Draco dormiens semper titillandus

Disclaimer: Don't own Harry or Draco or other characters or settings. Not making any money, just having fun. (Not as much fun as Harry and Draco have, but fun nonetheless.)

A/N: Hey! I couldn't stay away! Any of you around the New England area (or going there from other locations) going to Leaky Con this weekend in Boston? I'll be in the vicinity (actually, I'll be in the hotel!) but not attending the Con. I love to meet other fanfic readers and writers. PM me if you'll be there and want to try to meet up! Love, IJDTW

A/N 2: Big thanks to Felena1971 for beta reading!

Chapter One

Harry Potter lay awake in his bed, fighting the urge to roll to his other side and plump his pillow, knowing the effort would be futile. He didn't want to disturb his lover any more than he already had.

Just sleep, Potter, he told himself. Just… turn off your brain. Alas, it wasn't that easy. And it hadn't been, for a really long time.

How many nights had he wished for the easy, comfortable sleep of his first term at Hogwarts? He had escaped the privation of the Dursleys, and the closeness of his cupboard under the stairs. For a few blissful months, Harry had gone to sleep every night with a full belly, and slept soundly in a comfortable bed.

Those were the days before the nightmares had started in earnest. Nightmares of his parents' death. Nightmares of Voldemort drinking unicorn blood, or leering at him from the back of Quirrell's head. It only got worse after that: Enormous, man-eating spiders. Ginny, nearly dead, and the basilisk's fang piercing his skin. Dementors, drawing rattling breaths and reaching for his face with scabby, slimy hands. Cedric dead in the graveyard. Voldemort rising from the cauldron. Sirius falling through the veil, as if in slow motion, and Harry helpless to reach out and stop him. Inferi grasping his limbs and pulling him toward the lake. Dumbledore falling almost gracefully from the Astronomy Tower. Nagini spilling from inside of Bathilda Bagshot. Fred. Colin. Remus. Tonks.

Harry stifled a rueful laugh. He didn't need an overactive imagination – his real life had provided him with no shortage of nightmare fodder.

All of that was behind him now. Voldemort was gone. The war was over. None of his friends had died in over two years. He could relax. If only… if only he could convince his subconscious mind to let it all go.

Outside, a cloud drifted clear of the almost-full moon, and a soft light fell across Harry's face and illuminated the white blond hair of his sleeping lover. Harry's breath caught as he gazed at the beautiful face on the pillow next to him. Draco Malfoy was always handsome, but with his features relaxed in slumber he looked like an angel. His moonlit hair spread on the pillow in a silvery halo.

Harry had been out late, again, and Draco had already been asleep when Harry got home. He liked working as an Auror, though he hated the unpredictable hours. It wasn't so bad when he was single, when there was no one waiting at home for him. Now that he and Draco were living together, Harry's frequent late nights were a source of frustration – in more ways than one.

Everyone, it seems, deals with grief differently. After the war, most everyone Harry knew was in mourning to some degree. Some of his friends, Ginny Weasley among them, faced their grief by becoming somehow more alive – as if in defiance of everything that had been lost. Others, including Harry, withdrew for a time, seeking solitude and quiet to heal. In the end, Harry and Ginny just couldn't make it work– their needs were diametrically opposed. So they broke up, and though they promised to stay friends, things were awkward between them for the rest of the summer. It was a relief when the Hogwarts Express took Ginny away on the first of September.

For almost a year, Harry didn't do much of anything except putter around Grimmauld Place. But as spring brought new life to the trees in the little square across the street, Harry found his spirits slowly improving. Little by little, he took steps to reenter the world. And what he found there… was Draco.

Harry went to visit Kingsley Shacklebolt to see about joining the Auror training program, and ran into Draco exiting a lift. Draco looked far healthier than he had in school. He'd put on a little weight, filling out his frame nicely. And his eyes no longer had that haunted look they'd developed by sixth year. Out of habit, Harry was wary. At Hogwarts, Draco had never missed an opportunity to put Harry down. The war, however, had changed things between them, and Harry wasn't sure what to expect. Certainly he hadn't expected Draco to… smile? A genuine smile. Not a sneer or a smirk. Harry's eyes widened. And before he could find a response to Draco's nod and "Hello, Potter," Draco was gone.

In the next week, they crossed paths in Diagon Alley twice. Harry managed to respond politely to Draco's greetings, though he was still unnerved by the lack of hostility coming from his former nemesis.

When Harry walked out of Gringott's late one afternoon in early June, just as Draco was walking up the steps to enter, and they literally bumped into each other, Draco laughed. Harry was entranced. Had he ever heard Draco laugh before when it wasn't because of some malicious joke, usually at Harry's expense? It was a warm, rich laugh, and Harry found himself joining in.

"Are you following me, Potter?" Draco had asked, but his tone was light.

For some unknown reason, Harry had blushed as he shook his head to deny it.

"We keep running into each other," Draco said. "Perhaps the universe is trying to tell us something."

"Like… what?" What possible reason could the universe have for planting Malfoy in his path four times in just over two weeks?

"Like… maybe it's time I bought you a drink, Potter. Come with me to the Leaky?"

Harry looked at him suspiciously. "Why do you want to buy me a drink, Malfoy? Planning to slip me a potion that will make me do embarrassing things?"

Draco laughed again. "Entertaining as that might be," he said, "I'm all out of evil plots at the moment. I just thought, since you sent my wand back to me last year, and you got me out of the Room of Hidden Things, and whether you knew it or not, you kept me out of Azkaban, that perhaps I should buy you a shot or twelve of Ogden's."

"How…" Harry's mind swam. "How did I keep you out of Azkaban?"

"I'll tell you over drinks at the Leaky," said Draco. "Come on."

Draco led Harry to a small table in the back of the pub. "I'll be right back," he said.

Harry looked all around him, evaluating the other patrons, and the defensive options open to him in case he had just walked into a trap.

Draco returned from the bar with a full bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey and two shot glasses. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"It's sealed still – see?" said Draco. "I haven't put anything in it."

Harry cast Scarpin's Revelaspell just the same. The bottle came up clean. Draco rolled his eyes, and that, at least, was an expression Harry found comfortingly familiar. Draco poured them each a shot, and then laughed at Harry's hesitation.

"Fine," Draco said. "I'll drink first, to prove to you it's safe." He downed the shot in one gulp, and suffered no obvious ill effects.

Harry copied him, and then set his glass back on the table. "Okay," he said. "You're not trying to poison me. You're buying me a drink because I kept you out of Azkaban. How exactly did I do that?"

Draco leaned back comfortably in his chair and explained.

Almost immediately after Voldemort's death, Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister of Magic, had called Harry in and interviewed him extensively about the battle of Hogwarts and the circumstances of Voldemort's defeat. Some parts of his report had been declassified, and made public. Apparently, Harry's information had been enough to spare Draco, though Draco's father hadn't been so lucky.

"Sorry about your father," Harry said, twirling his shot glass on its edge. He wasn't really. Lucius Malfoy definitely deserved to be in prison. Still, he did feel badly for Draco, who had always seemed to be close to his father.

"Don't be," said Draco, and Harry, who had been looking down at the table, now locked his gaze with Draco's.

"Why not?" Harry said. His voice came out sounding a bit breathless.

"Father made a serious error in judgment," said Draco, pouring another round. "He'd chosen the wrong side, turned himself into the Dark Lord's pet. He knew the risks. And he got what was coming to him."

"What about you?" Harry glanced at Draco's left forearm, covered by long sleeves, even though it was a warm day.

"My errors in judgment were serious as well, though not anywhere near on the same level as Father's. Thanks in large part to your report, the Wizengamot agreed with me there." Draco tossed back his second shot of firewhiskey, and bestowed a dazzling smile on Harry.

Harry found it difficult to breathe for a moment. He tore his gaze from Draco's face and drank his second shot as well. Old habits die hard, and he'd be damned if he would let Draco outdo him in anything. He intended to keep up, shot for shot, even if it meant he had to get a room at the Leaky for the night rather than attempting to get home in one piece.

When the burn in his throat faded, Harry glanced back at Draco, who was watching him intently. Until recently, Harry hadn't seen Draco since the war. Time had definitely been good to him.

"You're looking well, Malfoy," he said, grudgingly.

"More than I can say for you," Draco said. "I had imagined you would be living the high life after defeating your enemy, yet the paper has you down as a bit of a recluse since the war. It's… it's good you're getting out again lately."

Harry's hand shook, so he released his glass. "I may have defeated Voldemort," he said, "but the costs were very high. I'm starting to come to terms with them; it's just… it's been a long road."

Draco laid his hand on top of Harry's. "The costs were very high," he agreed. "But the benefits have been great as well. Haven't you noticed how different it feels?"

Alarmed, Harry pulled his hand out of Draco's grasp.

"I meant," said Draco, smirking at Harry's reaction, "now that you've been out in public again, can't you sense a different kind of energy in Diagon Alley? It's more like it was when we were first years. There's no Cloud of Doom hanging over everything. People are happier."

Harry breathed, and was surprised to find he'd been holding his breath. "Yes," he agreed finally. "People do seem happier." He looked around the pub, and saw smiling faces, heard laughter. When he turned back, Draco had leaned back in his chair again, and looked quite at ease. "You, in particular, seem happier."

"What's not to be happy about?" he said. "Malfoy Manor is a much more pleasant place to be now that we don't have His Snakeliness setting up camp there. Mother has redecorated the parts of the house that the Dark Lord liked to use for making examples of people, so that we have fewer reminders of those days. And with Father away, I am no longer trying to live up to his impossibly high standards. I've taken over managing the family investments, which is why you've seen me around at the Ministry and at Gringott's. We had to pay a lot to the Ministry for reparations for Father's crimes, funding for war widows and orphans and the like, but I am rebuilding, and this time with investments that are entirely legal." He smiled, as if he'd made a good joke.

Harry didn't want to think about the kinds of investments Lucius Malfoy might have made in the past.

"Good job," he said. "Shall we toast your success?" He raised his empty glass.

Draco poured two more drinks.

"To legal investments, not having to live up to unreasonable expectations, and fewer reminders of Voldemort," said Harry, refreshed drink raised to shoulder height.

Draco laughed. "That sounds like three toasts," he said.

"Good thing you got the whole bottle," said Harry. He drank. It didn't burn as much this time.

They ate dinner together, continuing to talk and drink through the evening. Between them, they finished off the bottle of Ogden's, and both got completely pissed. Draco suggested some fresh air, so they went for a stroll in Diagon Alley together, which turned out to be more of a drunken stumble. They raised more than a few eyebrows.

"They're all looking at us," slurred Harry.

"'Course they are," said Draco, thickly. "Two good-looking blokes like us."

Harry stopped moving.

"What?" said Draco, turning back and taking Harry's arm. "You too drunk to walk now?"

Harry shook his head. "You think I'm good-looking?"

Draco cuffed him in the back of the head. "For fuck's sake, Potter. Who doesn't think you're good-looking?"

"Oh," Harry said, rubbing his head. "Ouch."

"Pansy," said Draco. "What now? You need me to kiss it and make it all better?"

Harry giggled at the thought of Draco kissing him anywhere, for any reason. Then he stopped giggling as a warmth spread through him. "You wouldn't," he said, unsure if he wanted to be right or not.

Draco staggered a bit, as if Harry's words had knocked him off balance. He glanced around Diagon Alley. "Over here," he said, and pulled Harry roughly into an alleyway between two shops.

"What the fuck are you doing, Malfoy?"

"You don't think I'll back down from a dare, do you?" he said. He spun Harry so that he had to brace himself against the brick wall to avoid falling face first into it, put his hands on Harry's waist, and pressed his lips into the back of Harry's head.

Harry gasped at the contact, and was alarmed to find blood rushing to his groin.

"Anyplace else hurting, Potter?" Malfoy teased.

"Er…" Harry didn't know what to say. He just knew he didn't want to turn around and let Malfoy see that he'd gotten a hard-on from having the back of his head kissed.

Draco chuckled. "Ah," he said. "You are speechless with gratitude for my remarkable Healing skills."

Harry hesitated, then nodded. Sure. That's it. Gratitude. So… why the hard-on, exactly? And before he had another moment to consider his awkward situation, he felt Draco's warm breath, his mouth – his fucking teeth! – on his ear. He jumped and yelped.

"Let's see if it works again," said Draco, and he pressed his lips to Harry's ear to soothe the bite.

"Fuck," Harry groaned. He was doomed. He'd never be able to turn around. He tried to think of the least sexy things he could imagine: Arabella Figg. Professor Sprout. Millicent Bullstrode. But then Draco's teeth were on his neck, followed again by a soothing kiss. "What… what are you doing, Malfoy?" His voice shook.

Draco's hands wrapped around him, and his voice was husky in Harry's ear. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Er…" The last bits of Harry's sanity, what was left after the Ogden's and after the blood had abandoned his brain for a high rise apartment further south, screamed Yes, Stop! His mouth, however, did not cooperate. And his body seemed to have an agenda all its own. His cock was stiff and aching in his trousers, his nipples were hard, and when Draco's tongue licked along the curve of his ear he shuddered, and arched his back. Interestingly, that meant Harry's arse was now pressing against the front of Malfoy's trousers, and it was immediately apparent that Malfoy was in a similar state of arousal.

"I'll take that as a No," said Draco. He spun Harry again so that they were face to face in the narrow alleyway, and Harry's back was pressed up against the bricks, and Draco placed his hands on the wall behind Harry's head. He bent his head, his lips ghosting over Harry's.

Harry felt faint, and gasped for air.

Draco nipped at Harry's lower lip, and then smoothed over the bite with his tongue. "Gods, Potter," he said, his voice coming out almost as a growl. "Tell me."

"What?" he whispered. "Tell you what?"

"Tell me you want this, Potter," Draco said, so close to Harry that Harry felt the head radiating off of him. "I'm working so fucking hard right now to restrain myself. Tell me I don't need to."

Harry's internal war still raged. His mouth refused to choose sides in the battle – he was mute. Instead, Harry answered in the only way he could.

He put his hands on Draco's chest and pushed – hard. He heard Draco's cry of frustration as if from a distance, muffled by the roar of blood pulsing through his own body. He kept pushing, shoving, until Draco banged hard against the opposite wall of the alleyway. Harry crashed his mouth into Draco's, pressing his body against Draco's, his hands in Draco's hair, their erections crushing against each other.

That was all the encouragement Draco needed. He pulled Harry even closer, reached a hand down to Harry's trousers and started stroking him roughly through the fabric. When Harry felt his zip slide down, he pulled away. "Not here," he gasped. He grabbed Draco and spun.