Faux Pas

I love plays; the excitement of the crowd, the lights, the ability to lose ones self in the imagination of the playwright, and the actors. Oh yes… the actors.


My boyfriend is in an actor. His name is Harry, but he has a stage name. If I told you, you’d recognize it immediately. Harry has become quite a good actor, at least that’s what the gossip rags say. He is an up and coming talent, and I agree with them. I think he’s a talent, but I’m fairly sure that our definitions of what constitutes talent differ by a large margin.


But, I digress. I’ve settled into my seat, not on the first row, but close enough that I can see without opera glasses. The tones sound, and the Muggles around me start to take their seats and quiet. I hear their hushed whispers about how the actor really shows his bits.


I snort to myself. I see Harry’s bits every night. Wait… I must remember to call him his stage name in public, but he certainly didn’t mind last night when I moaned his name late at night as his fingers traced erotic designs over my cock and drifted further up between my legs to my arse. I wanted it and he needed to have that power over me last night. I squirm in my seat thinking about last night, and I can still feel him in me: his tongue, his fingers, and his cock. I close my eyes for a moment, but the slow brightening light from the stage creeps under my lashes and I know the play is starting.


Richard steps on stage and begins to speak and I know that Harry will be hitting his mark in just a moment. I really don’t have to pay too much attention because I’ve seen the play almost every night since its opening. Harry laughs and says that I don’t have to see the show every night, but I know he’s pleased beyond belief. I pull the program up to my face to hide the smile creeping across my lips. I glance around and see the bright glittering eyes of the women seated around me. I may be one of the few men in the theatre, but no matter. I know that they’ve only come because my Harry has scenes where he appears nude on stage. They don’t care what the play is about, how tortured my Harry became as he delved into his role, how he became Alan Strang, they have only come to see him because he is beautiful in this freakish role.


I settle into my seat and let the scenes play on around me, but inside my head I think about the past month and I can’t help feeling that something has changed. Harry seems distant, distracted and I feel that things are going to change between us. I owe him my life, though he never mentions that night.


I hear a titter of laughter from the Muggles around me and I focus on the action on the stage. Harry stands atop a box shouting his lines at Richard and I try to banish my maudlin thoughts.


It’s so difficult at times to remember to call him Dan when we are together. It’s even more difficult to pretend that we are just friends. But, to be quite honest, the most difficult task of all was to leave our homes and our identities and become who we are now. I mentally shrug and realize for the hundredth time that some things never will change and one belief will never change; that many wizards and Muggles believe that homosexuality is wrong. I’ve heard all their words: perverted, disgusting, immoral, wicked, sinful, evil, and let’s not forget my personal favorite, abomination.


He is no more an abomination than I am. He is- or was- the savior of the Wizarding world. He destroyed the most evil, foul wizard ever born, and yet when he confessed his preference, after being hounded and tormented by the newspapers, he was tossed out like so much rubbish.


But, one man’s rubbish is another man’s treasure, and he is my treasure.


I probably sound like a love-struck young witch, but after being afraid for so long, and afraid of what I was for so long, that the life that I lead with Harry now, with all its ups and downs, is the only life in which I could be happy. I could never have been happy in England’s Wizarding community. I travel with him as his assistant and work sometimes as a model, though if my father knew he would be appalled. I can almost hear his dry, drawling voice saying that “Malfoys are never followers, but leaders.” I take grim pleasure in the fact that perhaps Father would approve of the fact that Harry likes it up the arse more than I do.


My father is such a hypocrite. He followed the wizard who nearly destroyed our family. But, no matter; his words are just words. I haven’t paid them any heed since he disowned me. I care nothing about him.


Harry is joined on stage by an actress. I’ve met her, she’s very nice. I was prepared to be jealous of her, but I keep telling myself that this is just acting. She doesn’t really make love to him, but the thought of other hands on his perfect body still unsettles me. I watch dispassionately as they move through the actions and for all intents and purposes it does look like there is a moment of pleasure.


I close my eyes. I know it is just a play and this is just a scene that they have to do, but it doesn’t make me like it. I hear the familiar pounding of the hooves of the actors playing horses and I know the scene is over and I open my eyes, blinking at the changing lighting. I settle back into my seat and watch the play. And yet, I wonder if there is something more and that this life is changing him. Our time spent together is different; as in going from sex every night to once a month or less being different. He rarely talks to me the rest of the time. This change has come slowly, inexorably like the slow lowering of lights in this theatre. I find myself frowning and force my face into one of placid interest.


The audience hisses in surprise as Harry, er Dan, er Alan stabs the representation of the horse in the stable. His performance is brilliant and he is cunningly mad as he moves naked about the stage. He stops and addresses the audience and for a brief second he falters; he’s seen me.


I break eye contact with him, but he’s already given me one of his crooked endearing little smiles, but the audience sees it as a part of the scene he’s working.


I press the program to my lips and can’t help the smile that spreads across my lips. That little movement of the corners of his mouth has always made me want to do horribly naughty things to him; my smile falters and I’m glad that he can’t see it.


~~~*~~~


I rise with the audience and clap. I see Harry’s face flush with pleasure at the recognition he’s receiving. I want to laugh; he is a far cry from the little boy who hated being The Boy Who Lived. He is now The Man Who Loves to Act. I told him that one night and he grew somber, but then he laughed, that warm deep chuckle that makes me want to laugh along with him.


He nods at me and I know that I need to make my way backstage. I rise from my seat and slowly begin to thread my way through the crowd. The stagehands know me by sight and greet me like they do every night. Some nights, I meet him outside the theatre and we take a cab back to our rented flat. He’s been called frugal and cheap because we share a flat, but he just laughs and tells them that he wants to spend his money on more important things.


Oh yes… things like warming lube and flavored body oils. He definitely prefers to spend his hard-earned money on more important things.


I knock on the door to his dressing room and he pulls me inside, slamming the door behind me. I lean forward to kiss him but he pulls away distractedly. For some odd reason I think he doesn’t want anyone to see me coming to his dressing room, but no sooner than I’m in the room, he asks me nearly the same questions that he’s asked me after every performance of Equus that I’ve seen. “How’d I do? Do you think they liked me?” he asks.


I smile and press a finger to his lips to shush him. “You were brilliant, madly superb,” I reply, my finger teasing his stubbled jaw line and I smile for him, playing my own part in this odd little play between us.


“What about when I forgot my lines there for a moment?” he persists, his face creasing with worry lines.


“That was my fault,” I say, pulling my best whipped puppy look.


“What do you mean?” He’s confused, and starting to look unhappy, but I know how to turn it all around.


“I shouldn’t have given you that 'come fuck me look,'” I say with the utmost seriousness.


Harry’s eyes widen and then he chuckles and sits down, grabbing a towel to dry his sweaty hair. “Are you hungry? I’m thinking I’d like a sandwich from that deli on 7th and 55th Streets. I’m starving.”


I shrug; food is the furthest from my thoughts, but it is our routine. “I am too,” I say and settle myself on the counter that runs across the small room. I peer into the mirror pretending to preen and push a strand of hair back into place, but I’m really watching Harry. “But, if the Chinese take-away place is still open, I’d like noodles instead of a subway.”


“A subway? You’re not that hungry are you?” He asks, the corners of his mouth twitching with mirth.


“No…” I start to say, then I realize my faux pas and swat his arm. “You know what I meant,” I say, pretending to be irritated.


“Yeah, I did, but I just couldn’t resist,” he returns before pulling off his jeans. I know that when he’s on stage and dressed, he usually ends up sopping wet. I watch as he moves over to where his street clothes are hung and he begins to change.


“Hey,” he says softly. “I know it’s been harder on you than me. You know, learning to be a Muggle and all that.”


Rising to my full height, I peer down my nose at him and sneer, “You know damn well I’ll never be a Muggle.” Harry pauses in his dressing and returns my level glare.


“You know what I meant,” he says evenly, doing up the buttons on his shirt.


Our eyes meet, blue to brown and I can see that he doesn’t know how much I despise this part I play in the theatre of our lives. Hiding behind an altered hair color and seeing a person in the mirror that is not me digs at the aggravating scab of resentment that lies deep within me. I nod and lean back against the counter of his dressing table. His smile tells me that my momentary flare has been forgotten.


He disappears into the bathroom and my eyes wander over his dressing table. I notice an envelope half-hidden under jacket. My curiosity is one of my worst traits. I routinely spoiled Christmas by my nosing around the manor during Christmas. The envelope easily finds its way into my hand.


I know I shouldn’t read his mail, but why has it come here, to the theatre, rather than at our apartment? I glance toward to bathroom and I hear the water running. Harry will be a few minutes more. I rapidly read the letter through and the words leap off the paper at me. “…need you here immediately. Shooting to begin upon your arrival.” I look up in shock from the paper and then notice the bag tucked beside the table. Hurriedly I shove the paper and envelope back into the stack and compose myself.


Harry walks into the room, his contacts out and his glasses back on his face. He looks fresh and rosy and I feel dirty and unwanted. I watch silently as he finishes up, taking one last look in the mirror to see if his hair is somewhat in place.


“I thought we’d walk tonight, if that’s okay with you?”


I nod. He wants us to be alone so he can tell me that he’s moving to California, that he’s going to shoot a film, and that for his career he can’t be with me. The letter confirms all the little things that I’ve noticed the past month, the indifference, the lack of passion in his kisses, and the distance that seems to grow between us. It all makes sense now. We head through the back stage maze toward the alley exit. Hopefully we’ve lingered inside long enough that his fans won’t be waiting outside to mob him. Harry is much more polite than me; he signs and signs and signs his autograph and smiles for endless photos. I would just hex them all and be done with it.


We slip out the stage door and hurry down the alley into the cold night. Little puffs of steam follow us as we run down the alley toward the waiting street. It’s never night in New York City; nothing but bright lights and people scurrying every which way. Harry pulls his cap down further to hide his face. He’s becoming well-known, but the Glamour he uses to hide behind

keeps any wizard from recognizing him. I tuck my arm through his and we saunter down the sidewalk. The one nice thing I can say about New York City is that they don’t pay attention to two young men with linked arms walking down the way.


“If we turn there, we can cut at least ten minutes of walking time,” I say pointing toward a dark alleyway that is half way down the block that we’re currently walking on. Harry nods and twines his fingers in mine. It will be private here and perhaps he will tell me now and end this maddening feeling of impending doom.


“You’re mad, you know?” Harry says affectionately. “It’s probably lined with muggers waiting to rob a pair of unsuspecting Muggles.”


“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” I reply, slipping my arm around his waist and leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “We’re not Muggles and we’re certainly not unsuspecting.” I mustn’t let him know that I know.


He kisses me back and we stand there like two love-struck teenagers, our lips moving against each other's until I pull back. I want this, but why let myself be hurt more than necessary when I know that it… us will be ending?


“Right,” Harry says a bit shakily and he takes my hand again.


We turn into the alley and walk through the canyon of tall dark buildings, the only light illuminating the street is what little moonlight filters down from above. The uneven pavement, possibly something from this city’s past, is shiny in the moonlight and I wonder to myself, when did it rain? We walk slowly, our fingers entwined in a loose lover’s knot.


“It stinks,” Harry says, breaking the silence. His nose is wrinkled up in disgust.


“Dumpster over there needs to be emptied,” I say, steering him around a puddle of dark water and in the process kick a soda bottle. It bounces and rolls with a dull thunk across the pavement until I hear it hit something solid and stop.


“This is vile. No more shortcuts,” Harry says with disgust.


I laugh suddenly and startle him. He doesn’t resist when I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him close so that we’re face to face. He gazes steadily at me through his now green eyes. He’s let his Glamour drop and his hair is now a wild, dark bird’s nest. I shake my head and my black hair starts to fade from the roots down until it is the silvery blond that he knows so well. His eyes widen as my brown eyes change to their normal gray.


“Better,” he murmurs and I allow him to pull me into a kiss. His lips touch mine and I wrap my arms tighter around him and begin to walk him backwards, until I have him flush against the wall. His hands slip toward the hem of my jumper. It’s hard to stop when I want this and so does he. He is always needy after a performance, as if he feels the need to complete the unfinished act of sex that he depicted on stage with me or to be assured that his performance was brilliant. I can feel him against my thigh as I lean into him. Someone moans, and I can’t be sure if it’s Harry or me. We’re like two crayons left in the sunlight, melting into one another. The surge of desire is so strong that no matter what is to become of us, I want this. I want<>him.


His face is pressed into my neck, his lips are soft against my throat and I can feel his heart hammering through his chest and it feels like mine is racing in time to his. If this is the end of us, then I want to remember this, I want him to remember me, the way my cock feels when it’s inside him, and the feel of my hands and mouth upon his body. I want to remember how I feel too, the rush of excitement that races along my nerves when I press my cock inside him, the heat and tightness and the feeling of being special when I’m inside of him, and the joy that makes me chuckle in such an un-Malfoy way when I come inside of him.


“No,” I breathe, pulling away a bit and catching his hands with mine.


His eyes flicker with confusion, but his lips are quirked with the beginnings of a smile. I slide closer, my hands busy undoing the buttons of his dress shirt. My need to feel his warm flesh under my fingers is like a thirst I can’t slake. I capture his lips and kiss him hard, my tongue forcing it's way into his beautiful mouth. My hands are everywhere, pulling his shirt apart and sliding over the tawny flesh that has tempted me all night. I feel, rather than hear him gasp, but I am relentless. I move down to suckle the hardened nub that calls to me.


His voice is shaky… and breathless.


“Draco…Muggles?”


I lift my head and grin. A flip of my sleeve and my wand slides down until the end is firmly grasped. A quick wave of my hand and a dumpster slides toward us and stops, effectively blocking the sight of two young gay men about to get intimate.


His hands, oh gods, his beautiful hands are attempting to undo my trousers. I slap them away and shove him harder against the dirty brick wall behind him. He grunts in surprise at my fierceness and I tug his belt loose and undo his trousers. He is almost rock hard already, but I kneel before him pulling his trousers down, as no Malfoy has ever done to another man and take him into my mouth, sucking greedily as I bob my head, licking his velvety shaft. I know that nothing will keep him here with me, but I want this. I need this.


My fingers fit into the twin dimples on his arse cheeks and I hold him tight as I suck him off. His hands rest lightly on my shoulders, neither pulling me closer nor pushing me away. I feel him throb in my mouth, and a light tremor runs though his body. His hands inch toward my neck.


I allow him to slide from my mouth and I nuzzle his soft sac, tentatively touching one and then the other with my tongue before I draw them into my mouth and lave them with my tongue. Harry gasps and his fingers make their way into my hair. I know he’s close from just this oral massage, but I don’t want to bring him off, I want to have him come when I’m inside him, my cock up his arse and my hands on his dick. This is our last fuck and I want him to remember it and think about it when he’s old and lonely and his adoring fans have forgotten him.


“Turn around,” I whisper hoarsely, my throat raw from where I’ve deep throated his dick. His hands are still in my hair and I can smell the arousal coming off of him in waves. I nuzzle his cock once more before he shifts to face the wall. He stands with his palms flat on the wall and his cheek pressed to the cold, hard brick. I spread his feet as far apart as the trousers at his feet will permit. I could whisper a spell and lube him quite efficiently, but I need this part of him for me and me alone. I am a greedy bastard, but who doesn’t know that?


He gasps as my tongue touches his anus, gently at first and then more insistently as I spread his arse cheeks and press my face in. I draw the puckered flesh between my teeth and nip gently. Harry moans and I feel him flatten himself against the wall harder, almost as if he would frot against it while I eat him out. I lick and suck and open him with my fingers and tongue and he begins to shake as I work my way into his very core.


His little soft curses are louder to me than the seemingly distant noise of taxis and cars and the streams of people that I know are walking past the entrance to the alley. I bury my face into him, inhaling his dark, musky scent and clutch him tighter.


“Oh gods,” he whispers, his hips rocking slightly from the onslaught of my tongue.


I rise from my knees and fumble with my belt and trousers, not caring if the fine wool is damaged when it hits the dirty ground.


I lean into him, pressing my hard cock between his arse cheeks and rub it between the two mounds of soft flesh. He whimpers brokenly and I nuzzle his neck, pressing small kisses along his flesh. He makes a strangled, garbled sound and then I press into him slowly.


I know it hurts, I know that no matter how much saliva I’ve worked into his passage, or how much I’ve opened him up that he can feel every inch of me against his inner walls. I feel him tremble, and suddenly this desire to be gentle and to give him time to adjust disappears as the simmering anger that has been growing inside me wells up and explodes.


How dare he leave me! Draco Malfoy! I left everything and everyone so that I could be with him! I’ve lived with these disgusting, ignorant Muggles for over four years now. I’ve pretended to be someone that I’m not, hiding myself behind dark hair and eyes and maintaining a simpering almost subservient persona when in public with Harry. He knew what I was when he crawled into bed with me the first time and he knows now.


I slam into him, my cock painfully ripping into him. I bare my teeth from the friction and pain that I’m causing myself and he cries out as I move inside him, harder and faster. I reach around and grip his dick and squeeze it, my fingers sliding over the pre-come that has leaked down it. I thrust in a steady motion, hitting his prostate with each in and out stroke. My mouth finds his neck and I bite into the soft flesh and snarl like a wounded animal.


He has wounded me. He has slashed my heart from my chest and thrown it on the streets of this cold, stone city and let it be trampled by the many feet of its citizens. Harry whimpers and moans and curses as I fuck him. I want to cause him the pain that I know I will feel when he tells me about his “career move.” I want him to remember.


My own breath is harsh to my ears. I bite harder and feel the shimmery hot taste of copper ooze into my mouth. I am close, the urge is shrieking from my groin up my spine in hot, jittery bursts. I slow my thrusts and stop, my mouth loosening its grip on his tooth-marked neck.


“Mine,” I hiss and thrust into him hard, slamming him into the hard brick, and in the same moment, hearing him scream and come over my hand. I arch and fill him with my seed, my own orgasm spiking through me in a hot flash of devouring heat.


He sags against me, a boneless mess of a man. I hold him up with trembling legs. The moments pass and the cool air dries our sweat and come streaked bodies. The roaring in my ears slowly fades and the noises of the city begin to creep back. I hold him as he trembles against me, my wilting cock slipping from his arse.


He will remember this. I will remember this.


Suddenly, I hear voices; insistent urgent voices. “I heard someone scream down there officer!” a female voice exclaims excitedly. “That way!” The slap of leather against the wet pavement grows louder by the second. I know that soon we will be discovered, two men locked in the aftermath of an intimate embrace. It’s not a crime, but still, I don’t want anyone to see him like this, or me.


Harry turns in my arms raises his head, until his eyes meet mine. His eyes are suddenly alert and he knows what must happen next. I dart down, leaving him slightly unbalanced and snatch our trousers up, shoving his roughly into his hands. I tighten my grip on his waist and he wraps his free arm around my neck and I turn, the three words of Apparition chanting wildly in my head.


The squeezing darkness pops us loose and we land in a heap on the floor of our flat, the alleyway far behind us. We lay there, dazed and sated and embarrassingly relieved. He begins to laugh, a light snigger at first and then it morphs into a hearty laugh. I raise an eyebrow and smile faintly. This scene between us isn’t over yet.


Harry laughs for a minute more, then leans in close to my ear, his hands working on the buttons on my shirt, and whispers, “Bed?”


I swallow, and nod. It won’t be tonight. I’ve distracted him.


I watch dispassionately as Harry untangles himself from my grasp and stands. He allows his trousers to fall to his feet and he toes out of them. Somewhere along the way, he’s kicked off his shoes and socks and he stands before me, almost as naked as the day he was born.


He reaches down and pulls me up by the hand, slipping my shirt off my shoulders, and then squatting to undo my shoes and socks and slip my trousers over my feet. He stands again and faces me, his glasses a bit uneven on his face. He takes my hand and pulls me toward our bedroom.


I don’t know what he expects or he thinks I’m going to allow him to do.


He pulls me to the bed and pushes me back so that I stumble and fall on the mattress. He removes his glasses and places them on the dresser behind him. He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the corner of the room and crawls onto the bed. He moves up to where I recline on our pillows and he leans in and kisses me.


His mouth is sweet and urgent against mine and I pull him closer to me while his arms come up to encircle my shoulders. It is as if nothing is wrong and I lose myself in his kisses and gentle touches.


~~~*~~~

I awake with my arm draped over Harry’s shoulder and my nose buried in his hair. He shifts and my arm slides down to rest around his waist. Some small part of me is surprised that he is still here. I guess that I thought he would leave with the dawn and I would wake alone in our flat. But, Harry Potter is no coward.


I don’t dare move. I… I don’t know what I want. I want this show to be over, but again, I don’t. If he leaves, my life won’t be over, but I’m not sure what kind of life I will have. I don’t really fit in with the Muggles. I sigh softly to myself. If Harry is awake he will probably mistake it as one of contentment and not the exhalation of the pain that is overflowing inside me.


Harry turns under my arm until he is facing me, and I find myself gazing into his startling green eyes. I’m not sorry for last night, but I… I don’t want to speak and break this peaceful spell.


“Hey,” Harry says softly, his hand coming up to touch my face.


I try to speak but nothing comes out. I clear my throat. “Hey,”


He smiles and slowly leans in and presses a soft gentle kiss to my lips. It’s almost too much to


His eyes rake over my face, and his brows knit together in confusion. Can he see the pain inching through the blank face that I offer him?


He sits up and runs a hand through his hair and stares at off into space. I hold my breath, waiting.


“What was last night about?” he asks, still not looking at me.


“Nothing,” I reply, flustered that my voice is higher than usual.


“Liar,” Harry says bluntly.


I turn to my side and study him, the curved line of his back as he tenses. “I…I thought you…didn’t you like it?” I finally stammer out, knowing that I won’t make this easy for him.


Turning, he flashes a smile at me. “It was brilliant, but… I’m a bit sore.”


“Sorry,” I mumble, feeling my cheeks heat up.


“I’m starving. You want breakfast?” He is Harry Potter at his most clueless.


As if on cue, my stomach rumbles nosily.


“Perfect timing!” Harry exclaims and rolls off the bed to his feet. I watch him pad from the room and the noise of the fridge opening and closing and a skillet being put on the stove reach me shortly.


I slowly rise, make my way to my dresser and pull out a pair of sleep pants. I drag my feet like a reluctant school boy on his way to a test he hasn’t studied for. I know he will tell me at breakfast. The rock in the pit of my stomach weighs me down.


I stop at the doorway to the kitchen. Even as miserable as I feel, I stifle a laugh. Harry has an apron tied around his waist leaving his arse bare.


He turns from the stove and motions to the table. “Sit down; the eggs are just about done.”


I slide into my seat and watch him turn the eggs out of the skillet into a bowl and set it down in front of me before he sits down in his own chair.


“Tuck in,” Harry says, grabbing the plate with bacon and grabbing a few rashers.


I put a spoonful of eggs on my plate and lift my fork.


“I wanted to talk to you about something last night,” Harry says abruptly, reaching for his mug.


I stare at my eggs and use the tines of my fork to separate them into their own little molecules.


“Draco.”


I reluctantly lift my head and meet his stare.


“We need to talk,” Harry says flatly.


“No,” I reply more curtly than I intend, “you need to talk, I don’t.”


“Why are you being such a prick this morning?” Harry asks.


“Sorry,” I mumble and look back down at my plate. My eggs are nothing but mush.


“Draco,” Harry says louder.


“What?”


“Look, I’ve been offered a job. A job in California. They want me to make a movie,” Harry says quickly, as if saying the words fast will be less painful.


“Bully for you,” I sneer.


“So, you don’t care?” he asks. I look up at him and he doesn’t look happy; in fact, he looks upset.


“I… I…” and I can’t say what I feel. What good would it do anyway. He’s going to go and that’s that.


“You don’t care!” Harry shouts at me and I see his plate fly from the table to shatter on the cabinet door. He stands and clenches his fists. I flinch at the crash because I don’t understand why he’s angry. Wouldn’t it be easier for him if I feign indifference? Yet, his anger feeds mine.


The anger that I’ve been controlling, bubbles up out of me like lava from a volcano, hot, seething, and uncontrollable.


“I do fucking care, you little bastard. I saw the letter in your dressing room that you thought you’d sneak by me by having it sent there! You’re going off to California to be a 'star,'” I sneer. “You don’t need me, you need your goddamn career!” I shout at him.


“Oh shite,” Harry says, sitting back down as suddenly as he jumped up. “You thought…” and then he laughs, a bitter, broken noise.


“What? Upset that I’ve figured out your plans all on my own? Do you think I’m that stupid not to know that something is up with you?”


“It’s not like that, Draco,” Harry says softly. He reaches for my hand across the table.


“Then what the hell is it?” I snarl and jerk away from his hand.


He swallows, a nervous bob of his throat and for once, I see that he’s troubled, pained even.


“I was offered a part in a movie and I wanted to know whether... I mean if that was okay with you... if you would mind moving to California with me? I wasn’t going to take the part if you wanted to stay here.”


“What?” I ask, stunned. Whatever anger is left shimmers away from me. “Then why did you keep it a secret from me?


“Because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do that… make a movie. Besides, you read my mail?” Harry spits back.


“I thought that…” and my voice trails off. I am such a fool!


“You seriously thought that I’d go to California and leave you here?” Harry asks.


I stare down at my plate. I have no words to explain to him why I thought that. He wouldn’t understand. He won’t ever know my fears, for that would be giving him the last part of me.


“Draco?” Harry asks gently.


It’s if a dam has burst inside me and the words pour out and give up the last of me. “I thought that you were going because you haven’t been the same lately. I… I feel like I did back at school; always the second best. I hated it then and I hate it now. And why wouldn’t you go? You’re Harry Potter!”


“I didn’t know,” Harry says even more softly, his voice just above a whisper. His hand curls over mine and I squeeze back and release it. “I’m tired of the play, Draco. It wears on you. I mean, it was fun and exciting at first, but now it’s all about putting on a show over and over and over again and it has to be perfect each time. Each time I get up there and strip, it’s like I’m baring my soul to those people. I… I can’t do it any more.”


“And why California?” I prompt. I need him to say this and what’s worse…I want it more than I can say.


He takes a deep breath. “I want to do something fun. It’s been so long since something was fun in my life and I thought that California would be a good place for you to model or act or whatever you want to do.” He grins mischievously, “The beaches are fantastic and you do look good with a tan.”


“I’m not fun, our sex isn’t fun?” I ask, just to see what he will say, not quite ready to give up the tiny bit of anger that is still working in me.


“Our sex is intense and brilliant and exciting and a hundred other things! But, it’s never been work.”


I meet his expectant gaze and he suddenly glances down, but I study him, his wild hair, his naked chest, the way his fingers twist around each other when he’s nervous, and suddenly I know that that it’s not about Harry and what he wants or what Draco wants. It’s about the both of us and what Harry and Draco want as a couple.


I heave a fake sigh and meet his gaze with a small smirk. “So, what am I supposed to do all day while you’re at work, being fawned over and pampered by all those movie people? Get a pedicure?”


He laughs and I see in his face and eyes that this is all that he wanted. He wears the most wicked smirk on his face when he speaks again.


“Do you want to know what the movie’s about?”


“Sure,” I reply, grinning at his excitement.


He shoves his chair back with his foot and comes around the table and leans down, and wraps arms around my shoulders. “It’s about a wizard,” he whispers.


“Oh?” I ask curiously, but I’m more interested in the way his lips are playing along the curve of my ear.


“Yes, and they need someone to play a rival wizard who doesn’t like the wizard I’m portraying.”


I turn to meet his bright glittering sea-green eyes.


“Feel up to giving it a go?” Harry asks.


“I’ll take you on any time, Potter,” I hiss with no menace behind it.


He just laughs.

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