Harry's not happy. Christmas is supposed to be a time spent with loved ones, and while that's true – they are all here – somehow Narcissa Malfoy's formal Christmas party saps the magic right out of the whole affair – for Harry at least.
He's sitting off to the side of the dancefloor – who the hell has a fucking ballroom in their house – and watching Draco dance with one beautifully dressed woman after another while his mother beams her approval at him. She's dancing with Lucius. Lucius and Harry have an unspoken agreement to not acknowledge each other in public settings, lest they make a scene. After the last public brawl, Lucius spent a month in the west wing of the manor, and Harry had to sleep on the couch in his and Draco's flat – until Draco tired of his dildo and accepted Harry's apology.
Harry drums his fingers on his knee, feeling more uptight and stiff than he has in ages, like he's got a real stick up his arse. His mood clouds the air around him, and even his friends seem unwilling to approach him. That suits him just fine right now. He's watching Draco dance with Pansy, his trousers so well-fitted, his gorgeous pert buttocks practically screaming for attention. And Pansy's hands are currently answering the call.
She's doing it in jest, he knows this deep down. She's a Weasley now, though Harry still has trouble wrapping his mind around George's taste in women … But damn, why does she need to rile him up? He wonders if she's trying to see how far she can take it before he cracks and gets exiled to the couch again. No way is he rising to the bait.
The music ends and the dancers clap for the orchestra. Draco's heading his way. Harry's heart leaps. "Time to go home?" he asks hopefully.
Draco laughs and shrugs off his jacket, then loosens his tie and the front buttons of his shirt. He drapes his jacket on the empty chair opposite Harry and drinks an entire glass of champagne in one go, then wipes his mouth with his sleeve. "Harry, we've only been here an hour. Why don't you come and dance with me? Just one dance?"
Harry scowls, catches Lucius watching him with a self-satisfied smirk, and turns in his chair so he doesn't have to see him any longer. "I hate dancing, Draco. I just want to go home." He's pleading and sounds childish, he knows it, but can't help himself.
Draco sighs and pats his shoulder. "Sorry. You promised you'd put up with Mum's party if I agreed to do Boxing Day at the Burrow. I'm going to enjoy myself tonight and you'll get yours later, if you behave."
The music starts up again and Draco asks Hermione to dance. Harry's eyes boggle at his impertinence, and then he feels like squeezing them shut tight and praying for the nightmare to end when she accepts.
"Doesn't that bother you?" Harry demands of Ron when his best friend brings him another glass of champagne. He gestures towards the spectacle of Hermione and Draco dancing together, a rather invigorating number, Draco's arse jiggling indecently.
"What?" Ron asks. He's fucking clueless. "They're having a good time. Besides, if Malfoy can wear her out during the fast songs, then I don't have to do it. Pretty brilliant actually."
Harry sips from his new glass in a daze, despite not having finished the first one. He's grumpy and can't help it. At some point George draws Ron away to talk about the Christmas Crackers they're planning to bring out, and Harry resigns himself to another couple of hours of Draco-watching.
When Astoria Greengrass and Draco start dancing, and she's looking up into Draco's face with rosy cheeks and pouting lips, Harry can't do it anymore. He gets to his feet and taps Astoria's shoulder. She withdraws with a small frown but handles it with more grace than Harry does. He takes Draco in his arms and sways with him.
"That wasn't nice, Harry," Draco whispers, but Harry can tell he's forgiven his rudeness when Draco steps even closer so they're dancing chest to chest, hip to hip.
"I want you to come home with me," Harry breathes. He's being manipulative, and he knows it as he lowers his hand and grips one of Draco's bum cheeks, his surefire method of getting Draco hot fast.
Draco inhales sharply, leans in close, and brushes their lips together. "Okay."
Harry has Draco covered with his cloak and Draco's jacket in hand a minute later, and then he's sweeping him out of the ballroom to the front doors. He Apparates them back to their flat as soon as they're on the porch.
Maybe they should just forego the Burrow in the morning. But wait, he'd gone to the stupid Malfoy Christmas Dance; it serves Draco right to have to go to Boxing Day with a hangover. He shakes his head at his reflection and pushes his glasses back on his nose. He's not that cruel. He fetches a hangover potion from the cabinet and takes it with him, setting it on the bedside table.
Draco's sleeping, just as he'd suspected. The sheet is pulled up to his chin and his face is smooth and peaceful. Harry slumps on the side of the bed, strips off his shoes, trousers, and unbuttons his shirt. He's ready to take it off when Draco's toe pokes him in the back. He turns, and his jaw drops.
Draco's not sleeping. In fact, he's thrown the sheet aside and is lounging against his pillow, displaying his body for Harry. He's wearing a waist cincher with garters at the bottom holding up a pair of thigh-high sheer stockings. Holy hell. Harry decides Draco's trying to explode his brain, when his eyes fall on his tiny pair of satin green knickers that don't quite conceal his growing erection.
"What's the matter?" Draco asks, batting his eyelashes. "Don't you want to unwrap your Christmas Present?"
All the grumpy thoughts flee like shadows under the sun. His mouth goes suddenly dry, and he clears his throat. "You were wearing that all evening?"
Draco winks at him, making a come hither gesture with his hand. He spreads his legs, bringing one knee up. The other extends to make room for Harry to slot himself between them.
Harry rips his shirt off, climbs into the space Draco's made, and wipes Draco's silly smirk off with his tongue and lips. When he's satisfied Draco's been snogged to the point he needs to catch his breath, Harry backs off. He kisses his way down Draco's chest. He pauses at the top of the waist cincher, laves Draco's stomach with his tongue, then moves lower, and tosses his glasses aside. He nuzzles Draco's cock through his silky knickers, teasing the tip poking out at the top, and then works the fabric down to the top of his balls. He swallows Draco's cock as fast as he can. He sucks and bobs his head, taking Draco's prick to the back of his throat, making a slippery mess to the music of Draco's sighs.
He can feel Draco's hands at work on his stockings, flicking the garter fastenings free. Harry moans into the blow job as Draco's creamy thighs cradle his face, his stocking-clad legs circling Harry's back. It's not enough; it's never enough with Draco, and Harry pops off. He upends Draco's legs but doesn't worry about it as he works his prize free and pulls the knickers off. A second later he's holding Draco's legs apart and working his rim open with his tongue.
Harry's beyond happy with his Christmas gift. Draco always knows just what Harry likes. Harry thanks him with his entire body, kissing, licking, biting (softly). The need to get as close to Draco as possible, to climb inside him, carries away all the petty annoyances.
"Turn around," Harry gasps, pulling back. His cock is going to burst if he's not inside Draco NOW, and Draco, oh so prettily, obliges. Harry shoves his own pants off, captivated by the display of Draco on his arms and knees, his arse framed by the brown leather waist cincher and his sheer stockings. Harry climbs into position, grabs the leather strings of the cincher as if they are reins, and drives Draco with his cock until he can no longer see straight.
He climbs onto the bed and nudges Draco's shoulder. Draco yawns and blinks, his forehead wrinkling.
"It's Boxing Day. Time to get ready to go to the Burrow."
"Do we have to?" Draco groans. He covers his forehead with his hand.
Harry chuckles and fetches the hangover potion, then pushes it into Draco's palm.
Draco swallows it with a grimace and looks at Harry with one squinting eye. "You feeling better after last night?"
Harry grins. "You made it all better. Though, I'm still going to have words with Pansy about keeping her hands off your arse." Harry climbs off the bed to admire his new jeans again in the mirror.
Draco snickers. He blinks a few times as the potion takes effect. Then he sits up startlingly fast. "No. You cannot wear that outfit out in public!"
Harry frowns. He looks really good. He turns to meet Draco's flashing eyes. "Why not? It looks great on me. You're right that I should wear flattering clothes more often."
Draco's face screws up in anguish. It makes Harry want to burst out laughing. "But not … NO!"
Harry crawls back onto the bed and pulls Draco down with him in a half-embrace. "Come on, Draco. If you don't want me to wear tight clothes, you need to stop buying them for me."
Draco narrows his eyes. "Charlie Weasley is going to be there and he'll be touching you. He won't be able to stop himself." He looks down at where his own hands are kneading Harry's arse through his jeans. "Look at this! I can't even stop myself touching you!"
Compromises, Harry decides, are what make even the most trying relationships work.