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An Excess of Holiday Cheer

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An Excess of Holiday Cheer

There were too many bloody Weasleys in the house. The last few days had seen a near-constant stream of them, laughing, shouting, stringing garlands and fairy lights on every available surface, and generally behaving in the most uncouth manner possible. Granted, Draco wasn't in any position to say who could or couldn't be in the house, given that it belonged to Harry effing Potter, not him. But he had as much right to be there as anyone else, so he held his ground against the never-ending tide of ginger idiocy and refused to be driven off.

It wasn't as though Draco actually wanted to spend his holidays in this abysmal place, after all. But with his parents serving their (thankfully shorter than they could have been) stints in Azkaban and the Manor being ransacked and investigated by the Ministry, Draco had nowhere else to go. So when Professor McGonagall offered him a safe place to stay for a while, he'd had little choice but to swallow what was left of his pride and accept.

The worst part about it wasn't the blow to his ego, though, or the run-down house or the creepy House-elf or even the Weasleys. No, the worst thing, the most absolutely intolerable thing, was that Potter was being nice to him.

Once Draco had discovered that he and Potter would be sharing living quarters, he'd fully anticipated insults, sneers, shouts, and a few thrown hexes on both sides. Yet none of that had happened. From the moment Draco had set foot in number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Potter had been insufferably polite. After a while he'd even started shooting Draco awkward smiles and trying to engage him in conversation, for Salazar's sake! No matter how much he turned it over in his head, Draco couldn't fathom what Potter was up to, and strangely enough, he sort of missed the familiarity of their fights. At least he knew where he stood with Potter when they were cursing each other.

Scowling, Draco slouched farther down into his armchair and tried to ignore the Twin Weasels as they hung highly suspicious-looking mistletoe about the drawing room. Really, he should have realized it would only be a matter of time before the two miscreants decided Draco could provide more entertainment than fishy foliage.

"Oi, look at Malfoy over there, will you? He looks like he's been sucking too many acid pops."

The one who'd spoken was George; Draco knew that from the missing ear. Being able to tell the two apart didn't particularly matter, though, since each was just as obnoxious as the other.

"Nah," Fred said, "lemons. That's why his hair's gone all white. Mum says lemons are good for bleaching."

Draco bristled at the notion that his hair color was anything other than natural, but he managed not to argue the point. Instead he simply glared at the twins and willed them to spontaneously burst into flames.

"Hasn't anyone told you it's holiday time, Malfoy? Where's your Christmas cheer?"

Most likely it had been confiscated by the Ministry, Draco thought. "I don't know, Weasley," he sneered. "Why don't you go look for it for me? In another part of the house."

"Oh, we really couldn't leave you alone in such a state," Fred said.

George gave a flick of his wand, and Draco felt something brush the top of his head. He reached up to bat whatever it was away, but it dodged his swipe and came to dangle in front of his face. It was one of the twins' sprigs of mistletoe. Fantastic.

"Maybe a snog would cheer him up," George remarked.

"Sorry, Weasley; you're not my type," Draco said. "I'm allergic to ginger. Gives me hives."

"This is definitely going to require more than a snog," Fred said.

Not liking the sound of that one bit, Draco decided to admit defeat and leave the room. When he tried to stand, however, George flicked his wand again, and ivy vines sprang forth from the chair to wind around Draco and trap him in his seat. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Draco said, tugging at the vines.

"Helping," George said, his mouth stretching into a wicked grin.

"But clearly we haven't done enough for him yet," Fred said. This time he was the one to wave his wand. A revoltingly festive garland draped itself over Draco.

"Better, but needs more."

Draco sputtered as an evergreen wreath fell from the air to hang from his neck.

"Nice one, George." Apparently feeling the need to outdo his twin, Fred waved and flicked, and shiny boughs of holly sprouted from every part of Draco's body, from his feet to his forehead.

"Wait, stop!" Draco said, his eyes going round. "Stop, I'm allergic!"

"We know," George said. "You're allergic to everything cheery."

"Holly's supposed to make you jolly, not stroppy, Malfoy," Fred added.

"No, you prats, I really am allergic!" Draco broke free of the ivy and struggled to get up. He was certain he'd already started itching.

"What the hell's going on in here?" demanded an all-to-familiar voice from behind Draco.

"Heya, Harry," George said, not the least bit contrite. "We were just helping Malfoy here to get into the spirit of the season."

"I think you might have missed the part about 'good will between men,'" Potter growled, then the holly and ivy vanished.

Feeling himself flush, Draco clamped his mouth shut against an assertion that he didn't need Potter to rescue him -- again, and began to disentangle himself from the wreath and garland.

"Aw, Harry, we were just having a bit of harmless fun."

"Not," Harry warned, "another word." Moving up beside Draco, he asked, "All right, Malfoy?"

Free of his unfortunate decorations, Draco rose from the chair. "Perfectly fine. Although I suggest keeping your pair of clabberts on a leash in polite company."

"Good thing you're not polite," Potter said, but oddly, his smile wasn't a mocking one.

With a sniff, Draco moved to leave the room. His head spun, his knees went wobbly, and he sagged sideways. To his horror, Potter reached out to catch him. Draco tried to shake him off, but in the process he saw that a lurid rash had already formed on the backs of his hands.

"Okay," Potter said, "we need to get this washed off or something. Come on."

With his legs feeling like they were made of jelly slugs, Draco couldn't put up much resistance when Potter put his arm around him for support and began walking him out of the drawing room and towards the bathroom. Halfway down the hall, he groused, "Don't you ever get tired of saving people?"

With a little laugh, Potter said, "Apparently not."

Potter's laugh and voice vibrated through Draco's chest, and Potter felt good pressed up against him, warm and solid. That only served to make a bad situation a hundred times worse as far as Draco was concerned. His scowl deepened, and he told himself he was relieved rather than disappointed when Potter finally deposited him on the lid of the toilet.

Any relief that Draco might have felt was short lived. Before he knew what was happening, Potter had reached for him and was unfastening the top button of his shirt. "What are you doing?!" Draco squawked, flapping his arms and pulling back in shock.

Jerking away as though he'd been burned, Potter said, "I, uh. You. The rash…" A violent blush crept up his neck.

"I'm not an invalid," Draco said. "I can undress myself." To prove the point, he took over unbuttoning his shirt where Potter had left off.

When Draco reached the last button, he looked up to find Potter watching him, an odd expression on his face. Something about it made Draco embarrassed and angry, although he couldn't quite say why. "Well?" he asked irritably. "Are you going to find some sort of ointment for this?" He waved his hands to indicate the rash that had spread across his chest.

"Right." Potter gave his head a sharp shake. "Right. I'll do that. Immediately after I hex Fred and George so that their todgers swap positions with their noses. Be right back."

Draco snickered at the mental image of the twin terrors with their pricks flopping on their faces, but he made sure not to do it until Potter had left the room and was out of earshot. The very last thing he needed was Potter thinking he found him even the slightest bit amusing.

The problem, Draco thought as he pulled off his shoes and socks, was that he did find Potter… well, interesting. Now that they were around each other all the time and they seemed to have reached some sort of truce, Draco couldn't stop noticing things about Potter. Like how much his chest and shoulders had filled out in the last year, and how good his arse looked in a well-fitting pair of denims. Even his imbecilic grin and abominably messy hair had become strangely endearing. Utterly disgusted with himself, Draco wriggled out of his trousers and tossed them aside with a huff, then scratched at the rash on his leg.

Startled shouts followed by the sound of someone running down the hall jerked Draco out of his sulk. A moment later, Potter flew into the bathroom and shut, locked, and warded the door behind him. When he turned to face Draco, he wore a self-satisfied smirk.

His eyebrows shooting up, Draco said, "You didn't actually hex them?"

Potter's smirk widened. "Do I seem like the type to issue empty threats to you?"

This time Draco couldn't hold back a small, startled laugh. Potter beamed at him like an idiot. Then, after a few moments, the grin slowly fell, and Potter continued to stare at Draco dumbly. Sitting there in only his unbuttoned shirt and his pants, Draco suddenly felt oddly exposed. At last he snapped, "What?"

Potter blinked, and his cheeks colored. "Er, nothing. I brought the ointment," he announced, holding a jar of Mrs. Spungee's Rash Removing, Itch Eradicating, Blister Blasting Unguent aloft.

"About time," Draco muttered as he snagged the jar from Potter's hand. He rushed to twist the top off, dip his fingers into the jar, and spread its contents over a particularly itchy spot on his thigh. His eyes fluttered shut and he nearly moaned in relief when the salve cooled his skin and began taking away the itch.

He was nearly done with one leg before he realized that Potter was silently watching him again. Snapping his head up, he said, "Still here? What now?"

"Well." Potter's voice creaked, and he cleared his throat. "I can't very well go back out there with Fred and George after my hide, can I? And anyway, I reckoned you could use a hand."

Incensed, Draco said, "Now you think I'm incapable of putting ointment on a rash? I realize you don't have the highest opinion of me, but exactly how pathetic do you think I am, Potter?"

Potter had the audacity to lean back against the sink and smirk. "So you can put ointment on your own back without any trouble at all? Impressive flexibility."

Although Potter couldn't have intended for there to be any innuendo in the remark, it sent Draco's mind to highly inappropriate places anyway, and he felt his face heat. To cover his consternation, he thrust the jar at Potter and said, "Fine."

After pushing away from the sink, Potter turned Draco a bit and moved around behind him. A wave of his wand had the salve hovering in the air where both he and Draco could reach it.

The air seemed to crackle with tension as Draco waited for Potter to make his next move. Then Potter took Draco's shirt by the collar and slid it off his shoulders and down his back. Draco sucked in a breath as the fabric brushed over his skin, and he allowed Potter to remove his shirt entirely and toss it aside. He nearly started when Potter parted his hair and draped it forward over his shoulders.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Potter reach for the ointment, and he braced himself for what would come next.

He'd always thought of Potter as the sort to rush into things recklessly, but his first touch was light, almost tentative. He began tracing slow circles over Draco's back, rubbing the salve in thoroughly. There was nothing perfunctory or hasty about it at all.

With his heart hammering in his chest, Draco tried to focus on putting the salve on the parts of his body that were within his own reach. Try as he might, though, he couldn't ignore Potter's hands on his skin, and he only managed to do a slapdash job of treating his rash. Eventually he gave it up as a lost cause and simply allowed himself to feel what Potter was doing.

Soon Draco found himself relaxing under the influence of Potter's careful attention. When Potter moved up to rub the back of his neck, Draco dropped his head forward and was chagrinned at the tiny groan that escaped him. Potter's fingers felt good, better than good, better than Draco would have ever imagined, and he couldn't help wondering what they might feel like skimming over other, more intimate parts of his body.

Draco realized his mistake too late. Before he knew what was happening, his blood was rushing south and his cock was filling in response to his thoughts. As if that wasn't mortifying enough, Potter finished applying the ointment a few moments later. Draco tried to place his arms strategically to hide his erection though he knew it was futile.

Potter came around to the front, and his gaze dropped immediately to Draco's lap. Of course it did. Draco glowered and waited for the mocking remark that was sure to come.

"Gee, Malfoy, I don't think I've ever seen you this relaxed. It looks good on you. Now if we could just do something about all that scowling. It'll leave wrinkles, you know."

The comments weren't as bad as they could have been, and to Draco's surprise, there was a waver in Potter's voice when he'd spoken. Risking a glance up, Draco saw that Potter looked decidedly anxious. Still, he wasn't prepared to take any more heckling, so he leapt to his feet in spite of his inconvenient state. "I don't require your commentary, thank you. If you're quite finished, you may leave now so I can get dressed."

"Actually," Potter said hastily, "I'm not done yet."

"What?" Draco blinked.

Dipping his fingers into the ointment once more, Potter said, "You missed a spot."

Draco's mouth dropped open in astonishment when Potter reached up and began spreading the ointment across his forehead. From there, Potter's fingers traveled down to Draco's cheek and swirled a tiny circle. Behind his ridiculous spectacles, Potter's eyes were so intense, so very green. Draco felt trapped in their gaze.

The next thing Draco knew, Potter was leaning forward, and Potter's lips were brushing his, and oh sweet Merlin Potter was kissing him. Kissing him! Draco's head spun again, and this time it had nothing to do with conjured holly.

He'd barely had a chance to process the situation before Potter pulled back and fixed him with a searching look. "Is that… all right?" Potter asked.

All right?! Draco could only think of one way to answer such a question. "You'd better mean this, Potter," he growled, then he grabbed Potter by the shoulders and slammed their mouths together.

A high-pitched squeak escaped Potter, followed immediately by a moan. He grabbed Draco, tugged him in close, molded their bodies together. A jolt sizzled down Draco's spine as he realized that Potter was hard inside his denims.

They fell against the sink and kissed and writhed, and it was as if all of the tension that had ever existed between them burst forth at once. Draco's fingers twisted in Potter's shirt, and he made a terribly undignified noise when Potter sucked on the spot just below his ear. Dispensing with the formalities rather quickly, Potter slid his hand down between them and palmed Draco's erection through his pants.

Not to be outdone, Draco reached for the button of Potter's denims and tugged it open. Shoving his hand into Potter's pants, his fingers slid over the soft-hard flesh there, and he gasped at the incredible heat of it. Potter groaned into his mouth, and the vibrations traveled straight to Draco's bollocks.

Draco was afraid he'd come before they even got their cocks out, but then Potter tore himself away and stepped back. Caught off balance, Draco said, "Wha… ?"

Flashing a mischievous grin, Potter said, "We came in here to wash off the plant residue, remember?" He walked over to the shower and flipped it on, then cocked his head at Draco in question.

There was no way he was going to pass up the opportunity to get Potter's kit off, Draco decided. Lifting his eyebrow, he said, "In that case, don't you think you're a little overdressed for the occasion?"

Potter barked a laugh, and he wasted no time in laying his spectacles aside and pulling his shirt off over his head. Draco watched while Potter swiftly removed every stitch of his clothing and then, cock bobbing in the air, stepped backwards into the shower's spray.

Now that Potter was fully undressed and on display, Draco realized exactly how attractive he truly was. Water jetted from the faucet to bounce off his broad shoulders and run in rivulets down his well-formed chest, stomach, and legs. Droplets fell from the tip of his cock. Even when wet Potter's hair refused to be entirely tamed, the tips curling up in the damp. All in all, Potter was far sexier than he had any right to be, the prat. Draco swallowed thickly.

"You coming?" Potter made the question sound like a challenge.

"Not yet, but we'll see what you can do about that," Draco replied, then stripped off his pants.

Snickering, Potter held out his hand to Draco in invitation. Draco took it and allowed himself to be pulled into the spray.

Evidently Potter took Draco's words to heart. As soon as Draco was in the water, Potter resumed plundering his mouth. Without warning, he spun them sideways and pressed Draco to the shower wall. And then Potter was everywhere, his hands and lips and tongue seeming to touch every part of Draco at once. Potter pushed forward, shoving their cocks into alignment, and Draco could only thrust his hips forward and drop his head back with a groan.

Draco couldn't say which of them began rutting against each other first, but it only took a few heartbeats for them to find a quick, jerky rhythm, each following the other's moves. Cocks slipped over slick, wet skin, and Draco's pulse pounded to the beat of the water pattering down around them. His fingers digging into Potter's arse, Draco pulled Potter to him over and over.

It was too hot, too much, and Draco's climax hit fast and hard. His body stiffened, his bollocks hitched up, and then he was shouting, clawing, spurting, seeing stars. He was overwhelmed with it, and he was certain he'd have fallen had Potter not been there to hold him up. Some part of Draco's mind railed at the fact that he'd come before Potter, that Potter had beat him at something yet again, but he couldn't bring himself to care as much as he probably should.

As it turned out, Draco didn't lose by much. Before Draco had even finished shuddering through his release, Potter muttered, "Oh, fuck, fuck," and began rocking against him even faster. Draco murmured encouraging nonsense words into Potter's ear, and Potter gave a long, low groan. With one last, sudden thrust of his hips, Potter gasped out a choked sound, and his cock pulsed wildly against Draco's hip.

The deed done, Draco half expected Potter to pull away, and he prepared to force his features into a familiar smirk. Potter, however, didn't move back at all, but rested his head on Draco's shoulder while he caught his breath. Deciding it was safe to do so, Draco slipped his arms around Potter and let out a relaxed sigh.

Potter huffed a shaky chuckle against Draco's shoulder. "Wow."

"Wow? That's the extent of your thoughts on the matter? I don't know why I bother with someone so very deep."

Drawing back, Potter looked at Draco with a little frown. "Uhm. Maybe we should get back to--"

"Not so fast," Draco cut in, grabbing Potter's arm to stop him for leaving. "I believe you said something about washing the plant residue off." He snatched the soap from the nearby rack and dropped it into Potter's hand.

A slow smile stretched Potter's lips. "I don't think it's plant residue that needs to be washed off now."

Draco rolled his eyes, but snickered nonetheless.

Working up a lather between his hands, Potter said, "After this I should probably make sure Fred and George got their bits all sorted. Apologize. Maybe even thank them, actually. A lot."

"I have a better idea," Draco said, smirking. "How about I drop them a tip about something you're allergic to and let them have their rightful revenge?"

"Next time I'd rather dispense with the hexing and itching and get straight to the snogging and groping if it's all the same to you."

'Next time.' Draco liked the sound of that. "Well, if you're very convincing, I might be persuaded to forget the little matter with the holly and the rash."

"Oh, I think I can probably come up with a few ways to convince you," Potter said as he ran soapy hands down Draco's chest.

Feeling a warm tingle spread through his body, Draco thought Potter was probably right.