Loud and Bump Night (H/D)
Author: Gabriel (house_illrepute)
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy (and a healthy dose of Dean/Seamus)
Summary: Every fight deserves a sexy make-up... and every sexy make-up deserves a witness... or two.
Word Count: 2748
Warnings: Domestisquabble; Gabe-Humour©; Blatant sitcom rip-off
A/N: Written for the Friday Double Entendre for slythindor100.
Prompt: 1, 2, 3, 4 by Feist.
Author's Notes: This is the story that the song inspired. I don't think I used any of the lyrics, per se, but the song -- nay, the album -- has been playing non-stop while I wrote this. And, OMG!! Not a Creevey to be found!!! GASP!!
Special Format: The format and story line was adapted from a very specific sitcom. Can you name it and the episode? How you read the fic is up to you. I hope everyone's browser 'reads' the format the same. I've tested it on my desktop and my lappie using both Firefox and IE. Other people's styles, however, may affect the columns.
1:41a
The front door swung open. Harry stumbled over the threshold, his eyes glazed and mouth slacked. He almost fell to the floor. He held his arms out with fingers splayed in an attempt to regain balance; his knees were like preserves, wiggling as if precariously hanging from a spreading knife. He teetered, wobbled-but did not fall. Once moderately assured that he could walk without tipping over, Harry walked to the kitchenette, knocking over a small lamp on the small table by the door.
Harry winced as the lamp shattered. He ambled to the side and knocked over the umbrella stand, strewing an assortment of brollies-Muggle and magical-on the floor.
He stared at the mess for a moment before a white, fluffy teddy bear caught his attention. It sat on the stand-next to where the lamp had been- and held in its little paws some flowers and wore a sugary sweet smile as well as a sweater with a big red heart on it. Harry pouted, picked up the toy bear, and hugged it close to him.
He forgot to take the key from the door.
If Harry walked a straight line, it was from sheer Gryffindor luck, because his feet stepped over and on each other with each step.
“M’hungry, yeah?” he said, to no one in particular.
He turned to face his refrigerator, but there was none there, which was, of course, confusing, considering he distinctly remember having a refrigerator before. He didn't know why, but he felt the need to look at the ceiling, so he did. Nope. Not up there.
2:31a.
The front door swung open. Draco stumbled over the threshold, the sack of groceries nearly tumbling out of his hand as he did so. Almost immediately, Draco knew something was off. Balancing the bag against his hip between the door, Draco removed the key from the lock and tossed it onto the stand by the door. He saw the broken remains of his lamp on the floor. “What the fuck-”
A worried expression crept on Draco’s face, and he wondered if he should take out his wand from his back pocket.
Draco heaved the sack of groceries on his hip and walked to the kitchen. The last few days have been hell: having to rent a new flat due to Crumple-Horned Snorkack infestation (and who knew the Lovegoods were right about their existence?), the complete tosser he called ‘boss’, and the ever-growing distance between himself and his parents. Normally, Harry would be the one that could calm Draco’s nerves. But, in a fit of selfishness, Draco had sent him scurrying off, probably never to return. Alone, apparently, was to be Draco’s lot in life. So caught up in his self-pity, Draco didn’t see the puddle of umbrellas strewn across the floor. He almost slipped and stumbled on the floor, but managed to regain his footing.
Draco cursed as he left the mess, walked into the kitchen, and swore even more emphatically at the state of complete disarray his kitchen was in. His cooker was splattered with traces of sauces, a pot of something still sat on the hob, and the oven was still on. Plates had managed to make it to the sink, but various utensils-some still skewering food-had fallen to the floor.
“Fuck I’een burgl’d!”
He stood transfixed, as if trying to figure out a complicated Runic equation or decipher drunken Elfish poetry. His eyes shifted quickly from left to right in rapid succession. He jumped and turned around in mid-air.
“There ‘ou are!” Harry said, having spotted the refrigerator. He opened its hatch as he delivered a breathy, “Cheeky bugger.”
Harry bent down to see what he had to eat-late-night pub crawls always made him hungry-and almost fell head first inside the fridge. “Cor, but do I buy rubbish! There’s shit to eat…”
“Fookin’ hell, mate,” Harry heard from the hallway.
“Your close is shite.” The drunken rebuke came from Dean Thomas, who stumbled after Harry, arm-and-arm with Seamus, slack-eyed and smiling dumbly.
Seamus muttered something at Harry. Harry, however, only heard ‘mumble mutter drunk mumble mumble hungry’.
Still, Harry knew what Seamus wanted and moved aside to let him peruse the refrigerator.
“Fuck! I’ve been ransacked!”
Draco set the bag of groceries on the only clean patch of counter space he could find. He stood and surveyed the mess before him and stared at it, transfixed, as if trying to figure out Gryffindor behaviour or why he found himself favouring Luna Lovegood’s company. No answers were forthcoming.
Draco began picking up various meats and pans, opened bags of crisps, uncorked bottles of wine, opened bags of Italian bread, and other assortments of food and condiments. He opened the refrigerator door and replaced the items in to their proper place.
Draco was hardly anal-retentive and, on lazier days, his flat could be a right mess, sometimes. But this was beyond even his laggardly limits.
Who could have been here, he thought. Blaise was in town, and had a key to the flat, but even in his wildest mode, Zabini was far too classy for this display. Besides, he rarely traveled without his half-elf servant (Blaise now believed that using the newly-vogue half-elf population as a servant was a sign of opulence) and surely he’d have got rid of any evidence of shenanigans and ne’er-do-well-ings.
“Is drunk,” Dean said, simply.
“Well mental night, yeah... strippers... bloody aces. Here’s your flat key, by the way.” Dean handed Harry a single key. Harry reached out for it, but Dean dropped it too soon and it fell to the floor. They stood and stared at the lone key, neither feeling too capable of bending over to pick it up. Rather, neither felt that, once bent, they’d be able to stand erect again.
Harry blew air and shuffled out of the kitchen into the small drawing room, teddy bear in hand. He fell onto the settee and his head bobbled about, as if far too heavy for his neck to hold up. His eyes found the telephone and he stared at it for a long moment. He could hear Seamus and Dean fumbling about in the kitchen, undoubtedly making a mess that would be hell to clean in the morning. But that hardly mattered at the moment.
Harry had to call him.
But... should Harry call him? Harry was well drunk, that was certain, and although he remembered the argument, remembered saying something wholly inappropriated, he didn't remember if it was something that was forgivable.
He picked up the phone and dialed. The line connected and, just at that moment, the other line beeped in. Harry thought it quite rude, calling at this hour, but decided against giving whoever was on the other line a good talking to. They could leave a message; he'd deal with them tomorrow.
Harry's grip on the toy bear tightened as a digitized replica of Draco’s voice began to talk on the other line. “Please leave a message after the tone.”
Succinct and to the point. No frills, no fuss. Harry remembered having to convince Draco to even get a telephone, let alone a voice messaging service. Once he had it, however, Draco used it as though it were going out of style-or just coming into style. He’d laugh about that memory, if he weren’t so sure it was part of his past and not present... or future.
Harry opened his mouth, closed it with a huff, pouted. He repeated this process a couple of times before a jumbled, slurred ‘love you’ slipped out. There’s no turning back now, he thought.
His treacherous mouth had already taken over.
Draco closed the refrigerator door and bent down to pick up all of the fallen forks and spreading knives. That’s when he saw it.
The lone flat-key. Harry’s key.
Draco dropped the cutlery. It clanged when it hit the floor. He scurried back into the hallway and looked at the stand. It wasn’t there. Draco stared at the fallen pieces of the lamp, hoping to find what he was looking for. He stared at the table, then the broken shards of the lamp, and finally at the puddle of umbrellas. He repeated the process several times. The truth was undeniable.
Harry had taken the teddy bear.
Draco was little more than an Inferius as he walked into his drawing room and flopped down upon the settee. This was it, he thought, Harry was gone-definitely gone. And there was nothing Draco could do about it. An internal struggle commenced. A part of him wanted to cry, wanted to scream at the Great Unfairness of it all. But a much larger part, the part still vying for his father’s approval, knew that crying was admitting defeating, and that was something neither a Slytherin nor a Malfoy would ever do.
A blinking green light on his phone receiver caught his attention. A message. Maybe it was Harry? Or perhaps it was just Blaise, leaving some drink-addled apology for the state he left Draco’s kitchen. But maybe it was Harry, telling Draco where he could stick his ultimatums, how hard to do it, and how far up the bum it should be done. Maybe it was Granger, telling him just how to do it properly, for maximum Sod-Off-age. Or maybe it was a Weasley, laughing their ‘I told you sos’ and scheduling a date for the beating they had promised “if you should ever even think about hurting Harry,” according to one Ronald Weasley, at least.
Draco took a deep breath, trying to muster all the strength he had. He picked up the phone, pressed the message button, and, when prompted, put in his security code: 07311980. Regardless, Draco was certain that the message was from Harry, and certain that it would be crushing in its finality.
“... love you ...”
Draco blinked. He wasn’t sure he heard that right.
“I love you an’... m’s’rry... an’... I love you... an’... m’s’rry... and I want you... I wan’ yoo so bad-hiccup-s’rry... if yoo hate me... then... s’rry... but... please call me... yoo know th’number, yeah?”
“I love you an’... m’s’rry... an’... I love you... an’... m’s’rry... and I want you... I wan’ yoo so bad-hiccup-s’rry... if yoo hate me... then... s’rry... but... please call me... yoo know th’number, yeah?”
Reluctantly, Harry put the phone down on its receiver. The green charging light came on. Harry stared at it-green always reminded him of Draco. Harry’s posture slackened, even as he made to stand up, and he blundered across the room back into the hallway.
Dean and Seamus, still arm-and-arm, stood in the hallway, both wearing devilish grins. Seamus spoke again, though his mouth barely moved, but it sounded more like, ‘mumble mutter going mumble mumble sorry phlegm chutter grumble mess mutter grumble’.
Harry stared at them, mouth slightly agape.
Dean leaned forward. “You ‘right, mate?”
Harry nodded, or at least, he meant to.
“You’re not going to honk, are you?”
Harry shook his head, or at least, he meant to.
“Okay, then. We should leave. Coming with, then?”
Harry shook his head, again. “N’M’staying... goin’ to sleep...”
“Are you sure? Here?”
Harry nodded and clutched the teddy bear closer against his chest.
Dean shrugged. “Okay, then... Floo call us if you need us.” And with that, Dean and Seamus left through the front door, leaving Harry alone in his flat.
Draco played the message again. And again. And once more, for good measure; the smile that crept on his face could have made a blind man squint. Suddenly, it all made sense, this mess that his apartment was in, and Draco had a sneaking suspicion who was responsible for it all.
Standing, Draco walked down the hallway to his bedroom. Sure enough, Harry lay asleep in his bed. The duvet was missing, but Harry had managed to get between the sheets. And when he saw where the teddy bear had gone, that it was nestled protectively in Harry's arms, Draco blushed.
He watched Harry sleep for a moment, enjoying the familiar sight of Harry’s chest rising and falling; the endearing and hypnotising drone of his low breathing.
At that moment, Draco remembered everything that he loved about Harry. All of his flaws and strengths; all of his quirks and nasty habits. From biting his toenails to leaving dirty socks in the bathroom. From laughing at stupid American sitcoms to crying at tasteless Bollywood romantic-comedy films. From refusing to participate in rounds of gossip with Draco and his friends to tickling Draco until he was in pain from the laughter.
None of these things mattered to Draco, and, probably for the first time, Draco wondered how he could have ever demanded that Harry change. Change what? Change into who?
Harry was perfect-flaws and all. And Draco finally began to realise just how lucky he was to have a lover in Harry Potter. They should have killed each other long ago. Instead, they were making each other happy... even when they wanted to strangle each other.
Harry walked to the bedroom. He didn’t even bother to switch on the lights. He merely toed off his shoes, kicked them to the side, took off his shirt, and then fell like dead weight on to the bed. Eventually, he managed to wiggle his way between the sheets. The duvet, however, was jerked off to the side.
“Too sloshed to drive,” Harry heard Dean from the hallway. He flipped over onto his back and opened an eye, only to see the shadowy forms of Dean and Seamus, still arm-and-arm, standing in the doorway.
“Mind if we crash, then?” Dean asked.
Harry mumbled something that must have sounded like a ‘yes’, because Dean and Seamus walked to the other side of the bed and lay down on the floor. A moment later, Dean walked to where Harry had cast aside the duvet, grabbed it, and returned to his spot by Seamus’ side.
Sleep came; snoring commenced. Harry snuggled with the teddy bear, knowing that whatever was meant to happen, would happen. There was little that could be done about it now.
Draco tip-toed to the side of the bed and took off his shirt. When he crawled on top of Harry, careful not to disturb him too much, Harry stirred. Draco pulled back the covers and gaped at Harry’s naked chest and the perfect placement of his perfect, brown nipples. Draco started at the waist of Harry’s jeans, kissing the soft skin around his navel, gently tugging the dark hairs of Harry’s happy trail.
Harry moaned. Draco looked up into Harry’s still-sleeping face and smiled. He delivered kisses all over Harry’s stomach and chest as he crawled higher along Harry’s body. Draco took a nipple into his mouth, engulfing it completely with his lips. Draco brushed against it gently with his teeth; Harry whimpered. When it became erect, Draco sucked on it, forcefully; Harry shuddered.
Harry’s eyes fluttered open. Draco released the tit, and before Harry could say anything, captured the brunet’s mouth in his own. Their tongues swirled around each other, lapping at the other’s flavour. Draco’s hand slid down along Harry’s body until it reached Harry’s cock. Draco was pleased to find it already hard, throbbing. He squeezed it and petted it, like he would a favoured pet.
Harry rocked his hips forward and gyrated slowly, giving Draco even greater, unfettered access. He reached up and ran his fingers through Draco’s hair, as if he needed to make sure the blond was really there, and that this was really happening. Abruptly, Harry pulled away, gasping for air. “Draco? Wh-what are you doing here? I... I thought-”
“Shh,” Draco whispered. “Don’t say anything... don’t apologize... don’t explain yourself... Just... just be Harry for me.”
Harry smiled. “I’m a bit rough, I think. Could you settle for 'Drunken Harry' instead?”
Draco continued to massage Harry’s cock through his trousers. He looked down at it. “You're not that drunk, apparently.”
Harry opened his mouth to say something else, but Draco kissed him. If Harry had given any resistance, it quickly melted as he fell victim to Draco’s machinations. Without breaking the kiss, Draco began fumbling with Harry’s belt buckle. Abruptly, Harry pulled back, holding Draco at bay by the shoulders.
“No, Draco... you’d better stop...”
“What...? Stop?” Draco was confused; he thought things were okay, that Harry wanted him as much as he wanted Harry. Was he wrong? Was Draco over-stepping his boundaries? Crest-fallen, Draco made to sit up. “I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean-”
“Don’t stop on our account,” came a familiar brogue.
Draco snapped back and Harry yanked the covers to his chin as he sat up. They saw Dean and Seamus, almost out of the room, staring wildly at him and Harry with something like greed in their eyes. It appeared they had tried to leave their friends alone but had been mesmerised by the sight of Draco about to service one of their good mates. Harry thought it odd-and a bit suspicious, really-that it had been the first time Seamus spoke clearly and succinctly since their partying had begun earlier that evening.
“Aww, why’d you stop?” asked Dean, offended.
“Yeah, don’t mind us,” Seamus added, quickly.
“Get... out...” Draco said.
Harry smiled, wickedly. “Now, now, Draco... let’s not be so hasty, shall we?”
Draco’s looked at Harry and, with understanding, turned his attention back to Dean and Seamus. “Why, yes, Harry... I do believe you are right.”
Seamus and Dean’s eyes widened; they turned their attentions toward each other. Without a second thought, Seamus and Dean tore off their clothes and lept in the bed with their former classmates.
It was a loud and bumpy night, indeed.
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy (and a healthy dose of Dean/Seamus)
Summary: Every fight deserves a sexy make-up... and every sexy make-up deserves a witness... or two.
Word Count: 2748
Warnings: Domestisquabble; Gabe-Humour©; Blatant sitcom rip-off
A/N: Written for the Friday Double Entendre for slythindor100.
Prompt: 1, 2, 3, 4 by Feist.
Author's Notes: This is the story that the song inspired. I don't think I used any of the lyrics, per se, but the song -- nay, the album -- has been playing non-stop while I wrote this. And, OMG!! Not a Creevey to be found!!! GASP!!
Special Format: The format and story line was adapted from a very specific sitcom. Can you name it and the episode? How you read the fic is up to you. I hope everyone's browser 'reads' the format the same. I've tested it on my desktop and my lappie using both Firefox and IE. Other people's styles, however, may affect the columns.
1:41a
The front door swung open. Harry stumbled over the threshold, his eyes glazed and mouth slacked. He almost fell to the floor. He held his arms out with fingers splayed in an attempt to regain balance; his knees were like preserves, wiggling as if precariously hanging from a spreading knife. He teetered, wobbled-but did not fall. Once moderately assured that he could walk without tipping over, Harry walked to the kitchenette, knocking over a small lamp on the small table by the door.
Harry winced as the lamp shattered. He ambled to the side and knocked over the umbrella stand, strewing an assortment of brollies-Muggle and magical-on the floor.
He stared at the mess for a moment before a white, fluffy teddy bear caught his attention. It sat on the stand-next to where the lamp had been- and held in its little paws some flowers and wore a sugary sweet smile as well as a sweater with a big red heart on it. Harry pouted, picked up the toy bear, and hugged it close to him.
He forgot to take the key from the door.
If Harry walked a straight line, it was from sheer Gryffindor luck, because his feet stepped over and on each other with each step.
“M’hungry, yeah?” he said, to no one in particular.
He turned to face his refrigerator, but there was none there, which was, of course, confusing, considering he distinctly remember having a refrigerator before. He didn't know why, but he felt the need to look at the ceiling, so he did. Nope. Not up there.
2:31a.
The front door swung open. Draco stumbled over the threshold, the sack of groceries nearly tumbling out of his hand as he did so. Almost immediately, Draco knew something was off. Balancing the bag against his hip between the door, Draco removed the key from the lock and tossed it onto the stand by the door. He saw the broken remains of his lamp on the floor. “What the fuck-”
A worried expression crept on Draco’s face, and he wondered if he should take out his wand from his back pocket.
Draco heaved the sack of groceries on his hip and walked to the kitchen. The last few days have been hell: having to rent a new flat due to Crumple-Horned Snorkack infestation (and who knew the Lovegoods were right about their existence?), the complete tosser he called ‘boss’, and the ever-growing distance between himself and his parents. Normally, Harry would be the one that could calm Draco’s nerves. But, in a fit of selfishness, Draco had sent him scurrying off, probably never to return. Alone, apparently, was to be Draco’s lot in life. So caught up in his self-pity, Draco didn’t see the puddle of umbrellas strewn across the floor. He almost slipped and stumbled on the floor, but managed to regain his footing.
Draco cursed as he left the mess, walked into the kitchen, and swore even more emphatically at the state of complete disarray his kitchen was in. His cooker was splattered with traces of sauces, a pot of something still sat on the hob, and the oven was still on. Plates had managed to make it to the sink, but various utensils-some still skewering food-had fallen to the floor.
“Fuck I’een burgl’d!”
He stood transfixed, as if trying to figure out a complicated Runic equation or decipher drunken Elfish poetry. His eyes shifted quickly from left to right in rapid succession. He jumped and turned around in mid-air.
“There ‘ou are!” Harry said, having spotted the refrigerator. He opened its hatch as he delivered a breathy, “Cheeky bugger.”
Harry bent down to see what he had to eat-late-night pub crawls always made him hungry-and almost fell head first inside the fridge. “Cor, but do I buy rubbish! There’s shit to eat…”
“Fookin’ hell, mate,” Harry heard from the hallway.
“Your close is shite.” The drunken rebuke came from Dean Thomas, who stumbled after Harry, arm-and-arm with Seamus, slack-eyed and smiling dumbly.
Seamus muttered something at Harry. Harry, however, only heard ‘mumble mutter drunk mumble mumble hungry’.
Still, Harry knew what Seamus wanted and moved aside to let him peruse the refrigerator.
“Fuck! I’ve been ransacked!”
Draco set the bag of groceries on the only clean patch of counter space he could find. He stood and surveyed the mess before him and stared at it, transfixed, as if trying to figure out Gryffindor behaviour or why he found himself favouring Luna Lovegood’s company. No answers were forthcoming.
Draco began picking up various meats and pans, opened bags of crisps, uncorked bottles of wine, opened bags of Italian bread, and other assortments of food and condiments. He opened the refrigerator door and replaced the items in to their proper place.
Draco was hardly anal-retentive and, on lazier days, his flat could be a right mess, sometimes. But this was beyond even his laggardly limits.
Who could have been here, he thought. Blaise was in town, and had a key to the flat, but even in his wildest mode, Zabini was far too classy for this display. Besides, he rarely traveled without his half-elf servant (Blaise now believed that using the newly-vogue half-elf population as a servant was a sign of opulence) and surely he’d have got rid of any evidence of shenanigans and ne’er-do-well-ings.
“Is drunk,” Dean said, simply.
“Well mental night, yeah... strippers... bloody aces. Here’s your flat key, by the way.” Dean handed Harry a single key. Harry reached out for it, but Dean dropped it too soon and it fell to the floor. They stood and stared at the lone key, neither feeling too capable of bending over to pick it up. Rather, neither felt that, once bent, they’d be able to stand erect again.
Harry blew air and shuffled out of the kitchen into the small drawing room, teddy bear in hand. He fell onto the settee and his head bobbled about, as if far too heavy for his neck to hold up. His eyes found the telephone and he stared at it for a long moment. He could hear Seamus and Dean fumbling about in the kitchen, undoubtedly making a mess that would be hell to clean in the morning. But that hardly mattered at the moment.
Harry had to call him.
But... should Harry call him? Harry was well drunk, that was certain, and although he remembered the argument, remembered saying something wholly inappropriated, he didn't remember if it was something that was forgivable.
He picked up the phone and dialed. The line connected and, just at that moment, the other line beeped in. Harry thought it quite rude, calling at this hour, but decided against giving whoever was on the other line a good talking to. They could leave a message; he'd deal with them tomorrow.
Harry's grip on the toy bear tightened as a digitized replica of Draco’s voice began to talk on the other line. “Please leave a message after the tone.”
Succinct and to the point. No frills, no fuss. Harry remembered having to convince Draco to even get a telephone, let alone a voice messaging service. Once he had it, however, Draco used it as though it were going out of style-or just coming into style. He’d laugh about that memory, if he weren’t so sure it was part of his past and not present... or future.
Harry opened his mouth, closed it with a huff, pouted. He repeated this process a couple of times before a jumbled, slurred ‘love you’ slipped out. There’s no turning back now, he thought.
His treacherous mouth had already taken over.
Draco closed the refrigerator door and bent down to pick up all of the fallen forks and spreading knives. That’s when he saw it.
The lone flat-key. Harry’s key.
Draco dropped the cutlery. It clanged when it hit the floor. He scurried back into the hallway and looked at the stand. It wasn’t there. Draco stared at the fallen pieces of the lamp, hoping to find what he was looking for. He stared at the table, then the broken shards of the lamp, and finally at the puddle of umbrellas. He repeated the process several times. The truth was undeniable.
Harry had taken the teddy bear.
Draco was little more than an Inferius as he walked into his drawing room and flopped down upon the settee. This was it, he thought, Harry was gone-definitely gone. And there was nothing Draco could do about it. An internal struggle commenced. A part of him wanted to cry, wanted to scream at the Great Unfairness of it all. But a much larger part, the part still vying for his father’s approval, knew that crying was admitting defeating, and that was something neither a Slytherin nor a Malfoy would ever do.
A blinking green light on his phone receiver caught his attention. A message. Maybe it was Harry? Or perhaps it was just Blaise, leaving some drink-addled apology for the state he left Draco’s kitchen. But maybe it was Harry, telling Draco where he could stick his ultimatums, how hard to do it, and how far up the bum it should be done. Maybe it was Granger, telling him just how to do it properly, for maximum Sod-Off-age. Or maybe it was a Weasley, laughing their ‘I told you sos’ and scheduling a date for the beating they had promised “if you should ever even think about hurting Harry,” according to one Ronald Weasley, at least.
Draco took a deep breath, trying to muster all the strength he had. He picked up the phone, pressed the message button, and, when prompted, put in his security code: 07311980. Regardless, Draco was certain that the message was from Harry, and certain that it would be crushing in its finality.
“... love you ...”
Draco blinked. He wasn’t sure he heard that right.
“I love you an’... m’s’rry... an’... I love you... an’... m’s’rry... and I want you... I wan’ yoo so bad-hiccup-s’rry... if yoo hate me... then... s’rry... but... please call me... yoo know th’number, yeah?”
“I love you an’... m’s’rry... an’... I love you... an’... m’s’rry... and I want you... I wan’ yoo so bad-hiccup-s’rry... if yoo hate me... then... s’rry... but... please call me... yoo know th’number, yeah?”
Reluctantly, Harry put the phone down on its receiver. The green charging light came on. Harry stared at it-green always reminded him of Draco. Harry’s posture slackened, even as he made to stand up, and he blundered across the room back into the hallway.
Dean and Seamus, still arm-and-arm, stood in the hallway, both wearing devilish grins. Seamus spoke again, though his mouth barely moved, but it sounded more like, ‘mumble mutter going mumble mumble sorry phlegm chutter grumble mess mutter grumble’.
Harry stared at them, mouth slightly agape.
Dean leaned forward. “You ‘right, mate?”
Harry nodded, or at least, he meant to.
“You’re not going to honk, are you?”
Harry shook his head, or at least, he meant to.
“Okay, then. We should leave. Coming with, then?”
Harry shook his head, again. “N’M’staying... goin’ to sleep...”
“Are you sure? Here?”
Harry nodded and clutched the teddy bear closer against his chest.
Dean shrugged. “Okay, then... Floo call us if you need us.” And with that, Dean and Seamus left through the front door, leaving Harry alone in his flat.
Draco played the message again. And again. And once more, for good measure; the smile that crept on his face could have made a blind man squint. Suddenly, it all made sense, this mess that his apartment was in, and Draco had a sneaking suspicion who was responsible for it all.
Standing, Draco walked down the hallway to his bedroom. Sure enough, Harry lay asleep in his bed. The duvet was missing, but Harry had managed to get between the sheets. And when he saw where the teddy bear had gone, that it was nestled protectively in Harry's arms, Draco blushed.
He watched Harry sleep for a moment, enjoying the familiar sight of Harry’s chest rising and falling; the endearing and hypnotising drone of his low breathing.
At that moment, Draco remembered everything that he loved about Harry. All of his flaws and strengths; all of his quirks and nasty habits. From biting his toenails to leaving dirty socks in the bathroom. From laughing at stupid American sitcoms to crying at tasteless Bollywood romantic-comedy films. From refusing to participate in rounds of gossip with Draco and his friends to tickling Draco until he was in pain from the laughter.
None of these things mattered to Draco, and, probably for the first time, Draco wondered how he could have ever demanded that Harry change. Change what? Change into who?
Harry was perfect-flaws and all. And Draco finally began to realise just how lucky he was to have a lover in Harry Potter. They should have killed each other long ago. Instead, they were making each other happy... even when they wanted to strangle each other.
Harry walked to the bedroom. He didn’t even bother to switch on the lights. He merely toed off his shoes, kicked them to the side, took off his shirt, and then fell like dead weight on to the bed. Eventually, he managed to wiggle his way between the sheets. The duvet, however, was jerked off to the side.
“Too sloshed to drive,” Harry heard Dean from the hallway. He flipped over onto his back and opened an eye, only to see the shadowy forms of Dean and Seamus, still arm-and-arm, standing in the doorway.
“Mind if we crash, then?” Dean asked.
Harry mumbled something that must have sounded like a ‘yes’, because Dean and Seamus walked to the other side of the bed and lay down on the floor. A moment later, Dean walked to where Harry had cast aside the duvet, grabbed it, and returned to his spot by Seamus’ side.
Sleep came; snoring commenced. Harry snuggled with the teddy bear, knowing that whatever was meant to happen, would happen. There was little that could be done about it now.
Draco tip-toed to the side of the bed and took off his shirt. When he crawled on top of Harry, careful not to disturb him too much, Harry stirred. Draco pulled back the covers and gaped at Harry’s naked chest and the perfect placement of his perfect, brown nipples. Draco started at the waist of Harry’s jeans, kissing the soft skin around his navel, gently tugging the dark hairs of Harry’s happy trail.
Harry moaned. Draco looked up into Harry’s still-sleeping face and smiled. He delivered kisses all over Harry’s stomach and chest as he crawled higher along Harry’s body. Draco took a nipple into his mouth, engulfing it completely with his lips. Draco brushed against it gently with his teeth; Harry whimpered. When it became erect, Draco sucked on it, forcefully; Harry shuddered.
Harry’s eyes fluttered open. Draco released the tit, and before Harry could say anything, captured the brunet’s mouth in his own. Their tongues swirled around each other, lapping at the other’s flavour. Draco’s hand slid down along Harry’s body until it reached Harry’s cock. Draco was pleased to find it already hard, throbbing. He squeezed it and petted it, like he would a favoured pet.
Harry rocked his hips forward and gyrated slowly, giving Draco even greater, unfettered access. He reached up and ran his fingers through Draco’s hair, as if he needed to make sure the blond was really there, and that this was really happening. Abruptly, Harry pulled away, gasping for air. “Draco? Wh-what are you doing here? I... I thought-”
“Shh,” Draco whispered. “Don’t say anything... don’t apologize... don’t explain yourself... Just... just be Harry for me.”
Harry smiled. “I’m a bit rough, I think. Could you settle for 'Drunken Harry' instead?”
Draco continued to massage Harry’s cock through his trousers. He looked down at it. “You're not that drunk, apparently.”
Harry opened his mouth to say something else, but Draco kissed him. If Harry had given any resistance, it quickly melted as he fell victim to Draco’s machinations. Without breaking the kiss, Draco began fumbling with Harry’s belt buckle. Abruptly, Harry pulled back, holding Draco at bay by the shoulders.
“No, Draco... you’d better stop...”
“What...? Stop?” Draco was confused; he thought things were okay, that Harry wanted him as much as he wanted Harry. Was he wrong? Was Draco over-stepping his boundaries? Crest-fallen, Draco made to sit up. “I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean-”
“Don’t stop on our account,” came a familiar brogue.
Draco snapped back and Harry yanked the covers to his chin as he sat up. They saw Dean and Seamus, almost out of the room, staring wildly at him and Harry with something like greed in their eyes. It appeared they had tried to leave their friends alone but had been mesmerised by the sight of Draco about to service one of their good mates. Harry thought it odd-and a bit suspicious, really-that it had been the first time Seamus spoke clearly and succinctly since their partying had begun earlier that evening.
“Aww, why’d you stop?” asked Dean, offended.
“Yeah, don’t mind us,” Seamus added, quickly.
“Get... out...” Draco said.
Harry smiled, wickedly. “Now, now, Draco... let’s not be so hasty, shall we?”
Draco’s looked at Harry and, with understanding, turned his attention back to Dean and Seamus. “Why, yes, Harry... I do believe you are right.”
Seamus and Dean’s eyes widened; they turned their attentions toward each other. Without a second thought, Seamus and Dean tore off their clothes and lept in the bed with their former classmates.
It was a loud and bumpy night, indeed.