let's get the seven lines. (bookshop) wrote in happybirthdayal,
let's get the seven lines.

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Happy birthday, t00bert. May you have the kind of wonderful day you deserve, and know how much richer our lives are for your being in them. :)

Pillow Talk. H/D, PG.

To Alex, whom I love, on his birthday.

“I hate morning,” Draco said, squirming down into the pillow and squinting muzzily at the window, where fat wedges of sunbeams arced through the blinds.

“You hate everything,” Harry answered, idly smoothing Draco’s chest with the flat of his palm.

Draco mumbled something that could have been a denial, but Harry preferred to hear, “Everything but you,” and so he sat down on the bed and leaned over to kiss Draco’s lips. He felt spindly fingers twine through his hair and chapped lips open up to his own for one luxuriant moment. Then Draco pulled away, rolled over onto his side, and tugged the covers up over his head with a groan.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You’re not planning on staying in bed.”

His reply was a muffled grunt.

“We’re to go to the festival today. You haven’t forgotten.”

What came next he interpreted as, “Festival. Bloody early.”

“But it won’t be early by the time we’re to the Pavilion,” Harry responded patiently, slipping a hand under the covers and running his thumb gently on the underside of Draco’s wrist.

“Mmm,” came the response, as Draco snuggled even more tightly under the covers, followed by what sounded for all the world like “Fregwurderickigarn.”

Harry allowed himself the smile he knew Draco couldn’t see. The other man was too busy subtly inching towards Harry’s warmth and trying his best not to let Harry notice it. Harry propped himself up on one elbow and stretched out beside him. “Yes, we have tickets for the gardens,” he said jovially. “I know how much you love them.”


“Yes, the music room too. And afterwards…” Harry trailed off and for a moment allowed himself to simply enjoy the sensation of Draco’s fingertips brushing his own lightly, as if they’d just happened to alight there.

Naturally Draco chose that moment to let out a prolonged whine and roll over on top of Harry’s arm, trapping it under his weight and sneaking one eye open suspiciously. Harry wrenched his arm out and yanked the covers back. Draco yelped, flipped over, and, fully awake now, grabbed Harry by the waist and pulled him down against him. Harry went with little protest, and found himself with his forehead resting cosily against Draco’s chin.

“You’re already dressed,” Draco grumbled, fumbling for Harry’s tie. Harry swatted his hand away. “I hate that.”

“You’ll hate it even more if you get my shirt all rumpled.”

“Prat.” Draco shifted under Harry and mussed his hair, granting him a half-smile. “You were telling me a story.”

“S’not a story, it’s real. But you have to get out of bed.”

“No,” pouted Draco. “Now go on. You were in the music room.”

“We were in the music room. Listening to whatever the chamber group au jour is.”

“I hate chamber music.”

“Shush, you’re interrupting. After that, I figured we’d go into the drawing room.”

“But they close it off.”


“For weddings and things, you know.”

“Not today,” Harry mused. “I was thinking we’d just reserve it for a little while.”

“You and your fantasy excursions. Remember what you wanted to do on the Audobon?”

“That was different. We were already on the road, it was spontaneous—and I wasn’t planning on you driving next to that school-bus of German children the whole time.”

“So what’s the kink this time, Potter? Renting the dining room, planning to serve yourself a la carte?”

“Not really,” said Harry again in that same thoughtful tone. Draco, apparently more intrigued, sat back and looked at him sternly. “I was just thinking we could have a nice lunch there by ourselves. And then there are the gardens again, and after that a jaunt over—”

“—to the Pier.”

“—to the Pier, of course.”

“And then we have a cream cake afternoon,” continued Draco eagerly.

“Yes, with crumble.”

“And you can buy those silly little tea towels from the kiosk.”

“You’re the one who always insists on getting those ridiculous thimble souvenirs. What do need a thimble for anyway? It’s not as if you’d ever learn how to sew.”

“You’re ruining my fantasy with your irksome logistics. Go on.”

“And then there’ll be more music in the Concert Hall in the evening. We can lie on the beach and listen until the sun sets.”

“And you’ll let me hold your hand in public?”

“I do let you hold my hand in public. It was just the once—and you said yourself they were awfully young to be so interested in what we were doing under the blanket.”

“I really don’t understand your diffidence around schoolchildren. It’s not as if you were that shy when you were in school.”

“What was there to be shy about? I had an invisibility cloak and a few good memory charms.”

“Hmph. It’s not as if anyone was about to broach the subject of your being the gay hero of the wizarding world.”

“Well, I don’t want to start them asking questions now!”

“Harry, anyone who pays attention knows our house only has one bed. Anyone who cares enough to ask questions is already asking them.”

Harry contemplated this, then acquiesced with a small nod. “So I let you hold my hand as much as you want, and bugger all else.”

“Thank you. Keep up this spirit of compliance and perhaps I shall deign to kiss you.”

“I hate to guess what I’ll have to do to get a shag.”

“How utterly uncouth. Such language will never induce me to get out of bed, you know.”

“You’d miss the festival.”

“The festival, the bloody festival. It’s going to be going on for another three weeks. I could stay in bed til the twenty-third or so.”

“You could be arsed to do actual work, you know.”

“Malfoys don’t work, we hire breadwinners.”

“That all I am to you?”

“No, you are a breadwinner who is an incredible shag. Also one who is very warm and snuggly in the mornings. Mmm.”

Harry’s voice softened almost imperceptibly, and he felt the smile he wore grow earnest as he looked at Draco. “Come with me to the festival today. I have the day off, and the rooms at the Pavilion are ours for the night.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible.”

“It is when they don’t rent rooms for the night at the Pavilion.”

“Who ever told you that?” Harry grinned. The wonderment in Draco’s eyes was truly irresistible.

“We’ve been there a hundred times, you know they don’t—”

“With the right sum of money one can rent rooms even at the Pavilion with a surprising amount of ease.”

“Harry Potter. You rogue. What did you do, hire out the King’s rooms?”

“No. Victoria’s. I figured the queen’s were more appropriate in this case.”

“Isn’t there some sort of royal curse that goes with having sex in the bed of the Virgin Queen?”

“I’ll be on the watch for signs of porphyry, just in case.”

“What prompted this?”

Harry shrugged and ran his fingertips over Draco’s cheek. “You know, they reserve those main rooms for weddings, usually.”


“So, I was thinking it’d be nice to test it out. See how we liked the place really. And—and if the day went well, I was… thinking…”

Draco’s expression suddenly went dim, like a blown-out match. He looked at Harry very intently, eyes wide.

“…but you have to get out of bed first,” ended Harry softly.


“You’re rumpling my suit.”


“And getting my hair all messed up.”

“Harry. I love you.”

“Enough to get out of bed?”

“You drive a hard bargain, Harry Potter.”

“That’s all right. I love you too.”

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