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Potter studied his glass, a small smile forming on his lips. “He was always so impatient. He ripped a dozen of my jumpers and nearly all of my trousers.” He chuckled. “And he always left lovebites all over my body.”
Draco gulped.
“He’d also grab my hair when he fucked me from behind.”
Sweet Salazar! The images in Draco’s mind were not helping.
“One time, we were doing it in the shower and I needed to go to St Mungo’s, because I dislocated my shoulder.”
Draco inwardly groaned. The thought of Potter, wet, pushed against the tiles, moaning and begging for more…
“That sounds horrible,” Draco said, hastily, bending his knees to hide the sudden bulge in his trousers. He quickly emptied his glass, the firewhiskey burning his throat. “Is that how you like it?” he blurted.
“You mean being rough? Or me taking a cock up my arse?” Potter laughed. Mesmerised by the sound, Draco simply nodded. That made Potter laugh even more. “Sure, I like it rough sometimes. Both really depend on the situation, though.” His face turned more serious when his eyes found Draco’s. “Or the person I’m with.”
Overwhelmed was a kind way to describe how those words made Draco feel. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Without knowing what he was doing, he inched closer to Potter, until their shoulders were touching. Bad, very bad idea.
Potter’s lips parted and he let out a shaky breath. His gaze was intense. Too intense. And yet, Draco couldn’t look away. Heat was coiling in the pit of his stomach, making him squirm. It only got worse when Potter pressed his shoulder more firmly against Draco’s. Oh no. They were drunk. Surely, Potter had no idea what he was doing. If he did, he wouldn’t be sitting this close to Draco, staring —Salazar’s balls! —staring at his mouth. All that talk about having sex with Wood had probably turned him on enough to shut down his brain. Draco needed to think of something. Now.
“Um, how many people have you been with?” he asked quickly, leaning away.
“A few,” Potter said, evasively. “What about you?”
Fuck. What now?
“I—I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh Merlin, that many?” Potter quipped. “Come on, it can’t be worse than me having a threesome with Oliver and Ginny.”
“What?” Draco’s jaw dropped open. “You seriously had a threesome with two exes? That doesn’t sound healthy.”
Potter shrugged. “It wasn’t as spectacular as one might think. But they’re together now, so I guess something good came out of it.”
“Weasley and Wood?” He had heard rumours about that.
“Come on, now you tell me about the wildest thing you’ve done.” Potter gave him an expectant look.
“Um…” Making coffee this morning? Sleeping naked? Constantly wanking to the thought of tousled black hair and forest green eyes?
“You…” Potter furrowed his brows. “You aren’t—”
Oh no.
“Draco,” he said, straightening up. “You’ve had sex before, right?”
Oh, bugger. Draco wordlessly summoned the firewhiskey and avoided Potter’s gaze as he poured it into his glass.
“Oh.”
Yes. Oh.
“Is it because you’re a pure-blood?”
Draco cringed. As much as he had tried to detach himself from the many things his father had taught him, there were still a few he had found himself unable to ignore.
It might have seemed archaic, but it was the only thing Draco knew. Besides, there was a difference between hating Muggles and upholding reasonable traditions. Well, okay, maybe not that reasonable. But still.
“There’s nothing wrong with waiting, Potter,” he finally snapped, his cheeks burning.
“Of course not,” Potter said, sounding startled. “But you aren’t—I mean…Are you waiting until marriage?”
That question raised so many red flags, Draco didn’t even know how to react.
“You know what, it’s late, you should probably go home,” Draco said, standing up. The room immediately started spinning. Still, he could see Potter blinking at him.
“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t. But I’m tired. You should go.”
Slowly, Potter got up. He hesitated, fidgeting with his jumper.
“We’re still…okay, right?”
Draco arched an eyebrow.
“We’re still…friends?”
Friends. Hearing Potter say that felt like soaring up to the sun…before free-falling and crashing to the ground. Head first. Friends. Did Draco want to be Potter’s friend? Of course not. He wanted…Well, it didn’t matter what he wanted. Being friends with Potter was as far as things could go. The only question was, would Draco be able to withstand that kind of torture?
He briefly closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. “Yes, we’re still friends.”
“Okay. Good.”
Draco watched him as he went over to the fireplace with slightly sagging shoulders.
“Well, good night,” Potter muttered, before he vanished in the green flames.
Chapter 6: What Can I Say
Sunday, 19 January 2003
Draco,
I’m really sorry about last night.
HP
Potter,
