This is rated Rish :)
Auror Potter was having a particularly substandard day. In fact, it was so terrible that said man had found the happy ending to his bad day at the bottom of a firewhiskey bottle the second his shift was over.
Now, he was swaying and tripping over his feet as he stumbled gracelessly down the hallway, his scarlet work robe getting caught on doorknobs and almost landing him face first on the floor. It was a good thing that the Auror was stubborn, otherwise he would have stopped halfway through his trek and found a nice spot to fall asleep, preferably against one of the walls.
Shockingly, the man made it to his destination without incident—well, there was the minor scuffle with the wall when he rounded an exceptionally sharp corner, but that was the wall's fault.
Staring through blurry, drunk-hazed eyes, he raised his fist and punched the door once. The movement sent his body swaying and he would have fallen on his backside if not for two graceful hands catching his shoulders and steadying him.
"Draco?" Harry asked blearily, glancing at the fuzzy blond man scowling at him.
"Potter," the blond's scowl deepened.
"You—you," Harry accused and fell forward, his nose connecting with the other man's chest. He sniffed and was rewarded with the smell that was entirely Draco Malfoy. "Draco," Harry murmured against the man's body, the lip movements sending a shiver through the blond.
"Harry, you're drunk," Draco drawled, stating the obvious.
"Draco."
"Yes, Harry. We've already established that my name is Draco," the man deadpanned and had the nerve to pull away from Harry. Didn't he realize that this was what he had been missing all day?
Harry whimpered and nuzzled the other man's shoulder as he wrapped his arms around him in a death grip. "Missed you," he whispered.
"Potter—for the love of—Harry, I'm not your little teddy bear," Draco admonished and wiggled against the drunken man's stronghold.
"No," Harry replied, his voice barely audible through the sleepy fog that had settled on the brunette. "More like my ferret."
"Potter!"
"My cute ferret," Harry declared as if he was making one of his official Ministry speeches. Except he punctuated every word with a kiss to the blond's neck.
"Harry!"
"Mmmmm," he hummed and licked the juncture where his neck met his shoulder before nibbling on the milky soft skin. "Good."
"Harry?"
The man in question lifted his head from its resting place and stared into the blond's perfectly gray eyes. Unlike the coldness that Harry was normally regarded with in the halls of the Ministry, Draco's eyes were soft and welcoming and Harry felt himself drowning in them. He knew. He knew that the little crush he had developed on the man more than a year ago was not a flashback to his sixth year obsession as Ron and Hermione often referred to it, but something more.
It had been over three years since they had both started working at the Ministry—Harry as an Auror and Draco as an International Ministry Liaison. It had been another year before the two could tolerate each other's presence in the corridors or the Cafeteria and another year before they had formed a tentative friendship.
They were both at the Ministry's Annual Halloween Ball when Harry had realized that he had fallen for the blond. He had gone as Dracula and Draco had gone as a French maid—complete with black corset, tiny, frilly, black skirt, a little apron that was almost bigger than the skirt itself, black eyeliner, fishnet stockings, and teeny tiny, lacey black knickers that had made Harry's brain explode. Needless to say, he had spent the entire evening trying to get a good look at the little panties—and he succeeded more than once—and trying to hide the evidence of his approval from his co-workers.
"Sexy," Harry mumbled when an image of the knickers flashed in his drunk-addled mind. He smiled dopily at the blond and kissed his chin. "Love you," he whispered against the man's skin, feeling the slight tremors travel through the blond's body.
"Harry," Draco whispered and the word sounded so tender and so, so soft to Harry's ears, "you're drunk. You don't know what you're saying."
"I do too," he argued, but the fuzzy call of sleep was clogging his mind. "I want you—us…this," he gestured between the two and accidentally hit his own face.
Draco's breathy chuckle washed over Harry like a sobriety charm, creating a simmering heat that coiled low in his belly. Merlin, he wanted that man. "Let's get you to bed," Draco said, guiding Harry into his flat and through the spacious sitting room.
"Sexy French maid," Harry commented on the memories replaying in his mind and pinched Draco's backside.
"Ow! Harry!"
Harry stopped, mid-trip and stumbled into Draco's chest again, not that he minded—he wanted to take up residence there. He could easily spend his entire life snuggled into Draco's embrace and not want for anything. "Wanted to fuck you all night," he added when his brain supplied him with the picture of Draco's perfect arse in his Halloween costume as he bent over to bob for apples. And bobbing for apples should not have made Harry want to test Draco's oral skills.
An uneasy silence settled between them, but Harry didn't have the strength to lift his head. Instead he cuddled closer to Draco, even going so far as to rub their groins together, eliciting a deep moan from the other man.
"Bed," Draco ordered after Harry had found the perfect rhythm. He ignored the groan from the drunken man and lightly pushed him in the direction of his bedroom. "If you can behave," Draco warned, "we'll see about that French maid costume in the morning."
With that, the blond smacked Harry's backside and sent him sprawling to the floor.
The following morning—and many mornings after that—Harry found that he liked being woken up by Draco Malfoy dressed as a naughty French maid.
As Harry slid into the other man—arse still clad in the tiny knickers—he knew that there were more Halloweens and more costumes to come for the both of them.
Reviews are lovely!
