A/N: Just a bit of fun. Absolutely nonsensical. Disclaimer applies. Plagiarism is heavily frowned upon.
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Messing with Malfoy
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It was early New Year's Morning and Harry, Ron and Hermione were lounging in the Gryffindor common room, still feeling the after affects of the roaring party Fred and George had thrown in honour of the occasion. Hermione's cheeks were flushed pink under the influence of the alcohol—or the brief tussle they had had over who would claim the armchair (Ron won)—and they were all conspicuously tipsy.
"Let's do somethin' fun," said Ron, his words slurring.
Hermione bobbed her head in agreement, but stopped after a while because the motion made her sick.
Harry hiccoughed.
Ron took that to mean assent and—well, he really didn't know what to do next, but Harry continued the discussion. Ron attempted a grateful look—that made him look on the verge of throwing up.
"What if we tissue paper the castle? Or—or key the Professors' cars."
Ron looked confused, Hermione giggled—or rather attempted to giggle, all that came out was a gurgling sound.
"No cars, Harry," she said, playfully swatting him on the arm—and missing.
"Right, well then, we'll go annoy someone."
Ron, almost asleep in the armchair, jerked to attention.
"Malfoy!"
If Harry and Hermione could have managed incredulous looks, this would have been the best time. However, all they could do was look mildly interested. It seemed to appease Ron, however, because he sank bank into the armchair again.
"Let's do it," Harry said to Hermione.
He went upstairs to fetch the Invisibility Cloak and in only ten minutes—Ron had an emergency requiring the loo—they were traversing the deserted corridors in the direction of the Potions dungeon. Harry had checked the Marauders' Map and it had showed Snape and Malfoy there—Malfoy pacing hurriedly and Snape remaining stationary.
In almost no time—time passes quickly when you're inebriated—they had arrived with no idea what they were about to do. Harry flung the door open, causing Snape and Malfoy to jump around in surprise, but not as surprised as they were when Harry pulled off the cloak. Snape scowled.
Malfoy glared.
Harry glanced at Hermione who, with a small watery smile on her face, pointed her wand at Professor Snape. Somehow she managed to incapacitate him between hiccoughs, and keep him unconscious. Their second problem, next to a glowering Malfoy, was keeping Ron from performing wildly inappropriate acts on Snape's body.
Malfoy's glare was now shadowed with a hint of trepidation.
Harry smirked and moved forward slowly, wand raised. Draco's expression was quickly turning into one of fear. Behind him, he could dimly hear Hermione making pacifying noises for Ron's benefit.
"Ickle Malfoy," he taunted.
Draco stiffened.
"Not so brave now, without"—hiccough—"your bodyguards, are you?"
Draco narrowed his eyes.
"Are you drunk, Potter?" he asked cautiously.
Harry waved his wand airily, causing a few sparks—red and gold—to fly out of the tip. Draco backed up nervously; Harry followed.
"Drunk? Me? Noooo," he shook his head like a wet dog, "Mildly merely tipsy."
Draco almost laughed. Potter was thoroughly pissed, what a comic predicament. Oh the things he could do, he thought wickedly. Although it looked as if Potter had a few plans of his own, judging from the way those green eyes were, zeroing in on Draco like an owl that's spotted a particularly tasty mouse. Oh dear, he was looking positively sinful.
Draco licked his lips nervously, a movement that did not go unnoticed by Harry.
"No need," he said huskily, "I'll do it for you."
Draco's heart slammed into his chest. Damn, but Potter was looking seductive with the tousled hair, and the alcohol-reddened cheeks. Right, Draco, alcohol, it's all the Firewhisky and nothing real. Potter took a few steps forward. Draco suddenly inhaled his smell, faintly bath soap and mostly rum. Of course Potter didn't need to use cologne, he had a scent all his own, something earthy that just hinted at post-coital contentment.
Draco was having difficulty breathing, eau de Potter was overwhelming—but in a good way. There was no denying that he wanted him. The bulge in his jeans could attest to that, a fact that Potter had apparently noticed because he smirked again.
"Eager, are we?"
Draco wanted to smack the silly smirk off his face. Or better yet kiss it off—nothing but a friendly exchange. Yeah, tell his body that. Potter was moving excruciatingly slow, taunting Draco with every step. Draco had long ago forgotten Weasel and the Mudblood and had focused on Potter, now mere inches from him.
Harry leaned forward, his nose centimetres from Draco's.
"How much do you want me, Malfoy?" he whispered, not breaking eye contact. Draco swore he could lose himself in the heated emerald orbs.
He didn't answer—Malfoys still had their pride after all.
Harry mouth moved to Draco's ear and blew gently before his tongue flicked the outer rim.
"How much?" he breathed.
Draco whimpered, but still didn't give in.
Harry nibbled and Draco shook. His knees were about to give out, but he'd be damned if he clung to Potter's shoulders like some lovesick schoolgirl. Harry's mouth moved on to Draco's neck and sucked slightly, his tongue caressing the hollow beneath Draco's ear. Whomever had taught Potter the art of seduction Draco would pay a million Galleons, then murder them for making him Potter tease him like this.
Harry pulled away and when Draco thought he was going to stop Harry's gaze returned to his. He had placed both hands on either side of Draco's head against the wall and leaned in close so that their lips almost touched. Pressing one leg between Draco's against that very pressing need, he asked again,
"How much do you want me, Draco?"
Draco whimpered in frustration, before growling out "This much" and crushing Potter's lips against his own. He almost moaned at the contact and he delved and Potter delved as their tongues fought for dominance. Desperate for as much as Potter was willing to give Draco conceded and could have sworn he heard Potter—no Harry, sigh in gratitude.
Harry stroked and sucked and Draco knew he was melting so he clutched Harry's shoulders like as if the were his last link to sanity. Threading his fingers through Harry's hair he pushed his head closer whenever it felt like he was about to pull away. Draco was not ready to end this and he would savour it for as long as possible. Girls just didn't kiss with this kind of ferocity and passion.
Harry had closed the space between their bodies and was sliding against Draco in a simultaneously satisfying and frustrating way. Draco's hands began to roam as soon as he was sure Potter wouldn't pull away: over muscled shoulders, chiselled abdomen and, ooh a very tight arse. Draco squeezed and felt Harry smile against his lips.
He ran his hands over Harry's Quidditch toned back and settled them once again on his shoulders as Harry broke off, presumably for air. His breathing was as ragged as Draco's but that was poor comfort for the knowledge that this was all going to be an unremembered night for Potter.
But Firewhisky only loosened inhibitions, making people more likely to do things they've always wanted to do. No, he, Draco, was not going to rationalize Potter's actions, or inspire false hope. Harry's head was resting on his shoulder, and Draco almost smiled at how comfortable it felt. Harry's head lifted and he smiled wobbly into Draco's eyes.
"Don't feel so good," he said, drunkenly.
"Well, there goes articulation," said Draco wearily.
Harry frowned and Draco noticed he was turning green.
Draco narrowed his eyes.
"Potter, you'd better not—"
His words were cut off by Harry promptly throwing up Draco's jumper.