Title: Pret-a-Partenaire, 1/2
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Draco/Percy, Harry/hot bartender, Draco/hot bartender :P
Summary: Of all the sandwich joints in London, he had to walk into Harry's.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): clubbing, voyeurism, an unrealistic number of doors left ajar, wanking, elevator sex, snark and banter, backstory that should probably be there ignored to preserve my sanity (including an almost unbelievable lack of Hermione and Ron), Starbucks conspiracy theories and excessive love for Pret-a-Manger
Word Count: approx. 20,600
Author's Notes: Well, this started as one thing and turned into something else altogether, but I've enjoyed the journey. It's not *exactly* what floweringjudas requested due to extenuating circumstances, but it involves massive loads of Percy, so I reckon we're all squared away :D Thanks to my team of betas, for generally holding my hand and catching my stupid mistakes. Also, FYI: Pret-a-Manger is a London-based sandwich chain that specialises in healthy sandwiches/lunch food prepared daily. I <3 it (and so does Harry). And Starbucks white caffè mocha = white chocolate mocha in the US.
The first time Harry saw Draco Malfoy at Pret-a-Manger, sitting at a corner table eating a sandwich, he merely told the cashier in a low voice to make it for take-away, dropped three pound coins into his palm and walked back out, for once thankful for the busy lunch crowd. He took his tuna mayonnaise back to the Ministry and ate at his desk, cursing the poncy git for infringing on his favourite lunch spot.
He made a similar retreat the next day, having arrived an hour later than the day before in the hopes of missing him, but, no - there Malfoy was, munching idly at a front-and-central table, oblivious to Harry's shock and outrage. He was so disoriented he grabbed the first sandwich on the shelf and was later dismayed to find it was egg salad, which he loathed. Harry spent the rest of the day in a foul temper, cursing eggs, healthy eating establishments with limited seating, and Draco Malfoy.
Then, thankfully the weekend arrived and Harry took the time to fume over said Pret-situation and, in the end, resolved to show that wanker Malfoy that no one took over his local Pret-a-Manger. Especially not stuck-up, rich arseholes who could not only afford something a bit pricier, but who hardly needed the made-fresh-and-healthy food, considering he never seemed to gain an ounce. How the hell did someone who worked in the finance department manage that? Harry worked in the Magical Games and Sports Department, played with the office Quidditch league twice a week and occasionally walked to work, and yet he'd put on ten pounds at least since he started working there.
On Monday when 1 p.m. rolled around, Harry marched down to the Pret down the street at his preferred lunch time, determined to show Malfoy who was King of the Pret-a-Manger castle. He chose his sandwich (BLT and a bottle of Pomegranate Power), paid for his food and grabbed a table along the back wall, so he could survey passing traffic. Harry eased open the sticker on his sandwich box and pulled the two perfectly-cut triangles forward, sprinkling salt over the slices, before grabbing onto one of the halves with both hands. Before he could open his mouth to take that first delicious bite... he looked up found himself staring wide-eyed with his mouth gaping open at Draco Malfoy, who smirked, pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down.
"You do realise it defeats the purpose of eating a healthy sandwich if you're just going to douse it in salt."
Harry narrowed his eyes to slits. "Go away."
"It's a public restaurant."
"There are other seats."
Malfoy shrugged nonchalantly. "This is fine."
"No it's not – I'd like to enjoy my lunch in peace."
"We don't have to talk."
"Or you could just go away," Harry ground out, glaring at him moodily, sandwich still poised halfway to his mouth.
"Why so hostile, Potter?" Malfoy tutted, ripping open his own sandwich box and taking a bite of his - Harry squinted at the box – hummus and vegetable sandwich. "You'd think someone who eats alone every day would appreciate some company."
"How do you know I eat alone every day?"
"Oh, everyone knows. You come here every day and spend the entirety of your lunch hour eating these so-called healthy sandwiches, which you summarily ruin with loads of salt and a packet of crisps to go along."
Resigned to the fact that if he waited for Malfoy to leave he'd never get to eat, Harry bit into his sandwich fiercely, not even bothering to chew or swallow properly before he spoke. "And why the hell would Draco Malfoy, pureblood bigot poster-boy, want to eat at a Muggle sandwich shop, hmm?" Harry took a long drag on his drink and slammed the bottle down on the table, eyeing Malfoy in challenge.
"Muggle? Ha!" Malfoy snorted. "This place isn't Muggle, Potter. Do you think Muggles could manage to stock each of these places – at least 80, 90 in central London – with fresh sandwiches of all this variety every day and maintain such high dietary standards?"
"Rubbish. It's a wizard-owned business, staffed by house-elves. I'm amazed you didn't know this, considering the hard-on you have for this place."
Harry frowned. "Bugger off."
Malfoy simply eyed him warily and continued making work of his sandwich. "Do you know," he said thoughtfully a minute later, "in all the years we've worked together, we've never had a proper conversation."
"We don't work together. We work in the same building in separate departments of an organisation of more than a thousand people. That doesn't count." Harry took an aggressive bite of his BLT. "And this isn't a proper conversation."
"Then what is it?"
"An annoying little buzzing in my ears, ruining my lunch."
Malfoy simply smirked and kept going. By the end of the meal, Harry knew all there was to know about Wizarding business strategy, organic farming and the negative effects sodium had on one's well-being. It was going to be a long week.
After several days of lunch with Malfoy, featuring the same back-and-forth annoying banter-slash-small talk, Harry decided to change his routine a bit. That Friday, Harry skipped lunch, and instead headed to the closest Starbucks for a 3 o'clock coffee and scone break. As he sat down at a table with his caffè latte and apple cinnamon scone, he heard the voice he'd grown to dread.
"Did you know there are now over 300 Starbucks in Greater London?"
Harry looked up, surprised and more than a bit annoyed to find Draco Malfoy standing over his table holding a grande-sized drink.
Pulling out a chair, he plunked himself down next to Harry.
"That's more than any other coffee shop, including those chains indigenous to Britain. Bloody American corporations. They're taking over London."
"Um, sorry?" Harry offered resignedly, then sighed. It seemed Malfoy was becoming a permanent fixture of his afternoons. He might as well make an effort to carry on conversation. "So what are you drinking?" Harry pointed to Malfoy's cup.
"White caffè mocha. I don't actually think there's any coffee in it. It's just white chocolate and sugar. It's amazing. Like sex."
"A Starbucks drink that compares to sex?" Harry snorted. "Ha! I'll believe it when I see it."
"Try some." Malfoy slid the cup across the table, looking smug.
Harry warily accepted the proffered drink, and took a measured sip of the mystery concoction. As sweet, rich pleasure slid over his tongue, he moaned soft and slow – it really was amazing.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he groaned under his breath, then checked himself, putting the cup down hastily and slipping back into his haughty demeanour. "I mean, it's okay, I guess." He coughed, and saw Malfoy raising a single, self-satisfied brow at him.
"Told you. Like sex."
He wished Malfoy would stop talking about sex. It sent Harry's mind straight to the gutter. And he didn't care how annoying the git was, he was perfectly attractive and his mind was wont to run away with things. He needed to change the subject. "And let me guess, this place is run by wizards, too."
"Of course it is! How do you think they inspire such a sycophantic following in coffee drinkers? The coffee is shit – present drink excluded, though, again, I question the actual amount of coffee in it – and over-priced and the atmosphere more than a little faux, and yet they remain the most successful coffee chain in the world. Mind, the addictive potion has long since been phased out, but the long-term affects are still there."
"Addictive potion?" Harry eyed him sceptically.
"Oh, yeah, Starbucks was started by a group of less-than-ethical wizards who used unregulated addictive potions and wide-spread Imperious charms to inspire customer dedication. The management was phased out after the war, so now they're very people-friendly, but there's a reason people think of it as an evil empire – it used to be. I should know. Father was a share-holder."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Listen, Malfoy." He took a swig of his now comparatively lacklustre coffee. "I know you haven't been shadowing me for weeks because you want to talk about business models and coffee. What's up?"
"What do you mean?" he said evasively, suddenly becoming far too engrossed in the lid of his coffee cup.
"I'm not stupid - why, all of a sudden, do you want to be all buddy-buddy with me. We've never been friends, no matter what you say, we don't work together...what gives?"
"I, um..." Malfoy looked unsure a minute, trying to come up with an explanation, but then his mask of uncertainty fell and he cursed. "Oh blast. All right, fine, yes. I have... ulterior motives. You happy?"
Harry smirked triumphantly and thought he heard Malfoy mutter "bastard" under his breath.
"Okay, so what is it? You need a favour? Event endorsement? What?"
"Oh, don't be so full of yourself." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "It's more... sensitive than that." He lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. "You like...boys, yes?"
Harry almost laughed. The way Malfoy said it, he might as well have said 'You're an axe murderer, right?' But the look on his face was so serious, Harry decided to play it straight, so to speak.
"I don't make it a secret, no. I do. What's the point, Malfoy?"
"How do I like boys?" Harry parroted back at him.
Malfoy just kind of shrugged half-heartedly and Harry tried again not to laugh.
"Well, I like them naked, spread beneath me, with pretty, round-"
"That's not what I meant!" Malfoy shrieked, drawing the attention of several nearby tables. This time Harry did laugh, great big guffaws that eventually turned to silent laughs as tears sprung to his eyes.
"Potter, shut up!" Malfoy leaned forward and smacked him hard on the arm.
"Ow!" Harry rubbed at the now sore spot and frowned. "Fine, fine. What do you mean, 'how do I like boys'? I just do."
"Yes, but you're so...open about it. That's just not done!"
"Oh God, is this going to be a lecture on Wizarding etiquette? 'Cause I already got this speech from the Ministry public relations team. Several times. I don't care what your sodding culture says. There's nothing wrong with me!"
"Exactly! It's not done." Malfoy was nodding enthusiastically, as if they were agreeing on some point. Harry was confused.
Malfoy sighed, took a sip of his coffee, then made a face as it had apparently gone cold. "Listen, I...well, you see...it's just." He stopped for another deep breath. "I think I might...be like you."
"In what way, exactly?" Harry questioned, decidedly more confused than ever.
Malfoy let out a throaty sound of disgust. "Oh for Christ's sake, you dimwit! Queer!"
"Oh! Oh. And you're coming to me for, what? Advice?"
"Yes! You know how to, you know."
Harry tried not to laugh and put on his most serious face. "Have sex?"
Malfoy flinched. "No! I mean, sure, but no! I mean you know how to be gay. Like boys."
"It's not that hard, really. Frankly, if you think you're queer, you're probably already half-way there."
"Yes, but how do I meet guys? What do I do if they want to... do things?"
"Um, do things back? Everyone loves a little reciprocation." Harry grinned cheekily.
"Don't be a prat. I'm serious."
"So am I," Harry said behind a giggle, then forced himself to get serious at Malfoy's angry, rather put-out expression. "Listen, it's not nearly as complicated as you make it out to be. It's just like with girls - finding someone you like, hoping they like you back, making a move and maybe it'll work out."
"It is not just like with girls." Malfoy pouted. "There are thousands of girls, whereas you're the only queer I know."
Harry half-snorted, half-laughed. "Oh, that's ridiculous. There are tonnes of queer wizards, including at the Ministry."
"What?! How do you know?"
"Well, I've dated some of them, for starters. Or just shagged them. Some of them came on to me after I'd come out. Others I can just tell. There are also...establishments one can go to to find our kind. It's not as super secret as you think."
"Establishments? Now you're just kidding me."
"No! There are clubs, most either on the edge of Diagon Alley or down at Clandestin Alley. Wizards may not be as out and proud as Muggles, but there are certainly queer factions. Enough that I wouldn't have to sleep with the same bloke twice if I didn't want to."
"I still don't believe you." He was looking at Harry as if he'd sprouted a second head.
"I'll show you, if you want."
"Sure. Tonight, if you want. There's free cover if we go before ten. We could get there early, ease you in slowly, so to speak."
Malfoy suddenly looked nauseated. "I don't know..."
"Oh, come on. It won't be so bad. I'll be there the whole time, and you won't have to do anything you don't want to. It's the closest we'll get to gay wizarding counter-culture that you can actually see."
Malfoy edged back in his seat and tapped his fingers absent-mindedly against the table. "Why are you being so nice to me?"
Harry sighed and looked at the man in front of him, who looked scared and somewhat sick. "It's not easy when you first figure it out. It doesn't matter if I think you're a self-centred, annoying git. You're in the same boat as me in a way." And Harry didn't really have any friends who were gay, and he saw in Malfoy someone he could cultivate to be so...but he didn't say that. "So, shall we? I promise I'll protect you. People say I'm rather heroic when I want to be." He grinned and winked, and Malfoy couldn't help but laugh.
"Fine. But I have absolutely nothing to wear."
Knobs and Broomsticks was probably Harry's favourite club, of all the (three) gay wizarding clubs in London. It was right in the middle of the spectrum - not too dull, like the jazz and poetry-centred Swish&Flick, but also not as intense as Spank, where all the fetishists hung about (including several ex-Death Eaters, so it was a good place for Harry to avoid for more than one reason). But Knobs played good music and the cocktails were tasty, if a little over-priced.
It also had a rather nice back-room area for those who were inclined. It was a bit on the skanky side, but better than popping off into the loos (though Harry had done it before) and perfect for when all you wanted was a quick, dirty shag in the dark. In fact, when Harry had first started experimenting with being gay, right after the war, sick with grief and confused, he'd come here every night to be fucked into the wall by some stranger. It was not only cathartic, being helpless and taken, but rather helpful in answering the queer question, as it's hard to deny you like cock when you've got one spearing you open and you're moaning for more. Harry reckoned Malfoy could use an experience or two on that level, though he wasn't going to throw him to the wolves just yet. This first night, he'd keep him close, as the regulars could smell fresh meat all too easily.
They sat at the bar, Harry nursing a funny, blue-hued drink, whilst Malfoy sat beside him on a chrome bar stool, posture rigid, hands fidgeting over equally fidgety knees. He looked as if he could have kittens.
"Relax, Malfoy! There are only about fifteen people here - and no one's accosting you yet."
"Yes, yet! Oh God!" He started wheezing.
Rolling his eyes, Harry signalled to the bartender. "You need to drink. A lot." The bartender fixed up a the same drink Harry was having, finishing it off with a quick flourish of his wand, which lit the thing up bright white before fading to the wild blue. "Keep these coming. Some Firewhisky shots would be grand, too," Harry smiled at the rather fit bartender, who winked back at him. If he weren't chaperoning Malfoy, he'd have popped back to the back stalls with this bloke in a heartbeat. Though, well, if he got Malfoy drunk enough, maybe he still could...
Malfoy downed the drink in one go, making a sour face as the alcohol and magic burned down his throat. "God, what is that?"
"Liquid courage. You need to get out there, start dancing."
"But, like you said, there's no one here yet."
"Yes, but by the time you're sufficiently lubricated, so to speak, there will be plenty of blokes on the dance floor."
"I have a high tolerance for alcohol, so good luck."
"Bullshit - you're so slight I bet it would only take a few drinks."
"Ha! Low blood pressure. Takes longer to absorb." He eyed Harry in challenge.
"We'll see. Hey - take a shot." Harry indicated the two shot glasses the bartender had just dropped off.
Narrowing his eyes at Harry, Malfoy picked up the proffered shot and gripped it hard between forefinger, index finger and thumb. His expression set an unspoken challenge that Harry was more than happy to accept. He knew he could hold his drink exceedingly well, and he needed Malfoy to get drunk and loosen up anyway. He grinned in response and picked up his own shot glass, counting down from three before they both drank after one.
Malfoy's eyes glinted with the challenge and the alcohol and Harry realised this would be easier than he thought.
The bartender's mouth was hot and tight round Harry's prick and he thanked all the gods and alcohol for getting Malfoy worked up and distracted enough on the dance floor to allow Harry to sneak off for a quick one-off. Harry had had to drag Malfoy out onto the dance floor and spend the first three song rotations focussing his energy solely on loosening Malfoy up before he would dance with anyone else. And Harry always got so hard dancing, pressing himself up against a firm arse or two, or four, so when the bartender zeroed in on him and inclined his head towards the back of the club, Harry had made sure Malfoy's back was turned and slipped off. And, oh, was it worth it: not only was the boy eager, but he'd offered to take a couple Galleons off Harry's tab for the privilege of swallowing his cock. Being famous did have its benefits.
"You know," the boy rasped as he withdrew himself from Harry's cock. "I'd wipe the entire tab if you were to take me home with your friend. Fuck me while I fuck him. My shift ends at 2." He looked up imploringly at Harry, licking his lips and simpering at him.
Malfoy? Harry tried rather unsuccessfully not to flash on the image the boy's offer conjured up and had to remind himself that Malfoy had been officially gay, oh, a mere twenty-four hours, so it wasn't a good idea to wrangle him into a threesome just yet. "Err, sorry - my, um, friend is a bit new to the scene. So it's just me on offer tonight, I'm afraid."
"Too bad." The bartender shrugged. "You still owe me ten Galleons then." Leering up at Harry, he licked his lips and went back to sucking him, going at it with such fervour, Harry came within a minute.
"Ah, fuck," Harry choked out, his hips jerking forward as he rode out his orgasm.
"Hopefully," the bartender said cheekily, pulling back from Harry as he wiped the last remnants of come from his lips. "Remember, I finish shift at two." He sauntered off, back towards the front of the club, presumably to serve more drinks.
Harry followed once he'd cast a Cleaning Spell and tucked himself back in. As he waded through the now bustling dance floor, he suddenly found a bony figure clutching to him rather desperately. Before he could shake him off and tell him to mind his fucking own, he looked down and realised it was Malfoy. Flushed in the face, hair sweaty and sticking in all directions, Malfoy looked a fright and his expression was similar.
"You left me!" he shrieked in Harry's ear. "You left me out there with those people!"
Harry rolled his eyes and tried to dislodge Malfoy's clammy hands from his waist. He'd left him for twenty minutes and last he'd checked, Malfoy had been rather happily occupied with a fit ginger bloke. "Malfoy, you're fine."
"I am not fine!" he continued dramatically, holding ever tighter to Harry, his step a little unsure in his still-drunken state. "I've been accosted! By men in tiny, tiny shorts. I felt their things, Potter."
"Men do tend to have those," Harry dead-panned.
"Just please don't leave me again," Malfoy buried his head in Harry's shoulder and Harry couldn't help but sigh at the pathetic display. He was clearly going to have to invest more effort than he had previously thought, as Malfoy was unlikely to throw caution to the wind and go off with a bloke. Gazing wistfully in the direction of the bar (and the bartender), Harry steered Malfoy in the opposite direction, toward the exit.
"Come on, let's get you out of here. I think this is enough for your first night being a gay."
"'m not gay, just curious," Malfoy mumbled against his shoulder as they left the dark, sweaty sanctuary of the club and stepped out into the chill air.
"Uh huh," Harry said, mock-placatingly. "And that's just your curiosity poking me in the hip." He shifted against Malfoy's burgeoning erection as he lead them to a safe Apparition point. At least he'd just come, so there was little risk of scaring Malfoy off with his thing.
"Shuddup, 'ts just a natural reaction," Malfoy slurred grumpily.
"Yes, for a gay man," Harry laughed. "Come on – I'll have to take you back to mine. You're too drunk to Apparate on your own, and I have no idea where you live."
"Are you trying to take advantage of me?!" came the drunken accusation, as Malfoy pulled away from Harry, tried to point an threatening finger at him and promptly fell on his arse at the sudden loss of support.
"No, you idiot," Harry muttered between curses, bending down to help Malfoy back up. "Trust me, I've had much better offers for the evening, but instead I'll be spending it with you, moaning on my couch as I shove hangover potion down your throat. You'll probably vomit all over the place too. My idea of a fun Friday night, trust me."
That was all Malfoy could manage before pitching over and vomiting all over Harry's shoes.
"Oh, fucking grand." Harry looked dejectedly down at his soiled shoes and trouser bottoms whilst trying to balance a sick and swaying Malfoy against his side. He said the spell to initiate Apparation, all the while asking himself over and over again why the hell he'd agreed to this.
Harry woke to a series of loud, anguished moans, and the feel of lumpy couch poorly cushioning his aching spine. So much for making Malfoy sleep on the couch. Kicking his feet over the side of the sofa, Harry grimaced as his spine tweaked as he rose to a sitting position. Harry made his way into his small kitchen and fetched the batch of hangover potion he'd brewed the night before, while Malfoy was giggling about how funny erections were and demanding Harry make him a cheese souffle. Turned out he was a whiny, girly, giggly and sick-up drunk.
He found Malfoy flung spread-eagled over the bedspread, head tilted to the side and smushed into the pillow as he moaned.
"Good morning sunshine," Harry said as cheerfully as he could manage, as he walked across the wood flooring and set the hangover potion and a glass of water on the bedside table.
"Turn off the fucking noise," Malfoy muttered into the pillow.
"If you drink what I just brought you, there will be no need to moan and groan so much."
Malfoy turned his face towards Harry's voice, eyes squinted against the brightness of the morning. He eyed the glasses sceptically. "Are you trying to poison me?"
"Trust me, if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it last night, after you vomited on my best shoes."
"I didn't vomit on you. I don't vomit."
"Oh? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you did."
"I haven't thrown up since I was eight."
"There's a first time for everything. You definitely did."
Malfoy screwed up his face with annoyance, eyeing the hangover potion.
"Whatever," he muttered, before reaching clumsily for the glass, which he nearly knocked over before Harry grabbed it himself and put it into Malfoy's searching hands.
"Drink the water after. I'll be in the kitchen," Harry instructed him before turning and leaving the room. He grinned as he heard Malfoy shriek 'this is vile!" behind him.
Harry had a simple but hearty breakfast of toast, muesli and bacon on the table and ready to eat by the time Malfoy shuffled out of the bedroom, dressed in Harry's dressing gown no less, moaning about his head.
"I feel like I've been hit by the Knight bus," Malfoy bemoaned as he plunked himself down at the table, turned his nose up at the bacon and helped himself to the muesli. Harry thought he heard him mutter "no wonder you've blown up like a balloon," but chose to ignore it.
"It's not my fault you refused to drink any water last night. Takes care of the hangover before it starts, you know."
"Let me guess - a tip you got from Granger," Malfoy said dryly, stirring a single sugar cube into his milky tea.
"Yep." Harry couldn't help grinning. "Complete with a full scientific explanation of alcohol's dehydrating effects on the body - a boring twenty minutes but it's proved useful."
"Whatever." Malfoy shovelled cereal into his mouth with one hand and massaged his temple with the other. "I want to die."
"It's only a hangover, you pansy."
"It's not that, you idiot," Malfoy snapped at him, then recoiled, wincing at the spike of pain the quick movement sent though his head. "I can't believe I did what I did last night."
"What? Got plastered off your arse and ran screaming from the first man you touched?" Harry teased, taking a tentative sip of his almost-scalding coffee.
"I didn't run screaming!"
"No, you just clung to me and cried."
"I didn't cry."
"Might as well have done."
"I'm not sober enough to do this," Malfoy groaned, eyes closed as his fingers massaged his forehead.
"Talk to you." He cracked an eye open to look at Harry. "You know, for a dimwit, it takes a considerable amount of effort to carry on a conversation with you."
"Is that a compliment?"
"No," Malfoy answered wryly, and Harry couldn't suppress a grin.
"Well, listen... I'm really just teasing. I don't expect you to become a gay poster child over night. I guess a club was too much for starters. You need to start out slow, do some reading, go on a few dates."
Malfoy choked on his tea. "Dates?"
"Of course. Gay men generally go out with other gay men."
"But isn't it a bit...soon? I need a few years at least..."
Harry rolled his eyes at Malfoy's dramatics. "Don't be ridiculous. We'll start you off nice and easy, set you up with someone harmless." Harry paused a moment to think over options. "Which really leaves us with the short list. Most of the men I know would eat you alive, figuratively speaking. It's just too rich that Draco Malfoy is a poofter!"
"Just about as good as Harry Potter being one, I'm sure."
Harry grinned wickedly. "Yes, they did rather have a field day, didn't they?"
"You really shouldn't look so pleased."
"Well, I've learned to laugh about it. You kind of have to, when your decision of sexual orientation ends up as international front page news. Besides, it got me twice as much play, so I can't exactly complain."
"Didn't you used to be a bitter old sod? Yelling all the time about how shitty your life was? What the hell happened?"
"Lots and lots of sex," Harry answered, quite seriously, then let a grin overtake him once more. "It tends to loosen you up, so to speak."
"This whole conversation disturbs me."
"Don't be such a prude!"
"I'm not! You're a pervert!"
Harry simply raised an eyebrow and shook his head, bringing the subject back into focus, so he could get his dressing gown back and Malfoy out of his apartment. "As best I can figure it, we need to set you up with someone pretty low-key."
"We don't need to set me up at all."
Harry shushed him and allowed his thoughts to wander. Who could possibly be as sexually repressed as Malfoy...
"Percy!" he exclaimed, head snapping up just in time to see Malfoy's disdainful sneer turn to an expression of disbelief and then amusement.
"Percy Weasley? You've got to be kidding me."
"No, no, it's perfect! He's very reserved about the whole gay thing, and I'm sure he could ease you in gently, err, so to speak." Maybe Harry was a bit of a pervert. Double-entendres just seemed to roll off his tongue.
"So, what, did you sleep with him? Giving me your cast-offs?"
"Sleep with Percy? Of course not! I slept with Oliver, his ex."
"Wood? International Quidditch star Oliver Wood?"
"I told you I got around."
Harry shrugged off Malfoy's judgemental stare and continued formulating the plan in his head. "Listen - you work in finance, he's in the Minister's office. It's perfect! Just go to him about an assessment or something, flirt with him a bit, find excuses to come back... and then ask him for a drink at the end of the week."
"Assessments, Potter? You're an idiot."
"What? It's not like I know anything about finances. I plan events!"
"Which makes it even more pathetic that you don't know anything. And I am not asking Percy Weasley for drinks!"
"Then get him to ask you!"
"I don't even fancy him!"
"That doesn't matter - you don't have to shag him. Just go out to dinner once or twice, let him feel you up a bit. Stop being so skittish about touching other men. Then we'll find you a big bear or whatever it is you're attracted to."
"You definitely need some literature." Harry sighed.
"And let me guess you have plenty of books on the subject?"
"Of course I do. Hermione's my best friend. What do you think she did when she found out I was gay?"
Draco's brain was on information overload. Bears, rimming, twinks, fisting...he didn't know what to think, frankly. He just knew he got off on thinking about boys, but all the details were a bit much. Of course, this was the problem with pureblood familial expectation. All the years he'd spent dithering with Pansy because he thought he was supposed to had put him years behind. He knew how to make rather unsatisfying love to a (fussy, demanding) woman, and that was about it.
And then there was Harry Potter, who had apparently turned into the world's biggest slut. When Draco had asked him how many men he'd slept with, he'd started rattling off a list of names and even had his sex partners categorised by what sex acts they'd engaged in (Potter seemed to think it didn't "count" if he'd only received a blow job, but Draco reckoned sex was sex). Draco was satisfied, at least, when Potter had blushed when Draco had asked how many boyfriends he'd had. The answer was "not that many and not in a few years," and Draco was glad he wasn't the only one who seemed to fail at relationships, gay or straight. Then he teased Potter for about ten minutes about what a whore he apparently was.
Eventually, though, Potter had convinced Draco that the Percy Plan was the right one, and he reluctantly agreed to at least try and have a conversation with him.
Which brought him to where he now stood, cowering in a shadowed corridor outside the Minister of Magic's office, purposely-incorrect financial docket clasped tightly in his sweaty hands. What was he going to say? He would have stood there procrastinating forever if he could, but then he heard someone coming down the hall behind him, which forced him into action. Entirely too soon, he was standing inside the reception for the Minster's office, a meticulously groomed Percy Weasley arching an under-impressed eyebrow at him.
Draco's heart thudded in his chest. He didn't know what to say. He just had no idea how to talk to gay men. Well, one he was trying to pull.
"Um, this, um, report is, um, wrong."
Percy pushed his glasses up. "Let me see?"
"Oh, um, sure…" Draco nervously tried to smooth out the creases from where he'd gripped the paper too firmly in his hands He was unsuccessful, and Percy scowled as Draco handed over the badly rumpled document.
As Percy looked down his nose at the document, a sceptical eyebrow raised, Draco assessed him. Ginger hair notwithstanding, he wasn't all that bad. He certainly was a vast improvement on the poncy git Draco recalled from Hogwarts – age, among other things, having contributed to a more distinguished look where he'd formerly been rather awkward and goofy looking. He'd grown into his lanky figure, adding what looked like muscle tone, though Draco could hardly picture Percy working out at the gym. He'd also replaced cheap, MHC glasses with a more expensive, and therefore far more flattering, pair of spectacles. The added salary from being the Minster's assistant for going on ten years (Draco wondered how someone so ambitious remained an assistant, even if he was a senior assistant now), had similarly lead to a wardrobe upgrade – Percy's robes were clearly all tailor made. While to Draco's formerly upper-class eye, Percy was clearly a working class boy desperately trying not to show his roots, still, he would hardly throw him out of bed, an assessment which pleased Draco. He could learn to like Percy's sharp features and hawkish expression, at least enough to fool around a bit. He smiled.
"You're completely incompetent, Malfoy."
"When I filed this form, the maths were pristine. Hence, the error must be on your side." He offered the document back to Draco, expression smug.
"Um, sure. Okay." Draco took back the paper and hastily and shoved it in his pocket. This wasn't going well – he was supposed to flirt, Potter had said. Draco tried in vain to think of something suave and clever to say, something that said 'hi, I'm gay, please shag me'. "I…" Draco swallowed hard, eyes darting around the room and over Percy, fixing onto the other man's blue striped tie. "I like your tie?" Mentally, Draco smacked himself in the head. I like your tie?
Percy looked at him as if he'd sprouted a second head. Draco's face was on fire, he could feel it.
"Um, silk! Just…lovely," Draco babbled, fingering at the collar of his robes, seeking the air the room suddenly seemed to lack. "And blue compliments your, um, hair! Yes, lovely red hair! I'll go fix this report. Sorry to bother you."
Draco fled, refusing to even glance back at Percy, though his bewildered and judgemental stare remained branded in Draco's memory for the next ten minutes, as he replayed his pathetic display over and over. Was it too early to start drinking?
Harry had only just started in on his tuna mayonnaise when a rather harried looking Malfoy plunked down next to him, breathing hard.
"I need a drink."
Harry silently offered him his bottle of spring water and continued to enjoy his sandwich. He refused to let Malfoy spoil his Pret ever again. He'd take his interruptions in stride. Harry even managed to keep his composure as Malfoy proceeded to gulp down more than half his drink in one go.
"Blech." Malfoy smacked his lips together wetly. "I was hoping there'd be vodka in there."
"It's a Pret spring water, Malfoy – no alcohol. And it's only 12:30!" Harry studied Malfoy's furrowed brow and tense, fidgety posture. "Didn't go so well with Percy, then?"
"No! I was…gah!" Malfoy dropped his head dramatically onto the table. "I was rubbish," he muttered into the wooden table top.
'Well, it was your first time, so it's okay. And I'm sure it wasn't that bad."
"I babbled like an idiot. He thinks I'm crazy."
"Well, in all fairness, he thinks most people are crazy. Not to mention immoral, lazy and stupid. It's just…Percy."
Malfoy raised his head an inch and narrowed his eyes at Harry. "You don't sound like you like him very much."
"No, no, I like him fine," Harry backtracked. "I see him at holidays at the Weasleys – Molly treats me like a son and he's part of the family, so we enjoy a casual, friendly relationship. And we've chatted once or twice about both being gay," Harry rambled. "Anyway – Percy is… particular. And can be kind of annoying, but he's a nice bloke. Frankly, you're both pretty damn picky, so I reckon you'll get along fine."
"You're a shit salesman, Potter."
"Well, he's not a car! He's nice, really. I'll talk to him if you want, explain that you didn't mean any harm, whatever it is you said."
"Oh god, don't – that'll make it even worse."
Harry sighed, removing his glasses and cleaning the lenses with the edge of his shirt. "Whatever, Malfoy. I'm only trying to help. And it sounds like you need it…"
Malfoy's head shot up. "I do not need help!" he answered shrilly. Harry threw him a disbelieving look. "I'll have you know, Potter, that I am aces when it comes to chatting up women. I am brilliant at it."
"But you're rubbish with blokes?"
"It's the…gayness, it throws me off," Malfoy countered haughtily, and Harry just rolled his eyes.
"Now you just sound stupid."
Narrowing his eyes at Harry, Malfoy's attention then fell down to his sandwich. "You going to eat that?" he asked, hand already reaching for Harry's other sandwich half. Before Harry could counter with an emphatic 'no,' or even smack his hand away, Malfoy had confiscated Harry's beloved tuna and taken a huge bite from one of the pointed corners.
Scowling, Harry muttered 'bastard' under his breath, though there was little ire behind it, and Malfoy grinned at him cheekily.
Another long and belaboured lunch at Pret, then.
Harry tapped his foot impatiently against the marble flooring as he waited for the lift to arrive. It seemed no matter what time of day it was, irrespective of traffic, the lift took forever. He'd summoned it at least three minutes ago, and still nothing. Just as he was about to give up and take the stairs, the lift dinged and the doors slid open.
Seventh floor. Doors opening. Going up? Going down. Doors closing the nasally, clipped elevator voice intoned, and Harry rolled his eyes. Whenever the lifts were acting up and got stuck on his floor, all you'd hear, ad nauseam, was "Seventh floor. Doors opening. Going up? Going down. Doors closing Seventh floor. Going up?…"
He rushed through the doors before the lift decided to play up, and it was only after he'd jabbed the ground floor button impatiently a half dozen times that he noticed he wasn't alone. Percy arched an eyebrow at him, as he was wont to do, as if to say 'impatient, are we?' He wanted to say it, Harry could tell. He decided to beat him to the punch.
"Hello, Percy," Harry said, injecting forced cheerfulness into his tone. "Good day?"
"Hmm, yes, I suppose," Percy answered with a slight shrug. Harry decided to dive right in.
"So I suppose Malfoy had a chat with you?"
Percy eyed him suspiciously. "Yes…why do you ask?"
"Err, well, I'm sure he made a fool of himself. I just wanted to explain."
Clearly confused and wary, Percy waited for Harry to continue.
"I told him to talk to you, see. He's…confused and I knew you'd be nice to him, well, once you understood."
"I'm not getting you, Harry," Percy said patronisingly. "In complete, clear sentences, please."
"Oh, sorry." Harry smiled sheepishly, hoping he appeared charming. "Malfoy's gay."
"Well, so are you."
"As are you."
"Yes, but I don't want to date him."
"But I do?"
"I thought you might…"
"You're trying to set me up on a date with Draco Malfoy?"
Percy sighed heavily, muttering something to himself Harry didn't catch.
"What are you playing at, Harry? I didn't think you the sort to play bait the poof for fun."
Harry's jaw dropped. "Percy! I'm not playing…bait the poof! Like I would, of all people. I'm being completely serious. Malfoy thinks he's gay, and I'm, I don't know, helping him, I guess. I thought you, of all the gay guys I know, would be the nicest about it, wouldn't pressure him into anything." Percy didn't look convinced. Harry tried harder. "And, and – you're pureblood! You understand all the Wizarding politics behind it, which I don't get at all, but Malfoy is having a problem with it, and I reckon you two have a lot in common and could talk -"
Ding! "Ground floor. Doors Opening. Going up?"
The doors slid open, and Percy threw Harry one rather incredulous look before stalking from the lift, moving through the lobby swiftly, with purpose.
"Just one date, Percy!" Harry called after him desperately, glad suddenly for their both working late leaving the ground floor mostly deserted – didn't want everyone to think he was begging Percy Weasley for a date!
Percy stopped near in the Floo bay, and turned to face Harry, seeming to think about it.
"All right, one," he acquiesced, pursing his lips together in obvious disdain and pushing his glasses up his nose just a fraction, for emphasis. "But a working dinner not a date, and I control time and place. I can't be seen in certain establishments wining and dining finance staff. It would seem improprietous of me."
Harry wasn't even sure that was a real word, but he just nodded emphatically, glad to have made some head-way. "Thanks, Percy. But, listen, Malfoy didn't want me to talk to you – could you phone him up tomorrow, or send him a note, and ask him so he doesn't know I interfered?"
"I guess, Harry," Percy sighed.
Harry shot Percy a thumbs up and what he was sure was a stupid-looking grin as the other man sighed heavily and stepped into the Floo. Percy was gone before they could discuss details.
The special sandwich of the week was goat cheese with grilled vegetables. Harry wasn't exactly sure if he liked it yet – goat cheese was a favourite, but grilled and then re-chilled vegetables were hit or miss. Too much crunch in his sandwich tended to turn Harry's stomach.
It was the Monday after he'd stopped Percy in the lobby, and though he hadn't seen Malfoy for a few days after that, he was fairly sure they'd arranged their first date for sometime that weekend. So Harry couldn't help but wonder how it went. Considering he'd spent his weekend watching telly and wanking, he hoped Malfoy had had a more romantically successful time of things.
It appeared he might have, from the sly smile that was planted on his face as he sat down across from Harry.
“You look pleased with yourself. I take it the date went well?” Harry said, a little more clipped than he'd intended. Malfoy merely kept smiling.
“Hmmm, of course. This whole gay thing is going to be a piece of cake.”
“Yes. Weasley – rather Percy and I had a lovely evening out.”
“What did you do?” Harry asked, genuinely curious – he hadn't expected the first date would go well at all, honestly.
“Dinner at a rather nice French restaurant. Plenty of wine." Malfoy stretched like a cat and grinned. "He came back to mine after...”
“Really?” Harry couldn't help his shrill tone. He couldn't believe Percy would be so forward.
“Hmm, yes. What did you expect Potter? That I'd crash and burn?”
“Well, yes, actually. But that's...great. I'm glad you had a good time.”
"I did. See – I can be just as good at this as you are."
"Malfoy, it's not a competition."
Malfoy didn't look convinced. "Sure. You gonna eat that?"
Before Harry could answer, Malfoy had solved the sandwich dilemma by taking the other half. Great, now Harry was going to be hungry all day.
The white caffè mocha really hit the spot, Harry thought, sipping it quietly in a corner of Starbucks as he watched the rain pelting the pavement outside. While he normally didn't take lunch and coffee on the same day, it had been a pretty crap lunch with Malfoy mooning over his date and the cold rain outside hadn't exactly made Harry want to spend his entire afternoon trapped in the office.
As he took another sip of his drink, and actively tried to not think of it as Malfoy's drink, he looked up and saw Percy at the counter, paying for a coffee. Before Harry could help it, their eyes met and when it was clear neither could pretend they hadn't seen the other, Percy came over.
"Hello Harry," he said, giving a tight smile, clutching his coffee tightly in his hand.
"Hi Percy." Harry gave his own wary smile. "Would you like to sit down?"
"Sure, thank you." Percy sat, laying his sopping umbrella down on the chair beside him and taking a long draw of his drink. He came away, nose wrinkled in distaste. "I don't even like Starbucks coffee. Don't know why I come here."
"Addictive additives," Harry replied glibly, almost automatically. Damn Malfoy and his stories.
"Nothing," Harry said hastily. "So, I hear you had a rather good date with Malfoy."
"Good? I'm not quite sure that's the term I'd use."
"Oh? Then what term would you use?"
"Bizarre and somewhat insulting."
"Really?" Harry was surprised, but also secretly pleased and desperately curious. It seemed Malfoy hadn't been one hundred percent honest. "What happened?"
"Well, conversation was, to say the least, awkward," Percy started with a huff. "He insulted my restaurant choice, wardrobe, hairstyle and family, among other things. Then he got absolutely soused on wine, so much to the point that he couldn’t Apparate home by himself. I saw him home, where he then threw himself at me in the doorway. When I pushed him away, he fell and vomited all over the doorstep. Not exactly an experience I'm keen to repeat."
Harry jaw fell open. "That's… wow. That last part at least sounds familiar – Malfoy tends to vomit when he's been drinking." Harry laughed awkwardly, but Percy didn't seem amused. "Can't hold his alcohol at all. He got my shoes the last time. But, um, I'm really sorry about the rest of it."
"Honestly, I've no idea why I said yes. Not one of my brighter moments," Percy said snidely, taking another measured sip of coffee.
"Maybe he was just nervous?"
"Maybe he's a twat?"
Percy rolled his eyes and shrugged. "If you lot can say it, so can I."
"Whatever, Percy. But you should stop being so judgemental. I'm sure you weren't all slickness and composure when you first came out."
"My coming out isn't the issue. Going out with Draco Malfoy was awkward and thoroughly unpleasant, and I can't believe you talked me into it."
"Well, could you try again?"
"It's just… he seemed so happy when I spoke to him earlier. I don’t think he realised how miserable you were. Just give him another chance," Harry pleaded.
Percy furrowed his brow, studying him. "I really don't get your role in this, Harry."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, caught off-guard.
"I just don't understand why you're acting as Draco Malfoy's advocate. I thought you hated him."
Harry shrugged. "Not really. He's annoying, but, I don't know. I like him, I guess, as a sometimes acquaintance."
"Right," said Percy, clearly not convinced. "Well, I really don't fancy another round with Malfoy, I'm afraid."
Harry's stomach dropped. "Oh, please, Percy! Just one more date. Talk to him this time, about being gay. Give him some advice, or something."
Percy looked at him as you would at a mental patient. "I thought giving him advice was your role?"
"I can only give him one side of it," Harry tried to explain. "The clubbing, the multiple sex partners, the out-and-proud angle. I don't know if he's that comfortable with it. He needs a different perspective!"
Percy raised that disdainful eyebrow at about the point Harry got to 'multiple sex partners,' and Harry couldn't help blushing. He always felt like he was under scrutiny with Percy. And with Malfoy, for that matter. God, maybe instead of creating a new gay friend with whom to commiserate, he'd created yet another critic...
"I'll consider it. Maybe," said Percy finally. He took a final sip of the ghastly coffee and stood. "I'll get back to you." He was out of the shop before Harry could say thank you.
"Um, thank you for inviting me back here," Draco said, calling through to Percy in the kitchen. He really wished he were drunk for this, but Percy had insisted they forgo wine at dinner, for some reason. But things had gone pleasantly enough at dinner, Draco thought. It was funny that Percy had made it a rule that they wouldn’t discuss their families or fashion, but he went with it.
Surveying Percy's small but impeccably tidy apartment in one turn, he then sat himself on the surprisingly tasteful navy blue couch and fiddled with the hem of his robes while Percy tinkered with the tea. This was… progress – an invite back to Percy's place. Clearly the date had gone well, and not just by Draco's personal estimation.
A moment later, Percy came out from the kitchen, a small tea service perched on a wooden tray, which he had charmed to float in front of him and settle gently onto the coffee table.
"I hope you like Earl Grey." Percy sat down beside him and reached for the pink paisley print tea pot, which garnered a raised eyebrow from Draco. "My mother's," Percy said, by way of explanation and Draco merely smirked. Leave it to Molly Weasley to give her gay son a pink paisley tea set.
Tea poured and milk politely declined, the two settled back with their teacups and saucers, falling into an awkward silence. Draco didn't know what they were supposed to talk about now. Dinner had mostly been work-related talk and generic social chatter. Neither seemed appropriate now that they were sitting ten feet from Percy's bedroom.
"So…" Draco began, searching around the room for something to spark conversation, his eyes ending up back on the pink paisley teacup. "So when did you figure out you were gay?" Oh God he couldn’t believe he asked that, straight out.
Percy spluttered into his teacup. "Oh! Um, I, well…" He put his teacup and saucer down on the table and visibly composed himself. "I suppose it's been six years now. I was a bit of a… late bloomer, and didn't realise I was, well, less inclined towards women until I was in my early twenties."
"Is that normal? I just thought… well, apparently Potter's been gay since we were teenagers. And he's slept with more men than I have, well, anyone of either sex, period. I just feel so behind." Draco's candour surprised him, but for some reason he felt perfectly comfortable confiding in Percy. So maybe he didn't need to be ply himself with alcohol to get through this. Though he was going to need to stop sounding like such a bloody girl.
"As far as I know, it's perfectly normal. And, well, not such a surprising phenomenon among pureblood wizards, considering the heavy push towards heterosexual marriage we get in our youth. It was only after a rather unsuccessful engagement to Penny that I realised I preferred the opposite gender."
Percy may have sounded like a textbook, but hearing it from someone else automatically put Draco at ease. He could feel himself light up in the face. "Yes! That's what I was trying to explain to Potter! I spent all this time trying to convince myself I was in love with Pansy, while Potter was out shagging every gay wizard in Britain. He just doesn't understand – he has no shame!"
"Harry's… promiscuous, then?" Percy asked, eyebrow precariously raised.
"According to him. I don't buy half of it, bloody braggart. He hasn't even been in a serious relationship – he told me." Draco realised he was talking entirely too much about Potter, so he decided to steer the conversation back to Percy. "How did you know you were gay, though?"
"Penny – my ex-fiance – told me, actually. It was a bizarre conversation, to say the least. I think I sulked for two weeks, refused to accept it."
"And then what?"
"I met Oliver Wood at a Quidditch match. It went rather easily from there." Did Draco detect a smirk? Well, Percy was full of surprises. He tried not to imagine the hunky Oliver Wood, naked but for a towel, straddling a fully-clothed (in business attire, no less) Percy over a locker room bench. But then his mind was already filling in all the blanks, and he had to shift to the side to conceal his burgeoning erection.
"What about you?" Percy asked, interrupting Draco's smutty fantasy.
"Just did." He shrugged, and under Percy's pressing stare continued. "Thinking about men when I tossed off was a bit of a giveaway, I suppose."
"And what made you decide to go to Harry for help? That's a rather odd move." Percy was starring at him, his blue eyes intense behind his silver-framed glasses. It reminded Draco of when Potter looked at him with equal intensity – usually annoyance or hatred – there was something about spectacles that magnified a stare tenfold. Draco blushed.
"He was the only bloke I knew who was gay. And, erm, Pansy made me."
"She made you?"
"She said if I didn't go to him for help, she'd twist my balls off." Draco noted Percy's rather disturbed expression. "She's a very colourful woman." He laughed nervously.
"Well, it's nice that she's supportive, at least. Penny and I stopped talking. I think it was too painful for her. I still feel pretty badly."
Draco's first thought was "you should!" but he knew that wasn't the correct answer. Frankly, the only reason he wasn't honouring his own commitment to Pansy was she refused to marry him as a beard and forego a sex life. And, unfortunately, Draco was pretty sure she was the only pureblood girl who would have him. Draco gave a sympathetic smile and tried to think. What would Potter say? Something encouraging…
"But it's not your fault you didn't fancy her, right?"
Percy sighed, and Draco reckoned he'd got it right.
'I know… but I spent five years with her. And she was essentially wasting her time." He took a heavy sip of tea. "But it's no matter," he sighed. "You shouldn't get too hung up on the whole pureblood thing. It's mattering less and less, I think. More purebloods are coming out, not marrying to preserve bloodlines, since the war."
"You mean since Harry Potter declared he liked cock."
Draco snorted as Percy coughed through the sip of tea he'd been taking.
"That's… um, yes. I won't deny that Harry's coming out didn't help the general perception of homosexuality in the wizarding world."
Percy was right: things had become more lax since Potter's sexuality had been splashed across all the front pages and discussed to death on the Wireless. He was like the gay Messiah. And what was Draco doing? Going to him for advice. Damn it, he was going to give the prat a martyr complex.
Conversation waned as they both sat and sipped on their tea, Percy seemingly lost in thought and Draco preoccupied with what he should do next. He was rather starting to like Percy, at least insomuch as he wasn't as much of a prat as he'd expected, and he was definitely more agreeable than Potter was most days. He also didn't seem to expect anything of him, which helped matters. And in taking all the pressure off Draco sexually, it made him want to jump right into the gay sex thing even more. His pass at Percy earlier that week hadn't gone too successfully, but Draco wanted to try again, maybe see if he could steer Percy in the direction of the bedroom, get a little practise in…
"Could I kiss you?"
The only reason there wasn't tea coming out of Percy's nose, surely, was because he'd already finished his cup.
"Well, you didn't seem to like it last time when I did it spontaneously, so I thought I'd ask."
"You lunged at me. And missed."
"You were drunk."
"Well, can I? I've never kissed a bloke, and I really would like to…"
Percy looked wary. He worried his lip, making it pink and flushed, which sent all manner of dirty thoughts into Draco's head. He wanted to debauch this man now.
"I suppose so."
"Excellent!" Draco said, he realised a little too enthusiastically. He scooched forward, closer to Percy and leaned in gently, resting a steadying hand on the pillow behind Percy. Percy pulled back, however, lips now pursed unsurely.
"Um…" he wrinkled his nose and pushed Draco back about a foot. Draco was about to protest, but then he saw Percy remove his glasses, placing them on the table, then lean forward, taking Draco's face in his hands and seeking out his lips with his.
Draco wished he could say it was drastically different from kissing a girl, but it wasn't, really. Oh, the texture was different, what with there being no lipstick or lipgloss shellacked on top of the lips, and the hands holding his face were rougher than those to which he was accustomed, but Draco was pleased to find that it was really just a kiss. And he knew what to do with a kiss.
Taking charge, Draco leaned forward with a bit of pressure, pushing Percy back against the couch cushions and rather demandingly pushing his tongue into Percy's mouth. As Percy relaxed into the kiss, Draco let his body rest on top of the other man's and moved his hands to roam Percy's body. He insinuated a knee between Percy's legs and was pleased to find, upon wriggling against him a bit, that Percy had a just-detectable hard on, as well.
Draco grinned, breaking the kiss to move down Percy's jawline, tonguing down his throat until he reached the top of Percy's impeccably starched and buttoned shirt. Working at the buttons with deft fingers, he stopped once he could reach Percy's nipples, which he laved with his tongue, whilst manoeuvring a hand between their bodies to grasp Percy's crotch.
As if Draco's touch were an electric shock, Percy jerked under him and started babbling. "No, no, we mustn't, we can't."
Percy pushed him physically away, hastening to put his clothes to rights and get physically as far away from Draco as the couch would allow. Draco's stomach lurched – what had he done wrong?
Percy looked physically ill and his face was a blotched, red mess. "This is just too fast, Draco, and I'm afraid I'm not interested in a quick fumble and shag tonight." Jumping up and grabbing his wand, Percy hurried over to the door and unlocked it with quick spell. He stood there, waiting for Draco to follow his lead. He swallowed nervously. "We've had a lovely evening and I enjoyed speaking with you very much. Let's just… leave it at that."
Draco reluctantly picked himself up off the couch and moved towards the door. Before he could say anything, Percy cut in –
"I'll see you tomorrow at work, yes?"
Draco just nodded dumbly and found the front door shut behind him before he could think of anything clever to say.
Well, damn it.
end part one