Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement intended.
Title: The Slytherin Christmas Party
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2000
Status: Complete
Summary: This was a bad idea.
Warnings: The Eight Year, Alcohol consumption. (This is a serious warning as some characters behave immorally and this is written from drunken Harry's PoV, so it's a tad confusing, but hopefully easy to understand.)
Note: Written (belatedly) for slythindor100's Special Holiday Challenge, which was picture #8.

I suck. And I'm late. I just had no time. I'll try to catch up this week and go back to my schedule by the end of it.

---

The Slytherin Christmas Party



This was a bad idea, Harry reflected. He should have known that from the start. Perhaps he would have realised it, but his brain had stopped functioning properly when Draco Malfoy accosted him in the hallway and asked him to come to the Slytherin Christmas party. The problem was that Malfoy had smiled, so brightly his whole face lit up, and he lowered his lashes seductively, not that he needed to since he looked seductive enough in his impermissibly tight clothes.

Yes, the tight clothes should be blamed. The clothes and the word come that still echoed in Harry's mind. And that smile, of course, which made Harry's insides flutter madly.

So that was why Harry was here, alone among the Slytherins, completely drunk and half-naked.

He should have at least said no when they asked him to play poker. Harry didn't know how to play poker, but he obviously didn't know how to say no to requests that slipped out Draco Malfoy's smiling mouth. Perhaps if Malfoy sneered as he usually did, it would have been easier.

The Slytherins had cheated; Harry was well aware of that. First they said that every time Harry lost he should have a drink. And then, after Harry's vision had blurred and Malfoy's blond head looked suspiciously shiny, they said losing meant Harry should also take off an item of his clothing. And now that Harry sat blinking heavily and wearing only his underwear, they changed the rules again.

"He'll drink our whole stock," a male voice complained. "We should have some fun too."

"Hear, hear," someone said and Harry belatedly realised that that had been him.

"There, he approves," another voice exclaimed cheerfully.

"Uh-oh," Harry grunted as hands landed on his bare arms and lifted him upwards. Everything around him swayed dangerously and refused to stop until Harry was laid down on a cold, hard surface. At that point, everything began to spin wildly.

"Argh!" Harry cried, clutching his head that had fallen backwards, unsupported. "Your Christmas tree is upside-down," Harry said in wonder, but then someone pulled on his legs, and the back of Harry's head hit something hard.

Harry pondered his situation for a while and eventually concluded that he was sprawled on a table with a bunch of Slytherins clustered around him. Which was very odd, and Harry was very uncomfortable lying there just in his underwear while everyone watched.

But Harry couldn't ponder his embarrassment for long because he was forced to wonder why on earth was Blaise squeezing out a lemon onto Harry's naked body. Now that was truly odd. Odder still was when the lemons were replaced by salt. And then Harry stopped pondering things because he had to gasp loudly as something scorching hit his chest.

"Mmm. Harry Potter tequila shots. I think I'm gonna love this," someone purred.

"Sweet Merlin, you did it all wrong," a voice complained. "Salt on the skin, lime in his mouth, tequila in yours. Idiot!"

Harry writhed on the table, barely listening. Quite honestly, he was starting to get upset. This wasn't at all comfortable. And Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. Harry had opened his mouth, intending to scold the crazy Slytherins for pouring something unpleasant over his skin as well as for hiding Malfoy's shiny blond head, but they had appeased him quickly by giving him a spectacular light show.

Red lights danced over his head, shooting left and right as people screamed, and Harry cheered happily, trying to catch the red beams. However, the display ended before it even began properly and Harry frowned and twisted his head, looking around in surprise. Apparently, the light show was too much for the Slytherins because they were all lying upon the floor. Clearly, they had either fainted or died.

"Bloody drunken idiots! Lick the floor, why don't you," a familiar voice said, and Harry turned his head to gratefully look at Malfoy's shiny head. He was the only one left standing.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, eager to agree with Malfoy. "Killed by a light show. How stupid can you get?"

Malfoy looked at him and shook his head, but his gaze kept flickering towards Harry's bare chest. "Fuck," Malfoy said rudely, but Harry didn't mind at all, because in the next moment Malfoy had leaned down and his wet tongue soothed the burn on Harry's chest.

"Oh, you're brilliant," Harry praised delightedly, very impressed as Malfoy's tongue flicked and licked, swirling over Harry's heated skin, feeling spectacular and alleviating the uncomfortable burning. Harry never knew Draco Malfoy's tongue had healing powers. He wondered if the rest of the world knew about this, though he hoped this was a secret Malfoy decided to share with Harry and no one else. Malfoy's mouth paused at Harry's nipples, sucking and nibbling there for a long time, until Harry couldn't do anything except moan pathetically and allow his body to melt into mush.

Malfoy's breath ghosted over Harry's neck and then over his lips, as he groaned, "Fuck, Potter. Bloody fuck."

"Tsk, tsk. Stop saying fuck. It's rude," Harry scolded, making a mental note to tell Hermione how properly he had behaved on the Slytherin party. But then, after he realised Malfoy had stopped moving, Harry instructed, "More." His request had no effect so Harry remembered he ought to be more courteous himself. "More, please," he said politely.

Malfoy groaned against Harry's lips, cruelly not kissing them, and then he whimpered before raising his head and peering at Harry's face. "Sweet Merlin, you're so drunk," Malfoy accused.

"Am not," Harry argued, gasping indignantly.

"Come on." Draco grabbed Harry's arms, pulling him upwards. Harry couldn't exactly prevent that so he let Malfoy haul him into a sitting position. "If you hurl, I'll kill you, Potter," Malfoy threatened though Harry couldn't understand what he meant by this.

But then Malfoy leaned down and grabbed Harry around the waist, tickling his sides. Harry giggled, but then his vision spun again as he was lifted up and his head fell to hang upside down. The content of Harry's stomach rushed towards his mouth, but Harry managed not to hurl, remembering that the penalty for that would be death.

Things were yet again very odd, and Harry puzzled over his fate as he watched the floor beneath him move. He felt like a sack of potatoes, with his hands and head dangling, but regardless, these strange events had a wonderful consequence. Harry didn't know why, but his hands were levelled with firm, rounded buttocks, hidden beneath tight cloth. Obviously, these were Malfoy's buttocks; Harry would have recognized them anywhere. Curious, Harry feebly swayed his arms and smacked the firm flesh in front of him to see if his hands would bounce back. Funnily enough, they did just that as Harry's whole body shook.

"Potter! Damn it! What are you doing?" Malfoy cried, sounding as though his head was somewhere near Harry's hips. "Do that again and I'll drop you."

Harry failed to hear anything except the request to do that again, so he obediently did as asked. Giggling as his actions made him sway around dangerously, Harry did it again and again, smacking Draco's arse with his palms to the rhythm of Jingle Bells.

"Potter, I swear ..." Malfoy raged, sounding ridiculously upset and rather breathless. Then Harry's own arse was cruelly pinched, immediately getting Harry's attention. "Stop!" Malfoy ordered. "Or I'll leave you to sleep here."

Harry stopped, worried. He was slightly uncomfortable dangling like this and therefore he didn't want to sleep in this position.

After a long time, during which Harry amused himself by singing Christmas songs, constantly reminding himself he shouldn't smack Draco's arse anymore (though he could still watch it as it moved), the swaying stopped and Harry blinked, realising that it was much darker now. Hands gripped Harry's hips firmly and Harry was unceremoniously tossed onto something soft.

"Oomph!" Harry cried loudly, feeling as though he might hurl again.

"There. Just ... sleep," Malfoy said from somewhere above him.

Harry frowned, displeased. He was somewhere soft, yes, and that was much nicer than that hard table, but he was cold. Harry reached out and grabbed a warm blanket, wrapping it firmly around himself.

Oddly enough, the blanket had limbs.

"Potter, no!"

And it talked!

"Potter, let me go. I'll sleep in another bed."

Harry squinted, staring ahead and realizing that his blanket wasn't a blanket at all, but it was Draco Malfoy disguised into a blanket. And Draco-blanket talked about beds. Which meant Harry was on a bed with Malfoy. So really, there was only one thing they could do now.

"We should have sex," Harry proclaimed. His hands edged lower in search for an appendage Harry knew Malfoy possessed and which ought to help them with this sex business.

"No, no, no!" Malfoy cried, catching Harry's hands just as Harry victoriously grabbed something hard and very warm.

"Yes, yes, yes," Harry countered, squeezing his hand and snuggling closer into his blanket.

"Fuck," Malfoy said yet again.

"Shhh," Harry instructed. "We'll call it sex. It's politer."

"No, Potter. I mean it. No sex."

"You're a mean blanket. I want another one." Harry pouted as his hands were cruelly trapped and pulled upwards to his chest.

"Potter, we can't have sex."

"Well obviously not if you won't let me move," Harry sighed exasperatedly, but then reconsidered. "Hmm. Well, I suppose we still could. But that would be kinky. Though, that's okay too. I don't mind. Carry on."

Malfoy whimpered again. "No, Potter, I can't have sex with you."

Harry frowned and pressed his nose to Malfoy's, peering into his wide, grey eyes. "Why not?" he asked, fearing that Draco was impotent.

"Because, if we have sex now, you'll hate me in the morning."

Harry pondered this for a while. "Are you that bad at it?" he asked worriedly. "Because, that's okay. I don't think I'm very good at it either," he confessed, whispering. "But I know stuff so I can show you. I mean, I know where everything goes." Harry bit his lip. "I think."

Oddly, Malfoy laughed and whimpered at the same time. "You're just ...." he sighed and then spun Harry around to press Harry's back to his chest. Which was nice, but it wasn't what Harry wanted.

"Sex, sex, sex!" he demanded, whining.

"No. Sleep."

Harry struggled to free himself but Malfoy held fast. "No. I want sex! I'm already half-naked and for what?" Harry reasoned.

Malfoy blew a warm breath over the skin of Harry's neck, making Harry shiver pleasantly. "Potter, shut up and sleep, or I'll leave."

Harry gasped, quickly shutting his mouth and his eyes tightly, determined not to make another sound and convince Malfoy that he was indeed sleeping. Sex or no sex, he didn't want Malfoy to leave. Malfoy's chest was warm and felt very pleasant pressed so snugly to Harry's back.

Lying still, Harry felt sleep creep closer and he sighed contently, forgetting about sex. This was actually nice too. Harry briefly reflected on the evening's events and decided that perhaps this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

"Malfoy?" Harry whispered, hoping that if he spoke very quietly Malfoy would be fooled and think that Harry was actually sleeping.

"What?" Malfoy grumbled.

"I don't want another blanket. You're warm and fluffy. I think I'll keep you."

Malfoy's body shook and Harry could hear him laughing. Just as Harry planned to ask why, Malfoy pressed his lips to Harry's cheek and said sleepily, "I'm counting on that, Potter."

---

Fin

---