A While In The Life…: Hammered
From outside the door came drunken giggles. Accompanied, a hissed quieting-down from a steadier- but not quite steady- voice. There was a rattling; somebody was trying to open the door. They seemed to have missed the keyhole a couple of times, but persisted either way.
"Come on, Harry," a slurred voice whispered; evidently, the main culprit of giggles, "It's like you're as drunk as I am!"
A deeper, more controlled laughter added to the giggling, and there was a click in the keyhole as the key found its lock.
"Ah- there it is," the lower voice chipped in, "and you were saying?"
The door was flung open and a hand flicked out to catch it just before it hit the wall and bounced off the collection of jackets and scarves hung there.
"Whoopsie..." A hiccup.
Harry came into view from the doorframe, staggering slightly. With his arms around Harry's neck came Draco, eyes half-closed, still giggling to himself. Harry had one of his arms around Draco's shoulder to support him, but still they zigzagged around slightly before reaching their bed. Completely hammered; just as Draco had asked.
(The curtains flashed brilliantly at this time of darkness; all of the reporters who had glimpsed them coming in were hoping for a repeat performance of a few days ago, when their camera flashes had created silhouettes of Draco and Harry near the window. However, as much as the cameras flashed, this time there were no male couples to be seen.)
Harry had Draco positioned against the bed and was struggling to unbutton the incredibly intoxicated man's shirt. Losing their balance, they tumbled down onto the sheets; Harry was almost entirely on top of his drunken lover.
"Trying to entice me, Harry?" Draco pulled at Harry's shirt, drawing them closer and making suggestive noises. "You're taking advantage, naughty..." He hiccupped.
"No," Harry hissed, leaning away from Draco's hot breath and tugging at him, "I'm trying to get you up so that I can undress you properly for bed. Now, come on- come- ugh!"
He gave up on hauling Draco into a standing position, and let him flump back down. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his own shirt, and tossed both of them to the ground. His belt, shoes, trousers and socks followed, landing in a heap. He could organise everything in the morning; he worked at home on Thursdays. Harry grabbed the loose-fitting 'throw-over' shirt that Draco had bought him last Christmas (Harry was sure it was what women wore over bikinis, and even after Draco's protesting refused to wear it in public, making it his super-comfortable night wear. He wore it every night, and it got washed once a week.)
After Harry had brushed his teeth and washed his face, he returned to the bed and looked upon Draco, sleeping as soundly as wouldn't have been thought possible in his sprawled out position- fully dressed in formal attire. At the pub, they had been looked on as two mates having a beer and a laugh after work. How wrong. Harry sighed, knowing that he wouldn't sleep unless Draco was seen to and put to bed properly.
"I knew I should never have let you taste that Vodka," he grumbled, undressing Draco as tenderly as he could. After all the clothes were off, Harry looked about him at the piles of clothes, and cursed his need for tidiness as he went about unsteadily picking them up and putting them in to wash.
Eventually, he went back to Draco and lifted him gently (as gently as he could after a few dozen shots, that is) to the other side- Harry's side- of the bed. Then, after pulling the duvet back as far as possible without touching him, Harry replaced Draco on his own side. He tucked Draco's feet into the covers, and pulled the patterned duvet back, over the sleeping figure. Taking care not to wake him, Harry turned Draco's head so that it faced the centre of the bed. He then placed a soft, loving kiss onto Draco's drunken forehead and stumbled slightly into the bathroom.
When he returned he had a sachet of Hangover-Reducing Potion in one hand, and a glass in another. He set them down on the coffee table on Draco's side of the bed, smug that there need be no incantations for the potion to work. One way to outsmart the landlord; he need never know. Another thought occurred to him, and this time he returned from the bathroom with a packet of paracetamol in his hand, with a bottle filled with tap water. He wrote on a sticky-note and attached it to the two Muggle items.
EVERY FEW HOURS. JUST TRY IT. X
Quietly, he slipped into bed, next to the beautiful sleeping Draco. Who, apparently, had been awake all this time.
"Mmmm," he mumbled, "Harry. What'cha put on the table?"
Harry chuckled as an arm draped itself across him. Typical (drunk) Draco.
"Just some medicine for the morning," he whispered, "Muggle and wizard. Don't worry."
"Hmmm, I might," Draco replied drowsily, his mouth hardly opening to get the words out, "G'night, doll..."
Harry sighed. Draco had to be up early in the morning.
"Yup," he murmured, kissing Draco's hair, "goodnight, pet."
A/N: Thanks to XAnnabubbleX, Darloudasha et Ravenstar-of-ShadowClan (someone new? YAY!) kthxbai.