Under the table

The other day I wrote a drabble over in hpsquick100 in which I casually mentioned Harry being "undrunkable." The idea was that the same thing that protected him from Voldemort also protects him against other things.

Undrunkable Harry is far too much fun to leave in a drabble. So, course, I had to write the ficlet to go on at greater length.
3000ish words, probably an R rating, I guess (I think I need a conversion chart as to what constitutes Rness and PGness and so forth...).
The drabble and this fic are otherwise unrelated. So, without further ado, the ficlet:


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It had seemed so simple. There were only so many ways to insult one another, and they’d all worn thin in six years of constant use. The time they’d actually engaged in a physical confrontation fifth year, he’d lost rather badly, and he didn’t really want to experience the humiliation of being soundly beaten in public again. He had no illusions he could defend himself any better were they to go at it again; he was arrogant because he was beautiful, and fair fights had never been part of his early training. Nothing about all of that, at least, had changed with Lucius’s capture and his own subsequent change of status.

No, Draco thought, what they needed was a physical contest he could win. He knew just the one.

It was a Hogsmeade weekend, the first one of their final year. He ditched his apelike cronies and went on his own, keeping a discreet eye on the wonder-trio. They shopped and chatted, and he window-shopped and watched. When they went into the pub, he followed. He ordered a firewhiskey and calculated a path that would take him past their table, where he stopped and sneered. “Honestly. Butterbeer? How old are you, Potter? Butterbeer?”

Harry didn’t rise to the bait. “Seventeen.”

“Can’t drink a real man’s drink?” Draco raised his glass in mock toast and took a sip.

“Unlike some, I don’t need the crutch of hard drinking. Although I can see where, given your family’s…hard times, you might. No, this is for relaxing and talking to my friends.”

“You just don’t think you can handle it.”

Harry looked at him for a brief moment, ran his gaze from Draco’s face to his feet and back, then casually asked, “Is this a challenge?”

Yes! a little voice screamed in Draco’s mind. He’d been drinking real liquor for years at family functions, after all. He made his inflection one of boredom, though, and answered the question. “I believe perhaps it is. May I?” He indicated the fourth chair at the table.

“Harry!” Hermione was clearly about to intervene, but Harry waved away whatever objection she’d been about to voice, glancing at her and signaling something with his eyes.

“Oi, Ron. Go see what you can dig up for Malfoy and me to poison ourselves with.” Harry tossed a coin-purse at the redhead, who flashed a grin and headed for the bar. “Malfoy, ground rules. Drink for drink, you and me. Until one of us calls it quits or becomes unable to drink any more. No sober-up charms.”

“I already have my first.”

“I’ll catch up on that one. Then drink for drink. Hermione will pour.” Harry glanced at her for confirmation. She nodded, with an odd expression Draco would have called a smirk on anyone else.

“Why her?”

Harry pinned him with those green eyes. “Honestly, Malfoy. Have you ever seen her cheat at anything? They’ll probably be within a drop of equal every time.”

“Fine.”

Ron returned with two small glasses and a large bottle of firewhiskey. Harry opened the bottle and handed it and to Draco. “Drink down what you have there and pour me one just like it, and then we’ll go from there.” Draco snickered and swallowed the rest of his portion and poured another, rather larger than what he’d just drunk, in his own glass. Might as well take advantage while he could, and the glasses Ron had brought were small. He handed the glass to Harry, who looked him in the eye and drained the glass, slamming it down on the table, empty. Draco wondered, suddenly, if he wasn’t in trouble; he’d never seen Potter drink this stuff before and he’s just downed it like it was water. No, it was just Potter’s damnable pride.

“Pour,” Harry rasped at Hermione. Draco beamed. At least his vocal cords had felt it burn.

Hermione poured, and they clinked their glasses and drank.

“Pour.”

And again. Around the fourth drink, Draco lost contact with his toes. His fingers followed two drinks later, and by the time they were on the tenth, his lips had bypassed buzzing and were now completely numb, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could find his own arse with both hands and a reliable map. And damn if Potter wasn’t still sitting there, blurry but Draco thought that was his eyes, not Harry himself, looking right at him.

“Pour.” Hermione hesitated, so he said it again. “Pour, damn it.”

Two more down, and he tried to say it one more time. “Pour,” but it came out “Praghh” and Hermione looked at Harry, who, maddeningly, said, “I think he might be done.” He sounded perfectly clear. Draco tried again.

“Ner. Plorgh.” And then he thought it might be easier to talk if he just set his cheek down on the table, which was cool and smooth and…mmm, pleasantly pinkish, and…

“Up you get, love,” he heard in his ear as he was most unpleasantly dragged off the cool table and onto his feet. He opened his eyes, although only one obeyed, and found Potter holding him upright. He heard another voice say…something as he discovered the equally wonderful sensation of laying his other cheek down on warmth, Potter’s shoulder soft cloth over hard muscle, and then there was a knock on his head and he shivered. A moment later he found his head clearing just a bit as he was pulled along, held close to Potter’s side, walking back toward the castle. “No worries,” Potter said softly, apparently aware he’d roused slightly. “Hermione’s partially Disillusioned us. People can see us if they try, but we’re easy to miss and it won’t occur to anyone that I’m more or less carrying you. She tried to sober you up to walk first, but it would appear there is only so much a sobering charm can do.” Draco heard the words but couldn’t quite answer, so he rubbed his cheek on the soft cloth under it and felt Harry’s arm tighten around his waist.

They made it most of the way before Draco’s stomach rebelled. He threw up off the side of the path, Harry holding him during and cleaning him up wordlessly, before holding him upright again and continuing on. They made it to the Prefects’ bathroom, where Harry set him down on the floor. He lay down immediately, enjoying the cool tile, rousing when Harry picked him up again and made him drink warm water, and then again when Harry unfastened his trousers. “Wha’re ya dun?” He could hear his words slurring but couldn’t seem to make them any clearer.

“Shh. Just cleaning you up better. My fault you’re a mess. Come on, then.” Draco opened his eyes (both obeyed this time, which he meanderingly thought was an improvement) and saw Harry was undressed but for his glasses.

“Wha? T’koff yr gluff”

“What? Oh. My glasses.”

Draco felt his face smiling, noticing in passing that he could feel his face at all, and closed his eyes again.

“Okay, they’re off. Come on.” Harry pulled him upright and took off his trousers. His shirt had already gone at some point, and he leaned skin to skin against Harry, who smelled good and was just as soft as his shirt. They were walking again on hard tile. He felt steam before water, but Harry warned him anyway. “Getting in water now. Come on, another step. Good boy.” The water was exactly the temperature he preferred, just below the scalding point, and he tried to roll his neck under the spray but lost his balance. Harry was still there, holding him up, and he turned toward him, making them more chest to chest instead of side to side. Harry held him as if they were dancing, and in a way, they were, as he turned him under the spray, washing him with fragrant soap. His head had cleared quite a bit now and he thought probably he could say something if he wanted, but being tended to this way felt awfully good and he was awfully tired, so he let the hands rub soap on him and rinse and after a while dry him carefully and comb his hair. He felt a fresh towel wrapping around his waist and a cloak going around his shoulders and then he stood, eyes closed, swaying slightly, alone. Just as he was about to open his eyes, he felt the other boy’s arm around his waist again. They walked awkwardly, Draco trying to open his eyes every few steps but mostly resting his head and letting himself be led. He heard Harry say something and then felt himself lifted up and over what must be the threshold. Harry continued pulling him along and soon settled him into bed. Lying down felt so good he didn’t spare any thought to anything and fell asleep.

--

The room was spinning when he woke, in the dark, startled. He tried to look around, reached for his wand which wasn’t under his pillow, realized this bed was far too soft to be his, and noticed he wasn’t alone, all in quick succession, but before he gathered his wits to do anything about any of this, a hand landed on his arm gently and Harry’s voice, inches behind him, soothed, “Shh. I couldn’t get you to your bed, so you’re in mine. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you drink so many. Can you walk and talk now?”

“Uhh. I feel disgusting.”

“Okay, so you can talk. Come on, then. I’ll help you to your dormitory. You can wear something of mine until the elves bring your clothes back to you.” He kicked at the blankets, which were tangled around both of them, but before he got loose, Draco turned around to face him.

“Now?”

“Well, unless you want to be here in the morning, which seems unlikely.”

“What time is it?”

“Little after one, I think. Come on.”

Draco shot out a hand, just now realizing he was effectively naked. “Wait. Can we wait a while? I feel horrid.”

“Here.” Harry turned and reached through the curtains, snagging a glass off the table. He held up his wand with his other hand and muttered a silencing charm before handing it over, and said, “Hangover potion. Hermione made it up, so you don’t have to worry about my abyssmal Potions, er, ‘prowess.’ She and Ron know you’re here, but no one else does. She swears it’ll perk you right up.”

Harry could see Draco looking at the potion with distaste, but he drank it all at once, then brightened considerably. “Hey. That’s not bad! And it works fast.”

Harry again made to get up and again was restrained. “What did you mean, you shouldn’t have let me?” Draco asked. “I thought we were seeing who could drink the other under the table.”

“Wasn’t a fair contest,” Harry mumbled, ducking his chin. “Should have told you.”

“How wasn’t it fair? I’ve been having wine and cocktails with my…with Lucius for years. You drink butterbeer. Wait a minute. Why are you completely fine when I was smashed?”

“Er. That would be why it wasn’t fair. I don’t get drunk.”

“Yes, I know, that was why it was supposed to work out with you on the floor and me calmly assessing the situation.” Draco did his best impression of haughty Lucius, although in his current position it only made Harry laugh.

“No, I mean, I don’t get drunk. I get tipsy, flushed, and a little silly, and then nothing else. Dumbledore’s best guess is it’s tied into my other protection.” He gestured at his forehead and Draco’s eyes followed to the scar.

“Oh.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“I should have told you, but I expected you’d realize soon enough that it wasn’t having any impact on me, fly into a rage, and come across the table at me. Which would have been an excellent excuse to touch you,” he finished, voice lower with each word.

“What?” Draco felt as though he was never going to have a clear sense of things again. All he seemed to be saying was ‘what’?

“And then, see, I don’t get drunk, but I do get silly, and I was watching you turn all pink and soft, and I forgot to pay attention to how many, and—what?”

“You were watching me turn pink?”

“Um.”

“How did we get home?”

Harry looked puzzled. “Walked.”

“Did you hold me the whole way?”

“Draco, you couldn’t have walked on your own.”

“Was that another excellent excuse to touch me?” His head was clearing quickly and the picture was starting to make sense.

Harry said nothing, so Draco went on. “Did you take a shower with me?”

“Just to clean you up. Honest. It was my fault you got sick.”

“Uh-huh. So the touching me involved there was…just a bonus?”

He could feel the flush of Harry’s face go hotter without touching him, and he lay silent for several minutes, absently plucking at the sleeve of Harry’s jumper as he thought.

“Harry, I think possibly I need to tell you something,” he said eventually.

“Don’t you want to go back to your room?”

“No.”

“No?! But then, you. People. We. Fuck.”

“We fuck?” Harry didn’t need to see him to know about the eyebrow that had just gone up.

“No! I mean, people will think so. I mean. I don’t know what I mean,” he mumbled miserably, flopping his head down on the pillow. After a moment he turned enough to free his mouth from the pillowcase and asked, “What did you want to say?”

“It falls into the category of confession.”

“You want to confess something?”

“Not really, but since you did, it seems only fair. Did you wonder why I walked by your table on purpose to goad you into drinking?”

“I didn’t realize you walked by on purpose,” Harry said slowly. “I thought it was a spur of the moment thing.”

“Well. Yes, you were supposed to think that. I’ve practiced giving the impression I intend to give, you know.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And, why did you? Walk by on purpose and so on.”

“Because I wanted to get you drunk.”

“Well yes, I did expect your purpose was to win the contest.”

“No. I mean, I expected you to be falling down drunk in four, after which I planned to drag you into the bathroom for…extended touching.”

“What?”

“I know. You were all damn Gryffindor, taking care of me, when I had intended to be a cold bastard seducing you while you were drunk. I’ll take those clothes now,” he finished, pulling his knees up to get out of the blankets without Harry having to move.

“Wait. So, you wanted to touch me? me?”

“Yes. I believe we’ve covered this. I planned to take advantage of you and touch anything I could reach.”

“So why are you leaving?”

Draco looked over his shoulder, white hair falling softly over his face. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear. I intended to ravage you without your consent.”

“I’m almost sure the only one who knows what the status of my consent would have been is me. Do I look unconsenting?” He reached out to touch the flawless skin, to catch a strand of the floating hair.

“But I didn’t know that!”

“Maybe you could tell I’d have liked it.”

“It wasn’t that.” Draco swallowed the bitter taste suddenly in his mouth.

Harry sat up suddenly and before Draco could muster a response, he found himself pinned, straddled, and back on his back. “So can I make us even, then?”

“Wha--?” Damn, he was back to monosyllabic confusion.

“You want I should be plainer about it?” Harry put Draco’s hands over his head, pinned to the mattress, and bit--bit!--his way from the blonde’s ear to his collarbone, leaving marks that would be there for days. Draco gasped and arched, whimpering when Harry sat up and let go of his hands, but he wasn’t done; he was just taking advantage of Draco’s confusion to slide down and settle his weight between his knees, shoving his left leg bent, knee up, as he bit into him again, pulling at him with his teeth, working his way up the back of that thigh, all the way until his nose nudged into his balls before he changed direction, following the crease of the leg up and onto the crest of the hipbone and following the muscle from there up to the ribcage and from there back up to the collarbone already marked. Draco was hard before Harry ever got to his leg and by the time Harry made his way back level with him tears were falling, rolling, from his eyes and running into his ears. Harry placed a very soft kiss on his mouth and then moved enough to let him up, had he wanted to go.

“Holy. What was. Fuck.” Draco knew he was incoherent, but damn! He took a breath. “What was that, and why did you stop?”

“I just bit hard enough to hurt—to break skin a couple of places—from your neck to your knee. I didn’t ask, and I might have just scared you to death.”

“You didn’t. Merlin.”

“But I didn’t know that for sure. I didn’t have your consent. Are we even now?”

“Even?”

“For your evil intent. Because what I’d really like to do now doesn’t involve biting so much as licking,” he demonstrated, pinning him down again, tongue soft and wide on Draco’s jaw, “and sucking,” he licked down to one pink nipple and latched his lips around it, “and touching,” he ran one hand down Draco’s arm, which to his delight broke out in gooseflesh as he went. “So. Are we even?”

“Do I get to bite back?”

“Absolutely. I’m not playing any more weighted games here.”

Draco lunged up and closed his teeth at the junction of neck and shoulder, sucking hard to bruise, feeling the echo on himself as Harry mirrored the action. He released the skin and kissed where he’d hurt, then said, “You are wearing far, far too many clothes.”

“That’s because I thought I ought to wait for consent before crawling into bed naked with you,” Harry teased. “Though I did consider. Long and hard.”

“I’ll just bet,” Draco drawled, making Harry giggle until he pushed his hips into Harry’s erection, rubbing them together.

“So,” he said after he’d calmed himself. “There’s a silencing charm, but I expect we’d wake at least Neville if we started banging the headboard against the wall. Want to take our chances, or play elsewhere?”

“Are you worried people will find out?”

“Love, even if I thought I should be ashamed, which I don’t, I could have a thing for frog sex and no one would say a word. I’m the fucking boy with the scar. You?”

“Frog sex?” It was Draco’s turn to giggle.

“Shh. If Neville hears that he’ll really worry.”

“Why? Oh. That toad of his. You don’t have plans to kidnap it and force it to do unspeakable things to you, do you?”

“Not as long as you do them to me first.”

“Now?”

“Any time you want.”

“Here?”

“Any time, any place.”

“Perfect.”