A/N: Tada! Second chapter! FINALLY! I'm sorry. I couldn't access the edit option for AGES! This is for you wonderful, patient people and everyone who has read and reviewed. Hope it doesn't disappoint =).

When Draco didn't hear from Potter for two months, he was surprised; when that silence stretched for another month and a half, the confident former Slytherin began to doubt his earlier assumptions. Perhaps Potter was more of a saint than he gave him credit for.

But then, it appeared that three and a half months was the extent of Potter's 'saintly' endurance, because almost two days after Draco grudgingly admitted to himself that he'd been wrong, he found a hastily scrawled note shoved under his front door. There it was, written out in Potter's abysmal handwriting, the location and time of their next tryst-a cheap muggle hotel several blocks from Draco's own home.

Perhaps that said something about how Potter viewed this little misadventure with Draco. Draco himself gave it very little thought-why waste time and energy thinking about something that meant very little? There was nothing personal in this for him-just the feeding of another addiction.

When it was finally time to meet Potter, Draco considered the bottle of whisky in his hand. He shrugged to himself, getting unsteadily to his feet. "Potter can deal with it." He told the vase of fake flowers on his kitchen table firmly before swaggering out, bottle in hand.

…...

It must have been a close thing for Potter, because the second Draco walked into the hotel room, Potter literally jumped him, assaulting his mouth and neck with rough, sharp kisses. It was all Draco could do to put his whisky safely on the bedside table before he was yanked down onto the bed itself, on top of Potter.

Draco thought this second go round would be milder, that Potter would have gotten at least some of his drive to be punished out of his system the first time…but no. This second time was just as, if not more than, violent as the first time, a harsh cycle of punish and be punished in return, until Draco felt that lightning struck feeling again.

That was the most insidiously addictive part of this little misadventure, Draco realized as he slowly recovered again. He wasn't like Potter-he could deal without the pain that went along with the pleasure. It was that overwhelming lightning-strike of pleasure that would keep him coming back to this, nothing else. Though he would never admit it-not to himself and certainly not to Potter-that in all of his many conquests, it had never felt that intense before. Only Potter, for whatever godforsaken reason, seemed to possess the ability to do that to him.

In what was quickly becoming the norm for these encounters, Draco dragged himself out of the bed, retrieving and repairing his tattered shirt, and yanking it back on before leaving, whisky bottle in hand, without a backward glance.

…...

The encounters didn't end there-the addiction still held strong in both of them. A month later, it happened again…and again, a month after that. It became a regular thing: Draco would come home from work one day, and exactly one month after the previous encounter, another note would be there waiting for him. He'd go, and when it was over, he'd leave.

In his clearer moments, when he was of a mood to resist the bottle, he noted wryly that this little arrangement made him pretty much Potter's personal male prostitute, only without the added the perk of getting paid for his trouble.

But, there was a perk to it, one he found shortly after the second encounter. Sex with Potter worked better than a sobriety charm on his alcohol-flooded system, so one night a month, he could drink himself silly twice.

What was left of his Malfoy pride and dignity had a nasty habit of pointing out that this was hardly a fair exchange, but what the hell. Potter had been taking everything decent in his life away from him since they were children. Why should he stop now?

Things were going well-as well as these sort of things went, at any rate-until their seventh encounter.

Draco knew something was different the second he walked into the rundown little flat Potter's note had indicated. For once, Draco wasn't jumped the second he walked through the door, nor when he walked into the bedroom. For the first time since that first encounter, Draco was the one who initiated it, and just before he did, he could have sworn that Potter had been crying.

Even the experience itself was different. Potter seemed to be more desperate than angry this time, more prone to actual kissing than biting, touching, stroking the marks he had already made on Draco's pale skin rather than clawing out more. But the biggest surprise came after it was over.

Draco rolled out of the bed, immediately reaching for his bottle of Jack Daniels and taking a long pull-not to start his drinking binge early, but in the hope that the burn of the alcohol would wash away the sudden, strange feeling that had taken up unwelcome residence in his gut.

It worked (or at least he told himself it did). But as he started to get up to begin the routine hunt for his clothes, he heard-

"Don't leave. Not-not yet." Potter said behind him. His tone was not commanding, but meek. Vulnerable. All but begging not to be left alone this night.

This was an odd, completely foreign experience for Draco-all his former conquests had always been all too happy to get rid of him after they were through, even before he was notoriously connected to the Dark Lord…

After a second of indecision, Draco lay back down on the rickety bed, mentally blaming the decision on the nippy cold of the unheated flat and his own post-coital exhaustion.

He lay on his back, staring up at the chipped, nicotine stained ceiling, acutely aware of Potter's presence on the other side of the (thankfully king sized) bed but making no move to even look at him. Potter seemed content with this decision, staying well away from Draco's side of the bed. The former Slytherin felt and heard him turn over, and soon his quiet snores filled the otherwise silent room.

Draco sighed, leaning over to take another draught off his bottle. This was going to be a long night.

…...

After that night, Draco got notes more often-every three weeks instead of every month, and Draco…found himself staying after each time, but he still refused to look at or move any closer to Potter, as if that would make up for his stupid decisions to stick around.

But apparently, even with the silent treatment afterwards, Draco's sticking around must have giving Potter the very wrong impression that he gave a shit outside of sex, because, after yet another weirdly intimate, barely angry session, he opened up-and not in a way that Draco was remotely interested in.

"Ginny and I are getting a divorce." Potter confessed as they lay near each other, panting and covered in sweat after their respective releases.

Misinterpreting Draco's incredulous look entirely, Potter went on quickly. "She never found out about…this…" His vague gesture took in the hotel room, and both of their very naked selves. "Things were strained between us before…this…ever started. Ever since the nightmares…" Potter's voice trailed off, his eyes glazing over as he remembered.

It all made sense now. Potter had wanted to be punished because he felt like it was his fault that his now failed marriage to the Weasley girl had been failing. His failed marriage, too, had been the reason why Potter had started wanting to see him so frequently, why he no longer wanted to be alone afterwards…

Feeling faintly sick with self disgust, Draco rolled away from Potter, reaching for his bottle-back to good old whisky tonight. As he lifted it for a swig, Potter burst out, "Why do you keep doing that?"

Draco ignored him. He didn't have to explain himself to anyone, least of all to Saint Potter.

But then, 'Saint' Potter grabbed the bottle, jerking it out of Draco's hand. "I'm pouring my heart out to you, you ass. The least you can to is bloody pay attention!"

Draco waved his hands in mock horror. "Oh dear Merlin, Potter's having a crisis! Drop what you're doing, world, and listen to him bitch and moan about it!" He dropped his hands, glaring. "News flash, Potter: the world doesn't work like that. It doesn't give a rat's ass about your emotional or martial problems, or how many times you've been kicked into the dirt, not anymore. And neither, for that matter, do I."

Draco snatched the bottle back from Potter's shock loosened grip, and, magically re-dressing himself with a flick of his wand, he marched out of the hotel room, slamming the door shut behind him.

…...

After that episode, Draco would have been all too happy to never see Potter's selfish, arrogant, self-centered, bespeckled mug ever again…and it seemed like he got his wish. Three more weeks, then six, came and went with no sign nor note from Potter…

And Draco didn't miss it. Not at all. He certainly didn't look for a note shoved under his front door every time he came home from work, and he certainly didn't feel the barest hint of disappointment when he didn't see one…

His peace didn't last. One evening, as he was relaxing in his favorite green and silver armchair, he jumped hard as the intruder wards in his front yard suddenly went off-installed there after someone tried to set fire to his house not too long ago.

Sighing in annoyance-at both the unwanted visitor and at the flare of curious hope the wards' noise had triggered in him, Draco got up to go have a peek through this door's peephole. His heart did a weird, shuddering beat at what he saw (something he conveniently refused to acknowledge.).

Potter. Potter was on his doorstep. Draco's had automatically rested on the doorknob, but he didn't open it. Not yet.

"Mal-Draco. I know you're in there. I heard the alarms shut off." When Draco still didn't open the door, Potter sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, shuffling his feet. Dear Merlin. Was Potter actually nervous?

"A-all right. I suppose I deserve much worse than being ignored, for what I said." His head lifted, meeting Draco's eyes through the peephole, though he didn't know it. His eyes were quiet, miserable, pained behind those damned taped up glasses. "I hope you're listening, anyway. I-I'm sorry for what I said, back in that hotel room. For being such a self centered ass. I know now that you haven't had the best time of it since the War, either. I know…that Astoria left you after you turned informant for the Ministry, leaving England entirely with your son. I know Lucius disowned you after your parents were forced to flee the country…"

Draco did open the door, then. "You do know that its illegal to use the Auror Archives for personal gain?" Somehow, he wasn't angry about this gross invasion of his privacy. In fact, the strongest emotion he could muster up was mild irritation, and that was more at the Archives' lax security than at Potter.

"I know." Potter's voice had gone faint at Draco's sudden appearance, making his reply barely above a whisper. His gaze was pleading, begging Draco to forgive him.

Draco snorted, but there was no real scorn behind it. "Stop looking at me like that, Potter. Have at least some dignity."

Potter gave a shaky laugh. "Dignity has nothing to do with it when everything seems to be going to hell."

Draco shrugged. "True." He stepped back, holding the door open for Potter. He took the silent invitation eagerly, following Draco back into Draco's kitchen/dining room. As he perched, almost childlike, on a chair at the table, Draco rummaged in one of his cabinets. When he turned around with a bottle of rum and a small glass in hand, Potter's face darkened.

"Is that why you drink so much?" He asked softly, surprising Draco as he put the two items on the table. "Because of your family?"

It was a perfect moment for Draco to make a snarky comment about Potter's intelligence, but Potter's words hit too close to home. Suddenly, he felt too tired and worn down to bother. "Yes."

As he started to pour himself a drink, Potter's hand stopped him, covering the glass. Draco looked up, surprised by his former enemy again.

Potter's gaze was soft, gentle-understanding this time, not condemning. "Please, Draco. I need you sober when I ask this."

Draco made a face. "It takes more than a small shot of rum to get me drunk, Potter." But he put aside the alcohol and the glass anyway, seating himself across from his guest.

Potter gave a small, meek smile. "Thank you." He took a deep breath, one hand running nervously through his hair again. After a moment, he lifted his gaze back to Draco's. "I know you'll be alone this Christmas."

Draco raised one pale eyebrow. "And?"

"So will I. So I was wondering…how about we spend it together, at my house?"

Draco managed to hide his surprise-barely. Harry freaking Potter just asked him to spend Christmas with him. In a rare moment of tactlessness, Draco blurted the first thing that came to his mind. "What about the Weasleys?"

Potter's face grew pained. "Ron, Hermione and Mrs. Weasley invited me, but I…I can't, not with Ginny there. It would spoil the others' Christmas."

An irrational pang of hurt stabbed into Draco's chest. "Glad to see that the great Harry Potter's personal prostitute warrants at least the honor of being a second choice." He growled sarcastically.

Potter's eyes widened in horror. "No! No, Draco, that's not what I meant at all! You were my first choice, I just…I…" Harry's head thumped down on his arms, which were crossed on the table. "I'm messing this up big time, aren't I?"

A small spark of amusement made Draco's lips twitch up slightly as he crossed his own arms over his chest. "Yes."

Harry's head came back up. He looked at Draco, his gaze pained and desperate once more. "Will you at least consider it?"

Draco feigned thought. "Maybe."

Harry nodded, resigned. "Okay." He stood up. "Thanks for listening, at least."

Draco may have stayed silent and let Harry walk away, but something about him-how his shoulders were half slumped in defeat, perhaps?-that made him speak up before the other had even left the kitchen. "I've considered it."

The hopeful look on Harry's face as he looked back at Draco was enough to break Draco's heart, if he had had enough of one left to break. "And?"

Draco found his mouth speaking once more without his brain's permission. "The answer is yes."

From the look on Harry's face, it was as if Draco had agreed to marry him. "Good. Good! I promise, you won't regret it!"

Draco found himself smiling, caught up in Harry's enthusiasm as he rolled his eyes, shooing Harry out of the kitchen and back toward the door. "Whatever. Get out of here, Harry, before I hex you."

It wasn't until he shut the door behind his guest that Draco realized he had been calling Potter Harry-in his head, and at the last second, with his mouth.

A/N: Aww! I am unashamed to admit that most of this chapter had me squeeing like a crazy fan girl as I wrote it. Hope it did the same for you. As always, reviews make me feel loved =).