While You Were Sleeping

He's lying here beside me on the bed. One hand is slightly curled and rests upon the pillow, just beside the slightly flushed skin of his cheek.He's deeply asleep, I can see the movement of his eyes behind his closed eyelids, and I wonder what he is dreaming about.

He has nightmares sometimes, nightmares where he wakes up, clutching at his scar and panting desperately. When that happens he'll cling to me tightly for a long time, until at last his slender body will relax against mine, and his breathing will be calm once more.

His sleep is peaceful right now, though. His face is calm and relaxed, no pain or worry visible.

Sleep changes us, I've come to realize. I had never thought about sleep or what it does to us until I lay awake one night, with nothing to do except gaze at the sleeping face of my lover. Sleep is like snow...it covers the face like a blanket, smoothing away all the hate and fear and past sorrows, leaving only innocence behind.

A lock of jet black hair has fallen across his eyes, and I reach out and gently push it away. He stirs and shifts closer to me under the covers, and I feel my stomach clench at the touch of his skin against mine. If he was awake he would smirk at his affect on me. Those emerald eyes would sparkle and darken with arousal before he would cover my lips with his, pushing me back onto the pillow.

He's gotten too damn good at smirking, and at taking charge. I suppose its my own fault for doing it in front of him so many times. And I have to admit that I find it incredibly sexy.

We're evenly matched, he and I. Same height, same build, physically. And he's proven that he's just as determined as I am. He's told me more than once that he'll give as good as he gets, and I believe him. I've seen those green eyes go dark with hatred and look like cold emeralds. And even though I'd only admit it to myself and to him, there's something about him that makes me wish that things could be different. That I wasn't the way I am. He makes me care, and sometimes I hate him for it.

There's something about him that makes you want to take him away somewhere and protect him from everything and anything that could ever hurt him. He isn't even aware of it, and that is what makes it so appealing. He has told me that he hates it, hates it when people try to coddle him, or keep the truth away from him. Better to be hurt by the truth than be stabbed in the back by lies, he says.

And I understand that. After all, if you lived out eleven years of your life not knowing what really happened to your parents, not knowing that you really are apart of something else, not even knowing who you are, then you're entitled to the truth at some point.

Of course, thats what was my downfall in the end. I understood why he wanted the truth, and hell if I could make myself believe that he didn't deserve it.

I remember it so clearly..we'd been arguing, toe to toe in one of the darkened corridors of the school, just glaring at each other, having it out. I don't know how it happened, or why...but suddenly we just stopped, and I know that we both realized that there was something different in the tension between us. I tried to smirk like I normally do, but I knew that he wasn't buying it. We were just staring into each other's eyes, and then he spoke.

"You feel it too, don't you, Draco."

I could have said no. I could have laughed at him, and asked him what the hell he had been sniffing in Potions, or said something about being around Weasley too long. But lie as I might to myself or to any other person, I just couldn't lie to him. And so I spoke. And changed our lives forever.

"Yes."

We just stared at each other for a minute, and then we were both moving at the same time, our lips meeting at the same moment. It was painful and wonderful, scary and exhilirating, like falling and flying all at the same time. His lips were so soft and so warm, demanding and gentle as they moved over mine. When our tongues met and swirled around each other, I could feel my breath catch in my throat. I never wanted the moment to stop, and I knew that I'd never, ever, felt that way before in my life. When we broke apart, flushed and trembling, I think we both knew that we could never go back.

And so. I lie here beside him, watching him as he sleeps. Its almost morning, and soon his eyes will open and meet mine. He's the only person I know that looks inexscusably sexy in the morning, all sexy tousled hair and sleepy deep green stare that belongs strictly in the bedroom. He'll lean over and give me that deep, long, good morning kiss that inevitably leads to so much more, and another day as the lover of the Boy Who Lived will begin.

Outside of the bedroom, of course, things remain much the same. They have to, for now.

I have two identities, one outside and one inside of the bedroom. And sometimes its hard, especially when I see him walking down the hall with his fellow Gryffindors, robes swirling around those long legs of his. Dark hair falling over his face, making me want to push it away, and he'll chew on his lip slightly, making me want to push him up against a wall and kiss him senseless.. Our eyes will meet and he'll let me see that hot green, incredibly sexy stare before his eyes will grow hard and we begin our daily subterfuge.

But one day, I will stand beside him, and everyone will know exactly who I am.

I am the lover of the Boy Who Lived.

I am Draco Malfoy.