dripping_cherry | Fic: Shaken and Stirred 1/9

Title: Shaken and Stirred 1/9
Author:

drippingcherry
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word Count: ~1,500
Beta/britpick:

groolover, thanks!
Rating: NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: The story of how Harry and Draco fell in love—in nine drinks.
A/N: Written for my

schmoop_bingo card.

Draco only sat by the fire when Potter was in close proximity. It was irrational behaviour, he knew, but he couldn't shield himself from the memories unless his saviour was at hand. If he found himself alone near the flames, his forehead would break out in sweat and he would begin to struggle for breath. Yet he had always enjoyed the flicker and crackle of a burning fire, so whenever Potter and his fan club gathered in the eighth-year common room, Draco took the opportunity to lounge in the chair nearest to the hearth.

It was as chilly as ever inside the castle, but a lack of warmth was not something Draco could complain about. He felt it on his cheeks from the fire, in his throat and chest from the alcohol, and in his belly from—well, he didn't like to admit what.

Draco tipped his head back, allowing the last few drops of Firewhisky to trickle into his mouth. After the final burning drop splashed onto his tongue, he set the glass down on the table beside him, right next to the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. From his seat over on the sofa, Potter looked at him and lifted a near-empty bottle, brows rising above the rims of his round spectacles. Draco shook his head. One drink too many could be as dangerous as Veritaserum, and a Slytherin would never put himself at such risk.

When he no longer had Potter's attention, Draco cast a surreptitious glance in his direction. The fan club had disappeared, leaving only Potter, Weasley, and Granger. Potter sat in the middle, as always. Weasley was to his left, opening what was probably his third chocolate frog of the evening, and Granger was to his right. She had her legs curled under her and sat facing Potter. Her chest shook against his arm as she giggled at something he had said too quietly for Draco to hear. Curiously, Weasley seemed unconcerned that his girlfriend was rubbing up against Potter.

Draco frowned. Maybe there was some substance to the rumours, after all.

"I told you so," Blaise said from the other side of the fireplace, as if reading Draco's thoughts.

"Does it look like I care?" Draco picked up the Prophet to keep from reacting to Blaise's knowing smirk or looking
over at the trio again.

"Not at all."

The pages rustled as Draco unfolded them and pretended to read; he'd already scanned the more interesting articles earlier that evening.

Blaise put down his empty glass and stood. "Well, I'm off to bed."

"See you," Draco said, not lifting his eyes from the paper. He ignored the snort Blaise gave as he passed Draco on
the way to the eighth-year boys' dormitory.

Once he was alone on his side of the common room, Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. The note was soft and wrinkled after three days of riding around on his person. Careful not to let anyone catch a glimpse, he unfolded it behind the Prophet and smoothed out the kinks.

As his fingers moved over the line of chicken scrawl, his heart did an embarrassing ballerina twirl and his stomach flipped in response.

Do you like girls?

Potter had passed him the note in Defence Against the Dark Arts on Monday, after Draco had told Daphne for the second time that no, he didn't want to go to Hogsmeade with her and her sister.

Draco had read it and then looked across the aisle at Potter, who had worried his lower lip as their eyes met. Then he'd folded the note and slid it underneath his book, putting an abrupt end to the unexpected exchange. There was no way he'd ever answer such a question in writing. He might consider replying verbally, but only if he knew for certain that Potter's motive for asking was romantic. So far, Potter had given little indication that such was the case.

The sound of Granger's voice pulled Draco from his musings.

"It's getting late," she announced.

Weasley yawned and stood up, as if on cue.

"Harry, you should get some sleep, too," she said, as she and Weasley began to walk away together.

"Not tired, yet," said Potter. His words were slurred and his eyelids droopy. "Gonna stay up and read for a bit."

Draco suppressed a snigger. Whatever Potter planned on doing in his drunken state, he doubted very much it was reading. It was a smart thing to tell Granger though—she'd understand.

He waited until Granger and Weasley left, before folding up the note and returning it to his pocket. As much as he would have liked to stay and enjoy the view of Potter drinking from the bottle, his continued presence after everyone had left might have given him away, so he tossed the issue of the Prophet back onto the table and abandoned his comfortable chair.

He took a moment to stretch before heading off, and didn't miss the way Potter's eyes traveled down his torso to the strip of skin that was revealed when his jumper rode up.

"Hey, where're you going?" Potter asked when Draco turned away.

"To bed," said Draco. "It's late."

Potter yawned. "S'not that late. Stay, keep me company."

"I'm not part of your fan club, Potter," Draco said even as he moved towards the sofa. "I've more important things to do than stroke your ego."

Potter's face fell, but his eyes never left Draco's. "Sit down. I wanted to ask you something."

Draco resisted the urge to ask if Potter wouldn't rather wait until he was sober, and sat.

Potter watched him for a moment. He licked his lips, and looked as though he was making a concerted effort to speak. Then he leaned towards Draco, until their faces were inches apart, and took Draco's chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"Wow—your chin's pointy."

"Is there something you wanted to ask, Potter?" Draco hoped the feigned irritation would mask his nervousness.

"Not good with words," Potter replied, and then he smashed their lips together.

Before Draco's brain could process what was happening and decide on an appropriate response, the swarm of butterflies in his stomach took flight, and his cock stirred in reaction to Potter's sudden closeness. His mouth opened on its own, giving way to Potter's tongue.

Potter tasted like Firewhisky and smelled like warmth and spice. Draco moaned and arched against him as their tongues slid together too slowly and threatened his sanity.

When it became difficult to breathe, Potter released his mouth. He rested his forehead against the side of Draco's face; his breath was hot and heavy against Draco's cheek. It reeked of alcohol, too, but Draco couldn't bring himself to care.

"Is that a yes?" Potter asked.

Draco wasn't sure what the question had been, but he knew that the answer was indeed yes. He nodded, and Potter's mouth crashed against his own again.

There wasn't a hint of gentleness in Potter's kiss; it was all wetness and heat and heavy breathing—everything Draco had fantasised about but doubted it would be. He offered no resistance when Potter lay back and pulled Draco down on top of him.

Potter spread his thighs, allowing Draco to lie in between them, then pulled him closer by the arse and thrust up against him. Potter's cock was hard against his own, and all Draco could think about was the overwhelming need to rut against the other boy until they both came. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Potter was drunk and that they might both regret this later, but there was no going back now.

Potter hissed and moaned and bit Draco's lip as they moved together, and every rough thrust sent a thrill through Draco's veins. At last, strong thigh muscles tightened around Draco's hips. He stopped moving when Potter's breath hitched, and he watched while the other boy threw his head back against the arm of the sofa. When Potter's breath returned a moment later, ragged and heavy, Draco buried his face in the crook of his neck and resumed thrusting. A moment later, he came with a stifled moan.

When Draco recovered, Potter was chuckling.

"What's so funny?" Draco asked.

"I was jus' thinking... anyone could've walked in and seen us."

Draco snorted. "Yeah, well, as long as it was me lying in between your legs..."

"Mmm," said Potter. "Next time I'll be in between yours."

Something tightened in Draco's chest at Potter's words. There wasn't likely to be a next time, because Potter was drunk and there was a good chance he wouldn't remember any this in the morning. And if he did, he might think it repulsive or be angry at Draco for having taken advantage of him.

With a heavy sigh, Draco sat back and pulled out his wand to clean them both up. By the time he finished, Potter was snoring loudly.

2. Cupid's Dart