Warnings. Boy love. Don't like it, don't read it.
Disclaimer. All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
.x.
They were alone in a dank classroom somewhere near Slytherin territory that reeked of the fact that it hadn't been used in at least a century. Not that either of the two teens who occupied the room cared, they were too busy drowning their sorrows in what remained of a case of Fire Whiskey.
It was the middle of the summer, and due to the threat of Voldemort after both of their hides, the Boy Who Lived and the Ice Prince had been forced to remain in the school instead of returning to their respective homes.
Draco had rolled his eyes and offered up a few suggestive comments of how "pleased" he was to be trapped in a school with Harry Potter for the entire vacation; not that Harry kept his mouth shut concerning the matter either. Both had violently opposed the idea, yet here they were, in an empty classroom as drinking buddies since they had no one else to turn to.
Just after a long draught of the last remaining bottle of Fire Whiskey, and before he could take another swig, two things occurred; Harry sneezed, followed by a deep cough and Draco reached for the bottle. Pulling back his ivory hand in disgust and wiping it absently on the jean shorts that clothed his body while everything else was too bloody hot, his tongue prepared a verbal assault, as usual.
But before he could say anything, Harry had shoved the bottle into his hand, and was looking at him with those big green eyes, blinking owlishly behind his round glasses.
"Damn it, Harry, you better not be contagious," the blond muttered before taking a deep swig of the scathing liquid.
Sometime during the first couple weeks stuck in each other's company, after the usual bickering, they had fallen into a mock truce. It's not like they had much of a choice, after all.
In response, the brunet snorted. "And what are you going to do if I am? Snog me?" A laughing light danced in his eyes; obviously the youth was trying his damnedest not to smile.
"Why, Mr. Potter! What crude things you speak of!" Draco mocked, his voice raising an octave as a hand went to his forehead, his eyelashes fluttered.
After a moment, they looked at each other, and promptly burst into a fit of drunken giggles.
Gasping for breath, their vision blurry and sides aching, they found themselves in a compromising position. During their laughter, they had ended up leaning against each other for support, hardly able to sit upright.
Now their faces were mere centimeters apart, their liquor-soaked breath mingling with every exhale. Without a second thought, both boys leaned forward, their lips meeting timidly at first. But the alcohol in their veins fueled their courage, and soon those lips had parted, and their tongues were slipping out of their mouths, meeting the other eagerly, twisting and melding.
Briefly, they pulled apart, panting heavily. Draco looked Harry straight in the eye, and said in the most serious of tones, "You sure as hell better not be contagious," before pulling the brunet close for another mind-blowing kiss.