StockingFiller Fic: Some days are better than others
I'm working on my Masterlist, and I figured that what I needed to do to make it work was repost the fics I wrote for hd_seasons last Christmas. So here's the first one (of two)!
Title: Some days are better than others
Author: lullabylily
Rating: R
Word Count: 2000
Summary: Draco Malfoy is drinking away Christmas Eve in the Leaky Cauldron. Until Harry Potter interrupts his solitary evening…
A/N: Eternal thanks to my beta; celestlyn!!!
Written for hd_seasons as a StockingFiller for vaysh11 who wanted traumatized from the war Draco, sex in the Leaky's toilets and curry ^^.
I had a lot of fun writing this!
Some days are better than others
Draco hated firewhisky. He’d hated it ever since he’d smelled it on his father’s breath after he came home after that first time in Azkaban. Draco came to associate it with weakness, cowardice and hurt. But now, he himself swallowed the colourless liquid with a greediness that was distasteful. He let it burn his throat and numb his senses.
Draco frequented this particular table at the Leaky Cauldron. Here, people didn’t notice when he flinched at sudden cries, at sharp movements or when a glass shattered on the floor. Here, people didn’t care that his eyes were glassy and unfocussed and that he muttered under his breath after he’d drunk too much.
The table was far from the fire crackling merrily, far away from the rumbling laughter. Christmas. Yes. It had to be that time of the year.
And so it happened that on most nights Draco scarcely spoke two words or was spoken to in anything but a grunt. The barman no longer asked him what he wanted to drink and they communicated only through the exchange of galleons, sickles and knots for liquid.
Sometimes the monotony was broken. On some nights there was Potter.
At first, Draco assumed he was in trouble; when Auror Potter started frequenting the Leaky. He knew the Cauldron was as near to the Ministry as any London café, but it was the way in which Harry kept looking at Draco from the corner of his eye. Draco knew what it felt like to be watched, even when the person watching him did not want the fact to be known. One night he’d decided to simply walk up to Potter and confront him. It was drink-induced courage, but that was beside the point.
"Am I doing something illegal, Potter?"
Potter had pretended not to know what Draco was talking about. Had pretended he hadn’t noticed Draco had always been there, in that particular corner. And Draco, truth to be told, was too drunk to argue with the saviour of the wizarding world.
Too drunk to understand how they’d ended up in the loo together later that night. Draco was sure it was Potter’s doing; the latter having the best shot since he was still sober. Or at least Draco thought Potter was sober. His breath didn’t smell like alcohol. And Draco had had plenty of time to smell Potter’s breath when the man had panted right into his face as hands stroked the both of them to completion.
Draco was even more surprised when ending up in the loo with Potter turned out not to be a one-time occurrence. It happened again, much sooner than Draco would have ever dared to anticipate. It happened again even when Draco was still sober. Perhaps that was the greatest shock of all. He was able to look at Potter and feel aroused even without the white mist hanging in his head.
Potter was full of contradictions. He blushed, a guilty look on his face. He fumbled with his clothing and his hand on Draco’s neck was tentative and shy, fingers getting tangled in the slightly curly locks.
And yet there was a determination about him; a sudden outburst of efficiency when casting a silencing charm on their cubicle. There was an unmistakable eagerness in the way he took Draco’s fingers in his mouth and sucked.
He was almost commanding when he told Draco to fuck him.
But reeling in the aftermath, he would stumble again. He would watch Draco with an unreadable expression while Draco attempted to even his breathing, conscious of that disenchanted gaze fixed upon him. They always parted wordlessly, with no promise for tomorrow. But there always was a tomorrow. Whether it was the next day, week or month. Potter always knew to find Draco in The Leaky Cauldron.
But that night Draco was surprised to see Harry Potter stumbling into the Leaky, looking rushed and tired, rings under his eyes and his clothes rumpled.
"What are you doing here, Potter," Draco said when Harry approached his table. "Isn’t it Christmas or something?"
Harry stared at him. "Or something? You don’t know the date, Malfoy?"
Draco just shrugged.
Harry leaned forward; "The upstairs bathrooms… Too many people down here. Five minutes."
It wasn’t even a question. Draco hated that he liked it that way. He didn’t nod. Harry disappeared from sight. Draco heard the creaks on the stairs above his head and inside of him he started the countdown. Five minutes.
Ten minutes later (Malfoys always liked to keep people waiting), Draco was leaning languidly against the door, his eyes fixed on Harry, who was securing the silencing spells. Draco took in his tired demeanour, the London dirt beneath his fingernails. Harry was wearing his Auror robes, which meant he must have gone to the Leaky straight after work.
"I want to kiss you." Harry stated.
It didn’t really take Draco by surprise. Harry had never shown any scruples about expressing what pleased him sexually. And yet. There was a yearning in his eyes, a hunger. The eyes weren’t just tearing away layers of clothing but layers of his mind, of his soul as well.
Draco wanted to say yes. He did want to feel those lips on his own. He knew those lips felt good on his neck, on his thighs, on his cock…
"‘Why?" he asked instead.
A flash of hurt wrote itself over Harry’s tired features. "Oh fuck it, Malfoy!"
He turned away and for a moment Draco thought he would leave the cubicle. He could already feel the emptiness Harry’s departure would bring. But the Auror didn’t leave.
The tiny space suddenly felt cramped and the presence of Potter uncomfortably near.
"Do you want a shag or not?"
Draco wanted to sound harsh and business-like, but he only really sounded hoarse.
Harry turned to him, his gaze still full of expression, yet unreadable at the same time.
"Yes." He said finally. "‘Yes. I want you. I always want you."
Harry’s hands clawed at Draco’s clothes and heat rushed over Draco’s body and not just in the southern areas.
"You drive me crazy." Harry muttered, and he groaned when Draco’s thumb brushed over his nipple.
Moments later, Draco was sucking him off with a passion. As if he was trying to make up for something, trying to make amends for refusing that open-hearted plea earlier. The semen splashing down his throat tasted like forgiveness, but only for a moment.
Neither of them managed to last long that night. It seemed the holiday spirit was making them both even more desperate.
Short as their actual coupling had been, they remained in the cubicle long afterwards, quietly staring at one another. Draco felt like he should say something like, ‘I should go.’ But he really had no place better to be.
Finally, Harry spoke those very words. With some final adjustments to his uniform, he turned to leave.
"Wait."
Harry effectively stopped opening the door. Draco felt blood rush to his head.
"Don’t go just yet."
Harry turned to stare at him blankly. "Why?"
"Why are you here? On Christmas Eve?"
Draco didn’t know why answering a question with a question had seemed like a good idea. Harry looked annoyed.
"I don’t care about Christmas Eve. I was working the late shift and I just wanted to see you."
Draco met Harry’s gaze, the longing in it making him feel even more drunk than he already was. He felt like he should say something. Something like, ‘I’m really happy you came to see me tonight,’ but the words died somewhere in this throat, a thick knot preventing him from swallowing them down. So they remained stuck there, slowly choking him.
Harry reached and grabbed the collar of his ruffled robes with both hands. He pulled Draco towards him, pulling their faces close, their mouths even closer.
They had never kissed before. Not like this; with lip and tongue, stroking and sucking. Draco let all those sensations wash over him; the taste of Harry’s mouth, the persistence of his tongue, the stinging scrapes of his teeth…
Harry broke off the kiss abruptly and Draco leaned in closer, to capture that mouth again with his, to continue what Harry had started. He could feel Harry smile into his mouth.
It’d been long since he’d kissed like this, perhaps not ever. So unaware was he, of their uncomfortable position, the cold porcelain of the toilet digging against his shaking legs; Harry’s glasses almost knocking his eyes out and the buckles on his Auror uniform pressing painfully against his ribs. All of that didn’t really register.
"You taste funny," Draco said, after finally breaking the kiss minutes later.
Harry flushed scarlet in what was clearly embarrassment. "What?"
"What have you eaten tonight?" Draco asked.
"Oh…," Harry looked at Draco uncertain. "Erm… Indian food. Curry."
Draco leaned in again, his tongue languidly licking over Harry’s, exploring and now fully recognizing the slightly spicy taste.
He broke the kiss again and whispered, "Muggle take-away food. Hardly an acceptable meal for a holiday."
Harry didn’t reply straight away, letting out a shuddering breath first. "Says the man that has been living on firewhisky the entire evening."
But Draco just smiled. "I’ll have you know the house-elves at Malfoy Manor are still quite capable of producing a feast suitable for a holiday such as this. All it takes is snap of my fingers."
It had been ages since he’d last boasted about the Malfoy prosperity. It didn’t ring true anymore, even though it still was. But the image of the Malfoy's great dining table filled with turkey, dauphin potatoes and different kinds of pudding for only him to eat was a sad one and Draco hoped that wasn’t the image Potter was seeing when he looked at him.
The way Potter was staring at him, all pity and confusion, Draco was fairly sure that was exactly the scene he was imagining.
"My treat?" Draco said weakly. It was a ridiculous attempt to restore the balance in his favour. It used to work all the time at Hogwarts. Whenever he got any other reaction than sheer admiration and worship to his boasts, he would resort to plan B: give them a share (albeit a tiny share) of that wealth.
"You’re treating what, Malfoy? Dinner?"
It was like a shift, a click, like the clock-hands of his inner watch reaching the moment where all bells would be set off together. It was like a vision that would have made Sibil Trelawney proud. He knew where this was going, where this had to be going.
"Not dinner, Potter." Draco sneaked a hand on Harry’s neck. "A feast," he said in a voice that was trying to be soft and seductive. "We can eat in my room. And as a reward, you can warm that large four-poster bed of mine. It’s dreadfully chilly this time of year."
Harry’s eyes widened comically behind his glasses. "You… you…"
Draco knew that the sly curling of his leg around Harry’s waist was doing nothing to improve the Auror’s eloquence.
"You want me to go home with you?" Harry managed finally.
"If you want."
"You want to have dinner with me?"
Dinner and sex. Yes. That part was clear-cut, the way their relationship always was. And then again it wasn’t. It was something entirely different from getting off in a cubicle.
It was something more. And Draco wanted it. Now. He tightened his grip around Harry while his other hand reached for his wand. "Say the magic word and I’ll apparate us there straight away."
It was silent for a while. Draco braced himself to hear a string of excuses or just a flat-out no. But then he heard it. Clear as crystal: "Please…"
Draco laughed, his voice echoing off the stone, slightly slimy walls of the Leaky’s upstairs loo.
Some days were the same old. Some days were better than others. Some days were exceptional; they were the days that change was tangible in the air. They smelled like hope. And from that day on, for Draco, they would always smell like Christmas.
Title: Some days are better than others
Author: lullabylily
Rating: R
Word Count: 2000
Summary: Draco Malfoy is drinking away Christmas Eve in the Leaky Cauldron. Until Harry Potter interrupts his solitary evening…
A/N: Eternal thanks to my beta; celestlyn!!!
Written for hd_seasons as a StockingFiller for vaysh11 who wanted traumatized from the war Draco, sex in the Leaky's toilets and curry ^^.
I had a lot of fun writing this!
Some days are better than others
Draco hated firewhisky. He’d hated it ever since he’d smelled it on his father’s breath after he came home after that first time in Azkaban. Draco came to associate it with weakness, cowardice and hurt. But now, he himself swallowed the colourless liquid with a greediness that was distasteful. He let it burn his throat and numb his senses.
Draco frequented this particular table at the Leaky Cauldron. Here, people didn’t notice when he flinched at sudden cries, at sharp movements or when a glass shattered on the floor. Here, people didn’t care that his eyes were glassy and unfocussed and that he muttered under his breath after he’d drunk too much.
The table was far from the fire crackling merrily, far away from the rumbling laughter. Christmas. Yes. It had to be that time of the year.
And so it happened that on most nights Draco scarcely spoke two words or was spoken to in anything but a grunt. The barman no longer asked him what he wanted to drink and they communicated only through the exchange of galleons, sickles and knots for liquid.
Sometimes the monotony was broken. On some nights there was Potter.
At first, Draco assumed he was in trouble; when Auror Potter started frequenting the Leaky. He knew the Cauldron was as near to the Ministry as any London café, but it was the way in which Harry kept looking at Draco from the corner of his eye. Draco knew what it felt like to be watched, even when the person watching him did not want the fact to be known. One night he’d decided to simply walk up to Potter and confront him. It was drink-induced courage, but that was beside the point.
"Am I doing something illegal, Potter?"
Potter had pretended not to know what Draco was talking about. Had pretended he hadn’t noticed Draco had always been there, in that particular corner. And Draco, truth to be told, was too drunk to argue with the saviour of the wizarding world.
Too drunk to understand how they’d ended up in the loo together later that night. Draco was sure it was Potter’s doing; the latter having the best shot since he was still sober. Or at least Draco thought Potter was sober. His breath didn’t smell like alcohol. And Draco had had plenty of time to smell Potter’s breath when the man had panted right into his face as hands stroked the both of them to completion.
Draco was even more surprised when ending up in the loo with Potter turned out not to be a one-time occurrence. It happened again, much sooner than Draco would have ever dared to anticipate. It happened again even when Draco was still sober. Perhaps that was the greatest shock of all. He was able to look at Potter and feel aroused even without the white mist hanging in his head.
Potter was full of contradictions. He blushed, a guilty look on his face. He fumbled with his clothing and his hand on Draco’s neck was tentative and shy, fingers getting tangled in the slightly curly locks.
And yet there was a determination about him; a sudden outburst of efficiency when casting a silencing charm on their cubicle. There was an unmistakable eagerness in the way he took Draco’s fingers in his mouth and sucked.
He was almost commanding when he told Draco to fuck him.
But reeling in the aftermath, he would stumble again. He would watch Draco with an unreadable expression while Draco attempted to even his breathing, conscious of that disenchanted gaze fixed upon him. They always parted wordlessly, with no promise for tomorrow. But there always was a tomorrow. Whether it was the next day, week or month. Potter always knew to find Draco in The Leaky Cauldron.
But that night Draco was surprised to see Harry Potter stumbling into the Leaky, looking rushed and tired, rings under his eyes and his clothes rumpled.
"What are you doing here, Potter," Draco said when Harry approached his table. "Isn’t it Christmas or something?"
Harry stared at him. "Or something? You don’t know the date, Malfoy?"
Draco just shrugged.
Harry leaned forward; "The upstairs bathrooms… Too many people down here. Five minutes."
It wasn’t even a question. Draco hated that he liked it that way. He didn’t nod. Harry disappeared from sight. Draco heard the creaks on the stairs above his head and inside of him he started the countdown. Five minutes.
Ten minutes later (Malfoys always liked to keep people waiting), Draco was leaning languidly against the door, his eyes fixed on Harry, who was securing the silencing spells. Draco took in his tired demeanour, the London dirt beneath his fingernails. Harry was wearing his Auror robes, which meant he must have gone to the Leaky straight after work.
"I want to kiss you." Harry stated.
It didn’t really take Draco by surprise. Harry had never shown any scruples about expressing what pleased him sexually. And yet. There was a yearning in his eyes, a hunger. The eyes weren’t just tearing away layers of clothing but layers of his mind, of his soul as well.
Draco wanted to say yes. He did want to feel those lips on his own. He knew those lips felt good on his neck, on his thighs, on his cock…
"‘Why?" he asked instead.
A flash of hurt wrote itself over Harry’s tired features. "Oh fuck it, Malfoy!"
He turned away and for a moment Draco thought he would leave the cubicle. He could already feel the emptiness Harry’s departure would bring. But the Auror didn’t leave.
The tiny space suddenly felt cramped and the presence of Potter uncomfortably near.
"Do you want a shag or not?"
Draco wanted to sound harsh and business-like, but he only really sounded hoarse.
Harry turned to him, his gaze still full of expression, yet unreadable at the same time.
"Yes." He said finally. "‘Yes. I want you. I always want you."
Harry’s hands clawed at Draco’s clothes and heat rushed over Draco’s body and not just in the southern areas.
"You drive me crazy." Harry muttered, and he groaned when Draco’s thumb brushed over his nipple.
Moments later, Draco was sucking him off with a passion. As if he was trying to make up for something, trying to make amends for refusing that open-hearted plea earlier. The semen splashing down his throat tasted like forgiveness, but only for a moment.
Neither of them managed to last long that night. It seemed the holiday spirit was making them both even more desperate.
Short as their actual coupling had been, they remained in the cubicle long afterwards, quietly staring at one another. Draco felt like he should say something like, ‘I should go.’ But he really had no place better to be.
Finally, Harry spoke those very words. With some final adjustments to his uniform, he turned to leave.
"Wait."
Harry effectively stopped opening the door. Draco felt blood rush to his head.
"Don’t go just yet."
Harry turned to stare at him blankly. "Why?"
"Why are you here? On Christmas Eve?"
Draco didn’t know why answering a question with a question had seemed like a good idea. Harry looked annoyed.
"I don’t care about Christmas Eve. I was working the late shift and I just wanted to see you."
Draco met Harry’s gaze, the longing in it making him feel even more drunk than he already was. He felt like he should say something. Something like, ‘I’m really happy you came to see me tonight,’ but the words died somewhere in this throat, a thick knot preventing him from swallowing them down. So they remained stuck there, slowly choking him.
Harry reached and grabbed the collar of his ruffled robes with both hands. He pulled Draco towards him, pulling their faces close, their mouths even closer.
They had never kissed before. Not like this; with lip and tongue, stroking and sucking. Draco let all those sensations wash over him; the taste of Harry’s mouth, the persistence of his tongue, the stinging scrapes of his teeth…
Harry broke off the kiss abruptly and Draco leaned in closer, to capture that mouth again with his, to continue what Harry had started. He could feel Harry smile into his mouth.
It’d been long since he’d kissed like this, perhaps not ever. So unaware was he, of their uncomfortable position, the cold porcelain of the toilet digging against his shaking legs; Harry’s glasses almost knocking his eyes out and the buckles on his Auror uniform pressing painfully against his ribs. All of that didn’t really register.
"You taste funny," Draco said, after finally breaking the kiss minutes later.
Harry flushed scarlet in what was clearly embarrassment. "What?"
"What have you eaten tonight?" Draco asked.
"Oh…," Harry looked at Draco uncertain. "Erm… Indian food. Curry."
Draco leaned in again, his tongue languidly licking over Harry’s, exploring and now fully recognizing the slightly spicy taste.
He broke the kiss again and whispered, "Muggle take-away food. Hardly an acceptable meal for a holiday."
Harry didn’t reply straight away, letting out a shuddering breath first. "Says the man that has been living on firewhisky the entire evening."
But Draco just smiled. "I’ll have you know the house-elves at Malfoy Manor are still quite capable of producing a feast suitable for a holiday such as this. All it takes is snap of my fingers."
It had been ages since he’d last boasted about the Malfoy prosperity. It didn’t ring true anymore, even though it still was. But the image of the Malfoy's great dining table filled with turkey, dauphin potatoes and different kinds of pudding for only him to eat was a sad one and Draco hoped that wasn’t the image Potter was seeing when he looked at him.
The way Potter was staring at him, all pity and confusion, Draco was fairly sure that was exactly the scene he was imagining.
"My treat?" Draco said weakly. It was a ridiculous attempt to restore the balance in his favour. It used to work all the time at Hogwarts. Whenever he got any other reaction than sheer admiration and worship to his boasts, he would resort to plan B: give them a share (albeit a tiny share) of that wealth.
"You’re treating what, Malfoy? Dinner?"
It was like a shift, a click, like the clock-hands of his inner watch reaching the moment where all bells would be set off together. It was like a vision that would have made Sibil Trelawney proud. He knew where this was going, where this had to be going.
"Not dinner, Potter." Draco sneaked a hand on Harry’s neck. "A feast," he said in a voice that was trying to be soft and seductive. "We can eat in my room. And as a reward, you can warm that large four-poster bed of mine. It’s dreadfully chilly this time of year."
Harry’s eyes widened comically behind his glasses. "You… you…"
Draco knew that the sly curling of his leg around Harry’s waist was doing nothing to improve the Auror’s eloquence.
"You want me to go home with you?" Harry managed finally.
"If you want."
"You want to have dinner with me?"
Dinner and sex. Yes. That part was clear-cut, the way their relationship always was. And then again it wasn’t. It was something entirely different from getting off in a cubicle.
It was something more. And Draco wanted it. Now. He tightened his grip around Harry while his other hand reached for his wand. "Say the magic word and I’ll apparate us there straight away."
It was silent for a while. Draco braced himself to hear a string of excuses or just a flat-out no. But then he heard it. Clear as crystal: "Please…"
Draco laughed, his voice echoing off the stone, slightly slimy walls of the Leaky’s upstairs loo.
Some days were the same old. Some days were better than others. Some days were exceptional; they were the days that change was tangible in the air. They smelled like hope. And from that day on, for Draco, they would always smell like Christmas.