For which f are you drinking, fuck, forget, or fun?
Fandom: Harry Potter
Warnings: cursing, smut, past wounds, war…
So this is a little something i wrote a while ago, but never had the chance to post! I’ve never written any kind of smut before, so it might not be the best, but I hope you like it! The only reason it is any good is thanks to @yesbocchan who helped me a lot! I have already written a part 2, not sure when i’ll post though…
Harry walked into the bar with the full intention of getting drunk. Sick, throwing up, hook-up-with-a-stranger drunk. That’s why he chose a muggle bar, packed and loaded. He was immediately welcomed with the warmth and hearty smell of beer and the cries of jovial men and giggles of girls in tight shirts. He headed straight to the wood bar and hopped up on to one of the squeaky leather stools, relishing in the anonymity of muggle public places: no one asking for autographs, no news paper reporters judging him for drinking whatever the hell he wanted. He ordered a drink then turned on his stool, leaning against the counter with his elbows propped behind him.
He scanned the area, looking for any potential women, or men, that he could try and seduce. He wasn’t really much of a flirt, but every once in a while he worked up the courage to try his best. Besides, he was feeling friendly tonight. It was like his personal revenge on Ginny for dumping him.
In all fairness, they hadn’t really been in love anymore for a few months now. Ever since he had realized that, he had finally allowed himself to accept his bisexuality and actually live a normal life. It felt terrible at first, but now he was in the i-dont-give-a-fuck phase and in short, he was single and ready to mingle.
The bartender set a drink behind him with a clunk and he almost jumped. He thanked him and threw a few coins he dug out of his pocket on to the counter, which he picked up with a huff.
After a while a stranger at Harry’s left downed the third shot that had been waiting in front of him and called the bartender, ordering a fourth with two fingers in the air. He looked tall, slender, but lean. Harry couldn’t see much of his face, besides the tip of a a long, pointed nose poking out from behind his hair. He had very close-cropped hair on the sides from what he could tell, but a long fringe on the top of his head extended to brush his sharp but thin jawline. Harry could tell he was heavily tattooed, the ink climbing up to behind his ears.
“So,” Harry started when the drink set between the man’s long, perfectly manicured fingers. A tattoo of a snake curled around his fourth finger, and Harry could have sworn it had moved when he spoke. “For which f are you drinking, fuck, forget, or fun?”
At first he didn’t say anything, then he took the shot in a single, swift motion. Harry watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down, and when he brought a hand to push back his fringe he caught a glimpse of high cheekbones and light eyelashes, slightly familiar, but he knew he had never met a man so covered in ink. He licked his lips, waiting for him to answer.
“I was wondering when you’d talk to me,” he turned to face him, and Harry’s jaw dropped.
“M-malfoy? What are you doing here?” he gulped, trying to remain cool. The years had changed his old rival: he was now in his early twenties, his once pointy features had softened out and his eyes seemed to have gotten brighter, livelier, and he had gotten, in all, exponentially hotter.
“The same as you, I imagine.” He shrugged, not breaking eye contact. “And to answer your earlier question, I’m here for two reasons, none of which are forget.” He arched an eyebrow. Harry felt something, maybe his Gryffindor courage, or simple adrenaline, take over, and he took a chance. He slid slightly closer, looking up at him through dark lashes, “seems like we’re here for the same things, then,” he said, “care for a drink? My gift.”
Draco peered down at him, then agreed with a small nod. Harry signaled the bartender and turned back to the blonde, crossing his fingers in his pockets. ‘don’t screw up,’.
They spent a bit more of the evening talking, catching up, drinking some more. Draco didn’t seem to have a single instant without a glass glued to his hand, and Harry, being oblivious as he was, didn’t notice. He carried on, leading the conversation this way and that, usually around quidditch or some other interest of his. Draco didn’t fail to observe that, though. 'he’s passionate, I’ll give him that,’ he thought. He downed another one of his drinks, zoning out from the animated explanation Harry was giving him to think about himself for a change. His life. His parents. His job. His love life. 'fucked up, disowned, barely enough and currently MIA.’ he listed off mentally. He might have lied a little: he was drinking for all 'f’s. He sighed.
“You do realize I don’t really give a fuck, right?” He cut the Golden boy off. Harry jumped, startled at the slight change in his tone. “Umm… pardon?”
“I said, you deaf idiot, I don’t give a fuck about what you’re talking about. Maybe boasting about saving the world and all would work on the random chick passing by but you’ll need to be a bit more creative to get me in your bed.” he threw two coins on the bar and made a move to get up, a disgusted look on his face. He was drunk but still not drunk enough: his problems kept following him around and he wasn’t about to face them with Harry-bloody-Potter with him. He was a too cruel reminder of why he was in this situation in the first place.
“Wait!-” he felt a hand set on his thigh, setting heat through his entire body and pinning him to the stool. He recovered from his surprise quickly and looked back at him with a sneer.
“I told you, Potter, fuck off.” He shook off his hand and walked past the dancing strangers, pushing through the crowd before stepping outside into the cool, refreshing air. He took a deep breath, trying to cool down, slow his heart rate, to breath. He took off his leather jacket despite the autumn wind, then, throwing a glance at the light spilling out from the bar, went around the side of the building. There he set his back against the bricks, letting it hold his weight, then slid down to the floor. He took from his pocket a small packet, pulling out a familiar white and beige death stick, and lit it with the other hand. The flame flickered before him, almost taunting, the only light beside the stars above. Once lit, the burning tip shone solitarily, attracting his vision. He sucked in a deep breath, feeling the nicotine filling temporarily the hole inside him.
“Mind if I join?” A voice rang out in the silence as he blew, the smoke clouding the air before him.
He snarled, getting ready to leave, with a “I told you, Potter, I don’t want to see you-”
“Wait!- I’m sorry, okay?” Harry sighed, trying not to think about how hot a smoking Draco looked. “I want to make it up to you, okay? Can i- can I just sit?” Draco peered up at him, took another puff, then nodded slowly, moving his leather jacket aside.
Harry sat down beside him, careful not to touch him, propping his elbows on his knees. He resisted the temptation to stare at Draco: he was, as far as he could see, covered entirely in tattoos. His sheer white shirt made a beautiful contrast, and it seemed like a silver chain peeked out from beneath. The pendant was a rope- no, a snake- curled around what looked like a sword. Malfoy set his head back on the wall, making his Adam’s apple stick out and his slender jawline catch the meager light.
“So, um, Malfoy,” he started, clearing his throat when those silver eyes rolled to him between slightly squinted lids. “Why…why all that ink? If you want to tell me, that is,” he added quickly when he saw his eyes narrow to slits. Once again, he waited, eyeing Harry carefully, taking in the Golden Boy who wasn’t so much of a boy after all those years.
“As I’m pretty sure you know, I’ve been tattooed since I was a teenager,” he took another puff, offering the cigarette to Harry who shook his head. “And of course, with my reputation, despite the minimal redemption your testimony gave me, the wizarding world doesn’t want anything to have to do with me. So I took to the muggle world.”
“It was definitely hard at first, having to not use magic in public. And, of course, even if they didn’t know what it meant, the dark mark prevented me from getting any kind of job. It’s not exactly a welcoming design.” He turned his forearm up, leaving the skull facing up at the sky. Or rather, where the skull should have been. “So I wanted to get it removed. I mean, magic couldn’t get it out, but maybe muggle work could.” He blew out a long chain of clouds, covering his face for a moment. “But it didn’t. So, after some asking around, I found out I could get it covered up. I got a narcissa flower, for my mother, but I kept the snake because I didn’t have enough money for more.”
“You know, it is a really nice design…” Harry muttered, earning a chuckled from the blonde.
“You think so, too?” He smiled slightly, and it sent flutters through Harry’s stomach. “I drew it. And all of them, actually. The manager at the tattoo parlor loved them, too, so he offered me a job there.”
“And what did you do?” Harry asked, immediately cursing himself for sounding like a petulant child. “I mean..did you take it?”
“Yes, well… not tattooing, just drawing. I can’t afford the apartments in the area and I live too far to be able to work full time. I just send some every day and a paycheck comes in the mail once a week.” Seeing Harry eyeing the tattoo, he held out his arm before him. “You can touch them if you want to,” he said with a smirk. Harry glared at him but took it anyway.
He held him delicately at the wrist, then traced the snake, a faded grey, inactive. Draco felt goosebumps rise all over his arm, and quickly put the cigarette to his lips so the widening og his eyes wasn’t visible. Harry’s calloused fingertips, then, brushed the flower, following the bouquet that surrounded the snake, so detailed, so colorful, so beautiful. Wrapping around the width if his arm, vines curled, leaves, roses, under his elbow, over his biceps, and at this point Draco was practically shaking from excitement. Harry, occupied in what he was doing, followed the tracks, continuing on to the tree on his shoulder, then grabbed his other hand. The snake on one of his fingers writhed a bit, but soon hissed softy under his touch. The forgotten cigarette stub fell to the dirt, still incandescent. Harry shifted to sit in front of him, and once again encircled the black band inked across Draco’s wrist, the sun, moon, star all in a row beneath it, followed by a great owl whose wings spread all around. Below the crook of his elbow was a compass, the skin smooth and soft, and Harry followed it with more fervor, letting the north arrow guide him to the upper arm, where a beautiful, intricate dragon reared its head and wrapped it’s tail over the compass, breathing fire up his shoulder. Harry pushed back the sleeve to uncover a fiery tree once again, framed in the flames, before letting the sleeve fall back to shift to the collar. At this point he was on his knees, almost leaning on Malfoy, who was crumbling below him. The rough skin of Harry’s fingertips was now on his collarbones, on the two arrows lining the bone. And above each, in all caps, the words 'ANGEL’ and 'DEVIL’
Harry sucked in a breath, both his hands now on Draco’s chest. His face was barely inches from his neck, and his lips trembled with anticipation. He heard -
Wait, did he hear that right? Did Malfoy just whimper?
Harry smirked involuntarily, but at the same time felt a surge of adrenaline course through his veins. Maybe, just maybe, he could admit that Draco was…good looking. And the jacket, the tattoos, the cigarette gave him a bad boy vibe that made him go nothing short of crazy.
He approached the colored skin, staring intently at the lettering, before closing his eyes, and setting his mouth on the warm, soft skin.
Where Harry’s lips met him, Draco’s skin was on fire. He could feel himself give way beneath them, succumbing to his touch. At first it was just a butterfly kiss, barely brushing his collarbone. Then he pressed a little harder, before flitting his tongue out, leaving wet trails around his neck when he shifted to the 'DEVIL’ side. Draco gripped his back, fisting the material of the brunette’s jacket, biting back a moan. At this point Harry was practically on top of him, and Draco’s legs were almost wrapped around his waist. And suddenly - Draco’s eyes went wide and he gasped when he felt the scratch of teeth, softly enough not to tear but still sending his heartbeat into a frenzy.
Harry slid his hands along the blond’s thighs, thanking Merlin for skinny jeans. He then slipped them underneath, all the while moving up his neck with his mouth, sucking and nipping. Oh, he was going to have some bruises left tomorrow. Draco tilted his head, allowing him easier access, and wrapped his arms around his neck. Harry, then, hoisted him up and stood while carrying him, pushing him up against the hard wall and grinding his hips into the other’s. Draco welcomed him and tightened his legs to push back, moving in sync.
At this point Harry was up to his jawline, and Draco was definitely sure Harry’s hands had moved to his ass. He felt the brick wall behind him push him deeper it Harry’s grasp, trapping him, making Harry’s hips dig into his own. He could feel the pain, and at the same time the strength of Harry’s arms taught around him. He felt another sharp bite and this time gripped him by the shoulders, before silently throwing them into the claustrophobia- inducing whirl of apparation.
In mere moments they crashed onto Draco’s bed, Harry on top of Malfoy and shifting to his mouth. They met with a clanging of teeth, not as uncomfortable as Draco would have thought it would be, the kiss hungry and demanding. Malfoy grabbed Harry’s jacket and practically ripped it off him, without detaching their lips from each other. The brunette slid his hands underneath Draco’s shirt, pushing up the white fabric and making Draco’s heartbeat go wild, and he arched his back to pull it over his head and throw it on the floor.
Harry finally broke off the kiss, needy for oxygen, and pulled off his own shirt in the process. Malfoy couldn’t hold back the uncontrollable thrust of his hips upwards, and took in the sight that was Harry Potter while it lasted.
Auror training, he had to admit, was going good for Harry.
Harry, too, took a moment to admire Draco. The tattoos were less dense on his chest, but were there, nonetheless. An intricate ship adorned his left pec, sailing on dark waters, the mast pointing up to the 'ANGEL’, but below, a long, coiling sea monster menaced. On the right, a mountainside. Harry was so caught up in the details, he sort of- though he would never admit it- forgot he was in the middle of something. Draco, though, had taken less time, and was getting impatient. His old rival reminded him of a time when he was used to getting what he wanted, and he wanted Harry. Now. This instant.
He growled, flipping Harry over so he was pinned to the bed, hands beside his head. Draco leaned to his ear, catching his lobe between his teeth. “Like what you see?” He whispered, his breath running down Harry’s neck. This time, it was the brunette’s turn to hold back, in vain, the sudden push. Draco took this as a cue to plant his palm on his hips, slamming him down onto the sheets. He trailed his lips down his neck, feeling his frantic breathing make his rib cage tremble. Harry’s skin was damp and slick, he could taste the salt of sweat on his lips. He let his tongue drag behind, down his collar, through his pecs… until he felt the hard bump of his nipple and stopped. He played with it, circling it with his tongue a bit, to which he heard Harry suck in a breath. Then he encased it with his lips and sucked, hard.
Harry’s hands flew to the Platinum blond hair, fingers intertwining with the locks as he pulled desperately, choking back a whine. Draco continued until Harry could have sworn it had swollen, then he felt him move down, slowly but steadily, over the edge of his ribs, the crook beneath, his abs….
Draco felt Harry tug on his hair again when he reached the waistband, and he couldn’t hold back the smirk. He moved the hand on his hip to the zipper, sliding it open excruciatingly slowly and undoing the button, before sliding a finger under the elastic. In the small opening it allowed him, he flit his tongue in and out, in and out, without ever going far enough.
He brought his other hand on Harry’s chest, palm flat and fingers splayed, and with a last lick pulled himself back up, resisting the pull on his hair.
“You are such a fucking tease, Malfoy,” Harry hissed, before grabbing Draco’s ass roughly, banging his crotch against his.
“Oh, shut up will you?” Draco retorted and captured his lips in his own, nibbling as he let his fingers meander over his lower torso, playing once again with the brim of the Golden Boy’s briefs, inching them down his hips.
“Just,” Harry was out of breath at this point, and the pain in his pants made him feel light-headed.“Just fucking do something!” He demanded, pushing his jeans down with one hand and squeezing Draco even more.
“Then why didn’t you say so?” Draco taunted, and with a last bruising kiss he tore himself from Harry, pulling down the boxers all the way.
He didn’t waste much time looking at it, despite the fact that there was a lot to look at.
Harry clenched his jaw and took a fistful of blond hair when he felt his warm lips close over his cock, screwing his eyes shut as a moan escaped his lips. He pushed his hips back and forth, following the movement of those thin rose lips he had dreamt of for so long. Screwing his eyes shut, he allowed Draco to take over.
When he felt on the verge of coming, he felt the blond set his hand on his hips again, and slowly, pulled his cock out of his mouth, making Harry squirm beneath him. Draco gave him a last lick and slid up to Harry’s face, covering his jaw in wet kisses, enjoying the feeling of Harry writhing like a snake because of him, practically begging for more. When he reached the end of his jaw he brought himself closer to his ear.
“Wait, you can’t come like this: I won’t allow it.” Harry felt a shiver down his spine at his husky voice, ragged.
“Oh, yeah? How do you want me to come, then?” Harry panted.
“Turn over,” Draco ordered.
Harry felt a soar of elation, letting Malfoy turn him, on all fours. Draco first set his hands on his shoulders, then leaned on to him so his hardened shaft was pressed against Harry’s crack, and had he not already been hard it would have been an immediate erection. He felt Malfoy’s hot, panting breath on his nape, his long fingers sliding down his spine gingerly, all the way to his ass.
“Do you want me to fuck you until you scream?” He licked his lobe maliciously.
“Fuck, yes! Just- yes, go!” Harry whimpered. Draco didn’t need any more convincing: he uttered a wandless spell that stretched his cock in lube, and the he spread his ass cheeks, shoving his long, slender fingers in, before replacing them with is cock. He took a few thrusts before finally getting in all the way, and when he felt Harry tighten around him he rocked with the rythm, grabbing his hips.
Meanwhile Harry had his face pressed into the matress, biting down on the sheets and trying not to let his moans escape: but they did, and Draco heard it. The blond smirked and let go if his hips, still rocking back and forth, and grabbed the brunette’s shaft. Harry’s eyes snapped wide open and he released the sheets, and starting to breathe heavily as he brought his hands over Malfoy’s. He rubs them up and down, guiding him feverishly, going faster and faster, feeling Draco speed up inside of him, the release so close he wants to yell.
When they come at the same time it’s a hot, sticky mess. Harry feels the warm substance fill him up, almost to the brim, and Draco feels it spill over his hands. They both breath deeply, not moving at first, Draco hanging his head back in pleasure. Harry drops his hands, bring them to fist the sheets beside him, and closes his eyes peacefully. The sour stench of sex has filled the room, the dawn light filtering through just barely, giving the room a bluish tinge.
Finally, Malfoy pulls out carefully, the cum falling over Harry’s butt cheeks. He slides his hands off of Harry’s cock and stands up, leaving Harry to falter and collapse on the bed, emptied and exhausted. He vaguely heard footsteps heading out of the room, getting fainter and fainter.
He shifted gingerly, his sore body aching, and turned on his back. He stared up at the ceiling: why was there so many cracks? He suddenly realized he hadn’t been to one to transport them, and he was probably at Draco’s. And wait- he did that without a wand, he just remembered! He couldn’t help being impressed. He cast a glance around the room. It was small, the paint peeling in the corners and smelled of worn leather and herbs. It felt strange seeing Malfoy live in a place like this, so salubrious and, well, filthy. But…warm, homely. And it had that certain petrichor smell that Draco had always had, along with his lavender cologne.
He could feel his eyes getting heavier, and for a moment he considered apparating home: his wand was in the pocket of his jacket at arm’s length away, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave. He was too tired to ask himself why, but something made him feel, well, at home.
And after some time his eyelids finally shut, as he succumbed into the dark tunnel of sleep.