r of Merlin!

“How did you spend New Year’s?” Potter asked, sipping at his beer. Draco blinked. His brain was working slower than usual.

“Oh, Mother and I were invited to a friend’s party.”

“Ah,” Potter said. “Anyone special there? Someone you kissed at midnight, perhaps?”

Draco opened his mouth, only to close it again, without being able to say anything. His gaze flicked down to Potter’s lips. There was a bit of foam above his upper lip from his beer. Oh, how much Draco wanted to lick it. He hated beer, but you always had to make sacrifices in life, right? His fingers twitched with the desire to reach up and touch Potter’s face, his legs trembling at the thought of leaning into his body…It only got worse when his eyes locked with Potter’s. There was something about the way he was looking at Draco that made his breath hitch.

“So, did you?” Potter asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Huh?”

“Kiss anybody at midnight?”

“Oh.” Draco swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. “No?” He had no idea why his answer sounded like a question. His mind was too far gone, apparently.

Potter’s scrutinising gaze intensified. “Good.”

Good? What? Why?

“Yeah…good,” Draco breathed, oblivious to the fact that he was slowly but surely leaning forward.

“Merlin, get a room, you two,” he suddenly heard Pansy call. At that, Draco nearly jumped out of his seat, immediately drawing back and smoothing down his shirt. Heat coursed through him, leaving him flustered and confused. He sneaked a peek at Potter, who lookedpletely undisturbed as he sipped at his beer. Internally grumbling, Draco narrowed his eyes. Damn Potter! Was he even realising how much he affected Draco? Apparently not.

Shortly after, Potter excused himself, and Draco finally felt like he could breathe again.

“Psst, Draco,” Pansy hissed. “Want to make a bet?”

Draco arched an eyebrow at her devious smile and the way she was curling her finger under her chin.

“I’m good,” he declined.

“But you haven’t even heard it yet.”

“I don’t need to.”

“What if it involves getting into Potter’s pants?” she smirked. Draco shot her a dark look.

“Hey, you’re not making any bets involving…Harry’s pants,” Weasley said. “Especially not you,” he added, pointing at Draco.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco asked, incredulously.

“Let’s just—No bets, okay?” Granger said, her hands outstretched between her boyfriend and Draco, as if she was trying to prevent them from jumping out of their seats and start a duel.

“Whatever,” Draco muttered, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Aw, don’t pout, Draco. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of chances to get into Potter’s pants,” Blaise sniggered, patting Draco’s shoulder. Salazar’s balls! This evening had been a mistake. He should have just stayed at home…

“What did I miss?” Potter asked as he sat down again.

“Nothing,” Draco said hastily. He turned to Potter, trying to make sure nobody else caught his attention and filled him in. His effort was redundant, he realised, since Potter’s eyes were already fixed on him.

“Here, I brought you another,” he said, offering Draco the wine in his hand.

“I really shouldn’t,” Draco said, immediately wrenching the glass out of Potter’s grip and taking a swig.

“O-kay,” Potter said, sounding sceptical and amused at the same time. “I think you should drink this on the side.” He placed a glass of water in front of Draco, as if it wasn’t a big deal. And…of course it wasn’t. It was just water. And yet, Draco stared at it in wonder.

“What are you now, my chaperone?” he said, unable to withhold a teasing smile.

“You look like you need one,” Potter quipped. “Although, ‘chaperone’ isn’t quite what I was going for.”

“Oh?” Draco’s head was swimming. Drinking and being this close to Potter really wasn’t a goodbination.

“Being a chaperone is too…restricting.” Potter flashed him an irritatingly cute smile.

“Don’t do that,” Draco said, furrowing his brows.

“What am I doing?” Potter asked, puzzled.

“Don’t go around, showing people your dimples as if it’s nothing.”

Potter blinked. “I—What?”

Ugh, why was Potter so dense?

“Your dimples,” Draco said, emphatically. He jabbed a finger at Potter’s cheek, poking it repeatedly.

“Ow, Draco,” Potter half-heartedly protested, his lips stretching into another smile.

“No dimples,” Draco said, defiantly.

“I didn’t realise my dimples are so offending,” Potter sniggered.

“They are,” Draco said, scowling stubbornly. “Very.”

“Is there anything else about me that’s offending you?” Potter asked with a strange twinkle in his eyes.

Draco looked him up and down, trying to choose his words carefully. “Honestly, Potter, you should know by now that basically everything about you is offending,” he drawled. It wasn’t untrue.

“I think your eyes are what’s offending him the most,” Blaise unhelpfully chipped in. “And probably your hair. And…” He feigned reflectiveness before he shrugged and leaned back. “Yeah, no, he’s right. It’s everything.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Potter grinned.

Draco hastily reached for his wine. Was it possible Potter had finally learned to grasp the concept of subtext? Nah. Draco was probably worrying over nothing.

“You know what I find offending?” Potter said in a low voice. Draco shot him a wary look. “That shirt.”

If Draco hated one thing, it was being flustered.

“Unsurprising,” he said, trying to sound like he didn’t care. “One look at your clothes says everything.”

It really did. The beige jumper he was wearing was the most boring thing Draco had ever seen. At least itplimented his skin tone. And it did bring out the colour of his eyes. A bit. Draco had also noticed that the jumper was a little too big for Potter, but he had rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his forearms, his lovely dark skin…The grey Muggle jeans also weren’t as tight as Draco liked his own trousers, and, horrifyingly, they were ripped at the knees.

“You don’t approve?” Potter asked, not sounding one bit like he wanted anyone’s approval. He leaned back in his chair and put one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his knee. And then, he put his arm back on Draco’s chair.

“You don’t need my approval,” Draco snapped, trying to sit still, even though the warmth, radiating from Potter’s arm, was making him want to scream.

“No, I don’t,” Potter said, resuming to drum his fingers against the chair. “But I’d like to know what you think.”

Draco snorted. “Honestly, I couldn’t care less.”

Potter let out a sigh. “I’m trying to be nice here, Draco, but you’re making it extremely hard.”

“Oh, I bet he is,” Blaise chuckled. That bastard!

Draco lowered his head and pressed the back of his hand against his forehead to show how fed up with Blaise he was, but also to hide the crimson flames he could feel on his cheeks.

“Is it me being nice?” Potter whispered.

“What?”

“Is me being nice what’s making you so ufortable?”

Draco’s head snapped up again. “What makes you think I’m ufortable? I’m perfectly at ease.”

“Right,” Potter said, obviously not convinced. Draco forced his body to relax. He even sagged down in his seat a little. The corner of Potter’s mouth twitched as he watched Draco slide down lower and lower. “Okay, okay, you’re perfectly at ease,” he laughed.

Draco couldn’t keep his lips from stretching into a smile as well. Right before he slipped off the chairpletely, he hoisted himself up. The sudden movement made him dizzy, and, for a second, he wondered if Potter knew how intoxicated he really was. He was giving him a strange look.

“What?” Draco asked.

“Um…nothing,” Potter said. His leg twitched and it took Draco almost ten fucking seconds until he asked himself why he could feel Potter’s leg twitch. He looked down at the appalling grey jeans. Wait. Why was his hand on those jeans? WAIT! WHY was his hand ON POTTER’S THIGH? Fuck! Draco wanted to die right there and then. What should he do now? Withdraw his hand, obviously. But snatching it away as though he’d been burnt seemed a) childish and b) too revealing. Yes, he would slowly, very very slowly, slide his hand down, as if it was deliberate and—Wait, no. WHAT WAS HE DOING? Fuck, and now Potter was looking at him as though…as though…

“Do you need help with that?” a low voice breathed against Draco’s ear. Draco jumped.

“Blaise, you fucking bastard,” he bellowed, and he probably would have hexed him on the spot, if…well, if his hand hadn’t been pressed against Potter’s crotch. “Oh fuck,” Draco hissed, snatching his hand away. His eyes inadvertently locked with Potter’s. “S—Sorry,” Draco mumbled, suddenly feeling numb.

He had just touched Potter’s cock. POTTER’S COCK! HOLY MOTHER OF MERLIN!

“It was an ident,” Potter said, and it didn’t escape Draco’s notice that his voice sounded raspier than before. “Unless…it wasn’t.”

As though those words had triggered something in Draco’s body, he immediately started to cough. “In your dreams, Potter,” he choked. He heard Blaise chuckle beside him.

“Pfft, as if, Malfoy,” Potter retorted, squaring his shoulders.

As the coughing fit slowly ceased, embarrassment crashed down on him as if the whole ceiling had just collapsed. Fuck. His hand had been on Potter’s cock! Maybe this was an unmistakable sign to put an end to this misery of an evening.

“I have to go,” Draco announced, grabbing his cloak.

“Draco,” Potter called, which Draco chose to ignore. As soon as he started walking, he discovered, unfortunately, he was staggering. Bugger.

He stepped out into the dark, the cold air hitting him in the face like a sobering charm. He fumbled inside his cloak for his wand, momentarily distracted when he heard footsteps behind him.

“Draco!”

Ugh, what did Potter want now?

“Let me take you home,” he said. Draco’s mind reeled as the words pierced him. They were innocent enough, and yet, his traitorous mind supplied him with images of Potter, grabbing his hand, Apparating them to the Manor and pushing him against a wall while he begged Draco to touch him again. For real this time.

“I’m fine, Potter! Go back in,” he snapped.

“What if you splinch yourself?” Potter insisted.

“I won’t,” Draco replied flatly.

e on, let me—”

“I’m fine, Potter,” he said, and with a desperate flick of his wand he fled the scene. He landed, rather ungainly, facedown on his bed.

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