Morning-After Regrets

Draco

Draco

His head was fucking pounding as he glared at Potter, who was naked in his bed. He had no doubt what happened and why. He had only hoped that when they took that fucking Irish kid's potion, that Potter would stay well enough away from him. Judging by the ache in his ass, Potter had had his way with him. He should be grateful for that at least, but nothing would ever come of this. Ever.

"It's not too late. Maybe you can slip back to your room without anyone seeing you," he growled, wanting Potter gone as quickly as possible. Anti-Inhibitions Potion or not, Draco knew his past self wouldn't have made a scene. Maybe he can keep this quiet.

"Having morning-after regrets, are you?" Potter drawled.

"This isn't fucking funny, Potter!"

"I'm not laughing, Malfoy. How the hell did this happen, anyhow?"

"I don't fucking know!" he lied. "It was your git mate who made that potion! Get the hell out!"

"Sure, Malfoy," he said and got out of bed, naked.

Draco paled and hissed, "What the hell, Potter? Put some fucking clothes on!"

"I was planning on it, prat. My clothes weren't in the bed, so what do you want me to do? Walk out the door naked?"

"No... just hurry up!" he spat, as he got up to find his own robes.

"Do you see where my glasses are?" Potter asked, checking the end table.

"Accio glasses," he growled and handed them over. Potter had at least located his trousers.

"Thanks," he said, putting them on. Potter stared at him, a bit surprised.

Potter had hickies and love bites all over, and he guessed he did, too. But he was content to look for his clothes and not stare at him, though. He finished tying his robes, but Potter was moving slowly.

"Hurry the fuck up! I want you gone."

"Yeah, yeah. My head hurts, though," he complained.

"Well, my ass hurts, thanks for that Potter," he hissed. "Should have known you'd pin me down."

"My ass hurts too, Malfoy!" Potter retorted, red. Draco looked at him. Potter could have denied it, but his blunt admission rang true.

Holy Salazar! Did Potter let me... fuck him? But he's a Gryffindor, the hero... Chosen One. And he sure as hell wouldn't want to consort with the likes of me. But we still fucked each other? He's probably going to blame me, and so is everyone else, he thought. But he was a former Death Eater, a Slytherin, and lest anyone forget, a fucking prick to everyone, friends and foe.

Draco, already defensive and worried about the fallout of this disaster, spat, "Look... I didn't set this up. I didn't press this."

"I wasn't accusing you, Malfoy," Potter said, softly but clearly. "We both drank a goblet of that stuff... things happened."

"Fine... they did. I see no reason to talk about this, again," he spat. "Ever, again, Potter."

"But..." Potter started, but Draco cut him off with, "Get out, Potter."

"That's it, Malfoy?" he said, as his not-at-all-adorable hair was a chaotic mess on his head.

"What do you want, Potter? Go marry the Weaselette and have lots of kids. We just shagged and it won't happen, again. Get over it."

Potter frowned. "Malfoy... maybe we should...."

"There's no we, Potter. Get the fuck out, now, before I geld you!"

Potter listened. 

Good riddance, he thought and then immediately starting crying.

There has to be some angst. Winky face.