Title: Sex On The Beach

Rating: R

Beta: simeysgirl

A/N: Uber silly fic verging on crack-ish, written after a flippant comment by simeysgirl of "Draco in a mankini, anyone?" made me remember the night i took a certain photo that i can not link to here. Despite the title there is actually no sex in the fic, and there will be no sequel, so please don't ask for one.

"Fuck," Harry muttered as he stormed out into the street and slammed the door behind him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He took a deep breath. "Fuckfuckfuck."

Harry had had a bad day.

Not paying much attention to where he was going, Harry stomped off down the road. He simply needed to walk, to move, to do so his anger and frustration wasn't simmering within him.

All Harry had done was disagree with the Head Auror, surely he was allowed to do that? Every Auror, no matter how new or how junior, was encouraged to give their opinions and suggestions at any point and about anything. Be it as small as complaining about the cheap Transfigured-from-toilet-roll-tubes coffee cups, or as large as proposing karaoke as new interrogation tactic (Auror Webb had not been met with much support for that particular idea). Considering Harry was four years out of training and one year off a promotion to Senior Auror, it would have been safe to assume he had the right to point out something he saw a problem with.

Apparently not.

Of course, Head Auror Harris' choice of shirt and tie combination for a dinner date with his wife was not something that would affect the day-to-day work of the Auror division. Nor would his annoying habit of chewing the end of his quill, now Harry considered it. And if Harry actually thought about it (though he tried not to), the fact that Head Auror Harris had gained a notable bald patch on the back of his head had not had any impact on his ability to do his job. Harry just felt the need to point these things—and more—out to him. Repeatedly.

If Harry were honest with himself, which he rarely was, he could admit that he simply didn't like the man. He was old, he smelt bad, and he often got people's names wrong; insisting on calling Harry 'Harold' more often than not. Then there was the incident a few years ago involving a self-refilling water gun and insulting post-it notes that Harry had never truly forgiven the man for.

The final straw for the Head Auror had come earlier that afternoon when Harry had walked—charged—into his office demanding to know why he continued to assault the other Aurors' eyes by wearing Auror robes two sizes to small for his ever-expanding waist. Clearly the man's weight was a sore topic for him, as two hours later Harry now found himself out in the street and out of a job.

"Fuck!" Harry yelled to the empty street.

After wandering aimlessly for more the 20 minutes Harry found himself in the vicinity of a new and interesting-sounding pub he had heard a lot about, but had yet to visit. Knowing he had nothing else to do this now-wide-open afternoon, he decided getting pissed was a grand idea.

He had heard about this pub from Hermione, of all people. She had told him in hushed whispers, and in between more than a few giggles, about how each week the pub had a different theme. Apparently not only were there decorations and new and appropriately named cocktails, but all the staff would dress up. The pub's patrons were encouraged to dress up as well, though of course it was not mandatory.

Hermione had gone on to reveal that the day she visited the theme of the week had been pirates. This had included sword and treasure props around the pub, cocktails such as 'Shiver Me Timbers' and 'Yo Ho Ho' as well as barmen dressed in little more than an eye patch, tricorne and Jolly Roger-covered boxer shorts.

At the time Harry had simply pulled a face at his friend and said the place sounded tacky, but now, after the day he had had, Harry found the idea of slowly getting drunk surrounded by scantily clad young men less tacky and more absolutely fucking brilliant.

Walking hurriedly for another five minutes, Harry soon found himself standing outside of The Serpent & Guest and wondering what this week's theme was. Or what he hoped it was. Harry pictured revealing Quidditch gear, or perhaps nothing but boxer shorts the colour of Healer's robes and a stethoscope. And then there was the perfectly reasonable lingerie model theme that kept jumping to mind. He hoped like fuck it wasn't Aurors, because wouldn't that just make his day more perfect?

Deciding to curtail that line of thought before it could depress him further, Harry pushed open the door and entered the pub.

What Harry saw when he got inside was better than anything he had imagined outside. There was sand beneath his feet, towels and flip flops strewn about on tables and under chairs, as well as a beach ball being tossed back and forth amongst a small group in one corner. Spotting the backboard above the bar, Harry discovered that the cocktails of the week were 'Sex On The Beach' and 'Bucket And Spade'.

Now desperate for a drink, as well as to see what beachwear the barmen would be in, Harry settled himself on a bar stool and looked around the pub. Having left (been thrown out of, whatever) the Ministry at 2:00 pm and finding himself in a bar not half an hour later, Harry wasn't surprised the place was rather quiet. A glance up and down the bar showed no bartender in sight.

Across from his seat at the bar Harry could see a staircase, presumably leading up to the second floor of the pub. As he started fiddling with the beer mat in front of him, Harry heard mumbled ranting from the direction of the stairs.

"—why the fuck I even bother—not what I bloody well planned—don't give a shit—stupid bloody—"

"Hello?" called Harry, hoping to get the attention of someone who could serve him some booze.

The angry muttering stopped immediately, and after a beat the sound of shuffling footsteps could be heard. When the owner of the mystery voice began his descent of the stairs, he started apologising before he was even in view.

"I'm terribly sorry, I'm a little short staffed today, and I'm running around trying to do several things at once..."

Harry wasn't even listening. He was transfixed on the slender, naked, legs that had appeared on the stairs. They were long and gorgeously pale with fine hairs so light in colour they could barely be seen. As the legs continued to move forward they gave way to a sight that made Harry's throat dry and his mouth water. He swallowed, but could not take his eyes off of the scantily covered bulge as it gently bounced on each step downward. The lurid lime-green colour of the material covering that bulge hardly registered in Harry's mind. And then Harry was presented with an expanse of flat, pale skin across a stomach, quickly followed by a chest with two teasingly-covered nipples. Which was when Harry frowned, noticing the cloth at the crotch had actually continued in two thin strips up this man's body and over his shoulders.

Still frowning, Harry's eyes finally won the battle against his libido and he lifted his head to look at the face of the man, who was still talking.

"...don't know what I'll do come five o'clock. So, what can I—"

"Malfoy!" Harry interrupted loudly.

"Potter!" Malfoy cried right back at him. "As if my day couldn't get any worse," he said more quietly.

"What are you—" Harry wanted to say 'wearing', but thought better of it at the last minute. "—doing here?"

Malfoy closed his eyes and sighed before answering. "I own this pub, Potter. What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for the alcohol. Talking of which..."

"What do you want?" Malfoy asked flatly.

Trying to keep his eyes on Malfoy's face—and failing—Harry answered, "Pint of Ruddles, please."

A light blush appeared on Malfoy's cheeks as he nodded and began pulling Harry's requested drink.

Almost immediately Harry regretted not ordering a spirit or cocktail. Anything that would necessitate Malfoy turning around; Harry was mighty curious what Malfoy's arse—no. Harry shook his head slightly. He was curious about what the back of the lime-green garb looked like.

Malfoy sat the pint of beer down on Harry's beer mat and took Harry's money. There was a moment's silence before Malfoy spoke.

"Okay, well, if you want another drink I'll be about."

With that Malfoy turned to walk away, and Harry's mouth opened and words came out before he'd even considered what he wanted to say.

"Wait, Malfoy—"

Malfoy stopped, but didn't turn around. Harry silently cursed himself for calling out so soon; he still couldn't see Malfoy's arse—outfit.

"What..." Harry really couldn't think of anything else to say. "What are you wearing?"

Harry clearly saw Malfoy's head drop, and even thought he saw it shake slightly from side to side. Afraid to say anything else, Harry waited.

Eventually Malfoy turned back to face Harry and looked him in the eye.

"It's a mankini," he said proudly. "And I looking fucking fabulous in it."

"I didn't—" Harry began, but Malfoy continued over him.

"I like my staff—when they bloody show up—to speak up and make suggestions when it comes to our weekly themes and what they'll all have to wear.

"When I announced Beach Week, the female bartenders practically cackled with glee. They explained they would happily wear bikinis all week... so long as the men wore these." He gestured to himself and Harry couldn't stop his eyes taking another roam across Malfoy's body.

"Of course I agreed," Malfoy continued, seemingly oblivious to Harry's ogling. "Can't go making the staff unhappy. And if it meant seeing Simon in a glorified bit of string, well..."

Harry had stopped listening again. Malfoy seemed content to reel off his story, and Harry was more than content to nod and and make appropriate sounds while quietly undressing what little Malfoy wore with his mind. Only when his beer was empty and his cock was rock hard did Harry bring himself back to reality.

"—and I didn't think I'd end up wearing the sodding thing!"

"Can I have Sex On The Beach?" Harry blurted suddenly.

Malfoy blinked. "Excuse me?"

Realising how that had sounded, Harry pointed to the cocktail board. "The drink. 'Sex On The Beach'. Can I have one?"

"Oh," Malfoy said. "Yes." He quickly turned and busied himself making Harry's cocktail.

The smile that spread across Harry's face was so large it hurt his cheeks, but it wasn't his cheeks he was interested in. Malfoy's arse—yes, when presented with the thing Harry could finally admit to himself that that was what he wanted to look at—was just as flawless as the rest of him. Pert and pale, Harry couldn't help but think how perfectly it would fit in his hands.

All too soon Malfoy was turning around—before Harry had truly looked his fill or had a chance to tear his eyes away.

"Were you looking at my arse?" Malfoy asked.

"No!" Harry cried as he whipped his head up to look at Malfoy's face. The git was smirking.

"Yes, you were."

"Well," Harry began, not really sure where he was going with it, "you're the one showing it off!" he finished triumphantly.

"Yes, I am," Malfoy said with a small shrug as he continued to smirk.

With his mouth clamped shut so as not to say anything else stupid, Harry gestured to the cocktail still clutched in Malfoy's hand. Malfoy handed it over and Harry gulped it down.

The drink was gone in a matter of seconds, and Harry looked up to see Malfoy staring at him curiously.

"What?" Harry asked defensively.

"It's almost three o'clock in the afternoon on a Thursday," Malfoy replied.

"And?"

"And you've already finished your second drink, Potter. Are you trying to get pissed?"

"Yes." Harry didn't see any reason to lie. "That's what most people go to bars for. Can I have more Sex On The Beach?"

With another shrug Malfoy simply turned away and began making Harry another cocktail. Harry began another staring match with Malfoy's arse.

"I'm afraid bright green isn't the best colour for my arse's complexion," Malfoy said from over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, what?" Harry was drawn out of his bottom-gazing by the sound of the word 'arse'.

"My arse," Malfoy repeated. "Green isn't its most flattering colour."

"Looks fine from here," Harry whispered, but the smile on Malfoy's face when he turned around told Harry that he'd heard anyway.

Throwing back his third drink, Harry tried to look anywhere but at Malfoy's practically-naked body. Or his face. In fact his face might have been worse, with its knowing eyes and smug grin.

After several minutes of adamantly admiring the sconce on the wall to the right of the bar, Harry heard Malfoy give a little chuckle. Harry ignored it and looked down at his feet as they made patterns in the sand. He was just contemplating taking his shoes and socks off to feel the sand between his toes when a fourth drink was placed in front of him.

Harry raised a questioning eyebrow at Malfoy, who simply shrugged.

"When you're not looking at my arse you're looking pretty fed up." He nodded to the drink. "This one's on me."

Shocked, Harry looked down at the drink and then back up at Malfoy.

"You're giving me free Sex On The Beach?"

"Yes," Malfoy replied with a wry smile. "And if you play your cards right, a lesson in puns. Yours are bloody awful."

Taking a sip of his drink, Harry just grinned.

"Okay then, Potter, the barman has bought you a drink. It is now obligatory that you open up to him a little."

Harry put his glass down immediately and looked warily up at Malfoy.

"What?" he asked. Malfoy would not get him toadmit just how delicious he thought Malfoy's arse looked, no matter how much booze... well, okay, maybe after a few more drinks.

"Why are you here getting drunk in the mid-afternoon? What happened? You're an Auror, right? Why aren't you off chasing bad guys and whatnot?"

Harry had almost forgotten. Malfoy's arse did more than look good, it was a mighty fine distraction too.

Still seeing no reason to lie, Harry answered honestly. "I got sacked. I had a tendency to run my mouth off at the Head Auror and he didn't like it."

"They can't sack you for talking a lot, that's bollocks."

"They can when I wouldn't shut up about how much his ears stick out. Or suggest he takes early retirement because he's as miserable as an old age pensioner, anyway. And I know for a fact he didn't like it when, after meeting his wife for the first time, the first thing I did was ask him if he has to shag her from behind." At the wide-eyed look on Malfoy's face, Harry attempted to justify himself. "Seriously, she looks like a house-elf with make-up on!"

There was silence for a few seconds and then Harry noticed Malfoy's lips tremble. Before he knew what was happening, Malfoy was laughing.

"It's not funny!" Harry chastised. "I have no job. I am unemployed. I'm a bum! A vagabond! Destitute and destined to suffer, starve and die..."

Still chuckling, Malfoy said, "I'm sure it's not that bad, Potter."

"Well, no, it really isn't," Harry admitted. "But I'm going to be so bored."

"You are kidding me, right?"

"What?"

"You're sitting here drowning your sorrows, not because you've lost a job you love, but because now that you've lost your job you're going to be bored?"

Harry bit his bottom lip guiltily. "Yes?"

"So what you want is something to do?"

"I... guess."

"Something fun, that'll keep your interest?"

Perking up a little, wondering what Malfoy might suggest, Harry nodded his head.

"Something where you'd be allowed—perhaps even encouraged—to say whatever you felt like?"

Harry smiled. "Yes! All of that! Do you know of something?"

"Potter, while you've been staring at my—undeniably beautiful—buttocks, did you actually listen to a word I said?"

"You were talking?"

Malfoy sighed.

"Most of my staff are on holiday or off with some sickness bug. I am here, on my own, tending the bar when I should be doing the accounts, not by choice, but by necessity. I will be here on my own all evening, when there should be at least two members of staff behind this bar at all times.

"We change things around here every week; keep things fun and entertaining for customers and staff alike. And most importantly, I promote honesty and discourse between my staff; if you have a problem with someone, talk to them about it."

Harry could only stare at Malfoy. Was the gorgeous man in the silly green string really offering him a job?

"Are you—?"

"Yes," Malfoy answered before Harry had really asked. "Two conditions. One, you have to start right now."

"That's not a problem, but I have had a few drinks."

"Doesn't matter; not many people can do this job sober."

"Okay. What's the second condition?"

Instead of answering, Malfoy smiled and disappeared around the back of the bar. Harry didn't really think about where he might have gone, he was too busy admiring that arse. It looked even better when Malfoy walked; tensing and relaxing, wiggling the tiniest bit.

It was when Malfoy returned a few minutes later, condition number two hanging from his fingers, that all thoughts, including those of Malfoy's arse, fled from Harry's brain. But he couldn't really say no.

Many many hours later, when the last of the stragglers had been thrown out and the front doors were locked, Harry and Malfoy collapsed on a sofa across from the bar. It was the first time either of them had been off their feet all night.

"I don't know how you could've coped doing that on your own," Harry said.

"Me either," Malfoy replied. "Thanks, Potter. You pour an alright pint."

Harry shot Malfoy a pleased smile before leaning away and over the arm rest to grab his glass of water. He felt the pull between his bum cheeks and winced a little. When he turned back it was to see Malfoy eyes downcast and filled with desire.

"Were you looking at my arse?" Harry asked.

Malfoy raised his head and looked Harry directly in the eye before confidently replying. "Yes."

"Wow." Harry was taken aback. "You really do go for this open and honest thing, don't you?"

"Yes," Malfoy said again, smiling. "And in the interest of honesty, I have to tell you that green definitely is your colour."

Harry was pretty sure he blushed all over. And given his (lack of) clothing, he was also pretty sure that Malfoy noticed.

"Well," Harry began, "while we're being honest, I want to tell you what I've been thinking about all night."

"Yes?" Malfoy encouraged.

Before answering, Harry slipped off of the sofa and onto his knees on the grain-covered floor. He lent forward into Malfoy's personal space, cupped the back of Malfoy's neck and gently pulled him down onto the sand. When they were lying down, their bare chests almost close enough to touch, Harry moved his head next to Malfoy's and whispered in his ear.

"Sex on the beach."

- End -