Title: Almost a Stranger
Author: ldymusyc
Characters/Pairings: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco/others
Rating: NC17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Xenophilia (attraction to strangers)
Other Warnings: None.
Word Count: @2600
Summary/Description: Harry wants Draco. Draco wants strangers.
Author's Notes: So, I started this a couple of months ago, but the boys didn't want to behave. This month, I tried five other pairings before coming back to this, and now they wanted to play. What's a writer to do?



He fucked blonds. Only blonds. He knew there was a reason for it, a reason he wouldn't admit, a reason he tried to deny. There was one he wanted, one he couldn't have, and he replaced that one, that blond with weeks and months of others. He had his favorites, slender and tall and full of arrogance, and they crowded around him every time he walked into Wilde's, the cheap and manky pub he'd discovered deep in Muggle London.

That night, he'd been in the pub for an hour, sucking down lagers and licking salt from his fingers in a subtle advertisement, before he climbed the rickety stairs to the next floor and find his weekend bed-warmer. In the dim room, he scanned the sofas and corners, and his eyes passed over white-blond hair. Harry froze, then slowly turned his head back, wondering if all those lagers had him hallucinating.

No.

That was Draco Malfoy's white-blond hair. Those were Draco Malfoy's long legs, spread wide around a kneeling man. That was Draco Malfoy's hand on the back of the man's skull, gold ring glinting in the beam of light that came from the opened lavatory door. Harry stared at the man between Draco's knees, head bobbing in an unmistakable motion, stared as Draco's fingers tightened in the man's hair, raised his eyes to Draco's and stared as Draco inclined his head in greeting, then tipped it back against the wall, his mouth opening in a silent groan.

Harry turned on his heel and fled the building, fled from Draco's pale eyes and smirking mouth and long, lean, inviting throat.

---

Draco was there again and again over the next few months. He never spoke to Harry, never acknowledged him after that first nod of recognition, but Harry's nerves frayed regardless. Finally, some months after that night, he waited in the loo, rebuffing curious invitations from men both scruffy and shaved, from ginger and dark alike. He waited until slender, clean-shaven, pointy-nosed, and pale walked into the loo. He leaned against the sinks as Draco went into a cubicle, leaned against the wall when Draco went to the sinks. Harry stared at the tile floor as water ran and splashed, until Draco cleared his throat.

"I was under the impression you'd outgrown stalking," said Draco, in that drawl that had always crept under Harry's skin. "Or did you not get enough of following me about back then?"

"This is my place." Harry blinked, surprised at his own words. He met Draco's gaze in the cracked mirror over the sinks, heart pounding at the memory of another lavatory, another confrontation. "This is my place. I was here first. I come here because no one else from our world does. I don't want you here. I'm tired of seeing you here. What do you want?" He let anger fill him, forced it to fill him, desperate to keep desire out of his eyes, wanting Draco to leave, exit, get the hell out of the pub, before he told Draco what he really wanted.

"The same thing every other man here wants, I should imagine." Draco pulled a long strip of toweling from the dispenser next to the condom machine. He dried his hands slowly, slipped his ring up his knuckle to dry beneath it, then crumpled the paper and tossed it into the bin. He didn't take his eyes from Harry's, and one side of his mouth quirked as if he were fighting back one of those smirks Harry had always wanted to hex off his face. "Here for some sex and entertainment. I certainly don't come here for the menu. The drinks are watered, in case you couldn't tell. Might as well be that piss Americans try to pass off as beer."

Draco stepped closer and placed one hand on the wall by Harry's head. "I imagine it's the same reason you're here, unless you have some inexplicable fetish for sticky floors. You don't want me here? Too bad. I like it, and I'm not leaving until I get bored."

Harry raised his chin, jaw clenched at Draco's proximity, nostrils flared from Draco's scent, thin and sharp as the smell of a storm. "I don't care what you want," he said, forcing his voice steady. "I want you to leave."

Draco shrugged and stepped back, headed for the door. "Not much of a loo," he said over his shoulder, "but if you want it that much, it's yours. There's a gloryhole in the cubicle if that's what tips your broom."

Harry shoved off the wall and grabbed Draco's arm, spun him around and shoved him into the door. "Play stupid if you like, but I want this clear," he said, looking up into Draco's pale eyes. "You can't be here. Get the hell out."

Draco's expression hadn't changed, even with his wrist pinned to the door, and he stared down his nose at Harry. "Then you have a problem. I have two solutions for you. Ignore my presence, or suck my cock." In a blur of movement, he broke Harry's grip, shoved Harry back against the wall, and slammed his hip into Harry's stomach. "By the way," he said in a snarl, the tip of his nose almost touching Harry's, his eyes showing an expression other than boredom for the first time, "don't you dare ever give me an order again."

He stalked out, shoulders tense. Harry leaned against the wall, breathing hard, cock stiff, eyes glazing with lust.

---

Draco kept coming to the pub. Harry kept seeing him, kept seeing that pale hair and those pale eyes, kept seeing that gold ring on long fingers as they threaded through a kneeling man's hair. Harry never saw Draco on his knees, never saw him open his mouth except in that inaudible moan at the end of every blowjob he received. Draco didn't seem to have a type, as every man Harry saw kneeling between Draco's feet was different, ginger and dark and blond, pale and olive and black.

It took several weeks before he realized that every man who knelt and sucked Draco's cock was different. Never the same man twice, though Harry watched more than one approach Draco for a repeat offer that was never accepted. Draco crooked his finger at a different man every time he was at Wilde's, and Harry watched every man, every time.

It took another month before he knew Draco was watching him. Harry tried to avoid Draco's face as he stared. He looked at long legs in tight black denim, looked at taut thighs either side of that night's choice. Looked at narrow shoulders under crisp button-down shirts, looked at small nipples erect beneath a seeking hand.

Changed seats to look at the profile of the kneeling whoever. Looked at the thick, pale cock rising from thick, pale curls. Looked at Draco's cock as the head disappeared into a man's mouth, looked at Draco's cock as some man's tongue flicked over and around it. Looked at Draco's cock as it throbbed and pulsed when he came down some other man's throat.

It was only when he noticed that he'd thought other instead of another that he looked at Draco's face. Draco smirked, that damned smirk twisted his lips, and he held Harry's gaze as he pushed the man of the night away and did up his flies. Draco rose from the sofa and strutted across the room, then leaned in close to Harry, one hand on either side of his head to grip the back of the chair.

"Judging by your expression, you've either had a stroke or an epiphany. Finally going to take one of those solutions I offered you some weeks ago, I reckon." He bent his elbows and leaned in closer, his cheek brushing the rim of Harry's glasses, his breath brushing the curve of Harry's ear. "And judging from how spectacularly you've failed at ignoring my presence these weeks, you're finally going to suck my cock. Let me tell you something, Potter."

Draco exhaled, slowly, and Harry felt his cock stirring, felt it straining against his zip. He couldn't seem to speak, his throat too dry for words. He shifted in his chair, trying to lessen the pressure of his erection. Draco laughed under his breath, and the sound went straight to Harry's bollocks.

"You do want it. Shame. Because you're never getting it. The day you get your mouth on me is the last day I come here." Draco straightened up and ran his hand through his hair, his ring glinting as much as his pale eyes. "Strangers only, Potter. I never fuck someone I know."

---

Harry shrugged into jeans and a thin shirt, tugged on trainers and a light jacket, then dumped the required hairs into the Polyjuice he'd brewed. The potion tasted of broom oil and licorice, but Harry drained the glass in three long swallows. He shivered through the transformation, grimaced as his body shifted into the stocky form of the wizard who delivered his post at the Ministry, with ashy brown hair and blue eyes. He slunk to Wilde's, his heart pounding against his chest, and scanned the bar for Draco. He looked over the entire place, top to bottom, but there was no sign of the man he wanted.

He'd worked his way through a fifth beer and a third trip to the loo for another dose of Polyjuice before Draco sauntered up the stairs of the pub. Harry watched from the corner, watched as Draco sprawled into his favorite sofa and leisurely examined the room. His pale eyes glinted as he met Harry's frank stare, then he raised his hand and crooked one finger. Harry knocked over his stool in his rush to get to Draco, afraid someone else might get in there before he could. Draco chuckled and pointed between his feet. "Hope that's not a symptom of how long this will take," he drawled, pinching Harry's chin as Harry knelt. "I'm in the mood for more."

Harry shook his head and pushed his hair out of his eyes. "You'll get your money's worth," he muttered, trying his best to copy the accent of the post wizard.

"If you expect me to pay for this, you can sod off. Plenty of blokes who'll do it for free," Draco said, and Harry look up to see an honest, amused grin, an expression he'd never seen on Draco's face, not aimed at him. It made his stomach clench and his cock twitch. He swallowed hard and slid his hands up Draco's thighs, feeling the thick muscles that came from years of gripping a broom. Draco's black jeans had a row of buttons holding them shut, and Harry undid each one with shaking fingers. He reached in and lifted Draco's cock up, holding the long shaft vertical.

Draco leaned back in the sofa, one hand tucked behind his head, the other tucked behind Harry's, long fingers threaded through Harry's hair, gold ring tugging at the strands. Draco watched Harry, one brow arched, then glanced down at his groin with a pointed sniff. Harry smiled and brushed his thumb over the head of Draco's cock. In all the months he'd been watching Draco get sucked by man after man, he'd never heard Draco make a single noise, never saw Draco give any reaction beyond that tipped-back head and silent moan. He was determined to get Draco to groan.

He dipped his head and swirled his tongue around the crown of Draco's cock. He stroked the length, scratched his blunt nails through the thick patch of blond curls, squeezed tight around the base of the shaft. Small beads of fluid dampened his tongue, salty and thick, and Harry stifled a hungry whimper. He closed his eyes, opened his throat, and slid Draco's cock full into his mouth. The angle was a little awkward, and he looked up through his fringe to Draco's face. Draco seemed to understand, and he shifted, canting his hips. Harry smiled, and he drew back, pressing the flat of his tongue against the prominent ridge that ran along the underside of Draco's cock.

He pulled off, licked his lips, and opened his mouth wide. Draco watched him, eyes narrowed and nostrils flared, as Harry slid all the way down Draco's length until his lips pressed into Draco's hair. Harry took a deep breath through his nose, and he hummed. Draco bucked under him, and Harry heard the sofa creak as Draco took a firm grip on the arm. He closed his eyes again to hide a triumphant expression. Maybe this would be easier than he thought.

He sucked Draco's cock, putting all his experience and skill into it. Licked Draco's frenulum, pumped his fist on Draco's shaft, rolled his fingers around Draco's bollocks. Wriggled one hand between Draco's thighs and pressed against the fabric drawn tight over his arse. Draco's breathing sped up, his fingers tightened in Harry's hair, but still he remained silent. Still did nothing but watch, as if Harry was just another in that long, varied list of men he'd watched Draco take, week after week.

Draco's head tipped back, eyes closing, and Harry doubled his efforts. He could feel the pulsing in Draco's cock, feel the muscles twitching and throbbing. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked, licked, worked until Draco's body tensed. Harry looked up, neck straining from the angle, and watched as Draco trembled. Draco's throat quivered, his mouth opened, and he came. Silent, straining. Harry's mouth filled with warm come and he tried desperately to swallow it all. Too much, too fast, and he held one hand beneath his chin to catch the thick semen that dribbled off his lips.

Draco exhaled with a slow rattle in his breath, the most sound he'd made since Harry had started watching him all those months ago. Harry smiled and slowly pumped his fist on Draco's spent cock. Draco looked down. His eyes widened, then narrowed until they were almost closed. His free hand came up to touch Harry's cheek, then brushed down the bridge of his nose. "Question for you," he muttered, his voice rough and hitching. Harry glanced up and flashed his brows. Draco smirked, and pressed his thumb hard against Harry's forehead. "Did you know your Polyjuice wore off? Potter?"

Harry froze, mouth open, hand locked around Draco's shaft. A few heartbeats passed while he forgot to breathe, then he sucked in air with a gasp. Draco drummed his fingers on Harry's forehead, traced the lightning scar. Harry was sure that Draco would shove him away, take a swing at him, draw down and hex him, but Draco rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. He pushed Harry's hand off his softened cock and did up his flies. Harry settled onto his heels, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth as Draco stood.

Draco stared down at Harry, then sniffed. His voice was harsh, grumbling when he spoke. "Clever enough, I suppose. Almost a stranger." He straightened his shirt and ran his hand through his hair. Harry thought he'd walk away without another word, thought Draco was angry enough that he'd never come back to the pub, but Draco looked down one more time, the corner of his mouth just barely curling up. "Best I've had yet. Be ginger next week. Haven't had one of those in a while." He sauntered to the stairs, loose-limbed and whistling.