Merlin, Draco hated going into Muggle London. What on earth at possessed him to do such a thing? And on a Thursday?

Oh, that's right, Blaise Zabini. The stupid prat wanted to go to a Muggle club and dragged Draco along, just to leave him at the bar while he went off with some slag in too much lipstick and not enough dress. Circe, Draco needed to just come out and be done with it. It was embarrassing to be dateless at seventeen, even if he wasn't a virgin.

So Blaise was off getting his rocks off as part of a last summer blow out before their NEWT year, and Draco was left fending off handsy sluts and trying to find the Apparation point in the dark. He turned another corner, each leading onto a street darker than the last, sure he had made a wrong turn somewhere.

This street wasn't empty, unlike the last ones. Towards the end of the block, there was a single street light, weak and shaky. A man stood beneath it, smoking and slouching against it. As Draco drew nearer, he heard the man laugh and say something, and realised there were actually two men. The other was partially hidden in shadow, leaning against the wall provocatively.

Male prostitutes. Draco's mouth went dry.

"Hey, Blondie." The smoker noticed him first, beckoning him closer with a come-hither expression. He had sandy blond hair and dull blue eyes, and wore dark jeans and a white shirt, both a little too tight. "Looking for something?"

"Ah, no, n-not really," Draco stuttered, reluctantly coming closer.

Smoker sauntered over to him, hips sway. "Well lucky you, you found it anyway," he croon, running his fingertips across Draco's chest. "You're a handsome thing."

"T-thank you?" Draco tried not to choke on Smoker's foul breath.

The one in the shadow noticed anyway, going by his faint chuckle. "Quit breathing in his face, Evan, you smell like a tar pit."

Evan pouted. "Fuck off, Ink! This is exactly how you take all my buyers," he shot back before turning to Draco again. "How 'bout it, Blondie? You seem tense. I can help you there. I'm the best piece of arse you'll ever find," he promised. Draco was now wide-eyed, trying to find a way out.

Ink chuckled again, sliding smoothly out of the shadow. In the weak light, Draco could see he wore only black leather trousers tucked into worn motorcycle boots. He wore a series of rings in each ear, and even had two studs going through his left eyebrow. His clothes and hair were as dark as ink, which could have been where he got his name, except that it clearly came from his tattoos, all in black and grey. An enormous black snake coiled over the entire length of his right arm, over top of a motif of lilies. Chains and barbed wire over grey flames covered his left, and a flock of silhouetted ravens took flight up the column of his neck.

"Not comfortable with that?" He stepped forward and Evan immediately backed off, pouting again. "Maybe you just need a hand for a bit? Or a mouth?" he breathed into Draco's ear. He leaned back and ran his tongue slowly across his bottom lip, drawing Draco's attention to his perfect pink mouth. His fingers ghosted across Draco's chest, never touching him but still leaving trails of gooseflesh in their wake. "How about it, Gorgeous? It won't take long. I promise."

Draco groaned, his knees wobbling at Ink's sultry tone. Triumph flashed in Ink's eyes as he crooked a finger, leading Draco into a nearby alley, nearly pitch black. When he turned, Draco could see the massive tattoo on his back, a raven and a panther chasing each other in an endless circle.

Fuck, but he was hot. Draco had never been so hard in his life as he was at the idea of this dangerous creature on his knees, sucking him off.

"I-" Draco tried to say something, but Ink shushed him.

"Hush now, Gorgeous, leave it to me. You just stay right here and try not to fall over." He winked, pressing Draco against the wall before dropping smoothly to his knees. Draco was panting already and he hadn't even gotten his pants off.

Ink looked up at him with bright green eyes that sparked some recognition in Draco, but all thought was lost when the man pulled out his cock and swallowed it down in a single move. His head fell back and he buried his hands in wild black hair, losing himself to this young man's talented mouth. He couldn't stop the noises coming from his throat as Ink bobbed his head and hummed around Draco's cock. He had no idea how much time passed, but he knew it wasn't nearly enough before he was coming with a hoarse shout, Ink swallowing his release easily.

He slid off and tuck Draco away again, letting Draco catch his breath. Draco looked down at him, vision still hazy, when he noticed something on Ink's forehead, something exposed by Draco's wrenching hands in his hair.

"Fucking hell," he whispered. "Potter?"

Ink's - Potter's – eyes went wide, then he was up, slamming Draco against the wall by his throat and taking his wand. "Who are you?" he growled. The seduction was gone now, replaced by pure deadly danger. "How do you know?"

"Honestly, Potter," Draco said with a bit of difficulty. "Our classmates haven't stopped talking about your disappearance yet." He rolled his eyes.

"Malfoy," Potter breathed, eyes narrowing. "I hope no one's waiting on you right now."

"No, wh-"

He was cut off by the sudden crushing feeling of Apparation.

-0-

Fuck fuck fuck! Why did it have to be Draco Malfoy, of all people, who found him without his glamour charms on? He didn't dare use them in Muggle London, too many chances the Ministry would try to catch him for using magic around Muggles.

Fucking Draco Malfoy!

He yanked open the door to his dingy flat and tossed the still-shocked blond inside, shutting the door behind them. He threw Malfoy down on the sofa.

"This had better be a damn accident," he growled, enjoying a bit the way he could see the white all the way around Malfoy's eyes. Gorgeous grey eyes, he wasn't wrong to give the teen that name.

Nice cock too.

"Of course it was an accident!" Malfoy hissed indignantly. "Do you honestly think I would bother looking for you? On a street corner in Muggle London?!"

He scrubbed a hand down his face and collapsed into a threadbare armchair. "No, I suppose not. Fuck!"

"Potter?" Malfoy asked hesitantly. Harry peered at him over his hand. "Why…why did you go?"

Harry sighed. "I hated it."

"Hated what?"

"Being Harry Potter." He waved Malfoy's wand and summoned his Wizard Cigarrettes (all the nicotine, none of the lung damage), lighting one and taking a long drag before he continued. "The summer before second year, I was staying with the Weasleys and we Flooed to Diagon." He laughed a bit. "Apparently, I'm shit at the Floo, since I came out in Knockturn. Ended up in Borgin and Burke's, just as you and your father came in."

"What?!" Malfoy gaped. "You were there?"

Harry smirked. "Yep. I hid in the Vanishing cabinet and tried to run when you left. Ended up getting hopelessly lost and came across a blind beggar in an alley who took me under his wing. Johnson was only eighteen then. I told him my name was Harry Black."

Malfoy looked so confused, like he couldn't ever understand giving up a life of unwanted fame without privacy for scrounging on the streets. "But…why?"

"Why would I give up having to go back to my relatives who put bars on my window and put my food through a cat flap in the door, if they bothered to feed me at all? Why would I take a chance to not be stared at everyone moment of my life? Yeah, I wonder," he said sarcastically. He took another drag and blew a long stream of smoke toward the ceiling, catching Malfoy's eye as he stared.

"Well, I always knew you'd end up with the wrong sort," Malfoy scoffed, trying to regain the upper hand. Poor boy didn't understand that he'd never had it, not since he turned the corner onto Harry's street.

"Yes, the wrong sort that just sucked you off," he grinned. "If you hadn't spotted my scar, you would have paid for it too. What does that say about you?"

Malfoy growled but let it go. "Why not just go into Gringotts? You've got money. Surely you aren't that stupid."

"Can't." Harry flicked his cigarette. "I'm not stupid. I can't go into Gringotts without being immediately found out." He rose, holding the handle of Malfoy's wand out to him. "Get going, Malfoy. Tell anyone where I am or what I'm doing, and I will hunt you down, slaughter you, and disappear again."

Malfoy hesitated at the door. "Potter…if I wanted to find you again, just me, you know…where would I look?"

Harry looked him over carefully. Malfoy flushed, clearly trying not to stare too openly. He sighed. "I'm only in Muggle London on Thursdays. Look on the corner of Toxic and Serpent, a block off Knockturn Alley."

"Alright," he nodded and turned away.

"And Malfoy," the blond turned back, "I don't fuck." He slammed the door shut.

He fell back into his chair, raking his fingers through his hair and lighting up another cigarette.

Fucking hell.

-0-

"Oi! D'you get a girl after all?" Blaise called from the sofa as Draco opened the door. "Any good?"

"Very good," Draco said, flopping down on an ottoman. He left out the part where his 'girl' was actually a tattooed and pierced boy. A rent boy.

And Harry Potter on top of it all.

Fuck, he needed to come out. Maybe it was the alcohol/shock talking, but suddenly Draco thought it would be a grand idea to come out to Blaise right then.

"I, er," he tried to find the right words as Blaise stared at him curiously. "I got some excellent head. From a guy. I got blown by a guy."

"Really?" Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Is this…um, is this a new thing? Or, um…"

Draco coughed. "No, er, it's…I'm gay."

"Oh." Blaise rolled over and stared at the ceiling. "Ok then."

"You're…alright with this?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you're still my friend, right? Just…you know, into blokes."

Draco smiled. "Yeah. Thanks."

Blaise might have mumbled something in reply, but Draco passed out before he could understand it.

He slept until the early afternoon, head and limbs hanging off the ottoman awkwardly. He woke up suddenly when he rolled over and hit the floor. Merlin, his mouth tasted horrible! His head was pounding, and Blaise was banging around in the kitchen, singing loudly and off-key.

"Shut the fuck UP!" Draco called, curling up on the floor in a fetal position. Blaise laughed. "Damn it, do something helpful for once, I'm dying."

"Drama queen," Blaise called. "Take a potion and get in the shower. We're going out again."

Draco grimaced, swallowing a hangover potion. "Where?"

"Knockturn, there's a couple clubs we can hit."

Potter worked in Knockturn. The corner of Toxic and Serpent, he remembered. "Er, Blaise? You mind if I cut out on you early tonight? The…guy I met last night, he lives around there."

"How the fuck did you find another gay wizard in Muggle London?" Blaise asked, gaping at him.

Draco flushed. "I…got lucky," he said, remembering the smoker's attempts to pick him up. "So do you mind?"

Blaise grinned evilly. "Why don't you bring him along? I'd like to meet this guy with a magical mouth." Draco flushed again and coughed, recalling just how magical Potter's mouth was.

"I'll, uh, I'll ask."

The red light district, at the far edge of Knockturn, was dingy and smoky. Globes of light drifted through the air very occasionally, revealing both men and women leaning against walls provocatively. Draco picked his way through the streets, avoiding eye contact, until he reached the right corner, covered in shadow.

"Po- um, Ink?" he called, changing his words quickly. He figured Potter wouldn't like him ousting him to the entire population of Knockturn hookers and rent boys.

"Hello, Gorgeous," Potter purred, slinking toward him. He ran a hand down Draco's chest and hooked a finger under his waistband. "Thought I'd be seeing you soon. Same again?" He leaned in to whisper into Draco's ear. "No charge for you. I trust you to keep my secret."

"Oh! I- really?" Draco tried to be coherent, but frankly there just wasn't enough blood left in his brain for that.

"Oh yes," Potter crooned, already pulling him toward a dark alcove in the wall. "You seem like the kind of person to keep a secret, just because it makes you special."

"I, uh, I wanted to ask you something," Draco choked out.

Potter hummed, nose already pressed into the front of Draco's trousers. "Talk then. If you can," he winked.

"I told my friend I met a gu- oh!" he gasped as Potter swallowed him down. He clenched his hands in Potter's hair. "Met a guy, and he- oh, fuck!- wants to me y-you." Circe, this was difficult! "S-so- oh!- I said I'd ask- fucking hell, P-Ink!" he growled.

Potter pulled off with a pop to lap at his balls, drawing whimpers from Draco. "You have the most beautiful cock," he murmured, the vibrations of his voice doing terrible, glorious things to Draco. "I love it, it's so nice." He took Draco's cock back in his mouth and swallowed it all the way down again, pressing his nose into Draco's pubic bone and humming.

"Fuck!" Draco shouted, his hips jerking as his release tore through him. "Oh, fucking hell."

Potter rocked back on his heels and grinned, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "You had a question?"

"Shit, give me a minute," Draco panted, sliding down the wall as his legs gave out. "I told Blaise I'd ask if you wanted to come out with us. To the clubs."

Potter frowned. "Malfoy," he sighed, "don't."

"Don't what?" Merlin, why was it taking so long just to get his brain working again?

Potter cast a quick privacy ward. "Don't pity me. I chose to live this kind of life. I'm not going to suddenly become an upstanding member of society," he spat the words, "just because some rich pureblood thinks he can save Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Fell-From-Grace!"

"It isn't pity!" Draco shouted, forcing Potter to lean back. "I'm not- I don't- it isn't pity. It's…interest." Potter's brow furrowed. "Everyone I know, all my life, has wanted fame. They want that power. You don't. You just gave it all up, and now you're a rent boy, blowing strange men in alleys, and you're happy." He gestured wildly before stilling, his hands dropping lifelessly. "I just want to understand you. Harry."

Potter, Harry, buried his face in his hands. "Draco," he groaned. "You don't understand. There's a reason people like me stand on the street corners. We aren't welcome in the clubs."

Draco grinned. "If that's your only excuse, then I know you're coming. Trust me, the Malfoy name will get you anywhere."

"Get this straight, Draco Malfoy," he jabbed a finger into Draco's chest. "I am not a charity project. This…whatever it is. It can be me pretending to be your fucking boyfriend, I don't give shit, but it isn't a reform mission!"

"No, it isn't," Draco agreed. "It's just…" he trailed off, trying to understand what he needed to say. Did he dare ask? Ah, fuck it. "Can you come, just to get Blaise off my back? He's expecting me to bring a date."

Harry stared at him with narrowed eyes. He stood smoothly, offering a hand to haul Draco up. "Alright. Let's go on a date." Draco broke into a wide smile, and he even grinned a little. "Hold on, let me make sure no one will recognise me."

"Do you really need to do that?" Draco asked curiously.

Harry's mouth twisted ruefully. "You've experienced my services, Gorgeous. Think I might be just a bit popular around here?" Draco's mouth popped open and his blushed, but Harry just laughed.

Harry changed out his leather trousers for black denim, slung low around his hips with a studded belt, but left his boots. He conjured an emerald green button up, unbuttoned to his collar bones and with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a black silk waistcoat to go over it, unbuttoned. His scar was already glamoured, with an avoidance charm that directed people's eyes away from his forehead.

"Wow," Draco gasped. "You clean up nice."

Harry scowled at him. "I get more money when I don't have a shirt on. I'm not incapable of dressing myself," he snapped. Draco looked away, ashamed. "One more thing," Harry murmured, pressing his wand to the base of his throat. He murmured a spell, and colour began to bleed through in his tattoos. "The black and grey is…rather distinctive. That's why they call me Ink."

The snake on his right arm rippled and turned green and silver, while the lilies beneath it turned into roses. The flames on his left arm became vibrant orange and yellow, and the flock of ravens on his neck became ivy and tiny bunches of purple grapes.

"That's," Draco gaped, "yeah, that's different."

Harry grinned, his green eyes bright, and held a hand out to Draco. "Shall we?"

-0-

Apparently Draco's friend was straight, but cool with him being gay, since they met up at The Door, a club well-known for 'swinging both ways.' The bouncer glared at them, until Harry gave his best bedroom eyes. Then he couldn't open the velvet rope fast enough.

"Draco!" A darker-skinned teen sat at a table in the back, a black-haired girl next to him on the plush couch. Harry assumed this was Draco's friend.

"Blaise," Draco greeted, forcing his way through the crowds. Harry hooked his finger through Draco's belt loop, not wanting to be left behind.

He tried not to gape at the interior of the club. It was full of colourful flashing strobe lights and faint mist. Music pulsed, the base thudding in his chest, and the air smelled like alcohol, sweat and sex.

Circe, this was not his kind of place. What was he doing here? He was a fucking rent boy, he belonged in the dirty alleyways! Not here, with the velvet couches and posh people trying to attract each other.

No one tried to attract rent boys. They just paid them.

"Blaise, this is the guy I told you about," Draco said, drawing Harry's attention back to the little group at the table.

"Hadrian Black," Harry said, offering his hand. "Call me Harry."

"Blaise Zabini," the…Italian? boy offered with a smirk, taking his hand. "This is Pansy Parkinson," he added, gesturing to the girl by his side, who gave him a flirty look and bit her lip. Harry bit back a scoff. He sucked cock for a living; she would end up disappointed.

Pugface Parkinson, he recalled. He remembered her vaguely from his one year of school.

"So, Harry," she purred, leaning close to him, "how old are you? You can't have gone to Hogwarts. I'd remember that handsome face."

"Yes, out of all my tattoos and piercings, my face would be what you remember," Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm seventeen," he answered, fudging it a bit. He'd gotten rid of the Trace on his wand illegally years ago, so what did it matter if he said his birthday was in July or January. He celebrated it on New Year's Day now. "And no, I don't go to Hogwarts."

"Oh?" Pansy inched closer to him on the couch. "Do you go abroad?"

"I don't go to school. Period," he said flatly, sliding away to lean into Draco instead. "I need a drink. Want anything, Gorgeous?" he purred, loving the way the name made Draco flush. And it made Pansy glare.

"S-scotch, please," he stammered. "Here, let me pay!"

Harry cocked a hip and unleashed his bedroom eyes. "Draco, does it look like I need money?" Then he laughed and sauntered away as Draco gaped. Time to go turn on the bartender.

-0-

"What the- he's gonna get free drinks!" Pansy growled. "I can never get free drinks!"

"Pans, I'm pretty sure Harry could get a straight guy on his knees with those eyes," Blaise said, dazed. "Free drinks are not the most important thing." He shook his head slightly and turned to Draco. "How. The fuck. Did you pull him?"

"I'm sure I should feel insulted," Draco sniffed, "but I honestly have no idea."

"Pulled him? Pulled him!" Pansy screeched. "You mean he, the hottest thing I have ever seen, Mr Sex-On-Two-Legs, Mr Take-Me-I'll-Do-Anything-For-It, is gay!"

"Oh yeah," Draco said dreamily.

"And you!" she pointed accusingly. "You're gay too!"

"Yeah, apparently Harry's the one that made him decide to come out," Blaise said.

They all stopped talking to watch Harry slink back to the table, scotch in one hand and straight vodka in the other. He handed off the scotch and lit a cigarette, tilting his head back to blow the smoke back out. Draco ran his eyes down the long column of Harry's neck, covered over with grape vines. Blaise caught his eye and mimed wiping drool off his chin.

Harry asked about Hogwarts as the bartender kept bringing drinks, letting Blaise and Pansy chatter on about Quidditch and Slytherin. Draco realised he was keeping them from asking too many questions about him. He nodded and said all the right things, asking questions that got one of them to go off and not notice him.

"You would have been a perfect Slytherin," he murmured in Harry's ear, noticing again the row of piercings partially hidden under his hair. He nuzzled his nose against the cold metal, barely noticing his movements.

Harry grinned. "I would have been, if you had stayed out of my compartment on the train."

Draco pulled back and stared at him, shocked. Harry smirked and plucked his empty glass out of his hand. "C'mon, Gorgeous, I want to dance."

If Draco thought Harry was pure sex standing still, then, Merlin, what compared to him dancing? Gays and girls all over the club, even straight guys, were staring at them, open-mouthed. Harry tangled one hand in Draco's hair and bent his knees slightly to slide down his leg like a fucking stripper pole. He tucked his other fingers under Draco's belt to pull him closer, pressing their hips together.

Draco let out a moan and Harry chuckled darkly. "Mm, like that?" he said, voice deep.

"Oh fucking hell," Draco whispered. "Are you trying to make me come in the middle of the club?"

"It entertains me," Harry laughed. "But I suppose I could stop, if you want me to."

"It's that or I rip off our clothes and we have sex right here," Draco gasped as Harry gave another forceful grind of the hips.

Harry stepped back suddenly, eyes cold. "I told you, Malfoy. I don't fuck."

"No, right, you said," Draco tried to recover, but the alcohol he'd had was definitely messing with his brain. "Should we- do you want to go?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "Yeah, let's go." He took Draco's hand and let himself be led back to the table to make excuses and say farewells.

"Have fun!" Blaise called cheekily with a wink as they left. Outside, Harry wrapped an arm around his waist and Apparated them to his flat.

-0-

Harry sighed as Draco staggered through the landing in his flat. Circe, how much scotch did he drink? Harry had lost track of how many drinks he'd had, but that didn't matter. He'd made a deal with the bartender to give him water instead of vodka. He didn't drink anymore. He would be a year sober in August.

"Fuck, Draco," he grumbled, trying to keep the blond steady as they walked.

"Was it a good date?" Draco asked seriously. He looked up with wide, innocent eyes that were so at odds with the look on his face when Harry made him come in a dirty alley.

Damn it.

"It was a good date," he said softly. "No c'mon, you're sleeping on the couch tonight."

Draco tried to squirm away. "No, I'm fine! I'm fine, I can go home."

Harry sighed, tossing him down on the sofa. "No. You aren't. I'm not taking you anywhere, and if you try to go yourself, you'll Splinch yourself. Just," he raked a hand through his hair, "stay, alright? Sleep. Don't roll on your back. I'll see you in the morning."

Draco called out to him as he stepped away. "Can I have a goodnight kiss?"

"No." Harry slammed the door to his room shut and flopped down on the bed.

-0-

Draco sat up, licking at his teeth to try to get rid of the fuzzy feeling on them. He was in Harry's shabby flat, on the sofa. Apparently Harry had enough sense not to let him try to go home drunk.

"Coffee on the counter," Harry called. Draco spotted him leaning on the sill of the open kitchen window, smoking another of his red Wizard Cigarettes. His tattoos were back to their proper shape and colour, or lack thereof.

Draco grunted his thanks and hauled himself up to stumble over to the coffee. Harry had set out a hangover potion too, which Draco tossed back like a shot. He started to feel better instantly. He sipped at the coffee, watching Harry finish off his cigarette.

"Don't look for me for a while," he murmured.

"What? Why?" Draco asked, shocked. He thought they'd gotten along alright.

Harry gave him a piercing look. Not even the last remainders of deep sleep could dull those green eyes. "The Ministry's going to raid tonight. It happens every couple of months around here, but they're starting to get more common. Standard procedure for us is to stop working for a week afterward." He stubbed the cigarette butt out and vanished it with a lazy flick of his wand. "Aurors only manage to get the stupid ones anyway. Or the desperate ones, the ones who can't afford to stop working."

"What about you?" Draco asked, both worried and curious.

Harry smirked. "Oh, they've never caught me. You really think they would have let me come back? No, you'd have seen it all over the papers."

"Oh." Yeah, that was kind of obvious. "But what about money?"

His expression went cold again. Draco really needed to stop putting his foot in his mouth, but Potter had always been so good at turning him into a bumbling idiot. "I have enough money, thanks," he said flatly. "Done with your coffee? You better go."

It wasn't a very subtle hint, but it worked. Draco drained the rest of his coffee and pulled on his shoes. He looked back at the door, but Harry was leaning out the window again, not looking at him. Draco sighed and shut the door behind him before apparating away.

Hopefully Blaise would still be passed out, in no shape to ask questions.