5. Fly With Me

Disclaimer: I only own the costumes and the OFCs... and to be honest, after the mess they've made of 'em, I might let you have the costumes.

5. Fly With Me

Harry managed to turn them sideways as they fell heavily through the Floo so that his wings cushioned their fall. Draco landed on Harry, knocking the breath out of him for a bit. It took Harry a while to realize that Draco was still planted on top of him and staring at him in a weirdly cute, misty sort of way.

"You're not goin' take 'vantage of me, are you?" Draco asked. It sounded more hopeful than anything else.

"Uh, yeah...no...er, what was the question again?" Harry was just a tad confused. Draco was on top of him, so shouldn't he be asking that question? Maybe?

Draco blinked thoughtfully. He was quite good at looking thoughtful with all that forehead to work with, Harry thought admiringly. "Not sure."

Draco rolled off to the side and seemed to notice his costume for the first time. "Bugger. Lost a shoe." He didn't sound too upset about it, but simply kicked the other away. Then Draco spent what Harry should have considered an indecent amount of time studying his own crotch, except that Harry had been looking at the exact same spot and didn't want to admit to indecency. "Help me get these off?"

"Thought we just got them back on."

"They're too tight. Wan'em off."

Harry thought that they looked quite nice tight. The part of him that was still worried about these thoughts insisted that he stall for time. "Hang on." He threw his Hippogriff headpiece into the fireplace in disgust. Harry seriously considered burning it, but shut off the Floo and re-warded the house for the night instead. That familiar bedtime routine activated the 'dressing for bed' reflex and he started removing his boots.

Apparently Draco was not only a happy, cuddly drunk but a helpful one as well. "Lemme do that. You do the trousers."

Something in Harry's brain protested vehemently at the fact that he was rolling around on his hearthrug, helping Draco Malfoy remove a pair of white-feathered leather trousers while Draco pushed at his loosened boots with bare toes. He ignored it under the assumption that his brain was just as drunk as the rest of him and probably wasn't coming up with the best of ideas just now.

The assumption was confirmed several minutes later as he knelt on the floor, panting. It wasn't so much the kneeling and panting as the fact that he was doing so in front of a similarly panting Draco...who was nude from the waist down and clothed only in the shredded remains of his silk robe and assorted feathers from the waist up. Since the collective effect was no more concealing than a handful of party streamers and Draco was sprawled all over the rug, it left his cock sort lounging around in the midst of the absolute palest pubic hair Harry had ever seen, trying to decide whether it was sober enough to get hard or not. Nudely.

It all made Harry suddenly painfully aware of a profound fact of his existence.

"I really gotta piss."

Harry managed to stumble to the downstairs bath without any accidents of any variety and got that wretched codpiece out of the way. Curiously, removing it seemed a bit easier than putting it on had been, but that raised thoughts he'd really rather not study in detail when he had to devote all of his concentration to aiming.

The next thing he knew, Draco had wobbled up behind him and was resting his chin on Harry's shoulder, watching the proceedings with interest. Harry's cock did not seem to mind, a fact that Harry found to be somewhat awkward.

"I'll be done in a minute if you need it."

"No rush. I went. Jus' before you found me."

"I remember. You're going to have to 'pologize to Tatiana for peeing in her garden." Harry caught himself slurring a bit and tried to get his tongue back in order. He had the notion that at least one of them should not be completely shitfaced, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out why this was important.

"I was? I did?"

"Yes. Quite clear on that."

Draco was very still for a moment, contemplating this. Then he curled his arms around Harry's chest and relaxed again. "I shay. Rather rude of me."

"Rather. Speaking of which, why are you watching me pee?"

"Oh. That. Guess I wanted to see your cock."

"Er... Any special reason?"

"Looked nice through the trousers. Is, too. Quite. Nice, that is."

"Run out of complete sentences?"

"'Spect so."

The fastening which had given Harry's sober brain so much trouble defeated him utterly now, so he left it. Not as if the damn things aren't tight enough to stay on without it.

Harry washed up, wondering why he was so content... possibly even pleased... at the image in the mirror of Draco cuddling him from behind. They were mostly nude except for a few scraps of costuming and what appeared to be contrasting-colored bondage harnesses with wings, which caused a slow bloom of warmth to spread through Harry as if he was blushing internally. Harry distractedly noticed silver face makeup smeared on his chest and his mind drifted to when Lily was nine and Al had come home for the summer with brilliant plans to change her relatively harmless Muggle bedazzler into a magical one.

Gruesome glitter memories notwithstanding, Harry's wings stirred, easing back to caress Draco. He was relatively certain he didn't remember ordering them to. He was pretty clear on the fact that he hadn't ordered his cock to do anything either, yet there it was, fitfully attempting to overcome the gravitational pull of age, two Scorpions, and around half a dozen glasses of champagne.

I don't even like champagne, Harry thought dizzily as he turned and leaned on the counter, swaying slightly and studying Draco's fond, dreamy expression. He wondered if Draco was through being cuddly...disappointing thought...and if so, where his drunkenness would take him next. Harry's personal stages of drunk were pessimistic, energetic, jumpy, confused, and... one other. Which one is left?

His train of thought was interrupted when Draco yawned massively, immediately moving Harry to follow suit.

Oh, yeah. Sleepy.

Harry's yawn came out hot and alcoholically sweet. Draco studied Harry's tongue with some interest.

"Well. See you." Harry sounded a bit befuddled as he made for the door of the bathroom. He seemed unable to stop petting Draco with his eyes as he went, so his progress was irregular at best.

Draco followed automatically. He had a plan for Harry, he really did. It was his body's plan, actually, and it tingled faintly and pleasantly beneath layers of alcohol-induced numbness. Sadly, Draco's drunken brain wasn't up to following through with the plan...assuming he remembered what it was...beyond finding Harry's backside once they stopped at the foot of the stairs. He settled his hands comfortably on the body-warmed black leather while they breathed on each other's shoulders under the glow of the night-light.

After a bit, it occurred to him that this could be better.

"Aren't these sings awfully binding?" Draco wedged a thumb into the waistband of the leathers. He was either trying to get inside or prove his point, hell if he knew which.

"They're soft."

"But tight." Draco had a great spell for removing stuck trousers, a byproduct of an embarrassing haute couture phase. Now, if only he had his wand... and could remember anything more complicated than his own name...

"Now that you mention it...hey!"

Strike me down. Wandless magic!

"See?"

Harry stared bemusedly at his trousers where the magic had deposited them across the steps. "I... it's rather freeing to be rid of them."

"Good." Draco hadn't any real clue of what Harry had said, but 'good' certainly applied to their situation. Harry had his arms around Draco's neck and one hand tangled in Draco's hair, and there was nothing between them but a few straps and some bits of silk.

Skin feels so good. Silk is rubbish.

Come to think of it, 'good' was a little insipid. All that close-pressed Harry nudity was almost enough to sober up Draco's cock. Almost.

"'Msleepy. Wan'gotobed," Harry said against Draco's shoulder.

Draco's current fluency in Slurvian and his desire for something similar aided the comprehension process. "'kay. Wherezit?"

Harry gazed sadly into the shadows at the top of the stairs. "Up there."

"Oh." Draco wanted to object, but the persistent thought that bed equals good overrode it. He pulled away from Harry reluctantly, every inch of skin shivering in vehement protest at losing contact with all that lovely warmth. Draco secured a death grip on the banister and managed to haul himself up the first step. Seeing as he still had one hand on Harry's arse and Harry still had one arm draped around Draco's neck, Harry stumbled along by default. With the aid of the banisters and some very dodgy grabbing, they crawl-lurched upwards until they were on a blessedly level bit of floor. It was a fairly simple matter from there to stagger through the bedroom door.

Well, they would have staggered through had their wings not got caught in the frame.

"'Mstuck." Draco stared longingly at the bed. Maybe he could sleep standing up? Harry was pretty comfortable to lean on, after all.

Harry grunted and gave a little lurch forward. "Pull."

"Pull what?" Draco glanced down, contemplating a likely object for the verb.

"Wings." Harry twisted and lunged again, and all of a sudden, they were in a feathered heap on the rug.

"Harry... room's spinning." Draco felt a frightened quaver creep into his voice. Harry squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"Lie still. Should right itself. I think."

He's so reliable, Draco thought in silent adoration as the prophesized decrease in the rotation of the ceiling came to pass. He sat up to find Harry smiling up at him. "Look nice, angel."

Draco smiled back. He contemplated saying something similarly nice to Harry, but then he caught sight of a fashion sin that could bar his handsome, dark angel from Pillow Paradise. "No socks in bed."

Harry blinked at him, pretty green eyes wide with confusion.

"No socks in bed." The leather and feathers...even those little claw-thingies...he could live with, but those damn socks looked too silly.

"'kay." Harry shucked them off and slumped back on the floor in a pile of splayed limbs and wings. "Better?"

Definitely an angel. Ooh. Maybe a dark and thoroughly fallen one that likes to dally with pretty mortals...

"Yeah." Draco was dizzy again, but he suspected that it wasn't anything a nice bed couldn't fix, so long as Harry was in the bed as well. Getting there would be a bit of a trick with Draco's sadly bedraggled wings pulling him down, but through some combination of stumbling to the bed and dragging Harry with him...or vice versa...he shrugged his way free of his tattered white wings and the last pitiful bits of his robe. Harry's harness was too great a challenge for luck and drunken fumbling, but they managed to flop amongst the pillows anyway. Not that Harry's wings bothered Draco once he was in bed with Harry squished against him where he belonged.

Eh, what are a few feathers? Life is good.

Draco seemed partial to cuddling Harry's face against his neck. This suited Harry just fine since what he could smell of Draco through the gin was thoroughly pleasant and it had been so bloody long since he'd gone to sleep with his arm draped over a nice, warm body. Or since he'd had such nice, soft hair to play with. Come to think of it, Draco's hair was the softest he'd ever felt, softer than the feathers that were still tangled in it, so that made it even longer.

Too much cuddling made breathing a little impractical though, so Harry shifted around, looking for somewhere to put his nose that would admit the passage of oxygen. He found himself face to face with a slightly out-of-focus Draco. Harry could see Draco perfectly clearly with the contacts; but the way those gray eyes were slowly shifting (and occasionally crossing) it was apparent that Draco was having trouble doing likewise.

"You sang m' fav'rite song tonight."

It was important to Draco to impart this piece of information, judging by how much effort he put into focusing while he said it. With some effort of his own, Harry managed to process the non-sequitur.

"Which... Oh. Yeah. I like that one. Nice music."

"Millie thought it was creepy." Draco pouted.

"Nuh-uh. I don't think so." Harry gave the matter some thought. Thinking was rather painful at present, but no effort was too great for his pouting, unhappy Draco. "It's my job. You know. To watch people. Keep 'em safe. I like keeping people I like safe."

Draco melted against the pillow. The starry-eyed look was back, on a galactic scale. "I like you, Harry." Flatteringly, Draco sounded only a little surprised to be saying it. Then he leaned in and planted a highly alcoholic though not too sloppy kiss on the corner of Harry's mouth.

Draco's mouth was soft and hot and smelled of gin and something vaguely minty, and it rendered Harry happy enough to override the alarms in his psyche. Anything that opposed the cuddly, warm Draco-ness snuggled against him and the slightly skewed kisses was clearly malfunctioning. Harry smiled into the kiss and returned it...even managing to center most of it on Draco's lips.

"I like you, too, Draco."

He really did. Draco was all warm skin and soft, if a little sparse, hair, and he totally understood the whole protective thing. It had been so long since Harry'd had so much skin against his skin... too long since there'd been anyone else warming his bed... years, if he wanted to be thoroughly honest, since he'd shifted a knee under the sheets and found it slipping between two other relaxed, willing, knees...

Suddenly, Harry wasn't very sleepy.

His resolve and certain less principled parts of him firming, Harry swayed up onto his hands and knees above Draco. "Really like you."

Draco felt a little confused. He'd been falling asleep cocooned in the sweetly smug knowledge that he was right about that song, take that, Millie, the highly pleasant sensation of Harry's lips, moist and firm and rather decisive against his, and the thoroughly euphoric sound of Harry saying that he liked Draco. Then all of a sudden Harry was above him, eyes intense, huge black wings gleaming dully in a sliver of moonlight. He definitely wasn't hovering though, wings notwithstanding. Draco felt rather thoroughly squished and a bit poked. Then Harry repeated the bit about liking Draco, and a little squishing didn't seem too hard to take anymore.

Hard... Oh, my. That accounts for the poking.

Had Draco been even remotely sober, he would have felt a fair amount of trepidation at the fact that a very hard penis not his own was rubbing insistently against his hip. In fact, given that he was on his back for the proceedings, 'panic' might not have been too strong a word.

But since sobriety was currently as remote from Draco's location as it could float on an entire bellyful of drinks, what he chiefly felt was a hard body with a generous sprinkling of slightly scratchy little hairs all over it. Harry's greedy tongue slithering across his collarbones, the delicious sound of moaning, and the hot press of muscle cut through Draco's haze of drunken numbness. It had been longer than he cared to remember since anyone had touched him like that.

His hands awakened first. It occurred to Draco that he'd been terribly unfair to limit his attentions to Harry's arse because while that was perfectly glorious (especially bare), his back was also a sensory delight and his hair was paradise. By the time Draco had steered Harry in for a kiss by means of that hair, Draco's legs and prick decided that they were alert enough to enjoy the party.

From there on out it was all tangled legs and tongues, frantic heartbeats pressed close together, moans, grunts, gasps, and whimpers, and dizzyingly wonderful friction of cocks against hips. Harry snuck a hand in between them and did something remarkable with Draco's nipples, which he'd always declined to experiment with before for fear of seeming girly. His mistake became clear in a shuddering wave of pleasure that gripped him and wrung him, forcing Harry's name from his throat...among other ejaculations.

Draco was faintly aware that he was wet and sticky, which should have been a highly distasteful condition. But the last thing he noticed, before sweet unconsciousness successfully beckoned, was a haze of pleasure and Harry calling him beautiful.

So good, so hot, hands all over him, so much skin for the first time in ages... He wanted to keep his eyes open to watch the play of exquisite expressions on Draco's face, but the pleasure was too great. Harry moaned with every thrust against the firm, slim body beneath him, drinking in Draco's little huffs, whimpers, and breathy cries rising in pitch until a shriek of "Harry!" rung in his ears and hot, slick wetness pulsed between their bellies.

Harry's eyes rolled back at the incredible feeling of the slippery sweetness that his cock was now gliding through. He gasped and jerked stiffly in place, panting, "Fuck...beau'ful...Draco!" With a final groan, he made his own contribution to the puddle.

Harry slid a bit down Draco's body, too tired to move further; his head dropped to his new favorite pillow, the smooth bit of Draco's chest just below his shoulder. The rhythmic thump of Draco's heart lulled Harry to asleep almost instantly with a slightly drooly smile on his face and a contented snore that could have been ignited by a spark from a breath mint whooshing past his ear. Harry's wings, released from the charm that put them under conscious control, drooped to cover them in a blanket of black feathers.

The Floo flashed green, and one by one, Lily, Anastasia, Albus Severus, and Scorpius stumbled sleepily (and, it must be confessed, rather tipsily) into the Floo Parlor at the Manor.

"I think we all deserve shirts that say, 'I survived another one of Aunt Hermione's Parties,'" Lily said.

"Uncle Percy had some made once...you must be too young to remember. I still remember Dad telling Mum 'The fan has not yet been built that could handle the resulting shit,'" Al said, snickering.

"At least we won the pool for how long it would take Uncle George to get around the wards and spike the punch!" Ana raised the little purse in triumph. Scorpius applauded her sleepily. "Oh, and thanks for putting us up for the night, Scorpius."

"Shouldn't be any trouble finding you beds." Scorpius leaned in close to Lily and whispered, "I've got one that I'm sure you'll like, if you don't mind sharing."

"Wait till after the wedding before you say something like that around me, will you?" Al shot his friend a glare. "And even then, I'll have to kill you if you let slip any details."

"Fancy Daddy shutting off the Floo!" Lily's indignation would have worked a lot better without the giggles. "I just hope we're not going to end up calling some little slag we went to school with 'Auntie.'"

"Gah, Lilz! I don't know whether to say, 'Go, Dad!' or vomit," Al said, rolling his eyes at her.

"Go, Dad!" Ana yelled, and she and Lily dissolved into laughter.

Scorpius called a house-elf to ready a room for Al and Ana. He turned away from the creature with a peculiar expression. "Father's not home yet. What if something happened to him?"

"He's able to take care of himself, Scorpius darling. I don't think we need to inquire at St. Mungo's just yet."

Scorpius clenched his fists, the pleasant buzz of spiked punch fading with worry. "Damn the Notts for canceling their event at the last minute! With that crowd at Tatiana's party, anything could have happened."

"What do you mean, 'that crowd?' Auntie Tatiana's parties are always very colorful!" Ana piped up.

"That's what he's worried about, love," Al murmured against her ear, trying not to exacerbate Scorpius' anxiety.

"What if your Dad found him at the party and they...I don't know...started taking the piss about the costumes and got into a fight or something?"

Lily soothed the worry lines on Scorpius' forehead with a kiss. "They haven't fought in years. We'll call Tatiana in the morning; maybe Papa got a little tipsy and is sleeping it off there." She smirked. "Maybe he found someone to sleep it off with."

Al whistled. "What are the odds they both got lucky tonight?"

Scorpius winced. "Okay, I want Father to move on as much as anyone, but please... let's not dwell on it."

"Pretty good, based on those costumes you two designed," Ana said. "And I thought they were too over-the-top. Shows what I know about fashion."

"Well, they were deliberately a bit over-the-top. We needed to get them outside of their comfort zones," Al explained. He snickered. "Though I think that the outfit we designed for Millie suited her perfectly."

"Suited her? We toned her down," Scorpius said with perfect seriousness. His face relaxed into a hint of a smile. "But if we do Halloween costumes again next year, I want to go easy on the feathers. What were we thinking?"

"They look spectacular...but, agreed. They were a right bitch to work with. I'm glad we didn't get the bright idea to put any on your wedding robes," Al said. "Finishing those will be a nice change of pace."

"You two need to go into business. Those costumes were incredible. And I love what I've seen of my robes so far," Lily added, giving her brother a peck on the cheek and her fiancé a rather less innocent kiss of appreciation.

"It could be a great sideline while Al finishes his Charms apprenticeship, and Merlin knows the family investments could do with some livening up...if you two would agree to be the faces of the company." Scorpius favored Ana with his most charming smile and nuzzled Lily coaxingly.

Lily looked askance at him. "We've been through this. My position with Uncle Bill's company is demanding, especially if I'm going to make partner. I don't have time to impersonate the head of a house of fashion besides."

Scorpius gave the elf a nod of acknowledgement as it popped back to inform them that a room was ready for his guests. "It wouldn't take any more time from your schedule than the actual designing does from ours. Think about it, love." He favored her with the smile of a man certain of his personal charm. It was a testament to said charm that Lily let him take her hand instead of rolling her eyes at him and making her own way to bed.

"Why don't you just admit that you design all these incredible outfits?" Ana leaned sleepily on Al as they followed the house-elf to their own allotted room.

Al wrapped one arm around her waist. "It's all about marketing. Honestly, Ana...who would believe that a couple of straight men came up with this stuff?"

Late the next morning, Luna and Tatiana were preparing their follow-up feature on the Snorkacks, Nargles, and Rare Creatures Society (S.N.A.R.C.S.) Halloween Ball for 'The Quibbler.' This meant Luna was plowing through the avalanche of photos that Tatiana and Shecky, the house-elf, had taken...since, left to Tatiana, they would have added extra pages and kept them all in. Meanwhile Tatiana was editing Luna's story, trimming the lavish verbal excesses and nodding absently when Shecky pulled on his ears and begged Mistress Tatiana to 'please be remembering that the 'u' in 'colour' was really necessary in British English.'

"This is so exciting! I couldn't sleep until I'd counted everything up. I think we've got enough to finish the safety fence around the entire preserve for those sweet little Snorkacks of yours."

"Yes, it was quite the success. But I think that we should write some guidelines for costumes if we make this an annual event. We at least need to ban sharp edges and open flames. There was an incident in the loo."

"Wouldn't hurt to hire some security as well. Poor Shecky had a hell of a time getting rid of that Kneazle. And she wasn't even drunk. Much."

"Speaking of that, I really think that we should keep to just champagne next year. Our Transfiguration skills are more than equal to making all that we need."

"And my Charms skills are more than equal to making sure that the other liquor bottles don't run dry for at least the course of the evening," Tatiana reminded her brightly. She made another mark with the blue quill. Shecky winced and erased it when she wasn't looking, mumbling about the idyllic, editing-free lives of house-elves in the good old days before general emancipation.

"I know that you love tending bar, but..." Luna stopped in mid sentence. She turned the photo in her hands as if somehow a different angle would change the image. "Tatiana... have you sent copies of the photos to the 'Daily Prophet' yet?"

"About an hour ago. That picture-making device of Al and Ana's is a dream! Not that we'll get more than a back page mention for the cause, but every little bit..."

"All of the photos?"

"Well, certainly. I wanted to give us the best chance possible that they'd see something they'd want to publish." Tatiana widened her own impossibly large brown eyes at her cousin's impossibly large gray counterparts. "I'm sorry dear, was there a photo that you wanted to keep exclusive? I'm sure that we can Floo or owl them and work something out. I don't imagine that they'll get around to printing anything until the Sunday edition."

Luna stared at the image in question. "Oh... I think that they'll work this photo in today. Front page. In color." She dropped the lot on the desk, Tatiana's stuttered questions trailing her down the hallway. "I'd better go warn Harry."

Notes:

Yeah. The Ministry of Magic has a crap vetting process for weeding out high-ranking employees with potential psyche problems...

(Did you know that 'Hermione' is the most vitriolic expletive a house-elf can utter?)

SeverusLovesUs really is the best. These chapters look like comma farms before she goes in and weeds out the excess.