Fandom: Harry Potter
Warnings/Disclaimer: This story contains homosexual insinuations. If that offends or disturbs you in any way, nick off. I don't own Harry Potter, because small children wouldn't be allowed to read (or watch) it if I did.
Harry bit his lip to stop the hiss of pain escaping his mouth, pausing to see if his one night stand woke up. He sighed in relief and continued to get dressed when there was no sound from the elder man lying in the bed. Harry searched around for his jeans, they were the only pair that actually fitted him properly, and walked quietly around the bed to retrieve the item of clothing. He pulled them up his pale, scarred legs and then started the search for his socks and shoes. He found one shoe near the door, the other jogger at the foot of the bed. Harry picked them up, holding them in his hands.
It was a stupid idea to put the shoes on before he made his escape, going barefoot allowed a degree of silence that was not present with hard soled shoes. Harrys sharp green eyes then searched for his socks. The socks were odd, one bright yellow and the other and deep royal blue, he'd thought it funny, as had his fuck. But he didn't see how he could've possibly lost the bright pair of odd socks. And it wasn't even like the room was a mess. Everything was perfect, nothing out of place.
Unless you counted the clothes that the man had once been wearing, now strewn all over the floor by an impatient Harry. But Harry had, somehow, managed to lose those bloody socks. Harry quickly glanced the room, swearing as he saw the time. It was five thirty, and he was supposed to be going to the Weasley Burrow at seven. Except, he had no idea where he was. All that he knew was that at some point the night before (or maybe it had been this morning) he'd been taken home (not his) and been thoroughly ploughed into the mattress.
It had been thoroughly enjoyable, and Harry had thought his partner was a god. Until Harry woke up (sober) and realised exactly who it was that had been showering praise upon. So Harry had one and a half hours to get to Surry, England, from somewhere in Wales. How was it possible that Harry knew where he was if he'd been drunk when he was brought back to the house of his one night stand? Well, almost the entire wizarding community knew where the man lived, but not his exact location.
After all, Lucius Malfoy couldn't have common people knocking on his door, could he?