A/N: You guys. Oh my lord you guys. Over the weekend I got a Kindle Paperwhite and a Galaxy S3. Really good weekend. It also means that my giant stack of HP books I have to lug around with my that are literally falling apart at the seams is now reduced to a teeny tiny tablet whose pages won't separate from the binding and make me cry because I've had the Sorcerer's Stone for fifteen years and it turning into multiple pieces feels like the death of a best friend.

WARNING: Sexytimes! Between two of-age consenting males. Quite tame for me, if you know my writing. Still quite enjoyable, I think. Please note that the rating of Sidetracked is now up to M!

Chapter Ten

Teaching the Tenderfoot

16

Malfoy's grip tightened again and he drew Harry closer, so they were pressed together. Malfoy held him in place, slowly gyrating against him. His lips brushed Harry's ear, then down the side of his neck, never more than the lightest of touches. Harry forgot how to breathe or move or think so he just stayed where he was, standing still while Malfoy moved against him. Malfoy released his hold on one side, running his hand along Harry's side and back down as lightly as his lips, then again, pressing his hand against Harry, almost enough to untuck his shirt. Harry kept one hand on Malfoy's neck and put the other on his, following his movements.

Malfoy's lips slid back up to his ear. "Tell me what happened the last time you drank."

Harry could barely understand his words, let alone remember the story or generate a reply. But Malfoy let him take his time, and eventually he found his voice. "Hermione was spending the week on holiday with her parents, and Ron was staying with me. The last night we got completely smashed, finished one of the big bottles of Firewhiskey, and, well, we caught a Muggle movie about zombies on the telly, and that reminded me of the Inferi, and Ron just sort of giggled and thought I was being ridiculous, and when it was over he insisted on getting into bed with me, to 'fight away the baddies', I think he put it. And then I kissed him. And, well, that ended about as badly as expected. Ron couldn't look at me for weeks, and Hermione didn't speak to me for a fortnight. That, um, may have been how I came out to them."

Malfoy laughed, sending shivers down Harry's spine. "Perhaps you should get drunk then," he said. "If it'll loosen you up. The whole point of going out is to relax, not worry."

"No," Harry said. "Ron wasn't about to shag me. I don't trust some random bloke to have the same moral values, even if I was coherent enough to say no. I told you already, I'm not wasting my first time on a single drunken encounter."

"I wasn't implying that," Malfoy said. "You're so bloody stiff, dancing with you is like dancing with a tree. You said you wanted to learn how to do this properly, yet you completely froze up the second I moved against you. Merlin, Potter, surely you can handle a little necking. Which, for the record, that was not."

Feeling stupidly brave, Harry declared, "Then let's go back to the bar and get smashed."

Malfoy stopped moving entirely. His hands were still on Harry's hips, Harry's hand covering one, his other on the back of Malfoy's neck. They were almost completely pressed together. Harry could feel his heart beating against his back, a far better beat than the Muggle music.

"You sure?"

"As long as you promise to make sure I don't do something stupid," Harry said. "Nothing below the waist, all right?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "And anything else?"

Harry paused for a minute. "Fair game."

Malfoy let out a deep breath, and Harry shivered. "Then let's get you liquored up."

Malfoy still ordered their drinks, but he dispensed with any sense of decorum and just requested two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. His eyes were locked on Harry's as they picked up their glasses. Harry's hand was trembling and the realization that it came from Malfoy's molten eyes rather than what he was about to do—which, really, wasn't much, it wasn't like he hadn't snogged before—was like a light going on. Of course that's why he had been so nice to Malfoy, why he'd stayed with him while he threw up, while he agreed to go out with him. It was those eyes.

"Ready?" Malfoy asked.

Harry nodded.

"On three then."

From the moment the first drop of alcohol hit his lips he was burning. Lips, tongue, throat stomach, all on fire. Firewhiskey may have the name, but tequila brought actual flames. Harry coughed, and Malfoy laughed.

"Again."

After the third shot Malfoy declared that was enough. Harry was grateful; his stomach was churning in a way that was almost good, he thought he might not be able to walk quite steadily, and Malfoy kept shifting in and out of focus. He wanted to tell Malfoy he wanted to dance again, but he kept getting distracted by those silver eyes.

"Ready to dance?" Malfoy asked.

"Absolutely."

Harry was less aware of the crush of bodies around him and much more focused on his hand, which Malfoy had taken as he led them onto the floor. His skin was wonderfully soft and oddly warm; he never would have thought Malfoy to have warm hands. He thought about telling him—he was drunk, after all, so he had an excuse to say whatever he wanted. But maybe not yet, maybe they should dance first.

Then Malfoy stopped and once again pulled Harry to him, and they still weren't facing, and Harry wondered if that was how all dancing was, or just Malfoy's particular quirk. In any case he didn't mind, and this time it was much easier to move with Malfoy, to settle into the rhythm of the music and his hands on his hips, and, still distracted by how soft his hands were, kept his on Malfoy's, fingers falling between his so they were holding hands on his hips and, mm, that was nice.

"Isn't this better?" Malfoy asked, breathing into his ear, and Harry nodded. His breath was warm, too, and smelled of liquor in a sexy, treacherous sort of way. He knew it was stupid to still think of alcohol as taboo since he was twenty-two, but he had never really been interested in it, especially after the incident with Ron. Malfoy was also taboo, or at least used to be, and while this sudden friendship between them was good and welcome, it still had that edge of danger.

"Yeah," Harry replied, not bother to attempt a longer answer. "This is good."

Malfoy laughed quietly. "Good." His tongue flitted out to lick Harry's earlobe, and Harry sighed, leaning back against him. He kissed Harry's neck, genuinely this time, kissed and sucked and licked and bit, moving down to where his neck met his shoulder, and there staked his claim, biting hard and sucking until a bruise formed. Harry's breathing sped up and when Malfoy stopped, he whimpered.

"Don't stop," Harry sighed, tightening his grip on Malfoy's hands.

That same quiet, husky laugh. "Your rules, Potter. Nothing below the waist."

"I said 'don't stop', not 'go lower'," Harry replied irritably. He tipped his head back and to the side, giving Malfoy easy access. "You were encouraging me to, what was it, necking? And a good snog?"

Malfoy paused for a split second. "You thought I meant partaking with me?"

"I don't know about then, but now I'm drunk, and I'm here, in your arms, so go on," Harry said.

"I suppose it is your turn to do something stupid while drunk," Malfoy mused.

Harry huffed. "It's not stupid, it was your idea." He paused. "I mean, you have stupid ideas all the time, but this one, loosening up, that wasn't stupid. Neither was snogging. I haven't snogged in ages."

Another pause. "Potter, you said you're only out to Granger and Weasley."

"Yeah, so?"

"And that you haven't been to a gay club before."

"I don't see your point."

"Was that drunken kiss with Weasley the only time you've kissed a boy?"

Harry's eyes widened. He'd forgotten that. "Oh. Um, yeah. So?"

Malfoy gently pushed him away and untangled their hands despite Harry's protests. "I'm sorry, I was wrong. I didn't know how inexperienced you are. You should wait."

Harry turned around and put his hands on Malfoy's shoulders, attempting to draw him closer. "No, it's fine," he said, and while he sounded sober, it was easy enough for Malfoy to see that he was anything but. "Please. Don't stop."

Malfoy sighed quietly. "Harry—"

Harry jerked away. "Never mind," he said. "I know that voice. That's the voice that means you're leaving."

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up. "What are you talking about?"

"When Cho left," Harry said. "When Ginny left. When Ron left in the forest. When Sirius was falling. That's the voice people who are leaving use." He felt himself start to tear up and had to look away, biting his cheek very hard. He wasn't upset that Malfoy didn't want him, that wasn't important. It was that leaving, always the leaving. And maybe he had thought Malfoy might want him, but he didn't, which wasn't really leaving so much as never having been there in the first place.

Bloody hell, apparently he was a weepy drunk. Brilliant.

"Take me home, will you?" he asked, halfway between bitter and completely worn out.

Malfoy cupped his face, moving him so they were looking at each other. His hands were giving off sparks. A weepy and a horny drunk? That didn't seem fair at all. "I'm not leaving you," Malfoy said seriously. "I'm also not going to kiss you. You need to be sober, for one thing. You need a relationship, you said that, and I'm hardly in a position to give you one. And—well, you deserve someone better than me."

Harry's stomach was churning and knotting and twisting endlessly and it felt like he was going to throw up but he hadn't had that much to drink, and didn't it take longer to make you sick anyway? "Then take me home," he repeated. "I haven't got—"

"—Tube fare, I know," Malfoy interrupted before he could say anything about wands or Floo powder. "Come home with me, okay? You took care of me when I was drunk, I ought to return the favor."

Harry jerked away again. "I don't need your favors, Malfoy," he snapped. "I did what I did because I had no choice, because it was my job, and not at all because of your eyes, so just take me home already." Malfoy blinked, and that only made Harry angrier, because how could he not understand that he wanted to go home when he had said it over and over again? "I'm serious, Malfoy. If you don't I'll leave without you."

"Goddammit Potter," Malfoy said, voice starting to rise. "I'm trying to be nice, to take care of you like you took care of me. But fine, if you don't want it, I'll drop you off and that'll be that. But don't tell me I'm leaving you when I'm trying to convince you to come home with me." He grabbed Harry by the arm, dragged them into the loo and, after checking to make sure they were alone, apparated them to the guest room of Grimmauld Place. Malfoy let him go as soon as they landed. "There. You're home. I'll be on my way."

Harry reached out and stumbled slightly. Malfoy stepped forward, wrapping an arm around him to keep him from falling. "Please don't go," Harry said quietly, tucking himself into Malfoy's arms, nuzzling his head against his neck, reaching out for his hand and taking it between both of his. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed, I just, I really don't want to be alone right now."

Malfoy sighed, pulling Harry closer. "It's okay," he said. "I won't go if you don't want me to."

Harry's insides were shriveling up. This was pathetic, utterly pathetic. He didn't want to kiss Malfoy, so what did it matter if Malfoy didn't want him either? But still, this was the first time he had tried anything, Ron notwithstanding, and to be shot down, and in that bloody tone of voice, that was bad enough. Then to beg for company? His head was swimming and it was awful and he just wanted to be left alone to wallow in self-pity but he couldn't because he'd asked Malfoy to stay, and so he was going to.

Suddenly that night two weeks ago when Malfoy begged for him made so much more sense. Only then there had been nothing about dancing or kissing and it had just been lonely and not downright pathetic.

Plus, Harry's neck was still tingling from where Malfoy's lips had been, especially that spot where—Merlin bloody fuck—he probably had a hickey, and both his hands were wrapped around Malfoy's and that was tingly too. The arm that was holding him was warm and comfy and deceptively caring, because there was no way Malfoy cared about anyone other than himself. His body was also warm and apparently at least somewhat toned, given the hardness. Whenever Harry shifted the silken shirt slipped against his torso, against his nipples, and he really didn't want to think about that right now but he couldn't really help it, not when everything was warm and tingly and also really, really awful.

"So what of it?" Malfoy asked after a minute or two of just standing there. "More alcohol? Food and water to sober up? Sleep?"

Harry was very tempted to say more alcohol, but there was no chance that would lead to anything good. But he was drunk, which meant his decision-making was off, so maybe the things that he thought were a bad idea were actually a good idea, so he should drink more. This was confusing. And still warm and tingly.

"Let's drink," Harry said. "I've got a bottle of Firewhiskey stashed away in case of emergency. Not that this is an emergency, mind you, but it's all I've got. C'mon, it's in my study." He pulled away from Malfoy but kept their hands together, leading him downstairs.

"Are you sure?" Malfoy asked. "You seem like you might be happier sobering up, not getting even more drunk."

"I'm not drunk," Harry lied. "I'm not slurring, I only stumbled when we apparated, and I was having fun dancing, and then I said something stupid, which happens, and the best way to fix stupidity is with more alcohol."

"Are you sure about that?" Malfoy asked as they entered the study.

"Yes, absolutely," Harry said. He started digging through his desk drawers and finally pulled out the bottle. "Sitting room," he added, once again taking Malfoy's hand though they were only walking across the hall. The tingles, they were too good to pass up. Besides, it wasn't like Malfoy was pulling away, or even resisting either the idea or the physical contact. He plopped down on the couch, and Malfoy sat next to him, considerably more elegantly, which didn't escape Harry's notice.

I'm drunk, he thought firmly. I'm drunk and weepy and horny and I don't need to act on any of those things because I'm drunk.

He opened the bottle and took the first sip. It did burn, but nowhere near as much as the tequila. Also, it was familiar, and that was comforting. He passed the bottle to Malfoy, who took a deep swig.

"This isn't half bad," he said, taking another drink. He shivered noticeably, which Harry found oddly sexy.

"Yeah, I told you," Harry said. "More drinking is a good idea." He was starting to get the hang of this, and glugged back as much as Malfoy had. "Getting good at this," he said with a goofy smile, handing it back to Malfoy, who smiled and shook his head.

"If you weren't drunk before, you're well on your way," Malfoy said, though he still took a drink. "I'm just going to hold onto this for a bit, okay? You're not used to this, I don't want you to get sick."

"Why're you looking out for me?" Harry asked. "Since when are you nice? Is this just repaying a debt?" He knew what he was saying, he wasn't that drunk, but he could pretend he didn't, which gave him a lot of room to play with.

"I've told you, I've mellowed," Malfoy said. "I'm not a spoiled brat anymore. Well, y'know, mostly."

"Still, why me?" Harry asked. "Don't you hate me?"

"No, Potter, I don't hate you," Malfoy said. "I may have needed four years to get over myself, but I did. You're my friend, aren't you?"

"Sure," Harry said. "That's why you wanted me to go clubbing and drinking with you, to help out a friend, right?" It was dangerous territory—scratch that, stupid territory, because he knew what the answer was, but he could blame it on the alcohol.

Suddenly he wondered if Malfoy had used this faking technique on him.

"Yeah," Malfoy said. "I know you want a real relationship, but small steps, that's the way to go. You've got to get used to being out."

"I'm out," Harry said amicably. "With you. Though you're right, if I'm going to go around jumping every gay guy I know, that'd be a problem."

Malfoy considered him. "That's all that was? You seemed more—interested—than jumping the nearest guy. There were a lot of them, and they were checking you out."

Harry frowned. "No they weren't."

Malfoy laughed. "Of course they were, you looked brilliant, thanks to me. But that's not what I was saying."

Harry's frown deepened. "No?"

"No," Malfoy said, biting back more laughter. "No, I was saying that it seemed like you were interested in me. In my eyes, I believe you said."

Harry flushed. He had said that out loud? When, exactly? "No," Harry replied. "You're just sexy and gay and my friend. I've already told you about me and drinking and friends."

Malfoy grimaced. "Please refrain from comparing me to Weasley."

"He's nicer but you're hotter," Harry said. "I'd much rather shag you."

"Potter, you should stop talking," Malfoy said. "Before you say something you don't mean. Again."

"I meant it," Harry said. "You were the one who didn't."

"Stop," Malfoy said, nearly pleading.

Harry turned to face him. "Why?"

"Because you don't want to embarrass yourself," Malfoy answered. "You did the same for me, I believe."

"No, I told you not to talk about the Department of Mysteries," he said. "That's work, not how I feel. And I feel like kissing you. I thought you wanted to snog. I thought you wanted me to snog. I really don't see what having a few drinks has to do with it."

"I—we've been over this," Malfoy said. "You're drunk. You should have a good snogging, but you should be able to remember it."

"I remember snogging Ron," Harry said, wincing.

"Yeah, that's my other point," Malfoy said. "You regret that. I don't want you to regret more."

"I won't regret you," Harry said. "I mean, if you wanted to, then I wouldn't. The whole business with Ron, that was because he didn't want it. If you want to snog, then it's fine, right?"

Malfoy frowned, and Harry thought he might be actively trying to think of a reason not to, which was very good news. "Your first kiss—"

"—was with Cho," Harry said firmly. "I've done that already. Snogging you won't change anything."

Malfoy sighed irritably. "Why are you being so bloody persistent about this? I've told you no. Stop bothering me."

The thing was, though, he wasn't using his leaving voice. "I'm being persistent because, like certain other people I know, I like to get what I want," Harry said. "And I don't get to very often, because unlike certain other people, I'm not an entitled git. So when I think I have a shot at something I want, I go for it. I'm not asking you for a relationship, I'm asking for a snog. A drunken snog. It'll mean nothing. Turns out I'm a horny drunk, and I know you are, because you wanted to pick someone up. So pick me."

"But—" Harry's brain was muddled, but he was still pretty sure Malfoy was stalling. "But you are my friend, and I don't hate you anymore, and I don't want to hurt you, or make things awkward."

"Things aren't going to get more awkward than throwing up on me," Harry said. "Which we've been through. And you're not going to hurt me, I promise."

"I already did," Malfoy said quietly. "At the club. You were nearly in tears when we got back. I don't know if that's because of me or because of the 'leaving voice', as you say, but I don't want to make it worse."

"Then kiss me," Harry said.

"And tomorrow?" Malfoy asked. "When you wake up hung over wondering what the hell you did last night?"

"I'll think that I got a great snog," Harry said easily. Then he sighed. "Y'know, never mind. If I've got to bully you into this, it's bollocks. Sorry for being a prat. What d'you want to talk about instead?"

"No, wait," Malfoy said. "Just a snog? Nothing more?"

"Nothing more," Harry echoed.

"I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be trusting you, because you're drunk. And I've had a few, I suppose," Malfoy said, though he did shift closer.

Harry sighed. "You're overthinking. Or not thinking at all. I just said, I don't want it like this. Forget it."

Then Malfoy's hands were on his face and the delicious tingles were back, and then they were kissing, and that was so much more tingly and it was absolutely delicious, much better than not kissing. Malfoy tasted like tequila and sexiness and Harry ran his fingers through his hair with one hand and set the other on his thigh, probably higher than he meant. He may also have been too involved, since just Malfoy's tequila-stained lips were enough to have him panting and whimpering just the tiniest bit, but he hadn't ever kissed a guy properly, and he was drunk, and Malfoy was really, really hot.

Malfoy pulled away. "There. A snog."

"That's it?" Harry asked. "You were upset about that? Not that it wasn't nice, because it was delicious, but really, I'm not that pathetic. I'm not going to fall in love with you because of one tiny kiss."

Malfoy's eyes darkened, and that might have been Harry's point, he wasn't sure. "That's it?" he asked. "I'm that mediocre a snogger?"

"No, I said it was delicious," Harry replied smoothly. "But it was short, and there weren't any tongues, and—" Malfoy was back on him, and that was definitely the plan.

His mouth might be tingly but his tongue was entirely electric, lapping at his lips and then exploring his mouth. Harry slid his hand down to his shoulder and pulled him closer, continually making embarrassing noises and not caring at all, especially when Malfoy started making noises as well. Like tingles for the ears. Malfoy's hands were back on his face, then trailing down his neck, brushing over the marks he'd made, then around to Harry's back, gripping him, also trying to get more contact. Harry had lost thought entirely and slid his hand further up Malfoy's leg, sneaking up much higher than he should. He was tingly and electric and Malfoy made a small whimpering noise at the contact so Harry kept going, and that was tingly, too. Both of them were lost in the kiss and the touching and so when Harry's hand came to rest lightly on Malfoy's bulge, neither of them noticed until Harry pressed down.

Malfoy let out a long, low groan, jerking up. Harry moaned back and massaged him, and they were both groaning, Malfoy thrusting up, and Harry was so tingly and electric and—and he wasn't sure what, but Malfoy was getting bigger and harder beneath his touch and he had a vague idea that he should be stopping or maybe going further and that he might be drunk but he wasn't going to stop, not unless Malfoy made him. And, Harry noticed, Malfoy was absolutely not stopping him. In fact, his breathing was getting heavier and his kissing abilities were lessening and he was tightening his hold on Harry and then he abandoned Harry's lips entirely, leaning his head on his shoulder and panting and moaning and thrusting and Harry was trying to wrap his very addled brain around what was happening and possibly that his hand should be beneath the fabric instead of on top of it, and then it didn't matter anymore. Malfoy's breath hitched, he ground upwards, he bit down on Harry's shoulder, and then he let out another long moan, louder than before, his hips jerking up, and then there was a growing wet spot and he let out a shuddering breath and, slowly, recovered, still leaning his head on Harry.

Harry hadn't realized he stopped breathing until he let out a sharp breath. He took his hand back and maybe it was a little awkward and maybe that was a lot more than he meant to do and absolutely that was below the waist but, on the other hand, Malfoy was really, really hot. So maybe it was okay.

Then Malfoy's mouth was back on his and it was absolutely okay because fuck he was good at kissing. His hands were everywhere, pulling his shirt up, running his hands over his bare skin and now Harry was gasping, letting out breathy moans as Malfoy played with his nipples. Harry was entirely foggy and couldn't do much more than sit there and let Malfoy do the work. Malfoy didn't seem to have a problem with that, and he slid onto Harry, continuing to kiss him, to unbutton his shirt, and shifted around until Harry was settled between his cheeks. Harry groaned, pushing up, and then into Malfoy's hands as his shirt was removed entirely. He was shaking, but still the tingles and the electricity. And the friction, too, the friction was really, really good and slowly taking over everything, even as Malfoy moved down from his lips to his neck, then chest, and yes, that was very good and very tingly, but Merlin that friction, that was too much.

Quite suddenly, much faster than he meant to, Harry came. He grabbed Malfoy's hips, straining up against him, and Malfoy was sighing, and kissing him properly, stifling any noises, which was good because Harry was pretty sure he moaned his name—his given name—but it didn't matter because everything was good and tingly and wonderful.

Malfoy sighed again and slid off him. He reached into his pocket and magicked them clean, then collapsed against Harry, resting his head on his shoulder, grabbing his arm and wrapping it around himself.

Harry let out a deep breath. "That was—"

"Shut up," Malfoy interrupted. "You're drunk. If you remember, and if you want to, we'll talk in the morning."

"Then shove off, so I can lie down."

"I'm already lying down," Malfoy said, which was mostly not true, but he was sort of leaning.

"Well I'm not," Harry grumbled. He shoved Malfoy around and then they were sort of spooning and sort of just squished because the couch really wasn't big enough to hold them both like this.

They were asleep as soon as they were horizontal.