Consequences of a bored mind

A/N: This plot(less) bunny attacked me after reading one of Hijja's fics, and simply wouldn't go away until I wrote it down. I hope it's satisfied, now.

Disclaimer: To the immense chagrin of my bank account, the boys belong to, among others, JK Rowling.

Spoilers: For some odd reason, I don't think *any* of this would ever happen inon. on.

Rating: Light NC-17. The pairing's not so hard to guess.

Dedicated: To the poor souls who've waited so long to see smut in HotO. This is totally unrelated.

***

Harry yawned, stretched, and blinked at the sunlight bathing the bed. It was only sunrise. He yawned again. He was bored. He was so very bored.

He hated holidays. Particularly when he had nothing to do. He stared longingly at the empty left side of the bed and wondered when the hell his partner was going to deign come back home. He stretched again, got up, and stared at the wardrobe, not knowing what to choose.

"And here I am, all alone, and the biggest decision I have to make is which set of robes I'm gonna wear. All thecauecause he didn't take me with him. Oh, he's going to pay." he picked a pair of trousers and a shirt at random, recalling his oh-so-loved one hated to see him in them, because "he didn't look like a proper wizard." "Serves him well." Harry thought, putting them on resolutely and stalking out of the bedroom.

Half an hour later, he was back in bed, staring at the ceiling, bored out of his life.

"When did he say he was coming back? Tomorrow?" he thought "He'll be on time to pick up my corpse." he rolled over, musing idly on how boredom would end up doing what Lord Voldemort hadn't managed in all his tries.

And thinking of Lord Voldemort... Harry rolled over again, recalling the first night he'd had with his partner. On this very bed. He smiled and lost himself in the memory.

The night when Lord Voldemort had left them. For good. The night Harry hadn't thought he'd survive. And from the look of things, the night be wouldn't survive, drowning as he was in the drinking, laughing, noisy crowd of friends determined to make history that night, and not only due to the defeat of the Dark Lord.

He was happy. He was joyous. He wasn't so hypocritical as to deny that. It was good to be able to make a plan and actually think he might live to see it come true. He hadn't had that chance in a long time. It was good to be free, to not feel the ever-impending pressure of having to kill the Dark Lord, before the Dark Lord killed him.

But one has a limit. And after some ten hours of cic cic celebration, Harry Potter had reached his. He wanted some peace. He wanted some proper conversation, wanted to be able to talk without having to shout, and above all, he wanted to sleep. The conversation could wait till after that. A nagging hangover was starting to show itself, and he really didn't want to make it worse by subjecting it to more drinking and more noise.

But then, a hushed voice had whispered to him "Had enough?" and he'd nodded, not quite able to see where the voice had come from. A split second later, the noise and the crowd were gone, and Harry was lying on his back, on a bed that had the very pleasant side effect of having been placed in a dark room, where there were no bright lights here and there to make his headache whine. He liked that bed.

A low chuckle came from his left, above him, when he sighed contentedly. "Comfortable?" the same voice whispered at him.

Harry lifted himself up on his el, an, and slurred "Where am I?", thinking maybe he shouldn't have had so much to drink.

"In a bed. My bed, to be precise."

"Are you gonna kill me?"

The voice chuckled again. "No, I don't intend to."

"Ohhh..." Harry slurred again. "That's unusual. Then...Am I here for any particular purpose? If I may ask, of course."

A pair of lips descended on his and a body pounced on him before the tiontion had even left his mouth properly.

"Give it a wild guess." the man - oh, definitely a man! -d, md, moving down to his jaw.

"Oh." Harry breathed out, stiffensomesomewhat.

The mouth left his chest to ask "Want to leave?" and fastened itself on it again.

"I don't...think...I do..." Harry gasped out, lying down again. What the hell. He was the reason why the whole of the wizarding world was celebrating, outside. He deserved a little careless celebration of his own.

Whoever it was that was feasting on his body hummed happily at that, and took it as a cue to dispose of Harry's clothing, while sliding up his body again to wrap him in a searing kiss that sent Harry's mind reeling. Well, maybe that was an aftereffect of the alcohol he had ingested. But he was still sure the curious hand that had insinuated itself between their bodies to grasp him had had a part to play in it.

Too tired to do much of anything, Harry settled by raking his hands lightly over the body that seemed so excited to serve as a living blanket to him. His wondering hands brought out a satisfactory ammount of sounds from the man's mouth, now nibbling at his neck, and Harry asked himself idly who was this person who wouldn't show himself to him. "Please, not Crabbe. Nor Goyle." he thought.

And that was Mr. Potter's last coherent thought for the evening, as the man chose that moment to slide downwards again and swallow him whole - and Harry found himself making a varied quantity of appreciating sounds himself, with particular emphasis on a certain keening noise he hadn't yet known his throat could produce, but that erupted from him repeatedly as the unknown man pounded into him, once and again, kissing him, embracing him, crushing him against the mattress and almost breaking the headboard against the wall with the force of his enthusiasm.

In retrospective, Harry thought blinking at the ceiling, as a celebratory night, it hadn't been at all bad. He just wished he could remember more of it. Well, he thought shrugging, he did recall, rather vividly, a moment somewhere in the third or fourth round, when the man's hair had tickled his back. Long hair, so it couldn't be Crabbe's, nor Goyle's. Harry remembered having giggled at the thought of a long-haired Crabbe and receiving a sharp smack on the bottom for that.

He only saw the man's face in the morning, when he'd woken up on a strange, if comfy, bed, with someone by his side, watching him intently.

He'd started at the first moment of recognition, but a strong arm draped across his t ant and a leg tangled with his didn't allow him to move much.

"Why didn't you show yourself?" he slurred with a blurry, sleepy voice, a headache drumming away inside his skull.

The man had chuckled and almost climbed on top of him again to whisper in his ear "Would you have wanted me, if I had?", teasing his earlobe lightly.

One thing Harry was quite sure of was that he hadn't left that bed that day. Nor the next.

***

Harry pouted at the ceiling, more irritated than ever. Now he was turned on, and didn't have anyone - well, no one of interest, at any rate - around to spend his energy with.

He got up, sighing heavily, and walked over to the large mirror in the adjacent room to try and tame his hair somewhat. It looked worse than usual, today. Must have had something to do with him pulling at it in impnce.nce.

Oh. The mirror. The same mirror that he'd been staring at on another similar occasion in which he'd been waiting, and waiting, and losing himself in memories, till a mouth had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, to fasten itself on his neck.

"You whine and snivel that you miss me, but when I'm right by your side you won't even see me. Not even with the aid of a mirror." a pouty voice whispered in his ear, while the voice's owner busied himself removing Harry's clothes. He was very spoiled, his significant other, Harry thought, moving his own hands behind his back, inside the man's robes.

"Well, if you're not happy with the reception..." he made to leave.

He'd barely moved an inch when he found himself spun around, pinned against the mirror and looking at a scowling face that gritted out:

"Another funny idea and I will have to make use of those handcuffs the Weasley girl gave us, young man."

"Is that a promise?"

The man had sighed in exasperation and kissed him thoroughly before drawling "Do behave and turn around, Mr. Potter, before your robes see and feel a lot more than they want to."

Nope...they hadn't made it to the bed, that time. They hadn't made it anywhere, actually. Unless Nirvana counted as a destination.

But no such luck today. The only face staring back at Harry's from the mirror was his own sullen one, and the silence was sepulchral. Sigh.

Harry wasted himself around the house until lunch, after which he thought he might as well do something useful, and went to search for a few delicate instruments he wanted to show his oh-so-precious one. Today he was impatient. Today, punishment was due.

He was shifting through a few item he'd bought on a whim half a month ago, when the distinct sound of footsteps downstairs caught his attention. No one else in that house dared take such noisy, bossy steps. So he was home early, was he?

Harry slipped a blindfold and two pairs of handcuffs - very muggle handcuffs - into his pocket and waltzed to the top of the stairs to greet the newcomer.

"Welcome home, love." he growled lustfully at his partner, shooting him the most menacing of glances. From the bottom of the stairs, a chin raised and a stare just as lustful, and possibly more menacing, matched his. The grey, dominating gaze of Lucius Malfoy.