Of course he wasn’t at the palace. Draco barged into tent after tent, uniform sticky and breath hard, till finally, finally, he found his query. In Draco’s rooms. Heart beating a frantic march in his chest, all he could concentrate on was a shock of black hair—naked torso, rising—green eyes widen—mouth curving in delight—
And then that mouth was claimed, although it was his heart that went ablaze. Over glory, over orders, this was what mattered—this, right here. Piercing through him like a lance, the man he loved. His King and Country. Draco wasn’t killed on the battlefield; he might still die tonight.
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you, my General,” Harry smiled into his mouth. “I was not informed of your return—"
“It’s over. The battle is won. The enemy has retreated.”
Harry took his words in with a frown. “The battle, but not the war.”
“Never the war.” Draco’s sigh shuddered out of him with such intensity, he nearly fell. The edges of his eyesight were dimming. Harry gripped his arm, hauling him over to the cot.
“Darling, you’re bleeding.”
He couldn’t help the smirk, even if his head was spinning. “Ever so observant, my Prince.”
“This isn’t funny. You must be seen to—let me grab the—"
“No,” Draco pulled him back, shaking his head. “Not now. My body is not what… Harry, I need…” he closed his eyes, trying to calm the tremor in his voice. “I need you. Please.”
“Very well,” Harry said at once, grim. “Very well.” He climbed onto the cot behind him, placing a careful hand on Draco’s chest.
“Forgive me. I didn’t—”
“Shh, love. It’s all right. I have you.”
Over duty, over honour, over anything else; the embrace of the man he loved. The battle didn’t kill him, neither sword nor arrow strong enough. His shield was mighty, but safety was here, in closing his eyes, breath slowing. In Harry, warm and close, kissing the back of his neck. No war was worth fighting, Draco thought to himself as he drifted off, but the war for this; and his King and Country might kill him, still. Love burns deeper than a wound—but of anything else, this would be worth it. His Harry.
Draco’s armour required tending—the next battle is merely a matter of time. I have you. He slept.
Currently thinking about Dabi having a nightmare when he stays over at your apartment for a few days. And it’s nothing new. He can’t remember the last time he had a peaceful slumber, doesn’t believe that he ever experienced a dream that didn’t show him cruel pictures of blood and branded the smell of burned flesh into his mind and by now, he’s used to it. It’s impossible to change what his thoughts evoke once his eyes drift shut and at this point, he’s unfazed, no matter what horror movie begins to play in the depths of his head.
