Your Place or Mine?

Some people, you take one look at, and all you want to do is simply fuck them until they forget their own name.

For example. Draco Malfoy.

Slimy fucker sitting there at the bar, completely unaware of all the attention he's getting, chewing thoughtfully on his lips.

Lips that I cannot stop imagining wrapped around my cock.

My cock that's been half-hard for an hour, straining pathetically against my jeans.

Ron says something and I absolutely cannot bring myself to give a fuck.

"What," I say absently anyway, considering he's my best mate and all.

"For Merlin's sake, Harry," Ron begins exasperatedly. "Just take him home already. I can see your boner from over here."

I snort mid-sip and a spray of beer lands on the table.

"That's Malfoy," I say unnecessarily, wiping my mouth, watching Malfoy raise his glass of Firewhiskey and sip – his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and I have a sudden urge to lick it.

"Your point being?" Ron sips his own beer, cocking an eyebrow up at me. "You've slept with a dozen Slytherin blokes by now. Alteast."

"Yeah, but that's Malfoy," I repeat as if that makes things clearer. I can't stop staring at Malfoy as he idly traces what must be a moisture ring on the gleaming surface of the bar.

"Scared?," I can hear Ron smirk and know he's reverse psychology-ing me and find the tactic working as I get to my feet, draining the rest of my beer as I do.

"Good luck finding another wing man," I say, picking up and shrugging on Sirius' leather jacket.

"No need, that bird's mine tonight," Ron gestures. I look across the room and see a leggy blonde witch, dressed in a red, miniscule, handkerchief of a dress, her feet strapped into sparkly, pencil heels, and her fair hair pulled over one skinny, bare shoulder, sipping on something pink and maintaining stubborn eye-contact with Ron as she pointedly licks her lips.

"Good on you, mate," I grin, tucking my wand up my sleeve.

"Hope you have as much luck as I'm about to," he gets to his feet, runs a hand through his hair and grins at the finger I flip at him.

We part ways and I try to suppress the shudder of sheer want that goes up my spine when my eyes land back on Malfoy.

"Bit unusual, seeing you alone," I say by way of greeting, sliding on the stool next to his, intentionally letting my elbow graze his.

If he's surprised at my sudden appearance next to him, he does a remarkable job at hiding it. He looks sideways at me, blinks and then smirks, although the familiar expression seems to lack its usual malice.

"You haven't seen me in five years, Potter," he says softly, tilting his head so his stupid blond hair falls into his eyes. He's infuriatingly attractive.

"Yeah," I reply, my eyes fixed on his pink mouth. "Still, can't blame me for remembering you being permanently surrounded by a bunch of bodyguards. What, don't need the 'protection' anymore?"

His face falls slightly, and then the corner of his mouth lifts in a wry smile.

"And who would I need protection from in here, you think?" his eyes actually twinkle merrily. What the fuck? What happened to the usual evil glimmer?

I take a long, extremely deliberate look at him, letting my eyes linger on his arse, crotch and finally his mouth.

"Me, probably," I say in a low voice, now not taking my eyes off of his, waiting for that moment when it sinks in.