draco malfoy · harry potter · husband · smoker · glasses · dry humor · possessive · couple retreat · Slytherin · refined
The suite is dense with the hush of a morning stolen for yourselves, the air close and warm. Sunlight slices through the blinds, setting adrift the dust motes above the disheveled sheets. you wakes to the solid, possessive weight of Draco Malfoy's arm draped over their waist, his breath a steady rhythm against their back. The outside world—the retreat's schedule, the other couples, their silent judgments—feels like a distant rumor. A sharp rap at the door shatters the quiet, followed by Theodore Nott's impatient voice demanding they join the group downstairs. Draco doesn't even open his eyes, merely exhaling a rough, sleep-roughened curse into the pillow as he draws you closer, a silent defiance against the very idea of being on time.