Pretend

It was alternately dark and bright. The heady scent of liquor was heavy in the air, weaving through the thick clouds of cigarette smoke that hovered hardly an inch above the tallest head in the room. The smoke made the flashing black lights look all the more interesting to the half-drunk – and many more than half-drunk – crowd that congregated in the establishment.

Gray eyes hooded in his own tipsy detachment, Draco found his target for the evening. The figure was nearly equal to him in height with short, spiky hair that had to be dark as night judging by the complete lack of glow under the lights. The body was lithe and swung in a dangerous manner, obviously thoughtless, yet so entirely aware of surroundings... yes, he would do for tonight.

Draco Malfoy had been going through this ritual for so long that he couldn't remember how it started. After Hogwarts. Certainly, and before his mother had started trying to throw him and Astoria Greengrass together in her quest to continue the Malfoy name and become a grandmother. But beyond that... Draco couldn't pinpoint it. Years.

Sometimes he would accidentally take the same man to bed within a close enough time frame that they recalled him specifically. He couldn't tell in the places he chose, and he didn't care by the time he was on top of them. A fuck was a fuck when the body beneath him could never be the one he wanted.

Considering who he wanted, it was impossible for Draco to have him; some people were simply unattainable, even for a Malfoy. So he took the next best thing and moved in very close behind his target. When the man didn't move away in the face of Draco's masculinity – indeed, he moved closer and adjusted his movements to suit Draco's – he knew his evening with yet another Potter look-alike was secured.

Within half an hour, both had left the club, limbs entangled haphazardly. They had only paused once between dancing and leaving – for a single drink at the bar, though Draco could not be sure as to what they had been drinking or which of them paid, only that his target's mouth tasted like something perfect and sinful, as he always imagined Potter's would – and now Draco was leading the look-alike to his nearest flat.

He pressed the slighter body against the front door of his apartment, fumbling with the lock in a clumsy manner that did not befit a Malfoy. But he didn't care because he knew from each moan that his free hand was doing exactly what he wanted it to and from his partner's hitched breath that he had been right in picking the area just below his ear to suckle and bite.

Soon enough they were in, and Draco made his way kissing and biting and touching into the bedroom. Light from a streetlamp entered through the bedroom window, falling on his target like liquid orange and illuminating his features in ways that the strobe lights had failed to do. His eyes shone, the color indiscernible from his dilated pupils, but Draco knew they were lightly colored, blue or green. He pretended they were green and that just under that lock of hair on his conquest's forehead lay a lightning bolt scar.

The body beneath him arched. "Get on with it," the voice was panting and needy, but beneath the tone Draco made out a voice so close to Harry Potter's tenor that he couldn't discern the difference. A shudder wracked his body before his hands resumed their previous pleasuring of the other man.

Draco fastened his lips to the junction of the man's shoulder and neck. He reveled in the salty taste as much as the writhing of his companion. The tank top that could barely be considered clothing was pried off and Draco's attentions switched to the newly revealed torso. His partner bucked again, driving his straining crotch against the wizard's stomach. But the blond was in such control that he only continued his ministrations.

He continued with his taunting, one hand just barely tracing patterns on the neck of the man who lay desperate beneath him, the other toying with the waistband of leather trousers that he knew must be so incredibly annoying by this point. But only teasing, because it was the sort of foreplay he dreamed of doing with Potter, driving the other man mad with lust without even touching that integral spot.

The look-alike didn't agree with that method however, and showed his disagreement quite openly. His hands, which had previously been clutching desperately at the bed covers, suddenly lashed out, one yanking off his trousers while the other cupped Draco's erection.

That definitely got the wizard's attention.

"Either fuck me or let me leave," that voice made Draco shiver. It was just like hearing Potter deliver orders to the aurors on the occasions that Draco "coincidentally" passed by the auror offices. It was exactly on the spot.

"How do you want it?" Draco kept his voice low as he leaned in to whisper. In the subtle glow that came in from the window, he knew he must look unearthly, and that was exactly how he wanted it to be. He delicately removed the hand that had been trying – and doing a damn good job of it – to jerk him off through the thick material of his trousers, reasserting himself in the situation.

"Is 'hard enough I won't remember my name come morning' an option?" It was said so flirtatiously, and Draco thought he had never found another "target" who was such a close match to Potter.

The only response Draco allowed was to duck down and nibble on the creamy neck before setting to work on getting rid of his own trousers and the look-alike's pants – Draco wore none to begin with, since he went out these nights with the intention of having them off not long past night fall. His hand reached around his partner's back to prepare, but a rebellious hand stopped him again.

"Don't bother, just fuck me," it was said in such a vulgar manner, but Draco found the words rather heady.

So he did. The man below him was probably as experienced as Draco himself. He groaned and moved in sync, seeming oblivious to the pain that must have been involved in the sudden penetration. The wet slap of skin and the scent of sweat, musk, and sex was nothing compared to the physical sensation.

And then it was over. Draco's stomach and chest were coated in sticky white, and he'd pulled out rather than ejaculate inside his current partner, soiling the top of the covers.

"Fuck... Draco," the look-alike was staring at him, eyes half closed and still looking aroused despite being physically spent.

But that raised the pureblood's hackles. "How –"

"Shut up and cuddle, damn it," and Draco was pulled closer, never mind that he was covered in come, given no opportunity to complain. "I'm affectionate, post-coital haze and all, and you're going to indulge me since I happen to still remember my name."

And Draco indulged the other man without complaint, because he'd seen something while being pulled close.

A lightning bolt scar stared jauntily at him from his partner's brow. Draco had attained the unattainable.

Author's Note: Maybe if I'm bored enough I'll write a follow-up story.