Bottom Draco One Shots !Drarry!

Breakfast

This chapter is for @DracoLuciusMalfoy80 . 

The sex in this chapter is not like...thoroughly described, but if you like it please vote it. And although this book has been labeled completed, if you have any requests, I will try to complete them.

Breakfast. God, but he loved breakfast. Harry supposed it hearkened back to their school days, at Hogwarts. Big, hot breakfasts, mountainous piles of bacon and toast and eggs and pancakes. It was kind of a nostalgia thing, in many ways. A daily reminder of the good old days of long wooden benches, boys and girls jostling and giggling and pinching and kicking and burping the alphabet and the Hogwarts song. A reminder of some of the best talks he'd ever had with Ron, and Hermione, and some of the best essays he'd ever written in the very last minutes before they were due, decorated with crumbs and splashes of pumpkin juice and spots of ink.

Breakfast was his absolute favorite meal of the day. He didn't like to sleep-in nowadays, as he had once upon a time. He wanted to get up with the sun and throw on his tatty old bathrobe, and stand in the kitchen in the light of the brand new day, whisking eggs and frying sausages, and pouring cold, fresh milk into tall glasses. He set the table, every morning. Except for when he didn't, and he carried breakfast in on trays for them to eat on their knees in bed. He relished the feel of buttery crumbs down his front, and accidental drips of marmalade or golden syrup on his sheets. Breakfast was grand.

He hated, hated, hated it when he had to go away. Knowing that Draco would be there, in their flat, all alone, eating a bowl of cold, soggy cereal for his morning meal. Probably pouting sadly to himself. Draco loved breakfast too, mostly because Harry made it for him, and took so much care in preparing it, wanting him to start his day in the best way possible. Draco would lie-in most mornings, as long as possible, and would shuffle into the kitchen, usually nude, when he could hear the clink of cutlery being nudged aside by plates as they were set on the table. Draco smelled so good in the mornings, so warm and sweet, and his hair was all tangled and fluffy, and his eyes were all sleepy and round. It was mushy, Harry knew it was, and he'd never admit it to any of his friends, but sometimes he liked Draco to sit warm and naked and directly in his lap to eat breakfast, so that he could feed little bites of toast with apricot jam to him, or a segment of orange, or a moist piece of muffin. And they would talk idly about what they were doing today, and what needed to be added to the grocery list, and whose turn it was to renew the wards on their flat. Draco would yawn widely and then stretch, and every toned plane of muscle would shift under his velvety skin. They would also usually end up fucking, torturously slowly, on those days that Draco ate breakfast from his seat on Harry's lap. The milk and juice jugs would wobble and splash, as would the tea pot, while Draco rode Harry right there on the kitchen chair.

Draco just couldn't do breakfast properly without Harry. For one thing, he couldn't cook. It was part simple ineptitude on his behalf, and part determination to make sure Harry had to continue looking after him in this way, because he couldn't do it for himself. Hermione had scoffed once that it was utter laziness, and Draco behaving like a spoiled brat. She'd told Harry it was absolutely the most ridiculous excuse she had ever heard for avoidance of a chore, and that Harry had been royally sucked in for believing it. But Harry knew better, because he knew that breakfast was not a chore for either of them. If they wanted, they could spend squillions eating out or ordering in breakfast every single day. They did, in fact, eat the rest of their meals at restaurants or take-away, mostly, and they could do it for breakfast too if they wanted. Hermione had missed the point entirely, but Harry supposed it was hard not to think of it as a daily chore when you had five children, as she and Ron did, not to mention a sensible budget. The point was, Draco and Harry did not have to do anything they didn't want to these days, including so called chores like cooking. Draco couldn't care less about breakfast, unless Harry was making it for him. It was a gesture of affection, of love. One which Draco and Harry both missed out on whenever he was sent off on assignment with the auror team.