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Imagination	By : ymecdyen Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3943 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Harry Potter and all characters of said universe herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. I make no profit. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter List
- 1-Imagination
- 1
A/n: The song I listened to whilst I wrote the part with Draco dancing was Ultranumb by Blue Stahli.

Imagination

Imagination. The new strip club in the lower part of Wizarding London that was quickly on the rise in popularity due to its use of in-house glamours to bring every customer's specified personal fantasy to life.
Draco licked his lips in anticipation as he entered the squat brick building, unmarked but for the club's curling insignia painted over the glass panels of the front door. It had been an entire month since he'd last had a shag. Even longer since he'd had a decent one. Though he wouldn't go so far as to pay for a rent boy, the idea of getting a lap dance from someone glamoured to Draco's specific preferences was highly tantalising, and no doubt would be useful for future wanking material if nothing else.
The front door opened onto a wide spaced lobby, decorated in muted dark colours much to Draco's approval. The last club he'd visited had been far too flashy and gaudy for his tastes, the clashing bright colours having given him a headache. He'd taken one quick glance of the place, before sniffing disdainfully and striding straight back out again. But this place was clearly of much higher standards; Draco could understand why Blaise had recommended it so highly.
Opposite the front door was a long wooden desk, where a couple of young women were having a rather loud heated discussion with the disgruntled looking desk clerk. Their bodies shimmered as they gestured frantically, the fast movements disrupting the glamours cast on themselves. No doubt employees, Draco figured as he strode towards the desk, curious.
“-he's one of our best customers, that's why!” the woman on the left shouted, slamming her hand on the desk top. Draco eyed the long red hair and freckles in disgust, wondering who would be warped enough to want a lap-dance from the Weaslette. “We can't just send any Imagination employee in there!”
“If he doesn't get his usual request, our club will lose all it's credibility.” the other woman added solemnly. She was glamoured with long dark hair and pale skin, though Draco didn't recognise her likeness. Some new, on the rise celebrity no doubt. “Besides, one wrong word from him, and he could shut us down, permanently!”
Draco rose a brow, wondering what sort of regular customer had enough power to close a business with a single bad word. Perhaps a Ministry official of some sort? The image of Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt receiving a lap-dance from the Weaslette popped into his head, and he quickly shoved it out of his mind, promising to obliviate himself of that horrifying thought as soon as possible.
Wanting to get his own personal lap-dance before all urges of desire were quashed from his body by his over imaginative mind, he cleared his throat to get the employees attention.
The Weaslette turned to him, her eyes going wide when she saw him. “There you are! Finally!” she exclaimed, much to Draco's confusion. “Where the hell have you been? You're late!”
“Er-” Draco started, quickly cut off when the Weaslette grabbed him by the arm and roughly dragged him out of the lobby and down the dark hall to the private rooms, meant for VIP guests who wanted to experience their personal fantasies away from any onlookers and disturbances.
“We almost thought you were serious when you suddenly up and announced that you quit!” the other glamoured employee said, sounding annoyed. “You had us worried you dolt! Who else could give him his usual request?”
“Quit? Wait, hold on!” Draco protested, trying to pry the Weaslette's fingers loose from his arm. For someone so small, she was surprisingly strong.
“Hurry up! You've already kept him waiting for ten minutes! He may be the Saviour, but even his patience won't last forever, especially where you're concerned!” the Weaselette hissed.
“But I'm not- did you just say 'the Saviour'?” Draco asked mid-protest, thinking he must have misheard.
“'Course I did, you dummy! Who else asks for you weekly?”
“W-weekly?!” Draco sputtered in disbelief. There was only one 'Saviour' that he knew of, and the thought he'd been receiving weekly lap dances from someone glamoured to look like Draco was... incomprehensible.
“Go on now and work your magic!” The other glamour employee told him, shooting him a saucy wink before shoving him through the door at the very end of the hallway.
Draco stumbled over the threshold, whirling to grab the door handle just as it shut behind him. The loud click of the lock sliding in place resonated ominously in the din of the room.
“It's about time, Malfoy. I thought you weren't going to bother showing up.”
Draco froze at the familiar voice, turning slowly to face the speaker with wide eyes. He had to admit, Potter looked utterly delectable the way he lounged on the long black leather sofa, wearing a dark crimson tunic with a black mandarin collar over a pair of tight black trousers. His dark hair was a tangled mess as usual, though it clearly needed a trim if the way Potter kept bashing the fringe out from his eyes was any indication.
The bright green eyes gave Draco pause; they seemed to stand out more than usual. It was then he realised that Potter had abandoned his ugly wide-brimmed spectacles, leaving his handsome face open for better perusal.
Potter rose his eyebrows expectantly and Draco quickly shook himself out of his silent reverie, moving a few cautious steps into the room, glancing around to take in his surroundings. The room held the same dark décor as the lobby had, and was rather large and spacious. The low square table that squatted just before Potter on the sofa took up most of the room, a thin metal pole running through the centre that fixed to the ceiling. To the left on a tall stand was an ornate gramophone with a wide brass horn.
“What's the matter, Malfoy?” Potter asked, getting to his feet and walking over to the gramophone, keeping one eye on Draco as he moved. “Cat got your tongue?”
Draco blinked at the weird, no doubt Muggle, phrase before smirking. “Hardly, Potter. After all, I always enjoy talking to you. My mind needs the rest.”
Potter paused from where he was fiddling with the gramophone for a moment, looking over his shoulder to frown at Draco before letting out a loud snort. “Well, someone's been practising.”
“What?”
Potter tapped the brass horn with his wand. A low thrum of a bass beat filtered into the room, followed by the rhythmic twang of guitars. Draco rose a brow, unimpressed by Potter's choice of music.
“Your Malfoy impression,” Potter explained as he turned, gesturing to Draco with a sweeping hand. “You sound just like him.”
“That's because I am him, Potter,” Draco snapped back, annoyed. Surely, Potter of all people would be able to tell a glamoured Draco from the real thing? Then again, the man was an incompetent Gryffindor idiot, so Draco couldn't really blame him for being a bit slow on the uptake.
“Right, right,” Potter said, placatingly and clearly not at all convinced as he made his way back to the sofa, making himself comfortable. There was a moments awkward silence between them before Potter gave him an amused look. “Er, you can start any time now, Malfoy.”
“Start?” Draco repeated confused, then blanched as comprehension dawned. “You want me to dance for you?!”
“That's kind of why we're both here,” Potter said slowly, frowning in confusion.
Draco backed up a couple of steps, a biting refusal ready on his lips, when a sneaking thought crossed his mind, giving him pause.
Potter was well connected at the Ministry, what with being the Saviour of the Wizarding World and acting as the current Head of the Auror division. If Potter put those connections to good use, he could raise the Malfoy family name from the dirt and back into the heights of power where it rightfully belonged.
All it would take was a little incentive, using the pensieve memory of Draco giving Potter a lap-dance would be hefty blackmail material. After all, Potter would no doubt wish to keep his attraction for a former death eater as his dirty little secret, Draco thought bitterly.
“Hold onto your hat, Potter,” he muttered, peeling off his robes.
Potter gave him a lop-sided grin that was most certainly not charming and did not do funny things to Draco's insides. He unbuttoned his white shirt, stepping up and onto the low table with only a moments hesitation. Of course, it would only be at this moment that Draco would remember he knew nothing about how to dance erotically, spare the few times he'd been on the receiving end.
He circled the metal pole, giving it an experimental tug as though to ascertain it's sturdiness, stalling as he inwardly began to panic. Glancing up, Draco found Potter watching him with wide eyes, full of molten heat and desire. He felt the stirrings as his own body responded to Potter's lustful gaze.
Draco let the shirt slip from his shoulders, kicking it gently from the table as he ran a hand down his bare chest. He smirked in satisfaction as Potter's eyes followed the movement, transfixed. Swallowing to hide his nerves, Draco shifted his body from side to side in what he hoped appeared to be an erotic movement. The snort of amusement from Potter, however, said otherwise.
“What are you doing?” Potter asked, voice laced with laughter.
Draco scowled down at him. “I'm trying to dance. Like you wanted me to, Potter.”
“Trying, is right,” Potter replied. “You're way too stiff. Relax!”
“You come up here and dance then, if it's so bloody easy!” Draco snapped back, already wondering if the idea of blackmail was really worth the humiliation.
For a moment, Potter hesitated, as though tempted, before he leant back with a shake of his head. “Look, just relax, okay? Close your eyes. Take a deep breath in and out,” he advised.
Draco glared at him before rolling his eyes and doing as Potter said.
“Good. Now listen to the rhythm of the music and move, following the beat,” Potter instructed. “Use your hands to guide your body.”
Biting back a comment about bossy Gryffindors, Draco stood still with his eyes still closed, listening to the quick beat of the music. Slowly, he slid his hands over his chest, swaying his hips from side to side to the sound of the drums. The beat picked up and Draco moved a little faster, gliding his hands up over his neck, tilting his head back to bare his throat as his fingers carded through his hair.
“Fuck,” Potter breathed.
Encouraged, Draco turned slowly, still swaying his hips, until his back was to Potter. He glanced back over his shoulder with a sultry look, slipping his hands down to the laces that fastened his trousers together.
With a nod from Potter, Draco pulled the laces loose, letting his trousers tumble to his ankles before kicking them off to join his robes and shirt on the floor. He was wearing his green silk boxers and judging from the way Potter's gaze raked over his body as though he'd like to devour Draco from head to toe, he highly approved.
Feeling a bit more bold, Draco began to be a lot more free with his movements, rocking his entire body to the beat rather than just his hips. He grabbed hold of the pole with both hands and, on impulse, swung round it once in a quick movement.
Unfortunately, his sweaty palms made the pole a little to slippery for his grip to hold, and he tumbled back onto the table with a surprised 'oomph'. That wasn't a move he was going to try again any time soon.
Potter made as though to stand and help him, but Draco hurriedly slid back onto his knees, swaying his shoulders to the music as though the tumble had been a planned part of his routine, hoping his face hadn't flamed red under his embarrassment and given the game away.
Potter swallowed and sat back, his green eyes bright as Draco slipped his hands down his chest, pushing his fingertips teasingly under the top of the waistband of his boxers. Biting his lip in a coy manner, Draco crawled towards Potter, dragging his tongue over his lower lip in a deliberately slow and seductive manner.
As he slid to the very edge of the table just before Potter's open legs, Draco could hear the sound of his heavy breathing and he smirked, smug at the heady sense of power he had over the Saviour.
Sliding his hands over Potter's legs, Draco climbed over onto the sofa, straddling Potter's lap with his legs either side of his thighs.
“We are everything you wanted,” Draco mimed along to the music as Potter's hands came up to rest on his hips, sliding his entire body up Potter's like a slithering snake.
Their clothed erections brushed together from the movement, making them both moan and Potter's hips bucked in want for more contact. All to happy to oblige, Draco shifted closer before grinding down, still moving to the music beat.
“Oh, fuck,” Potter panted, his fingers gripping Draco's hips hard enough to leave bruises.
“Don't tempt me,” Draco breathed back, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Potter's as he moved.
“Malfoy,” Potter gasped, his breath ghosting over Draco's lips as he tilted his head back.
Unable to resist, Draco swooped down, capturing Potter's mouth in a kiss. Their tongues met and swirled together, teeth clacking against each other as their kiss became a heated battle of dominance, neither willing to concede.
Draco slid his hand down, unzipping Potter's trousers and curling his hand around his erection, freeing it from its tight confines. Potter gasped, dragging his mouth away from Draco's only to leave a trail of nipping bites down his neck.
“P-Potter,” he gasped, Potter's hand palming his still clothed erection.
“Merlin, I want you,” Potter whispered, licking a stripe over Draco's collarbone.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Draco chanted back.
Potter crashed his mouth back against Draco's with a moan, guiding his legs to wrap around his waist as he hauled Draco up, getting to his feet. There was a moments disorientation before Draco fell back, landing on top of a soft mattress with crimson sheets.
“Salazar, Potter, you could have splinched us both then!” Draco snapped, more annoyed at the unexpected apparition than anything else.
“Sorry,” Potter apologised, sounding insincere as he crawled over Draco, leaving fleeting kisses over his bare skin. “Maybe I should do an inspection, make sure you're completely intact.”
Draco's breath caught as Potter mouthed his neck, dragging his tongue down a slow path to his left nipple, sucking on it as Draco arched under him before repeating the process on the right. Draco was practically throbbing with need as Potter trailed his tongue lower, dipping into his navel and licking teasingly at the waistband of his boxers.
Using his teeth, Potter dragged Draco's boxers down, finally freeing his erection. Giving Draco a single molten look, Potter took the erection into his mouth, swallowing him whole. Draco gasped and moaned, the sensation almost enough to bring Draco off right then.
He arched under Potter's touch, tangling his fingers in his surprisingly soft hair, urging him to move faster, swallow him deeper. Though he clearly lacked experience in giving blow jobs, Potter made up for it in his enthusiasm, moaning as he sucked and licked Draco's erection like a lollipop.
Feeling his orgasm fast approaching, Draco tugged on Potter's hair. Glancing up, Potter pulled back with a slurp, giving Draco's erection one last lick before crawling up to meet his mouth in another heated kiss.
“Too many clothes,” Draco moaned, pulling at Potter's shirt with a grunt, too flustered to manage with the many buttons that held it together.
Potter chuckled, pulling his wand out from his pocket and Vanishing his clothes with a quick wave, groaning as he lowered himself onto Draco, their naked bodies sliding together in a delicious motion of skin against skin.
“More,” Draco demanded, tilting his head back to lick Potter's chin. “Now.”
Not needing to be told twice, Potter fumbled with his wand, casting a series of quick spells that left Draco stretched lubricated and oh so ready. Gripping his hips, Potter entered him slowly until Draco, in his impatience, grabbed Potter by the arse and hauled him deeper.
“Fuck,” Potter moaned, now fully sheathed and shuddering slightly.
“Please,” Draco breathed back, earning a gasp of laughter from Potter as he wriggled, eager for more.
“Stop that, or this will be over way to soon,” Potter growled, nipping his neck in warning.
After a moments pause, Potter began to move in earnest, encouraged by Draco's moans and panted demands to thrust harder and faster. Draco moved in time with Potter, writhing under him as he clutched at his shoulders, digging his fingers in as the pleasure grew.
“Yes, more, yes, Potter!” Draco chanted in a mantra, feeling his climax fast approaching, taking him higher, willing it closer.
“Draco” Potter moaned back, his thrusts becoming shorter and more sporadic as he came closer to the edge.
All it took was a single touch to his erection from Potter to bring Draco off, spunk splattering over his chest and belly as he climaxed with a loud shout.
Potter bit his shoulder, muffling his own cry as he came, before he collapsed on top of Draco, breathing heavily.
They lay tangled together for a while, Draco absently stroking a hand through Potter's hair as he snuggled against Draco's chest.
“Figures you'd be the snuggling type,” Draco murmured, shifting to reach for his wand to cast cleaning charms on them both. He froze, only just remembering he'd left it at the club, along with his clothes.
The club. Where Potter thought he worked. Because he didn't believe he was the real Draco. Shit.
Draco slipped to the edge of the bed, trying to extricate himself from Potter's hold.
“Where are you going?” Potter asked, sounding sleepy.
“Back to the club,” Draco said softly, not meeting Potter's gaze. “I've still got work and stuff after all.”
Potter caught his wrist in a tight grip before he could get off the bed. “No you don't, Malfoy. Stay.”
“I'm not really Malfoy, remember?” Draco lied, knowing Potter would probably be horrified to discover it was the real thing in his bed.
“Draco,” Potter said, gently tugging him back onto the middle of the bed. “I know it's the real you, and not some glamoured stripper.”
Draco blinked, turning to Potter to find him giving an apologetic yet amused smile. “What? But-”
“If I revealed that I knew it was actually you, you would have bolted,” Potter explained, his thumb tracing circles on Draco's wrist. “I know it was selfish, but you looked so hot and I've wanted you for the longest fucking time.”
His heart gave an extra hard thump at that. Draco stared at Potter for a moment, before he asked. “How did you figure out it was me?”
“You mean other than the way you jumped straight to insulting me, or the fact you had no clue how to dance?” Potter asked, laughing as Draco pinched him. His smile softened, and he traced a hand over Draco's chest.
“It was the Sectumsempra scar I gave you,” Potter explained, running his fingers over the faded thin line that ran from Draco's collar bone to his right hip. “It isn't exactly public knowledge, and none of the previous Imagination strippers have used it in their glamours before.”
Giving a defeated sigh, Draco slumped back against the pillows, feeling tired and sated and wanting nothing more than go to sleep.
“Do you think...” Potter started, trailing off as he bit his lip and looked away. Draco eyed him, curious at the sudden shyness. Gathering his Gryffindor courage, Potter looked at him with a determined expression. “Do you think we could do this again?”
Draco blinked in surprise, ignoring the warmth pooling in his belly from the fact that Potter still wanted him and this wasn't just a one-off.
“I suppose,” Draco replied, airily. “But only on one condition.”
“What's that?”
Draco smirked back at him. “Next time, you do the bloody dancing.”
- 1
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Imagination