House Booty is Bad Booty

In the morning, Draco gave Brian directions to the tube and fell back into his bed, half-hoping Stephen would run into Brian in the kitchen and quake in fear of Draco's sexual prowess. He heard some shuffling around in the kitchen. Though he really did not want to run into Harry with that tart, some part of him was compelled to go check out the situation.

It was Harry, making coffee in his bathrobe. By himself. Draco, against his will, took in the mussed appearance of his hair (nothing new there, he snidely commented to himself) and the really quite attractive bare feet. Attractive bare feet, indeed. Get a grip.

"Boys all vanished with the first morning light?" he quipped.

Harry started. "Oh! You scared me. Yeah, some amazingly sexy guy just wandered through here, asking if I knew where he could get some coffee. I offered to make some but he just laughed at me."

"Hm. Yeah, he was a dick, but what a dick."

Draco felt a blush creep over his face at the outright crudity of his language. He didn't want Harry thinking he was some sort of jaded whore! Even if that was, more or less, the truth. He turned away to hide the blush and went on the offensive.

"What about Stephen? He looked like a good time."

"Oh, yeah, we watched some movies and talked for awhile."

"And then...?" Draco asked suggestively, his stomach knotting and tensing. Why in gods' names was he putting himself through this torture? He didn't want to know the particulars of Harry's sexual adventures. That was why he tried to drown them out in the first place!

"And then... he left. We didn't do anything. He's a nice guy and all. I don't know."

Part of him wanted to grill Potter for more information. Had the guy turned Potter down? In which case, Draco was tempted to both cheer and hunt the idiot down to punish him for his idiocy. Or had Potter decided that he wasn't really up for hot male-on-male action after all?

But another part of him preferred his illusions, preferred this situation to stay as fuzzy and unexamined as possible.

"Oh. Well, more fish in the sea and all that," he said offhandedly.

"Yeah. Going out tonight?"

"I think I have to work late, actually. You?"

"I was going to rent some movies."

Damn. Draco would have liked to make a special exception, tell Harry he could skip out on work and do whatever Harry had planned, but Harry watched movies all the time so it would just seem weird.

Harry puttered around for awhile and then added, "Probably go over to Ron and Hermione's actually. Haven't seen them in awhile."

"Better you than me, old man." Draco was only joking, but it came out with a bit more sneer than intended.

Harry turned on him, then. "You know, I don't get you sometimes. We've been friends for how long, and what has Ron or Hermione ever done to you, and you still treat them like they're beneath you, they're scum, too low to even... aghh!" Harry threw up his hands and grabbed his coffee, stalking back into his bedroom.

Well. It was now perfectly clear that Harry hadn't gotten laid, and that that Stephen bloke had muffed a golden opportunity. What a total fucking moron. Draco felt himself going livid with rage at a man who would take a pass on someone like Harry.

* * *

The weeks passed, and Draco's feelings did not abate, despite the delivery of repeated and impassioned speeches imploring his heart to give over. He wished Harry's job was more demanding, so that he could get some space. Unfortunately, being an Unspeakable seemed to entail long stretches of waiting, infrequently interspersed with grueling missions that Harry, well, couldn't speak about.

Draco would come home late at night, always to find Harry playing music, or in the kitchen inventing a new dish, or in the living room, laughing it up over some inane comedy or foreign film (he inexplicably found all foreign films hilarious). Sometimes Draco would retire to his room with the intention of separating himself from that which he could not have, but more frequently he would find himself drawn out, unable to keep away from Harry's infectious spirit.

It was one of those nights, when he'd gotten off of work late and gone out for one too many drinks, that he came home to find Harry by the stereo, playing one track after another, Muggle songs that Draco for the most part didn't recognize.

“Hey there!” Harry glanced over at him, looking happy but distracted. Clearly his happiness was not contingent on Draco's presence. For some reason, this simple realization made Draco's stomach hurt.

“Hey yourself. Goodnight.” He was a few steps down the hallway to his bedroom when Harry called out, “Come back, I want you to hear this song!”

Draco rolled his eyes but a gentle wave of relief washed through him. It always gave him such a (stupid, useless, mortifying) thrill when Harry wanted to hang out with him, share things with him. Without further conscious thought, he walked back into the living room.

“You bellowed?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, listen to this song!” Harry said excitedly. It had a driving, idiosyncratic beat that made Draco instinctively want to dance. “It's good, isn't it?” They both listened for a moment, Harry tapping his feet and nodding his head.

“Yes, actually. If they played music like this at the clubs I'd probably go there to dance instead of …” He cut himself off before he could remind Harry what an unprincipled slut he was.

“What is it?”

“It's French house music. They're called Daft Punk.”

As the song progressed, the beat got more insistent and complex, and Harry couldn't contain himself any longer. He got up and danced, and Draco realized two things simultaneously: One, Harry was a fantastic dancer: sexy, unique and remarkably coordinated and unselfconscious. Two, he should never have come back into the room to hear this song, and he should leave at once.

“Come on, dance, Draco, this is such an amazing…” Harry got lost in the song again, closing his eyes and basically freaking out to the music. If that performance could be called 'freaking out.' It's freaking me out, that's for sure.

But despite his misgivings, Draco found the beat irresistable. He walked over to the bar, poured a shot of scotch, downed it and turned up the volume of the music in a smooth series of connected movements that culminated in his dancing to the song with his characteristic seductive grace.

He had his eyes closed, though, because he was terrified that Harry was watching him and also afraid to find out that he wasn't.

“Well, Potter.” Draco opened his eyes and turned to go back to the bar for another shot. “You were right. That song was excellent. Is all their stuff that good?"

“Yeah, pretty much. I haven't gone dancing in a long time, but I used to go with Seamus and Neville, right after school. We'd go every Wednesday night to a club called the Smart Bar. Inaptly named, as we acted about as stupidly as possible there, but it was a good time. Wanna play a song you like?”

Draco stalled by taking a sip of his drink. “You know I don't know much Muggle music.”

“Come on, what about your iPod?”

Draco had not been able to resist purchasing an iPod. They were sleek and shiny and almost surgically precise in their beauty. It was one thing that made him seriously reconsider his ingrained prejudice against Muggles. If they could come up with this, they couldn't be all bad.

An added bonus was that he'd gotten to spend hours with Harry due to his inability to use the thing. He hadn't even known you had to have a computer to put music on it. Harry had set him straight, though Draco had played dumb enough that Harry had agreed to go shopping with him and set it up. He also adored his MacBook and had secretly named it “Severus,” though Harry was never told of that.

“It's mostly your stuff. I just put it on shuffle."

“Yeah, but what do you like?” Harry had sat down on the sofa and sprawled there, long lean legs encased in jeans, shirt riding up and exposing a tiny amount of hair on his lower belly, smooth toned arms along the back of the couch. Draco looked away.

“I like… okay, how about this one?” He walked over to the stereo, hoping he could remember how to use the docking mechanism. iPod connected, he scrolled through his playlists and found a song that had a similar feel to the Daft Punk song.

“I like this one a lot. I listen to the album at the gym.”

He pressed play and felt his body responding to the beat. “It starts off slow but it builds up to this intense climax.”

“Oh yeah! Vitalic is brilliant!” Harry exclaimed as he leapt off the couch. “Hey get me a beer, would you?” he asked as he started dancing again. Draco laughed, feeling excited and uncomfortable.

“Not your house-elf, Potter; how many times do I have to remind you?”

“Yeah, yeah, just shut up and do it.” Harry grinned at him and continued to dance, closing his eyes.

“Only for you,” Draco muttered, smiling to himself as he went into the kitchen. Harry had made him get rid of the house-elves when he'd moved in, but Draco didn't mind. They'd been Pansy's idea in the first place.

He came back with a beer to the sight of Potter completely and totally lost in the music. He looked entirely too sexy in the full light of the living room lamps. Draco's first thought was to dim the lights so that he couldn't see Potter so clearly. He started dancing as well, keeping his back turned for the most part.

“Yeah, that's better,” Harry said. “Oh, what about this?” He waved his wand and suddenly the lights were flashing soft colors, as though they were in a club.

“Great,” said Draco, watching the lights play over Harry's face and skin. He got another drink, noticing the song was ending.

“'M gonna play another one. What do you want?"

The word “you” battered at the ramparts of Draco's mind, but he was steadfast.

“Don't care. Whatever."

“How about Usher?”

Draco took a huge swig and shrugged. He instantly knew what song Harry would play.

The familiar beat started pumping, and Draco felt a surge of anticipation through him. Gods, he loved this song. He could never help dancing when he heard it.

He was getting into the song and successfully preventing himself from watching Harry dance, when Harry started doing Ludacris' part. He sounded ridiculous, and Draco stopped dancing and stared for a moment in utter disbelief before laughing hysterically.

“Potter! Stop! My ears! My eyes!”

“Now bend over to the front, and touch your toes!” Harry winked at him and bent over, indeed touching his toes. His arse did a little shimmy and he straightened up, continuing, “Left the Jag and I took the Rolls, if they ain't cuttin' then I put 'em on foot patrol… Rowr, how you like me now…”

Draco, irritated by his response to seeing Potter's little display of theatrics, switched the stereo off. “You're ruining a perfectly good song with your antics, Potter. You are not an MC for the ages.” He smirked, hoping Potter wouldn't take offense, which he didn't.

Laughing, Harry said, “What, you think I don't have mad skills? I'm getting another beer to drown my sorrow.” He went into the kitchen, telling Draco to put on another song. Draco went over to the iPod and decided on something more mellow, randomly selecting a song from Moon Safari. He needed to cool down. Perhaps another shot of whiskey, with ice? Lots and lots of ice.

The song began to play, sultry and suggestive, and he realized his mistake. This song was called 'Sexy Boy'. He hurried over to change it, but Harry stopped him.

“Leave it on; I love this song,” he said, popping open his beer. “Want a joint?”

“Marijuana, Potter? How common,” Draco sneered as he went for the box under the divan.

Harry laughed, settling himself on the floor. “You love it and you know it. Give it over.” He reached for the box and looked up at Draco. Their eyes met for a long moment. Draco sat down a safe distance away and took yet another drink. He was going to be completely sozzled at this rate, but he didn't care.

He needed to put his conscious mind on hold, if he wanted to act naturally around Potter in this situation. The sight of Potter dancing had done terrible things to his libido and he was hoping copious amounts of whiskey would convince it that it wasn't interested in sex for awhile.

“I wish you would let me smoke cigarettes in here.”

“It's a filthy habit, Draco.”

“I could spell the odour away!” he whined. “Come on, just one! I promise! And also, it's my house!”

“Alright,” Harry said with a mocking tone of indulgence. “Just the one, though.” He smiled, concentrating on rolling the perfect spliff.

“Thanks ever so. Prat.” Draco fished his Gauloises out of his jacket and lit up, inhaling rapturously. “Gods, if my father had ever seen me do this, I'd have been AK'd instantly.”

“Joint's ready.”

“You go ahead.”

Harry lit up and inhaled, holding the smoke in. He'd picked up the habit while living with a Muggle girlfriend, briefly.

'Sexy Boy' ended, thank gods, and Harry got up to put another song on, handing the joint to Draco. He reluctantly placed his cigarette in the ashtray and lifted the joint to his lips. This was probably a bad idea, as drunk as he was, but he felt an impending sense that something was going to happen and he wanted to have something to blame it on.

“I have one you'll like,” Harry said, a mischievous look on his face that instantly filled Draco with prescient dread. Whatever song you're about to play, pick a different song, he pleaded silently with Harry.

He went back to smoking his cigarette, radiating a sang froid he did not feel.

The bouncing, insolent bass line of Lust for Life started up, and Draco knew what was coming next. He wished lightning to strike him dead on the spot. This was the song he'd done a striptease to, at Teddy's stag night.

“This sound familiar to you?” Harry smirked, and he shouldn't be allowed, because he didn't do it right; it didn't have enough animosity or irony or something. It was still hot, though.

Then he started stripping. It seemed playful, not as though he was making fun of Draco. But how playful could it be when that smolderingly sexy, dirty song was playing? It was about anal sex, for fuck's sake! Harry's hands had unbuttoned his shirt nearly all the way, and he was doing this little strut around the living room, much as Draco had done that apparently fateful evening. The tips of Harry's fingers were pushing down teasingly at the waistband of his jeans and Draco just couldn't take anymore.

“Very amusing, Potter, but I've got to go to the loo.” He got up and left the room before he could see whether Harry continued his performance. He was pretty high, after all, and had probably just been lost in the song.

Once safely hidden in the bathroom, Draco pressed on his engorged dick with the heel of his hand, willing it to go away. Apparently he hadn't drunk enough, and little Draco was still very much aware of the evening's entertainment. He knew he should just plead exhaustion and go to bed - Potter wouldn't be offended - but part of him had to see how far he'd gotten with the stripping. It might be his only chance to see Potter in the buff, after all.

To Draco's immense ambivalence, Harry was fully clothed when he returned, and picking out another song to play.

It turned out to be another Daft Punk song, one so exuberant and hopeful that it made Draco put aside the shame of the past few minutes. He was just starting to forget Harry's existence, getting lost in the rhythm of the music, when he felt Harry dancing very close to him. He sidled away without being obvious and continued to dance, now peeking furtively over at Harry to make sure they didn't come too close to each other.

Harry seemed completely out of it, and Draco felt a sudden stab of disappointment. He knew it was impossible, but he wanted Harry to be unable to keep his eyes off of him, the same way he was fighting to keep from looking at Harry.

He turned his back and kept dancing, and Harry bumped into him.

And then he felt Harry's hands on him, and then they were dancing together, Harry rubbing himself all along Draco's backside, hands wandering over his stomach and hips. As if in a dream, Draco turned and put his hands on Harry's waist and kept doing what he was doing, which was really rather suggestive.

Harry looked down between them and then slowly up to Draco's face, and before Draco knew what was happening, they were kissing. They were kissing. Harry kissed him and was still kissing him and seemed likely to go on kissing him indefinitely. Draco's world faded into a blissed out haze as hands slid up under shirts, shirts went over heads, trousers were unzipped, and all the while they were kissing furiously that glorious song was playing.

Harry dragged the two of them to the couch and pushed Draco down onto it. “'M gonna give you a blow job and then fuck you. Okay?”

Draco had no words - he just nodded.

His trousers were being tugged down, and he really wanted to keep his eyes open, wanted to see Harry's face as he looked at Draco's naked cock for the first time, touched it for the first time, but he was so drunk and so unaccountably shy. He was never shy.

Ohhh… He nearly mewled at the feel of Harry's mouth on him, sparing a moment of thanks to the whiskey for leaving enough sensation to enjoy this while also preventing him from coming too soon. His hips were wantonly bucking up towards Harry's face as he sucked and licked up and down Draco's shaft. He was good. It was too bad this was a drunken one-off.

All too soon, Draco was coming down Harry's throat, screaming his approval at the best blow job of his life (not in so many words, or in fact any), and then Harry was pulling him up and dragging him to the side of the couch. Draco turned in his grasp and tugged him in for a kiss- he wanted so badly to kiss Harry, and how sweet was it that he was going to taste himself in Harry's mouth?

Their tongues met and writhed against one another, lips sliding and it was messy but so, so wonderful. They broke apart, and Harry must have been very stoned to look so dazed; then again, Draco felt pretty dazed himself. He felt on the verge of spilling everything; he wanted Harry to know how amazing this was, how unbelievably fantastic it felt that this was finally happening, but thankfully Harry prevented that by gently turning him around and pulling his trousers all the way down, exposing his arse completely.

Harry made a sound of deep appreciation at the sight. Draco grinned as he bent over the arm of the couch, knowing that Harry was intending to fuck him over it. Harry, with surprising speed for a man so stoned, removed his jeans and knelt down to tongue Draco's arsehole, eliciting a drawn-out cry.

Harry's tongue dipped in and out of Draco's hole, swirling around the sensitive flesh and back in again til Draco was seriously concerned for Harry's eardrums and his own sanity. Seconds later, he felt a wandless lubrication charm and held his breath, vibrating with expectation. Harry's hands were on his hips, thumbs pulling his arsecheeks apart, and he felt an impressive erection probing him. Fuck yes.

What followed was the fucking of a lifetime. Of course, it wasn't just Harry's skill, which was considerable, but the fact that it was Harry. He eased himself into Draco with enough care not to hurt, but enough eagerness to be gratifying. Once he was fully seated, he pulled out just a little bit and pushed back in, repeating this a couple of times until Draco was begging him to just let go and fuck him already. To Draco's astonishment, Harry leaned over him and planted a lingering kiss on the side of his neck as he slowly picked up the pace.

Minutes later, Draco's hands were scrabbling for purchase on the couch cushions and Harry was pounding into him with a determination he usually reserved for Quidditch or defeating Dark Lords. It was so good... that Draco passed out.