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"This is all you've got?" Percy Weasley tossed the roll of parchment onto his desk and shook his head. "You've been in the field for an entire week."

Draco massaged his forehead: he'd been up all night at the club and had stopped by the department to write up a report before heading back to his flat to go to bed. Unfortunately, Weasley had intercepted him in the lift and dragged him into his office.

"You know as well as I that it takes time to do undercover work. You can't just stroll in and demand to know their darkest, most illegal doings."

"You must have leads, Malfoy. You must have something more than this." He unrolled the parchment and scanned it again, as if checking to see if he'd missed an important detail. "This Max character, for example -- haven't you done a full background check? Surely there's more to him than male, homosexual, slight build, sorted into Hufflepuff 1994?"

He'd been meaning to get around to that background check, to a lot of things that needed doing in the office, but the week had gone by more quickly than he'd expected. He'd spent every night at The Cockatiel, arriving around 10:00 when Potter's shift started and staying most of the night, even hanging around past closing to chat with Max and Potter while the staff cleaned up.

"Give me a fucking break. It's not like I can just walk into a gay bar and fit right in." He ignored Wealsey's snort of disbelief. "It's going to take time for them to trust me."

"I would have thought this sort of thing would be right up your alley."

Draco looked up from his contemplation of his nails. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

"I think you know what I mean, and from what I hear, I'm not far off the mark."

"What you've heard? If you're implying--"

Weasley cut him off with a wave of his hand. "But more importantly, one of the reasons Taryweather hired you in the first place was because he assumed you had connections to certain segments of society, certain, shall we say, shady organizations. Connections that could come in useful. I hope he wasn't wrong about you."

"Since when do you care what Taryweather thinks? I thought the whole point of this exercise was to discredit him."

Weasley ignored the question. "My informant was very clear about having seen Harry Potter there. Are you sure he isn't involved?"

"Like I said, I'm still working on it. I'll let you know as soon as I can link him to the potions trade there." He hadn't yet told Weasley anything about Potter, much less the complicated picture of Potter's involvement with all of this that was just starting to unravel. He wanted to keep those bits of information all to himself, for now, lest Weasley get overexcited and fuck it all up for him. "Actually, I've been meaning to owl Taryweather, to ask if he has any insight into the situation that I could--"

"Results, Malfoy," Weasley spat. "I need results, and I need them soon. Give me more than this by next Monday, or you'll find yourself sacked."

"Oh, please," Draco spat, "You don't have the authority to sack me and you know it. You gave me a job to do and I'm doing it. Now bugger off and let me work."

Weasley sputtered something that sounded like, "We'll see who has authority," and gestured wildly toward his office door. Draco pointed his wand at Weasley's desk and the parchment there flew into his hand as he walked out, head held high.

Ten minutes later Draco stepped out of a Muggle phone booth near his flat, still swearing under his breath. It was a testament to his very impressive self control that Weasley hadn't been cursed on the spot for implying that Draco was gay. He wasn't gay, for fuck's sake. He was… open-minded. The idea that Weasley might be spying on him at the club was a bit disconcerting, though.

He'd been drinking far more than he should have -- it helped him ease into the role he was playing -- but he really needed to be more careful, to keep his mind clear. He'd found himself in several uncomfortable situations in the past week, all of which he blamed entirely on inebriation.

After an entire week of being generally ignored by the regulars in the pub, a handful of men had begun to chat him up nightly. It wouldn't have done to rebuff them all, so he would flirt with the best looking of the bunch, and even once allowed himself to be led to a dark corner for a snog and a grope. He'd only escaped further molestation when Max had happened by and Draco had made an excuse to go with him.

Another night he'd wound up sandwiched between two shirtless men on the dance floor, both of whom were intent on grinding their erections against him. His own erection was just a result of alcohol and so much physical stimulation, of course -- and when they'd dragged him to the toilet he'd been able to convince them he preferred to watch while they had sex. He'd had to pull himself off while watching, otherwise they would have been suspicious. He definitely didn't appreciate the look Potter gave him on the way out of the toilet that night.

Wanking while watching one man suck another's cock didn't make him gay -- everybody knew that. And besides, he was definitely not gay.

The following week, Draco focused his attention on finding out who Potter's mysterious indebted partner was, but had little luck. He even spent some time trying to flirt it out of Max, who seemed delighted to have Draco's attention at last. By Friday night, Draco was desperate, and after a few more drinks than usual he let Max pull him into a dark corner of the pub. Max's hand found its way into Draco's trousers and he stroked until Draco was aching to come -- but he pushed Max away at the last moment. If he didn't come, it didn't count.

"C'mon now," Max whispered, pulling Draco back against him. "I'm dying to hear you come." One hand slid down Draco's side, inching its way back toward his groin.

"Not here," Draco said, catching that hand in his and glancing around. "I'm not into this public display of gay thing."

"Then come home with me tonight. I get off at four."

"I can't," Draco said, and tried his best to look frustrated. It wasn't difficult -- after all, he was running out of time. Whoever Potter's partner was, he had either paid up by now or was about to meet a sticky end. Draco planned to be around to see what would happen.

Max pulled him into kiss, then licked the shell of Draco's ear -- damn, but Draco loved that -- and whispered, "You won't regret it. I'm very good with my mouth." As if to prove his point, he sucked one of Draco's ear lobes into his mouth and began fellating it.

Draco felt the floor drop out from beneath him. Pleasure was pleasure, and it hardly mattered the source -- right? As long as he didn't suck any cocks himself, enjoying it didn't make him gay.

"Okay," he heard himself say.

Max planted one more kiss on his lips before leaving him standing in the corner, erection straining against the front of his trousers. Draco groaned -- he was going to have to do something about that before he could get his mind back around work.

He made his way to the toilet and slipped into an empty stall, and tried to block out the sounds of skin pounding on skin in the next stall over. He sat on the toilet seat and opened the front of his trousers, and fisted his stiff prick. It didn't take long, and he didn't even try to stop images of Potter on his knees from dominating his thoughts as he wanked. He came with a grunt, cleaned himself off as quickly as he could, and headed out to look for Potter.

Potter wasn't behind the bar, and it took Draco another fifteen minutes to find him. He was standing at the top of a spiral staircase that led to a small loft area that wasn't open to the public. Draco climbed the stairs and leaned against the railing beside him, looking down over the crowd.

"No one's allowed up here," Potter said, his eyes still glued to the floor below.

"I can see why," Draco replied. The obscurus charm didn't cloud the room from this angle, and Draco could see everyone clearly.

"You should go and have a drink," Potter said.

"I've had too many. Another one and I'd be going home with Max tonight."

"Why don't you?"

"He's not my type."

"He looked your type when you were wrapped around each other in the corner."

Draco smiled. "Jealous? How sweet."

Potter snorted. "I'm not jealous. Max and I go way back, that's all. I'd like to see him happy. And he really likes you."

"I doubt it," Draco replied with a snort. "He just wants to fuck me. Doesn't everyone?" He winked at Potter, who rolled his eyes. Draco felt an uncharacteristic stab of emotion at that, but pushed it aside. "So how far back do you two go?"

"We were lovers for a while, years ago. But we're better as friends. He's not the monogamous type."

"And you are?"


Surprised by his candor, Draco turned to look at him. Potter's expression was tense, and he looked as if he hadn't had much sleep in the last week. Draco wondered if he'd spent it trying to bail his business partner out.

"Why do you own a club, then? You have to spend every night watching people chat each other up and go fuck in the toilet before moving on to the next one. Why not own a restaurant instead? Someplace where couples go?"

"I like clubs," Potter replied. "I like watching people do the dance of meeting and hooking up. I like making drinks. It’s so fucking mindless compared to everything else I've had to do in my life. A restaurant would dredge up too many bad memories of playing house-elf to my aunt and uncle for my entire childhood." He paused for a moment. "Besides, why would I want to spend every night watching people who have something I don't?"

Draco waved his wand and conjured a tiny violin that hung in midair before them and started squeaking out a sad melody.

Potter almost smiled. "Very funny. What about you? You've spent every night here for a week. Won't your former Death Eater friends start to wonder where you are?"

"Don't you know? I don't have any friends. I'm a pathetic loner, trying to make something of myself after my family was humiliated and destroyed in the war." He snorted. "Or something like that. I haven't read the gossip section of the Prophet in a while, but that's the story, isn't it?"

"You should have seen what they wrote about me when I left the Aurors."

"I can imagine." He'd read every bit of it, of course.

"I think you probably can."

Draco turned to look at Potter, and saw a flash of something in his eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, and Draco felt an odd compulsion to kiss Potter, which he swallowed down.

This wasn't like him, and this whole investigation was starting to send him round the bend. He was starting to forget what was real and what wasn't. He and Potter weren't friends, and they never would be. He was just doing his job, working undercover. This night might end with Potter being arrested, or worse. Draco couldn't afford to be mixed up in this any more than he already was.

He headed down the stairs without another word, found an empty corner table, and settled there with a pint, watching and waiting.

Midnight came and went, and nothing happened. Draco kept waiting, but there was no obvious tension hanging in the air. He looked up to the loft, but Potter wasn't there.

The bartender shouted the last call, and the crowd stirred in response. Draco started circling the room, looking for anything suspicious, but saw nothing. The back room was quiet, the toilets were quiet -- everything seemed too quiet, in fact. He headed toward the back of the pub and slipped into the small kitchen, which was empty after midnight. The back door was open, and he headed toward it.

"What are you doing back here?" He turned to see Potter standing just inside the kitchen door, looking as tense as ever.

Draco shrugged, trying to look innocent. "I was hungry. Thought I might nick a sausage or something."

Potter's eyes were focused on the open back door, though. "Was there anyone in here when you came in?"

"No," Draco replied, turning to the door. "Does it open from the outside?"

"Not without the security spell." Potter started toward it with his wand in his hand. Draco pulled out his own wand and followed into a dark alley that smelled like piss and rubbish. "Lumos," Potter said and turned slowly, shining his wandlight around them.

They both gasped: There was a crumpled form lying not ten feet away. Potter rushed to it, dropping to his knees, and swearing loudly.

"No, no, no," he said, sounding panicked. "Oh, fuck, no."

Draco stepped forward and cast a lumos of his own. It was Max. His eyes were open and blank.

"He's dead," Potter said, his voice sounding hollow.

"It wasn't an overdose," Draco said, studying Max's lifeless face. "Look at his eyes."

"It was the killing curse," Potter said. "Oh god, I told him this was going to happen. I told him to stick with you tonight, not to go outside, to--" He stopped, apparently realizing he was babbling.

And then it all clicked. Draco stared at Potter. "Max was your business partner, wasn't he? The one who was in debt to those men who came by last week."

Potter looked up at him, shocked. "How do you know about that?"

"I can't explain right now. But I have to bring the authorities in. It's a murder case now, and it's out of my jurisdiction. Do you want to be here when they come?"

"Out of your jurisdiction? What are you talking about?"

Draco flicked his wand and a silvery figure escaped and rushed into the night. "You've got a minute to decide."

Potter stood, glaring at him. "You-- You're not just a paper-pusher, are you?" When Draco didn't reply, Potter stalked toward him, backing Draco against the damp brick of the alley. "You lied to me. You've been casing my place for the last few weeks."

"Because of the potions, not because of you. It's my job."

"Call them off," Potter retorted, his wand pressed into Draco's chest now. "I'm warning you, Malfoy, you're about to get in over your head here, and I won't be able to help you out of it."

Draco could only stand there, all of his self-defense training completely inaccessible. "Max is fucking dead! Don't you care about anyone other than yourself?"

It was a moment before he realized that what had connected with his jaw was Potter's fist. He staggered as pain flared through his face, and a trickle of blood tickled his lip. "Hit a nerve, did I?"

Potter looked to be somewhere between panicked and furious. "I can't believe I fell for this! After everything, all the hard work, I let someone bumble in and fuck it all up."

"It's not my fault he's dead!" Draco spat. "I've only been doing my job, and as a former Auror, you should know that."

Potter bent over Max's body again. "Oh god… Max… Why didn't you listen to me?"

Three men apparated into the alley then, cutting off the conversation. Potter fell to his knees, staring blankly at Max's body. They stepped out of the shadows, and one of them rushed forward, a look of near-panic on his face. With a start, Draco realized it was Ron Weasley.

Weasley grasped Potter by the shoulders and pulled him away from Max's body. Potter was visibly emotional now, and Weasley whispered something to him, something that Potter nodded in response to. The other two Aurors examined the body carefully, casting detection spells and talking quietly to each other.

Draco heard his name mentioned and looked over to see Weasley staring suspiciously at him. Potter shook his head and whispered something Draco couldn't make out. Weasley squeezed Potter's shoulder and crossed the alley to Draco.

"You sent for us?" His tone was unreadable, but Draco couldn't help but feel as if he was being mocked.

Draco nodded, uncertain what else to say. He hadn't been trained for this, and had no idea what the protocols were.

"Go home," Weasley said. "Someone will contact you in the next day or two to make a full report." He turned back to Potter then, and none of them spared so much as a glance for Draco after that.


Sunday, 11 May 2008, LONDON: Aurors were called to a pub in Soho early Saturday morning in response to an apparent murder. The victim was Maximilian Reginald Dougherty, 26, of Warwick, who was reportedly one of the owners of the pub at which the crime occurred, along with Harry Potter, hero of the Last War and vanquisher of He Who Must Not Be Named. The cause of death was determined by Aurors on the scene to have been the Killing Curse. There are no suspects, but an investigation is underway. Mr Potter was reportedly 'traumatized' by the death of his business partner and was taken to St Mungo's for evaluation.


"I just don't understand how Harry Potter could have got himself involved in Dougherty's potions dealing," Percy Weasley said, for the fifth time in the last hour. "It doesn't make sense."

Draco rubbed at his face, exhausted. "I've told you, he wasn't involved. I spent a lot of time working undercover there, and the potions dealing was all Max."

"But Potter let it go on, didn't he? Why would he let illegal activities happen at his business if he wasn't taking a cut?"

Weasley had a point, and Draco didn't know why he felt so compelled to cover for Potter. Nor why he felt nothing but emptiness over Max's murder. Shouldn't he have felt something more for the man he'd spent a week dating, for lack of a better word?

Weasley sighed. "I don't want Potter to go down for this either, for what it's worth. But if he's broken the law, it's our duty to deal with it. Those hero types are never what they make themselves out to be, you know."

"There's something going on here that I don't fully understand," Draco said. "I know Potter wasn't directly profiting from the illegal potions. I just don't have a way to prove it."

Weasley shook his head. "I'd never have pegged you as the sort to fall for Harry Potter."

"What the hell are you going on about now?" Draco snapped, looking up at him.

"Isn't it obvious? You're in love with him, and it's completely blinded you to the facts of this case."

"The fuck it has!" Draco retorted. "And I'm not in love with him. I'm not gay, remember?"

"Of course not," Weasley said. "It's completely normal for a straight man to obsess over another man like this."

"I'm not obsessing over him! You assigned me this case, and I've put in a hell of a lot of effort."

"So I hear." Weasley stood and headed toward the door. "It's not over yet. Even moonstruck, you're still our man on the inside. I'll need you to interview Potter and try to figure out what the hell is going on. And if you can link any of this to Taryweather--"

"Look who's obsessed now."

Weasley turned red in the face. "I just want to get to the bottom of this, and that's all."

Draco smirked. "I'll bet you do."

Weasley glared at him, but before either of them could say another word they were interrupted by a knock on the open door. They looked up to see Harry Potter standing there.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, looking uncomfortable. "The witch downstairs told me to come right up."

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, his eyes darting to Weasley to see if he was salivating yet.

"I need to talk to you."

"About what?"

Potter sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I thought you wanted my help with this case."

Weasley leapt out of his chair and clapped Potter on the shoulder. "Of course we want your help, Harry! You are a highly respected member of the Wizarding community, and your cooperation in this matter is greatly--"

"Thanks, Weasley," Draco said, shooing him out. "I'll let you know if I need anything, all right?" Weasley shot him a mutinous look, and Draco lowered his voice to a whisper. "Let me handle this, all right? You can have a shot at him later."

He closed the door and turned back to Potter. "Have a seat, then."

"Why are you protecting me?" Potter asked, without moving from the spot.

"I'm not protecting you, I'm--"

"Yes, you are. I was interviewed by the Aurors before they released me from St. Mungo's, and it was pretty clear that you told them nothing of what you know about the club, or the trouble Max was in, or the potions. I don't understand why."

Draco leaned back against the door and sighed. "I know there's something more going on here, something you haven't told me. And I also think I might be able to help you."

Potter gave him an appraising look. "Maybe you're right. Maybe there is something deeper going on here. But I don't think you can help me. No one can."

"Try me."

Potter shook his head and looked away.

Draco tried again. "The goal of this entire department is to keep enough pressure on those gangs to keep them underground. We have resources, and I can put them at your disposal. You used to be an Auror, so I know you can put together an operation. We can help you."

Potter settled into the proffered chair now, his forehead furrowed. He stared at his hands for a moment, and then looked up at Draco. "All right. But you should know this isn't about going after common gangsters. The man at the bottom of it all is Ravener."

Draco's eyes drifted automatically to the poster hanging on his office wall. Hawthorn Ravener was the most wanted wizard in Britain -- bagging him would make Draco's career. He could imagine Weasley's face turning green already.

He folded his arms over his chest and grinned. "When do we start?"


"I want you to put this on," Potter said, holding out what was possibly the gayest shirt Draco had ever seen.

"No fucking way. I'll look like a poof."

"Which is the point, isn't it?"

Draco grimaced at the purple monstrosity. "I can't believe this is actually in your wardrobe."

"I've been meaning to get rid of it, actually. Clashes with my eyes."

"That shirt clashes with everything."

Potter's expression was one of utter patience. "So you've got it all, right?"

Draco sighed and took the shirt. "Yes. I'm your boyfriend, my name is Charles, and I'm from France." He switched into his best French accent. "You are trying to convince me to leave Paree and move in wiz you, and so you show me a good time, no?"

Potter wrinkled his nose. "On second thought, maybe you should be a deaf-mute."

"This was your idea."

"And I'm regretting it already."

Draco turned around and pulled off his t-shirt, then tugged the purple one over his head. It clung to his skin, highlighting just how little he worked out these days. "Do you think Ravener will be there?"

"Not a chance," Potter replied, recasting the rainbow spell on his I can't even see straight shirt. "But people who know him will be. The goal is to arrange a meeting."

"And set a trap."

Potter's lips firmed into a thin line. "Let's just hope we haven't forgotten how to be good spies."

Draco had grown used to the mild debauchery of The Cockatiel in his weeks of being a regular, but Paparazzo, magically sandwiched between two Muggle clubs on Charing Cross Road, was unlike anything he'd ever seen. It was an enormous space, magically enlarged, and packed with witches and wizards of all sexual orientations, ages, and predilections. Scantily-clad men and women were dancing in huge colorful bubbles that floated above the dance floor, and were pushed back up again by the crowd when they sank too low. The colorful lights throughout the space were provided by actual fairies, which darted about giggling and flirting with each other as much as the patrons did. And his purple shirt, garish and shiny as it was, looked as casual as an old Muggle t-shirt next to what most of the patrons were wearing. Draco thought about asking if there was some sort of naughty costume party going on tonight, but decided he'd rather not know.

Potter slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. "You're tense. Want a drink?"

Draco forced a smile. "No."

"Gin and tonic it is." Potter headed toward what might have been a bar, except for the fact that a naked man with a very formidable-looking erection was stretched across it, bound ankle and wrist, while a curvy woman dressed in shiny red latex stood over him brandishing a whip, her job apparently to keep him hard for as long as possible.

"Oh god," Draco muttered, and wiped away the little beads of sweat that refused to stop forming on his brow. He was torn between following Potter and taking his chances that the giant prick would blow, or staying here and continuing to endure to leers of the other patrons. Potter had insisted on casting an extremely attractive glamour on him (despite Draco's protest that he had enough trouble fighting them off the way he usually looked), and everywhere Draco turned there were eyes on him.

And hands too. He turned to glare at the owner of the pair who'd just tried to examine his prostate through his trousers.

"Hello, there," the man said, wasting no time and grinding against Draco provocatively.

"Boyfriend!" Draco spat in panic, before he could stop himself. "I have a boyfriend."

The man smirked and loomed over him. "He's invited too."

Since it was at eye level, Draco found he couldn't drag his eyes away from the man's sleek bare chest, which was rippling with muscles. He really must start going to the gym again. "I don't… I mean…"

And then there was warmth behind him and arms around him, and he heard Potter's voice in his ear. "Making friends already, Charles?"

Draco winced -- he'd forgotten his accent. "Perhaps so." He leaned back against Potter, feeling safer with his proximity.

"Potter," the man said, his smirk settling into an expression of resentful respect. "Didn't know this one was yours."

"All mine, though I'm not averse to sharing, of course."

Draco felt a nudge on his back, an indication to play along. He tried to look relaxed, but the feeling of Potter's lips tickling his neck didn't help.

"Charles, this is Marcus Rolf, an old acquaintance of mine. Say hello, darling."

"Hello darling," Draco repeated, his mind reeling. Rolf was one of the men Potter had hoped to find tonight, one of the important wizards in Ravener's gang. He hadn't expected such an evil wizard to be quite so attractive. In the old days, they were fairly revolting to look at. He'd never once looked around at a meeting of Death Eaters and thought, That one's rather fetching.

Rolf leered. "You only come here with such pretty boys when you want something."

"Am I so transparent?" Potter's hand slid around to Draco's chest, holding him almost possessively. "You're correct, though. I want to talk to Ravener."

Rolf laughed. "Oh, really? What about?"

"He made a mess at my club last week and scared all of my customers away. He owes me for that."

"Your club," Rolf said with a nasty smile. "I heard he'd taken it from you, after that spot of trouble your partner gave him."

Draco felt Potter tense behind him, but his voice projected none of it. "It's still very much my club. If he wants back in -- and I know he does -- he's going to have to make me an offer."

"Maybe he doesn't want to do business with someone as famous as Harry Potter anymore. You attract far too much attention."

Potter laughed, as if the previous comment had been a joke. "You know how I love the spotlight, Rolf. But I still want a meeting."

Rolf's smirk returned. "Ask me nicely."

"I thought I wasn't your type."

Rolf turned his gaze to Draco. "I meant him. You said you would share, didn't you?"

It was all Draco could do not to squirm. He was sure Potter had just felt his entire body go stiff.

Potter slid a hand up the front of Draco's shirt; his fingers found a nipple and began circling it. "I haven't had a chance to break this one in properly. I'm not ready to share him just yet."

"I wouldn't hurt him. Much."

Draco ground the heel of his shoe into Potter's shin. No fucking way this man was touching him, no matter what he promised.

To his credit, Potter didn't even flinch. "You're frightening him, Rolf. He's a small-town boy, new to the fairy lights of London." Potter's hand stroked Draco's chest reassuringly. It didn't help.

Rolf scowled and started to turn away, but Potter slid his hand out of Draco's shirt and down to cup his groin, and Rolf stopped to watch as Potter's fingers began stroking Draco's cock through the fabric. In the midst of confusion, embarrassment, and a touch of horror, Draco began to get hard.

"But perhaps you'd like to watch," Potter said, voice low. Draco nearly jerked away at that, but Potter managed to hold him tight. "He's such a sweet thing. You'll like it."

Potter took Draco's hand and led him away, winding through the club. Draco looked back to see Rolf following them, his eyes ablaze.

"What are you doing?" Draco whispered, frantic.

"Just trust me," Potter replied.

Draco felt his stomach roll. Potter must have a plan of some sort. They'd get around the corner and hit the bloke over the head or something. Draco would just have to follow his lead.

Potter led him into a maze of corridors that branched off into alcoves of various sizes, all of which were occupied by mostly naked people in various arrangements. It wasn't until Potter pushed him into an empty one that Draco began to feel real panic. He could only glare at Potter, afraid to say anything. Rolf hovered in the doorway, drink in hand.

Potter pushed Draco back against the wall and knelt before him, then looked up and mouthed the words Trust me. Draco had no idea how to respond to that, but when Potter reached for the fly of his trousers, he closed his eyes.

Just a blow job, he thought, swallowing down his anxiety. A mouth was a mouth, after all. Potter's mouth would feel no different from Pansy's or Millicent's, or that girl-who-was-really-a-bloke that one night in Brighton.

Except that it did. Unlike Pansy, Potter was not only very good at giving head, he also seemed to like doing it. Quite a lot, apparently -- he took his time, licking and sucking until Draco was on the brink of orgasm before pulling back again and planting little kisses at the base of his cock before starting again with long fluid licks from base to tip, tongue teasing the slit mercilessly.

Harry Potter was on his knees, sucking Draco's cock. In what universe did that statement make any sense?

He had to open his eyes then, had to see if Potter was really enjoying this as much as Draco was. Potter was careful not to look at him though, and stayed focused on the hard cock before him. Draco watched his prick disappear into Potter's mouth again and again, and didn't think he could bear it much longer. He finally relented, tangling his fingers in Potter's hair.

"That's it, boy," Rolf growled from the doorway. "Fuck his mouth. Fuck him hard."

Potter's eyes flicked up at that, and Draco took it as signal to comply. He moved his hand to the back of Potter's head and held him still, moving his cock in and out as slowly as he could bear.

"Harder," Rolf said.

Draco bit his lip and moved faster. Potter's hands were gripping Draco's hips now, and he seemed not to mind. Draco was close though, so close that he couldn't hold off much longer, and he angled his strokes down a bit. Potter shifted with him, to Draco's surprise, and didn't even gag.

With an embarrassing sort of yowl, Draco came. He slumped over Potter, pressing his cock in until he felt Potter's nose buried in his belly. He heard a grunt by the doorway and looked up in time to see Rolf come into his own hand. Draco released Potter and leaned back against the wall, sliding down with his trousers still around his knees.

Potter's hair was mussed and his lips were red and swollen, but he was smiling. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and winked at Draco before turning to Rolf. Draco's ears were ringing too much for him to hear the whispered conversation. He just sat there on the floor and waited until Rolf finally left. Potter helped him to his feet and mercifully said nothing until they were outside the club again, shivering in the cold.

"Are you all right?"

Draco nodded, though he wanted to say no, he wasn't all right. He'd just had the best blow job of his entire life, and it had been with a man. And not just any man, of course, but the one man he'd spent a good portion of his life hating. And a good portion of the last few weeks fantasizing about, truth be told.

"No," he said at last. "I can't believe you didn't warn me that might happen tonight."

Potter shot him a quizzical look. "You've been flirting with me for weeks now. I thought this was what you wanted."

"I don't… I'm not even gay, you know. I was just pretending. It was all part of the investigation."

Potter gaped at him. "Merlin, I'm sorry. I thought… I really read you wrong, didn't I?"

Not really, Draco thought, and was surprised by it. "It's fine, really. It was just a blow job, right? No big deal."

Potter's face clouded for a moment, but the expression disappeared again. "Right, no big deal."

Draco cringed. "I didn't mean that. It was fine. Bloody fantastic, actually. Best blow job I've had in years. Only blow job in years, but still. Well, not only, but I haven't exactly dated much lately, and you have to give head to get it, and I've never really liked eating pussy all that much but anyway, I wasn't lying about that part, just the gay part. Anyway. Erm, thank you."

Fucking hell. Could he be any more of an idiot?

"Anytime." Potter smiled at him, and Draco was relieved. "Rolf's going to set up the meeting with Ravener and contact me tomorrow with the details. I'll owl you when I get word, we'll make a plan."

They left the club and found a quiet spot to apparate away, Potter to his flat above the club and Draco to his own flat.

He took a long hot shower before sliding into bed, but still he lay awake for hours, unable to stop thinking about the image of his cock sliding into Potter's mouth and out again, slick and rock-hard, while Potter looked up at him with eyes full of desire. He had no idea how he would ever be able to look at Potter again without that image filling his mind. His cock ached, but he didn't touch himself, for fear of where else his thoughts might go.

Maybe he was gay only for Potter. That could happen. Right?