods. You were never my hero, Harry Potter. It was never your job to save me or befriend me, before and after the War. You couldn’t have known what I was feeling-“
“I could have tried to.”
“Christ. Then try now. Don’t make yourself dwell more than you already do in the past. Consider it a Christmas gift if it makes you feel better.”
“Draco, I-“
“Boys. As lovely and heartwarming as this was to witness, it’s nearing one in the morning. Happy Christmas Eve, congratulations on your newfound friendship, but please rent that DVD already and get out of my store. Sorry, but even Harry Potter himself can’t make me stay up any longer than this.”
Harry felt his face begin to warm, but Draco seemed indifferent, with only a small smile to hint at his amusement.
“Apologies. And do forgive Harry over here. I, for one, think that this rental store is the farthest thing from ‘shabby.’ Happy Christmas.”
“Aye, aye. I was more offended you lot thought I was a muggle. O’ all the things! Now, go on. Leave. Happy Christmas, and all that crap.”
And so, Harry and Draco were ushered out of the rental store, with Harry completely foregoing his initial embarrassment and laughing as if there was no tomorrow. “Oh, come on, Draco. That was hilarious.”
“Hm. I don’t know. I feel sorry for him having to watch our teenage angst fest.”
“Honestly? That just makes it funnier.”
“Would you look at that. Saint Potter isn’t much of a Saint after all.”
And if Harry didn’t believe in Christmas miracles, he did then, because holy Merlin, Draco was laughing, and it left Harry both stunned, and a little breathless.
But the moment soon came to pass, and they were just left staring at each other once more, with only the moon and a few street lamps for light. He couldn’t help but feel that disappointment again—their conversation was surely at an end now, and Harry wasn’t sure where or when their next one would be.
As always, however, Draco Malfoy was full of surprises, and interrupted Harry just as he was about to wish him a good night.
“You know, Potter-“
“Harry. You know, for newfound friendship’s sake.”
“All right. Harry, since Ginevra is off gallivanting with Blaise until Christmas, mother and father are asleep, and your children are all at their respective friends’ residences to celebrate the Eve, then would you care to join me? Scorpius may be averse to downloading, but I am not.”
“Well,” Harry said, absolutely beaming. “I’ve never been one to say no to Rad.”
“Of course not. Only Merlin knows why. It really is a terrible film.”
“Rare does not equate to terrible.” Harry told him, and just because he couldn’t resist, added, “So is Astoria still with Finch-Fletchley, then?”
“I’m not even going to answer that question. Come on now, unless you want to freeze to death.”
“And miss a movie night with you, Draco Malfoy? Wouldn’t dream of it.” And strangely enough, Harry found himself meaning every word.
