Dec13, Harry Potter, Harry/Draco, "Gift-Wrapped Hand Grenade"
Title: Gift-Wrapped Hand Grenade Author: train_tracks Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Harry/Draco Rating: PG-13 Word Count: ~640 Warnings: None, unless you count Seamus Finnigan's singing. Disclaimer: I don't own much of anything, least of all anything having to do with Harry Potter. A/N: This is for adventdrabbles and prompt #13: worst gift ever.
"Here."
Harry took the present with what he hoped wasn't a shocked shitless expression. "Why thank you…Draco," he nearly choked.
Draco just frowned intensely, staring at how Harry held the thing as though it were some sort of rectangular, gift-wrapped hand grenade.
Witches and wizards passed this way and that around them, taking advantage of the office soiree to get sloppy drunk in their workplace and sing really very badly. Seamus Finnigan was, at that moment, combining 'Silver Bells' and what could possibly be Tool in truly horrific ways.
Harry winced. As Draco was starting to literally sweat waiting for him to open the box, Harry took pity. "Should I shake it?" he asked for some levity.
No such luck as Draco just spat, "What difference would that make, Potter?" frowning, if anything, more intensely.
Harry suppressed a smirk and began unwrapping. He felt the need to point out, "I, uh, didn't get you anything, Malfoy. I guess I just… We've never…"
"Shut it and rip the paper already!" Draco practically shouted at him.
"Jesus, all right." Harry was losing his own punch-induced mirth. What a little git. Still! He ripped the paper violently and threw it to the ground. "You happy?"
But now, when he looked at Draco again, the git appeared…scared. Harry looked down at his hands. It wasn't a box. It was a book. A book he'd been wanting for years, actually, but had never bought for himself because it was extremely rare, and he'd never actually been able to locate a copy. And even if he had, it was above his pay grade.
"Merlin…" he breathed. "Draco…"
He glanced up to see the other man's lashes flutter, his exhale shaky.
Harry opened his mouth to speak but could hardly find the words. Draco Malfoy, continued bane of his existence if not longer evil, had given him an *incredible* gift. "I…" he began. "I don't know what to say."
And just like that, Draco Malfoy was angry again. Enraged more like. "Say it's horseshit and throw it in the trash why don't you, Potter!" He turned quickly, all flamboyant robes and disdain, and stalked out of the room.
Harry, still a bit stunned, at least had the presence of mind to chase him. He caught him in the hall, grabbing his bony elbow. "Malfoy, wait, goddamn it!"
Draco wrenched his arm away but stayed put, staring hard at the floor between them. "What."
"I…" Harry swallowed. "I like it. I really like it, Draco."
Draco's eyes flitted up but just for half a second, then he was back to scowling at the floor. Harry saw that he'd have to do better. He'd have to tell the truth.
"This is the best gift I've gotten in a long time. I'm…I'm just…"
He tried to finished the sentence, but it became impossible as Draco Malfoy's lips were pressed to his own, then opening them, and then his warm tongue was in his mouth, and words were just gone between them, and Harry, at first tense – tense as bloody hell – sighed, and everything in him leaned into Malfoy, the sod, and he kissed him back.
Malfoy kissed him breathless. Harry had always sort of thought that was a ridiculous turn of phrase. No more. When Draco broke off, they were both panting as though they'd been dueling. Perhaps they had.
"Can I…buy you…a drink?" Harry tried, attempting, for whatever addled reason, to take things slow, to not completely frighten off this version of the ever-confusing Draco Malfoy – he seemed so unduly skittish sometimes.
But it was Draco, then, who all but growled, "My place. Now."
Harry, attempting a nonchalance he didn't have a chance of ever feeling around this man, shrugged and nodded. "Yeah okay sure."
And then Draco grabbed him, hauled him close, and staring into one another's dilated eyes, they Disapparated.