Draco Malfoy had discovered Firewhiskey.

Harry noticed immediately when Malfoy sauntered into the library, looking somewhat… off.

Rumour had it the Slytherins held weekly drinkfests in their common room. Most of the time the evil monsters kept to themselves rather than risk detention by wandering around the school in a drunken haze.

Malfoy smirked at Harry and walked toward a bookshelf. He perused the covers for long moments, swaying slightly as he skimmed a long finger over the titles. Harry wondered what he was doing in the library in his inebriated state, especially considering Madam Pince would be throwing them all out for the night in another fifteen minutes.

The blond finally chose a book and wandered over to a table in Harry's direct line of sight. He did not look at Harry at all, however, instead flipping open his book and idly leafing through the pages.

Harry watched him surreptitiously after glancing at Hermione and Ron. Hermione was utterly absorbed in her text and would likely need to be roused with a hex to break her focus. Ron had fallen asleep and was drooling slightly on his Transfigurations textbook.

Malfoy pulled a quill from his robes and began to nibble on the end before lapping at it with his pink tongue. Harry's eyes widened. A Sugar Quill, obviously. His mouth watered a bit, remembering the sweet taste of his own Quills, which were upstairs in his trunk. Harry preferred to save his for the really boring classes.

Malfoy's eyes lifted to Harry's and a smirk curved the Slytherin's lips. Harry tried to look away, but instead he lifted his chin as if to admit he was watching Malfoy and dared him to do something about it.

Malfoy's mouth opened and the Sugar Quill began to disappear, sliding slowly between Malfoy's lips. Harry's eyes widened as more and more of it vanished, going deeper and deeper into Malfoy's mouth, until all that was visible was the tip and a small bit of white clasped between Malfoy's fingers.

Fuck, how long was it? Seven inches? Eight? Harry's mouth was suddenly dry and his heart was pounding. He wiped his hands on his trousers as Malfoy pulled the Quill out again, bit by bit, eyes still locked with Harry's.

He smirked once more and then licked the Quill, sliding his tongue over it suggestively, as though wiping clean all traces of his saliva, which made no sense at all. Harry shifted in his seat, fighting an uncomfortable tightness in his jeans. He was alarmed by his response, but rationalized that it was only natural. If anyone had performed that feat, it would have been a turn-on. The thought made him picture Hermione doing it and he shuddered. Okay, perhaps not anyone.

When Malfoy finished fellating the hapless Sugar Quill, he got to his feet and exited without bothering to return the book to the shelf. Before leaving, he looked over his shoulder and gave Harry a wink. A wink!

Drunk, for certain, Harry decided.

The next day, Malfoy was back to normal. His shoulder shoved into Harry's on the stairs, nearly knocking him head over heels. Harry's glare was met with icy disdain. During classes, Malfoy ignored him entirely.

Harry tried to put the Sugar Quill Incident out of his mind. It had obviously been a sick joke of Malfoy's. Still, the memory would return to him at night when he lay in bed. He pictured something else disappearing into Malfoy's mouth. Something that grew uncomfortably hard at the thought.

Harry buried his face in his hands. I am not having sexual fantasies about Draco Malfoy, he told himself firmly.

Several days later, Harry went in search of some sweets shortly before curfew. He was just reaching for the pear on the painting that disclosed the kitchen entrance when it swung open to reveal Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy's grey eyes widened when he saw Harry and he stopped short, blocking the passageway. He held a bit of chocolate between one thumb and index finger and he slowly raised it to his mouth. Keeping his eyes on Harry's, Malfoy placed the chocolate onto his tongue and then sucked lightly on his fingers, hollowing his cheeks for a moment.

Harry felt the blood flowing south and fought to retain some aplomb.

Malfoy pulled his fingers away and stepped forward. The scent of alcohol and chocolate wafted over Harry in a wave. A smiled curved Malfoy's lips, warm and inviting, giving Harry a jolt when he realized he had never seen its like on Malfoy's face before.

"Hello, Harry," Malfoy said in a purring tone and leaned even closer. He raised a hand and curled it around the back of Harry's neck to bunch in the unruly hair at Harry's nape.

He means to kiss me! Harry thought in amazement as Malfoy's lips drew nearer.

"Hey, Harry!" Ron's voice was like a shock of cold water. Apparently, Malfoy felt the same, for his eyes widened and he snatched his hand away from Harry's hair as if burned. Before Harry could react, the blond sidestepped him and continued on toward the Slytherin dungeons at a quick pace. Harry stared after him in bemusement as Ron made it to his side and gave him a nudge. "Was he touching you?"

"I think he's drunk," Harry said as Malfoy disappeared down the stairs.

"Stupid Slytherins," Ron muttered, but Harry thought his voice sounded a bit regretful.

The next time a rumoured Slytherin party was in progress, Harry lurked near the kitchen entrance (not hopefully, merely curiously), until it became obvious that he was lurking. Disappointed, he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower and went to bed, only to be roused from near slumber by a tapping on the window.

He crawled out of his warm bed and opened the window for the instantly recognizable owl. With a quick glance to the other sleeping denizens of the room, Harry fed the owl a quick treat, shooed it out, and climbed back into his bed. He drew the bed curtains and then cast a Light Spell to read the hastily unfolded note. The writing was barely legible.

Potter Harry,

I want to suck your cock until you see stars. I want you to fuck me up against a wall. I want. I want you to stop looking so sexy all the fucking time. You're driving me crazy.

It was unsigned. Harry spent several minutes trying to work out the crossed out bits. Once he did, he stared in open mouthed shock at the words. Surely it was a joke? Perhaps Malfoy—or even Blaise Zabini—had sent it to fuck with Harry's mind.

Despite his disbelief, Harry had a hard time shaking off the message. The more he tried to sleep, the more an image of Draco Malfoy sucking his cock prevented it. He could not even visualize the second crossed out line without growing rock hard.

After wanking three times, he finally drifted into a fitful sleep. Bloody Draco Malfoy.

The next few days were torment for Harry. Malfoy seemed as arrogant and cold as ever, but Harry could not seem to shake the pornographic images of Malfoy that assaulted him at every turn. He found himself watching the blond in all of their shared classes while dreaming of tasting the creamy skin of his throat, burying his hands in the silky-looking blond hair, and kissing those sneering lips.

Malfoy seemed oblivious.

Ron was not.

"Mate, you need to stop looking at Malfoy like he's a chocolate frog, or something," he said.

Harry blinked at him. "What?"

Ron sighed. "Look, Harry, I know you like blokes. I mean, it's been obvious for a bit now, but, honestly, Malfoy? Does it have to be him?"

"I… I… Obvious?"

"Well, to me." Ron coughed.

Harry was flabbergasted. "And you're okay with it?"

"Course. Why wouldn't I be? After Percy, nothing is surprising, really."

"Percy? But he has a girlfriend."

Ron chuckled. "Oh yeah, I forgot you don't know. Penelope used to be a bloke. Her name was Alvin."

Harry gaped at him, but his response was short circuited by the sight of Pansy Parkinson making a curious gesture to another Slytherin boy. By now well-attuned to the ways of Slytherin House, Harry knew another party was in the works.

"I… Thanks, Ron. I have to go. But, thanks. And don't worry, I don't think Malfoy likes me, anyway."

But Harry planned to find out, one way or the other.

Harry made his way through the Slytherin common room as quietly as possible. The password had been easily overheard while he lurked in the hallway outside the Slytherin dungeon. None of the residents had batted an eye when Harry had sneaked inside.

Only the older students were visible, mostly seventh-years. Harry's eyes picked out Malfoy immediately, seated near the fireplace in a large chair with Pansy Parkinson perched on the armrest. She held a small glass and talked animatedly, using her hands to gesture with, regardless that she splashed her drink here and there with each movement.

Malfoy looked morose and paid no heed to Parkinson's conversation. Blaise Zabini, on the floor near Malfoy's chair, spoke in muted tones, urging Parkinson to more flowery antics with each quiet word.

Harry lurked against one wall, standing in an area that guaranteed no one would stumble over his invisible frame, but still allow him a view of Malfoy. The "party" was dreadfully dull and seemed to involve nothing more than Slytherins chatting and drinking. Harry felt his eyelids grow heavy and he fought to stay awake as the hour grew late.

When Malfoy finally got to his feet, Harry nearly missed it. The blond was halfway across the room before Harry blinked and then straightened. Malfoy was heading toward a set of steps on the side of the room nearest Harry. Malfoy entered the stairwell and walked down into the darkness. Harry scrambled to follow him and then slowed his steps to remain undetected.

At the bottom of the steps, six doors led off from the main corridor and Malfoy stopped before one. He spoke a word and the portal opened. Harry bolted as Malfoy stepped inside. To his relief, the door shut slowly. He slipped through the narrowing entrance and then felt his heart leap into his throat when he realized he had just shut himself into a room with Draco Malfoy.

Harry looked around the room carefully. There were only two beds, very ornate and ancient-looking, richly carved and draped with green fabric. Malfoy ignored the bed to stride forward and seat himself before a small dressing table. He carefully set down the partially empty glass he had been holding and began to sort through a stack of papers on the tabletop.

While Malfoy was distracted, Harry quickly made his way to the bed. He surreptitiously withdrew a folded piece of paper and placed it on the pillow. There was no doubt about which bed was Malfoy's—the large black DM embroidered on the green coverlet was a clue.

Malfoy drew a quill from a fancy silver holder after selecting a smooth piece of parchment from the stack.

"Shall we write a letter to Potter, Tiberius?" Malfoy asked with a glance toward an ornate cage that hung from a wrought-iron stand. The owl hooted softly and shifted from foot to foot. "Something poetic, perhaps, about the way his eyes glow like emeralds in moonlight?"

Malfoy snorted and Harry felt a qualm. It had been a joke, then. His eyes darted to the letter on the pillow and he made to reach for it, intending to take it and leave, but his cloak rustled against the bed curtain. A tiny sound, but it drew Malfoy's attention. To Harry's chagrin, his eyes fixed immediately on the note.

The chair scraped on the floor as Malfoy got to his feet. Harry debated snatching the note and fleeing, but he knew he wouldn't get far with Malfoy in his home domain. With a sinking feeling, he moved backward toward the door as Malfoy grabbed up the note.

Malfoy drew in a surprised breath as his eyes scanned it. "Oh, fuck. Tiberius, please tell me I did not write this note to Potter in a drunken stupor." He groaned. "If Blaise found this I would be in for years of blackmail."

Harry stilled at his words. Malfoy did not remember writing the note? His heart was in his throat as Malfoy turned the parchment over. The blond inhaled sharply when he saw the words Harry had written.

Malfoy,

I realize this note is most likely a colossal joke, but if you are at all serious, especially about the poorly crossed out bits, then it is possible that I might be interested. If it's not a joke. And if it is, then fuck you.

HP

Malfoy read it several times while Harry scarcely dared to breathe, waiting for laughter, or derision, or… something.

Finally, Malfoy muttered, "He might be interested. Merlin." He strode toward the bed against the opposite wall and then spun and paced back, still clutching the note in both hands. Despite Harry's borderline terror, he enjoyed watching Malfoy move. The blond was casually dressed in perfectly tailored grey trousers and a dark-coloured jumper that was likely either cashmere or silk. His legs were perfection, as was his slender waist and the exquisite arse between. "Might be interested," Malfoy repeated.

He crossed back to the desk and spread the parchment flat before snatching up his wand and casting a bright Lumos. He leaned down to examine it more closely while mumbling, "Crossed out bits… What the bloody hell did I write…?"

Malfoy straightened with a gasp and the light from his wand extinguished, leaving only the dim illumination from the lamp on the desk to limn Malfoy's blond hair.

"Salazar," Malfoy whispered. "I told the prat I wanted him to fuck me." He swayed for a moment and Harry bit his lip in indecision, feeling guilty for witnessing Malfoy's distress. "I sent this days ago! He and his friends have probably been laughing at me this entire bloody week!"

Harry wanted to protest that it wasn't true, but in Malfoy's present state he would like be hit with Avada Kedavra before he had time to speak.

Malfoy grabbed up the note and read it once more. "He might be interested. I tell the idiot my darkest secret and he says he might be interested. The Chosen One might be interested. Very funny." Malfoy crushed the note in his fist with a violent movement and snarled. "I hope Potter and his friends are having a nice laugh over me and my pathetic crush."

Malfoy's half-sob sounded loud in the room and Harry could stand it no longer. "Malfoy," he said softly and let the cloak slide away from his head and shoulders.

Malfoy's head jerked up and Harry leaped forward to grab his wrist before the wand could level on him. Grey eyes glared at him while they silently wrestled for control of the wand. Beneath Harry's fingers, Malfoy's pulse raced.

"Malfoy, stop," Harry said quietly. "It's not like that."

"Not like what?" Malfoy snarled. "I can't believe you—!"

Harry kissed him.

Malfoy stiffened in surprise and for a moment it felt like kissing a statue, albeit one with very soft lips and alcohol-tinged breath, but Harry used his free hand to curve it gently around the back of Malfoy's neck. The touch seemed to jolt Malfoy even more than the kiss.

Harry pressed on, unwilling to give up in spite of the lack of response, and then Malfoy made a sound that was almost a growl. He curved his free arm around Harry's waist and pulled him even closer before returning the kiss with vigour.

It almost felt like an attack. Malfoy's tongue pressed between Harry's parted lips and plunged inside, seeking domination. Harry might have been alarmed but for the desperation he sensed beneath Malfoy's actions. That and the tension that fairly radiated from the Slytherin.

Harry relaxed and let Malfoy take control, surrendering to the bruising kiss. It was glorious. Harry had never felt dominated by anyone, not even the Dursleys, because he knew he would one day be free of them, therefore he had never surrendered, not mentally, at any rate. But this… This was different. It felt almost necessary to give in to Malfoy, to prove that he was in control of the situation, not Harry.

To underscore the point, Harry loosened his grip on Malfoy's wrist and allowed his thumb to caress lightly over the tiny ridges that surrounded his pulse point. He knew it was a daring move—Malfoy's wand hand was basically free. He could use it to hex Harry at any moment.

Malfoy jerked his hand free, but he did not break the kiss. A moment later, Harry felt the tip of Malfoy's wand press against his ribs, digging in only lightly. He had nearly forgotten it entirely by the time the kiss ended and Malfoy pulled back to look at him. Malfoy's eyes were dark and fathomless. The arm around Harry's waist moved lower, suddenly, and a firm hand gripped Harry's arse cheek.

Harry drew in a surprised breath and Malfoy nodded.

"How far do you plan to carry this little joke, Potter?"

Harry swallowed hard, not really surprised that Malfoy still thought him capable of such a cruel hoax. Harry wrapped his fingers around the hand gripping his arse and guided it around to the front, where he placed it over his rock-hard erection.

"Does that feel like a joke, Draco?" he asked quietly.

Malfoy's amazing eyes widened almost impossibly and Harry smiled before leaning back in for another kiss. He pushed forward into Malfoy's hand, amazed at his temerity, but half-quivering with need.

"Why?" Malfoy's voice was full of wonder.

Harry stopped kissing him long enough to frown at him reproachfully. "You can ask me that after the quill-licking and the hair touching and that note? I can't get you out of my head."

"Do you… want to?"

"Can I get back to you on that? I'm having difficulty thinking at the moment." Harry thought that might be the understatement of the decade, because Malfoy had taken it upon himself to move his hand, stroking his fingers lightly up and down the length of Harry's cock.

"Don't you normally have that problem?" Malfoy whispered, but the barb seemed almost an afterthought, and the movement of his hand became firmer, tearing a groan from Harry's throat.

Harry's dropped his head forward to nibble lightly at the soft flesh of Malfoy's neck, seeking to muffle his ragged gasps. The pressure of the wand in Harry's side disappeared and then Malfoy was tugging at the waistband of Harry's trousers. It seemed to take forever and Harry idly wondered if there was a spell to cause trousers to vanish entirely, because he wanted nothing more than to be rid of them.

And then they fell to his knees and Malfoy slipping his hand into his pants and touching his cock, and the sensation was indescribable. He marvelled at how different it was from touching it himself and gasped as Malfoy's fingers explored the underside. His thumb dragged over the tip, smearing wetness. Harry whimpered against Malfoy's neck.

Malfoy made an unintelligible sound that send heat tingling through Harry's veins. Malfoy had made that sound because he was touching him. He needed to hear more of those sounds, and thought perhaps touching Malfoy might drag forth a few more. It seemed like a brilliant plan, especially considering he could barely form a coherent notion with the bliss electrifying his synapses.

Harry forced his hands to move, seeking and finding the buttons that held Malfoy's fancy trousers closed. He released them one by one with nearly inaudible pops and Malfoy's hand on Harry's cock stilled with each one, as if the tiny movements required processing. At last the final button lost its hold and Malfoy's trousers fell away, leaving him exposed to Harry's questing grip, because he had apparently not found it necessary to wear pants, which made Harry's mouth go completely dry even as he wrapped his hand around Malfoy's velvety soft, but oh-so-hard, shaft.

The resulting choking sound was like music and Harry smiled. His fingers explored, minutely exploring the differences between them, but he was far more interested in the noises that issued from Malfoy and the way his fingers tightened convulsively on Harry's prick with each motion.

Harry needed to kiss him again, so he did, and Malfoy seemed more than amenable, except that they needed to stop frequently for panting gasps of air. Their knuckles kept bumping and the whole thing was awkward… until Malfoy opened his hand and took both their cocks in hand. Harry moaned at the feel of Malfoy's hardness against his own and he quickly followed suit, resting his partially closed hand atop Malfoy's and letting him set the pace.

They stroked in unison, gasping hot, wet breaths against each other's lips while holding each other tightly for balance. Harry's free hand was clenched around Malfoy's neck while Malfoy's hand dug into Harry's arse cheek, hard enough that he would find fingerprint-shaped bruises there the next day.

Harry's orgasm built like nothing he had ever felt. He could tell by the overwhelming tightness in his groin that it would be something special and he was not disappointed. He barely had time to choke out a sound that was almost a warning before his climax ripped through him.

Malfoy muffled his scream with a kiss. Harry vaguely felt Malfoy's cock twitching along the length of his fingers and was even more turned-on by the thought of them coming together, their hot release spurting and mingling together, splashing over hands and shirts in a delightful mess.

Harry kept kissing him, because it seemed important, somehow. He released their softening cocks, however, and reached around to splay his hand over Malfoy's arse, squeezing, and feeling somewhat smug when he smeared wetness over the brilliant perfection.

"I should go," he said quietly and felt a frisson of panic when he realized neither of them had cast a Locking Charm and any number of Slytherins could walk in and discover them at any moment.

"Should you?" Malfoy asked, nibbling at Harry's lips.

"Ungh," Harry replied, unable to move despite his worry.

"I thought you might want to spend the night," Malfoy said with a hint of challenge in his voice.

Harry stared at him in surprise. Images flooded his brain, causing his jaw to gape open at the thought of sleeping next to Malfoy, waking up next to Malfoy, touching Malfoy during the night…

"Okay," he said in a choked tone.

"Okay?" Malfoy repeated.

Harry nodded, feeling suddenly foolish. What if he had been joking?

"Okay," Malfoy said again, this time in a breathy tone that did funny things to Harry's insides.

"Okay," Harry replied and laughed. As Malfoy manoeuvred him toward the bed, he made a mental note to thank the makers of Firewhiskey.