Naughty Boys - A Drarry Collection

Red Wine

Co-written with pennigg101297 !

"Malfoy? Hey, are you listening?"

That couldn't be. Draco's thoughts were so insistent that he couldn't pay attention to a single word Robards was saying, even if the man were the most interesting in the room – which he obviously wasn't.

Potter, that bastard, was not only the most interesting, but apparently the hottest too. Instead of what Draco was used to seeing, Potter wearing those horrendous band t-shirts and baggy jeans, now his auror partner stood in front of everyone – all those hateful people that already drooled over him on a daily basis – in fit trousers and a white shirt. Trousers that Draco could recognise from that distance as being from the same tailor his mother always frequented and a shirt... a silk shirt that contrasted with his tanned skin in a way Draco was sure should be forbidden.

"Malfoy?"

"What is it?" Draco retorted abruptly, realising too late who he was talking to. His chief, however, didn't seem to mind all that much about Draco's response as soon as he spotted Harry by the door. He waved, a ridiculous devoted expression that made Draco roll his eyes.

"Sir," Potter nodded once, his eyes glued on Draco's full of expectation. Robards was already talking again, pushing a glass of red wine in Harry's hand without even bothering to offer one to Draco. He did his best not to roll his eyes again when Potter downed the whole thing in one go. The glass refilled itself as soon as Harry lowered it, which Draco thought wasn't such a good thing since Potter was inclined to drink a lot when he could. Just like he'd predicted, Potter drank the second dose without giving it much thought.

"... and Malfoy here seems to think you look quite good too," Robards' voice came to Draco's ears. Draco was thankful that he wasn't drinking, or he would've most certainly chocked.

Potter didn't have that much luck.

Draco almost saw it happen in slow motion. Potter's glass tipped over a bit, as he coughed and bent forwards... then the disaster: the glass hit Harry's immaculate shirt, spilling its contents all over it and making it stick to Potter's skin. Draco could make out every single muscle, perhaps even some scars and veins. The red of the wine against the stark white of the shirt made it look like a murder scene, Draco thought vaguely, then a hissed "shit" snapped him back into focus.

"Potter, you idiot," he automatically said, stepping closer to inspect the damage. As he took the soaked tissue between his thumb and forefinger, Potter cleared his throat meaningfully, prompting Draco to jump back, heat rushing to his cheeks.

That was when he noticed the whole hall had gone silent... and they were all staring. Not at Draco's little domestic show, however, but at Harry's lean figure that could now be admired by every single person under the transparency of his shirt. Something in Draco's brain started to boil at that realisation and he felt himself – rather than decided to – spin towards Harry again, grab him by his forearm and drag him out of the hall.

"I suppose that I should apologise?"

Draco didn't have to look at Potter to understand he was being mocked. He kept facing forward, guiding them towards the nearest elevator and pushing the button without chancing a look back. The smell of wine invaded his nostrils, the sound of tiny drops hitting the marble ringing in his ears in the dead silence. He clicked his tongue involuntarily, finally looking at Potter.

An obvious mistake.

From where he stood, under the well illuminated hall, he could see details that he hadn't spotted before. Potter's dark pointing nipples poking the stained fabric, glued sinfully against his pectorals, the line of his abs distinguishable just like his defined six pack. The dark liquid had reached the hem of his shirt, wrinkling the drenched piece until drops rolled down his pants and towards the floor. Merlin, that explained why everyone had been eating him with their eyes.

A ding indicated the arrival of the elevator, snapping Draco out of his daze. His eyes met Potter's briefly, grey ones melting into green ones full of something he couldn't name, before turning around again and getting inside.

"You're making a mess with this, hold the hem up so it won't dirt my floor." Draco's words came out harsher than he'd planned. He gulped, uncomfortable with his suddenly dry throat. Fuck, he felt his whole body hot. Potter just hummed beside him, rolling his eyes even though Draco couldn't see.

The elevator stopped on their floor, the heavy doors opening to a long corridor filled with portraits, most of them of sleeping wizards, on the high walls. Draco walked up to his office in silence, not daring a glance back at Potter. The moment the door closed behind them, though, Draco was all over Harry, his fingers skilfully unbuttoning the ruined shirt without much care as to avoid touching the other's skin.

"You're so reckless, this is high quality silk, you careless bastard... and Cabernet Sauvignon! Such a waste on a mannerless brute like you, how can you drop a whole glass of... "

A firm hand stopped him suddenly, the heat radiating through Potter's palm to Draco's bicep where it held him in place. He darted his eyes up to find the shirt gone, thrown in the closest bin, one of his hands frozen in the air and the other holding Potter's belt possessively. At first Draco considered running away, the heat already creeping up his face, but then Potter smirked at him, placing his other hand tentatively on Draco's waist.

"This is unfair," Harry murmured, the very short distance between them doing things to Draco's mind.

"What is?" Draco found himself answering, placing his free hand on Potter's shoulder unthinkingly.

"I'm the only one getting naked," replied Harry.

Draco gaped, his mind short-circuiting when the realisation hit him. Harry wanted him, he wanted him to do it, undress him and... a low chuckle brought him back to reality, Harry's blown pupils staring at his neck, his lips forming a wicked grin.

"Merlin, look at you... " he traced Draco's jugular with a finger, admiring how the skin of his cheeks and neck were tinged red. "Are you that turned on?" Draco could sense when he was being made fun of, especially by Potter. He turned towards the door, cheeks burning.

"You can do this on your own," he mumbled, holding out a hand to grab the door handle, but a warm palm on his arm stopped him.

"It's no fun of my own," breathed Potter, dangerously close to his right ear. Then Draco was being spun around and pushed against the desk, all in one fluid movement. The next thing he knew, Potter's lips where on his, hot and hungry, tasting of wine, his tongue expertly sliding against Draco's, tearing a low moan from him. Potter's wet torso collided with Draco's, but he couldn't care less, as soon as Potter kept rocking against him like that... then Potter's lips parted from his suddenly, leaving Draco in a blissful daze, eyes still closed. "Do you like Chinese?" whispered Potter.

"Yes, Potter, I like Chinese," chuckled Draco, amused by Harry's not-so-smooth invitation.

"Harry, my name his Harry."

"Harry," Draco tried out the sound like he'd just discovered a new word and he felt Harry shiver against him. "Do you like it when I say your name, Harry?" purred Draco, brushing his mouth on Harry's earlobe.

"Yes, Draco," moaned Harry, rotating his hips. A squirm escaped Draco's lips. "I think we should get out of here, before I take you on this very desk," said Draco grudgingly.

"I'm not opposed to the idea," was Harry's reply, his mouth on Draco's once more.