Title: Oh Potty, Oh Potter, Draco Wants To Say, Come Out, Come Out, Come Out And Play.

Disclaimer: I like taking J.K. Rowling's characters and forcing them to imbibe copious amounts of firewhiskey just to see what happens.

Rating: T or PG-13

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Warnings: Sexual innuendo, and language. Slash. Boy kisses.

Summary: Draco has a toothache. All the firewhiskey in the world can't seem to make the pain abate. But in his drunken state, Draco has an epiphany about what will - shagging Harry Potter. Now if only Potter would agree. Borderline crackfic-ish, for me at any rate.

A/N: Again, this was a request, this one from Ripley Hedwig Dennison-Lestrange. Actually he related that he wanted a fic, about whatever I wanted, and that he currently had a toothache and was attempting to drown it out with alcohol. I got the idea from that. Please read and review! :)

Draco was pain.

His mouth was on fire and his head felt like it was going to explode. His tooth… his tooth was an ocean, the waters of which were made up of agony.

He was feeling rather eloquent, for all his suffering.

Draco was a little drunk.

He took another swig of firewhiskey, and then another. He didn't intend to stop until his tooth stopped hurting, or he ran out.

He ran out of firewhiskey first.

He would have searched the Manor for more, but that would take too long. He called one of the house elves to bring him more, but they squeaked and insisted that "Mistress Narcissa has said that we is not to be giving Master Draco any more firewhiskey!"

He cursed and threw things and then decided to firecall someone else to bring him firewhiskey. Surely, one of his friends would understand his pain, and be amenable to his suffering.

Pansy hung up on him. Draco did not know if was possible to hang up the floo on someone, but apparently it was.

Blaise just laughed and made fun of him.

Goyle wasn't home. That or he was hiding. Were Draco sober he might have noticed that singing bawdy tunes at the top of his lungs into the floo was not the proper way to start a conversation.

So that left just one person: Potter.

Oh yes, perfect Potter whom he dealt with every day in the office in a decidedly professional manner, for the last five years since the war. Who had gotten Draco the job as payment of the life-debt to Narcissa, and who always looked gorgeous and rumpled like he'd just been thoroughly shagged; though Draco fervently hoped he hadn't been because he'd like to be the one doing the shagging, thankyouverymuch.

Potter had opened his floo to him just the other week when they'd had office work that needed to be completed at home, and they'd accidentally ended up with each other's paperwork and had to switch.

Yes, Draco was going to drunk firecall Potter and demand firewhiskey and possibly a shag. He would woo Potter with his fabulous barroom serenades, and Potter would fall into his arms and hopefully his bed.

The plan was brilliant.

Draco ran a hand through his normally perfectly coiffed blond hair, trying to smooth it down but only making it worse. He shrugged and gave up. The just-shagged look worked for Potter, inspiring Draco to hitherto unknown depths of desire, perhaps it would do the same for him with Potter.

"You can search far and wide; you can drink the whole town dry!" Draco crowed.

"Malfoy?" Potter's voice through the floo sounded a trifle disbelieving. Surely, he realised this was his lucky day.

Determined to see his genius plan to fruition, Draco continued. "But you'll never find a beer so brown; you'll never find a beer so brown, as the one we drink in my hometown!"

"Malfoy," repeated Potter, sounded floored. No doubt overwhelmed with desire for Draco's sultry voice.

"Hello, Potter," he purred. He batted his eyelashes.

"Malfoy," repeated Potter, sounding dubious. "Are you drunk?"

"You noticed!" shouted Draco. "I knew you cared."

"Malfoy, why are you calling me while you're drunk?" Potter didn't sound nearly as delighted as he should have.

"I need more firewhiskey," Draco explained. "Can I come through?" He didn't wait to be invited. He tossed another handful of floo powder into the flames and stepped in. On the other side, he nearly knocked over Potter, who had still had his head in the flames.

"Malfoy!" cried Potter, sounding shocked.

"You sound surprised, Potter. Are you surprised?" Draco asked, latching on to the messy haired brunet's arm. "I just love surprises, don't you?" he purred, looking up into Potter's astonished face and batting his eyelashes again.

"Malfoy," Potter repeated helplessly. "What are you doing?"

"My tooth aches, Potter," Draco pouted. "Make it better?" He then latched on to Potter's lips. Potter let out a surprised yelp, and Draco proceeded to snog the daylights out of him.

Merlin, but kissing Potter was even better than he'd thought it would be. Draco nibbled at Potter's lower lip and slid his tongue in Potter's mouth when he gave his yelp of surprise. He teased Potter's tongue with his own, then licked around Potter's teeth and across the roof of his mouth. Potter moaned and began kissing him back.

They snogged for a while before Draco suddenly started seeing stars and for a moment thought it was because Potter was such a brilliant kisser. Then he realised it was because he needed air and was on the verge of passing out. He pulled away and took in a few gasping breaths. Smugly, he noticed Potter doing the same.

"Take me to bed, Potter," he purred, and passed out.

Draco woke the next morning with a splitting headache. His damn tooth still hurt, and on top of that he was very hungover. He remembered very little after about halfway through the bottle of firewhiskey, and he had no idea where he was. It certainly wasn't his room, or any of the rooms at the Manor.

It was a room done in Slytherin colours, with news clippings pasted to the walls featuring news of the Dark Lord.

He didn't think he was at Pansy's or Blaise's; maybe Goyle's? His hurt so and he did wish he could remember what he'd done the night before. Friends or not, they would not let him live it down anytime soon if he'd made an arse of himself, which he thought ruefully was rather likely.

The door opened and in walked Potter, looking cheerful and refreshed and like he'd just walked out of Draco's own personal wet dream.

"Morning Malfoy," he said cheerfully.

Draco stared.

"Feel like a hangover potion?"

"Yes please," Draco croaked. Inwardly he was panicking. Why was Potter here? And where was here? Was he at Potter's house? And oh, Merlin, what had he done last night? Had he made an arse of himself in front of Potter? Had he shagged Potter?

He rather hoped though doubted that was the case, and wished he could remember it if it were.

He downed the hangover potion Potter gave him gratefully.

"Potter, where am I?"

"My house," answered Potter cheerfully.

"And… why am I at your house?" Draco asked, desperately hoping the answer would not embarrass him.

"You invited yourself through my floo last night," explained Potter, still cheerfully. "You were drunk and demanding firewhiskey and that I shag you."

Draco closed his eyes. Oh, Salazar, he had not. "I did?" he asked feebly. "You're sure you're not just having me on?"

"Nope," replied Potter, still damnably cheerful. "You were quite, err, forceful. You kissed me quite passionately – and rather skillfully, I might add, considering your inebriated state."

"I… what?" Draco wanted to die. He wanted to die, die, die. Abject humiliation for all time had just been handed to Potter on a silver platter. And while his hangover might be gone, his tooth still hurt. Oh, Merlin, he hated his life.

"You sang a drinking song at me, came in, demanded firewhiskey and a shag, snogged the hell out of me, demanded a shag again, then passed out," Potter summarized, still looking so cheerful Draco wanted to throttle him.

"Well, Potter," Draco was determined to salvage what he could of his dignity. "Obviously I was very drunk."

"Yes, you were," Potter agreed.

"So please, don't take anything I said or did personally."

"Well, it's kind of hard not to take it personally when someone has their tongue down your throat," Potter smiled.

Draco winced. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. He didn't know what else to say.

"Are you?" asked Potter, looking strangely intense. Draco stared into those deep green eyes and felt they could see right through him. If he lied, Potter could tell. And he mustn't lie, not now. He didn't know where the notion came from, only that it was so strong Draco took temporary leave of his senses and obeyed it.

"Sorry I can't remember it," he whispered.

Potter smiled again, and it lit up his face like the sun. He leaned forward and kissed Draco thoroughly.

Draco gasped and kissed him back, reveling in the realization that He! Was! Kissing! Potter!

It had to be a dream. Another glorious, glorious, tantalizing agonizing dream that would never come true.

"This isn't real," whispered Draco into the kiss.

"I'll show you real," Potter whispered back, and snogged him even more thoroughly. "I've wanted you for ages," he murmured, and Draco whimpered.

"Then take me," he whispered.

So Potter did.