Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Shaggy Blues	By : dirtydarella Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3660 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Shaggy Blues
- 1
Shaggy Blues

******

Note: This was a birthday fic for tari-sue. ^_^

Harry whimpered when he felt the sharp tug on his scalp, followed by the slimy feel of a glamour being applied to a wild tuff on his left side. He never liked getting his hair styled, so it meant he really loved someone when he'd go through the rigmarole of trying to tame it. That is, as long as Hermione was willing to put in the effort.

“Ouch,” Harry said, trying not to jerk away from the hand currently fisting half his hair.

“Sorry,” Hermione mumbled, sounding more irritated than apologetic. “Hold still, I'm almost done.”

In the reflection of the mirror hanging in front of Harry, he could see Ron nervously tugging at the blue lace sleeves of his dress robe.

“Hermione,” the redhead groaned, ignoring her distracted shush, “you told me these wouldn't look like girl's robes.”

“They don't,” Hermione said as another slimy-feeling glamour was applied to Harry's hair.

“They're all frilly.” Ron emphasized his point by pinching the puckered fabric around his collar, regardless of the fact that only Harry could see him at the current moment.

“Honestly,” she said with a sigh. “Everyone else is dressing formal.”

“Yeah, but look at Harry. He's not wearing a dress.”

“It's not a dress. There, all done.” Hermione patted Harry's head, smiling in triumph at winning another battle with his dark locks.

Harry stepped away gratefully, glancing over Hermione's work. His calics were more or less smoothed, his hair fell around his face in a more stylized manner. Yes, it was definitely better.

“Thanks.”

She waved him off as she turned to go down the hall, shooting Ron a warning glare that had him snapping his jaw shut with an audible clack. He turned his attention to Harry instead.

“Be honest with me, mate. Does this look like a girls outfit?”

“Er- no. It's more uh... Shakespearean, I'd say.”

Ron frowned and pushed Harry from in front of the mirror, looking at his own reflection. “I don't think that's any better.”

A lock of midnight-black hair feathered over Harry's nose and he brushed it to the side impatiently.

“You know,” Ron said, glancing over his shoulder, “maybe it's time you tried a professional hair stylist.”

“What's wrong with Hermione doing my hair?”

Ron tugged at his collar and shrugged. “Dunno. You both complain about it an awful lot is all.”

“I wouldn't even know where to go. Never even heard of a wizard hair stylist before.”

“Oh, don't worry. I could help you there,” Ron said with a pat to the shoulder. At Harry's quizzical look, the red head started snickering.”

“Er- did I miss something?”

“Pretty boy Percy. He's been going to get his hair styled every week since he finished Hogwarts. Gets his nails done, too.”

An image of Percy Weasley sitting in a chair, nails being polished while his hair, done up with curlers, was being dried underneath one of those helmet heating things. Harry joined in to snicker with Ron, sharing an amused look.

But hey, if it worked for Percy, maybe it could work for him.

“I guess I could give it a shot.

“Give what a shot?” Hermione said, stepping into the room with a huff. She wore a pretty summer dress, white with a yellow flower pattern that hung well on her frame. When she flipped her wavy hair, drawing attention to shapely shoulders, Harry saw a line of drool on Ron's chin. He laughed out right, gaining a suspicious look from Hermione.

“What?” she said, frowning thoughtfully.

“It's nothing.” He waved off the concern with a flick of his wrist. When she opened her mouth he quickly tried to change the subject. “Got the presents?”

“Oh!” Hermione cried, rushing back down the hallway in a clack of heels. “You would think out of all your siblings, one of them would remember which anniversary this was.”

“Not this again,” Ron mumbled, giving his collar, then his sleeves a sharp tug. Harry seriously started to wonder if he was trying to pull them off altogether.

Hermione came back into the room, holding two elegant presents – rewrapped by her of course. Ron and Harry's original newspaper and duct tape was something 'only men' would do, according to her, and apparently inappropriate. “Hopefully these will do. It would have been nicer to know if there was something that coincided with their year, though.”

“I told you, if anyone asked them which anniversary it was, it would have ruined the surprise.”

“Honestly,” she huffed, shoving the silver wrapped boxes – the complete china set the three of them had split – into Ron's arms.

“Alright then, shall we?” Ron said, then blushed when Hermione nodded and linked their arms.

Harry watched as his friends disappeared before walking over and checking on his hair once more. It did look better after the effort of styling it. Seeing a professional couldn't hurt, he thought, as he ran his palm over a lock of wavy hair sticking out near his temple.

***

The first thing Harry noticed when entering the hair salon was the heavy smell of potions, and thought perhaps he had the wrong place. Upon closer inspection, however, he noticed the chairs and floating mirrors, along with a few aprons thrown over wizard's shoulders and chests. This was definitely it.

He approached the front counter and cleared his throat in hopes of grabbing the attention of the pink-hair receptionists. She sat with choppy bangs hanging over her eyes and layered hair in spiky sections framing her face.

“Yes?” she said, not looking up from her magazine.

“Er...” Harry said, shifting on his feet. “I'm here for a hair appointment.”

The pink-haired girl slowly licked her index finger and turned a page of the magazine in her hands, never once looking up. “Name?”

Before he could open his mouth, a deep voice came from his side. “Harry.”

He glanced over to see a man with rich blue eyes and hair just a shade short of black, almost as dark as his own. The color was where the similarities stopped, however, as the man's hair was shinny and loose, with long, straight strands falling elegantly across his shoulders and down his back.

“I'm Roger,” he said, sticking his hand out. “I'll be your hair dresser today.”

Harry shook hands with him, smiling weakly.

“This way,” Roger said. As he turned his hair fanned out elegantly, reflecting light off in an arc of highlights through the strands.

A few heads turned to watch as Harry made his way towards the back, nothing unusual, but still rather annoying. He found himself in a private room, a cushioned chair seated in front of a large mirror. Potions lined one wall, adorning labels like 'strengthening' and 'smoothing'.

“We'll be using the executive room for you, to respect your privacy.”

Harry glanced over and watched as Roger pulled a dark gray curtain shut, blocking the curious eyes from the main area. He nodded his gratitude and took a seat in the chair.

“Let's begin. What is it that you were looking to do with your hair?”

“Er, nothing fancy or anything,” Harry said, watching in the mirror as Roger's short wand started to wave in circles around his head. “I was hoping to tame it a bit, make it easier to work with if possible.”

Roger nodded, continuing with his wand movements and Harry flinched when the first sharp tug was felt towards the back of his hair.

“I was hoping,” Harry continued, ignoring the pain from the rather harsh pulling of his hairs, “that it wouldn't have to be a drastic change or anything.”

The motion stilled and Harry looked up, noticing the almost pout on the hairdresser’s mouth. “Are you sure? I could style it nicely for you.”

“No thanks.” He was already weary from doing this in the first place, the last thing he wanted was to walk out with a style like the receptionist had.

“If you insist.”

Before he could reply, Harry yelped as he felt an icy cold liquid splash on his scalp. A deep green potion was being poured directly on his hair, oozing down the back of his neck and over his temples.

“Close your eyes,” Roger said, giving Harry's hair another painful pulling. “It's a good thing you came to me, you're hair is positively stubborn.”

Harry tried his best not to grimace, or vomit from the fowl smell of that potion. It was looking more and more like he would be going to Hermione for the rest of his life to style his hair. At least she pretended to be gentle in handling it. Not to mention, she never covered his head in something that smelled like foul-smelling urine.

Thankfully, after a few more minutes passed, the smell disappeared, although the painful handling continued. Between gritting his teeth and clenching his hands into tight fists, he knew something besides his scalp was going to be sore tomorrow.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now,” Roger said. “We're all done.”

One phrase danced through Harry’s heads: Oh thank heavens. He opened his eyes slowly, shifting his glasses up his nose with his index finger and looked at his reflection. He had to admit, his hair did look rather nice. It wasn't as shinny as Roger's, but it did have a certain gleam to it. The tuffs and calics that normally caused his hair to stick up wildly had been smoothed down, but not enough for him to loose all the volume in his hair.

He brushed his hand over his forehead, sweeping the bangs over to see if they would still cover his scar. Despite what he had asked for, his hair had been styled a bit. The bangs hung in angled sections over his forehead while the back of his hair was messily twisted into spikes. It didn't look particularly bad or anything, but it just wasn't him.

“What do you think?” Roger said, smiling brightly in the mirror.

Harry didn't really know. It looked okay, probably better than his normal hair. Really, he could get used to it. He turned his head from side to side, noticing that it was actually shorter in the back then in the front. “Er- It's good, thanks.”

Roger's smile grew larger, and he swept his hair over his shoulder elegantly in an action that just screamed smugness. “Glad you like it. Now, I must warn you, the magic only lasts two to three weeks before it wears off. You'll have to come back when the style starts to fall.”

Harry blinked. “You mean it will look exactly like this for the next few weeks?”

Roger let out a bark of laughter. “You don't know much about wizarding hair dressers, do you?”

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, Harry tried not to sink into his chair. “Sorry, I don't.”

“It will look like this, yes. Unless it gets wet. But not to worry, when it dries it will return to this style.”

Harry glanced back to his reflection, trying not to frown. His hair did look good, he told himself. The shape complimented his face nicely, and had a modern, styled look to it. But somehow, the idea that he wouldn't look like himself seemed to grate on his nerves.

He tipped Roger and as he was paying at the front desk, the pink hair receptionist still quite rude, he thought maybe not looking like himself could be a good thing. At least it would mean people wouldn't recognize him as easily as they usually did.

***

Harry had gone over to Ron and Hermione's straight from his hair appointment, apparating into the kitchen. It was unspoken between the trio that they didn't need to be invited into each other's homes to be welcomed. Still, it didn't mean Harry didn't worry about walking in on... something. Which is why he always chose to apparate into the kitchen, hoping it was a safe place away from any... activities. He shuttered at the thought.

“Anyone home?” He waited a beat, but there was no answer. Shrugging, he walked around their table and into the living room, taking note of the roaring fire. Hermione should be home. She wasn't working, but that didn't mean she couldn't have gone out for some sort of errand.

In truth, he was hoping to catch his friends unexpectedly. He hadn't even told them about the hair appointment today, wanting to get their raw reaction to his new hair. The first expression on their open and honest faces, no matter how quick it was, would tell him everything. Especially Ron, who was slow to cover up his own reactions once they reflected on his face.

Just as he was about to shout out again, he heard quick footfalls pounding down the hallway and turned. Ginny stepped into the room, her lips pursed as she walked stiffly. If she noticed him in the room, she didn't indicate it.

A second later, Ron rushed after her. “How was I suppose to know it was their 33rd? Or that we should have given them Amethyst?”

“Didn't Hermione tell you?”

Ron's lips turned down into a frown. “How would she have known?”

“Bill was supposed to tell her. Or maybe Charley,” she waved her hand. “Anyway, it doesn't matter, they loved your gift all the same.”

“No one told us,” Ron whined, then stopped dead in his track as his blue eyes finally turned fully on the figure in the doorway. Harry could almost see the emotions rushing through blue eyes – confusion, then interest, followed by a flash of joy. “Mate, did you change your hair?”

Ginny turned too, her gaze raking over his head before she squealed in delight. “Oh, you look so good!”

She came over, clearly disregarding propriety when it came to personal space as she grabbed his chin and forced his head side to side. After an experimental hand through his hair, she let go and stepped back. “So what's the deal then? Hot date?”

“No, I just... I dunno. I wanted to see what I could do with it.”

“You should come with Dean and me tonight,” she said excitedly, again stepping into his personal space, the perfume that used to drive him wild almost gagged him now in it's strength.

He tried not to roll his eyes and tell her sarcastically that being a third wheel sounded like so much fun. “Maybe another time.”

Ginny shrugged. “Your loss.”

A sudden thump to the shoulder startled Harry, who hadn't seen Ron sneak up close to him. “Do you think you'll become a regular like Percy?”

“I don't know. The guy said the magic only last for two weeks, and it's a lot of bother. Maybe just for special events.”

Ron nodded, then smiled. “You look good, mate.”

A small weight eased up in Harry's chest as he grinned at his friends in thanks.

***

“Back again, Harry?” the pink-haired receptionist said. He didn't know how she could tell it was him, considering her eyes had remained fixed to a magazine in her hands since the moment he stepped into sight.

“Yeah,” he said. He waited a moment, thinking she might tell him to take a seat, or inform Roger of his arrival. She did neither; the only movement made was the slow turns of her magazine pages.

Harry's new look had grown on him, which is why after only two weeks he had agreed to make another appointment. The magic had disappointingly only lasted a week, but in that time he had gotten quite a few compliments from everyone from the Weasleys to McGonagall, who had visited with him when Hagrid invited him up to Hogwarts for some tea.

“Harry?”

He looked up at the calling of his name, giving a strained smile when he spotted Roger flicking his sleek black hair over his shoulder in a graceful manner. The upcoming torture session with the hairdresser wasn't something Harry was looking forward to, but he had endured it once before, and he could do it again.

“Back to how it was, what a shame. I was hoping it would last for at least two and a half weeks.”

“Actually,” Harry said, running a nervous hand through his hair, “it returned to normal after six days.”

“Hmm. That's odd.” Roger cocked his head, eyebrows furrowing as his hair slipped off his tilted shoulder fluidly. “I don't know why it would.”

Harry shrugged, having no answers of his own.

“Strange. Oh well, let's get started.”

He followed Roger to the back room, once again grateful of the shut curtain as the searching eyes of other customers danced over his figure. Sitting down in the cushioned chair, he tried to steal himself for the discomfort that was about to come. The phrase 'pain is beauty' came to his mind and he almost laughed. It wasn't as if he really cared what he looked like, but it was nice to have hair that made him look less like he had just stuck his tongue in a toaster.

Although, on the down side he still faintly felt as if he was wearing a disguise. The tiniest bit of shame seemed to settle in his gut, bringing along its good friend guilt. He had his father's hair, after all, and now he was changing it so it hardly resembled what it used to at all.

By the time he left, hair once again styled and scalp just a bit sore, he had pushed the feelings aside for the time being.

***

It was raining again, for the third day in a row. Water drained along the curbs of the streets in a steady stream, filling large areas of the road with rippling water. The air had been cooled, causing the wizards of Hogsmeade to cast warming charms under their umbrellas and raincoats. In some cases, people had repellent charms on their hair, determined to fight the weather in its attempt to ruin it.

Harry was not one of those people.

The good thing about having his hair professionally done, as he had come to learn, is that the moment he stepped out of the rain, or shower, or anything else that would make it wet, his hair would dry and restyle itself in the blink of an eye. At least, that's how it worked when he bothered to get it done. The only problem was, it had been close to three months since he had gotten it done.

He had thought it was too much bother. Okay, well in partial truth it was because George had been cracking jokes about his masculinity. A guy getting his hair done could be a very masculine experience, but it was hard to argue that with the redhead.

Harry pushed open glass doors and cast a quick drying spell on his travel cloak. He'd never been in here before, so he was quite impressed by the pristinely decorated looking waiting area. This place was definitely more fancy than the hair place he had been going to. Not that that should be a surprise, since he had specifically requested Hermione find him the best she could – which she had, including a small essay of why it was the best. It was still sitting on his kitchen table, unread.

Stepping up to the polished wood counter, he was greeted by a smiling receptionist with a friendly gleam in her eye. Not only did she actually look at him, but she had decent hair to boot. This place was looking more and more promising. Why the hell Hermione thought an essay would be necessary was beyond him.

“H-harry Potter?” the girl said nervously, a shade of pink staining her cheeks.

“That's me, yeah.”

She smiled shyly, then stood in a surprisingly graceful motion, hinting towards a purebred upbringing. “Please follow me, the owner has taken a personal interest in you.”

Great, Harry thought sarcastically. The last thing he needed was a fan.

As he walked through the salon, noticing that he was heading towards a staircase, he saw people rubbernecking to get a good look at him out of the corner of his eye. Led by the receptionist, Harry made his way down stairs and into a room that smelled surprisingly good, sweet like a patch of wildflowers. There was a single black chair in front of a mirror and what looked like a potions workbench against the far wall.

He heard the click of heels indicating the departure of the receptionist and walked over to a rack of potions, bending over to see if there were any labels, which showed the answer as no. Thinking he was alone in the room, he was quite startled when he looked up to see a very familiar male figure in the mirror. Draco Malfoy's gray eyes quickly shot up and meet his through the reflection. Was Malfoy checking out his – surely not... he must be imagining things.

“What are you doing here?”

A smirk appeared on Malfoy's pink lips. “See all this around you? It's mine.”

“You're the owner?” Harry said, his eyes narrowing before widening again. “Wait – I'm not trusting you with my hair.”

“Please, get over yourself. As if I'd do anything that'd have the Great Savior Scar-face running to the press and fucking up my business reputation.

Harry narrowed his eyes. Now he understood why Hermione had written an essay, he could picture the analytical argument of letting Malfoy do his hair. Which would mean she knew Malfoy owned the place. Worst of all, he couldn't make a big fuss about finding the blonde git here since it would end in an 'you should have read my paper' lecture.

“Look Potter, I'm going to put it simply. This place is the best hair salon in all of London, and I'm the best stylist this place has.” Malfoy crossed his arms in a way that was possibly suppose to be threatening, but it just came across as defensive towards Harry. “If you can act like a mature adult about this whole thing then we can just get the whole thing over with as quick as possible.”

Frowning, Harry nodded. Something had changed about Malfoy – he had grown up. He supposed both of them had. Although there was always something between them, an indefinable thing that drove them to rivalry, it had somehow, growing into something else, become something different. He couldn't describe what it was, but it was there.

“Good. Have a seat.”

Harry did as he was told, sitting in the chair in a strange half cylinder-like shape. He waited for the first pull or harsh rub, sure that the last thing on Malfoy's mind was being gentle with him. Surprisingly, however, the initial touch was a soft combing of pale fingers through his midnight black hair. He watched mesmerized as Malfoy's slender digits carefully moved over and through his locks, the contrast of light and dark almost erotic. Er- in a non-sexual way of course. And it was a non-sexual shiver that ran down Harry's spine when they scratched against his scalp slightly.

“What is it that you want?”

“I don't know. My hair's just so... you know.”

There was a moment of silence, Malfoy's hand never leaving his hair before finally the blonde leaned down. His face was so close to Harry's that if the brunette tilted his head just a little to the right, they'd be cheek to cheek.

“It's really not bad at all, you know.”

“Hmm.” Harry held back a sigh of contentment when Malfoy's fingers began toying with the hair on the crown of his head.

“You want it styled?” Malfoy hunched down and looked at him through the mirror.

“Not really. But I do want it more,” he waved a hand through the air absentmindedly as he searched for the right word, “manageable.”

Harry found the way Malfoy's head rested on his shoulder, locking gray eyes to green in the mirror's reflection uncomfortably intimate. Something was stirring in his chest, and the way warm breath was caressing his neck and jaw only made it all the worse.

Feeling uneasy, Harry shifted to the side, glad when Malfoy pulled back a little, and yet feeling suddenly a little colder. That must just be the cold weather. It was raining, after all.

“I'll see what I can do,” Malfoy said, brushing a lock of hair behind Harry's ear before turning around and shifting through the things placed on the adjacent shelf.

Malfoy began, starting with pouring a potion that, to Harry's delight, didn't smell foul onto his hair. In fact, the scent was quite pleasant to him, like cut grass and green apples. One hand began to rub the liquid into his hair, taking time to carefully comb through the locks, while the other flicked a wand every once in a while.

The session was alarmingly comfortable. Harry actually found himself fighting to keep his head from dipping forward in pleasure. His body began to slump into the chair, his eyes fluttering closed. That is, until he felt the telltale stirring in his groin. What. The. Fuck. Did his body think it was doing?

Thankfully, he was so freaked out afterwards, concentrating fully on keeping the Mr. Happy in his pants not quite so happy that the process seemed to finish quickly. When Harry finally looked into the mirror, ignoring the smirking blonde behind him, he was stunned. His hair was soft and silky looking. The mess of locks appeared feathery light and somehow as if their chaotic form was an actual style. In short, it looked exactly the same as it always did, and yet so much better. A smile curved his lips as he looked back at Malfoy.

“This should hold for about a month.”

“Right,” Harry said, doing nothing to hide the disbelieving tone in his voice.

“You doubt me?” Malfoy said, his voice turning icy.

Holding back a sigh, Harry shook his head. It looked like Malfoy was going to be his new hairdresser, and pissing him off probably wasn't a good course of action.

“It's not that,” he said, hoping to mollify the haughty blond. “It's just that, the last guy I went to claimed his style would last two or three weeks, but it hardly kept for six days.”

Pale fingers laced through his black locks as Malfoy's face took on a pensive look. Harry tried his best not to purr like a kitten when a soft rubbing was applied to his scalp.

“That actually makes sense,” Malfoy mumbled, still sounding pensive. Harry concentrated on his words, fighting the temptation to either lean into the caress, or drop his head forward and moan. The electric jolts through his body seemed to return, but Harry ignored them. They didn't mean anything, damnit.

“What makes sense?” the brunette said, praying that his voice did not just come out as breathy as it had sounded to his own ears.

“All wizards are resistant to foreign magic, the level just depends on their own power.” Malfoy's gray eyes locked with green ones in the mirror, a sobering effect for Harry's overly hormonal mind. “Considering you and your dark lord slaying, wizarding world saving level of power, it's no surprise that you'd be quite resistant towards it.”

Harry glared, but Malfoy continued to talk, seemingly unfazed by the gesture. It could have been because the glare was halfhearted at best, but really, who could glare with such talented fingers combing through their hair?

“It won't be like that with me. I can promise this will last at least three weeks.”

“Well aren't we confident.”

Harry mourned the loss of the fingers as they finally retreated, but with the heightened awareness bolting

through his body perhaps it was for the best. Malfoy swiveled Harry in the chair so they were looking eye to eye without any barriers.

“We grew up together, so my magic is more familiar to you. You wont resist it.”

A snort escaped Harry before he could control himself, but Malfoy's only reaction was a narrowing of his eyes.

“And if that wasn't enough,” he said, lifting up a very familiar looking hawthorn wand, “this is still practically controlled by you, so I doubt you'd resist the magic it filters.”

Harry looked off to the side, feeling unexplainably embarrassed. Malfoy's voice hadn't been accusatory, but there was still something unnerving about the reminder of that wand.

“Right,” he said quietly. He started to pull out a few gallons from his pocket, but a firm grip around his wrist stopped him.

“Don't worry about a tip, Potter. I promise you the bill will be more than enough.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, thinking that was a confession that he was about to be overcharged, but let it pass. For what Malfoy did to his hair, he would pay it. “I'll see you next month then.”

***

Exactly three weeks and four days later, Harry's hair showed the first sign of returning to it's impossible self. Well, that wasn't exactly true. The beauty of Malfoy's style is that it had always looked like itself, only more polished. Harry was just surprised it had taken so long to change back – Malfoy hadn't been lying.

The debate to make another appointment wasn't too long. After all, he had enjoyed the experience, probably a little too much, but at least it wasn't a torture session to get his hair done. And even though Malfoy's prices were double what they had been with Roger, Harry still thought they were fair. Not to mention Charlie's birthday was coming up, and he wanted to look nice for all the party celebrations at the Weasleys.

The only problem was, when he called, there seemed to be some sort of confusion. The new receptionist couldn't understand why he would ask for Malfoy to style his hair, and even after a guilty plugging that he was the Harry Potter, she still tried to put him with other stylists.

Which is why Harry found himself standing outside the doors of Malfoy's hair salon, pushing his way through the glass doors as the gold and red of sunset reflected off their surface.

“Hello?” He called out, confused when he met the site of an empty room. Not even the receptionist was at her desk. Were they closed? But the door had been unlocked...

He jerked his head when a rather large crash sounded out in the back, followed by some colorful cursing.

“We're closed!” Malfoy yelled, right before stepping into the room, a sleeve of his robe smoldering as if it had just passed over a fire. “Oh, it's you.”

“Er- the door,” Harry said, rather lamely, as he gestured towards the handle in explanation. Malfoy rolled his eyes and sighed before taking out his wand.

“Mindy always forgets to lock up,” he said, before a metallic click pierced the silence, followed by the buzzing of magic. Harry looked over to Malfoy, not hiding the confusion. Why the fuck was Malfoy locking him in?

“Relax, Potter, I'm not going to try anything,” Malfoy said. “You came here for a hair appointment, did you not?”

Not that Harry was scared of Malfoy or anything, but he still felt an uneasiness of the situation. When the blonde flicked his wand again, lowering the blinds on the windows and doors, the uneasiness edged its way over to perch on the line of panic.

“I tried to make an appointment,” Harry said, hoping to break up the tense silence. “But uh, your receptionist wouldn't...” He stopped there, suddenly feeling foolish. Why had he been so set on having Malfoy style his hair? The others she had suggested would have been just as good.

Malfoy waved his hand dismissively and then pointed to the door. “She's an idiot. Next time just owl me personally.”

Feeling a tension forming in his shoulders, he did his best to at least appear relaxed as he nodded. It was just a hair appointment. Nothing to worry about, he could control– er... surely nothing would happen.

Even though the place was empty, Malfoy still lead him to the back room, which did nothing to calm Harry's nerves. He sat in the chair and tried to relax by counting down from one hundred. However, when Malfoy's fingers made their first combing through his hair, Harry realized that cures for insomnia did nothing to quell hormones.

Malfoy's potion had to have some sort of aphrodisiac side effect on him, it just had to, because as he fought to keep his head from lolling forward, he felt the first stirrings of arousal in his blood. When those talented fingers rubbed a particularly sensitive area right above the nape of his neck, Harry had to bight down on his tongue to keep from moaning like a porn star. Yeah, it definitely had to be the potion.

“What's in that stuff?” Harry said in a voice much more husky than he had intended.

“What stuff?” Malfoy said, fingers playing with the crown of Harry's head. “I haven't used anything yet.”

Harry's shoulders stiffened. “What?”

There was an annoyed huff, followed by Malfoy's fingers rubbing more firmly, traveling down to rub his neck as well. “You're so fucking tense I was trying to get you to relax. Merlin, Potter, what's got your panties in such a twist?”

Harry felt a bout of nervous laughter threatened to rumble through his chest, but he managed to stave it off at the last second by a harsh pinch to his thigh. “What does it matter, just get on with it.”

“I'm trying, but you won't relax.”

“Would you quite playing around already?”

Malfoy tugged his hair sharply, as if in warning, then proceeded to soothe the area over with a tender rub from his fingers. “I'm not playing around, you imbecile, do you remember how I talked about resistance of magic last time? You're so tense that the magic will be resisted, so shut the hell up and learn to fucking relax.”

Harry opened his mouth with a snarky remark on its way out when the unspeakable happened: he moaned. It was the smallest of sounds, just a tiny rumbling in his throat, but still, it was audible. Malfoy froze, his fingers drawing back slightly, and Harry thought he might have heard the world coming to an end. It was hard to tell for sure over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

A second later, Harry felt another tender pressure on his head, rubbing just a little more slowly. It made him want to moan again, regardless of the fact that he had just escaped an impossibly embarrassing situation.

Yes, Malfoy had the right idea: denial. Harry could do that. He just had to ignore the way Malfoy's hands were starting to wander outside of the realm of his hair – down his neck, grazing his collarbone, before retreating back into the hair. That didn't mean anything. Malfoy was just trying to get him to fucking relax.

Harry hoped, oh how he hoped, that a dog had snuck in to the place, because if that was him panting, he might die of embarrassment. He wasn't panicking or anything. No, he was perfectly calm. His mind was just screaming at him to get the hell out of there right the fuck now!

When a pressure was suddenly squeezing his thigh, Harry nearly jumped to the ceiling.

“Malfoy, what the hell are you doing?”

“You make the sexiest fucking noises I've ever heard,” the blonde responded, as if that was answer enough.

He felt a pinch to his nipple and Harry's head lolled back, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. His body began to sink down into the chair as his hips took on a mind of their own, minutely thrusting into the air at the erotic way he was being touched.

Malfoy's hand began traveling south and Harry's shot to it automatically, resting on the blonde's forearm. However, no matter how much he told himself that he should be stopping it, somehow his hand only seemed to push further, encouraging Malfoy's to finish it's path to his rapidly hardening groin.

“This is insane,” Harry muttered, grasping as a talented hand began to squeeze him through his pants.

“I want this,” Draco muttered, a question looming behind the statement.

Blood roared through Harry's ears as his breath speed up. Insane didn't even begin to cover this. When the hell did things change so much between them? Had this something always been there, seeded beneath the surface?

Harry looked up. “Me too.”

In a flash of movement Malfoy was straddling him, awkwardly because of the high sides of the chair, and yet perfect because the friction of their groins rubbing together felt so fucking good.

Malfoy began thrusting down, the weight of his thighs rubbing Harry's lower hips. Slender fingers threaded into dark hair, pulling up until lips meet in a heated kiss. Harry's tongue slipped out first, sliding over a plump bottom lip before it slipped inside Malfoy's panting mouth.

Hands began to wander over shoulders and down chests, lips traveled to kiss at jaws and suck on necks. Their hips had found a steady rhythm, thrusting together hard and quick. Belt buckles fell away in metallic clinks, pants were shoved down hastily. Malfoy's neck tasted salty and warm under Harry's tongue as he lapped at it

Before Harry knew it both their cocks were in Malfoy's hands, rubbing together with the slickness of mixed precome. The moans that spilled from their lips poured into the air, the sounds mixing until it was indistinguishable whose cries of desires were whose.

It was intense and Harry had no idea how the fuck they had ended up here, thrusting in their joined hands. He hardly knew Malfoy, and yet somehow there was still some sort of cosmic logic that after all the times they had been drawn to one another in one way or the other, they would end up like this together.

Harry's cock had turned into a furnace, burning heat coiling in his belly like a tight spring, feeling as if it was preparing to release his very soul. He knew Malfoy was in a similar state from the way the blonde's hand was squeezing impossibly tight, pinching their leaking members together in the most brilliant feeling Harry had ever experienced.

The chair creaked, the leather underneath Harry rubbing the patch of skin under his back where his shirt had ridden up. One of Malfoy's knees was digging painfully into Harry's thigh. He didn't care about anything but the tightening of his balls, the swelling of his member, and the erratic thrusts of his hips.

When Malfoy's whole body tensed above him followed by the feeling of warm liquid squirting on his chest, Harry erupted. His back bowed, eyes squeezing shut as he let out a chocked-back cry. For one brief moment in time he was sure his heart stopped as his come streamed out into their hands.

There were no words spoken for a long time, only panting breaths and hands that still clung to various body parts. Harry could smell apples in the blonde’s hair and for some unfathomable reason, it caused his heart to clench. He ran his fingers through it gently, a small smile on his face when he felt how baby-soft it was.

Eventually, Malfoy's rough sounding voice mumbled into Harry's neck, “It's unfortunate.”

The brunette closed his eyes, stealing himself for whatever Malfoy might mean. He let his hand drop to his side, already closing any emotional gates that had been blown open.

“What is?”

“We didn't get to your hair.” Malfoy sat up enough to look him in the eye. “I guess you'll have to make another appointment for tomorrow night.”

Harry smiled. That was fine with him.

-Fin
- 1
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Shaggy Blues