H/D for [info]black_dog, who asked for something of my choice. 208 words.

The first time they sleep together, Harry doesn't. He holds as still as he can and tries with his eyes shut to take in everything about the space they are in. Draco's arm is thrown lightly across his hip. Harry wants to keep it there, so he doesn't move, doesn't blink, doesn't breathe, except in time to the even rhythm of the rise and fall of Draco's chest.

In the morning Draco runs his hand through Harry's tousled hair, lazy and affectionate, and asks if Harry slept well.

"It was great," Harry says, and what he means is that he now knows how Draco's face looks when it is free of all tension, perfectly relaxed.

And then Draco not-quite-smiles, and Harry suddenly realizes the significance of the matched stillness of Draco's body next to his, the even silences between their breathing, and the way Draco's hand had never once moved from his waist. The way neither of them had moved until morning had made it necessary.

"You?" he asks, and Draco hesitates for the tiniest moment before leaning in to kiss him gently on the lips.

"Best sleep I've ever had," he says, and his not-quite smile flickers with understanding as he places his hand on Harry's hip.

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