Oh Brian, you devil
I've been working on a couple post-DH fics and desultorily plotting an epic retelling of DH through Draco's eyes, but a nagging sense of things unfinished has been plaguing me. Soooo... I decided I needed to finish Too Close For Comfort before getting too far into anything else.
My wand-fic will be completely cliched by the time it gets read, but that's okay. It was kind of cliche even before JKR wrote it, anyway.
And now I bring you a rather rushed installment of Too Close For Comfort (on the plus side, it reprises that famous cameo):
Harry brooded about Draco's behavior over his coffee the following morning- he could understand why his roommate would be wary of a serious relationship. The split with Pansy had been none too easy on him, and given his history, he probably had trust issues the size of Wales.
Harry sipped his coffee and tried to remember what little Muggle psychology he knew from training, but his train of thought was disturbed by the arrival of an incredibly sexy bloke who leaned against the counter and just stared at him.
“Hello? Can I help you?” Harry did his level best not to sound bitter or threatening. Obviously, this was the person Draco had brought home last night. He'd woken up in the middle of the night and heard sounds emanating from Draco's room that made his stomach clench. The man had skills, whoever he was.
“Woah, back down there, Fido. I'm just on my way out. Know of a good place for coffee?”
Harry was seized with a sudden urge to pump this man for information - what did Draco like in bed, what didn't he like, how long did he last, etc. He had no idea if this guy would offer such details, but perhaps if he were chatty and casual enough…
“Sorry, I just haven't had enough caffeine yet this morning,” Harry pasted on an insincere grin and dangled his empty coffee cup. “I was going to make more, if you'd like to stick around? It didn't sound like you guys got much sleep last night.”
Harry winced after he said this last - it made it sound like he had been eavesdropping! But hopefully now the guy would brag about what they did or something.
The man just laughed at him. Harry scowled and said, “Sorry for offering.”
“It's not that. You're just -“ The man broke off, chuckling again and shaking his head.
“Damn it, what's so fucking funny?” Harry barked.
“You like him.”
“Pardon?” Harry asked, disbelievingly.
“You 'fancy' your roommate. The guy I just fucked.”
Harry's head reeled while his stomach churned. Who was this arsehole?
“I'm sorry, I'm being rude.” The man extended his hand. “Brian Kinney, amateur psychologist and sex god. And you?”
“Harry Potter, martial arts expert and -” He cast around for another threatening Muggle term to describe himself and came up blank. “Whatever. Look, what did you mean by that? Why would you say that?” he asked, in an agony of confusion.
“When I said you want your roommate? I don't see how that requires explanation, but I'll spell it out for you anyway. You, Harry Potter, want to fuck your roommate, Draco… can't remember his last name. It's obvious that you're not happy that I'm here. You also look like you stayed up all night, evidently listening to me pound his ass. I put two and two together and voila! I got four. What a surprise!” After delivering this stinging indictment, he hoisted himself up on the counter like he belonged there and looked smug.
Harry was torn between wanting to beat up this “Brian” person and wanting to get him out of the house as fast as possible, lest Draco overhear all this. The guy was way too insightful - was he even a Muggle at all? Maybe he was a seer. The most sarcastic, annoying, bloody gorgeous seer ever.
“Could you keep it down, please?" Harry pleaded. "Yes, you're right, fine. I want… I want him. You're right. Please, please don't tell him. I'm begging you -“
“You don't have to beg,” Brian said disgustedly, waving Harry off. “Have some pride. I'm not telling him, because I'll probably never see him again. I'm headed back to America tomorrow. I've had enough of your shitty weather.”
Harry sagged with relief.
“But let me offer you a piece of advice - you'd better grow a pair. A gorgeous man like that -“ He gestured with his thumb behind him to where the bedrooms were- “is not going to be on the market for long. You've got to make a move.”
“But he's not looking for a boyfriend,” Harry whined. “He's done with relationships.”
“Bullshit. I know lonely when I see it. That man is lonely. Get him drunk, get him high, seduce him, do a fucking striptease - I don't care what it takes, just do it.”
Harry blinked.
“And with that, I bid adieu. So long, Harry Potter. I'll let myself out.” Brian walked out, leaving Harry dazed by the bizarrely frank and unexpected pep talk. He should make a move?
* * *
Get him drunk, get him high, seduce him, do a fucking striptease…
Harry racked his brain for weeks, trying to think of a clever scheme to precipitate a striptease. Problem was, all his previous 'clever' schemes had gone awry, askew and afoul. He didn't trust himself to pull another one.
Furthermore, he was starting to doubt whether putting the moves on Draco was such a great idea. Surely after months of living together he should have gotten some clue that his attraction was reciprocated, if in fact it was. Disappointment curdled in Harry's stomach. He had not yet contemplated the possibility that Draco was never going to return his interest. It just hadn't seemed possible: Harry knew that he was attractive, he knew Draco liked him, the living situation was going surprisingly well, they were both gay… Well, Draco was gay, and Harry was versatile.
But if what that Brian person had said was true, if Draco was lonely, then… well, it didn't add up, did it? If Draco was lonely, he had a perfect opportunity sitting right in front of him, one that he had not shown the slightest interest in taking advantage of. Which probably meant that he hadn't the slightest interest in it. Or in Harry.
Maybe Harry just wasn't Draco's type.
Suddenly, getting high seemed like a very good idea.
* * *
Getting high had been an excellent idea. Harry's mood had improved almost immediately. He put some music on and slumped on the couch. One song reminded him of another, and soon he was blissed out on waves of musical valium. When Draco walked in, he didn't even suffer that annoying jolt of awareness that he
usually experienced on hearing his voice. He just smiled and said “Hey there!”
“Hey yourself,” Draco said, sounding strangely flat to Harry's ears. Maybe he was lonely and depressed, though he always seemed happy enough in Harry's presence. “Goodnight.”
Oh no, Draco wasn't getting away that easily. Harry in far too good of a mood to let Draco wander off and brood, or worse yet to go off to the bars and find some anonymous fuck. Tonight, Harry was going to make Draco see that he could have as much fun staying home. Get him drunk, get him high… The American's words echoed softly in his mind, but he pushed them away.
"Come back! I want you to hear this song!" Harry called out after him. He had just cued up one of his favorite party songs- it was impossible not to want to dance to this beat. He grinned at Draco when he walked back in and drawled, "You bellowed?" Draco couldn't even know what that referenced, but he must have thought it was funny when Harry said it because he said it all the time.
"Yeah, listen to this song!" He watched Draco listening, and willed him to like it.
"It's good, isn't it?"
"“Yes, actually. If they played music like this at the clubs I'd probably go there to dance instead of … What is it?" Draco asked.
"It's French house music. They're called Daft Punk," Harry replied, feeling himself get lost in the rhythm. He suspected he might be little too high- he couldn't stop his body doing what it wanted to do, so he closed his eyes and started to dance. He could feel Draco's eyes on him and started to get a bit self-conscious.
"Come on, dance, Draco, this is such an amazing..." he broke off, losing himself in the music again. It was so easy to do- he just let his body go because it knew best.
Though his eyes were still closed, he could hear Draco walk over and pour himself a drink. A little thrill went through him- Draco wasn't leaving after all; he was settling in to hang out for awhile. When Draco then turned up the music, Harry thought he might cheer. He opened his eyes for a second, watching Draco begin to respond to the music.
That was good, because Harry wasn't sure he could have looked away if he'd tried. He knew he was a good dancer, but he had nothing on Draco. Where on earth had he learned those moves? Not from the wizarding world... Oh. From all the clubs he went to. He'd probably picked up dozens of men at Louche or Provocateur or Lime Light with that swivel-hipped, languid display.
The song ended, and Draco went to pour himself another shot. Get him drunk...
He asked Harry if all Daft Punk was that good, and Harry told him yes, then launched into a stupid story about a dance club he used to go to. After a moment, he managed to stop babbling and asked Draco to play something he liked.
"You know I don't know much Muggle music," he said. Harry rolled his eyes - that was a blatant cover-up. Draco couldn't stand to be less than an expert on something; he either knew it backwards and forwards or he claimed to know nothing at all.
"Come on, what about your iPod?" Did he really think Harry wouldn't remember the hours they'd spent together setting up his computer and iPod library? Then again, maybe that time hadn't meant as much to him.
"It's mostly your stuff. I just put it on shuffle."
"Yeah, but what do you like?" Harry was getting exhausted - he'd been smoking and dancing by himself for a couple hours now. He lay back on the sofa, staring Draco down. It was amusing to watch Draco try to pretend that he didn't love Muggle music. Draco looked away, and Harry knew he'd won.
"I like... okay, how about this one?" Draco walked over to the stereo, fishing the device out of his pocket and depositing it on the dock. He fiddled with it for a second then said, "I like this one a lot. I listen to the album at the gym. It starts off slow but it builds up to this intense climax."
Harry immediately recognized the song and leapt off the couch, all traces of tiredness having vanished. "Oh yeah! Vitalic is brilliant!" He started dancing and saw that Draco was turning towards the kitchen. "Hey, get me a beer, would you?"
Draco laughed at him and told him he wasn't Harry's house-elf, but Harry knew he'd bring him a beer anyway.
"Yeah, yeah, just shut up and do it." He grinned at Draco and kept dancing, feeling happier than he had in a long time. The music was so good, and he was thrilled that Draco apparently liked this album as much as he did. Where was Draco, anyway?
The lights suddenly dimmed, and Harry looked around. "Yeah, that's better," he said, approving of Draco's instinct to make the atmosphere more dance-club-like. "Oh, what about this?" he asked, adding multicolored flashing lights, using a spell Seamus had taught him. Now it was like those clubs that Draco went to to pick up men. Only there was just one man here. Harry. He smiled at the thought.
As Draco poured himself yet another drink, Harry told him that he was putting another song on. "What do you want?"
"Don't care, whatever." Draco sipped his drink and looked impassive.
"How about Usher?" Harry had seen Draco listening to this song, one rare day when he had been in living room when Harry had come home- usually, it was the other way around. Draco had been rolling a joint and not only listening to the song, but actually trying to sing along to it.
Draco began to dance, but to Harry's frustration kept his back mostly to the room, meaning that he wasn't watching Harry, not admiring his flash moves. When the Ludacris part started up, Harry was determined to get Draco's attention. He started singing along, knowing he sounded stupid but determined to sell it, anyway. It seemed to be working - Draco had stopped dancing and was staring at him with an indescribable expression on his face.
"Forget the game, I'm 'a spit the truth, won't stop until I get 'em in they birthday suit..."
"Potter!" Draco gasped in the throes of laughter, "Stop! My ears! My eyes!"
"Now bend over to the front and touch your toes," he said as he winked at Draco, to let him know that he was just taking the piss. He wiggled his arse to punctuate the lyric. As long as he could keep Draco's focus on him, he didn't care that he was being laughed at.
"You're ruining a perfectly good song with your antics, Potter," Draco attempted to drawl through his laughter. "You are not an MC for the ages."
"What, you think I don't have made skills? I'm getting another beer to drown my sorrow," Harry shot back as he walked into the kitchen.
As he pulled a beer from the icebox, the strains of Sexy Boy filtered in from the living room, making his heart leap. This song always, but always, reminded him of Draco. He practically ran into the living room, only to see Draco walking over to change the music.
“Leave it on; I love this song,” he said, trying to sound as casual as possible. Get him stoned. “Want a joint?”
“Marijuana, Potter? How common,” Draco sneered, but reached under the sofa for the ivory box that Harry kept his stash in. Harry laughed and sat on the floor next to Draco's knees.
"You love it and you know it. Give it over." As he reached for the box, his eyes met Draco's for a long, inscrutable moment. He blamed it on being drunk (in Draco's case) and stoned (in his own).
After a certain number of drinks, Draco always wanted to smoke a cigarette in the house. Harry forbade it, more for the satisfaction of seeing how Draco respected his wishes than because he didn't want to live in an ashtray. Draco must have had about four drinks by now, because he was whining about not being able to smoke.
Harry decided to allow the cigarette, relishing the feeling of power over Draco. He finished rolling the joint and took a deep inhale.
As he exhaled the long milky wisp of heavily scented smoke, his eyes fluttered closed, then opened to find Draco taking a rapturous drag on his Gauloise. That was another reason he usually forbade the smoking, he dimly recalled. Watching Draco's mouth wrap around a fag made him think about things best left unthought. Even with all the pot, his dick got half hard just from seeing Draco's thin lips pulling on the cigarette, pursed and needy-looking.
The song ended, and Harry rose to put on another song. Do a fucking striptease. A wicked thought crossed Harry's mind, and he was just drug-addled enough to try it.
"I have one I think you'll like," he said over his shoulder, excitement thrumming in his veins. Selecting 'Lust for Life,' he waited a second until the music started, watching for Draco's reaction. Draco just kept smoking, revealing nothing. "This sound familiar to you?" Harry smirked, feeling strangely confrontational. Draco made no response, just looked at him and blew smoke.
Reminding Draco of his striptease at Nott's stag night was Harry's last calculated move - when the music started up, he closed his eyes and just let his libido take the reins. Fuck it - if Draco couldn't take a joke, if Draco couldn't see just why Harry had chosen this song... fuck it. Just fuck it. Harry started dancing, just following the music, imagining that Draco was watching but unwilling to check. No, his pot-fogged brain reminded him, you don't care if he's watching. Just let yourself go.
It was exhilarating, momentarily living in this fantasy world where Draco was watching him with lust in his eyes, a hard-on in his pants, getting more and more excited as Harry stripped off his shirt, pushed down his jeans... Harry could live here forever.
"Very amusing, Potter," said Draco suddenly in a strangled voice, and Harry's eyes flew open. "But I've got to go to the loo." Harry watched as Draco strode off, obviously affected by the performance. And that didn't look like embarrassment.
Thoughts attempted to race through Harry's mind but were significantly impeded by the amount of THC in his bloodstream. Nevertheless, he was abruptly and giddily certain that Draco had found the striptease arousing.
Harry instantly resolved to take things to the next level, if Draco came back from the bathroom and didn't retreat to his bedroom to avoid awkwardness. He realized that he'd better put some clothes on, though; it seemed like Draco was not quite ready for the naked part of the evening.
He picked up his shirt off the floor and listened to the last beats of the song fade out. Doing up the buttons, he thought about what kind of song to play next. Nothing too overtly erotic or suggestive, but not just another dance song, either. Something playful and upbeat, something that would get Draco dancing without a second thought... A light went on in Harry's head. Digitial Love, by Daft Punk. He'd had fantasies while listening to this song, visions of himself and Draco listening to it together and moving towards each other, moving against each other, declaring their feelings with their bodies...
He went to the stereo to put the song on, and Draco returned, looking flushed and awkward. Harry grinned to himself: could this finally be happening, for real?
The song began, with its ineluctably danceable beat, and Harry let it take him over. His eyelids kept slipping shut, but from beneath his lashes he was able to catch glimpses of Draco getting lost in the music. He allowed himself to drift closer, following Draco's movements. He could almost believe that this was meant to happen, that Draco was feeling what he was feeling, that he wanted Harry to dance with him...
He couldn't stop himself, he didn't want to - all he knew was that with little conscious planning he was all over Draco's body, hands wandering anywhere they pleased, and it felt so fucking good. At last. The surge of blessed relief receded a bit while he attempted to register whether Draco was responding or recoiling - but when Draco twisted in his arms and started grinding against him, it all flooded back.
Harry felt an erection brushing against his thigh and looked down, in awe that the moment had finally arrived. When his eyes met Draco's, he knew that he had been right. This was meant to happen, just like this. The music was soaring triumphantly and he leaned in, a sense of fate fulfilled glowing all around them. It was partially the pot, he knew that, but it was mostly the ineffable softness of Draco's lips, the way he drew closer, pressing into the kiss, opening his mouth so yieldingly; it was everything Harry had dreamed of for so long. It was perfect in every way - but it was not enough.
Their hands were all over each other, and Harry realized that the reason the kisses were so sloppy is that they were both grinning like maniacs while trying to maintain contact between their lips and tongues. He struggled with Draco's trousers and Draco ripped his shirt open and Harry just couldn't take it anymore.
He pulled Draco over to the couch, pushed him down onto it and said in a ragged voice, "'M gonna give you a blow job and then fuck you. Okay?" It was hardly the most romantic phrasing, but the glazed look of approval from Draco told him it didn't matter how inarticulate he was.
Finally he got Draco's fly undone and had yanked the trousers down around his thighs, impatient to get at that cock that turned out to be just as mouthwatering as he'd always envisioned. Standing stiff and rosy and with a smear of precome at the slit, Draco's erection practically demanded to be engulfed, and Harry happily complied with the imagined command. Draco's hips jerked upwards, causing his prick to hit the back of Harry's throat but he didn't care.
He wanted this thick hard flesh in his mouth fourteen times a day from now on - it tasted and felt so good on his tongue, against the insides of his cheeks. He hummed around it and Draco came, crying out inarticulately and it was the first time Harry'd heard or seen him lose control so utterly. But it would not be the last. No, because now Harry was going to fuck his arse until he not only forgot the name of every other man he'd ever been with, but the existence of other men entirely.
Previous parts here.
House Booty is Bad Booty here.
My wand-fic will be completely cliched by the time it gets read, but that's okay. It was kind of cliche even before JKR wrote it, anyway.
And now I bring you a rather rushed installment of Too Close For Comfort (on the plus side, it reprises that famous cameo):
Harry brooded about Draco's behavior over his coffee the following morning- he could understand why his roommate would be wary of a serious relationship. The split with Pansy had been none too easy on him, and given his history, he probably had trust issues the size of Wales.
Harry sipped his coffee and tried to remember what little Muggle psychology he knew from training, but his train of thought was disturbed by the arrival of an incredibly sexy bloke who leaned against the counter and just stared at him.
“Hello? Can I help you?” Harry did his level best not to sound bitter or threatening. Obviously, this was the person Draco had brought home last night. He'd woken up in the middle of the night and heard sounds emanating from Draco's room that made his stomach clench. The man had skills, whoever he was.
“Woah, back down there, Fido. I'm just on my way out. Know of a good place for coffee?”
Harry was seized with a sudden urge to pump this man for information - what did Draco like in bed, what didn't he like, how long did he last, etc. He had no idea if this guy would offer such details, but perhaps if he were chatty and casual enough…
“Sorry, I just haven't had enough caffeine yet this morning,” Harry pasted on an insincere grin and dangled his empty coffee cup. “I was going to make more, if you'd like to stick around? It didn't sound like you guys got much sleep last night.”
Harry winced after he said this last - it made it sound like he had been eavesdropping! But hopefully now the guy would brag about what they did or something.
The man just laughed at him. Harry scowled and said, “Sorry for offering.”
“It's not that. You're just -“ The man broke off, chuckling again and shaking his head.
“Damn it, what's so fucking funny?” Harry barked.
“You like him.”
“Pardon?” Harry asked, disbelievingly.
“You 'fancy' your roommate. The guy I just fucked.”
Harry's head reeled while his stomach churned. Who was this arsehole?
“I'm sorry, I'm being rude.” The man extended his hand. “Brian Kinney, amateur psychologist and sex god. And you?”
“Harry Potter, martial arts expert and -” He cast around for another threatening Muggle term to describe himself and came up blank. “Whatever. Look, what did you mean by that? Why would you say that?” he asked, in an agony of confusion.
“When I said you want your roommate? I don't see how that requires explanation, but I'll spell it out for you anyway. You, Harry Potter, want to fuck your roommate, Draco… can't remember his last name. It's obvious that you're not happy that I'm here. You also look like you stayed up all night, evidently listening to me pound his ass. I put two and two together and voila! I got four. What a surprise!” After delivering this stinging indictment, he hoisted himself up on the counter like he belonged there and looked smug.
Harry was torn between wanting to beat up this “Brian” person and wanting to get him out of the house as fast as possible, lest Draco overhear all this. The guy was way too insightful - was he even a Muggle at all? Maybe he was a seer. The most sarcastic, annoying, bloody gorgeous seer ever.
“Could you keep it down, please?" Harry pleaded. "Yes, you're right, fine. I want… I want him. You're right. Please, please don't tell him. I'm begging you -“
“You don't have to beg,” Brian said disgustedly, waving Harry off. “Have some pride. I'm not telling him, because I'll probably never see him again. I'm headed back to America tomorrow. I've had enough of your shitty weather.”
Harry sagged with relief.
“But let me offer you a piece of advice - you'd better grow a pair. A gorgeous man like that -“ He gestured with his thumb behind him to where the bedrooms were- “is not going to be on the market for long. You've got to make a move.”
“But he's not looking for a boyfriend,” Harry whined. “He's done with relationships.”
“Bullshit. I know lonely when I see it. That man is lonely. Get him drunk, get him high, seduce him, do a fucking striptease - I don't care what it takes, just do it.”
Harry blinked.
“And with that, I bid adieu. So long, Harry Potter. I'll let myself out.” Brian walked out, leaving Harry dazed by the bizarrely frank and unexpected pep talk. He should make a move?
* * *
Get him drunk, get him high, seduce him, do a fucking striptease…
Harry racked his brain for weeks, trying to think of a clever scheme to precipitate a striptease. Problem was, all his previous 'clever' schemes had gone awry, askew and afoul. He didn't trust himself to pull another one.
Furthermore, he was starting to doubt whether putting the moves on Draco was such a great idea. Surely after months of living together he should have gotten some clue that his attraction was reciprocated, if in fact it was. Disappointment curdled in Harry's stomach. He had not yet contemplated the possibility that Draco was never going to return his interest. It just hadn't seemed possible: Harry knew that he was attractive, he knew Draco liked him, the living situation was going surprisingly well, they were both gay… Well, Draco was gay, and Harry was versatile.
But if what that Brian person had said was true, if Draco was lonely, then… well, it didn't add up, did it? If Draco was lonely, he had a perfect opportunity sitting right in front of him, one that he had not shown the slightest interest in taking advantage of. Which probably meant that he hadn't the slightest interest in it. Or in Harry.
Maybe Harry just wasn't Draco's type.
Suddenly, getting high seemed like a very good idea.
* * *
Getting high had been an excellent idea. Harry's mood had improved almost immediately. He put some music on and slumped on the couch. One song reminded him of another, and soon he was blissed out on waves of musical valium. When Draco walked in, he didn't even suffer that annoying jolt of awareness that he
usually experienced on hearing his voice. He just smiled and said “Hey there!”
“Hey yourself,” Draco said, sounding strangely flat to Harry's ears. Maybe he was lonely and depressed, though he always seemed happy enough in Harry's presence. “Goodnight.”
Oh no, Draco wasn't getting away that easily. Harry in far too good of a mood to let Draco wander off and brood, or worse yet to go off to the bars and find some anonymous fuck. Tonight, Harry was going to make Draco see that he could have as much fun staying home. Get him drunk, get him high… The American's words echoed softly in his mind, but he pushed them away.
"Come back! I want you to hear this song!" Harry called out after him. He had just cued up one of his favorite party songs- it was impossible not to want to dance to this beat. He grinned at Draco when he walked back in and drawled, "You bellowed?" Draco couldn't even know what that referenced, but he must have thought it was funny when Harry said it because he said it all the time.
"Yeah, listen to this song!" He watched Draco listening, and willed him to like it.
"It's good, isn't it?"
"“Yes, actually. If they played music like this at the clubs I'd probably go there to dance instead of … What is it?" Draco asked.
"It's French house music. They're called Daft Punk," Harry replied, feeling himself get lost in the rhythm. He suspected he might be little too high- he couldn't stop his body doing what it wanted to do, so he closed his eyes and started to dance. He could feel Draco's eyes on him and started to get a bit self-conscious.
"Come on, dance, Draco, this is such an amazing..." he broke off, losing himself in the music again. It was so easy to do- he just let his body go because it knew best.
Though his eyes were still closed, he could hear Draco walk over and pour himself a drink. A little thrill went through him- Draco wasn't leaving after all; he was settling in to hang out for awhile. When Draco then turned up the music, Harry thought he might cheer. He opened his eyes for a second, watching Draco begin to respond to the music.
That was good, because Harry wasn't sure he could have looked away if he'd tried. He knew he was a good dancer, but he had nothing on Draco. Where on earth had he learned those moves? Not from the wizarding world... Oh. From all the clubs he went to. He'd probably picked up dozens of men at Louche or Provocateur or Lime Light with that swivel-hipped, languid display.
The song ended, and Draco went to pour himself another shot. Get him drunk...
He asked Harry if all Daft Punk was that good, and Harry told him yes, then launched into a stupid story about a dance club he used to go to. After a moment, he managed to stop babbling and asked Draco to play something he liked.
"You know I don't know much Muggle music," he said. Harry rolled his eyes - that was a blatant cover-up. Draco couldn't stand to be less than an expert on something; he either knew it backwards and forwards or he claimed to know nothing at all.
"Come on, what about your iPod?" Did he really think Harry wouldn't remember the hours they'd spent together setting up his computer and iPod library? Then again, maybe that time hadn't meant as much to him.
"It's mostly your stuff. I just put it on shuffle."
"Yeah, but what do you like?" Harry was getting exhausted - he'd been smoking and dancing by himself for a couple hours now. He lay back on the sofa, staring Draco down. It was amusing to watch Draco try to pretend that he didn't love Muggle music. Draco looked away, and Harry knew he'd won.
"I like... okay, how about this one?" Draco walked over to the stereo, fishing the device out of his pocket and depositing it on the dock. He fiddled with it for a second then said, "I like this one a lot. I listen to the album at the gym. It starts off slow but it builds up to this intense climax."
Harry immediately recognized the song and leapt off the couch, all traces of tiredness having vanished. "Oh yeah! Vitalic is brilliant!" He started dancing and saw that Draco was turning towards the kitchen. "Hey, get me a beer, would you?"
Draco laughed at him and told him he wasn't Harry's house-elf, but Harry knew he'd bring him a beer anyway.
"Yeah, yeah, just shut up and do it." He grinned at Draco and kept dancing, feeling happier than he had in a long time. The music was so good, and he was thrilled that Draco apparently liked this album as much as he did. Where was Draco, anyway?
The lights suddenly dimmed, and Harry looked around. "Yeah, that's better," he said, approving of Draco's instinct to make the atmosphere more dance-club-like. "Oh, what about this?" he asked, adding multicolored flashing lights, using a spell Seamus had taught him. Now it was like those clubs that Draco went to to pick up men. Only there was just one man here. Harry. He smiled at the thought.
As Draco poured himself yet another drink, Harry told him that he was putting another song on. "What do you want?"
"Don't care, whatever." Draco sipped his drink and looked impassive.
"How about Usher?" Harry had seen Draco listening to this song, one rare day when he had been in living room when Harry had come home- usually, it was the other way around. Draco had been rolling a joint and not only listening to the song, but actually trying to sing along to it.
Draco began to dance, but to Harry's frustration kept his back mostly to the room, meaning that he wasn't watching Harry, not admiring his flash moves. When the Ludacris part started up, Harry was determined to get Draco's attention. He started singing along, knowing he sounded stupid but determined to sell it, anyway. It seemed to be working - Draco had stopped dancing and was staring at him with an indescribable expression on his face.
"Forget the game, I'm 'a spit the truth, won't stop until I get 'em in they birthday suit..."
"Potter!" Draco gasped in the throes of laughter, "Stop! My ears! My eyes!"
"Now bend over to the front and touch your toes," he said as he winked at Draco, to let him know that he was just taking the piss. He wiggled his arse to punctuate the lyric. As long as he could keep Draco's focus on him, he didn't care that he was being laughed at.
"You're ruining a perfectly good song with your antics, Potter," Draco attempted to drawl through his laughter. "You are not an MC for the ages."
"What, you think I don't have made skills? I'm getting another beer to drown my sorrow," Harry shot back as he walked into the kitchen.
As he pulled a beer from the icebox, the strains of Sexy Boy filtered in from the living room, making his heart leap. This song always, but always, reminded him of Draco. He practically ran into the living room, only to see Draco walking over to change the music.
“Leave it on; I love this song,” he said, trying to sound as casual as possible. Get him stoned. “Want a joint?”
“Marijuana, Potter? How common,” Draco sneered, but reached under the sofa for the ivory box that Harry kept his stash in. Harry laughed and sat on the floor next to Draco's knees.
"You love it and you know it. Give it over." As he reached for the box, his eyes met Draco's for a long, inscrutable moment. He blamed it on being drunk (in Draco's case) and stoned (in his own).
After a certain number of drinks, Draco always wanted to smoke a cigarette in the house. Harry forbade it, more for the satisfaction of seeing how Draco respected his wishes than because he didn't want to live in an ashtray. Draco must have had about four drinks by now, because he was whining about not being able to smoke.
Harry decided to allow the cigarette, relishing the feeling of power over Draco. He finished rolling the joint and took a deep inhale.
As he exhaled the long milky wisp of heavily scented smoke, his eyes fluttered closed, then opened to find Draco taking a rapturous drag on his Gauloise. That was another reason he usually forbade the smoking, he dimly recalled. Watching Draco's mouth wrap around a fag made him think about things best left unthought. Even with all the pot, his dick got half hard just from seeing Draco's thin lips pulling on the cigarette, pursed and needy-looking.
The song ended, and Harry rose to put on another song. Do a fucking striptease. A wicked thought crossed Harry's mind, and he was just drug-addled enough to try it.
"I have one I think you'll like," he said over his shoulder, excitement thrumming in his veins. Selecting 'Lust for Life,' he waited a second until the music started, watching for Draco's reaction. Draco just kept smoking, revealing nothing. "This sound familiar to you?" Harry smirked, feeling strangely confrontational. Draco made no response, just looked at him and blew smoke.
Reminding Draco of his striptease at Nott's stag night was Harry's last calculated move - when the music started up, he closed his eyes and just let his libido take the reins. Fuck it - if Draco couldn't take a joke, if Draco couldn't see just why Harry had chosen this song... fuck it. Just fuck it. Harry started dancing, just following the music, imagining that Draco was watching but unwilling to check. No, his pot-fogged brain reminded him, you don't care if he's watching. Just let yourself go.
It was exhilarating, momentarily living in this fantasy world where Draco was watching him with lust in his eyes, a hard-on in his pants, getting more and more excited as Harry stripped off his shirt, pushed down his jeans... Harry could live here forever.
"Very amusing, Potter," said Draco suddenly in a strangled voice, and Harry's eyes flew open. "But I've got to go to the loo." Harry watched as Draco strode off, obviously affected by the performance. And that didn't look like embarrassment.
Thoughts attempted to race through Harry's mind but were significantly impeded by the amount of THC in his bloodstream. Nevertheless, he was abruptly and giddily certain that Draco had found the striptease arousing.
Harry instantly resolved to take things to the next level, if Draco came back from the bathroom and didn't retreat to his bedroom to avoid awkwardness. He realized that he'd better put some clothes on, though; it seemed like Draco was not quite ready for the naked part of the evening.
He picked up his shirt off the floor and listened to the last beats of the song fade out. Doing up the buttons, he thought about what kind of song to play next. Nothing too overtly erotic or suggestive, but not just another dance song, either. Something playful and upbeat, something that would get Draco dancing without a second thought... A light went on in Harry's head. Digitial Love, by Daft Punk. He'd had fantasies while listening to this song, visions of himself and Draco listening to it together and moving towards each other, moving against each other, declaring their feelings with their bodies...
He went to the stereo to put the song on, and Draco returned, looking flushed and awkward. Harry grinned to himself: could this finally be happening, for real?
The song began, with its ineluctably danceable beat, and Harry let it take him over. His eyelids kept slipping shut, but from beneath his lashes he was able to catch glimpses of Draco getting lost in the music. He allowed himself to drift closer, following Draco's movements. He could almost believe that this was meant to happen, that Draco was feeling what he was feeling, that he wanted Harry to dance with him...
He couldn't stop himself, he didn't want to - all he knew was that with little conscious planning he was all over Draco's body, hands wandering anywhere they pleased, and it felt so fucking good. At last. The surge of blessed relief receded a bit while he attempted to register whether Draco was responding or recoiling - but when Draco twisted in his arms and started grinding against him, it all flooded back.
Harry felt an erection brushing against his thigh and looked down, in awe that the moment had finally arrived. When his eyes met Draco's, he knew that he had been right. This was meant to happen, just like this. The music was soaring triumphantly and he leaned in, a sense of fate fulfilled glowing all around them. It was partially the pot, he knew that, but it was mostly the ineffable softness of Draco's lips, the way he drew closer, pressing into the kiss, opening his mouth so yieldingly; it was everything Harry had dreamed of for so long. It was perfect in every way - but it was not enough.
Their hands were all over each other, and Harry realized that the reason the kisses were so sloppy is that they were both grinning like maniacs while trying to maintain contact between their lips and tongues. He struggled with Draco's trousers and Draco ripped his shirt open and Harry just couldn't take it anymore.
He pulled Draco over to the couch, pushed him down onto it and said in a ragged voice, "'M gonna give you a blow job and then fuck you. Okay?" It was hardly the most romantic phrasing, but the glazed look of approval from Draco told him it didn't matter how inarticulate he was.
Finally he got Draco's fly undone and had yanked the trousers down around his thighs, impatient to get at that cock that turned out to be just as mouthwatering as he'd always envisioned. Standing stiff and rosy and with a smear of precome at the slit, Draco's erection practically demanded to be engulfed, and Harry happily complied with the imagined command. Draco's hips jerked upwards, causing his prick to hit the back of Harry's throat but he didn't care.
He wanted this thick hard flesh in his mouth fourteen times a day from now on - it tasted and felt so good on his tongue, against the insides of his cheeks. He hummed around it and Draco came, crying out inarticulately and it was the first time Harry'd heard or seen him lose control so utterly. But it would not be the last. No, because now Harry was going to fuck his arse until he not only forgot the name of every other man he'd ever been with, but the existence of other men entirely.
Previous parts here.
House Booty is Bad Booty here.