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Harry drunkenly searched for the keys to his dorm room. He hadn’t planned on going out to the pub, but he wanted to make a good impression with the blokes on his university football team. And he wanted to escape his roommate.
Still struggling, Harry slumped against the door gracelessly. The keys were missing.
Bollocks, he was going to have to knock on his own door and wake his roommate.
His roommate. He sighed. Draco Malfoy. Just thinking of the name made Harry groan.
The bloke was a complete toff.
As soon as Harry had laid eyes on Malfoy’s blonde, aristocratic frame, he had known the man was well-bred. He screamed money: his bespoke clothing, the cut-glass lilt of his voice, and even the gold inlays on his monogram trunk. Harry was determined to be polite, but something about Malfoy’s mannerisms set him completely on edge.
It didn’t help that Malfoy practically hated Harry on sight. He criticized everything about Harry, from the way he stood (“slouched like a slugabed”), to the way he dressed (“like an unkempt peasant”), to his choice of friends (“Could you accumulate a larger band of misfits, Potter.”).
The ONLY thing Malfoy didn’t criticize were Harry’s football skills. At those he just shrugged, which was about the most positive interaction Harry had with Malfoy in the three months they roomed together.
But the absolute worst was their shared space. Malfoy was so tidy, especially for a man who grew up with household staff.
Malfoy had even taped a line down the center of their room to keep Harry’s ‘unmitigated chaos’ in check.
They had multiple rows about the subject. Harry wanted to punch Malfoy right in the face. In his pointy face.
His pretty, pointy face…
Harry groaned again. Because, as much as he wanted to punch Malfoy, he wanted to also snog him. It was a problem that he tried to ignore very unsuccessfully.
Earlier that evening, Malfoy had been prancing around in only his briefs, and Harry felt as though he was going to crawl out of his own skin. It was part of the reason why he had rushed out of the dorm earlier, eager to use his football team as a distraction from how much he wanted to shag his very unfriendly roommate.
Harry sighed in frustration: His keys were sitting on his desk, forgotten as he had been attempting to leave without revealing to Malfoy that he’d already been half hard.
Harry steeled himself and tried to banish his improper thoughts about his roommate. He was going to have to knock, there was no way around the inevitable tongue-lashing he was going to receive. There were so many other things Harry wished Malfoy would do with his tongue.
Steadying himself on the door to knock, Harry unexpectedly pitched forward as the door swung open.
Tumbling roughly to the floor, the first thing Harry saw when the room stopped spinning was Malfoy’s slightly rumpled and wholly disapproving face.
And his briefs.
Briefs that did nothing to hide his muscular body, and made Harry’s drunken, lust-addled brain take notice.
“Potter, what in hell are you doing? It sounded like a Clydesdale was trotting through the hallway!”
“I’m currently laying on the bloody floor.” Harry groaned. “Ugh, is that a sweaty sock underneath my head.”
“Yes, Potter, I heaped all your rubbish on your side of the room. Pigsty it is.” Malfoy replied, still staring down at Harry’s sprawled form. Harry absolutely could not stop looking at Malfoy’s body.
“Fuck me,” Harry murmered, hand thrown over his face, as he tried to will down the erection that was quickly becoming a problem. Hoping Malfoy didn’t notice, Harry tried to right himself, struggling to maintain any shred of dignity.
“What was that, Potter?”
“I said fuck you”, Harry corrected hastily, going on the offensive. “I live here too and it’s not even that messy.”
“Sure, you did.” Malfoy quipped, and Harry wished he could simply disappear.
Malfoy was staring directly at Harry’s crotch, Harry’s erection even more obvious now that he was back on his feet. Harry noticed that Malfoy’s eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed, and his own cock responding.
Harry, never one to back down from a challenge, and certainly not from Malfoy, stepped closer, right into Malfoy personal space.
“See something you like?” The smirk in Harry’s voice was evident, and Merlin, he might get punched in the face if he was reading this situation wrong.
He wasn’t.
Malfoy pulled Harry roughly towards him, mouth crashing onto Harry’s own and hand slipping into Harry’s hair. With his other hand, Malfoy tried to open Harry’s trousers. Harry shifted against him, using the momentum to drag them both over to Malfoy’s bed where Malfoy was immediately all over Harry.
It was quick work from there as they barely stopped kissing long enough to get rid of their clothes. Malfoy’s hand on Harry’s cock felt amazing, and Harry revelled in the feeling of rubbing against each other. He felt Malfoy jerk on top of him, and that was it. They came together, orgasms surging through them as they chased an electrifying high.
Malfoy collapsed on top of Harry, breathy and warm, panting against Harry’s ear, and for a moment, Harry didn’t know what to do. They weren’t friends, they were barely civil, but Harry couldn’t stand the thought of this being a one-off
“Err, sorry about the mess.” Harry said awkwardly as he shifted under Malfoy, not wanting to leave, but not knowing exactly what move to make next.
But Malfoy, ever the surprise, produced a soft flannel almost as if by magic and cleaned them both, touching Harry with gentle hands. When he was done, he tossed the flannel onto the floor, slung an arm over Harry’s midsection and put his head on the pillow.
Warm and open, Malfoy looked into Harry’s eyes and chuckled: “A little mess never hurt anybody.”