A/N: Y'know those days where your alarm clock doesn't go off so you're up to late, you feel like you're going to throw up, you can't think straight because everything is all fuzzy and life sucks? I hate those days.
But enjoy the new chapter, and I'll see you on the other side of the weekend.
Oh, though, quick note: if anyone has any plot bunnies lying around, I'd love to hear about them! Any combination of Harry/Draco/Snape is good with me, and I can't guarantee to be inspired, but I'm so stuck and help?
Chapter Nine
Cruising the Club
15
"You'll need to wear something else, of course," Malfoy said, leading Harry upstairs to his room. "I'll take you somewhere tame for your first time, but scuffed jeans and a ripped shirt are never appropriate, no matter how lowly the club."
"I'm pretty sure I don't have anything you'd deem appropriate," Harry said, taking in Malfoy's room. In some ways it was very expected—a large bed with Slytherin colored bedclothes, a matching dresser and vanity, an antique chaise. But there were windows everywhere, dispelling any and all shadows, and bookshelves filled the rest of the wall. "I've got Auror robes and old Muggle clothes. That's about it."
Malfoy sighed. "I should have known." He took in Harry's appearance. "You're not even wearing shoes?"
Harry flushed. "I—you—I overslept," he stammered. "And then we were here, with the piano, and I didn't need shoes for signing papers or eating dinner, so no, I'm not wearing shoes."
"You are quite the piece of work," Malfoy said. "You may borrow an outfit from me as long as you return it in impeccable condition."
Harry snorted. "I don't think we're the same size."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "There's this thing, Potter, called magic. It comes in handy sometimes. Now stop lurking around. Sit, and I will find something suitable." Harry perched on the edge of the bed trying not to be annoyed as Malfoy went through his closet. "I think, given your lack of experience with either style or clubs, you'd do best in plain black. Perhaps, if you don't humiliate me so thoroughly I can't bear the thought of going out with you again, you can move onto colors."
What was it, exactly, that made Harry think Malfoy was a reasonable person? "If you're going to be this much of a prat all night, I'll just go home," Harry replied testily.
"Calm down, Potter," Malfoy drawled. He pulled out a black button down and tossed it at Harry. "I'm only trying to help. Put this on."
Did—did he mean here, now? Harry hadn't been in the habit of changing in front of other guys since Hogwarts. Then again, it was just a shirt. He pulled off his ratty grey shirt and put on Malfoy's selection. It was sleek and silky, and enchanted to fit his body perfectly. He felt a little ridiculous, and wished for his tee shirt, however ripped it was.
"These, too," Malfoy added, throwing a pair of dark, inky jeans at him. "You won't be at the height of fashion, but you should be respectable."
"And you?" Harry asked touchily. "What will you be wearing?"
"Just this," Malfoy replied, then smiled that crooked grin again. "I wouldn't want to outshine the Golden Boy, now would I?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "You're a prat."
"Shoes are going to be the real problem," Malfoy said with a frown. He walked into his closet, and Harry changed into the jeans very quickly. They were also enchanted to fit, but they were still too tight.
"Malfoy, these pants are ridiculous," he said, standing up and trying to look at himself from all angles. "They're way too tight."
Malfoy stuck his head out of the closet. "No, that's how they're supposed to fit." He retreated into the closet and Harry shifted around uncomfortably, trying to stretch the fabric. It had some give, but molded itself back to his body as soon as he relaxed. Harry sighed. This was why he never went out. The odds of finding someone who wanted anything more than a quick shag while dressed like this were approximately zero. Not that he thought he looked particularly good; in fact, the opposite. He clearly looked so ridiculous there was no way anyone would be able to take him seriously.
"This was a bad idea," Harry said. "I feel ridiculous. I look ridiculous. Your clothes are very much yours and not mine, plus my hair is awful."
Malfoy emerged, holding a pair of short, black boots with silver buckles on the side. "No, you have bedhead. It's a good thing."
"But you don't—"
"I have a very different look than you," Malfoy interrupted. "I'd look ridiculous with tousled hair. You look like you've just been shagged. In a good way, Potter," he added at Harry's expression.
There was so much to argue about Harry didn't know where to start. "My hair is ridiculous," he repeated. "These jeans are too tight. Those shoes have buckles on them."
"You're wrong on all accounts, except for the boots. And take them, would you? I don't fancy carrying around your shoes all night."
Harry sighed and tugged them on even as he argued. "You look sharp and put together. I look like somebody's failed attempt at class."
"Failed, have I?" Malfoy asked dangerously. "I can take those clothes back any time I want, Potter, and leave you here, wandless, waiting until I get in before I take you home. For all you know that might not be until tomorrow. Now stop complaining and take advantage of my generosity."
Harry sighed again. The shoes were also enchanted to fit, so he couldn't complain they were too small. He stood, crossing his arms, and glaring moodily at Malfoy. "There," he said. "Are you happy?"
Malfoy considered. "Just about." He picked up a bottle of something, squeezed a clear, viscous gel onto his hands and rubbed them together. "Your perfect bedhead, I-just-got-shagged look is a little too on the I-don't-know-how-to-have-hair side," he said. "Stay still." He ran his hands through Harry's hair, and Harry nearly jerked away at the sudden intimacy. The only person who had touched his hair was Hermione, when they were on the road looking for Horcruxes and he needed comfort. Nobody else dared to go near it. But, he discovered, it was nice. Malfoy was gently massaging his head, occasionally running his fingernails along his scalp, and Harry didn't know why that would feel good, but it did. Then he stepped back and magicked his hands clean. "Much better. Shall we go?"
Harry resisted the urge to attempt to smooth his hair. "Um. Yes."
Malfoy laid a hand on his arm and they popped away.
They reappeared in a dark alley, much too similar to Harry's patrols to be welcome.
"Where are we?" he asked irritably.
Malfoy shot him a look of exasperation. "We can't very well apparate directly into a Muggle club, now can we?" Oh, right. That. Harry followed him around to the front of the building and they entered the club.
It wasn't what Harry expected. There were no strobe lights, no pounding bass, nobody writhing half-naked on the dance floor. Instead there was a bar along one wall, a few small tables along the other, a stage in front and a dance floor in the middle. The DJ was playing dance music, of course, but not so loudly Harry couldn't hear himself think, and Malfoy only had to raise his voice a little to be heard.
"Drinks?"
"Yeah," Harry replied. Even if it wasn't as intimidating as he had thought, he could certainly use a drink or two. They seated themselves on barstools, and Malfoy ordered a Grey Goose and Hendricks martini dry. The bartender looked at Harry expectantly, and he flushed, realizing he didn't know anything other than Firewhiskey, mead and the occasional wine.
"Er—"
Malfoy sighed patiently, as if talking to a small child. "How strong do you want it?"
"Not very," he said, trying to be quiet but still needing to be heard above the music.
Malfoy smirked. "Don't trust yourself when you drink? I sense an interesting story. But back on topic, do you like your drinks sweet? Creamy or fruity?"
"Creamy?" Harry said, hoping that sounded less girly, since he was already making an arse out of himself.
Malfoy's smirk widened. "One Orgasm for my friend. And make it tall." Harry gaped at him, and he laughed. "You'll just love it, I'm sure."
Harry made eye contact only with the bottles of liquor behind the bar as they waited for their drinks. He was even more intimidated when it arrived. "This is huge."
Malfoy laughed again. "A huge orgasm? I see no reason to complain." Harry flushed and kept his eyes on his drink. "Don't worry, that just means there's more cream and it's less alcoholic. Go ahead, give it a go." He sipped his own drink, then looked up at Harry through thick lashes.
Very reluctantly, Harry picked up the glass and had the tiniest of sips. It was pretty good, actually. He took a bigger sip. "Yeah, I like it," Harry said, trying out his own smirk. "Thanks for the orgasm, Malfoy."
"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you." Malfoy turned so he could watch the crowd as he drank. "Since you can't leave without me, I suppose I'm not bringing anyone home tonight," he said with a sigh. "Never again are we going drinking without your own means of transportation. I don't suppose you have any money for the Tube?"
"No," Harry said uncomfortably. "I told you, all I had was what I was wearing. I wasn't planning on spending the night with you."
Malfoy smirked. "Is that what you're doing?"
Harry flushed again. This was awful. He wanted to go back home, to get into his pajamas and crawl into bed and never have to talk about any of this ever again. "You know what I meant. And if you find the perfect shag, just excuse yourself to the loo and apparate me home from there."
"Sharp mind, Potter," Malfoy said. "Look, see the one in the red shirt? What do you think?"
Harry scanned the crowd. There were several red-shirted men, none of whom he found particularly attractive. "You could do better."
Malfoy laughed again. Harry had never heard him laugh so much before. It was disconcerting. "I could always do better. The question is how low do I have to stoop, and is it worth it?"
Harry returned his attentions to the crowd. It might be interesting, to try and figure out Malfoy's type beyond young, virile and French. He settled on as average a man as he could find, to test the waters, so to speak. "That one, in the white shirt who's dancing with the tall bloke."
"Him?" Malfoy asked, gesturing. "No. He's got honey blonde hair, it doesn't go well with my skin tone. It makes me look sickly."
Harry had to stifle a laugh. "All right, what about the tall one, then?"
"Too tall," Malfoy said immediately. "It's so awkward dancing with someone who's taller than you."
"I suppose I'll have to get used to that," Harry said. "Doubt there's anyone here shorter than me."
Malfoy smiled. "Perhaps not. Moving on, see the one in the corner, sandwiched between those two? What do you think?"
"Slutty," Harry replied, and Malfoy let out a snort. "What? He's grinding on two guys at once. You must be more discerning than that."
"Well yes, but he's hot," Malfoy replied. "I'm a sucker for dark hair, what can I say?"
Harry flushed. "Short and dark haired. You sure you're not describing me?"
Malfoy smirked. "In your dreams, Potter. Now come on, help me pick someone out." It seemed they went through half the club before Malfoy got bored and declared there was no one worthy of his time.
"Onto the next?" Harry asked. His drink was half-finished, but he was actually enjoying checking out guys with a friend. He'd never been able to do that before.
"No, no," Malfoy chastised. "We're surrounded by eligible bachelors, and you've never been to a club before. You've got to give dancing a go before we leave."
"No," Harry said firmly. "No, I can't dance, I'm not embarrassing myself."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I've dressed you, I've ordered your drink, do you really need me to teach you to dance as well?"
"No," Harry repeated. "I'm not dancing. I dance alone, in my house, in my bedroom, with protection charms spanning the block. I do not dance in public."
Malfoy gave him a funny look. "If you're not here to hook up, and you refuse to dance, what was the point of coming out with me at all?"
Harry had forgotten that particular piece of information. "I was curious," he said. "I've never been to a gay bar before."
Malfoy placed his drink on the counter, then forcibly took Harry's and set it down. "Come on," Malfoy said, grabbing his arm. "I've got you all gussied up, I want to show you off."
That wasn't an uncomfortable sentence in the slightest. "Malfoy, really, the last time I danced was the Yule Ball, and I'm pretty sure you were laughing the loudest. I only know how to ballroom dance, and I'm bollocks at it. There is no way I can do this."
They were now in the middle of the crowd, and it was impossible not to stand very close indeed. "Turn around," Malfoy said. He gave Harry a genuine smile to calm his anxiety. "Trust me."
Very nervously, Harry turned around. Malfoy put his hands on Harry's hips and started swaying in time with the music.
"Move your hips," he said and when Harry didn't, he did it for him, tightening his grasp and moving them in a circle. "And do something with your hands."
Harry's brain was a complete fog. The music, the bodies pressing in, dancing with Malfoy, the slight buzz of the alcohol. He had no idea if this is what Malfoy had meant, but he laced his hands together behind Malfoy's neck and rested them there. Malfoy hummed contentedly and moved closer, eliminating some of the pressure on Harry's shoulders.
"Listen to the music," Malfoy said, lips right next to Harry's ear. "Can you feel the beat?" He tapped his fingers on Harry's hip in time with the song. "You're thinking too much. Just move."
Only Harry wasn't thinking at all. Was this really what clubbing was about? If it was, he had certainly been missing out. There was a small voice in the back of his head trying to say that this was not normal, he wasn't picking anyone up, he wasn't out for a snog or a shag, he was just dancing with a friend. Which was weird, because that friend was Malfoy. But he did dance, sort of, and Malfoy guided him so he didn't do anything too stupid, and this wasn't dancing so much as moving in time to a beat, and that wasn't too hard.
Malfoy's lips were back at his ear, breathing softly. "How much do you want to learn?" he asked. "This is polite, I'm-not-interested-in-you-please-go-away dancing. I think you should be equipped for more pleasurable circumstances, but if you're too honorable…"
Harry wanted to blame the drink, but he'd only had half a watered down martini over the course of a half hour or forty-five minutes, and the electricity shooting through him had nothing to do with an orgasm.
At least not that kind.
"Go ahead."
