A/N: Completely unbeta'd, so sorry if there are any mistakes. Also, I wrote this in about twenty minutes, so if it gets cheesy, I'm sorry. This is NOT a songfic. This is merely a fic that was inspired by a line of lyrics, hence the quote at the top. Think of it as a challenge response if you must. PS, I don't own any of these guys.

"Bluffing your way into my mouth
Behind my teeth, reaching for my scars
That night we got kicked out of two bars
And laughed our way home

That night you leaned over

And threw up into your hair

And I held you there, thinking

I would offer you my pulse

If I thought it would be useful

I would give you my breath"

Ani DiFranco, pulse

The music is loud in the muggle club when you walk in. I haven't seen you in years. Not since that fateful day when the Dark Lord fell wreaking havoc on anyone who was stupid enough to be Marked. Anyone as stupid as me.

You've changed since I saw you last. Your hair has gotten longer and therefore wilder, if I ever thought that was possible. You've finally gotten rid of those stupid glasses. Blaise says it's so people don't recognize you as easily, but I know you've always hated them. You told me once you always felt like you were hiding behind them. Now you simply have an excuse. It's clear you've already been drinking, but you're still a prat and a goody-goody as far as I'm concerned.

Rumor has it you've gone a little reckless since your victory. Surprisingly there isn't a gasp when you walk in. There's no ticker tape parade. Barely anyone notices except the guys ogling you. There is still one person who knows who you are, Harry Potter. One person who has known the real you, not just the hero of the wizarding world. One person who will always know you, no matter how much you change or how much you try to lose me.

The booming bass of the music still pounds on, even as you make your way over to the bar, still not noticing me. The guys notice the hot piece of ass that has suddenly graced their presence. The world still turns on its axis as the E I took fifteen minutes ago finally hits my system. It muddles my mind enough to work up the courage to work my way over to you.

You've managed to procure a seat at the bar and I watch as you scan your eyes over the crowd, searching for something, but obviously not finding it. Your mouth quirks into a bitter smile and you turn back around to sip at the whiskey sour in front of you. I can't help the way I'm still drawn to you, even after four years of silence.

Trusting the drugs in my bloodstream, I down the rest of my Manhattan and lean onto the bar next to you, clunking my now empty glass on the counter. You're still concentrated on your drink of choice, so I wait for the bartender to come over.

"Can I have another?" I ask loud enough for you to hear. You visibly stiffen, brilliant green eyes darting towards my pale fingers wrapped casually around the glass. The bartender takes it away, causing your gaze to shift up my wrist and follow the line of my arm until your eyes lock on the faded tattoo.

The music beats on, but I can hear your breath catch right before you literally tear your eyes away and knock back the rest of your drink.

"Malfoy." Your voice has gotten deeper since we last spoke. There's a rough edge to it now that I've never heard before, or maybe it's just the whiskey. Either way, it sets my stomach fluttering in ways I'd care not to admit. I can feel your body heat radiating through your shirt and reach forward to take the drink the bartender has placed before me.

When you finally turn to face me, I feel myself falling into your haunted green eyes again. You've always been able to see right through me, no matter what I was hiding. You stare at me for what seems like forever, those damned intense eyes boring right through my skull. I know you're trying to use Legilimency, but I'm not hiding anything. Not from you.

Finally, you turn back to your refilled drink and take a long gulp before you finally ask, "What are you doing here?"

I smirk—Christ, it's been a long time since that particular expression has fitted itself onto my lips. "Same thing you are. Hiding."

A sardonic smile spreads across your face and you light a cigarette, taking a deep drag before flicking the lighter closed and fixing your eyes back on mine.

"So," you start, a derisive grin in place, "how've you been?"

I blink a couple times, trying to follow the conversation with the drugs singing through my veins. I can't concentrate on anything but the heat from your body and the way your lips move when you talk. Christ, when was the last time I kissed you? It was a week before the final battle. I remember it clearly now. We had argued again over the same stupid shit, but this time when I begged you to stay, you walked out the door.

I shudder with the memory, wracking my brain over the past four years and trying to remember what I'd done without you. Nothing comes to mind.

You've finished your second drink and are half way through your third. Without warning, you toss it back and grab my hand. Immediately, sensations zing up my arm from the little body contact. I'm so distracted by the feeling of your skin against mine after so long that I don't even notice you dragging me onto the dance floor until your hips are situated against mine and we're swaying sensually to the pounding music.

"Potter," I gasp when you pull me closer, "what are you doing?"

"Dancing," you say with that crooked smile that tells me you've had too much to drink. My pulse speeds up when you lean in closer, your breath causing the tiny hairs on the back of my neck to shiver. I can feel you panting into my ear, a sound I've never forgotten no matter how hard I tried to flush it out of my mind with alcohol and drugs.

My eyes close of their own volition. In the back of my mind I know this is wrong wrong wrong, but I can't seem to help slipping my hands under the back of your shirt and caressing the finely toned muscles. You still smell good: a combination of whiskey, cigarette smoke, cheap shampoo and you. My blood thrums with excitement when you pull back to stare at me through a haze of alcohol and lust.

My stomach drops and the warning bells are screeching in my head, but I lean forward anyway, meeting your lips half way. Oh god, it feels like coming home. My whole body tenses and then leans into yours, seeking support that I know you'll give me. I open my mouth, inviting you to push your tongue against mine.

God, I missed you.

I'm too lost to care that I'm clinging to you like a terrified Hufflepuff. This is too good. It can't be real. All the rest of those cliché lines dart through my head, but all I care about is your hands trailing lines of fire up my back as they move and caress each vertebra, your fingers dancing along the back of my ribs under my shirt, the hot skin of your palm coming to rest on the curve of my ass.

You taste like whiskey and cigarettes, your tongue drugging me more than the Ecstasy still pulsating through my body. I'm about to pass out from lack of oxygen, but I don't care. Nothing can make me leave you this time. Nothing.

You pull back though, and regretfully I have to comply. I tighten my grip in your hair however, not letting your lips part more than an inch. Your eyes are glazed over and your pupils are dilated into that deliciously dangerous expressing that I love so much.

"Fuck," you mumble before slamming your lips back against mine. I feel like you're trying to devour me whole and god do I want to be devoured. Your lips move from mine to travel along my jaw and down my neck. You know exactly how my body responds to you and that thought alone makes my knees weak. Your teeth sink into my pulse point and I moan loudly not caring at all who hears me.

"Christ, Harry…" I can feel your smile against my skin and you drag your tongue along my abused neck in what should be a soothing motion. Instead, it sends my blood racing through my veins all the faster and I vaguely wonder how I've not yet spontaneously combusted.

My hips are grinding against yours and I can feel the hard length of your cock digging into my hipbone. I moan again when you nibble my collarbone, roughly shoving the tight fabric of my black sleeveless shirt away.

I fist my hands into your long black hair and wrench your mouth back to mine. You've unleashed the devil himself now, I hope you realize. I lash out against you with lips and teeth and tongue until I feel that low growl you make so exquisitely emanating up through your chest. The vibrations are surreal and I try to press even closer to you, trying to meld my flesh into yours so I know I'll never lose you again.

My lips end up against your neck, simply resting there where I can feel your heart beat fluttering just beneath the surface of your skin. You taste perfect. You always have.

"Draco…" you whisper against my hair and my heart breaks all over again. I cling tighter, gripping the skin of your back enough to make bruises that will mark you for days.

"Draco," you say again, louder this time and with a definite grin in the tone. You're trying to push me away slightly, but it only makes me tighten my grip.

"Draco!" you laugh, sliding your fingers through my hair in an effort to calm me down. I finally loosen my grip and blink up at you. Your smile seems to light up all the dark places that were previously shadowed in my mind and I wonder again how my body doesn't explode from the heat.

You tilt my face up and place a soft kiss on my lips. "Take me home," you whisper.

I don't give a flying fuck about the drunken muggles all around us. I pull you towards me and Apparate us both to the street outside your flat. You sway slightly when we land and for once, it's me holding you up.

"Fuck," you groan and I'm instantly worried. It's obvious to me now that alcohol is not the only thing you've been consuming tonight.

"Harry? What did you take?" I ask, guiding you towards the nearest brick wall.

"Don't remember," you mumble right before you double over and empty the entire contents of your stomach into the gutter. My hand is subconsciously rubbing little circles on your back and I can't think of any place I'd rather be.

You're shaking now in the aftershocks of sickness and I wave my wand over you in a cleansing charm. There are still tears streaked down your face and your cheeks are flushed red, but to me you've never looked more beautiful.

You give me a feeble smile and I reach forward to push your sweaty hair off your forehead, trailing a long white finger along that infamous scar.

"I'm sorry," you mutter, but I pull you into my arms.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," I murmur into your hair. I feel you relax against me and I realize I would do anything for you. I'd give you my very breath if you asked and there's nowhere else I'd rather be than holding you here.

"C'mon," I whisper, pulling you up again. "Let's go home."