Lipstick and Early Morning Screwdrivers

[kitschobrien]

            Starting the day off with orange juice was perfectly normal, healthy even. On the other hand, adding vodka to that orange juice might raise a few eyebrows. It might have even raised Harry Potter’s eyebrows, had he not been the one creating this Sunday morning cocktail. He’d spent the entire weekend pouring over a case; the price he paid for taking his job as an Auror so flipping seriously.  His neck had developed a crick due to being uncomfortably hunched over a desk for ludicrous periods of time. Moments like this made him wonder why he’d been so crazy about becoming an Auror in the first place. Voldemort had been a pushover compared to the sheer amount of paperwork which strained his tired eyes daily. Suffice to say, he’d needed something to lift his spirits. Scratching his arse and shuffling along, he plopped himself into a chair at the kitchen table with all the grace of a drugged elephant in a china shop, his tattered robe billowing behind him like a cheap imitation of Severus Snape’s.

He massaged his temple, glad to be finished with his report so he could get some well deserved sleep. He’d brought in the three ex-Death Eaters responsible for a string of recent murders with only his partner, none other than Ronald Weasley, as back up, but Kingsley Shacklebolt would not let him rest without handing in a sodding report. He’d always hated the worship included in the Boy Who Lived Experience, but he wished Kingsley would be infected with it every once in a while. Merlin, he could feel the beginning throbs of an epic headache.

And that was when the piano keys in the living room were struck loudly, a manic, modern piece coming to life. It could’ve been worthy of admiration, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was fucking 6:23AM. He stood, making his way to the living room to give his nuisance of a flatmate a piece of his mind.

The black, grand piano was situated in front of the large, bare window which allowed a good amount of sunlight in and offered a beautiful view of… the other fucking apartments in the area. As he’d expected, Draco Malfoy’s prissy, grey boxer brief-clad arse was making itself at home on the piano bench as its owner continued to create harmonious cacophony.

Why was Draco Malfoy Harry Potter’s flatmate? The answer was simple; Harry’s testimony at his trial had helped a great deal, but they’d still wanted to throw Malfoy in Azkaban for a year. One look at prim, poncy Malfoy made Harry certain that was a bad idea. He would feel responsible and guilty for Malfoy’s death by buggery. And so he’d suggested house arrest. Of course the Malfoy estate had been seized so there was no house for him to be trapped in, and the judge smarmily pointed that out. So, Harry, ever the benevolent jackass, suggested Malfoy serve the house arrest in his flat for one year, after all, who better to keep an eye on evil Death Eater spawn than the Golden Boy?

…And so Harry had no one to blame for his fate, something which Ron helpfully pointed out to him every day whether he’d complained about Malfoy or not. Living with Malfoy was an absolute horror. You’d think the irritating prat would’ve been grateful, but no; he carried out passive aggressive campaigns to drive Harry batty. It was a good thing he’d been disallowed from practicing magic for the duration of his punishment; otherwise he would wreak havoc on Harry’s life with his wand. Malfoy’s main method of arseholery was pranks-hiding Harry’s things, smearing jelly onto the soles of his shoes, playing piano at ungodly hours... He also walked around in nothing but fancy dress shirts and boxer briefs, which was maddening in an entirely different way.

When Harry had subtly and politely suggested he make himself decent, Malfoy had arrogantly smirked and said, “See something you like, Potter?”

Harry would’ve liked to say ‘no’, but that would’ve been a giant lie, and he was no good at lying. So he’d dropped the conversation and let it remain buried. Honestly, he would’ve never have expected to find Malfoy attractive. He’d always viewed him as the bony, pointy git he’d been at Hogwarts, and while he was still thin, Harry hadn’t expected a nice, round bum and long, well shaped legs to be a part of the package. Even Malfoy’s face had the audacity to become elegant and angular, instead of obnoxiously pointed.

Not surprisingly, such astute observations of Malfoy’s physique led to Harry’s confusion about his own sexuality. He and Ginny were no longer an official item, but they’d remained friends, friends who sometimes ended up shagging like mad. The frequency of these shags increased when Malfoy moved in with him. He liked to assume those two things were totally unrelated. However, Harry was certain Malfoy was queer. He’d gained that knowledge firsthand a week after Malfoy moved in and he’d allowed Zabini a pity visit, a visit which turned conjugal on the kitchen table. Suffice to say, that was the end of visiting hours. Malfoy’s parents were in hiding, so they’d never come looking for him, and no one else stopped by. Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. Zabini stopped by a few times, resulting in Harry slamming the door in his handsome face. He wasn’t angered by the idea of Malfoy fucking someone. No, definitely not. He simply did not want any more of his furniture tainted by ferret fluids.

“Good morning, Potter,” Malfoy’s voice brought him back to reality. He’d become so wrapped up in his thoughts that he had been standing in the middle of the living room with a faraway expression for god knows how long. “You’re up early.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “I’d love to be in bed, believe it or not. But some inconsiderate arsehole has been disturbing the peace with horrid music. Can you believe someone would do such a thing?”

“Horrid?” Malfoy, ever the prideful git, appeared affronted.

“Bloody horrid,” Harry affirmed, taking a sip of his screwdriver.

“I’ll have you know that I have been classically trained since I was four,” Malfoy rose to his feet, his dress shirt long enough to cover his underwear so that it looked as though he was wearing only the shirt. Harry rather liked that image for some terribly wrong reason.

“Yes, well forgive me for not showering you with praise at fucking 6AM,” Harry’s sarcasm was scathing.

“I’ll forgive you on account of your shoddy upbringing,” Malfoy’s sarcasm dismembered Harry’s.

“…Good.”

“Why don’t we call a truce, Potter? I’ll even make you tea.”

“You said that your first morning here. I caught you spitting in it, remember?”

“Let bygones be bygones, Potter,” Malfoy’s know-it-all tone and subsequent eye rolling reminded Harry so much of Hermione for those few seconds. It was quite unnerving.

“Well, can we finish making amends later? I’m going to bed,” Harry said, placing his almost-empty glass on the table.

Malfoy sauntered closer with a suspicious frown, and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when that pointy nose sniffed at him.

“You’ve been drinking? The sun’s barely up. How undignified,” he shook his head haughtily, his unstyled, platinum hair falling strangely appealingly into his face.

“Whatever. No more piano playing until I wake up,” Harry pivoted, ready to make a beeline toward his bedroom when thin fingers wrapped themselves around his wrist.

“I promise I won’t do anything sneaky for the entire week if you do me a favour,” Malfoy widened his eyes in an attempt to be imploring.

Harry opened his mouth, leaving it hanging stupidly as he became a wee bit lost in those pretty, grey eyes.

“Well?”

“Huh?” smartly replied Harry.

“You haven’t given me an answer…” it was the tone one used when speaking to an imbecile.

It took Harry a few moments to figure out what Malfoy was talking about. While he took a trip down short term memory lane, Malfoy swiped his vodka and orange off the coffee table and downed the remainder.

“Why would I want to do anything with you?” the cutting edge of Harry’s answer was dulled quite a bit on account of being embarrassingly delayed.

“Why shouldn’t we get to know each other? I’ve been here for two months. We can’t keep this up for another ten.”

“You had no problem making me miserable for six years at school.”

“We’re mature adults now, aren’t we?”

Harry sighed. He supposed Malfoy had a point. “Alright…”

“Fantastic. Meet me in my bedroom in five minutes,” Malfoy offered him a small, pleased smile as he flounced off in the direction of his quarters, offering Harry a very nice view of his bouncing arse.

Harry headed back to the kitchen; he needed more vodka if he was going to willingly spend ‘bonding’ time with his distractingly pretty rival.

This was the first time Harry had stepped foot in the guest bedroom since Malfoy moved in. It looked just as Spartan as it always did, with a few personal touches such as the hairbrush and the vial of gel on the dresser and the… mauve makeup kit on the bed nestled between Malfoy’s pale thighs…

“What are you doing with that?” Harry looked at the thing curiously, with its many compartments of powdery, coloured dust, varying sized brushes, and entirely too many drawers and mirrors. “Is this some kind of prank, Malfoy?”

“Call me ‘Draco’; I think we should be on a first name basis given the circumstances,” Draco patted the bed. “Sit down, Harry.”

“Er… okay,” Harry could feel his cheeks warm. “So, what are you doing with that makeup…?”

“Well, I’ve been dreadfully bored and lonely as of late... I ran out of things to do while you’re at work, and then I found this hidden away in a closet. I’ve become quite good at applying it, too. It got me thinking about how you’d look with the right makeup…”

Harry gawked disbelievingly. Draco Malfoy played with makeup all day in his bedroom to pass the time? Actually, that wasn’t too shocking; he’d always been a vain boy, not to mention he was a bit on the effeminate side. He probably jumped around on his bed, singing Spice Girls songs into his hairbrush, too. Harry couldn’t stifle the roaring laughter he let out for all the tea in China.

“It’s no joke, Pot-Harry! It’s an art form,” Draco raised his chin with a snobbish air only a spoilt brat could aspire to.

“You’ve gone barmy if you think I’m letting you get any of that shite near me,” Harry chuckled as he sat.

“Oh, be a sport! I just confessed this embarrassing thing to you, and you’re throwing it back in my face. It’s not like you let anyone visit me; I’ve seen you throw Blaise out on his arse, you know. This is the least you can do!”

Harry pursed his lips, feeling accountable against his better judgement. He knew what it was like to be locked up and alone… He’d never thought Malfoy-no, Draco, would’ve been lonely beneath his prickly, slightly insane façade. Great, now he felt absolutely rotten. Damn his Gryffindor nature, damn it to Hell.

“Well, alright,” Harry paused when he saw the devious, little smirk on his flatmate’s face. Fucking gorgeous, manipulative bastard…  “But I don’t trust you yet… You put some on yourself first. For all I know you could’ve sprinkled pepper in the eye… crud.”

Draco raised a fair eyebrow. “Eye crud?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Doesn’t the Weaselette wear makeup for you?”

“Yes, but it’s not like we discuss it! Besides, Ginny and I aren’t together anymore.”

“I see. So you two are just fucking, then?”

Harry had a blush to rival a nun’s in a sex shop. “Will you just put on the bloody makeup so I can get to bed at a reasonable hour?”

“Most people would think it’s actually more appropriate for waking up, but since you asked nicely…”  Draco pulled open one of the little drawers, producing a tube of cherry red lipstick. He carefully uncapped it and applied the red pigment to his upper lip, starting in the centre and moving toward one corner. He then brought it back to the centre and ran it toward the other corner. He did the same on his bottom lip and then pulled one of the tissues from the box behind him, folding it in half before pressing it between his lips.

The end result was perfectly coloured, plump, red lips; lips way too desirable to belong to a male. The red contrasted stunningly with Draco’s pale complexion, making his mouth that much more noticeable. Shite. He hadn’t expected Malfoy to look so… good. He was supposed to look like a horrible drag queen… And it was then that Harry realised those sinful lips were moving.

“Are you listening to me? Don’t tell me you’re that disgusted,” Draco tilted his head to one side, his hair tumbling delicately into his bewitching eyes.

Harry’s eyes drifted from Draco’s face to his spread, creamy thighs. Honestly, he was having a bit of difficulty speaking; much too busy trying to stave off his homosexually-inclined erection. He was horrified when he virtually saw the light bulb going off over Draco’s head.

“You’re blushing, and there’s a bit of drool running down your chin. Do you like blond boys in lipstick? Thinking about how the red would smear at the base of your prick after I gave you head?” that tone was as seductive as it was taunting.

“Uh…” Harry cleared his throat. That had been exactly what he was thinking. “I’m not gay.”

“At the very least, you’re curious. I’ve seen how you look at me.”

“It’s not my fault you walk around with your arse hanging out all day. How am I supposed to ignore that?” Harry said lamely.

“How do you explain that jealous gleam in your eyes whenever Blaise comes round?”

Unfortunately for Harry, he hadn’t heard that question; he’d been staring at Draco’s mouth again. “Huh?”

“I think we can come to an agreement, Harry,” his name rolled off Draco’s tongue in an almost vulgar manner, “You can experiment with your sexuality, and I can get rid of this awful case of blue balls. No one will find out. Don’t tell me you don’t want to.”

As if operated by a foreign force, Harry leaned forward, longing to press his lips against Draco’s. However, a found himself kissing Draco’s palm.

“I’m not that easy, Potter.”

“But you just offered!” Harry sat back on his haunches, already getting frustrated and feeling more than a little foolish.

“The offer still stands, AFTER I finish your makeup,” and with that Draco started fishing around in the makeup kit.

“I don’t think I’ll look as pretty as you in lipstick…” Harry frowned, watching Draco’s fingers ghost over a tube of black lipstick.

“I’m flattered you think I’m pretty,” Draco laughed, and Harry found Draco’s laughter was rather charming when it was free of malice and sex was on the table. “Your face has a more rugged shape, square jaw line and all that malarkey. And you’ve got dark stubble growing in. I don’t want to make you look like a bad transvestite.”

“You’d make a sexy transvestite,” Harry blamed the vodka for that god-awful attempt at getting in Draco’s swanky boxer briefs.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

A few moments later, Draco produced a black eyeliner pencil.

“Close your eyes and try not to move too much,” he instructed as he carefully removed Harry’ glasses.

Harry complied somewhat reluctantly, wondering why sex made him stupid enough to go to such ridiculous lengths. It was weird and uncomfortable having the pencil on his eyelid, so he had to try his damnedest to keep his eye closed. Just when he thought it was over, Draco repeated the process on the other one.

“You can open your eyes.”

“Are you done now?” Harry asked a bit excitedly.

“No, not yet; it’s time for the eye shadow.”

“You’re a right tease…”

“Stop being a baby.”

Draco selected a big brush, dipping it into some cream powder. He told Harry to close his eyes again as he feathered the powder onto his eyelids. This was followed by grey and purple powders being applied with smaller brushes. He fussed with this for five minutes, driving at full speed toward bloody insanity.

“Ah, time for one more touch,” Draco bit his bottom lip as he concentrated on following the shape of Harry’s eyes with black, liquid liner. When he was done, he leaned back a little to get a good look. “And we’re finished.”

He accepted the mirror Draco handed him, thankful for his current half-blindness so he wouldn’t see how ghastly he looked. He was surprised to (sort of) see how… good it looked. He had that whole smoky-eyed thing Muggle rock stars were doing nowadays. It actually worked with his shaggy, perpetually messy hair. Most importantly, he still looked very much masculine.

“Do you like it, or do you love it? I knew it’d make the stunning green of your eyes even more enthralling,” Draco went red around the ears when he said this.

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” he admitted, putting his glasses back on. “I don’t think I’ll make it a habit, though.”

“I think it looks hot. I’m sure your fan club would agree,” Draco shrugged.

With a wordless, wandless spell, the makeup kit disappeared from its spot between Draco’s legs, allowing Harry to pounce freely in its place. Draco fell onto his back, startled to find Harry on top of him.

“Impressive abuse of magic,” he quipped.

There was no reply. Harry wasted little time in meshing their lips together, savouring the taste of lipstick and Malfoy. He buried his hands in the fine, blond strands, pulling on it to control Draco’s movements as he saw fit. Their tongues rubbed together aggressively and their teeth occasionally clicked. It was raucous and almost violent, and perfect for those reasons. It was nothing like the gentle way he kissed Ginny. He revelled in the quiet moaning sounds Draco made as he explored his mouth, particularly the ones the blond made when he sucked on his upper lip.

“Do you still want me to suck your dick?” Draco asked between kisses.

That was enough to make Harry sit back up and quickly remove his robe, T-shirt, and ugly, plaid pyjama bottoms. His body wasn’t like Draco’s; he was built stockier, his skin not particularly tan but it sure as fuck looked that way compared to Draco’s cocaine flesh.

He lied back on his elbows, watching with a dazed expression as Draco crawled between his legs, grasping his eager erection in his finely manicured hands. Seeing those white fingers around his dark arousal, cherry lips hovering above, was entirely too much for patience to handle. Draco stuck his tongue out, dragging the pink muscle from base to tip in a long, lazy lick.

“Quit teasing,” Harry reached over and pulled on a fistful of whitish blond hair.

“Fuck! That hurts, you brute,” Draco complained, batting Harry’s hand away. Harry loosened his grip, but he couldn’t fight the fact that it was hot pulling on Draco’s hair that way… hot and savage. Ginny would’ve probably stormed out if he’d tried that with her, unlike Draco who complied and took his throbbing cock into his mouth.

Draco sucked cock like a whore; shamelessly and like a trained professional. His technique was flawless. His tongue massaged the underbelly of Harry’s prick while he worked his lips and mouth up and down, creating a flurry of delicious sensations. Harry bucked his hips violently when he felt Draco’s tongue prodding the sensitive glans beneath the head. He shoved Draco’s head down until he’d swallowed him completely. He used Draco’s hair as a reign to keep his head in place as he ruthlessly fucked his mouth. Draco obviously liked the rough treatment; his moans created a maddening vibration around Harry’s shaft.

“Oh God, I can’t hold back anymore,” Harry panted. Less than a second later, he came hard down Draco’s throat, squeezing his eyes shut as he rode out his orgasm.

When Harry finally released his hair, Draco pulled Harry’s cock out with a lewd ‘pop!’ “I think I’m going to develop a bald spot if you keep that up!” his voice was huskier and his lips swollen and even redder.

Most of the lipstick had smeared onto the corners of his mouth. Harry looked down at his cock, and sure enough there was a smudged ring of red at the root, as well as a few splotches at random places along the column.

“Sorry,” Harry’s lopsided grin was anything but apologetic.

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Potter,” Draco’s fingers were making quick work of unbuttoning his black shirt. “I can’t wait to see if you fuck like that, too.”

“Where on earth did you learn to talk so dirty?” Harry pushed Draco onto his back once more. “Lift your hips.”

Draco appeared dubious, but he did as asked. Harry swiftly helped him out of his tight boxer briefs, the crotch of which had telltale wet spots. Draco’s erection sprang free, slapping itself against the pale abdomen. It definitely looked like it belonged on Draco; it was a bit longer than average and thin. It looked bigger than it was due to Malfoy’s slender frame. Harry took a few seconds to appreciate the sight before him.

“Any time today would be grand,” Draco muttered.

“I don’t think I have any lube…”

“There’s spit all over your cock. I’m not a virgin. Hurry up!”

“Bossy. Get on your fours. You’ve been showing off your arse for months now, I want to watch while I fuck it.”

One position change later found Harry marvelling at Draco perfect, pert, white buttocks. Draco’s arse was up in the air, his weight braced on his forearms. Harry spread the firm cheeks apart, letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding when he saw the tiny, pink entrance begging to be breached. It looked so tight… Was spit really enough? His cock throbbed and his stomach ached, telling him to bloody get on with it already. He spit into his hand, hastily smearing the glob onto himself. He rested one hand on Draco’s lower back and used the other to guide himself.

“Oh!” Draco gasped as he felt the wet, blunt head rub behind his scrotum, slowly making its way up to his hole.

Harry smirked at that reaction. He had inkling that would’ve felt good. Finally, he pushed his way inside Draco’s body. The tight heat made his eyes roll into the back of his head as he pushed past the first ring of muscle. Draco had tensed at first, but he was quickly relaxing, making the entry smoother. It wasn’t long until Harry was completely inside him.

“So tight,” Harry whispered.

“Hurry up! We can do this slowly some other time,” Draco wriggled his hips.

That was all Harry needed to hear. He was slamming into Draco like a madman, using so much force that Draco’s arse jiggled. Draco was screaming and moaning like a two-bit hooker beneath him, pushing back eagerly to meet every thrust. It was incredible to watch how Draco Malfoy became undone during sex. There was no hint of his aristocratic upbringing; he was passionate, wild, and totally uninhibited. Harry regretted not being able to see his face; it must’ve been the most erotic vision he would ever see. He never wanted this to end.

They rutted like animals for the next ten minutes, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud in the small bedroom. Harry had forgotten all about the damn makeup until he felt it running down his sweaty face. He was most surprised when he heard Draco cry his name out, the tight muscles contracting almost painfully around his prick, bringing him to his own climax.

Harry rolled onto his back, more than a little baffled as Draco collapsed next to him.

“Merlin, Potter, you made me cum without touching myself… Are you sure this is the first time you’ve been with a man?”

“Yeah…”

“Must you be so bloody good at everything?” Draco chuckled.

Harry’s eyes were once again drawn to Draco’s lips. “You look like a beaten up prostitute with that smeared lipstick.”

“So do you, actually. Your eye makeup ran.”

These observations weren’t particularly witty, nor were they outstandingly hilarious, but the two men erupted into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. The whole situation was so insane. As the mirth died down, Harry felt instantly tired, soon succumbing to the well deserved sleep he’d wanted all along with a skinny blond in his arms.

When he awoke, the bed was empty, but he could hear the shower in the distance so he didn’t feel too badly. The clock on the wall read 3 o’clock. He yawned and stretched, contemplating joining Draco in the shower. Hmm. Something didn’t feel quite right…

He looked down at his torso and saw it was completely covered with crude, cartoon penises drawn in purple lipstick and cherry red lipstick kisses.

…For once, he couldn’t bring himself to be miffed by Draco’s pranks. However, this seemed like the perfect catalyst to try out a spanking fantasy he’d once entertained…