Time for Some Fun

Harry was dragged into the club by an insistent Hermione, who was (as always) blathering on about "not taking enough time off from work" and "doing something fun for a change". He had intended on sneaking out as soon as he could lose her so he could go back to the office and continue working on his almost-big-break, but no, Hermione had foreseen his intentions and taken his wand. Damn stubborn Gryffindor.

"Harry, are you even listening to me?" Hermione shouted over the roar of the music. At least she had the sense to bring him to a male strip club—it was well known by this point in his life that Harry was extremely and irrevocably gay—rather than some normal club where random women would just love to paw over their Chosen One, despite his aforementioned tendencies. This way, he could at least ogle the men in the room without getting weird looks.

"No, Hermione, watching the strippers," he intoned with a sarcastic edge. In reality, he would rather be back at the Ministry, safe in his Auror office filing paperwork. Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered something about getting a drink, which was fine with him. He took a somewhat secluded seat with a good view of the stage. As long as he was here, he might as well enjoy himself.

Sighing, he ran his fingers through his perpetually messy hair and wished Hermione had picked a club with less people. A lot less people. Preferably no people, but she would have none of that. Ever since the defeat of Voldemort, he had tried to stay out of the limelight, which meant no parties or interviews or anything of the like. He was quite content to pursue his quest to become an Auror. He liked his job, loved it in fact. Everyone whispered behind his back that he was overworking himself, but that wasn't true. Oh, all right, he was losing a bit of sleep, and he certainly didn't have time for three meals a day, but who actually carried a routine like that, sans Hermione?

He resisted the temptation to cover his ears, closing his eyes against the harsh strobe light. He had forgotten how most clubs were much like a walking headache. The stripper on stage finished his pole dance and winked to the crowd, leaving the stage just as a lean, blonde, incredibly handsome man with an astonishing likeness to Draco Malfoy entered it.

Wait.

No, it couldn't be. He hadn't seen Malfoy in years, almost since the final battle. He hadn't bothered to keep up with the Daily Prophet, as most of it was utter rubbish, so he had heard nothing about his old school nemesis in recent times. But a male stripper? Harry had definitely anticipated an occupation with more class. Although, the man had always been infatuated with his own looks, so maybe it was plausible.

A loud roar from the crowd jarred Harry from his musings. Malfoy had begun to dance. And gods, the bloke could dance. He started the motion with a slow rocking of the hips, continuing to do so while simultaneously shedding his dark tank top. Not that the shirt had hidden much to begin with. He began to make his movements more erotic (how was that even possible?) while Harry stared at him, dumbfounded. He couldn't take his eyes off of the man. As much as he hated to admit it, Malfoy looked bloody gorgeous with his toned chest and his low-slung pants and his sensual expression… Harry wished he could look away, but his body screamed for more of the beautiful man on the stage. Coupled with the memories of their shared adversary in the past, the tension ran through Harry's body like a liquid flame, pooling in the lower half of his body and causing him to shift uncomfortably.

Malfoy tossed a cocky smirk to the crowd, rubbing his hands up and down his body. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his trousers (If I didn't know any better I could swear he was mocking me) and slowly, teasingly, pulled them down.

Harry's mouth was dry. He was rock-hard, thanks to the antics of his former enemy, and his self-ashamed feelings were swept into a corner of his brain with lust, along with any thoughts of leaving until Malfoy was finished (although a bit of his mind wondered where exactly Hermione had gone).

Clad only in tight black boxers, Malfoy began to wrap himself seductively around the pole in the center of the stage. Every movement and twist of his body only served to make Harry want even more. He was helpless to the blonde's torture, although it certainly wasn't the same schoolboy torture that had plagued Harry in the past.

And then it was over.

With a single snap of his hips, Malfoy turned around and looked at the crowd, breathing heavily with exertion. Applause was wild as he smirked sexily and strutted off the stage and into the dark area behind it—and a few seconds later, a pair of black boxers sailed out of the crowd and was snatched by some screaming fangirl.

That was the last straw for Harry. He stood up, and with reckless Gryffindor courage in hand, he weaved through the crowd toward the direction Draco had gone. His mind was past making excuses. Just the thought of Draco standing somewhere nearby, in the nude, had sent his brain tumbling. He dodged past a security guard who happened to be looking the other way (thank Merlin) and stumbled into a narrow passageway. Just when his brain began to catch up to his body and assert that he had absolutely no idea where he was going, a hand snagged around his waist and pulled him into a dark room.

"I thought you'd follow me, Potter," purred the erotic voice he had been dreaming about for the past twenty minutes. And then he couldn't think, because he was receiving the snog of his life and the want was searing into his soul and making the rest of his life meaningless. He barely noticed the hands fumbling with his trousers (why is he so bloody magnificent with his tongue) until that tongue was somewhere else.

He gasped in disbelief and wonder and pure bliss. There was no way in heaven or hell that Draco Malfoy was here, on his knees, sucking off someone he had always claimed to hate. Harry looked down, straight into those smoldering grey eyes, and came.

His body jerked and spasmed, and it was all he could do to remain standing, as that wicked tongue continued to tease and stroke.

And then it was over.

Malfoy stood up, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to Harry's flushed forehead, and strode out of the room, leaving the dark haired man gasping for breath with his pants around his ankles. He closed his eyes, not even trying to process what had just occurred.

Bloody hell.

A/N: This was a lot of firsts for me—first male/male, first m-rated, first Harry/Draco. I wasn't sure if I wanted it to go this far, but Draco insisted, haha. Tis unbeta'd, so I apologize for any mistakes. I'm considering a sequel. Maybe. Possibly. It's probably cliché and whatnot. Ah well, even if it was horrid, I did my best :D Leave a review if you'd like.

Also, I do not own these lovely and insanely attractive characters of JKR.

~alexa;xoxo