Bottom Draco One Shots !Drarry!

Loving Potter Was His Worst Mistake

When Draco wakes up, Potter’s arm is slung around him and his chest is pressed up against Draco’s back. He feels content for a second before he remembers that this is Potter. He’s in Potter’s bed once again, in Potter’s apartment. When they started fucking, almost three years ago, they made rules. One of those rules was that the one who came over to the other’s place was to leave afterwards. No need to sleep in the same bed after the deed was done.

But they’ve been slacking off the rules lately, especially Draco. Which is stupid, he was the one who wanted strict rules in the first place. Draco needs to leave, take the floo to his own apartment, get ready for work. Except it’s a Saturday. No work, then, but he still needs to get out of Potter’s flat. He carefully lifts Potter’s arm and untangles himself, hoping not to wake the gorgeous man up. Of course, he fails, and Potter stirs.

“Mhnm..” Potter grunts and then throws his arm back around Draco, tugging him impossibly close, closer than is good for Draco’s heart. “Stay” he murmurs into Draco’s ear, his hot breath sending tremors down Draco’s spine. It’s tempting. Very tempting. Too tempting. He needs to get the fuck out.

“I have plans, Potter.” He lies and throws Potters arm off him, not too gently. His bare feet touch the cold wooden floor and he shivers.

“Oh, what plans?” Potter asks, and Draco isn’t sure if he’s calling him out on his obvious lie or if he truly wants to know. He scans the room for his clothing that Potter had ripped off of him last night. His shirt is on the floor and his underpants are flung on the lamp on the dresser.

“I have a date.” Brilliant fucking lie, Draco. Why would you say that you stupid fucker? he thinks to himself and walks over to pick the underpants up and puts them on.

“Oh” this time Potter sounds deflated, but that’s only Draco’s hopeful imagination, so he shrugs it off. “Is it anyone I know?”

Draco turns as he’s buttoning his shirt, scanning for his trousers. Potter is laying on his side, resting his head in his palm, his elbow holding him up. His hair is a mess, but when isn’t it? It stands up in the back, and Draco knows he made it that way when he pulled on fistfuls of hair as Potter pounded into him last night. The memory makes Draco pause, his brain focusing on the way Potter felt against him and the feeling of Potter’s stupid hair between his fingers. When he re-emerges from the memory, he meets Potter's expectant gaze and realizes that Potter asked him a question.

“No. Someone I met through work.” Okay, now leave Draco, don’t dig yourself a deeper grave, just get out. He spots his trousers in the opposite corner of the room, forcing him to go around the bed to Potter’s side to get them.

“Do you have to throw my clothes in different directions every time, Potter?” He complains, and Potter throws him a million-watt smile that makes his knees go weak.

“Well, it gives me the pleasure of watching you go around half-naked collecting it.” He laughs, and Draco blushes, curse his pale skin.

“Screw you, Potter. I’m leaving.” He buttons his trousers and stomps out of Potter’s room and to the fireplace. Before he calls out the address of his own apartment, while throwing the floo powder into the fireplace, he hears Potter calls after him.

“See you, Malfoy.” See you, as in let’s fuck again. Potter doesn’t believe he’s going on a date, or if he does, he’s sure it won’t last.