It took all of five minutes for Draco to realise that this was foolish. It was a ridiculous phase, and what he was about to do, Draco was sure to regret it later. Somehow, though, the thought that it was there to taste, to explore in a darkened back room at a Knockturn Alley pub made it impossible to refuse.
'Respectable' wizards never went there, yet its existence and purpose were known by those who might feel the urge to make use of its services. The gentlemen's club that fronted it was legitimate and not a pox upon Draco's reputation; that would only happen if he were to traverse the concealed passage in the loo. Then, he would be one of them.
The place was just the right conduit- anonymous unless one chose to leave with another occupant. A single candle burned in the centre of the room, allowing just enough visibility to pass by someone, brush hands, and hazard a kiss to sample what was being offered. Most of the patrons were married men, looking for someone on the side who suited their desires more than their wives, but here and there, a younger man- like Draco- would fumble into their midst, trying to work out why he was there and what he wanted.
Draco remembered jokes about this place amongst his peers. The Meat Locker. The Knob Hob. Those were the most popular monikers, leaving no mystery as to why any of them were there. Everyone treated it thus, but this was because they all knew in the back of their minds that someone they knew will have, at some point, made use of that establishment. The fourteen-year-old Draco who had taken the piss out of the Meat Locker would have relentlessly mocked the twenty-year-old Draco who was tentatively stepping into the place with knees that literally shook with nerves.
When fingers caressed the back of his hand, Draco nearly jumped. Sweaty palms engulfed his as an unknown mouth descended, wet and sloppy and horrible, sending a shudder of distaste through Draco. Yes, this whole venture had definitely been a mistake. It took but a few seconds to shrug off the unwanted kiss and shrink farther into the shadows toward the exit.
But this was where he found what he hadn't even known he was looking for.
"It's okay," came the distantly familiar whisper in Draco's ear. "You're not going to like them all." The tip of a tongue traced the shell of his ear, sending a shiver of the opposite sort through him. And when those lips laid claim, it was to a much different effect. Duelling tongues and inquisitive grasps filled their shady corner with gasps of delight. The whisper came again, but this time, there was no alarm.
"I know a place we can go."
And go they did to a dingy little inn somewhere up north. There was a bizarre intimacy to be had from Side-Along Apparition with their bodies moulded together, one they more than replicated in the subsequent midnight hours.
They preferred this inn's dirty windows. Michael hated the light of dawn and the solitude it brought, and Draco couldn't be seen there. In that lingering pall before daybreak, they could pretend that their tangled limbs were still enveloped by darkness. Under that mantle of night, neither had a name, face, creed, or blood status; their identities were painted by sighs and glorious peals of mutual fulfilment.
Perhaps that was the hated thing about clean windows; they were forced to remember who they were.
Michael watched the morning's sullied glow set Draco's white-gold hair alight. Draco typically left long before sun-up, but Michael was not sure he liked this change. He watched his previous night's lover stare at the ceiling, his expression cast in stone.
"I can't do this anymore," Draco croaked, not dragging his gaze away from the yellowed plaster above them. "I'm getting married in a week, and people will talk."
"Ha!" Michael cried derisively. Propping himself up on his elbow, he added, "I still don't see how that changes anything. To hell with everyone else. And if it bothers you so much, we'll be more discreet."
"You know it's not that easy," Draco replied agitatedly. "I have to take every scrap of goodwill I can get. The Dark Lord ruined everything. I need a good match to ensure my family sees another generation. You definitely don't have the proper parts for that." Freeing himself from twisted sheets, he said with finality, "You're better off forgetting me, anyway. If my father knew, he'd likely have you killed in your sleep." Without another word, Draco gathered his discarded clothing and began to get dressed.
Michael turned away and burrowed under the covers, muttering, "But I don't forget the people I love."
And he did love Draco, much to his own surprise. Neither had even known who the other was that first night, but by the time they figured out that they were already acquainted, they were too clouded by desire to care. In the dark, they were merely two young men, hot for each other, working out who they really were. Draco was still so lost, wishing he were something else, something that wouldn't make him hate himself every time he visited Michael.
But Michael had found himself. It was a lonely place to be, especially when the one he wanted there with him did not share that aspiration.
As the door to the Ministry's overnight lockup clattered open, the accompanying clatter was ignored as the visitor locked eyes with the current occupant. In five years, a lot of things had changed, but some were like fresh wounds, ready to bleed on contact.
"Malfoy," said the latter.
"Corner," replied the former, lips drawn into a taut line.
"It's been a while."
"Indeed."
Silence fell as their respective thoughts drifted to the same place, the same sullied morning when everything between them had changed. Where anticipation had once hung in the air, there only remained a coolness forged from month after month of failed attempts to put things best left in the past firmly where belonged.
"I've posted your bail," Draco said, his face blank.
"Did you really?"
"Yes."
Michael chortled humourlessly. "Either tell me what you want from me or piss off. You clearly said you were done with me. What makes you think I want anything to do with you now?"
"Because you don't forget." The familiar words frothed between them, words that had never been intended for anyone's ears.
"I don't think so, Draco," Michael growled. "I'm not at your beck and call. Not anymore."
Draco looked about in distaste. "You can hardly be selective when you're in and out of this hole for some damned thing or another. You've really done well for yourself." With a sneer, he added, "What is it this time? Theft? Breaking and entering?"
"Drunk and disorderly."
"Case in point."
Michael flung himself off the bunk. "Why now? Why do you suddenly give a damn about me after all this time? I don't even think you gave a damn about me in the first place." He kicked the edge of the mattress to minimal effect.
Blinking in the face of Michael's anger, Draco stated, "Astoria's said she doesn't care who I sleep with as long as I don't father any illegitimate children. We have our heir and no longer require each other's services."
"I don't care what your wife said. You used me to get your jollies and never once stopped to think about how I feel." Jabbing his finger at Draco's chest, Michael hissed, "I thought we had something, Draco."
For several minutes, no one said anything as Draco cast his gaze toward a nondescript corner of the cell. Anywhere but the disdain snapping in Michael's eyes
Finally, Draco choked, "I can't forget."
Michael gaped at Draco. The words that had been thrown in his face moments before had morphed into something completely different. "What?" he asked stupidly.
"To hell with everyone else." Brusquely, Draco yanked Michael toward him, their lips clashing with a rhythm that had haunted them both at every sunrise since the last one they had spent together.
That grimy pub had not changed at all. But maybe they had.