Unintended Consequences

Draco closed his eyes in mortification. Of all the places to mis-Apparate, he would have to choose this one. He must have been thinking about Potter instead of concentrating on the Manor. When he felt silken ties wrap themselves around him and Potter, binding them together, he suddenly knew that mis-Apparation was the least of his troubles. Opening his eyes, he glanced down into Potter’s face and steeled himself for the onslaught of abuse that would no doubt be forthcoming. So, he was rather surprised, to say the least, when the Boy Who Lived merely blinked several times, looking up at him with shocked green eyes, and whispered, “Quickly. Kiss me.” His lips had barely moved and Draco had to do a double take to make sure he’d actually heard what Potter had said. Kiss me. It didn’t register as an appropriate response to the situation—to any situation he might find himself in with Potter. And yet, that was what he’d said—Kiss me!



Now Draco may have been three-sheets-to-the-wind stumbling-drunk, but he still had his wits about him. If he had heard correctly—and he was smashed, not deaf, he reminded himself—Potter had asked to kiss him. To kiss him…! To kiss him! Well, if that wasn’t an invitation for his tongue to take a goosey-gander inside the depths of Potter’s soft, pink mouth—with those cherubic lips pouting up towards him like two ripe cherries—he didn’t know what was. So without further ado, he leaned forward ever so slightly and clamped his lips onto the gloriously tender entry to the eighth wonder of the universe that was Potter’s mouth, and sucked for all he was worth.



He wasn’t sure whether Potter’s responding gasp was one of pleasure or surprise, but he took it for a positive sign and plunged his tongue in to plunder the roof of Potter’s mouth, licking and sucking on Potter’s tongue as if his life depended on it. Which it very well might, he mused, given their situation. Apparently the red-haired harpy was not to be the Saviour of the Wizarding World’s blissful betrothed after all. Draco had been to enough ceremonies of this kind to know that the final incantation and binding sealed the union, and it struck him as not a little ironic that, not only was his Harry—for one could hardly be bound to one’s love and continue to call him by his surname—now free of said harpy, but he was also magically bound for life to yours truly!



Draco quietly beamed to himself as he continued to pillage Harry’s gorgeous mouth, all the while quite well aware of the fact that Harry had in no way instigated any of this. Well, there was the kiss, of course, but Draco wasn’t drunk or stupid enough to assume that Harry had been carrying a torch for him all this time. Draco was quite sure that Harry was no shirt-lifter—at least not yet, he grinned to himself. And he was equally certain that Harry had had every intention of bonding with the beastly woman. No, it was likely Harry had some other reason for inviting him to this tortuously delicious feast at such short notice. Some ulterior motive. His Slytherin heart could practically feel the shrewdness and cunning emanating from the man who was presently—oh, so delectably-crushed beneath him. Whatever the reason, Draco thanked his lucky stars and every deity that may or may not exist, for the opportunity to indulge with such delightful abandon in what was fast becoming the inaugural Potter-Malfoy oral Olympics.



Draco was brought out of his reverie when Harry suddenly began squirming beneath him. Reluctantly, he abandoned Harry’s bruised and swollen lips, pulling back just enough to be able to focus on those green, green eyes. He searched them for some indication of the reason behind Harry’s bizarre request and was rewarded with a slight quirk of an eyebrow that told him, in no uncertain terms, to play along or accept the consequences. Draco smirked his reply, but then he was being yanked up by the collar, the golden bindings surrounding Harry and himself snapping from the force of the action.



It wouldn’t be overstating it to say that the chaos that ensued their little on-stage tryst was quite the party. Indeed, chaos might even be too tame a word to describe the melee that presently overtook the little chapel, reducing the garish decorations to piles of dirty ribbons and broken doves and the overwhelming pong of the camellias to a malodorous heap of what ended up looking like pretty compost.



The ties now broken, Harry was dragged off in one direction by a screaming, red-faced tornado in a white dress, while Draco was hauled in the other by the many implacable, red-headed brothers of the aggrieved bride, all apparently ready to pummel him into an early grave. His inebriation helped to dull some of the pain, and he was thankful for that, but he wished they would be done with their beating so he could go back to snogging his oh-so-lovely husband, conveniently ignoring the part of him that recognised that the entire binding had been a complete accident.



Amongst the rantings that said Weasley brothers were aiming in his direction, Draco could just make out the blistering conversation being carried on at the opposite end of the dais between his darling other half and Harry’s erstwhile betrothed.



“What the fuck are you playing at, Harry?” Ginny bellowed-a trifle unladylike, Draco couldn’t help thinking. Draco also couldn’t help noticing how well the crimson tone of Ginny’s face contrasted so nicely with the pure white fluff of her dress, creating a pleasingly apoplectic effect, like a sunburnt toilet-roll doll. “I mean it, Harry! How did this happen?” She was quite overcome with fury by this stage, her fists waving menacingly in the air, and Draco frowned, hoping she wouldn’t mar his husband’s stunning countenance by punching him in the face.



After some further altercation, Harry finally pushed her away and pulled himself up to his full height, crossing his arms and staring her down with cold, emerald eyes. “Ginny, enough!” She stopped ranting as if she’d been hit in the face, and Harry continued in a low, but penetrating voice. “Draco and I are in love. I was going to marry you because it was expected. But it seems Draco had the sense to know better.” Ginny blanched and nearly swooned at his words. Draco wasn’t far behind her.



“But Harry, you’re not gay!” She cried pleadingly. “You fucked me senseless only last Saturday! Surely that meant something?” There was a shocked silence as the words echoed throughout the room, but Harry remained unruffled.



“Look, Ginny. I’m sorry it had to be this way. I didn’t think Draco felt so strongly about me, but it seems I was wrong. If he loves me enough to do what he did, then he deserves to be bound to me. We deserve to be together.” With those words, Harry turned and marched over to where Draco was being held down by Fred and George. “Please leave my husband alone,” he growled threateningly, and the twins lost no time in beating a fast retreat.



Draco looked up at Harry from his vantage point on the floor and his eyes grew wide as Harry leaned down and gently lifted him to his feet. Draco nearly swooned again as Harry pulled him into a gentle embrace and once again sought his lips, this time in a gut-wrenchingly, Mills-and-Boon-like, passionate kiss that seemed to go on forever. When Harry finally pulled back, he ghosted his lips over Draco’s jaw in soft kisses until he reached his ear, where he murmured huskily, so that only Draco could hear, “Play along. I’ll make it worth your while.”



Draco thought he’d be happy to play with Harry for as long as it took and nodded happily as he returned Harry’s kisses with enthusiasm. Several moments later, Harry pulled back again, lifting his hands to cup Draco’s face before tracing his thumbs across Draco’s cheekbones and down to the corners of his mouth. Wrapping himself around Draco, Harry looked tenderly into his eyes and Apparated them away.