Red Wine and Vodka

Rated: M

Warnings: Drinking, strong language, sexual content, Epilogue? What Epilogue?

Disclaimer: Not my characters, obviously.

Begging For: Reviews



Draco's attempt at a nonchalant stance wavered against the bar due to all the vodka sloshing around in his stomach. His hair was a mess and his eyes were half closed.

"Come on, Draco." Harry pushed his empty wineglass back at the bartender as he shouted over the music, "got to get you to your flat. You're fucking smashed. You're embarrassing yourself, only because he happened to be here? Fuck, Draco, you're such a fucking girl."

Draco scowled. "Wanna… 'nother vodka," he whined, rubbing his eyes and smearing some of the glittery black kohl lining his gray eyes.

"No, Draco, you've had quite enough, I've already told off the bartender for serving you the last one when I was in the loo. You shitfaced ponce, you can't even stand up straight. Come on," Harry pushed Draco very slightly towards the public Floo with a firm hand on his lower back and had to move quickly and grab him around the waist to prevent Draco from falling on his face to the floor of the club. "See? You need to drink some water or something, Jesus."

Draco let himself be pushed towards the fireplace. Unfortunately, there he was, directly in his line of vision, the reason for his ridiculous state of intoxication. Fucking Blaise Zabini. Dancing with fucking Justin Finch-Fletchley, of all the fucking queers Blaise could have taunted him with, a fucking Hufflepuff? Blaise had Finch-Fletchley's hips in a vice grip and was grinding the Hufflepuff's arse into his groin. He glanced up and around, made eye contact with Draco, and sneered in his direction.

"Gonna- punch- fucking arse licker-" Draco slurred angrily. Harry stopped him from leaping forward to start a fight and glared at Zabini before grabbing a pinch of Floo powder and pulling Draco into the fireplace after him.

Draco stumbled on the mat in front of the mantel and nearly fell on his face. Harry's strong arms reached out and wrapped quickly around his body, just in time to keep his nose from being smashed to bits on the floor of the small library room in his flat. Harry nearly lifted him off the floor and deposited him on the nearest sofa where he collapsed.

"Fuck me, you're a fucking sloppy mess," Harry bit out, "I've got to fucking piss again and I'll make you some fucking tea. Don't do anything fucking stupid. Stay on the bloody sofa."

Draco scowled at Harry's back as he made his way to the loo. Bloody Potter and his gorgeous arse was quite angry with him this time, it always was apparent when there was more than one 'fuck' per sentence. He stood up, quite unsteadily, and made his way over to a shelf and reached for the bottle behind a row of books. It was still at least a third full. He made his way back to the sofa before opening the bottle and taking a swig. Uuughhh, warm vodka… s'fucking foul. He considered Summoning some ice from the kitchen but couldn't find his wand in his pocket and took another swig anyway. Fuck Blaise. Fuck him.

It had been a little over a week since Blaise had split up with him, and this was the first night that Potter had gotten him to shower and leave his flat for the first time since it had happened, where he had been moping and crying. Of all the fucking bars in London, of course Blaise was at the one they'd gone to. What the fuck was he doing at a straight bar? Fucking Too Straight For His Own Good Potter, despite being his best friend, still refused to go to any gay bars with Draco, and at eight this evening it had, for once, seemed like a blessing. Blaise rarely frequented straight bars, and it had seemed like a good idea to just get out of the flat for the first time in days, even if it meant a boring as shit place like that. Draco idly wondered whether Blaise had actually followed him there just to find someone horrible to hit on in front of him out of revenge. He had been drinking his third glass of expensive red wine at the raised bar with Potter when he had spotted Blaise alone down on the dance floor, his height making him easily the most noticeable. He downed his entire glass and ordered the first of several double shots of vodka on the rocks from the bartender, who had started raising an eyebrow at him after the third.

"What the fuck, Draco, how can you drink that shit? It's warm. Fucking gross." Harry had reentered the room with a tea tray that he threw onto the table before grabbing the bottle from his hand.

"Well… Sum- Summon the ice… for me," Draco pouted, trying to reach for the bottle, "can't find m'wand."

"You dropped it on the fucking floor of the bar and I picked it up," Harry scowled at him, "I went through fucking hell to find you and get your precious wand back to you last year and this is how you fucking treat it? I should've kept the damn thing." He pulled the hawthorn wand out of his pocket where it had been sitting next to the holly wand and nearly threw it at him. "There's your damn wand. Fine. Get alcohol poisoning. Fuck. Just don't drown in your own vomit and then expect me to take you to the hospital." He moved towards the fireplace, grabbing his cloak.

"No, 'Arry, m'sorry.. Please, don't- don't leave." Draco buried his face in his hands. "Sorrysorry. Didn't think he'd- didn't… I just…"

Harry stopped and sighed, the fight going out of him. "I know, Dray. I didn't think he'd be there either; you were doing so much better today too. I suppose I'd probably be just as shitfaced if it had happened to me."

Draco flushed a little under his palms. He loved it when Harry called him Dray, he could pretend for a brief moment that Harry wasn't straight, that there was something between them other than friendship, they were lovers, and Harry was whispering his nickname for him in his ear…

He felt a sob rising in his throat and curled up into a miserable ball.

"Oh, Jesus fuck, Dray," Harry sighed and sank down onto the couch and wrapped his arms around Draco, letting him sob into the shoulder of his robes. "You'll get over him. He doesn't know what he's missing out on, he can go fuck himself."

Draco cried even harder. Harry was so oblivious, it was even more heartbreaking. Draco hadn't told him the real reason Blaise had finally called it off. They had been rocky for ages, yes, but it was always worse whenever Harry had come around to their flat parties and Draco, usually far too intoxicated, hadn't been able to stop staring. When he was sober, they got along just like best mates should, and Draco controlled himself. When he got shitfaced he simply could not make his eyes behave. The final fight had included a lot of Blaise shouting at him that he didn't like seeing his boyfriend continuously lust after the straightest boy in England, not to mention Gryffindor's Fucking Golden Boy of all people, right in front of his face, all the fucking time, and why he wouldn't appreciate Blaise and all they had been through, who couldn't live a fucking lie anymore and was moving out of their flat within the hour.

Draco was unbearably crushed. He did love Blaise, of course he did, they had been together since they were fifteen, and directly after the war they had moved in together secretly in Muggle London and pretended they had both gone into hiding overseas. He had been happy. Then Harry Potter had shown up at their doorstep, impossibly breaking through all the wards, carrying his old wand and wanting to talk to him in private. They were not wanted fugitives as they had expected, but simply listed as missing. Harry had already forgiven him, had kept his wand safe for him, he had searched for months, finally found them and wanted them both to come back to wizardkind. Somehow it had been as easy as it sounded, and they came out of hiding. Somehow, bitter arch enemies Potter and Malfoy slowly became unlikely, hesitant friends Harry and Draco, who despite being opposites, actually had quite a few things in common these days. Blaise had grudgingly accepted the friendship due to his newfound freedom, though he still hated Harry from their school days. Usually he was polite enough not to show it.

He pressed his face deeper into Harry's robes and tried to take deep, calming breaths of Harry's familiar scent. Harry reached for a cup of tea and pressed it into Draco's hand, who sat up shakily to take a gulp. It had just the right amount of milk and sugar, just the way he liked it, and he couldn't help but think how Blaise could never make a fucking proper cup of tea for him even after living with him for years.

Harry made no move to withdraw his other arm from around Draco's shoulders. Draco leaned into him, controlling his breathing, closing his eyes, and was continuously astounded that Harry didn't ever seem to realize what his friendly, mate-like gestures really did to Draco. Any good mate would offer a shoulder to cry on when his mate had been broken up with. Draco was sure Ron had received the same treatment when Hermione had finally left him for Viktor Krum, before Ron had moved to America. Most of the time, Harry didn't seem to remember that there was a difference when your new best friend was gay, and that a friendly hug sometimes could become a little too friendly, and that your new best friend was sometimes fighting down a boner because you're so damn fit and I want to you to fuck me into the wall, fuck me, Potter, or I could suck the straight right out of you, I know you'll like it, just let me-

Draco gave a deep sigh and drank from his teacup again, as always trying to convince himself it was a very bad idea to lean over, just slightly, and kiss Potter. Never. Just can't. This unexpected friendship and hidden lust was still better than losing Harry forever, and though he desperately wanted to taste the red wine still lingering on Potter's breath, he knew that it would ruin this carefully balanced friendship. If Harry ever knew how Draco was reacting to him, Draco knew he would stop doing all of the things that he both craved and hated himself for craving, like this offer of a shoulder to cry on, or Harry ruffling his hair affectionately, or sitting a little too comfortably together on the sofa while they watched Muggle movies at Harry's flat.

Draco couldn't imagine the awkwardness afterwards if he made a move on Harry. Perhaps, if both of them were twice as shitfaced as he was now, he might consider it.

It was so difficult, though, curled up in Harry's arms, a strong hand gently rubbing his shoulders, to resist touching Harry the way he wanted to. He clenched his hands into fists to keep himself from grabbing at Harry's ridiculous hair and snogging him senseless. Stop.

"Feeling a little better?" Harry murmured into his ear, sending shivers down Draco's neck.

"A little," Draco mumbled, "I dunno." He finished his tea and forced himself to move away from Harry, nearly falling off the sofa.

"Need to get you into bed," Harry said, and Draco wanted to scream, yes that's exactly what I need, take me to bed and fuck me senseless. I've just fucked up what I had with Blaise because of you, it's your entire fault for being attractive and unobtainable and I fucking hate you.

Instead he nodded.

Harry helped him into his bedroom, but Draco stopped suddenly at the door. This wasn't his bedroom, it was his and Blaise's bedroom, and he couldn't stand sleeping in this huge bed alone again tonight, not knowing that Blaise was probably shoving his cock into that damn Hufflepuff at this very moment.

"No, don't wanna sleep here- can we go to your place? …Please?"

Harry's eyebrows rose at the plea but he seemed to understand.

"All right," he sighed, helping him back to the fireplace.

Harry held tight to Draco as they landed in his flat, keeping him from stumbling. He helped Draco to his bedroom, sat him down on the edge of the bed, grabbed an extra blanket and pillow and moved towards the living room to sleep on the sofa.

"Harry… wait…"

Harry stopped and looked around at the soft whisper.

"Don't… don't want to sleep alone… please?"

Harry sighed. The things he wouldn't do for this damn twink when he was shitfaced. He threw down the pillow and blanket back to the bed and pulled the covers back. He toed his shoes and socks off and unbuttoned his trousers, kicking them off into a corner, and climbed under the covers.

Draco tried very, very hard not to stare. He took off his shoes instead. His socks were too much of a hassle, though, and he flopped down onto his side, facing away from Harry, with trousers and one sock still on. Fuck it.

He didn't dare shed his trousers, or move any closer; he simply could not trust himself right now. He genuinely needed his best friend's comfort at the moment, not the unrequited lust causing him so much despair.

Draco jumped as Harry reached over, oblivious to his distress, and pulled him in. To cuddle. Draco couldn't believe it. He was in Harry's bed, Harry had his strong arm around him in an entirely platonic manner and it was driving him mad. He closed his eyes and awkwardly pulled the covers over himself, hiding the reaction Harry didn't realize he was causing. This simply wasn't fair. He couldn't help but push his back into Harry's chest, careful to keep his arse away from Harry's groin. Harry's breathing slowed and Draco followed him into sleep.



Draco woke slowly to the delicious feeling of a hard cock pressed against his thigh. He was on his back with a muscled arm draped over his chest and a leg nestled in between his own. He couldn't help but press against that hard cock, wanting it. He opened his eyes and was startled as he suddenly remembered that he had gone to bed with Harry last night. He tried not to move, not wanting Harry to wake up. He was so hard, and so obsessed with this dark-haired man who seemed to have no interest in him whatsoever… But what truly straight man willingly got into a bed with a gay man? Even if all they had done was sleep. Maybe there was hope... or, no, Harry was just being the hero like always, rescuing a "damsel" in distress, stopping at nothing to make them feel better, and in this case simply making everything worse. Somehow waking up to Harry's morning wood pressed against him, Harry's thigh sometimes brushing against his own hardness with his breathing, was both the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him. His head pounded, his cock throbbed, he wanted to bend over in front of Harry and beg to be taken. He suppressed a moan, trying with all his might not to thrust his hips harder into the contact with Harry's leg. This was absolute torture, but he didn't want it to ever stop. Draco watched Harry's face as he slept, his dark lashes, and his slightly parted lips.

Fuck, this wasn't fair. Harry was making very, very slight thrusting movements with his hips, driving Draco absolutely crazy and making his cock leak.

Harry's eyes slowly fluttered open and they stared at each other for a very moment, a pink tinge coloring Draco's cheekbones. Fuck, I'm caught.

Harry's scratchy voice mumbled, "Err, sorry," like he was the one who had done something inappropriate. He untangled his limbs from Draco and stumbled to the bathroom.

Draco closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. A second later his eyes flew open as he listened to the sounds coming from the bathroom; a very quiet, stifled moan, and the sound of flesh on flesh. Oh my god, is he wanking? Holy fuck. Draco couldn't help reaching into his own trousers and touching himself, it was too much to think of Harry, 10 feet away, touching the cock that had just been pressed up against him. It only took a few strokes before he was coming, thrusting his hips up into his fist, biting his lip to keep himself from crying out.

He pulled his hand out; somewhat embarrassed that he had just wanked in Harry's bed, but still floating in the haze of orgasm.

A few minutes later he heard a soft sigh and the shower started.

He stayed in the bed, not wanting to get up and deal with his unbelievably horrid hangover. Ten minutes later Harry emerged from the bathroom, his hair wet and dripping and a towel tied low around his hips. Draco closed his eyes again, not needing the image of shirtless and tousled Harry to distract him.

"Are you going to get up? I'm going to make some tea," Harry mumbled as he fumbled for clothes in the wardrobe. Draco sat up slowly, clutching his head. Slowly he was able to make his way to the bathroom.

A shower made his head feel at least a little better. He found Harry in the kitchen, scrambling eggs. Harry nodded to the teacup sitting on the table and Draco sat and gulped gratefully. Harry had made toast with extra butter to go with the eggs, as well as some strong, sweet coffee. After they had eaten, Harry pushed a small glass of potion towards him. Draco sniffed it cautiously.

"I'd rather deal with the hangover than drink that muck," Draco sneered. Why did potions always have to taste so foul?

Harry raised his eyebrows at him, just slightly, and Draco scowled. Somehow Harry had managed to perfect Hermione Granger's Disapproving Look. Draco pinched his nose and drank it as quickly as possible, then gulped the glass of juice Harry placed in front of him. Stupid Harry and his stupid green eyes that can make me do anything, and his stupid smile, and his stupid hair. The mop was still damp from the shower, and now that Harry had grown it a little longer and actually started getting proper haircuts, it was less of a mess and more tousled than any straight man should be allowed.

"I've got to go into the office today for a bit, only for a few hours I expect. Yesterday I was thinking we would go out drinking again tonight but now I don't know if that's a good idea. He paused, taking a drink of coffee. "What do you think?"

"I think Blaise followed us there," Draco blurted out.

Harry nodded slowly."That's what I thought too. That bloody arsehole deserved to be pummeled, I almost wanted to let you do it," he sighed. "So… drinking here tonight?" He grinned, and Draco couldn't help but grin back in spite of himself. He couldn't stop his brain from imagining actually getting them both twice as shitfaced, seducing Harry into bed, and hoping Harry wouldn't remember anything in the morning.

I must be desperate to actually consider that. Fuck. At that, his grin became slightly more forced and he wanted to bury his face in his hands.

Fuck, I want a drink already.



To be continued…