Paralyzer

Title: Paralyzer
Class: Songfic Oneshot
Summary: Auror Potter was just there on recon assignment. Not there for pleasure. He was surely not, definitely not, at Zabini's gay bar for personal reasons. That is, until he's paralized. Oh boy...
Disclaimer: I don't own the HP universe or characters. Never have, never will. Also don't own the lyrics in this from the song "Paralyzer". The band FingerEleven does, those lucky bitches. Hmm, I make no money from this either, just perverse pleasure. ;D Enjoy.

Auror Potter stepped into the the dim room, giving his recently repaired eyes a chance to adjust to the change in lighting. It was still light outside, it being in the early evening, and Harry would normally be off at this hour. He was dressed casual-chic, needing to at least make an attempt to blend into the club's clientele. He was, in fact, under cover. There had been reports of illegally distributed lust potions, and considering Blaise Zabini owned Elitist, he could understand the accusation. He scanned the dance floor and bar casually, as if deciding whether he'd dance or drink first. Of course, Harry had no inclination to do the former. The latter...maybe. Just being forced to take this assignment was enough to make his mouth water for Ogden's Olde.

"Damn, watch it yeah? You're blocking the flow."

Harry jerked slightly at the witch's voice, moving away from the door where he realized he had settled at. He remembered that slightly nasal whine...

"Parkinson?" He asked quietly.

The short haired witch turned with an annoyed expression. "Yeah, what? We're on stage in ten and I have to check my bass." She huffed.

"Stage? You perform?" He asked, shocked that one, she apparently didn't recognize him, and two...she was actually working and not relying on Gringott's coffers. Surely after the war she married and inherited her fortune?

"Yeah, twink. I play. Here. Since Blaise opened. The house band is called Blink." She replied, rushed. "Look, you're new. Just go wander, yeah?"

Harry nodded absently, looking away from the brunette to locate the stage. What he had mistaken for mirrors on one wall were, in fact, wards. One sided wards that functioned precisely like two way glass. He frowned slightly then made his way slowly to the bar, noticing Zabini emerging from a doorway that Parkinson just disappeared into.

"Five minutes, love!" The dark man called after her, a twang in his voice betraying his femme personality. 'Well. That makes sense.' Harry thought to himself. He settled at the bar with his back to the stage, waiting for Zabini to catch his eye. He was parched...

"What can I get you, sweety?" Came the Italian's silky smooth voice. When he didn't get a reply, he turned from the tap to give the dark haired patron a raised brow, flirtatious with his head cocked.

'Nice try, but no.' Harry mused to himself. He just about opened his mouth to order whiskey when the former Slytherin's smile stilled and stared hard, eyes widening a fraction.

"Well...I would have NEVER thought to see YOU here, Potter." Blaise said quietly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the bar. "When did you become a shirt lifter?" He asked, genuinely curious. He had been generally neutral in the war, five years ago. The last he saw of the Gryffindor Golden Boy, nothing tipped his hand to the other side of the tracks. If he had, Blaise wouldn't have resisted the temptation. His tastes were expensive, and he would be happy with Golden.

"I like my privacy, Zabini." Harry replied, neither admitting or denying the assumption. He chuckled to himself. "Ogden's, please. Hard up."

"Well, I certainly am!" He quipped, the innuendo not lost on Harry. "Blink is about to start. I think you'll approve. Enjoy your night and make sure you come...back." the club's owner purred, winking and dropping a tumbler of the firewiskey down on the bar.

Blaise moved off to tend more customers and Harry shook his head. Sometimes, things just don't make sense to the brunette. And other times, they're just humorous for very little reason. This was a mixture of both. He grabbed his drink, sliding off the stool while tipping the tumbler up to sip.

He sauntered over to the edge of the dance floor and canted one hip, resting one retracted elbow in the dip of his waist. Hermione had taught him that move, and strangely enough it didn't feel too awkward. He heard the tell-tale sounds of instruments and then a distinctive thrum and an eerie soft wail before the guitars and drums picked up the beat from the bass. The wards cleared and he wasn't surprised to see Parkinson off to the right, bobbing her head in time with the beat of her own tapping and the drummers snare.

Harry looked behind the guitarist, curious about the player. Nott. Theodore Nott. Harry nodded to himself. He looked to see who it was that stepped up to the Mic, pale thin fingers dancing along the frets and pickup. He let out a long, soft string of expletives that would have made even the deceased Voldemort blush.

"I hold on so nervously
To me and my drink
I wish it was cooling me
But so far, has not been good
It’s been shitty
And I feel awkward, as I should
This club has got to be
The most pretentious thing
Since I thought you and me
Well I am imagining
A dark lit place
Or your place or my place."

Came the clear, attractive tenor of the most obnoxious prat Harry ever had the misfortune to know. He had no bleeding clue Malfoy played, or even sang. And it came to a shock that the former Death Eater was actually good at both. Harry suddenly remembered his reason for being in this Merlin-forsaken bar and snapped his eyes to Malfoy, knowing that his dabbling in potions during and after the war pointed a sharp, suspect finger at the Slytherin. He shifted slightly, but it seemed enough to catch the attention of the silver eyed rockstar.

Draco's eyes widened as he stared down from the stage. Harry lifted his chin and stared right back, eyes blazing a challenge. Even at that moment, Harry didn't know what the challenge was.

"Well I’m not paralyzed
But, I seem to be struck by you
I want to make you move
Because you’re standing still
If your body matches
What your eyes can do
You’ll probably move right through
Me on my way to you."

Draco forced out, his voice turning from silky and mesmerizing to gravelly and rough. He bristled at the challenge Harry's eyes and smirked. He'd meet it. Oh yes. And defeat it.

Harry, on the other hand, shivered in place at the hungry look that flashed across Malfoy's face. He didn't expect the blonde to slip the microphone from the stand and reach into his pocket to part the wards with his wand. He kept eye contact as Malfoy hopped down, his slender frame smoothing into the jump with the grace Harry could only compared to a large feline. Malfoy raised the Mic to his lips, the second verse slipping through his lips like it was second nature to his forward slink across the parted dance floor.

"I hold out for one more drink
Before I think
I’m looking too desperately
But so far has not been fun
I should just stay home
If one thing really means one
This club will hopefully
Be closed in three weeks
That would be cool with me
Well I’m still imagining
A dark lit place
Or your place or my place..."

Harry stood his ground, even as another shiver raced across his body. He narrowed his eyes at the singing snake, not allowing the tack to intimidate him. Malfoy closed the distance between them, his own appreciative orbs raked over the lean body of the Saviour before locking once more on the glittering greens that pierced right through him.

"Well, I’m not paralyzed
But, I seem to be struck by you
I want to make you move
Because you’re standing still
If your body matches
What your eyes can do
You’ll probably move right through
Me on my way to you."

Draco crooned harshly, slipping into Harry's personal space. The club gasped collectively, knowing something was up with the notoriously single and hard-to-get singer, and not just an act. Brown eyes behind the bar sparkled in amusement. Potter was in trouble, if the predatory stalking Draco was doing was any indication. The blonde slid in a smooth circle around Harry, a hand brushing against the green silk of the Golden Boy's shirt. Harry inwardly growled, knowing he shouldn't have let Ron talk him out of joining him in this recon assignment. He followed the rocker with his eyes, the lyrics of the song not lost on him. Draco's hand flashed up in a pale blur, only to card his fingers roughly through Harry's ever-windswept coal locks.

"Well, I’m not paralyzed
But, I seem to be struck by you
I want to make you move
Because you’re standing still
If your body matches
What your eyes can do
You’ll probably move right through
Me on my way to you!"

Draco sang in the perfect blending of rough and sweet. Harry clenched his teeth against an involuntary moan; Draco felt the vibration of the sound when he slid his artist's fingers down the side of Harry's face before sliding to the open collar, which he grasped and tugged lightly. He smiled around the Mic with a smirk that shot right to the Auror's groin.

"Well, I’m not paralyzed
But, I seem to be struck by you
I want to make you move
Because you’re standing still
If your body matches
What your eyes can do
You’ll probably move right through
Me on my way to you..."

Draco repeated, the lust evident in his voice and face as the fist tightened on the collar, giving it a forceful tug that brought Harry flush up against the attractive blonde during the last two lines. The instrumental element was gone, Harry's entire focus on the warm and hard body pressed against his. Said body betrayed him and pressed back.

"You'll probably move right through
Me on my way to you...
You'll probably move right through
Me on my way to you."

Draco repeated, tilting his head up to the slightly taller man. The music faded, but the singer made no move to resume his station up on the stage. Something shifted in Harry's eyes and Draco silently crowd his victory.

"Bloody hell, Draco..." Harry whispered into the strange silence, before crashing his lips down onto the Slytherin. His recon forgotten, his drink forgotten, his assurance that he was straight as a board, forgotten. All he noticed was the way Draco pressed into him with his own searching tongue, pushing their lip-locked bodies backwards in the vague direction of the band's quarters.

~finite

(Lyrics are from "Paralyzer" by FingerEleven. I do not own them)