Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Harry Potter or any of it's ideas or characters- look up J.K Rowling for that.
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Warning: Homosexual SEXUAL situations, frottage, expletive language, gay-slurs, gay love, gay hurt.
Summary: In-the-closet Harry finds what he's looking for at the nightclub. Will he take him home?
A/N: Based loosely around the scene at Babylon in Queer as Folk.
The thumpa-thumpa of the bass crescendoed, ensconcing the club and all its occupants in time with the rhythm, the strobing lights, and the press of hot sweaty bodies frotting against eachother on the dance floor.
Harry smoothed a hand over his unruly hair and glanced around at the hot, fit, and young as they writhed against time, age, and reality.
He hadn't really wanted to go. Not for this, anyway.
Harry had seen the ad for the Stranger's Room in the back of the paper at the cafe, and had covertly torn it away from the others, looking around shame-faced, pocketing it deep into his jacket with the little box with the ring he had purchased earlier that day.
Ron has seen the box earlier on Harry's armoire. He told Hermione about it, and they had delightedly congratulated him, informing him that Ginny would just die for it.
It had been months since he'd moved in with Ron and Hermione in their flat in Diagon Alley. They had gone out on a 'proper date' that evening, and Harry had blown off Ginny complaining of an earache.
Well, after this, the booming techno would leave him with a permanent one, so he assumed it wouldn't be all that much of a truth stretch.
"Hey there, mate, a drink on me." A leather-clad bloke shoved a glass with amber coloured liquid into his hands, and shimmied up to him pushing his hip against Harry's.
Harry looked ruefully at the exit blazing red above the door in the corner.
"Well, honey, you looked like you could use one." The man playfully smacked Harry's bottom, winked flirtatiously and headed back out to the mob on the dance floor.
Harry gingerly took a sip, then sputtered, turning red and coughing into his fist. It was strong stuff, that.
A pat on his back to assist his coughing, he turned around to face another bloke with piercings and blood-shot eyes, "When you're done choking, sweetheart, we should dance."
Harry spit the remainder of his drink back into the cup and slid it back up the bar, folding his arms against his chest defensively.
"Look, I'm just here for a bit of a sip, and then I'm heading out." Harry expained.
"Where you heading to? I could tag along. Or we could go back to mine..." The man insinuated, sliding a hand down Harry's stomach, falling dangerously low.
"I-" Harry began, but the man, snagged a finger beneath Harry's trouser waste and tugged him close.
"Hey!" He sputtered indignantly as the man pressed him up against the bar, leaning toward his ear.
"I bottom." The man whispered hoarsely, dragging his tongue wetly down Harry's neck. The hand crept lower.
Harry shuddered at the thrill of it, and felt his cock twitch and harden in response to the hand cupping it.
The hand pressed, and Harry groaned into the sweaty neck of the other man.
"Oh-Okay," Harry rasped, tightly shutting his eyes, as his head fell back, the other man continued his ministrations, nipping and sucking at his collar.
Suddenly, a hand yanked him away from his prospect, and he tumbled inelegantly catching his elbow on the edge of the bar.
Yowling in pain, and confusion as the ache throbbed through his arm, the other man indignantly yelped, "What the fuck!"
Harry righted himself to squarely face the interloper.
A sharp-faced blonde man looked at Harry appraisingly before turning to the other man,
"Fuck off."
"Fuck you." The man replied, and fled into the crowd.
The music thumped around the two men as they stood there. One man baring a tight lipped smirk, and the other flushing red and glaring daggers at the other.
"What the hell do you want?"
"Oi, as if you're in this shithole for any other reason."
"Not with you, not in a million." Harry grimaced, rubbing his elbow.
A couple beside them fell into the blonde, frantically groping eachother. The blonde, pushed himself away, and grabbed Harry's shirt by the collar.
Dragging him to the back of the club, the bass blaring over head, he shoved him, his head smacking against the wall behind.
"Then, what the fuck are you doing here, Potter?"
"Trying to find god." Harry sniped, wincing.
"Well you found him. Now what? Lets end this charade, here and now."
"Get your filthy hands off me, you fucking fag."
"Ah. A self-hating queer. Just my thing."
"Malfoy, leave off!" Harry reached into his back pocket-seeking his wand.
"Fuck. You. Potter."
Harry grabbed Draco, and threw him roughly against the wall, reversing their positions, and thrust against him, forcefully crushing his lips against the blonde's.
Cock grinding against cock, tongue against tongue, teeth clashing, teeth biting, blood, sweat, and spit running down his chin, he forced himself off and held the man back.
A dangerous glimmer in the blonde's eyes spoke of a promise.
Harry grinned and wiped his hand across his mouth.
"Want to dance, now, lover?" Draco propositioned, pressing his hardness against Harry's thigh.
"Bottom or Top." Harry rasped, clutching at anything and everything he could grasp onto.
"And everything in between. So that's the kind of dance you're looking for?"
Harry groaned and threw back his head nearly roaring with lust, as Draco pressed his tongue into Harry's throat. The salt and the musk heavy between them.
"I suppose the next question is yours or mine?"
"Cliche."
"You love it."
Harry grabbed the blonde tight to his chest and nipped his ear, grazing the lobe with his tongue.
"Love you."
"Thats not in the script."
"Fuck the script."
"Harry, Harry, quite contrary." Draco straddled Harry, sighing beautifically as Harry pressed his hand between the blonde's legs.
"You were jealous of that bloke."
"Blatant lies, Potter."
"The one with the piercings that wanted to shag me."
"Fuck him."
"Was going to."
"The hell you were, you were a born bottom, beautiful."
Harry backed up, and released his partner, gently tugging at a straw coloured lock.
"So how'd you like the place I picked out?"
"A lot of hot muggle ass... practically fucking on the dance floor? Classy, Potter. Just like you. Fucking class-A Premium Choice Ass, ripe for the picking."
"They called me 'sweet-heart' and 'honey'."
"Oh, poor baby. Did the dirty old perverts try to pull you?"
"Should've let them," Harry murmered as Draco shoved him back into a kiss, "Pull me, that is."
"I'll pull you where it matters, sweetheart."
Draco crushed his lover against the wall, once more, then pushed himself off, lightly nipping Harry's lip. Heavy-lidded and pink faced, Draco brushed his finger tips grazingly along Harry's jawline.
"Marry me." Harry whispered, clinging to Draco's shirtsleeves.
"Save that for that Weasley bint, love. We fags don't do that. We fuck, we suck, we get fucked, and we get sucked, but we don't fucking get married."
Draco smirked, and tore away from Harry.
"Maybe, Potter, if you're good, I'll come baby sit for you and all your offspring."
"Oh, fuck you, Malfoy."
"I was planning on it until you ruined the moment with your breeder bullshit proposal."
The blonde kissed Harry's cheek softly, and fled into the throbbing mass of the thumpa-thumpa. Disappearing into the veil of sweat, sex, youth, and dreams.
Harry walked home, and shoved a hand into his pocket. He pulled out the crumpled ad, tore in two, and let it flutter to the ground with the rest of the dirt and trash littering the streets. He let the ring tumble out with it.