Folie a Deux

NOTE: I added an extra section to the last chapter a few days after it was first posted just so the story can flow the way I need it to. So if you have this story on alert, you may want to revisit the last chapter again before continuing below.

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Draco had lunch with his parents, as he did every Wednesday. His mother wanted to know who he was seeing, as she did every Wednesday.

"There's no one right now," he told her tiredly. No one permanent, that is, and who the temporary bed-mate was depended on his mood of the night.

"Is Nott working you too hard? I'll give him a call if you need," his father asked, only half jokingly. The Malfoys and the Notts had history, long history, like old money families often did. Mr. Nott was a board member at AVR, and a major stockholder too, so, naturally, when Draco received his MBA a coveted position at the company suddenly became available. The finance businesses ran a lot like the mafia – heavy on the nepotism.

"No, dad," Draco replied stiffly. "I've been picking my own projects, didn't leave myself a lot of time for other stuff."

His mother leaned forward conspiratorially. "There's a nice girl I can introduce you to."

Draco thought about having this conversation constantly. He had about a hundred different responses, practiced and ready flittering through his mind, but he could never seem to find the right time. Today, especially, was not the right time.

"I'll think about it," he said as the waiter brought their bill around.

Draco's parents were big on the production of biological progeny. His father had a family business he was looking forward to hand off, and his mother had grandbabies she was looking forward to hold. The family name had to pass on as it had been for generations, centuries, even. It went without saying that a few billion years from now when the sun blew up and swallowed up the solar system, a silver-haired Malfoy was expected to be present for the fireworks. Unfortunately for Draco, that eventuality was up to him to ensure, because he was his parents' only child. His coming out wouldn't take a load off his chest, it would only add to it a thousand fold.

He wasn't in a rush to tell anybody anything. In fact, he was highly invested in ensuring his parents maintained their assumption that their family line would only end on the doomsday.

And that was only the smallest of his problems right now.

His main problem showed up in the form of a mop of black hair and sharp green eyes, standing next to the restaurant valet. For a second, Draco thought about turning right around, but then those eyes locked with his.

Draco breezed past him without stopping. "Normally, I require an appointment, detective."

"I just have a quick question, Mr. Malfoy." Potter said quickly. His voice was guarded and his tone was unreadable.

The detective was in jeans and a black t-shirt today, looking fairly more civilian than his leather jacket and his dirty pants. But you could still make out the bulge where he kept his gun under his shirt. He looked like he had gotten some sleep and took a shower. He looked better than he had at their last meeting, much better.

Later that evening, when Draco reflected upon the day, he would like to think that he didn't give into temptation, but he would only be fooling himself.

"I have a schedule to keep, detective," Draco said, slipping into the driver's seat, "but feel free to get in."

Potter only hesitated for a second.

"Nice car," the detective said thickly as they pulled away from the curb.

"Thank you, it was a gift."

"Hm." The detective looked out the window. "From a client?"

Draco snorted as they turned into traffic. "From my father."

"Ah." Whatever answer the detective was expecting, clearly this wasn't it. The moment of silence that followed sounded the end to the small talk. "I forgot to ask you the last time we met," the detective said smoothly. "how was your trip?"

Draco started, looking over to see Potter sneaking peeks at him from the corner of his eye. "Which trip?"

"The one you took a week ago. Air Philippines? Flight 620, departed at 8:15AM from Gate E13, Terminal 5?"

This man had a way of getting to Draco. One minute Draco was contently watching that t-shirt stretch over the muscles of his chest, and the next minute Draco wanted to throttle him.

"You're mistaken, detective," Draco responded slowly. "I was booked to fly that day, but I missed the plane."

"The business in Manila must not have been that important," Potter said, without missing a beat.

Draco didn't know what he was fishing at, so didn't answer.

Potter pressed on. "I noticed you didn't try to catch another flight that day, or ever again, for that matter."

Draco quietly pulled over onto a side street. Potter had a look like a hawk as it closed in on its prey. There was a time and place where Draco would like to see that look on the detective's face, where that look could make Draco feel things that sent shudders down his spine, but now is neither the time nor the place.

"This is your stop, detective."

The detective didn't move. "Is it?"

Potter had a perpetual melancholy in his demeanour that made Draco want to help him, throw him a bone, maybe give him one, too, while he was at it. But he was getting that feeling like he was playing with fire. As interested as he was, he couldn't risk being burned.

Draco punched a button and the passenger side's butterfly door opened slowly. "Next time, you'll need to make an appointment," Draco said lowly, "and I will need my lawyer in the room."

The detective fixed Draco with a glare that rivalled his own, and climbed out without another word, slamming the door behind him. As Potter stood on the sidewalk Draco saw the flicker of confusion cross his face. Potter must have just noticed that they were no longer in the city.

Draco rolled down his window. "John Street is a block that way," he offered helpfully, "and 8th Avenue is closer, just up ahead, but it'd probably be quicker if you just go down on John."

He gave himself a small smirk of satisfaction at the stare the detective gave him before screeching away. Draco though he was very kind to the detective, genial as fuck, in fact, even when stranding him.

"Harry Potter," Draco said aloud to himself. He had a feeling he was never going to forget that name.

xxx

Harry had been sitting for hours in the sun, feeling like a roasting ham in the oven that was his squad car. He was on edge.

To stop Hermione's nagging, he went out the night before. His old college buddy Neville had two good things that needed celebrating this past weekend. He finally got the teaching position he wanted at a local high school, and had also just gotten engaged. Unfortunately, the latter of the two good things meant Neville's last several weeks were spent at home poring over endless binders of flower arrangements and the ten thousand ways to fold a dinner napkin. The cabin fever got to him. To accommodate the feelings of his fiancée, Neville was only permitted to go to the gay village. Of course Harry was called upon to play tour guide.

It started off as a fairly mild evening in Capper's Bar, but after a few drinks Harry was getting fed up with the crowds of giggling college boys and sparkling conversations that he didn't have the wit to keep up with.

When he slipped off to the Tuesday Club across the street, he had two intentions.

One was to get himself out of the slump he was in for the last several months, and the second was to forget about the fruitless ride he took in a certain banker's fancy French sports car earlier that week. But he ended up prowling the darkness in a sour mood, finding himself scanning the crowd for a crown of silver hair. He eventually succumbed to a petite bottle-blonde in a mesh t-shirt. The guy had way with his mouth and good with his tongue, but he just couldn't sate Harry's hunger. He only whetted Harry's appetite.

Go down on John indeed. Damn shitty advice.

Harry went home early. He hadn't jerked off that many times in one night since he was a teenager.

His feelings toward Draco Malfoy didn't make a whole lot of sense to himself either. He chalked it up to frustration. He didn't remember the last time he got really laid – like skin on fire, fingers in his hair, and wobbly in the spine kind of laid, and not the quick thing in the corner of a sex club that he usually had to settle for.

His disappointing encounter at Tuesday's was all the more abominable in retrospect, especially in the light of the noontime sun on the curb of the financial district.

Harry pulled himself out of his reverie just in time to spot Malfoy's ivory Bugatti pulling up from the underground parking of the AVR building. He kicked his engine into a roar and followed, feeling jitters in his abdomen.

He needed a lead, any lead. Malfoy gave him nothing the day before. In the form of information that is. Malfoy gave him plenty of sultry looks and sexually laced glib. If he kept that up, Harry would be likely to give him something in return, and he'd give it to him hard.

Harry gritted his teeth and forcibly cleared the images from his head. Going down that train of thought again would lead him nowhere.

Traffic in the city was always bad, especially at this time of the day. But there were occasional side streets you could tear down. Flooring it for two blocks wouldn't make up for lost time but it sure as hell felt like it did – if you were lucky and there weren't any cops around, that is. Harry was determined that today was not going to be Malfoy's lucky day.

Harry kept his eye on the speedometer and flashed his lights, ready to blast Malfoy with the siren when given the chance. But there was no need for that – Malfoy's sports car grinded to a halt.

Harry took his time getting out of the squad car. He steeled himself best that he could, but still wasn't entirely prepared to see Malfoy. He was drumming his long fingers on the steering wheel, silver hair curled and swept to the side today. A long winding strand fell over his eye as he turned to glare at Harry.

"You were speeding," Harry stated.

"Oh, detective," he did not sound surprised. "I didn't know they moved you to traffic response. I'm sorry to see that. Did your case end that badly?"

Harry fought to turn his scowl into a tight-lipped smile. "The investigation is still ongoing."

Malfoy smoothed down the lapel of his suit jacket and looked away. "I'm not talking to you without my lawyer present," he said, annoyed. Harry couldn't help but admire that profile. No. He needed to get a grip on himself or he'll end up getting nowhere again. "I told you to make an appointment," Malfoy drawled.

"Funny thing is, I had been trying to," Harry responded curtly. "Your secretary said you were busy."

"I am," Malfoy said, and then clammed right up.

Harry decided to try a different approach. "Are you heading somewhere in a hurry?"

Malfoy's steely gaze flickered to Harry. "Yes, I have a waiting reservation at the Hunt Club Grill on 16th."

Harry made mental note. That was the high-end restaurant Councillor Beechwood took frequent meetings at. "You go there a lot?"

"They have good barbeque," Malfoy drawled, as if he was making a dining recommendation to a friend. "They do something special with the veal," he catches Harry's eyes, "it's very tender, and juicy."

Harry felt his mouth go dry. Did Malfoy hear himself when he talked? A sane person having a normal conversation surely wouldn't choose those particular words. "Oh, is it?" Harry said distractedly.

"Yes, makes the meat very easy to swallow."

Harry couldn't read Malfoy's poker face. He felt himself flushing. Malfoy had to be doing this intentionally. Harry caught himself thinking he'd like to show Malfoy something that wasn't so easy to swallow. No. Stop.

He didn't know how to reply without saying something he'd regret, so he just didn't say anything. The inexplicable growing hardness in his lower body was draining the blood from his brain.

Malfoy decided to keep going. "Only thing I wouldn't suggest is the sauerkraut plate. It's hard to talk business with your mouth full of sausage."

Harry tried to school his face into a mask. Un-fucking-believable.

"I don't want to make you late, then," he finally managed to say. "I'll escort you."

Malfoy shook his handsome head with a smirk on his lips. "No need. If I ever need an escort, I can call one."

Harry ignored the jab. "I insist, as an apology for taking up you time."

Harry returned to his car and turns on his police lights. He led the way to 16th Avenue, eye constantly scanning the rear view mirror, in case Malfoy decided to take an unplanned detour. Malfoy didn't, and they arrived at the restaurant in record time. However, instead of parking out in front, Malfoy pulled into the loading area behind the building. Harry followed.

"Is this the place?" He asked out his window.

Malfoy parked his car and sauntered over. "Yes," he gestured to a small open door that led into the restaurant's kitchen. "People like me prefer the back door."

It took Harry a moment to wipe the stunned look off his face, and even after so he could still feel his cheeks burning.

Malfoy seemed to find something amusing. "By the way, take that way back to the main streets. You'll have to –"

Harry heard what was coming before it was said. "Let me guess –"

"…go down on –"

"John?"

Malfoy gave him a smug little smirk, like he just won a game that Harry didn't know they were playing. "Yep, all the way down."

As Malfoy slipped through the kitchen doors, Harry pressed his forehead into the ridges of his steering wheel, silently furious with himself.

"That was fucking embarrassing," he muttered to himself as he drove off.

xxx