Here In Your Arms

Okay, so I accidentally posted this under another story I wrote...so here it is, if you've already read it, I'm so sorry! On with the show!

***

I’m awakened to the shrill scream of a telephone. I sit up abruptly and grab it from the night stand, ignoring Harry’s indignant cry about being woken so forcefully and almost being thrown from the bed.

“Hello?” I answer sleepily.

“Draco? Darling it’s Marla.” Oh fuck, it’s the ex boss, what time is it? The clock reads 10:47.

“Yes Marla, you’re just waking me and my fiancé up, what do you want?” I snarl; I don’t have to be nice anymore.

“I wanted you to come in at one so we could talk about why you left…” she drabbles on, trying to win me over again.

“Look, I quit because I wasn’t happy, I never left the god damned office. I deserve a life after what I’ve been through, and I really don’t need the money, nor do I need to hear your reasons for this phone call!” I interrupt and hang up. I’m shaking I’m so seethed. Harry places a warm hand on my arm…it calms me considerably.

“Draco…” he breathes quietly. “Its okay, the bitch won’t call back again now. You’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t want to go back there. Calm down, breathe in, and out, in, and out…”

I sit and follow his instructions for a few minutes. I’m still all tangled in the sheets. I look over to Harry and see the large green eyes widened even more in concern. I giggle and roll over on top of him to ravish him mercilessly. Several minutes later, both needing oxygen, I let off.

“What are in the plans for today, love?” I ask.

“Well, we do need to go grocery shopping, other than that, not too much. I should finish off the Wiltshire commission so I can ship it off. That won’t take me long though. How about you give me a few hours to paint, and then we’ll go for dinner and groceries after?”

“Sounds like a plan.” I kiss the corner of his mouth and flop down on his chest. “I just don’t want to move at the moment.”

“Okay, but then we have to get up!”

“Make me!” I stick my tongue out at my lover.

“Such a spoiled rich brat.” He teases me.

“Uh-huh, right, I’m the spoiled brat, Mr. I don’t like to wear socks that have been worn more than three times before.”

“That’s because they get stretched out and gross. Besides, then you use them!”

“Yes, that’s everyone’s dream—to wear used socks.” I roll my eyes and kiss him again. I get up and make my way to the kitchen. I pour myself a large bowl of Fruit Loops with milk, knowing that Harry will steal them all if I don’t pour enough. I sit down and soon have a squirmy brunet in my lap, wanting to be fed. I absolutely love his antics, be it acting like a five year old eating cereal from my bowl, or crying during chick flicks. He’s my one true love. And I adore him for it. We finish and he gets up to go paint. I head outside; muck out stalls, put out fresh feed and water. I then go back inside and trek upstairs to the bedroom and change the sheets, collect the towels from the bathroom and clothes from the hampers and start a load of laundry. I grab my laptop and head to Harry’s room. I absolutely love the view of our acres leading to the river a few miles away. I can see Apollo playfully nipping at Mars and galloping away at full speed. He’d never submit to such antics when he knew someone was watching. I chortle at the horses and my view moves to the luscious gardens that I try to help Harry tend. The colourful blooms are just starting to awaken to a long season of beauty. I sit down to check my email and check out some websites etcetera. I soon find myself typing out a short poem, something along the lines of:

‘Those three words
Are said too much
They're not enough

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life’

I feel breathe on my ear. “Draco, that’s gorgeous, I had no clue that you could write so beautifully! I know you like to tap out drabble every once and a while, but this, this is almost our lives in a poem!” Harry kisses my cheek and ends up smearing paint on my face.

“How the hell do you always manage to get paint on your face? It’s not that hard to avoid!” I tease him and smudge his face even more.

“Oh yeah, how about this?” He grabs his almost empty pallet (he must have been done painting, or else it would have been covered in paint) and wipes his whole hand across it.

“Don’t you dare!” I mock threaten.

“Oh and why not?” He comes closer to me. I’m still in my pajama pants and overly large hoodie. He’s wearing his work clothes that are caked in paint; it wouldn’t matter if they got any more on them. I want to stay clean though.

“Because I’m clean and wish to stay that way!” I protest and feel my back hit a wall. Shit. He’s practically on top of me and smears all the paint off his hand and onto my face. “Harry James Potter, you better run, or else I’ll get you good!”

He screeches and takes off running towards the bedroom; I follow, but give him some lead. He’s in the bathroom, why is he in there? He knows he’s trapped. I enter the bathroom and don’t see him. He leaps out from behind the door and jumps on my back. Little did I realize his other hand is also covered in paint. My whole outfit is now multi coloured. Damn it all. Oh well. He hops down and grins at me. I grab him, strip us both and get into the shower to scrub off the oil based goop.

***

Thoroughly scrubbed about half an hour later, we step out, dry off and redress. It’s at least five o’clock now, so we decide to head out for our ‘date’.

“Where did you want to go, love?” I ask as I put on my shoes and blazer. Granted it’s just a casual dinner with my sweetheart, but all the years of pureblood breeding still tell me to look presentable. “We could do Ming’s, or Chez Pierre or Fresco’s, or any where else you want to go.” I name off the three staples of our dining out: Chinese, French and Italian.

“How ‘bout Fresco’s? I want pasta and wine.” Harry replies.

“Sounds like a plan!” I agree and pull him up from the bed where he was sitting. We lock up and get in my car. Harry doesn’t feel like driving, and I don’t feel like readjusting the seat and all in his. Besides, I like my car more. We drive in relative silence, only commenting on things every now and then on the twenty minute drive into the city. Harry has his forehead pressed against the window looking out at the passing landscape.

“I like where we are when we drive in your car.” He says, almost inaudibly. A variation of the ‘sleep’ version we say almost every night.

“I like where we are here.” I give the reply. I love how cute he is when he doesn’t try.

We arrive and take our regular corner ‘L’ booth, sitting beside each other in the bend. We order our pasta, salad and wine and wait the few minutes until the bottle arrives. He pours us each a good glass. If I know him as much as I say I do, I know that he’s going to be drunk soon with the amount he’s drinking. That’s okay though, a drunken Harry looses his inhibitions in public, and everyone sees the cute brunet who asks like a three year old that I love.

We eat, pay our tab and in the process make an Old Catholic couple (from the rosary she was clutching) extremely uncomfortable when Harry grabs my ass on the way out of the booth and then proceeds to shove his tongue down my throat. Great and I still have to take him to the grocery store. This should be interesting…

I’m not sure what exactly happened once we got to the super market, but it involved Harry insisting to sit in the shopping cart (he’d never done it before) and ending up getting pushed clear across the parking lot afterwards packed in amongst our groceries. He squealed the whole time. God I love him when he’s drunk. I might take more of an advantage of this situation. He loses his balance trying to get climb out of the cart and lands flat on his ass. I laugh hysterically at him and try not to get on his bad side by helping him up and opening his car door.

I drive home and put the food stuffs away quickly. I then load a random dance CD into the stereo. Harry almost immediately starts to shimmy and sway to the music. Somewhere along the way he loses his balance and falls flat on his gorgeous bum again and looks up at me with confused eyes that almost seem to say ‘How the fuck did I end up down here?’ That’s when things started to get better. Body shots of tequila. Now, I must justify this, I only drink tequila when I’m already smashed, which the small bit of wine shouldn’t have done, but the vodka shooters we had when we got home did. Tequila, offensive to all five senses. Tastes like a foot, smells like a foot, looks like piss, burns like hell and sounds horrible coming back up. This is when I don’t remember what happens next until the next morning.

***

I wake up on the living room floor. My tie from last night is around my head, which is pounding, and I’m only in my boxers and socks. At least I’m fairing better than my lover who’s wearing only tighty whiteys. How did that happen? I’m not sure, I just want to get rid of my headache and possibly go back to sleep, but in bed, but that takes effort, but it would be more comfortable. Logic wins out. I get up, take a few aspirin, and pick Harry up, and head upstairs to bed. I drop him into the mattress, and soon follow. I’m unconscious again in a matter of seconds.

***

I’m being shaken awake.

“Muuuuuunnnggggghhh.” I moan into the drool covered sheets where my face lay.

“Draco, it’s four in the afternoon. What the hell did we do last night that I’m in fantasy shorts and my head is killing me, and my bum hurts and not in a good way!” Harry whines child like and innocent.

“Well, let’s just say that someone drank almost a whole bottle of wine by themselves last night. They then did shots of vodka, and eventually body shots of tequila. This person was riding in a shopping cart and fell flat on their ass getting out of the cart. They also tripped over their own feet while dancing with a bottle of whiskey. Does that answer your question?” I ask without raising my head, which is still aching.

“I guess. But how the hell did I end up in tighty whitey’s when I never wear them?” He replies.

“That I’m not sure about, I woke up this morning on the living room floor, and brought us up here.”

“Okay, I believe you. Merlin my head hurts. I’m going back to sleep now, sweet dreams lover.” He says through his haze.

“Love you too.” I reply from my slobber puddle, and fall asleep for the umpteenth time that day.

***

A/N: HUGE THANKS to my beta Ruinithel/Thindiell *loves ya* And here are my review replies. I hope you like this chapter, and if you did, let me know!

Night: Ahhh, thanks! Really? Harry I’ve read several stories where he has something to do with drawing and what not. But thanks for the review!

Novacaine: Thanks! I think I’m made of fluff. LOL.

GummiBear: Thanks! Here’s more for you!

thrnbrooke: THANKS! Here it is!