For capitu with all my love for being the most patient and amazing cheerleader/pre-reader around
Title: Oh Merlin
Author: eidheann (eidheann_writes)
Summary: Firewhisky. He remembers that much.
Word Count: ~850
Rating: NC17
Warnings: unbeta'd. Fail!porn. hungover!Draco!logic. Also silly (not sure why these are all going silly, I'm much better with angst)
Disclaimer: They're not mine. They belong to someone else. This is for fun not profit, etc.
When Draco opened his eyes, the darkness was a surprise and he fought to keep the panic at bay. His head was pounding, though the feeling was more reminiscent of a hangover than of any injury. He was lying on his back, and the feeling of upholstered cushioning against his arm told him he was likely on a couch.
Or in the corner of a very padded room. Which made no sense, so a couch it was.
Then he realized he was naked.
He assumed it took him that long to come to that due to the strangeness of the situation. Not because being naked in strange places was at all usual. Because it wasn't. He liked to keep his nakedness to comfortable and familiar places. So, hungover, naked, flat on his back and on a couch. And in the dark, which he was beginning to suspect was due more to Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder than any lack of sun.
Pushing himself up into a seated position, because he figured there was a bit more propriety in naked-and-sitting-on-a-couch than in naked-and-lying-on-a-couch, he groaned as his head seemed to consider detaching from the rest of his body and his stomach started doing it's own waltz without him. He took a moment to breathe, digging his toes into the plush carpeting, and attempted to remember how he got to... wherever he was.
Firewhisky. He remembered that much. The party at the Leaky to celebrate Robards' retirement turning into some strange competition where the Auror Corps each tried to outdrink themselves. Though why the Auror Corps thought that getting themselves all too shit-faced to see straight, he still wasn't up on. Though it had seemed a much better idea at the time. He had been sitting at a table drinking with... With...
Damn his stupid low alcohol tolerance.
His train of thought was effectively derailed by the feeling of a warm, dry hand around his cock. It took his hungover brain a moment to realize that both his hands were gripping the couch cushions and he let out a very manly protest, which sounded nothing at all like an "eep!" as the hand slowly began to wank him.
"What are you doing?" He was pleased that his voice came out in the proper register that time. The hand stopped, and how could a hand on his prick so explicitly point out what a stupid question that was?
He sighed, granting the point to the hand which resumed its slow rub, and Merlin even if his head pounded and his stomach was threatening rebellion, his cock was standing up and taking notice.
"Traitor." And he deserved the chuckle coming out of the darkness, talking to his prick like that, but "My head hurts and I think I'm about to vomit. I'm hardly at my best."
He heard a sigh, and was disappointed when the hand that had been teasing him vanishes. A moment later, he feels the nudge of cool glass against his arm, and takes the familiar wax-capped vial. "Oh Merlin, I think I love you." He cracked the cap and downed the hangover potion in a single go, trying to ignore the overwhelming taste of peppermint and eucalyptus that burned the back of his tongue and attacked his sinuses as he swallowed.
He was distracted by large, hot hands gripping his hips and dragging his arse closer to the edge of the couch, and he wiggled at the feeling of a face nuzzling his bollocks. The pounding in his head faded, and the rolling nausea was quickly overwhelmed by the tingle of anticipation as the general sensation of touch disappeared, only to be replaced by sudden wet suction as a mouth descended on his mostly-hard cock.
Formerly mostly-hard. "Fuck!" The warm tongue laving the underside of his cock nearly did him in right there, and he squeaked when the hot wetness slid up, sucking harder.
And laughed at him, the bastard. He smacked the top of the head, only to lose the heat entirely when the mouth pulled off and one of the hands pinched his thigh. "Hey!" He sat up, rubbing the spot and frowning sharply into the darkness. Cursed darkness, ruining his best glares and "Oh Merlin." The mouth was back, suckling hard on the head and tongue flicking over the slit and "Oh Merlin," he knew what that did to him the fucking tease, and "Oh Merlin," the hands were off his hips, squeezing his bollocks, and "Fuck!"
He collapsed back on the couch, too content after his orgasm to feel anything but happily boneless. He felt a shoulder jostle against his knee before a weight settled on the seat beside him.
"You're always so easy when you're drunk. I told you that you wouldn't last five minutes." Potter's voice was unbearably smug. Riding high on afterglow, he couldn't be arsed to respond to it.
"Ow! You've got sharp elbows!"
Well, maybe a little arsed.