#drunk dialing

"You know I don't understand how to make this work," he whined at Harry, "Can't you help me? Isn't that what you do?"

Harry huffed.

"Fine. Don't talk to me. You're the one who's missing out. I'm hanging up now, Potter."

He shook his head and hit delete on the voicemail before opening the next one.

"Potter," he greeted again and Harry almost laughed because he didn't know how it was possible to sound so drunk and so posh at the same time. "I've been informed that you were not, in fact, on the other end of the string...wire?... line?..." he trailed off and this time Harry did laugh.

"Whatever. None of those words make any sense. Anyway, I was told I left you a recording of my voice. You're welcome."

Harry laughed again, ridiculous man.

"So, since you weren't being rude before, I thought I would call to present you my offer. I am out at a club dancing and drinking with Pansy, and I couldn't help but wonder what you might be doing. I'm going to guess that you are finishing a terrible detective novel while you sit on your sofa eating dinner by yourself."

He rolled his eyes, "I like my detective novels, thank you."

"And I know you're probably rolling your eyes and extolling the many virtues of your paperback novels, but they're absolute drivel, Potter, you must know that."

It was ridiculous to be fond of this man. Utterly and completely ridiculous, but Harry was nothing if not fond of Draco Malfoy.

"Anyway, I bet that your cat hasn't even joined you on the sofa. Magnus has much better taste in literature than you do."

Magnus was currently resting on his cat tower, but if he'd been asked, Harry wouldn't have admitted it.

"The point I'm trying to make, is that you are living a lonely, miserable life. So you should come out dancing with me. And I know," he carried on, "that you would say that you don't dance but I can teach you."

He smiled at the phone, gripping it a little tighter as he imagined that scenario playing out in his mind.

"And then, you can take me home with you at the end of the night."

Harry promptly choked on his saliva. Draco Malfoy couldn't be implying what he thought he was implying.

"What's your bed like, Potter? Is it soft? Is it red?" he asked aghast. "Maybe we should come back to mine instead. You'd look so lovely on my green sheets." He trailed off with a wistful little sigh. "Or. Just call me back and tell me to leave the club right now. Tell me to floo over and maybe we won't make it past the living room. Maybe on that hideous sofa. Hell maybe we won't make it past that garish rug."

There was a short pause and Harry wondered if Draco was imagining it like he was.

"I'm dying to kiss you." he murmured. "Surely you see it, surely you know. And I'll be anything you want me to be, Harry. Anything. Because you must know that I-"

The voicemail ended abruptly and Harry glared at the phone. What happened? He opened the voicemail box again and a notification popped up. His mailbox was full. Of all the rotten luck.

And he had no idea where the other man was and even if he had known, did it really make sense to go there anyway?

He listened to the voicemail, then he listened to it again.

And again.

He listened and he fell a little bit more in love with Draco Malfoy and he knew that even if he had known where he was, he wouldn't have gone, because he didn't want to be something the other man regretted in the morning.

After retrieving Magnus from the cat tower, he carried him into his bedroom and decided to deal with everything in the morning.

----------------

Harry slept very poorly that night and when 7:30 rolled around Harry couldn't stand it for one more second. He stuffed his feet into his trainers, pulled a sweatshirt over his head, and apparated to Draco's front door, pounding on it before he could stop himself.

He waited for a long moment and when there was no response, he pounded again.

The door swung open while he was still knocking, revealing a very tired, very grumpy Draco Malfoy in nothing more than a pair of boxers, "What the fuck." He stared at Harry as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes. "What are you doing here at this ungodly hour?"

"What were you going to say?"

"Potter, I am in no mood for your bullshit; I am tired, I am hungover, and it is bloody early. You're going to need to start making sense. Right now."

"You said, 'I'll be anything you want me to be, Harry. Anything. Because you must know that I-' and then my voicemail was full and I couldn't hear anything more."

All of the color drained from Draco's face, "I think I'm going to be sick." He turned around and stumbled back inside, but he left the door open so Harry took that as an invitation to enter.

Draco was serious, apparently, about getting sick because he made a beeline for the bathroom and Harry heard him vomiting before he reached the doorway.

"Oh," he murmured sympathetically, making his way over and gathering Draco's shoulder-length hair in his hand to keep it out of his face. He rubbed soothing circles on his back as he heaved up the contents of his stomach which truthfully smelled like pure vodka.

"Go away," Draco finally groaned when he'd managed to stop dry heaving and flush the toilet. "Just leave me to die. That would be preferable."

"Stop being dramatic," he said as he stood and moved toward his medicine cupboard. "I'm sure that a potions master has a hangover potion lying around here somewhere." He dug through until he found a bottle and handed it over to Draco.

Draco took it, wincing as the pain of the hangover he would have had hit him all at once. He shuddered, "Fucking Pansy," he grumbled. "Thank you for your assistance, you've done you're duty to help those less fortunate than you, you may go."

"Not likely," he replied. "Why don't you shower and get cleaned up? I'll make some breakfast and we can talk."

Draco groaned, "Let me die."

Harry rolled his eyes, "You have ten minutes, then I'm coming in and dragging you out."

He made his way to Draco's kitchen and made some scrambled eggs and toast for both of them, as well as coffee.

Draco appeared after nine minutes and fifty-two seconds. "Please, Potter," he groaned, "Can't you just drop it. I promise never to drunk dial you again," he added as he slid into a chair and took a sip of his coffee.

"Draco what was the end of that sentence?" Harry asked.

The other man picked up his slice of toast and took a bite, "I don't know. I was drunk off my arse."

"Don't lie to me," Harry replied. "I'm not stupid."

Draco's eyes flicked up to meet his, "I know that."

"Please," Harry whispered, "What was the end of that sentence?"

"You aren't going to let it go are you?"

He shook his head.

Draco's shoulders slumped, "I am in love with you," he whispered. "That's the end of that sentence. And usually I have enough of a sense of self preservation and dignity not to just go spouting that sort of nonsense to someone who couldn't possibly feel the same-"

"But I do!" Harry exclaimed. "I do feel the same. I have for absolutely ages."

"You don't have to lie to me-"

"Do you remember that trivia night we went to eight months ago," Harry interrupted, "the one where everyone else bailed?"

"Yes."

"I knew," Harry said, "I knew that night that I was completely besotted with you. We were the worst team there."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Right. Everyone falls in love with someone who's a complete idiot about a subject school children could play better."

"I fell in love with someone who didn't take himself seriously. Who laughed at getting the answers wrong, who was clever and funny, and made up answers a hundred times better than the real ones." He looked down at his hands, steeling himself to say something hard but real, "Things are hard for me sometimes," he confessed. "I get stuck in my head and it's not," he swallowed, "Not always good."

Draco's hand found his across the table.

Harry looked up, "But I don't feel like that when I'm with you. I can't remember the last time I'd laughed like that before that night. And I'm not trying to put pressure on you," he added, "I see a mind healer, I'm not asking you to fix me," he said. "Just, when I'm with you I feel like there's something to look forward to." He swallowed and Draco waited patiently for him to continue, "And I couldn't let myself imagine that you might want someone broken like me, I wanted to be better before I let myself even think about it. But then you left me that messa-"

"You're not broken," Draco murmured, bringing Harry's knuckles to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss to them that left Harry breathless. "The war changed all of us and we all have healing and growing to do from that, but you aren't broken. You're enough as you are right now."

"You don't know what my bad days are like," Harry said.

Draco shrugged, "And you don't know what my bad days are like, but you're not holding them against me."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck.

"I really like you," Draco confessed. "A lot. And I know that things aren't always going to be easy, but if we wait for either of us to be perfect before we try, we'll wait our entire lives." He swallowed and Harry watched his throat bob with the motion, "Could we maybe try healing and growing together?"

"I'd like that," Harry whispered.

"Good," Draco replied before standing up and moving around the table to straddle Harry's lap, "Then I'm going to need you to kiss me."

"I can do that," he replied, cupping Draco's cheek and leading his mouth down to his.

Their breakfast got cold but neither of them could bring themselves to care.

-------------

More shuffling came from the other end of the line. He heard a sharp, “Mary!” and another sound of protest from Lily before she came back onto the phone.

“Are you single?”

“What?”

Someone in the background yelled, but Lily shushed them. “Are you single?” Lily repeated, more determined this time.

James closed his eyes and pressed his lips together before answering so he wouldn’t laugh. “No, Lily, I’m not single.”

Of course, she knew that.

What he wasn’t expecting was the loud sniffle on her end of the line. When she spoke again, her voice was small. “Really?”

One of the other voices came again, closer to the phone but not close enough to be understandable. Footsteps told him that Lily moved away from them. 

“No!” he heard Lily say like she was trying to cover the phone with her hand. “I want to know!”

“We told you —” the other voice tried.

“Evans?”

“Do you love her?” she asked, her voice clear and into the phone’s speaker.

He couldn’t help the way the corner of his mouth ticked up at the question. “Yeah, Evans, I love her.”

The next sound was a pained intake of breath that knocked the air out of his lungs. He clutched the phone tighter and sat up, poised to jump from the couch if she needed him. “Lily,” he said again, “are you all right?”

“No,” Lily said with a hearty sniffle. In his mind, he could see her stubbornly swiping the back of her wrist across her face. “You’re dating someone and you love her!”

“You don’t know what you’re missing, Potter!” came the absolutely distinguishable call from Mary.

Everything came together at once. The late hour, Lily’s previously chipper late night voice, the attempts by her friend to take away the phone, and Mary’s outrage at the news of James’ love life.

Lily was drunk dialing him.

Regardless of the circumstances, James had been on the end of her temper enough to know that he couldn’t laugh. Even if he could perfectly picture Lily running away from her friends so she could find his contact in her phone and give him a call. Even if he could imagine the spots of color on her cheeks that came when she got upset or tipsy or a little of both. 

“Evans, are you drunk?”

“No,” she answered immediately, like the suggestion was offensive. 

“Okay,” James allowed, “but it sounds like…”

“You’re kissing a girl you like!” 

He couldn’t help himself.

“Not at the moment.”

That was the wrong thing to say, based on the shaky breath that James knew came before Lily cried. She always tried to stop her tears, using tricks like squeezing her eyes shut or pinching her palm, but she was notoriously bad at keeping them at bay. 

“Evans,” James said, not able to take all of the amusement from his voice, despite the current state of Lily’s emotions. “I’m dating you. I love you.”

“Really?”

This time, sunshine nearly beamed from her words. He wanted to jump through the phone to crush her against his chest in a hug and maybe recommend that she have a big glass of water before coming to bed. 

“Really,” James confirmed. 

“I love you,” she said. “I love you, I love you, I love you!” Her words started to slur as she repeated the phrase faster and faster, but they were a familiar and perfect melody to James. 

“I love you too, Evans. Now, be safe and come home so I can —”

“Lily!” 

A brief scuffle ensued with whoever said her name. While it got resolved, James let himself laugh until the phone shifted hands.

“Sorry about that,” Marlene said. “We’re waiting for our Uber, but I swear they don’t know how to — Don’t do that, Lily!”

“I’m not drunk!” she insisted. “Look, I’m walking in a straight line!”

“You have to go,” James said for Marlene, laughing. “I got it.”

“We should be at your place soon, Uber willing. Do you have some room for Mary to crash? I don’t think I have it in me to drag her home too.”

“I’ll take care of them.”

“Great.” Marlene moved away from the phone, probably holding it out, to yell. “Say goodbye to James, Lily!”

“Bye, James!”

God, he loved this girl.

“Bye, Evans. See you soon.”

“Gabriel’s picking us up in three minutes. I should make sure your girlfriend doesn’t try to show a cop her straight line walking.”

“I believe in you,” he said. “Bye, Marlene.” He moved the phone away from his ear but waited for Marlene to hang up rather than ending the call himself.

Sam wants to say yes but he’s not sure if it’s true, lives in a world so much larger than he’d dreamed possible when it was him and Dean (and sometimes Dad) crammed into motels and cars and never quite part of the world they fought to protect. Six months ago, four months ago, even three weeks ago he would have said always, said Dean was his first and only forever. That was before getting dragged to a party, getting tipsy and making out with another guy, waking up in Brady’s room to shy smiles on a face that doesn’t set his heart racing but is open and uncomplicated and makes him feel a little less lonely. And Dean had said no, refused to come with him to California, so even if Sam didn’t feel like it was over they were done. Finished. Broken.

“My sweet Sammy, pretty and perfect and mineallmine, but you’re not anymore.” A pause, and Sam can hear Dean swallowing. Can almost smell the beer over the phone. “Went away an’ left me aaaaaaaall alone, didn’t ya?”

You could have come, but the words stick in his throat and he doesn’t want to have that fight again, not when the sound of his name in Dean’s voice has torn open a barely-scabbed wound in his heart.

“Wanted to go with you. Almost followed you a hundred times. Think your school would’ve let me crash in your room? Think your roommate would’ve let me sleep in your bed?”

And oh, the picture that makes in Sam’s mind. Dean, with his larger-than-life energy filling this space, already cramped with Sam and Oliver. Dean crushed against him in the twin bed that Sam barely fits in alone, arm around Sam’s middle and whispering in his ear to stay quiet, don’t wanna wake your roommate up Sammy, here suck my fingers if you need something to help…

“Think about all the goddamn time, Sammy. How it could be. No one knows us, knows we’re brothers, an’ I could be outside your class waitin’ and grab you as you walk out the door. And I know you’re growing, getting so damn big, but I bet I could still pick you up. Get my hands under your ass, get your legs around me where they belong. Get you up against the wall an’ make you forget all about your fancy friends and professors and classes, ‘cause baby boy you fucking love grinding against me. An’ don’t even try and pretend that’s changed.”

Sam can’t pretend, never could, and he knows that Dean recognizes the whine he can’t hold back as he shoves his hand down his pajamas and grabs his dick.

“Touching yourself for me, baby boy?” Dean’s voice drops to the low register that has always been just between them, and Sam’s heart aches almost as much as it did when he got on the bus, watched Dean getting smaller as it drove away.

“Mhm” is all Sam can say though, soft and quiet and still hoping Dean won’t hear. His eyes won’t stay open, keep drifting shut to picture everything Dean’s saying while his thumb swipes over the head of his cock, gathers the precome and he lifts his hand to his face. Sucks his thumb clean and makes it noisy, gets a drawn out groan from the phone.

“Fuck, Sammy, are you tasting yourself for me? Taste so good, baby boy, god I can’t get enough of that. Wanna find you at that damn school and get on my knees in front of you, pull your pants down and suck you so good. Or maybe you want me to taste something else.”

Dean’s breathing harder now, almost gasping into the phone and Sam doesn’t even try to hide the needy “please” that comes out. Dean’s mouth is in his dreams, on his dick, his balls, his hole and Dean always dives in like Sam’s better than pie to him. 

“Get your hand off your dick Sammy. Wanna hear you finger yourself. Think you can still come like that for me?”

And of fucking course he can, can’t help it, has always come for Dean however Dean wanted it. Just Dean’s voice had him halfway there already, and the slight burn as he contorts himself around to push one spit-slick finger in his hole has him panting, gasping, moaning “so good” under his breath and Dean hears it.

“I know it, baby boy. Always feels so good to get inside you, makes me feel alive. Feels more like home than driving my baby, didja know that Sammy-boy? Fuck, think about me licking you open, getting you all sloppy wet with my tongue like you like. And if you beg me to go faster, I’ll just go slower ‘cause I know how to take care of ya, right Sammy? Better’n anyone?”

“Only you.” Sam’s thrusting his fingers faster, stretched out on three now and desperate to reach deeper, hit that spot that Dean could find blind and he’s almostalmost there.

“You better believe it’s only me,” Dean growls. “Mine. My Sammy. Fuck, baby, wanna get my fingers in there, pull you open so I can lick deep. Get you so open you think you’re gonna break, make you scream for me before I get my cock in you. Make you come for me until you’re so sensitive it hurts when I fuck you, know you like it like that.”

“Dean, please… I need…” Sam whines as he thrusts his fingers in hard, reaching, tries to buck his hips down to get deeper and ignores the neighbors pounding on the wall as his bed creaks against it to his rhythm.

“Need what, baby boy?”

“You, Dean, please god I just need you.”

“Fuck, Sammy.” Dean’s voice is wrecked, and when he says “Come for me, now,” Sam does, cries out his brother’s name as he explodes and vaguely recognizes the sound is Dean doing the same over the phone.

He winces as he pulls his fingers out of his sensitive hole, feels it twitching slightly at the movement and he wants to go to sleep still filled but the angle is awkward. 

“Suck ‘em clean for me, baby,” Dean’s voice gone hoarse and pleading. “My Sammy, my sweet filthy boy, do the dirtiest things for me and you love it don’t ya?”

And Sam’s deepest secret is that he’ll do anything Dean asks, so he does, sticks his fingers in his mouth and slurps loud around them, Dean’s moaning in his ear the only encouragement he needs to make it a show. “Miss you, D’n,” mumbled around a mouthful. 

“God, Sammy… miss you so damn much. Shoulda come with you, but dammit I can’t and—”

The line goes dead and Sam curses, tries to call back and gets dropped into voicemail. Tries again and the same thing happens, and eventually he stops trying, too tired to stay awake and there’s class in the morning that’s gonna come too soon so he sends a text before falling asleep.

-

Dean wakes up when sun lances through a crack in the curtains, stabs his eyes and makes his headache worse. He’s surrounded by beer cans and come is dried itchy on his chest and belly, phone dead in his hand.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck.”

He plugs the phone in before stumbling to the shower, stands under the pounding spray until he feels halfway alive again. Turns the phone on while toweling his hair dry, and finds twenty-three missed calls from Sam and a text:

Charge your damn phone. Jerk.

His heart aches a little less as he types out a reply.