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TRADE

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Chapter V

Draco's life was all about priorities: his family, his business, his football team, his sex life -- not necessarily in that order though. The point being that Draco knew there was a time and place for everything, so he wasn't the sort of man to be easily distracted when talking with his Head of Security. However, even Draco couldn't argue Chelsea's place in the table properly when his phone was flashing incessantly on his desk, IM boxes were blinking all over his desktop, and thoughts of the blowjob Harry had given him the night before were continually bombarding his brain for attention.

Four weeks of dating and Draco's ability to multi-task was beginning to get compromised by inconvenient flashbacks of Harry's mouth on his dick. Running his fingers through the short blonde spikes of his hair, Draco grabbed hold and tugged sharply, trying to focus.

"Neville!" he shouted at the top of lungs, "What am I paying you for if you're not answering the sodding phone!"

"Neville's on break!" Angelina called up from reception at the same time that there was a thud against the wall that Blaise and Draco shared.

"You pay Neville to put up with you -- stop being a prima donna and answer your own phone," Blaise's voice demanded from next door.

"Piss. Off." Draco retorted loudly, refusing to apologise when Kingsley winced in the chair across from his desk. "I'm not talking to you until you explain to me why Roger Davies and Hannah Abbot were photographed snogging outside The Met!

"Because they have hormones, you useless berk!"

Draco picked up his stapler and flung it at the wall -- it thudded loudly before falling to the floor and bouncing twice. Clearly there was a reason -- apart from the dents in the wall -- that Neville had replaced his old stapler with a new one covered in rubber.

Sighing deeply, Draco loosened another button on his Paul Smith Oxford and rolled his chair back from his desk to open one of his drawers. Removing a large slab of Cadbury's Crisp Mint, he snapped it in half and tossed the other end toward Kingsley.

"Don’t let me murder anyone today," he said, pinching his nose and closing his eyes.

He was a Malfoy; he was all grace and deportment and breeding. He did entitlement in his sleep -- a little manual labour was not going to get the better of him.

Kingsley laughed. "I make sure of that everyday."

Draco's eyes opened. "Yes, well, today more so than yesterday."

Draco made a snorting noise at the grin Kingsley shot his way. "What your lot need is help on the defence," Kingsley began, shifting in the leather and chrome chair and ignoring Draco's scoffing noise.

Draco did his best to listen in, but his computer screen was driving him mad. There were five e-mails from Pansy in Draco's inbox, all from the last ten minutes, and all with little red exclamation points demanding to be read. Draco, however, was much more interested in football -- and in hearing from Harry.

Glancing down at his Breitling, he did some quick maths. If he left the office at four, he'd have plenty of time before they were to meet for dinner, and quite probably a long night of torrid sex -- as long as Draco didn't have to cry off sick.

The phone's incessant flashing in his periphery was giving him a headache.

"Angelina!" he shouted.

"Stop shouting and acting like a tyrant," Blaise answered back, his voice carrying around corners and doorways as though in possession of a homing device.

Draco scowled when Kingsley raised an eyebrow at the directive. Unwrapping his half of the chocolate bar, Draco broke off a square and slipped it in his mouth.

There was a time for work and a time for football -- football generally came first. Besides, Draco needed the distraction, there was something fishy going on with Theodore -- he was being secretive, which was not allowed under Draco's Need to Know Everything. There had been reports of Seamus and Dean larging it up in public with Prince Harry again, and Luna had complained of an over-amorous client -- over-amorous to the point of Luna knocking him out with a serving tray.

There was a thud against Draco's west wall this time, which was the one he shared with Pansy's office. It wasn't that their offices suffered from thin walls as much as they had learned how to communicate through them – opened doors, strong lungs and various office supplies helped greatly in this endeavour.

"Did you read any of my emails, you tosser?!" Pansy shouted.

"If they're important enough for you to send them, then you could just walk the ten steps and tell me whatever it is," Draco replied calmly.

He could practically hear Blaise snickering through their joint wall, or perhaps it was Kingsley, but when Draco looked over at his Head of Security, Kingsley's face was stoic and passive.

"This is important!" Pansy shouted. "Read them you bastard!"

"Calling me names isn't going to make me read your notes, you harridan. Unless you've been sending me porn again in which case you should just say so."

"How many times have I told you not to abuse the company e-mail for your prurient needs?" Blaise interjected loudly.

"This is important, Draco!" Pansy called out. Draco flinched as he heard Pansy's chair slam into the wall behind her desk. She only moved that quickly when she was riled up about something.

Draco made a face -- he was so put upon.

Kingsley chuckled, only to muffle the noise when Draco's door banged open fully as Pansy strode into the office, dark hair artfully mussed, resplendent in a blood red suit. Her mouth was a slash of matching lipstick, and Draco had a momentary vision of Pansy eating entirely too much red meat.

"Would it kill you to answer just one fucking e-mail, Draco?" Pansy's cheeks were bright with colour, and her eyes narrowed menacingly as she waved a handful of papers at Draco.

"That's why I have you," he said, his voice cloyingly full of sweetness.

"Not for much longer according to Popbitch."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Is there something you're trying to tell me, Pansy?"

"You're not going somewhere, are you?" Kingsley interrupted. Draco glanced at Kingsley curiously, but directed his attention back to the banshee shrieking for his attention.

"Yes, the DSS apparently!" Pansy snapped. "We're all going to be out of a job in a minute according to today's mailing."

Draco made a dismissive wave with his hand. Pansy was a fantastic agent, but occasionally her flair for the dramatic managed to eclipse everything else. "You want me to read your e-mails, is that it?"

"Yes!" she said, striding across the room and slamming papers down on Draco's desk, making it shudder.

Draco eyed her warningly, and she took a step back.

"Just look," she pleaded.

Sighing, Draco clicked on the most recent e-mail.

To: d.malfoy@malfoyltd.co.uk
From: p.parkinson@malfoyltd.co.uk
Cc: b.zabini@malfoyltd.co.uk
Date: 17 March 2005, 14:53 GMT
Subject: Fwd: "RIP Baroness Lips von Lipstrell"

Rough Guide to Hookers: Make your way to Macclesfield

Hooker prices are falling across the capital. Corporate expense account cut-backs have made it harder to claim back cash expenses in excess of £1,000 so prices for top-end talent have fallen under £250/hr, agencies are more willing to offer group discounts (e.g. eight girls for the price of five), and even the highest priced hookers are willing to consider barebacking for the right price.

But you can get an even better bargain in Macclesfield, Cheshire, a Russian au pair called Romcha, who'll do you at the house where she looks after the kids. We hear she can chew gum, smoke a cigarette and watch TV while you get on with it, and still gives you change from a tenner.

Draco read the item once, twice, and then looked up at his distraught agent, struggling to keep his features as blank as possible.

"This item worries you?" Draco asked curiously.

"Prices falling. Less money to be spent. Political stupidity. A recession. Barebacking -- yes, these things worry me, Draco," Pansy retorted.

Someone cleared their throat, and Draco looked past Pansy to smirk at the sight of Blaise leisurely leaning against the doorframe looking like a walking advertisement for YSL Rive Gauche. He wore a pale green shirt, complimented by a pale blue tie and loosened just enough for him to unbutton the top button of his shirt. With his flawless complexion and red mouth he was a walking distraction, which was not going to help Draco focus on Pansy's wobbler.

"Pansy does have a point," Blaise said rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully.

Draco pursed his lips. "You are not helping matters," he said through clenched teeth.

Blaise just smiled leisurely "If we were in the hooker business this would be something to worry about -– but we're not in that business. We provide escorts; we hire young, nubile, intelligent women and men from excellent families who are simply looking for something to supplement their educations and lifestyles -- so really it's nothing to worry about."

Pansy rounded on Blaise, eyes narrowed. "Don't pander to me, Blaise, this is serious."

Blaise stood up straight. "Pansy, how long have you been doing this?"

Pansy didn't bat an eyelash. "Nine years."

"How often have you ever seen us in trouble?"

"This week?"

Draco glowered, but since Pansy was facing Blaise she didn't see. Kingsley did however, and he wisely looked away. This was not the sort of thing one discussed with open doors.

Blaise chuckled softly. "Apart from the inability of the press not to notice a pretty face when they're having a little fun, I mean." Blaise directed this particular missive directly at Draco, who pretended not to hear it.

"We're good at what we do," Blaise said, taking a step forward. "We're not stupid or flashy or selling trade out of a two-up, two-down in Paddington. We'll be all right."

Pansy sighed. "You're not listening to what that notice is saying -- punters aren't sticking about to pay whatever in the city when they can get it cheaper elsewhere. Supply and demand."

"Now you're not listening," Draco interrupted. "This is London, and there are two things people will always be willing to pay for in this city: sex and alcohol."

"I thought we didn't sell sex," Blaise mocked.

"We don't sell sex." Draco shot Blaise a reproachful look. "We sell the illusion thereof. We sell sexuality, and you will never convince me that we'll run out of repressed English punters any time ever."

"I don't give a toss about repressed punters!" Pansy's voice was pitched precariously high –- at any moment it was going to shatter the windows or Draco's eardrums. "I care about that flat that I just bought off Cromwell Road. You know the one where I threw the house party and caught one of those infernal hobbits blowing Seamus? I care about having my hair done by Nicky Clarke and having lunch with my girls on the Fifth Floor. If we're all on the dole that won't happen, Draco."

Pansy was practically vibrating with tension; Draco just stared. Hysterical females were not his forte, and he sighed in relief when Blaise stepped forward.

"Pansy, you're smarter than this sort of mindless panic," Blaise said, guiding Pansy towards the empty chair next to Kingsley. "This is just that twit trying to make good with the middle-class before the election. The government's being alarmist, but we've been around a lot longer than they have; you're well aware of this. If Narcissa survived Battle Axe Thatcher, do you really think Blair is going to bring us down? They don't call it the oldest profession for nothing."

Draco recognized a good opening but closed his mouth again when Blaise shot him a warning look. He answered with a haughty glare, but said nothing.

"You've got to calm down, you're going to get spots with all this tension." Blaise grinned at Pansy, and Draco watched in fascination as Pansy visibly deflated. Blaise truly was the best second-in-command anyone could hope for. Draco could deal with the punters, but Blaise was key with personnel.

"Don't worry about the government," Blaise said, standing up and grinning over at Draco. "Worry about Inland Revenue."

Draco scowled. "Do not worry about Inland Revenue, and don't listen to Blaise. At least not about that," he added on hastily.

Blaise just licked his lower lip and shook his head when Kingsley offered part of the chocolate bar he was now sharing with Pansy. "Speaking of the devil, however," he began.

"You know I'm not religious," Draco smirked.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "As I was saying, speaking of the devil, what time are we leaving to meet with Severus to discuss this audit?"

Draco looked over at the flashing desktop, then at his desk, and then at the flashing phone. His blotter was a mess and there were post-its everywhere –- including the post-it about that meeting. "I, ah, don't know. When are we meeting with Severus?" Draco looked up and gave Blaise his best guileless look.

Blaise made a snorting noise. "Six o'clock at The Savoy. You've forgotten, haven't you?"

"What? No." Draco pushed away from his desk, leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. "Me, forget? Don't be ridiculous."

"Draco." Blaise's tone was all annoyance, but his face projected tolerance. "You ordered this audit."

Draco gave him a sly grin. "No, I didn't, I was press-ganged."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure you were horribly press-ganged by a rogue group of sticky-fingered ankle-biters and solicitors."

There was a snort from where Kingsley and Pansy sat, and Draco couldn't help snickering. "However did you know?" he said, sitting forward, and getting to his feet. "That's exactly what happened to me."

Blaise's look was all condescension. "Be that as it may, it is happening, so sort yourself out, we need to talk about a few things before then."

Draco made his way around his desk, mindful of the sharp glass edges, and swiped his tongue along his lower lip, stopping just inside Blaise's personal space. Blaise's glance dropped just for a brief second, and Draco's resulting grin was extraordinarily lupine. "I know we've got a lot on, it's just that I've got plans with Harry. There's a private party at the Tate Modern to celebrate those Frida Kahlo's that Madonna is loaning out."

The indulgent look dropped away immediately, and Blaise's jaw tightened. "I thought you didn't want to go to that."

Draco scratched the back of his neck. "I thought you didn't want to go -- you hate the Tate."

Blaise's lips tightened into a thin line. "Yes, but I love Kahlo, and so, you thought -- I see. And when did we have this conversation where I didn't want to go? Did we have it when you failed to show for brunch last Saturday or when you didn't come around to watch the match on Sunday? Damon sends his regards by the way. He was more than willing to take your place at the private party Matt and Claudia threw at Café de Paris to celebrate X-3."

Draco opened and closed his mouth, but nothing came out. He could see Kingsley and Pansy watching them avidly out the corner of his eye, but he couldn't tear his attention away from Blaise.

Draco could practically hear the gears turning in Blaise's head, but that didn't worry him as much as the menacing sneer.

Blaise wasn't the sort to get angry. He'd always said it was below him, and yet, if looks could've killed, Draco would've been deader than the Queen Mum.

"Tell me, Draco," Blaise carried on, loosening his tie. "When exactly did we have this supposed conversation -- before, during or after you had Harry's dick up your arse?"

"Blaise!" Draco's eyes widened as Blaise turned away; such a breach of decorum was not to be tolerated from anyone. Even Blaise.

Pansy and Kingsley stood up together. "We're just going to, ah, be off now, all right?" Kingsley said, dragging Pansy out hurriedly.

Draco heard their inconsequential words and the closing door, but was unable to tear his eyes away from the incendiary glower that Blaise was giving him. "I don't know what's got into you, apart from this fucking accountant," Blaise spat. "He's just some fucking nobody! He doesn't even know you!"

Draco shook his head; if Blaise had an issue with him, it was about him. There was no need to drag Harry into it, and there was certainly no reason to do this here.

There were standards to uphold.

"I don’t know why you have this thing against Harry, you haven't even met him," Draco protested.

Blaise turned back, and stared at Draco with a haughty sneer. "I have a thing against your fucking Harry, because you're not focusing on your fucking job," he said thinly.

Draco could feel the blood rushing to his face and his head as the riot of sheer rage and shame that only Blaise could call up made him see red. His cheeks blazed, and he clenched his hands into fists. He wasn't going to strike Blaise... he wasn't going to strike Blaise... "Do you remember what happened the last time I fucking did nothing but focus," he hissed, unable to fully contain himself. "Do you want me fucking trade in alleys in Soho and ruining the business? Is that what you want?"

"I want you to stop mooning about like you have no sense!" Blaise shouted, sweeping his arm across Draco's desk and sending everything crashing to the floor. "You don't even know this -- this person!"

"What the hell has got into you?" Draco yelled back, grabbing Blaise's arm and spinning him around so they were facing each other. "I hired you so I could have someone I trust with me; I thought I was supposed to get a fucking life!"

"This isn't Zabini Escorts!" Blaise protested, yanking away. "I'm not here to run your business and wipe your arse and be treated like your fucking rentboy."

Draco just stared. Blaise's tie was completely unknotted, and his shirt was wrinkled from where Draco had grabbed him. He was breathing harshly, and he looked -- undone.

Draco could feel bits of his control crumbling all around him. "This isn’t about fucking Harry! This is about you forgetting your place, forgetting that there are lines and a bloody order to the world. I have no sodding idea what has destroyed your ability to function within the parameters of our relationship, but you do not bring our issues out in front of the help!"

Blaise cut Draco off a snort of derision. "Fuck you, Draco," he said, taking off his tie and dropping it on the floor. "I don't need your righteous indignation. Stuff it up your arse so far even you precious Harry won’t find it."

Draco watched in horror as Blaise turned and walked away.

It was as though Draco were petrified and unable to move -- and the spell was only broken once the door snicked shut behind Blaise quietly.

Grabbing the nearest thing -- one of the lounge chairs -- Draco picked it up and threw it against the door. Leather and steel met wood with a thunderous noise before crashing to the floor, and Draco stared as the chair rocked back and forth before settling to a stop.

He was a Malfoy, and he didn't take this sort of crap from anyone -- it would've helped though, if Blaise were just anyone.

Obviously someone would have to die.

"FUCK!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

As far as Draco could tell, London was good for two things besides sex and drinking, one was the tube and the other was its parks. On a normal day, Draco would've left the office and either gone drinking with Blaise and some of their escorts, or gone home to prepare for a night out. That bloody disaster of a day, however, was not normal, and Draco had no desire to go home or to go down to the pub and sit around with a bunch of sad bastards drowning his sorrows before going out with his -– well, whatever Harry was.

Draco didn't want to think about that. Point in fact, there were few things he wanted to do less than think.

At some point after Blaise's dramatic exit, Draco descended from his office and left with nary a word to anyone.

A few of the boys and girls -– Oliver, Viktor, Alicia, Katie and Goyle -– had been loitering in the foyer, but no one had deigned to meet his eye as he stalked out the front door, yanking on his jacket with a fluidity that belayed his mood.

Even with his apparent control, he heard several threads tear as he slammed the door shut behind him, and he walked briskly for some time, cursing Blaise under his breath and walking roughshod over every other person in his path. He was so enraged about Blaise, and the business with Blaise, and just thinking Blaise's name, not to mention ruining the lining of a perfectly good Prada jacket, that he didn't realise he was at the outskirts of Hyde Park until he nearly ran down a sticky-fingered urchin by Edinburgh Gate.

Looking about him, Draco tried to avoid the little girl and her Ribena-stained fingers, and he glowered at the nanny who came running over to cart away her charge.

It briefly crossed his mind that now would be an excellent time for him to jump in a taxi, go to the City and surprise Harry at his office. Draco had never even seen where Harry worked as they always seemed to meet elsewhere -- but then again, Draco had never invited Harry to his office either, and he promptly dismissed the idea as needy and invasive.

Draco had read, quite possibly from one of those copies of Tatler that Pansy had strewn around the office, that there came a time in every relationship when the guards had to start coming down. He'd thought it was utter toss when he'd read it –- and he still did. Lowering of guards and allowing random stragglers in was not something Draco did. And yet --

And yet Harry was very tempting.

Almost too much so.

Harry was incredibly invigorating to Draco's jaded tastes as he was nothing like anyone Draco interacted with anymore. He went down to the pub to drink instead of tossing back drink after drink at Brown's. He preferred the Dogstar and the Barfly at the weekends to Milk & Honey and the blasted Groucho Club. He even took Draco to see Elbow at the Brixton Academy, a place Draco hasn't visited in years.

He bought his suits at Aquascutum and then bought shirts for them at Camden Market, much like someone else Draco didn't want to think about. Like He Who Draco Would Not Think About, Harry had season tickets for the Royal Court Theatre, but he also genuinely liked football and was desperate to get Draco to come to Highbury -- which Draco would only do with a large gun to his head unless his beloved Chelsea were playing. The football thing was a bit disconcerting, but taste wasn't everything. Just most things.

It was all impossibly charming, simply because Harry was a twenty-something and actually acted like it. Most people of Draco's acquaintance were 25 going on 40 or 45 pretending to be 18.

Harry, however, was just Harry -- and Draco needed -- well, he had no idea what he needed. Apart from a large drink.

He stopped in the middle of the path when his mobile rang, and he fumbled about with his pockets (three inside his jacket, three more outside, not including the two in his trousers) for some time. Draco hoped the call was from Harry, or his mother, or his brother -– he would've even welcomed a call from Inland Revenue at this point.

He was not going to think about Blaise.

He flipped up the lid of the phone without glancing at the LCD screen. "Hello?"

"Draco? It's Angelina."

Draco exhaled a disappointed breath he hadn't even realised he was holding. It wasn't Blaise after all. "Ah, so someone does still work for me. I thought everyone had gone walkabout."

Draco could head her sighing down the line; he knew exactly how she felt. "Mr. Snape is on the other line, shall I transfer him?'

"Yes," Draco hesitated. "Thanks."

Angelina's shock was almost palpable, and clearly he was in a terrible state if he was thanking the help. "Now is a good time, Angelina," he prompted.

"Right," she said before ringing off.

"Severus?" Draco said, glaring back at some insipid woman who was muttering about people taking up the entire path.

There was the sound of car horns and swearing on the other end, and then a voice spoke up. "Infernal hired drivers -- I should be walking."

Draco felt a smile turn up the corners of his mouth, despite his foul mood. "Severus, are you tormenting another poor driver?" he asked, looking around for a bench to sit at.

"I wouldn't need to, if he would do his bloody job!" Severus snapped back, and for a moment Draco felt sympathy for the poor bastard assigned to ferry his solicitor around town. Unlike Draco, Severus didn't drive in London because he didn't want to, but because his license had been suspended indefinitely due to his inability to stay anywhere near the speed limit. Apparently there were only so many times the police were open to the 'late for court' excuse, and Severus had used them all.

"Severus, stop abusing that poor man."

"Lockhart's no man," Severus retorted. "He's clearly a toad masquerading as one -- watch the blasted road!"

There was an empty bench further up the path, near the ducks, that looked rather tempting and Draco chuckled softly to himself as Severus continued with his ranting. "While I'm always entertained by you abusing your minions, is there any particular reason for today's call? Are Inland Revenue on their way, and I should take the secret files and run out the backdoor? Perhaps scale a few garden walls and ruin the knees of my trousers?"

Draco could just imagine Severus rolling his eyes. "Your imagination is second only to your brother's activities," his solicitor said.

"And what activities would those be?" Draco inquired gamely.

"Don’t play coy with me, Draco. Obviously there are various activities that would give me a coronary if I thought about them too much."

Draco smirked at Severus' ever-cautious turn of phrase. "I didn't know you cared."

"Yes, well, I don’t -- kindly don't emote all over me."

Draco laughed despite his foul mood; Severus was an extraordinarily reluctant paternal figure. "I would never dream of something so undignified."

"Thank you. Now, while I have you on the phone --"

Draco sighed dramatically. "Oh, dear -- have you found the bodies then?"

"Very amusing," Severus said. "Now, about tonight's meeting --"

"Right -- I wanted to talk to you about that." Draco paused at the park bench he'd selected to make certain it wasn't covered in pigeon excrement. When he was king, all pigeons would be the first to go.

"I'm afraid that something has come up, and I won't be able to attend," Severus said, and Draco sat down rather abruptly. In all the years Draco had known Severus, he had never known him to cancel a business meeting. Severus was the sort of man who would attend a meeting with a high fever, chills, a runny nose and hallucinations, and still manage to pull the whole thing off.

"Something's come... up," Draco parroted back.

"Yes, quite -- watch the road, you imbecile!"

Draco rubbed his mouth thoughtfully. Severus couldn't possibly expect him to believe such a feeble excuse, but he also knew that Draco would never call him to the mat over it. "Fine," he said, eventually. "We'll reschedule for another time then."

"Fine," Severus answered.

There was a momentary lull in the conversation while Draco watched several children feeding the ducks, and then Severus spoke again. "Everything else all right then? Nothing I should know about?"

One inquiry was as close to interfering, or caring, that Severus would stomach and Draco hesitated. This was the sort of thing one talked over with one's best mate, except that Blaise was Draco's best mate and Draco couldn't very well complain to Blaise as he was the problem.

In a pinch, Draco should've been whinging to his twin, or even his mother. How he had come to this -- sorting things out with his solicitor -- he had no idea, but clearly it was a sad day all around.

"Everything's fine. Lovely. Everything is just fucking brilliant."

"Don’t be vulgar, Draco."

"You have a better solution?"

"That would require me to know the problem."

There was a loud blare of car horns down the mobile, and Draco pulled it away for a moment to stop the ringing in his ears.

"Is it a problem with this Mr. Potter?" Severus inquired at last.

It was on the tip of Draco's tongue to ask how Severus knew about Harry, and then he let it go. If Julian knew and his mother knew, Severus would have to know. "Harry's –- Harry's fine."

"Is he really?"

"Yes."

"And yet, Mr. Zabini doesn't approve of your dalliance?"

Draco felt his temper return with a flare and just as quickly disappear when confronted with thoughts of Blaise's tirade. God only knew how Severus knew about the argument. Obviously Blaise had been the one to call off the meeting.

"Mr. Zabini cares a great deal for you," Severus said conversationally.

"He's being alarmist," Draco answered curtly.

Severus simply made a 'mmm' sound. "You fancy him then?"

"Blaise?" Draco asked in confusion.

Severus' laugh always surprised Draco with its force and heartiness. "I meant your Mr. Potter."

Draco thought for a moment, even though he didn't need to. "Yes, I do."

"But do you fancy him a great deal?"

"Yes."

Severus made another 'mmm' sound. "I see –- have you told him yet?"

Draco didn't have to ask what Severus was referring to; telling someone you ran an escort business, if not the pre-eminent escort business in London was a serious deal breaker. "No, of course not."

"But you want to," Severus inferred.

Draco bit his lip and looked around him. There were two little boys feeding the ducks who reminded him of he and Julian, except for the ginger hair, and their rather fashionably-challenged mother with the brown frizzy hair.

"Yes," Draco admitted.

"So this is serious, is it?"

"I think it could be."

"Very well," Severus sighed deeply. "I suppose your mother and I should meet this boy -- when are you bringing him for tea?"

Draco balked. "Tomorrow?"

"Excellent answer," Severus said. "Tomorrow it is."

There had been A Plan -- Draco knew this because he was good with plans. He wasn't good with details, but he was good with plans –- so he had made a plan. There'd been dinner reservations (Bankside Bar) and a car hired, so they could drink (copiously) and not walk (so Draco could grope Harry freely). Draco had even known exactly what he'd planned to wear (the Gucci navy suit with the thin silver pinstripes and the pewter tie) -– and then it'd all gone to ground.

Instead of arriving on Harry's doorstop freshly washed, pressed and ready at seven o'clock, Draco had rung the buzzer at half-six, smelling of rows (Blaise), cigarettes (the King's Head) and lager (Carling Black Label). He'd spent the better part of the afternoon drinking cheap lager with poor university students and thick-necked builders somewhere in Chelsea -- and -- well, he'd forgotten the and.

He pressed the buzzer for Harry's flat again, and held it; it seemed too much work to keep pressing it over and over again. With his free hand he patted at his pockets, he'd acquired a pack of fags somewhere along the line, but now he couldn't find them.

He wasn't even the one who'd smoked -- not that that mattered, but still.

"Draco?"

Draco looked up when his name was called, and squinted slightly, his vision was a bit blurry. This was actually the second set of flats he'd rung. At the first set the door had been answered by a some bloke in a QPR shirt, and Draco had been so disgusted he'd just walked away.

"Draco."

Draco gave Harry his most beguiling grin, which was somewhat hampered by his inebriation, but not too much so. "You're not wearing any clothes," he said observantly.

Harry shook his head. "I was in the bath, because I have a date with this bloke I'm seeing. Except he's early -– really early."

"Yes, well, you know what they say about the early bird."

"That he should get off the buzzer," Harry quipped. Draco looked down and realised he was still pressing the doorbell and stepped back.

"Don't go anywhere," Harry called before disappearing inside.

Draco belched and licked his lips.

He was feeling -- yes, that was about it; he was feeling. And also his stomach was sloshing -- where'd he put those fags again?

He blinked rapidly when the door opened before him, and he was blinded by miles of pale skin. Well, not miles, but lots of skin and a mercifully small towel. Harry's black hair was fluffing around his head damply, and he was wearing those infernal spectacles again. He stepped aside and Draco entered, pausing to give Harry an impressively sloppy kiss along the way.

Harry wrinkled his nose. "You're pissed -– and you've been smoking."

"Yes, and you've got a scar on your forehead," Draco mocked. "What's your point?"

Harry looked stern for a moment and then laughed. "C'mon," he said, tugging on Draco's completely ruined jacket before leading him up the stairs. "Let's get you out of this."

"Why Mr. Potter, are you trying to seduce me?" Draco gave Harry his best innocent tone at the same moment that he tried to grope Harry's bum, and he ran right into Harry when he paused on the step above him.

"I don't know, Mr. Malfoy," Harry said, turning slightly and grabbing Draco by the front of his shirt. "Do you want me to seduce you?"

Draco blinked. "Upstairs -- now."

Harry laughed and took off up the stairs –- and like a horny fool, Draco followed him -– albeit a bit slower because of all the lager.

Draco had been in Harry's flat several times, but there always seemed to be something new about it every time he came around. One time it was a painting, the next a new chair -– clearly the accounting business was very good to Harry. The only things that never changed were the photographs, one of which was a wee Harry with his parents and another showing Harry as a best man on the day his best mates, a ginger-haired bloke and girl with frizzy brown hair, had got married.

Draco only remembered who they were because Harry had informed him that, prior to getting married, Harry had dated both of them, which Draco had though very un-accountant-like behaviour.

Draco shed his jacket and his shoes by the door, and followed Harry down the hall into the kitchen. "You need to sober up," Harry said.

"I need nothing of the sort," Draco said, coming up behind Harry who was taking mugs out of the cupboard.

"I thought we were going out," Harry said conversationally as Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and dropped tiny kisses along his shoulder. Draco made a noncommittal noise as he dragged his nails above the waist of Harry's towel, and when Harry shuddered, Draco smirked against his shoulder blade.

Harry's hands reached back for Draco, and Draco made an encouraging noise as Harry's hands squeezed his backside on the other side of too hard. Harry had a tendency to play rough on occasion, which suited Draco fine.

Draco's cock had been taking an increasing interest in the situation from the moment Harry opened the door, and at that point was taking charge of all Draco's decision making. "I think we should stay in," Draco announced, slipping his hand through the opening of Harry's towel.

Harry made a strangled noise as Draco's hand wrapped around his erection. "Your hands are fucking cold," Harry gritted out as Draco's fingers teased along his length, stroking the underside and rubbing his foreskin.

Draco thrust against Harry, his cock enjoying the friction from his boxers. "They'll warm up," he said, mouthing the nape of Harry's neck as Harry pushed back

Harry made a frustrated noise, and Draco caught a pale blur in periphery before Harry's fingers found his hair and yanked his mouth towards Harry's.

The resulting kiss was brutal and clumsy and very hot. Draco's mouth missed Harry's by several centimetres, and he heard rather than saw Harry's glasses slip off -- but Harry, apparently, saw that as no reason to loosen his hold on Draco's hair, and Draco grunted as Harry nipped sharply on his upper lip.

"That's going to bruise," he said, pulling away with a gasp.

"Good," Harry said, pulling their mouths back together. "You taste like smoke."

"Been smoking," Draco said, letting his tongue sweep along Harry's lower lip.

"Keep it up and you'll make me start up again." Harry's tongue was hot and slick as it flitted against Draco's, and when Harry bit him again Draco tightened his hold on Harry's dick and got a gasp in response.

"Fuckfuckfuck," Harry chanted against Draco's mouth as Draco rubbed his thumb over the head and foreskin, spreading the precome around.

Harry's mouth tasted of toothpaste with lingering traces of coffee, and his stubble rubbed against Draco's chin roughly. "Yes," Harry hissed when Draco used his free hand to yank the towel away.

There was something incredibly obscene about Draco jerking off his accountant lover in the kitchen, and it only got hotter when Harry licked his own hand and knocked Draco's hand away to do the job himself. Wrapping his left arm around Harry's waist, Draco nipped sharply at Harry's earlobe and urged him on.

"Like that," Draco whispered, his voice low and gravely as he raked Harry's chest with the nails on his right hand and repeatedly thrust his trouser-clad erection against Harry's bare backside.

He held on as Harry whimpered when Draco twisted his nipple hard, and as Harry came all over his fist, Draco let go of him and shoved him against the counter.

Harry had been mumbling some sort of nonsense when he came, but he cursed loudly when his hipbones slammed against the hardwood countertop. "What the fuck are you -–"

Whatever questions Harry had stopped abruptly when Draco dropped to his knees and spread the cheeks of his arse. "You're not seriously going to -–" Harry tried again, but his words degenerated into a howl when Draco breathed directly over the tiny furl of muscle.

"Draco -- Draco -- Draco."

Draco could feel Harry twisting above him, trying to turn for some reason, and rather than deal with any sort of interference, Draco pressed his forearm against the small of Harry's back, forcing him forward.

Harry made another keening noise as Draco's tongue flicked on either side of his hole without actually touching it, and Draco let his tongue circle again and again as Harry shuddered and whimpered above him.

Harry tasted of soap and sweat, and by the time Draco brushed his tongue against where Harry wanted it, Harry was a shuddering mess. Draco couldn't even begin to imagine the kind of bruises Harry was going to have in the morning from writhing against the countertop that way.

"Stay," Draco said, getting to his feet shakily. Kneeling on linoleum was always a bad idea –- he'd forgotten all about the towel. When he returned with two tiny foil packets, Harry was waiting for him -- his legs spread and his head resting on his arms, looking directly at Draco.

Harry's hair was mussed and his eyes were huge, though whether or not he could focus without his glasses, Draco didn't know. He took a shuddering breath and squeezed his cock through his trousers, momentarily lamenting that he'd ruined yet another gorgeous suit, this one a chocolate brown Prada number.

"It seems wrong that I'm wearing nothing and you're fully dressed," Harry remarked.

"I've never been the sort to play fairly," Draco said, unbuttoning his trousers as he walked over. Harry twitched when Draco put the foil packets on his back.

"Those are cold," he complained.

"Do you always complain this much?" Draco said, slapping Harry's bum with the flat of his hand. Harry jerked forward, hitting his head on the edge of the cupboard.

"It's either that," he said, rubbing his forehead, as Draco pushed his trousers and his boxers down to his ankles and kicked them across the kitchen floor, "Or we talk about why you're pissed at seven in the evening."

A brief image of Blaise's face twisted in fury flashed across Draco's mind, and he shook it off. "Fucking like rabbits it is," he announced, picking up one of the foil packets and using his knee to spread Harry's legs even further apart.

"I'm not a fucking gymnast." Draco ignored Harry's grumbling, ripping open the condom with his teeth and spitting a piece of foil on the floor. It was easier to do the technical stuff first, and Draco slapped Harry's backside again when he pushed back impatiently.

"First things, first," he said conversationally.

"Hurry up all ready," Harry griped as Draco rolled the condom on and then opened the tiny packet of lube. "Fucking -–"

Harry's griping promptly died off when Draco smoothed a large dollop of lube between the cheeks of his backside. "Cold... cold... cold," he chanted, groaning when Draco rubbed soothingly with his fingers.

"Relax," Draco said through his teeth as he rubbed a slick hand over his cock and then carefully pressed the head against Harry's opening.

"You bloody well –-" Harry's words died off as Draco gripped Harry's hip and pulled him back slightly. "Fucking hell!" he yelped.

There was all this tight pressure as Draco pushed inside Harry, and he supposed somewhere in his alcohol-impaired mind that he should've prepared Harry a bit more -- but sod that.

Draco rocked his hips forward and back with small movements as Harry cursed below him and banged on the countertop with his fists. Draco couldn't recall having any particular kitchen fantasies -- in his line of work, he didn't really have any fantasies that hadn't been fulfilled before he was twenty-three, but still.

Draco pulled back to thrust all the way and shouted when Harry pushed back roughly first. "Fuck me now," Harry demanded, and Draco snorted.

"Yes, your highness," he said, adjusting his grip on Harry's hips and pulling away, just to snap back, hard.

"Yes!" Harry hissed.

Draco smirked to himself as he fucked Harry with long strokes, but every time Harry found the rhythm, Draco changed it again. Long strokes, short strokes, thrusts that had their skin slapping together with sweat and lube. When Harry pushed himself up to his forearms, Draco shoved him forward so he almost ran into the cupboard again.

There was something to be said for alcohol's ability to cloud Draco's mind, because normally he would've come by now, but with the lager-impairment he had to put something extra into it. Shoving Harry against the countertop one more time, Draco dropped his left hand from Harry's hip and wrapped it around Harry's torso to pull him back.

Harry writhed in Draco's grasp, trying to keep his legs under him while panting and pleading the entire time. At one point Harry grabbed Draco's hand and wrapped both their hands around his cock -- there was a lot to be said for a twenty-something's refractory period, and there was nothing like someone begging to get Draco off.

When Draco came he could feel the heat in his toes and his fingertips, and he bit Harry's shoulder blade hard before collapsing against Harry's back.

When he came back to himself, Harry was still using their hands to jack himself off, and Draco kissed the sweaty side of Harry's neck as he slipped his right hand around and scraped his short nails across Harry's abdominals.

When Harry shouted in his ear, Draco thought he might go permanently deaf.

Several hours later, sore and sated and extremely sober, Draco climbed into Harry's bed and tried to make himself comfortable. Draco rarely slept anywhere besides his flat, Blaise's flat, or, on occasion, his mother's house -- it took some getting used to, this sharing a bed with a new person.

"I have something to tell you," he said conversationally as Harry burrowed closer to where Draco was fitfully punching at Harry's pillows and trying to make them into some semblance of his goose down versions.

"I'm not letting you go home to your wife and eighteen children tonight, she'll just have to spare you," Harry said around a yawn.

Draco made something that sounded suspiciously close to the giggle.

"You didn't just giggle, did you?" Harry asked, lifting his head, and fixing Draco with a fuzzy look.

"Certainly not, Malfoys don’t giggle."

Harry's eyes grew wider, and he pushed his mop of unruly hair away from his forehead. "You did giggle, didn't you?"

"I did not."

"Did so."

"I did not," Draco shot back hotly. "My god, what are you, three?"

"You giggled. Full stop. Get over it."

Draco scowled. "I did not giggle; people who run escort services do not giggle."

Harry's chuckling noises died off immediately and Draco winced. All the post-coital lassitude bled right out of him, and he sat up rather abruptly. He'd obviously made a mistake and needed to leave. And then he would have Harry killed. Or something.

"Wait, where are you going?" Harry asked grabbing Draco's wrist as he threw back the bedclothes.

"I've told you; you obviously don't approve. I don’t need you to judge me," Draco said, attempting to extricate himself from Harry's hold.

"How can I judge you?" Harry protested, sitting up on his haunches and finally letting go of Draco's arm. "I work as an accountant laundering money for dodgy politicians and organised crime!"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You said you didn't work for organised crime!"

"I said nothing of the sort," Harry frowned, his eyes darting over Draco's nude form distractedly.

"You did so." Draco crossed his arms across his chest. "I distinctly remember the conversation. I asked if you were laundering dirty money and you said –"

"I asked you if you wanted me to be laundering dirty money. I said I would be anyone you wanted me to be."

Draco opened and closed his mouth but could think of nothing else to say. Harry would be whoever Draco wanted him to be. Blaise never did that.

After several moments, when the silence had become suitably ominous and drawn-out, Draco let Harry tug him back into bed. It was much warmer under the bedclothes, and once their limbs had been arranged to his satisfaction, Draco rolled over and propped his head up with his right hand. "So, you’re a dodgy accountant, and I run an escort service. Fantastic. It's not every day I'm the most legal person in the room."

Draco made a noise when Harry poked him in the ribs. "I never took you for the playing dirty sort, Mr. Potter," Draco quipped.

"You have no idea," Harry said with a lascivious wink.

"My mother will be delighted."

Harry froze. "Your mother? I admit I'm as open-minded as the next bloke, but really, Draco, if you want your mum to join --"

It was Harry's turn to make a noise when Draco poked him. "I will pretend you didn't just suggest such a thing -– I meant my mother will be delighted when you come for tea.

"I'm coming for tea?"

"Yes, and dress appropriately. My solicitor will be there as well."

Harry grinned. "You're going to make an honest man of me? Finally! It took you long enough."

Draco rolled his eyes. "An honest man? I think it's a bit too late for that, don't you?"

*

There was something about coming home to one's flat in the same clothing one had worn the day before that Draco always found rather luridly entertaining. It spoke of mad nights out and large amounts of alcohol and sex -- both of which Draco approved of quite heartily. Harry had almost convinced him to skive off work today for a drinking session capped off by wild sex at either end, and Draco had been so very very tempted.

He paused on his doorstep and rubbed his mouth gingerly with the back of his hand. He could feel the stubble-burn tightening the skin on his jaw, and he knew it would be red and obvious for most of the day. Blaise would -- Draco shook his head. He wasn't going to think about Blaise. He was… happy, and thinking about Blaise would only ruin that.

It took Draco two tries to open the door of his flat. He was knackered and the muscles in his arms didn't want to cooperate. Finally, the key slipped in the lock, and he stepped into the entryway quietly. He bent down to untie his shoes, and his head snapped up when a light came on in the lounge.

"I don't suppose I have to guess where you've been," Julian said, stretching his arms along the back of the black leather sofa he sat in the middle of.

Draco stood up abruptly. "Fucking hell, are you trying to give me a heart attack? What are you doing sitting about in the dark like some mafia hit man? You've been hanging about with spies too much." Draco went to scowl at his brother, but found he didn't have the muscle control to do so.

Multiple acts of fellatio in a twelve-hour span were never good for one's jaw; instead he sighed dramatically.

"If this were a hit, you would already be dead," Julian said pointedly as Draco removed the chocolate coloured suit jacket and draped it over the arm of one of the lounge chairs.

Thankfully Draco's eyes were still working, and he rolled them theatrically before turning away and walking into the kitchen. "I suppose you're going to tell me that you've worked for the mafia now," he called as he turned the kettle on and pulled a mug from the drying rack.

"I would tell you, but then I would have to kill you." When Draco glanced over his shoulder, Julian was standing in the doorway, dressed head-to-toe in black.

"Har har," Draco said, rubbing his face. He was exhausted and sore, and he felt a bit filthy. Sex always left him feeling a bit filthy, not in the moral sense but in the dried sweat, saliva and semen sense. He needed a bath. And then he was going to bed. When he woke up, he was going to roll over and go back to sleep again and pretend that he was the super spy in the family, and Julian ran the escort service.

He paused, his hand on the refrigerator door, and looked back at his brother. Julian was wearing his black motorcycle jacket – it was the same one he'd worn when he'd first returned home. "You're not leaving again," Draco said sharply, feeling a muscle in his right hand twinge. "I'm not going through the missing-in-action routine again."

The smile Julian gave him was small and sharp. "I'm not going anywhere -- at least not yet."

Draco exhaled and opened the refrigerator. "All right then – we'll renegotiate in a bit."

Draco's refrigerator was a lesson in being a bachelor -- the contents were roughly limited to milk, alcohol, takeaway containers and breakfast foods at all times. Picking up the carton of milk, he opened it and sniffed thoughtfully. "So, what brings you out and about?" he asked conversationally. "Tired of being cooped up with Mother? Having covert meetings with other people in the intelligence business at the Waterstone's on the high street and decided to drop in afterwards?"

"Actually, I came to see you," Julian said. Draco wrinkled his nose; the milk was off.

"Well, stop being cryptic and get on with it," Draco said, glancing up at his brother as he tossed the milk in the rubbish bin and turned back to the kettle. Julian's face was set in a hard line, and Draco took another deep breath. On any given day, Julian barely looked a day over eighteen – it was only when he was knackered or irritated that he looked his age.

There was only one thing this could be about:

Blaise.

The best defence was a good offence; everyone who played footie knew that. "Blaise was out of order," Draco began pre-emptively. "I'm not saying he's wrong, but that conversation was not appropriate for the office. I know I've been a bit distracted, but wobblers are for five-year old girls and hooligans."

"Draco," Julian cut him off, and Draco frowned. "This isn't about Blaise."

The confusion Draco felt must've been evident, because it was Julian's turn to sigh. Draco's eyes widened considerably as Julian crossed the kitchen and reached around him to shut off the kettle. Julian smelled of incense, damp and red wine. Knowing his brother it would have to be Chateau Patreuse. 1982.

Draco couldn't even begin to imagine where Julian could've been to smell of such a combination.

"It'll be easier if I show you," Julian said, taking Draco by the elbow and steering him out of the kitchen. Alarm bells began sounding in Draco's head when Julian handed him his suit jacket and opened the front door.

"I don't like this cryptic business, Julian," Draco warned even as he slipped his jacket back on and followed his brother out of his flat and out of the building.

"I know."

There was a Volvo sedan with tinted windows idling in the middle of the street, and Draco balked when Julian headed towards it. "I'm not getting in there; I don’t know what you've got yourself into this time, but we can sort it out without the theatrics," Draco said, stopping on the kerb.

"This isn't about me," Julian said, pausing next to car and opening the door to the backseat. "This is about you."

--Chapter VI—

Soundtrack provided by Radiohead 'Packd like Sardines in a Crushd Tin Box' and the Yeah Yeah Yeah's 'Maps'

Author's Notes:

(1) True item posted in the 17 March posting of Popbitch.
(2) Madonna is lending her Kahlos, but not until June, but fuck it, it's fiction after all.
(3) Café de Paris was thrown in just for

zoetrope

The Rim Job and the counter sex are my belated entries for

kattiya's Gay Sex Challenge. I figure since this is late, it would help to do two cards instead of just one.

Betas by the brilliant

ethrosdemon and the lovely

oxoniensis (Brit-picking as well).

serialkarma is on a much deserved hiatus.

Current Mood: optimistic
Current Music: Jamie Cullum 'All at Sea'

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From:

plumtastic.livejournal.com

Still going with this, but have to break b/c of the freaking pope business. Will return, much like MacArthur!

caught one of those infernal hobbits blowing Seamus?

Hee!

From:

Educated Black Person, Esq., A.A., B.A., MBA, Ph.D., RN, NAACP, AAA

Trade - Chapter V

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