PAIRING: Draco and just about everyone he meets? Eventually Draco/Harry though(yay!)
****There are : definite Lucius/Sirius undertones (as in chapter 2)****
WARNING: This is slash. If you can't cope…then clear! Also, this will involve underage, unprotected sex. Please note that this is FICTION and I have taken liberties in the fact that STD's and the law play little part in this tale. This fic does not promote under-age sex or promiscuity (however fun they may be!) Also: I have taken some liberties with magic.
RATING: R to be safe
DISTRIBUTION: Any archives "Yes!" Others please ask, I'll say yes but I'd like the URL.
DISCLAIMER: Nope, not mine, no money being made.
SPOILERS: Future. Sirius' name is cleared. They're 16.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: A character in this is loosely modeled after Spike from BtVS during his 70's punk rocker phase. This has morphed - it will soon be a travel adventure with Draco having romantic (slashy) interludes at many world famous landmarks. Oh, the plans I have for Big Ben…
FEEDBACK: Oh, please? I'll love you forever
DEDICATION: For Tami, for discussing this story with me at length and sharing ALL SORTS of interesting ideas….Thanks to my sister for naming Wolfe. Also for The Childe: I'm gonna see you soon! And Mandy, for coming tops and beating them ALL! And Tasha. Look Love, I got it right: anti - climaCtic.
ALL THOUGHTS IN "...." and emphasis in *....*
___________________________________________________
Chapter Three: Suck It In Baby - Draco Gets Leather
~ Outside the Three Broomsticks Inn : The Night of the Escape ~
"What the hell is this all about, Malfoy? Or do you want me to beat it out of you?" Sirius threatened in a dark, low voice that promised blood.
"I was going to ask *you* the very same thing, Black, so no need to try to fight me, you'd only regret it anyway." Replied Lucius flippantly, tossing his head back in a manner much like his son.
Sirius' face took on a rogue-ish smirk. "Regret it, *Lucius*? That's not the way it was in school - if I recall correctly. *You * were always the one to come off second best in our fights - or do you like it that way?"
Lucius' cheeks coloured an indignant pink. Harry's gaze darted confusedly from one adult to the other. He understood the scene - just not the players. He was so bewildered that he instantly obeyed when Sirius instructed him:
"Stand back Harry."
He wasn't expecting to see Sirius lunge toward Lucius, take him by the collar, and shake him as violently as the other man would allow.
"What are you up to and what the HELL does it have to do with MY BIKE?!" snarled the normally passive godfather.
Lucius hands reached up, tore Sirius' grasp from his robes and pushed back at the other man.
"What are *you* up to and what the HELL does it have to do with MY SON?!" Lucius snarled back.
Just when Harry had recovered from his initial shock at the hostility Sirius was displaying, Sirius swung his fist at Lucius' perfect features. There was a fleshy sound of violent connection and Harry winced in aesthetic horror - only to find that bloodied lips became Lucius terribly well.
**Hold that thought** the wunderkind instructed himself, as he diverted his attention to the skirmish. Harry turned in time to see Lucius attempt a left hook with little success. Then, in what Harry felt was a rather anti-climactic move, Lucius gave a Typical Villainous Scowl ™ and disapperated.
"Coward." Muttered Harry bitterly.
Sirius, on the other hand, was smiling. "It worked!" he exclaimed.
"Siruis, I thought you wanted to beat him up - not scare him into escaping!" pouted Harry, rather put out by his godfather's seeming negligence.
"Hardly." Said Sirius, quite shockingly. "I mean," he hastily rectified, "I'd love to give the bastard a good trouncing Harry," he explained, eyes glazing over at the thought, "But I need him for other things."
"What other things?" asked Harry, eyes narrowing suspiciously. He tugged on Sirius' sleeve, but the man's mind was rampaging through other thoughts.
A rather absent "Hmm?" was all Harry elicited.
"What other things?!" Harry demanded for the second time, more vociferously. Sirius returned to himself.
"Oh, we need him free to track my bike." He explained cryptically. Harry raised an eyebrow in inquiry. "That's why I grabbed him and punched him," Sirius expanded, "You ought to touch a person when you're putting a tracking spell on them and the spell's only stronger if there's blood involved…"
Sirius shrugged haphazardly in his black jacket.
"So you punched him in the face, spilt his blood and incanted a wandless tracking spell…."concluded Harry, his admiration for his godfather steadily mounting.
Sirius looked smug. "See?" he asked, rubbing his fist, "It was purely professional and necessary violence, nothing more, no joy derived from it whatsoever!"
Harry snorted derisively and Sirius laughed. "C'mon," said Sirius lightly, throwing his arm around Harry's shoulders, "let's go home and pack for the adventure."
~ Unused Subway Tunnel : The Night After the Escape ~
This was the last thing Draco needed after defying his father and Voldemort, running away from home, stealing an animagus' bike and riding for an entire day without stopping. He was tired, he was hungry and he was in a strange place. Now, it seemed, he was also being accosted.
Draco's skin prickled in apprehension at the low voice, the cockney drawl and the menace that lay under the admiration for his bike. HIS bike. Draco's slim fingers tightened possessively round the handlebars as he looked back over his shoulder to pin-point the source of the words.
And Draco stared.
His hair was…electric blue, the finely cut features of his face bone pale. There was a silver ring in one scarred eyebrow and purple smudged his lips like a bruise. A threadbare vest in the print of the Union Jack clung to shoulders further encased in a black leather motor cycling jacket that was speared through with giant safety pins.
Draco's gaze slid down to slim hips accentuated by a broad, studded black belt with a heavy silver buckle of a grinning skull. Dragging his gaze lower down, his widening silver eyes drank in shiny black leather pants so binding they ought to be illegal - and probably were. The boots that completed the picture were dark and chunky.
And then, to top it all, he smirked.
Draco's mouth went dry and the only thought occupying his mind was:
"Are ALL muggles like this?"
* * *
Draco had no knowledge or comprehension of the Punk movement, but he knew what he liked and he found himself very, very appreciative. He swung his leg over the saddle seat and stood to face the approaching youth. He couldn't have been older than twenty-two, and, the closer he come under the flickering florescent lighting, Draco could make out kohl lining his eyes. Eyes which were a vivid and startlingly alert blue.
Draco watched in fascination as the full, purple lips parted to speak, betraying an almost indecent flash of sharp, white teeth and pink tongue. He was so caught up that he never had the opportunity to hear what his subway accoster had said.
"Pardon?" blinked Draco, rather dazedly.
"I SAID: WHERE'D YA GET YA WHEELS?" the punk accentuated loudly.
"Oh," said Draco, with a practiced shrug, "stole 'em."
The punk flashed him a shark-like grin and smoothly extended an arm.
"You an' me are gonna get along jus' fine."said the leather clad miscreant. Draco shook…and absently noted that the punk's nails were also a vibrant shade of electric blue.
"Now," smirked the punk, thumbing in the direction of the Harley, "what say we take this little bird for a ride?"
* * *
Draco's soaring spirits plummeted to his stomach. Oh no, why'd the only interesting character he'd thus far met have to ask something he couldn't give? For, while he was now adept at maneuvering the bike up in the sky, he didn't stand a chance at guiding it through the crowded London streets. He was just going to open his mouth and announce this to his newest um, friend, when Draco had yet another crafty flash of inspiration. Little wonder why he's the hero of this tale.
"I'll tell you what…" drawled Draco, in a tone that completely betrayed the fact that this was the beginning of a deal. His counterpart narrowed his eyes shrewdly and awaited the proposal.
"…if you noticed the way I'm dressed," Draco held out his arms and displayed his robe, "then you've probably noticed that I'm kind of…foreign."
The punk nodded sagely, his full lips pursed thoughtfully, "Yeah, yer dress funny, wassat got ta do with the bike?"
Draco ploughed bravely on, "Well, I guess you could say I'm from…rural England and, and, I've never been to the city before."
"Yeah, an' so wha?" The punk was getting impatient, and Draco could see it in the annoyance in his eyes and the tapping of his booted foot.
"So I'll make you a deal," said Draco, cutting to the chase, "You obviously live here and know the place, if you, um, show me the ropes, get me the right clothing, teach me to fit in, then YOU can drive the bike while doing so."
Draco hadn't had the opportunity to see the rest of London and realise that he was asking the wrong kind of person for help to fit in. And while most people would probably show him the ropes by touring Buckingham Palace and the Globe Theatre, he was now going to get a round trip of seedy, underground nightclubs. And as for dressing….well. In any case, Draco was going to get his first lessons in being a muggle from someone so different from normal citizens he was barely muggle himself!
The punk smiled smugly, took a step back from Draco and gave the boy a slow, head-to-toe assessing glance with glacial blue eyes that made Draco flush hotly.
"Firs," announced the punk, "we get ya threads." And he straddled the bike and looked over at where the bewildered young wizard still stood. "Well," he asked, starting up the bike with a magnificent rev, "are ya comin' or wha?"
The recesses of Draco's mind dimly registered the innuendo as he climbed on the Harley and tried to determine how close he ought to sit and where he ought to put his hands. Finally, he sat not touching the punk, with his hands folded in his lap. He obviously had no concept of how fast a Harley went.
The punk turned round to peer at him, looking quite amused when he noticed Draco's position. "Oi, this isn't a bloody carriage ride, ya gotta hold on!" And he grabbed Draco's hands and wrapped them firmly around his waist - under the leather jacket. He then put a hand under each of Draco's knees and pulled him forward until he was nicely bracketed by the young wizard's lap. Draco was going into sensory overload.
The punk looked over his shoulder one last time and it occurred to Draco that he was embracing a perfect stranger. "Hang on," said our hero, "I'm Draco. Who are you?"
"Draco, eh?" the savage beauty smirked yet again, pulled a pair of violet lens sunglasses from one of many pockets, flipped them open and put them on. "I'm Wolfe." he said, over the rumble of the Harley in echoing subway tunnels, and, casting our willful adventurer a meaningful glance, he faced forward, gripped the handlebars, and set them into motion.
* * *
Draco had no idea that a grounded, moving Harley could feel so good. Sheer momentum had pushed him even closer to the punk, "Wolfe" his mind supplied, and Draco found his fingers locked at the other youth's waist, with both his thumbs tucked under the skull belt-buckle. Draco didn't know if this was appropriate motorcycle behaviour but Wolfe didn't seem to be complaining at all, and Draco was too comfortable to care. He could distinguish the heady smells of leather and whiskey and something he couldn't place but that we know as nicotine.
Resting his chin on Wolfe's shoulder he watched as they exited the tunnels via a service vehicles' entrance and finally came up under the London sky. Or should he say "skyline?" For he was surrounded by imposing buildings. Neon signs lit up the night and the roads were streaming with every motor vehicle imaginable.
As abruptly as his adventure had begun, his leather-clad counterpart reigned the Harley in like the true beast it was and pulled over to the sidewalk. It was then that Draco noticed that Wolfe was eyeing something awfully keenly. He followed the direction of his gaze but beheld nothing of particular interest. But Wolfe seemed to have his education at heart and he leaned back and whispered to him in a low, conspiring tone.
"See them flashin' lights over there?" he nodded his blue head ahead of them. Draco nodded his assent. "Those are tourists. Money-markets." Said the purple-lipped wonder, "an' we need some dosh if we're gonna buy ya decent threads. C'mon." And he leapt off the bike and led the way down the street.
Draco followed, half curious and half apprehensive. Up front, Wolfe had reached the group of tourists and had partially disappeared in a ten-strong throng of flashing camera's and halting english. After Wolfe had greeted the tourists in cockney accented Japanese he began to pose with them for pictures against the all-night tourist shop window. The tourists were very excited to meet this authentic Londoner and were snapping merrily away. Soon they spotted Draco and the fair-haired teenager was roped into posing with Wolfe while the Japanese re-arranged them to their liking. Just when Draco was growing fond of the group and their devoted attention to him, Wolfe called their meeting to an end.
Draco pouted, but went along without further protest. "What was that about?" asked Draco. "We never made any money." Wolfe made a scornful noise and muttered something about having a lot to learn before turning to face Draco with his explanation.
"They 'ave summing called PICK-POCKETING back in whatsit, rural England?"
Draco nodded with a dawning comprehension.
"Well…" began Wolfe, before opting for visual aid and pulling Draco into a nearby alley, scrounging in his pockets and waving stacks of Pound notes in the wizard's face. "Now," said Wolfe triumphantly, "we've got enough dosh fer ya clothes!" He was quite adorably proud of himself and flashed a winning smile at Draco, obviously awaiting some sort of approval. And Draco did most definitely approve.
"That was smooth, I didn't even *see* you. Impressive." He concluded, before tacking on an appropriate, "I'm very grateful, of course."
"Yeah?" grinned Wolfe boyishly, and then the boyish grin abruptly turned into a smirk, "Ya can show me *how* grateful later…" And he looked steadily at Draco before licking his lips and swaggering out the alley.
* * *
Harry felt a bit cheated. He and Sirius had rushed back home to frantically pack and address hasty letters to Ron, Hermione and Dumbledore to let them know what was up. Then they'd pulled out a map, enchanted it, and began to chart Lucius' movement.
The little, green Lucuis - dot moved to Malfoy Manor. And stayed there for what seemed like a long time. Sirius began to pace and it made Harry even more antsy. Then the dot moved West to an outbuilding still within the confines of the Malfoy estate. Finally, finally, Lucius began to move with a speed that betrayed air travel. He was going, leaving his estate, and heading in the direction of London.
Sirius swung his backpack over his shoulder as Harry did the same. They marched with purpose out the front door and mounted their brooms.
"Will we have to stop often to check his direction on the map?" asked Harry, concerned about being slowed down.
Sirius shook his head in the negative, "No, I cast the spell, I can feel him moving. You'll just have to follow me." Sirius winked. "Let's see how Gryffindor's star seeker keeps up with this old man." he teased, and took off at a tremendous speed. Harry took a moment to recover from his surprise before taking off and rising to the bait. After all, what Gryffindor could resist a challenge?
* * *
Draco squinted through the dark, tinted windows in a vain effort to see into the shop. The malfunctioning, red neon sign flickered in the smoggy London night.
"Leather and Fetish Wear" it proudly announced. Draco felt apprehensive.
"C'mon." said Wolfe, leading the way through the metal door and into the murky confines of the shop. Draco entered to see Wolfe slap hands with another young man who appeared to be a living lightening conductor. In that he was pierced, a lot, everywhere Draco could see and probably a few places he couldn't. Not that he wouldn't mind seeing, he was a very striking guy, though he paled in comparison to Wolfe.
Wolfe grinned, leaned in and whispered something into his ear, pointed at Draco and began counting things off on his fingers. The shop owner (or worker - it was never really determined) nodded eagerly, eyeing Draco in a way that our hero didn't think was driven solely by a desire to determine his clothing size. Draco nodded at him in greeting, sauntered over to the front counter and introduced him self shortly.
"Draco?" asked the leather-seller, "Well, at least ya already got an alright name. Cor, once I met this Hell's Angel called Bartholomew. Now *that* was a bloody mindfuck!" Draco laughed with him and Wolfe, though he had no idea what was so funny.
"This is Blaine." Wolfe introduced, once he'd recovered from his laughter. "He's gonna help ya get yer leather."
"Leather?!" asked Draco, looking at Wolfe's tight pants with fear. "Isn't there anything, uh, less restrictive?"
Blaine and Wolfe shared an amused glance before turning back to Draco and grinning, shaking their heads in an emphatic "no"
"It's leather or nothin'" said Wolfe smugly, "An' I was thinking we'd save the nothin' bit fer later…"
And so Draco was steered to a section torwards the front of shop. Draco cast a curious look towards the back of the store. "What's over there?" he asked, changing direction and stalking over to the back like the demanding, imperious Malfoy that he was.
Wolfe chuckled. "I don' think ya ready fer that, but 'ave a look anyways." After Draco had discovered, recovered from the shock of, and then marveled at the fetish wear, he reluctantly parted with a pair of handcuffs and was led away to be outfitted.
His waist and his hips were speculated over, as was his height and the distance between his shoulders. Clothes were pulled out and presented for Wolfe's (not Draco's) approval. Wolfe agreed and disagreed and finally a pile of clothes were set aside for Draco to try on. First things first, Wolfe held up a pair of black leather pants, complete with a large silver zip that caught the scant light and flashed wickedly at him.
Draco gulped.
"Ya can change in 'ere" said Blaine, at the entrance of a cramped stall with a sad black curtain dangling morosely in place of the door.
Draco snatched the pants from Wolfe's hand and strode bravely into the "change - room" if one were being so ambitious as to call it that. He pulled the curtain firmly across and hoped the two outside got the "no peeping permitted" message.
Probably not, knowing them.
Off came his robe, and he was left in his very nice silk boxers, green of course. And a Slytherin green, not a Boy-who-lived-eyes' green. Draco began to pull on the pants. When he got them sufficiently high up his thighs, he realized something awful. There was no way his boxers would fit in these pants.
**Oh boy, that means Wolfe's not wearing anything either…**
Draco halted the thought before he got too excited in too compromising a situation. He groaned in frustration.
"Wassa matter?" came Wolfe's voice, sounding mildly concerned.
"Ya didn't get anything important caught in that there zipper, did ya?" asked Blaine, "Cos one time this death 'ead came in an' he - "
"No!" Draco cut in, "It's not that."
"Then wha?"
"It's just that, well, there doesn't seem to be enough room in these pants for my boxers."
This comment provoked uproarious laughter during which Draco stood fuming with his pants half up. Finally, once the mirth had past, Wolfe said "A'course there isn't, it's s'posed ta be like tha'!"
Draco sighed the sigh of the long-suffering, pulled off the clinging pants and his boxers and pulled on the pants again. Or tried to.
After much ingenious manuvering on Draco's part, he got the pants all the way up. They didn't seem to be chafing. Draco smiled, maybe this was his sort of thing after all. However, he soon had doubts.
He just managed to get the zip up but he couldn't, for the life of him, do the single shiny button above it. Draco scowled and tried again, to no avail.
"I can't wear this," he called out, "it's too small."
"It's perfect fer ya," insisted Blaine, "I'd know, I've been doin' this ferever."
Wolfe clicked his tongue. "Ya know wha' the problem 'ere is, mate. It's the blighter's firs time in leather. They always think it's too tight fer 'em."
Blaine made a small agreeing noise.
"I'm comin' in ta help" announced Wolfe, and he pushed his way past the curtain into the tiny little stall.
It wasn't a moment Draco would ever forget. Him standing in a dim stall, naked as the he was born except for skin - tight black leather pants so binding that even the muscles of his thighs were outlined through the thin layer. And standing before him, drinking in the sight, was the sexiest punk in the greater London area. Wolfe was so close that half a step more and he'd be up against Draco, all his leather and metal cold against the wizard's waiting skin. Draco locked his grey eyes with blue ones. Wolfe smiled crookedly and took that half a step.
And he was pressed up against our rather breathless hero. Wolfe's blue - tipped fingers came between their waists and latched on to the front of Draco's pants, his knuckles grazing against the bare skin of Draco's midriff. He *was* supposed to be helping with that defiant button after all. Purple lips smiled an inch before Draco's mouth.
"Jus' suck it in baby, and I'll do the rest."
For a split second Draco wondered what Wolfe was on about, then he got it and breathed in deep. Deft fingers at his waist fastened the obstinate button.
"It's still too tight." Draco whispered, not sure why he was whispering.
"Nah," said Wolfe, equally quietly, "the leather'll stretch ta fit yer body. Give it time an' don' think 'bout it."
"It's feels like it's cutting off circulation, how am I not supposed to think about it?
"I can think of a few distractions."
"Oh really?" challenged Draco, "Well they'd better be good."
"Nah," said Wolfe again, "they're mostly bad but I think ya'll like 'em."
And he leaned tantalizingly forward.
_____________________________
A/N: More fun in chapter 4 over Big Ben! r/r
****There are : definite Lucius/Sirius undertones (as in chapter 2)****
WARNING: This is slash. If you can't cope…then clear! Also, this will involve underage, unprotected sex. Please note that this is FICTION and I have taken liberties in the fact that STD's and the law play little part in this tale. This fic does not promote under-age sex or promiscuity (however fun they may be!) Also: I have taken some liberties with magic.
RATING: R to be safe
DISTRIBUTION: Any archives "Yes!" Others please ask, I'll say yes but I'd like the URL.
DISCLAIMER: Nope, not mine, no money being made.
SPOILERS: Future. Sirius' name is cleared. They're 16.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: A character in this is loosely modeled after Spike from BtVS during his 70's punk rocker phase. This has morphed - it will soon be a travel adventure with Draco having romantic (slashy) interludes at many world famous landmarks. Oh, the plans I have for Big Ben…
FEEDBACK: Oh, please? I'll love you forever
DEDICATION: For Tami, for discussing this story with me at length and sharing ALL SORTS of interesting ideas….Thanks to my sister for naming Wolfe. Also for The Childe: I'm gonna see you soon! And Mandy, for coming tops and beating them ALL! And Tasha. Look Love, I got it right: anti - climaCtic.
ALL THOUGHTS IN "...." and emphasis in *....*
___________________________________________________
Chapter Three: Suck It In Baby - Draco Gets Leather
~ Outside the Three Broomsticks Inn : The Night of the Escape ~
"What the hell is this all about, Malfoy? Or do you want me to beat it out of you?" Sirius threatened in a dark, low voice that promised blood.
"I was going to ask *you* the very same thing, Black, so no need to try to fight me, you'd only regret it anyway." Replied Lucius flippantly, tossing his head back in a manner much like his son.
Sirius' face took on a rogue-ish smirk. "Regret it, *Lucius*? That's not the way it was in school - if I recall correctly. *You * were always the one to come off second best in our fights - or do you like it that way?"
Lucius' cheeks coloured an indignant pink. Harry's gaze darted confusedly from one adult to the other. He understood the scene - just not the players. He was so bewildered that he instantly obeyed when Sirius instructed him:
"Stand back Harry."
He wasn't expecting to see Sirius lunge toward Lucius, take him by the collar, and shake him as violently as the other man would allow.
"What are you up to and what the HELL does it have to do with MY BIKE?!" snarled the normally passive godfather.
Lucius hands reached up, tore Sirius' grasp from his robes and pushed back at the other man.
"What are *you* up to and what the HELL does it have to do with MY SON?!" Lucius snarled back.
Just when Harry had recovered from his initial shock at the hostility Sirius was displaying, Sirius swung his fist at Lucius' perfect features. There was a fleshy sound of violent connection and Harry winced in aesthetic horror - only to find that bloodied lips became Lucius terribly well.
**Hold that thought** the wunderkind instructed himself, as he diverted his attention to the skirmish. Harry turned in time to see Lucius attempt a left hook with little success. Then, in what Harry felt was a rather anti-climactic move, Lucius gave a Typical Villainous Scowl ™ and disapperated.
"Coward." Muttered Harry bitterly.
Sirius, on the other hand, was smiling. "It worked!" he exclaimed.
"Siruis, I thought you wanted to beat him up - not scare him into escaping!" pouted Harry, rather put out by his godfather's seeming negligence.
"Hardly." Said Sirius, quite shockingly. "I mean," he hastily rectified, "I'd love to give the bastard a good trouncing Harry," he explained, eyes glazing over at the thought, "But I need him for other things."
"What other things?" asked Harry, eyes narrowing suspiciously. He tugged on Sirius' sleeve, but the man's mind was rampaging through other thoughts.
A rather absent "Hmm?" was all Harry elicited.
"What other things?!" Harry demanded for the second time, more vociferously. Sirius returned to himself.
"Oh, we need him free to track my bike." He explained cryptically. Harry raised an eyebrow in inquiry. "That's why I grabbed him and punched him," Sirius expanded, "You ought to touch a person when you're putting a tracking spell on them and the spell's only stronger if there's blood involved…"
Sirius shrugged haphazardly in his black jacket.
"So you punched him in the face, spilt his blood and incanted a wandless tracking spell…."concluded Harry, his admiration for his godfather steadily mounting.
Sirius looked smug. "See?" he asked, rubbing his fist, "It was purely professional and necessary violence, nothing more, no joy derived from it whatsoever!"
Harry snorted derisively and Sirius laughed. "C'mon," said Sirius lightly, throwing his arm around Harry's shoulders, "let's go home and pack for the adventure."
~ Unused Subway Tunnel : The Night After the Escape ~
This was the last thing Draco needed after defying his father and Voldemort, running away from home, stealing an animagus' bike and riding for an entire day without stopping. He was tired, he was hungry and he was in a strange place. Now, it seemed, he was also being accosted.
Draco's skin prickled in apprehension at the low voice, the cockney drawl and the menace that lay under the admiration for his bike. HIS bike. Draco's slim fingers tightened possessively round the handlebars as he looked back over his shoulder to pin-point the source of the words.
And Draco stared.
His hair was…electric blue, the finely cut features of his face bone pale. There was a silver ring in one scarred eyebrow and purple smudged his lips like a bruise. A threadbare vest in the print of the Union Jack clung to shoulders further encased in a black leather motor cycling jacket that was speared through with giant safety pins.
Draco's gaze slid down to slim hips accentuated by a broad, studded black belt with a heavy silver buckle of a grinning skull. Dragging his gaze lower down, his widening silver eyes drank in shiny black leather pants so binding they ought to be illegal - and probably were. The boots that completed the picture were dark and chunky.
And then, to top it all, he smirked.
Draco's mouth went dry and the only thought occupying his mind was:
"Are ALL muggles like this?"
* * *
Draco had no knowledge or comprehension of the Punk movement, but he knew what he liked and he found himself very, very appreciative. He swung his leg over the saddle seat and stood to face the approaching youth. He couldn't have been older than twenty-two, and, the closer he come under the flickering florescent lighting, Draco could make out kohl lining his eyes. Eyes which were a vivid and startlingly alert blue.
Draco watched in fascination as the full, purple lips parted to speak, betraying an almost indecent flash of sharp, white teeth and pink tongue. He was so caught up that he never had the opportunity to hear what his subway accoster had said.
"Pardon?" blinked Draco, rather dazedly.
"I SAID: WHERE'D YA GET YA WHEELS?" the punk accentuated loudly.
"Oh," said Draco, with a practiced shrug, "stole 'em."
The punk flashed him a shark-like grin and smoothly extended an arm.
"You an' me are gonna get along jus' fine."said the leather clad miscreant. Draco shook…and absently noted that the punk's nails were also a vibrant shade of electric blue.
"Now," smirked the punk, thumbing in the direction of the Harley, "what say we take this little bird for a ride?"
* * *
Draco's soaring spirits plummeted to his stomach. Oh no, why'd the only interesting character he'd thus far met have to ask something he couldn't give? For, while he was now adept at maneuvering the bike up in the sky, he didn't stand a chance at guiding it through the crowded London streets. He was just going to open his mouth and announce this to his newest um, friend, when Draco had yet another crafty flash of inspiration. Little wonder why he's the hero of this tale.
"I'll tell you what…" drawled Draco, in a tone that completely betrayed the fact that this was the beginning of a deal. His counterpart narrowed his eyes shrewdly and awaited the proposal.
"…if you noticed the way I'm dressed," Draco held out his arms and displayed his robe, "then you've probably noticed that I'm kind of…foreign."
The punk nodded sagely, his full lips pursed thoughtfully, "Yeah, yer dress funny, wassat got ta do with the bike?"
Draco ploughed bravely on, "Well, I guess you could say I'm from…rural England and, and, I've never been to the city before."
"Yeah, an' so wha?" The punk was getting impatient, and Draco could see it in the annoyance in his eyes and the tapping of his booted foot.
"So I'll make you a deal," said Draco, cutting to the chase, "You obviously live here and know the place, if you, um, show me the ropes, get me the right clothing, teach me to fit in, then YOU can drive the bike while doing so."
Draco hadn't had the opportunity to see the rest of London and realise that he was asking the wrong kind of person for help to fit in. And while most people would probably show him the ropes by touring Buckingham Palace and the Globe Theatre, he was now going to get a round trip of seedy, underground nightclubs. And as for dressing….well. In any case, Draco was going to get his first lessons in being a muggle from someone so different from normal citizens he was barely muggle himself!
The punk smiled smugly, took a step back from Draco and gave the boy a slow, head-to-toe assessing glance with glacial blue eyes that made Draco flush hotly.
"Firs," announced the punk, "we get ya threads." And he straddled the bike and looked over at where the bewildered young wizard still stood. "Well," he asked, starting up the bike with a magnificent rev, "are ya comin' or wha?"
The recesses of Draco's mind dimly registered the innuendo as he climbed on the Harley and tried to determine how close he ought to sit and where he ought to put his hands. Finally, he sat not touching the punk, with his hands folded in his lap. He obviously had no concept of how fast a Harley went.
The punk turned round to peer at him, looking quite amused when he noticed Draco's position. "Oi, this isn't a bloody carriage ride, ya gotta hold on!" And he grabbed Draco's hands and wrapped them firmly around his waist - under the leather jacket. He then put a hand under each of Draco's knees and pulled him forward until he was nicely bracketed by the young wizard's lap. Draco was going into sensory overload.
The punk looked over his shoulder one last time and it occurred to Draco that he was embracing a perfect stranger. "Hang on," said our hero, "I'm Draco. Who are you?"
"Draco, eh?" the savage beauty smirked yet again, pulled a pair of violet lens sunglasses from one of many pockets, flipped them open and put them on. "I'm Wolfe." he said, over the rumble of the Harley in echoing subway tunnels, and, casting our willful adventurer a meaningful glance, he faced forward, gripped the handlebars, and set them into motion.
* * *
Draco had no idea that a grounded, moving Harley could feel so good. Sheer momentum had pushed him even closer to the punk, "Wolfe" his mind supplied, and Draco found his fingers locked at the other youth's waist, with both his thumbs tucked under the skull belt-buckle. Draco didn't know if this was appropriate motorcycle behaviour but Wolfe didn't seem to be complaining at all, and Draco was too comfortable to care. He could distinguish the heady smells of leather and whiskey and something he couldn't place but that we know as nicotine.
Resting his chin on Wolfe's shoulder he watched as they exited the tunnels via a service vehicles' entrance and finally came up under the London sky. Or should he say "skyline?" For he was surrounded by imposing buildings. Neon signs lit up the night and the roads were streaming with every motor vehicle imaginable.
As abruptly as his adventure had begun, his leather-clad counterpart reigned the Harley in like the true beast it was and pulled over to the sidewalk. It was then that Draco noticed that Wolfe was eyeing something awfully keenly. He followed the direction of his gaze but beheld nothing of particular interest. But Wolfe seemed to have his education at heart and he leaned back and whispered to him in a low, conspiring tone.
"See them flashin' lights over there?" he nodded his blue head ahead of them. Draco nodded his assent. "Those are tourists. Money-markets." Said the purple-lipped wonder, "an' we need some dosh if we're gonna buy ya decent threads. C'mon." And he leapt off the bike and led the way down the street.
Draco followed, half curious and half apprehensive. Up front, Wolfe had reached the group of tourists and had partially disappeared in a ten-strong throng of flashing camera's and halting english. After Wolfe had greeted the tourists in cockney accented Japanese he began to pose with them for pictures against the all-night tourist shop window. The tourists were very excited to meet this authentic Londoner and were snapping merrily away. Soon they spotted Draco and the fair-haired teenager was roped into posing with Wolfe while the Japanese re-arranged them to their liking. Just when Draco was growing fond of the group and their devoted attention to him, Wolfe called their meeting to an end.
Draco pouted, but went along without further protest. "What was that about?" asked Draco. "We never made any money." Wolfe made a scornful noise and muttered something about having a lot to learn before turning to face Draco with his explanation.
"They 'ave summing called PICK-POCKETING back in whatsit, rural England?"
Draco nodded with a dawning comprehension.
"Well…" began Wolfe, before opting for visual aid and pulling Draco into a nearby alley, scrounging in his pockets and waving stacks of Pound notes in the wizard's face. "Now," said Wolfe triumphantly, "we've got enough dosh fer ya clothes!" He was quite adorably proud of himself and flashed a winning smile at Draco, obviously awaiting some sort of approval. And Draco did most definitely approve.
"That was smooth, I didn't even *see* you. Impressive." He concluded, before tacking on an appropriate, "I'm very grateful, of course."
"Yeah?" grinned Wolfe boyishly, and then the boyish grin abruptly turned into a smirk, "Ya can show me *how* grateful later…" And he looked steadily at Draco before licking his lips and swaggering out the alley.
* * *
Harry felt a bit cheated. He and Sirius had rushed back home to frantically pack and address hasty letters to Ron, Hermione and Dumbledore to let them know what was up. Then they'd pulled out a map, enchanted it, and began to chart Lucius' movement.
The little, green Lucuis - dot moved to Malfoy Manor. And stayed there for what seemed like a long time. Sirius began to pace and it made Harry even more antsy. Then the dot moved West to an outbuilding still within the confines of the Malfoy estate. Finally, finally, Lucius began to move with a speed that betrayed air travel. He was going, leaving his estate, and heading in the direction of London.
Sirius swung his backpack over his shoulder as Harry did the same. They marched with purpose out the front door and mounted their brooms.
"Will we have to stop often to check his direction on the map?" asked Harry, concerned about being slowed down.
Sirius shook his head in the negative, "No, I cast the spell, I can feel him moving. You'll just have to follow me." Sirius winked. "Let's see how Gryffindor's star seeker keeps up with this old man." he teased, and took off at a tremendous speed. Harry took a moment to recover from his surprise before taking off and rising to the bait. After all, what Gryffindor could resist a challenge?
* * *
Draco squinted through the dark, tinted windows in a vain effort to see into the shop. The malfunctioning, red neon sign flickered in the smoggy London night.
"Leather and Fetish Wear" it proudly announced. Draco felt apprehensive.
"C'mon." said Wolfe, leading the way through the metal door and into the murky confines of the shop. Draco entered to see Wolfe slap hands with another young man who appeared to be a living lightening conductor. In that he was pierced, a lot, everywhere Draco could see and probably a few places he couldn't. Not that he wouldn't mind seeing, he was a very striking guy, though he paled in comparison to Wolfe.
Wolfe grinned, leaned in and whispered something into his ear, pointed at Draco and began counting things off on his fingers. The shop owner (or worker - it was never really determined) nodded eagerly, eyeing Draco in a way that our hero didn't think was driven solely by a desire to determine his clothing size. Draco nodded at him in greeting, sauntered over to the front counter and introduced him self shortly.
"Draco?" asked the leather-seller, "Well, at least ya already got an alright name. Cor, once I met this Hell's Angel called Bartholomew. Now *that* was a bloody mindfuck!" Draco laughed with him and Wolfe, though he had no idea what was so funny.
"This is Blaine." Wolfe introduced, once he'd recovered from his laughter. "He's gonna help ya get yer leather."
"Leather?!" asked Draco, looking at Wolfe's tight pants with fear. "Isn't there anything, uh, less restrictive?"
Blaine and Wolfe shared an amused glance before turning back to Draco and grinning, shaking their heads in an emphatic "no"
"It's leather or nothin'" said Wolfe smugly, "An' I was thinking we'd save the nothin' bit fer later…"
And so Draco was steered to a section torwards the front of shop. Draco cast a curious look towards the back of the store. "What's over there?" he asked, changing direction and stalking over to the back like the demanding, imperious Malfoy that he was.
Wolfe chuckled. "I don' think ya ready fer that, but 'ave a look anyways." After Draco had discovered, recovered from the shock of, and then marveled at the fetish wear, he reluctantly parted with a pair of handcuffs and was led away to be outfitted.
His waist and his hips were speculated over, as was his height and the distance between his shoulders. Clothes were pulled out and presented for Wolfe's (not Draco's) approval. Wolfe agreed and disagreed and finally a pile of clothes were set aside for Draco to try on. First things first, Wolfe held up a pair of black leather pants, complete with a large silver zip that caught the scant light and flashed wickedly at him.
Draco gulped.
"Ya can change in 'ere" said Blaine, at the entrance of a cramped stall with a sad black curtain dangling morosely in place of the door.
Draco snatched the pants from Wolfe's hand and strode bravely into the "change - room" if one were being so ambitious as to call it that. He pulled the curtain firmly across and hoped the two outside got the "no peeping permitted" message.
Probably not, knowing them.
Off came his robe, and he was left in his very nice silk boxers, green of course. And a Slytherin green, not a Boy-who-lived-eyes' green. Draco began to pull on the pants. When he got them sufficiently high up his thighs, he realized something awful. There was no way his boxers would fit in these pants.
**Oh boy, that means Wolfe's not wearing anything either…**
Draco halted the thought before he got too excited in too compromising a situation. He groaned in frustration.
"Wassa matter?" came Wolfe's voice, sounding mildly concerned.
"Ya didn't get anything important caught in that there zipper, did ya?" asked Blaine, "Cos one time this death 'ead came in an' he - "
"No!" Draco cut in, "It's not that."
"Then wha?"
"It's just that, well, there doesn't seem to be enough room in these pants for my boxers."
This comment provoked uproarious laughter during which Draco stood fuming with his pants half up. Finally, once the mirth had past, Wolfe said "A'course there isn't, it's s'posed ta be like tha'!"
Draco sighed the sigh of the long-suffering, pulled off the clinging pants and his boxers and pulled on the pants again. Or tried to.
After much ingenious manuvering on Draco's part, he got the pants all the way up. They didn't seem to be chafing. Draco smiled, maybe this was his sort of thing after all. However, he soon had doubts.
He just managed to get the zip up but he couldn't, for the life of him, do the single shiny button above it. Draco scowled and tried again, to no avail.
"I can't wear this," he called out, "it's too small."
"It's perfect fer ya," insisted Blaine, "I'd know, I've been doin' this ferever."
Wolfe clicked his tongue. "Ya know wha' the problem 'ere is, mate. It's the blighter's firs time in leather. They always think it's too tight fer 'em."
Blaine made a small agreeing noise.
"I'm comin' in ta help" announced Wolfe, and he pushed his way past the curtain into the tiny little stall.
It wasn't a moment Draco would ever forget. Him standing in a dim stall, naked as the he was born except for skin - tight black leather pants so binding that even the muscles of his thighs were outlined through the thin layer. And standing before him, drinking in the sight, was the sexiest punk in the greater London area. Wolfe was so close that half a step more and he'd be up against Draco, all his leather and metal cold against the wizard's waiting skin. Draco locked his grey eyes with blue ones. Wolfe smiled crookedly and took that half a step.
And he was pressed up against our rather breathless hero. Wolfe's blue - tipped fingers came between their waists and latched on to the front of Draco's pants, his knuckles grazing against the bare skin of Draco's midriff. He *was* supposed to be helping with that defiant button after all. Purple lips smiled an inch before Draco's mouth.
"Jus' suck it in baby, and I'll do the rest."
For a split second Draco wondered what Wolfe was on about, then he got it and breathed in deep. Deft fingers at his waist fastened the obstinate button.
"It's still too tight." Draco whispered, not sure why he was whispering.
"Nah," said Wolfe, equally quietly, "the leather'll stretch ta fit yer body. Give it time an' don' think 'bout it."
"It's feels like it's cutting off circulation, how am I not supposed to think about it?
"I can think of a few distractions."
"Oh really?" challenged Draco, "Well they'd better be good."
"Nah," said Wolfe again, "they're mostly bad but I think ya'll like 'em."
And he leaned tantalizingly forward.
_____________________________
A/N: More fun in chapter 4 over Big Ben! r/r
