“Why in hell did I say that I would do this?” Harry Potter groused as he stood in the open door of his closet wearing nothing but a towel, his wet hair dripping onto his neck, his mouth curved in an irritated scowl.

“Because your good friend Granger asked you to,” came the slow, indolent drawl from the area of the bed. “And you’ve never been able to deny her anything.”

Harry ran both of his square hands through his wet hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “That’s not true,” he grumped, but he rather thought that it was. Hermione could get him to do things that no one else could; he rarely bothered to argue with her.

“Sweetheart,” the deep voice responded, and there was a smile in it. “Admit it. You live in terror of her.”

Harry turned and shot an irritated look over his broad, damp shoulder. “I do not.”

One elegant brow arched. “It’s alright.” A slow, sexy smile curved full pink lips. “We’re all petrified of her. She is a force of nature.” He watched as the long, slender body unfolded itself from the dark green velvet duvet and stood with a slow, sensuous stretch, arms high over a fair head. Harry eyed that tall, lean body with a slight warming in his green eyes. God, the man moved like a lynx, and just the sight of him made Harry consider turning back to the bed, losing the towel, and forgetting all about the morning’s ensuing madness. But, he rather doubted he’d get away with it.

“Here.” His lover pushed gently past him into the confines of the closet and pulled out a pair of worn jeans and a deceptively simple blue jumper. “It doesn’t matter what you wear to get there, love. They’re providing the wardrobe, remember?”

Harry sighed, but accepted the clothes that he was handed and crossed the room, tossing them on the foot of the bed. He went to his wardrobe and removed pants and socks, finally pulling the towel from his narrow hips. He used it for a moment to rub through his thick black hair, trying to collect the water that was dripping down his neck, and while his head was covered, he felt a soft touch on the dimple at the top of his right arse cheek. A slight smile curled full lips.

“If you don’t knock that off,” he said softly, bringing the towel down to look up into silvery gray eyes, “we won’t be going anywhere.”

Draco Malfoy smiled slowly, allowing his hand to curve over the full cheek of Harry’s bum. “Is that supposed to be incentive for me to stop?” He caressed him for a moment longer, then stepped back when Harry’s green eyes narrowed on his handsome face. “Fine,” he said, stepping back, pale hands raised in front of him. “I’ll just go see if I can rummage some coffee. But stop stalling,” he said, pointing at his lover of a year-and-a-half.

Harry tossed the towel onto the bed, and Draco made an irritated noise in the back of his throat as he leaned over and scooped it up. “If you intend to throw damp towels on the bed, could you at least aim them for your side, please? I’d just as well not sleep on a damp spot.”

“You didn’t complain last night,” Harry said snarkily and Draco rolled his eyes.

“Oh, you’re adorable,” he said snidely, “and only because you had worn me out so thoroughly that I couldn’t move. Get dressed.” He started for the door, but Harry’s voice stopped him.

“Why is it that I can’t shave again?” he asked, rubbing his jaw with a frown. Draco sighed.

“You know why,” he retorted. “The stylist wants you to show up shaggy and with stubble.”

“You shaved,” Harry shot back. “And fixed your hair.”

“Harry,” Draco said with a soft smile, “I can’t be seen mussed outside of these walls. You know that. And besides, you know what they want for this shoot. I’m supposed to be immaculate and cool; you’re supposed to be dark and scruffy… and hot. The juxtaposition, you know. Light and dark, redeemed and damned. It will be fabulous.”

Harry cringed, his mouth twisted. “It’s the gayest thing I’ve ever done,” he snarled. Draco laughed and came to him, wrapping his arms around him from behind, spreading his palms on his muscular stomach.

“Darling, I’m the gayest thing you’ve ever done,” he said against Harry’s ear, and then nipped at the lobe. “Now get dressed.” He released him with a lingering slide of hands down his sides. “Time is money, and Granger will kill me if you’re late. As I’ve no desire to die today, get going, will you please?”

Harry huffed a bit, but pulled on his pants as Draco went to the kitchen in search of a cuppa.

When the two men arrived at their destination, Harry paused on the sidewalk and looked up at the sign over the door.

“Is this a joke?” he asked, eyes narrowing menacingly.

“I promise you, it isn’t.” Draco answered with barely concealed glee, fighting the urge to giggle as a rusty stain began to spread up Harry’s neck. “This is the business that’s financing the shoot; they wanted it done here.”

Harry turned and looked into Draco’s eyes. “You knew about this,” he said, an accusation. Draco shrugged. “Dammit, Draco…”

The blond reached out and put his hand on the steely hard arm beneath the snug blue jumper. “Harry,” he said in a placating tone, “the cause is still good, remember?”

Harry’s lips curled in irritation, and he felt a headache start behind his eyes.

When Hermione had come to him with the idea a month before, he’d thought she’d been out of her mind, and told her so.

“Hermione, you can’t be serious,” he’d argued.

“Think about it, Harry,” she’d said earnestly. “Everyone knows about you and Malfoy now anyway, after those photos that ran in the Daily Prophet. If you didn’t want people to know that you were together, perhaps you shouldn’t have stuck your tongue in his mouth in the middle of a club…”

“She has a point,” his lover had said with a slight smirk from where he’d been lounging on a nearby chaise. Harry had sent him a narrow-eyed look, but Draco’s smile had merely ripened.

“You’re enjoying this,” Harry had said darkly.

“Guilty.” Gray eyes sparkled.

“At any rate,” she went on, “why not use the publicity to do some good? Wizard’s Quarterly has agreed to donate a percentage of its sales to the Misplaced Magical Survivors Fund if you and Draco will pose for an editorial spread.” He’d rolled his eyes and huffed. “Oh, come on, Harry,” she’d entreated. “We could raise so much money, and it’s a cause that you already support…”

“Hermione,” Harry had said softly, striving for patience, “I don’t mind making public appearances, hell, I’ll even pay for more ads. But do we have to do a ‘fashion spread’?”

Draco had laughed aloud at his tone. “You needn’t say it as if they’re asking you to maim small animals. It’s just clothes…”

“It’s modeling,” Harry retorted. “And I am not some…poncy pretty boy.”

Draco’s eyes had narrowed then, and Harry had sighed. “Draco… you like it when people stare at you… you know it makes me feel…” He’d shrugged awkwardly then, and Draco’s expression had softened.

“Sweetheart,” he’d said softly, “why can’t you just accept that you’re gorgeous and people want to ogle you, and move on?” Harry coloured, wincing. Draco shook his head. “Harry, you are the straightest gay man I’ve ever met,” he finally said in resignation. “A few photos aren’t going to change that. Alright?”

“Please, Harry?” Hermione had said, brown eyes pleading. “It will be tasteful. I swear.”

Between the two of them, he hadn’t stood a chance.

Now he looked again at the sign over the door, the one that read; ”The Magic Wand” and beneath that, for the Incubus in all of us. His green eyes were flat when they turned back to Malfoy.

“Tasteful, Draco,” he said darkly. “You promised that it would be tasteful.”

Now the blond did laugh. “Oh, pull your broom out of your arse, Potter. You might actually enjoy yourself.” He pulled open the shop door and eased his lover forward with a none-too-gentle nudge to his shoulder.

The inside of the shop was dimly lit, and smelled rather strongly of patchouli. Harry wrinkled his nose, but allowed Draco to urge him forward with a hand at the small of his back. He glanced around, saw the racks of clothing, most of it leather. In fact, beneath the patchouli there was the distinctive scent of the animal hide, and its muskiness wasn’t unpleasant. He was beginning to notice some of the other things on display in cases; things that looked remarkably like parts of the male anatomy in various sizes and shapes, when he heard Hermione’s voice hail them. He looked away from what he’d been studying, feeling his face heat and knew he was blushing.

“Oh, good,” she was saying as she bustled up to them. “You’re finally here. Come meet the crew.”

She slipped her hand through Harry’s arm and tugged him forward, ignoring the fact that he wasn’t making it easy for her. Between Draco behind, pressing against his spine, and Hermione yanking his arm before he was entirely comfortable with the idea he was standing in front of two men and a slight woman who were surrounded by a dizzying array of photography equipment. They all turned expectantly when Hermione paused near them.

“Harry, Draco, this is Miles Donaldson,” she indicated a tall man with brown hair and a neat goatee who was dressed a bit like a country gentleman in khaki trousers and a blue oxford button-down, “the photographer, and Jeremy Twilfoot, the stylist. Gentlemen, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.” Harry barely registered the shorter, ash blond stylist or the woman while the photographer shook his hand.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Potter,” Donaldson was saying. “It’s an honor. As it is to meet you, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Thank you,” Draco said magnanimously, smiling. Harry recovered his hand and glanced around.

“So, where…what...” he began a bit lamely, then stopped and closed his eyes.

“You’ll have to excuse him,” Draco said with a slight smile, watching Harry indulgently. “He’s nervous. He usually has a better grasp of the English language than that.”

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” the stylist spoke at last, stepping forward, brushing past Draco to put his hand on Harry’s muscular arm. Draco stepped aside, but he eyed the man with a slight frown. “This is new to you, isn’t it?” he asked Harry, his head angled to one side. He was shorter than both Harry and Draco, and dressed rather flamboyantly in skin-tight Levi’s and a snug teal t-shirt, but he had a firm, compact body and wasn’t unattractive.

“Uhm, well, yeah,” Harry said a bit awkwardly. “I’ve done photos, but not…well…”

“A virgin,” Jeremy gushed with a teasing smile. “How sweet. Come on, love.” He curled his long fingers around Harry’s wrist and pulled. “I’ll take good care of you.”

He pulled Harry toward a stool in the corner, and Harry glanced back at Draco for direction. Draco just watched him go with his lips pursed. He could see Harry trying to shoot him a question with his eyes, but Draco was irritated and didn’t deign to soften his expression.

“Mr. Malfoy?”

The soft voice cut into his annoyance, and he turned to find a petite woman with a severe brunette bob standing beside him, looking up into his face. His brows rose.

“I’m Iris,” she said, holding out a small hand. “I’m in charge of your wardrobe. Shall we? I believe that Miles plans to shoot your solo stuff first, while Jeremy is fiddling with your friend.”

Draco’s lips pursed. “He’d best be careful what he fiddles with,” he said darkly, and Iris grinned.

“I don’t think you need to worry,” she said, lowering your voice. “Jeremy may have eyes for him, but the man hasn’t taken his from you since he sat down.”

Draco turned his head, and saw that Harry was, indeed, staring at him, and he relaxed into a slow smile. He saw the stiffness leave Harry’s shoulders, but he still looked wary when Jeremy tried to lure him into conversation as he swept a drape around his neck. Draco turned and followed the small woman into a back fitting room while Hermione chatted up the photographer about the shoot.

Iris led Draco into the dressing room where there was a rack of clothing. On one end, everything in the clear plastic bags was white, on the other, black. She removed a hanger and pulled the plastic, and Draco couldn’t help but whistle softly.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Draco stepped closer and examined the exquisite, hand tooled white leather jacket. It was long sleeved, short, with a collar that stood up slightly and decorative stitching down the front on each side near the zipper enclosure. She removed it from the hanger and handed it to him, then reached for another hanger and removed a pair of white leather trousers. “There are boots,” she said softly, gesturing. They were ankle boots with a slight heel, and Draco thought they were gorgeous. “Now, if these fit the way that I think they will,” she went on, handing him the slacks as well. They were as soft as butter and warm against his fingers, “you’ll probably have to go commando, because absolutely every line will show. And Miles wants a bare chest under the jacket, open. No socks either. Just your skin and the leather.”

“Hmmm,” Draco said, running his fingers over the supple fabric. “No hardship, there.”

She smiled slightly. “I’ll leave you to it then.” She started towards the drape, and then paused, looking back at him. “You really are quite stunningly beautiful, you know,” she said softly, brown eyes wide.

“Yes,” Draco answered without a hint of false modesty. “But thank you.”

Her grin widened. “You’re welcome.”

When she was gone, Draco made short work of his own clothing and pulled the leather trousers on over his bare skin, tucking himself in carefully before closing the flies. They felt absolutely sinful, molded to his body like a second skin, and he looked at himself in the mirror appreciatively.

Draco was incredibly vain. He knew it, and didn’t care. He figured, when you looked like he did there wasn’t anything conceited about it. He stared at his body now with a slight smile. He and Harry were the antithesis of one another; he was fair, Harry was dark. His skin was ivory and sleek, Harry’s was tawny gold. Draco’s beard was so fair, it was nearly invisible; Harry’s was so dark and heavy that he had a five o’clock shadow by noon. Harry was more heavily-muscled; Draco’s lines were all long, and lean, and spare. His legs were long and his body was short; Harry’s body was longer and his legs were shorter, but heavier, sturdier. Draco’s chest was smoothly-muscled, his shoulders square and turned like a swimmers; there was curly dark hair between Harry’s full pecs and a distinctive trail down the center of his striated stomach that thickened before disappearing into his trousers, and he was built more like a boxer. They were exact opposites in nearly every conceivable way, and yet they were both stunning, and Draco was amazed that while Harry appreciated his beauty, he didn’t seem to either appreciate or even recognize his own. As Draco studied the way that the white leather conformed to his thighs, and then turned slightly to see the way it clung to his round arse, he thought he might buy the pants just to wear them for Harry. Suddenly curious as to what the hangers at the other end of the rack held, he was moving towards them when Hermione’s voice sounded from outside the curtain.

“Draco, may I come in?”

“Sure,” he answered, slipping into the short jacket instead and looking at the mirror again. The jacket was perfect; accented the broad shoulders, open down the front just enough to reveal the sculpted muscles of his chest and stomach. Hermione pushed back the curtain, and then paused, her eyes widening.

“Good Lord,” she whispered, staring. “You look gorgeous.”

He smiled, and he knew it was dazzling. He heard her catch her breath with satisfaction. She looked him up and down, shaking her head slightly.

“Those trousers should be illegal,” her gaze paused at his groin, and her cheeks flushed. “Have you anything on under there?”

“Not a stitch,” he answered. She colored further.

“You could take a measurement,” she said, sounding a bit suffocated. Draco laughed.

“Ms. Granger,” he scolded, “shame on you for noticing. And remember, this was your idea.”

“Yes, I just didn’t think…” She paused, forcing herself to look away from the obvious bulge at his groin. “Uhm, the stylist wants to cut Harry’s hair, and he doesn’t want him to unless he talks to you first.”

“Oh, all right.” Draco sat on a small stool and slipped on the boots, zipping them up, then standing and shaking down the clingy white pant legs. He followed Hermione when she exited the dressing room.

“Ah, everything fits, then,” Miles called good-naturedly.

“Yes, it’s fine,” Draco answered, smiling, pausing next to the photographer. He looked up at him a bit pensively.

“Tell Jeremy I want just a bit of kohl around the eyes,” he said to Iris, lips pursed. “And to muss that fabulous mane a bit, yeah? I should be ready for him in five, soon as I’ve set the screens. Go see if you can distract him from that pretty boyfriend of his long enough to get him ready, right?”

Iris nodded, then took Draco’s arm and pulled him toward the chair where Harry still sat while Jeremy ran his hands experimentally through hair now damp again with product while Harry just looked miserably uncomfortable under his touch. He looked up when he heard Draco approaching, and his green eyes widened.

“Sweet Jesus,” Harry breathed, staring at the tall blond in the fitted white leather. Jeremy turned, and his brows shot towards his hairline.

“Merlin’s balls,” he said, one hand coming to the middle of his own chest, “darling, you look positively amazing.”

“Thanks,” he said a bit dryly to the stylist, his eyes on Harry’s as he watched his boyfriend’s gaze devour him with a twist of real self-centered satisfaction. ‘Try to top this, you dizzy queen,’ he thought uncharitably, but the heat in Harry’s gaze went a long way towards making him feel more kindly towards the universe in general. “So, the hair?” he asked, brow arching.

“Oh, right.” Jeremy tore his eyes away from the blond and turned back to the man in his chair. “Said I absolutely cannot touch it without your permission.” He shot Draco a look. “How cute is that?”

“Adorable,” Draco drawled dryly.

“You’re the one who has to look at it,” Harry scowled, knowing full well that if he’d let Jeremy have at his hair without Draco’s permission, he’d have never heard the end of it. He knew from the look that Draco gave him that he knew just what Harry was thinking, and he smiled slowly into his eyes.

“What did you have in mind?” he said, his warm gaze still on Harry. Harry’s lips quirked involuntarily in response.

“Short, spiky, hip,” Jeremy answered professionally. “Lots of product. Maybe sculpt it a bit all in one direction, like this…” He gestured with his hands across the top of Harry’s head, and Draco nodded thoughtfully.

“Yeah, that’ll work. Don’t take it shorter than two inches though. We don’t want him to look like a banker when it isn’t styled.”

“God forbid.” Jeremy shuddered. “We’ll leave the length in the front and over the ears, take it off everywhere else. That way it will be a bit edgy, even without any product.”

“That’ll be fine.” Draco spared Harry a slight smile when he saw the crease between his arched brows. “Relax,” he said, reaching out and laying his hand on Harry’s hard shoulder, “you’ll live.”

Harry shot Jeremy a nervous glance, but nodded stiffly.

“Jeremy,” Iris said a bit tentatively, as if loath to interrupt. “Miles would like for Mr. Malfoy to have a bit of kohl around his eyes and his hair loosened up a bit.”

“Oh, sure,” he started toward Draco, but he held up one languid hand.

“Tell you what,” he said with a slight smirk, “I’ve been doing my own kohl since my club crawl days, and I can loosen up my do. You take care of Harry.”

Jeremy smiled slowly. “I’d love to take care of Harry.” Harry searched for Draco’s eyes in the mirror, and the brunet looked positively horrified. Draco ran his hand possessively down over the front of Harry’s shoulder to his chest, and Jeremy paused and watched its progress, then lifted his eyes to find his being drilled by glacial silver. They were so cold he shivered a bit.

“His hair, Jeremy. Love.” His voice was as cold as his eyes. “Try anything else, and I’ll tie your prick in a knot and twist it off. Understood?” Iris made a sound like a cross between a cough and a laugh, turning away. Jeremy’s face flushed dark red.

“Draco,” Harry scolded softly, but Draco didn’t back down a bit.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he said, caressing Harry’s muscular pectoral through the layers of fabric with long pale fingers. “Jeremy and I understand one another, don’t we?”

Jeremy dampened his lips with his tongue, and nodded quickly. “We certainly do,” he said a bit breathlessly, and reached for a pair of scissors without making further comment. Draco gave Harry one more lingering look, then turned to the small table in front of the chair and found a dark gray kohl pencil and after checking the point, leaned toward the mirror.

He expertly outlined his eyes and then smudged the soft line with his pinky. There was a pot of lip gloss on the table as well, and he smeared just a bit of that across his full lips before reaching up with both hands and pulling his hair forward. He didn’t wear much product in it anymore and it loosened up instantly. Pulling it forward and then running his hands quickly through it, he had it framing his face in longish, soft bangs in moments. Just a few silvery strands actually fell over his eyes; the rest caressed sharp cheekbones and framed his aristocratic features.

“That’s perfect,” Iris said with an appraising angle to her head. Draco shot her a quick grin and then checked Harry’s eyes in the mirror one last time before leaving. His lover was watching him possessively, his eyes hot, and Draco slid him a slow, sensuous smile. It was so full of wicked promise that Harry shifted uncomfortably, and Iris squeaked a bit.

After that, Draco got caught up in the photo shoot. Miles was ready for him when he returned, and with the screens and the strobes and the bright lights, he quite lost track of Harry. They had set up a scrim behind him, sort of a cross between a sky blue and pale grey, and he imagined he looked cool, and frosty, yet hip and elegant. Hermione hovered just to his left and he couldn’t see her face, but Miles was quietly encouraging as he instructed Draco in how to sit, what angle to present, what to do with his hands, his legs, his head. He took two, then three rolls, the camera whirring mechanically.

“You’re a natural,” he complimented as he handed off his camera and Iris changed his film. “Modeled before?”

“A bit,” Draco admitted softly. “Artist’s model, actually.”

“Ah,” Miles nodded. “Figure drawing, yeah? Comfortable with the idea of losing the jacket?”

Draco shrugged. “If you want.”

“I’ve something in mind for later,” Miles said enigmatically, and then turned with a slight start when someone came up behind him. The lights were too bright for Draco to see clearly, but he didn’t think it was Jeremy. “Ready, then? Good. We’re going to do yours over against that wall, yeah? See, where the scrims are set? Let’s get some kohl on him as well, Jeremy. Not much, just a touch. His hair is perfect, by the way…” Miles turned back to Draco with a slight smile. “Why don’t you take a break while we get Mr. Potter’s shots, Mr. Malfoy? Shouldn’t take too long…”

Draco slid off of the stool he’d been perched on, stretching the long line of his spine, walking out from behind the glare of the lights, searching the store for Harry. He saw his dark head finally; he was standing behind a video rack across the room. He was looking extraordinarily uncomfortable as Jeremy penciled kohl around his large eyes, and Draco could see that Miles was right; his hair looked great, chunky and styled, slightly stiff with product, short and yet long enough that Jeremy had been able to send it into peaks all in sharp sweeps to the right. They’d left the stubble on his square chin and his upper lip, his brows looked dark and heavy, and his bone structure sharp, masculine, dangerous. He was the polar opposite of Draco, who resembled nothing quite so much as a Botticelli angel, and Draco realized that the shots would be completely contradictory and absolutely stunning. Admiring Miles’ art direction, he moved slowly across the store, coming to stand near Hermione as she watched Jeremy smudge Harry’s eyeliner. She was all but bouncing with happiness. She looked up when he stopped beside her, and reached out to grab his arm.

“You guys look so wonderful,” she enthused. “We are going to make so much money!”

Draco chuckled softly, leaning slightly to the side to try to get a look at what Harry was wearing. He couldn’t see, and straightened with a bit of a huff.

He turned to watch as Miles crossed the store and climbed to the top of a six-foot ladder that was standing before a wall that was liberally covered with the jackets of perhaps a hundred adult DVDs. There were pictures of both beautiful men and women attached to the wall, in various stages of dress, and Draco thought it would make an interesting background, totally unlike the one they’d shot him in front of.

“Come on, Jeremy, stop fussing,” Miles finally said a bit impatiently, “its fine, and these gents have other things to do today, I’m certain. Let’s go.”

Jeremy scowled, but waved Harry away with a flick of his hand. Harry stepped out from behind the rack where he’d been hidden, and stepped into the glare of the photographic lighting, and Draco made an involuntary sound, something like a strangled ‘meep’ that would have embarrassed him completely had he known he’d done it.

Even with his impossible hair and his abysmal fashion sense, Draco had always thought that Harry was one of the most stunning men he’d ever seen; he’d even fancied him madly when he’d been trying to hex his bits off when they’d been in school together. When they’d finally gotten together in the final months of the war, and he’d seen the body beneath the disreputable wardrobe for the first time, he’d known an unholy secret glee. Only he knew what Potter was hiding, and it was all his. As he stared at his lover now, he realized that his exclusivity in that regard was about to end, and he wasn’t certain he was happy about it.

“All right, Mr. Potter,” Miles began, but Harry held up his hand to stop him.

“Harry, please,” he said softly, deep voice rumbling.

“All right, Harry,” the photographer said with a slight smile, and Draco felt himself tightening. Now the bloody photog was eyeing his boyfriend with an unhealthy wealth of speculation. “Let’s just start out easy, shall we? Just, stand, brace your legs; that’s right, prop your hands on your hips, and look straight at me.”

Harry did as instructed, and even as uncomfortable as he looked, he was absolutely stunning.

His leather was black; Draco had known all along that it would be, and he’d just seen it as a way for him to stand out even more in the white. He’d miscalculated. On him, the white was perfect. On Harry, that black was… staggering.

He was wearing a black leather vest, black leather pants and boots not unlike Draco’s own. But there, all similarities ended. The dark leather had a blue sheen in the lights and was pulled skin-tight across that spectacular body, showing every dip, every curve of muscle, every hollow. Harry’s thighs looked hard and sturdy, his hips narrow and tight, hipbones covered by tawny skin clearly visible above the low-slung waistband. The vest began just above his navel, leaving an expanse of golden skin, and the soft black fur heading south that Draco so loved on display. The vest fit well, but was abbreviated enough that the full curve of muscular pectorals were clearly visible, and his arms were completely bare. His beautifully muscled, strong brown arms, hands propped on his hips, every vein and ripple and bulge clear. And speaking of bulges, Draco’s eyes slid to Harry’s groin and his mouth went completely dry. There was no mistaking that Mr. Potter was packing, and Draco began to think he’d made a terrible mistake by agreeing with Hermione about all of this to begin with.

“Okay, just prop your hands on the rack there and look up at me, that’s right…”

Miles began to give instructions, which Harry followed tentatively, still looking very uncomfortable, his jaw hard, his eyes edgy, but it was the look that Miles seemed to be going for. Harry looked just this side of angry, and incredibly hot. Draco took a few steps forward, then a few more, and realized that his lover could finally see him standing there when his attention diverted from Miles, and a flame erupted in the bottle-green eyes.

“Whoa, shit…” Miles pulled his eye away from the lens and looked at Harry unencumbered. Everyone in the room had felt his magic flare; the strobes had gone off spontaneously, but Harry never pulled his eyes from Draco’s and everyone in the room could see what that steady look was saying. “Come here, I want you on your back and I’m going to pound you through the floor…”

Draco uttered another little weak squeak, gray eyes never leaving steady green.

“Holy mother of Mab,” Jeremy fluttered weakly. “I’m going to need salts…”

“Lord, Harry,” Hermione wheezed. Iris just hummed in pleasure.

“Yeah, Harry,” Miles said encouragingly, all business as the camera came back to his eye, “that’s it, that’s perfect just like that…”

The camera whirred, but the two men hardly seemed to be aware that anyone else was even in the store. Harry stared, eyes hard, unblinking; Draco tried to swallow, tried to think, tried to adjust the growing tightness in the front of the unforgiving leather trousers. Harry’s shoot didn’t take nearly as long as Draco’s had, but Draco would be willing to bet that there wasn’t a weak frame in the whole of it. After no more than ten minutes, Miles climbed down the ladder and Draco glanced over and noticed a sheen of perspiration on his brow. He handed the camera off to Iris, and then approached Draco.

“There was something else I wanted to try,” he said softly, “but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

Draco frowned a bit. “Whatever it is, you’ll have to run it past him, then,” Draco said softly, “bearing in mind that he’s already pretty bloody uncomfortable.” He looked at Harry, who had relaxed slightly and crossed his bare arms, but who was staring at the floor with his lips pursed and still didn’t look pleased to find himself where he was. Hermione walked over to Harry and touched his arm, and he looked up at her, then closed his eyes and shook his dark head. “I will tell you, though. If you want him to loosen up, send Ms. Granger on an errand.”

“Do you think that would help?” he asked, watching the two old friends as they chatted. Hermione clearly was trying to put Harry at ease, but it wasn’t helping. In fact, the more she chatted, the more tense he seemed to become.

“Yes,” Draco said emphatically. “But it can’t be me doing it. She’s had my number for years.”

Miles looked thoughtful for a long moment, then nodded and called out, “Ms. Granger, a moment?”

Hermione gave Harry one last lingering pat on his bare arm, and came to them, an expectant look on her face. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if you might do something for me?”

She looked between the two men, but Draco just stood impassively, expressionless. “It’s getting a bit warm under the lights, and I don’t want either of them to become uncomfortable. The leather is very hot. It might be advisable if we had some ice water on the set. ‘Wouldn’t want anyone to pass out…”

Her brow furrowed in concern. “Is that possible?”

“Oh, very much so. Especially with the black leather; it’s just miserable under the lights.”

She shot a quick, assessing look at Harry, who was sweating a bit. “Certainly. I’ll just pop over to the market on the corner…”

Miles exchanged a brief look with Draco, who smirked a bit unobtrusively. “Maybe pick up something to nibble on, too. Here, I’ll get you a few bills…”

He led Hermione towards the front of the store, and Draco ambled back over to Harry, who was still standing where they’d left him, now leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Draco walked right up to him and stood for a long moment, staring into the green eyes that lifted to his face.

“Have you any idea,” Draco said so softly that only Harry could hear, “how fucking hot you look?”

Harry colored a bit, and the tips of his ears turned red, but his lips pulled up slightly. “Hot as you?”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Draco said with a sly smile. “Let’s not set impossible standards for ourselves the first time out…”

Harry’s smile revealed his white teeth and he shook his head indulgently. When Draco took another step closer and propped his hands on the wall on either side of Harry’s head, the brunet lifted his chin, green eyes heating. Draco caught his breath. “If you keep looking at me like that,” he murmured, “I may have to snog you right here.”

“You won’t hear me complain,” Harry retorted, and one of Draco’s brows, slightly darker than the hair on his head, arched expressively.

“Really? In front of all of these people?”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, all…” he glanced around, “three of them. Where’d Hermione go?”

“Running an errand for Miles,” the blond answered easily, his eyes never leaving the other man’s face. He was right; the moment Harry realized that Hermione was gone, he relaxed visibly. He even reached out and propped his hands on Draco’s hips, pulling him in to press against him.

“Why Mr. Potter,” Draco said, batting his lashes, “whatever are you doing?”

“Harry, Draco…” Miles called as he approached, his eyes holding Draco’s for a moment longer before he turned to look at the dark-haired man, “there’s a few more I’d like to do, if it’s alright with you…”

Harry looked at him but didn’t respond verbally, just arched one black brow. Draco knew the look, and felt his lips curl slightly. Miles needed to be very careful, here. “Uhm, I’d like to shoot the two of you, together,” he said, sounding nervous for the first time. “Without the vest, if it wouldn’t be too much to ask…”

Harry’s mouth hardened a bit and he sought Draco’s eyes. They exchanged a long, telling look. They’d never needed words; looks said everything, and Harry could see that Draco wanted to do the photos… very much. With a sigh, he reached up and unzipped the vest.

“Perfect!” Miles said in delight. “Let’s just move back over to the set up we used for Draco…”

He bustled in that direction and Harry stared at Draco, his eyes very level. “Was this your idea?”

“No,” Draco said softly, “but I think it will be brilliant. And you do look good enough to eat, by the way.” A slow smile flirted with the corner of his lips. Something flickered darkly in Harry’s eyes.

“Remember you said that,” Harry said, his voice a low growl, “because you owe me.”

A pleasant shiver slid the length of Draco’s spine as Miles called for them to join him.

With a few words of murmured instruction, the vest and the lovely white coat were dispensed with and both men were left standing in just the tight trousers and the Italian boots.

“Okay, Harry, stand behind Draco, that’s right. Draco lean back into him a bit, so that your faces are close together. Look at me, perfect…” The camera began to click away, Miles called instructions, and they responded like dancers to choreography. After the first few frames, Draco reached behind him and pulled Harry’s arm around his waist and laid his hand over the top of Harry’s on his hard abdomen. He felt Harry’s back stiffen a bit against his bare shoulders, but after a moment he relaxed again. “Beautiful, beautiful,” Miles was saying. “Now, turn around, Draco, that’s right, and Harry, put your arm around him again. I want you in profile, faces close together. Look at his mouth, Draco, that’s right. Perfect…”

Harry stared into Draco’s beautiful face, just inches from his own, saw each curved eyelash, each pale freckle Draco insisted that he didn’t have, and each individual strand of hair in each carefully groomed eyebrow. He opened his hand on Draco’s lower back and let it slide down, over the waistband of the white leather pants, until it pressed just at the small of his back, right above his arse.

“So, what are we doing here?” Harry asked, his voice for Draco’s ears only. “Soft-core porn?”

Draco’s eyes lifted to his and he dampened his already glossy lips with the tip of his tongue. “We’ll never be this beautiful again,” he answered softly. “Let’s just go with it, yeah?” He pressed his hips forward, and Harry felt an erection line up against his own, and his eyes darkened. “Think of the great pictures we’ll have to look back on when we’re old.” He smiled slightly, and in that moment, Harry would have done anything he wanted.

“Yeah, okay,” he breathed, his hand firming on Draco’s lower back, pulling him even tighter into the cradle of his hips. Unprompted, he leaned forward and brushed his mouth over Draco’s jugular vein, and the blond’s head dropped back and his eyes drifted closed and Harry’s white teeth grazed his skin. The whir of the camera was a soft sound in the background.

“Holy shit,” Jeremy breathed hoarsely. “I’m going to need a shower, and I’m just watching.”

They were stunning, all of that light skin and dark skin, light hair and dark hair, black and white leather. Harry nuzzled Malfoy’s neck, and the fair head dropped forward, blond hair swinging over his face obscuring his eyes and his brows but not his chin, or the soft, trembling open mouth. Iris made a soft sound, and Jeremy swallowed heavily.

“Okay,” Miles called, sounding a bit out of breath himself. He turned to Jeremy. “Did we bring that white cashmere throw?”

“Yeah, it’s…”

“I’ll get it,” Iris offered, moving quickly towards the dressing room. Moments later she was back with the soft white blanket in her hand. “Harry, Draco, here.” Miles moved them gently to the side and tossed the throw on the floor. “All right, Harry, if you would lie just here, facing this way,” he made a motion showing the angle with his hand, “propped up on your elbows…”

“You’re making him the bottom?” Jeremy said incredulously, and the three other men turned slowly to look at him with differing expressions. Miles looked irritated, Harry looked amused, and Draco looked… down-right murderous. “Sorry,” he cringed and stepped back a few paces.

“As I was saying,” Miles went on pointedly, “if you would lie right here, yeah, perfect. Now, Draco, if you could just, uhm…”

Draco shot Jeremy another venomous look, then slowly lowered himself to his knees right between Harry’s thighs. Harry was lying on his back, propped up on his elbows, his green eyes sparkling with a combination of amusement and arousal.

“If you could just, lie against him…” Miles was saying, but Draco wasn’t listening. His eyes were glued to Harry’s and very slowly, he crawled forward until they were nose to nose, then he gracefully lowered himself, pelvis first, to press against the aroused body of his lover. Harry made a sound in his throat as Draco settled his weight against him, one of his hands lifting to slide down Draco’s slender side before curling over his hip to cup one round cheek of his arse in a long fingered, tan hand.

“Yeah, that’ll work,” Miles exclaimed, sounding breathless, and went to retrieve his camera. “Now, if you could just…”

But he really didn’t need to give them any further instruction. Draco let his weight rest against Harry, and then lifted one of his hands to curl around Harry’s nape. Harry massaged Draco’s full, round flesh, his hand dark on the white leather, then let his head drop to the side when Draco’s lips found the spot where his neck turned towards his shoulder and opened his mouth there, slowly, sinuously flexing his hips. The heat of the lights brought a sheen of perspiration to their bare chests and backs, made Draco’s hair gleam, picked up the blue black highlights in Harry’s chunky mane.

“Jesus God,” Jeremy whimpered. “I’m going to have wanking material for months.”

“Me, too,” Iris answered a bit breathlessly, and they each chuckled weakly.

While Miles’ camera whirred mechanically, Draco licked the length of Harry’s jugular, and gently raked his teeth across his lightly furred collarbone. He had just pressed his open mouth beneath Harry’s chin when Miles said “Harry,” softly yet emphatically, and he opened his green eyes and cut them to the photographer, and the fire and the lust and the need in them seemed to charge the air in the room. Miles made a triumphant sound. “There’s the money shot!” he said victoriously, straightening, and as if the sound of the photographer’s voice had broken a full Body-Bind spell, Harry straightened, dislodging Draco from his chest so that he rolled to his back and surged to his feet. His eyes looked hard and there was a muscle twitching in his cheek, and Draco looked up at him from the floor, wary for the first time.

“Come here,” Harry said darkly, leaning down and grabbing Draco’s upper arm, hauling him to his feet. Draco squeaked a bit as Harry propelled him towards the dressing room. “If you’ll excuse us,” he shot over his shoulder through clenched teeth, not slowing.

“Oh, dear,” Jeremy said softly. “Someone is in trouble.”

Iris grimaced as she watched them disappear behind the curtain.

Harry propelled Draco into the small space none too gently, and pushed him until his back was against the far wall.

“Harry…” Draco began softly.

“Do. Not. Speak.” Harry ground out between clenched teeth then pressed his hard, hot body against Draco from knees to chest. “Do not make a sound. I don’t want anyone descending on us for the next five minutes, do you understand me?” Draco’s gray eyes went very wide, but he nodded a bit desperately. “Good,” he bit off, then angled his dark head and closed his mouth over Draco’s, curling his hand around the blond’s nape, forcing his mouth open with his tongue.

Draco’s hands came up to grip Harry’s hard, slick shoulders while a thorough and exhaustive search of his mouth was conducted. Harry’s hands slid along Draco’s slides, down over the leather covering his hips, back up to his ribcage, then down again. After long, frantic moments where their tongues tangled madly and Harry pressed his hardness into Draco’s and flexed his hips in a maddening motion that made the fairer man moan, Harry insinuated his hand between their bodies and covered the straining bulge in the white trousers with the palm of his hand.

“God,” Draco gasped as Harry stroked him through the leather.

“No talking,” Harry reminded him hoarsely, “or I’ll have to stop.” His eyes, heated to a fiery green in his face, caught and held the cool gray. “Do you want me to stop?” He gave the pulsing hardness in his hand a rough squeeze, and Draco bit his lip to silence his cry as his eyes rolled back in his head. He shook his head almost desperately. “Good,” Harry said in a hard voice, then leaned forward and nipped Draco’s neck with his teeth before sliding to his knees at his feet.

Draco looked down as Harry made short work of the snap and zip of the trousers, then peeled them back to release the long, slender arc of aroused flesh from the confines of the leather. Harry leaned forward and nuzzled the throbbing erection with his face, then took it in one hard hand, curling fingers around to pull it down gently from where it bobbed against Draco’s flat stomach. Without preamble he took it into his mouth, and then his throat, in one smooth glide.

Draco’s head went back against the dressing room wall as his eyes rolled closed and his hands curled into fists at his sides, and his toes curled tight in the pointed toes of the Italian boots. He bit his lips to prevent any sound escaping as he felt the muscles in Harry’s throat flex around the swollen head, then his lover’s mouth drew back, pulling hard, tongue stroking along the vein on the underside before taking him all of the way back in again.

Draco clenched his eyes shut, fighting to breathe evenly through his nose, but there was no help for it. Harry was ruthless; he knew just what to do with his tongue, just where to press with lips protectively covering his teeth, knew just when to hum deep in his throat. Knew just when to employ his hand in addition to his mouth, just when to speed up, just how to prod Draco over the edge. He sucked hard, and to Draco it felt as if he were trying to siphon his soul in the process. Unable to hold back any longer, one of Draco’s hands scrambled for the back of Harry’s head, curling fingers into the black silk, pulling in warning, but instead of backing off, Harry took him all the way into his throat, his nose in the soft pale hair at the base of his cock, and swallowed around the sensitized flesh. Teeth clenched tight together, Draco grunted softly and was coming, long hard spasms wracking his slender body as he spilled himself down Harry’s throat. The lights seemed to fade in the room as he pounded his head against the wall at his back.

He hadn’t come that hard in a long time, and immediately upon completion, Draco’s knees threatened to give way. Harry grabbed his thighs hard and held him against the wall, catching his breath, then stood quickly, taking his lover in his arms. Immediately, somewhat clumsily, Draco attempted to reach for Harry’s swollen cock. Harry curled his hand around Draco’s slender wrist and stopped him.

“Well, that’s hardly fair,” Draco sighed, pressing his face against the throbbing pulse point in Harry’s neck.

“Fair is when I have you all to myself away from here.” Harry kissed his weak-kneed lover gently. “My plans involve your arse, my cock and our bed, just as soon as I can get you there.” Draco shuddered at the dark promise in both Harry’s words and tone. “Miles?” he called out, smiling slightly as he leaned back to look into Draco’s bemused eyes.

“Yes, Harry?” he answered from the other side of the curtain, close enough to make Harry wonder if he’d been standing there listening.

“We’re going to Apparate home now. Tell whoever provided the pants and shoes that they can send me a bill, because we’re keeping them.”

“Uhm, okay. It’s been…nice working with you.”

Harry couldn’t stifle a chuckle. “Absolutely lovely,” he replied, and Jeremy, Iris and Miles exchanged amused looks at the distinctive ‘pop’ that sounded from behind the curtain.

“Someone was in a hurry,” Jeremy said, smirking as he packed up his scissors and brushes and make-up.

“Can you blame them?” Miles mused, putting his lenses away in a special padded case. “We just watched three hours of the most intense foreplay I’ve ever seen.”

“It was pretty hot,” Iris agreed and she folded the white throw. “I thought they were going to do each other right here in front of us.”

Miles chuckled. “Think of the money I could have made with those shots.”

They all laughed a bit as the bell over the door rang merrily, and Hermione Granger walked in carrying a small shopping bag containing bottled water and granola bars.



The June issue of Wizard’s Quarterly created a sensation in the Wizarding world. The first printing sold out in two hours, the second in two days, the third by the end of the fourth workday. Ultimately, there were six printings run of the issue, the most in the magazine's storied history.

Leather Goods by Leander could not keep either black or white leather pants in stock, the boots sold out within hours of the magazine hitting the stands, and they had back-orders for both the vest and the jacket that would make them thousands of Galleons.

‘The Magic Wand’ became almost a tourist destination, with people coming from miles around to take their own pictures against the wall of naughty DVD covers. It became such a popular thing to do that the owners began to charge for the privilege.

There were many opinions about just which moving wizard photos had created the sensational response to the June Wizard’s Quarterly. Many claimed it was the shots of Malfoy, model perfect body sleek and elegant in the white leather, smoky gray eyes promising untold pleasures, propping one leg casually on the rung of a high stool and smiling slowly into the camera. Others argued that it was absolutely the shots of Potter; all of that leashed strength, the magic that seemed to crackle even in the pages of the magazine as he lowered his head and peered from beneath his dark brows, forearms flexing as he gripped a metal stand. Women (and select men) all but swooned over the heat and intensity in the green eyes, the cut biceps revealed by the sleeveless vest, the muscles in his shoulders bulging.

But Hermione Granger, who was gleefully able to report to the Misplaced Magical Survivors Fund that the contribution from the sales of the magazine would be in the hundreds of thousands of Galleons, knew very well which picture it was that made people run out to buy the glossy magazine. It was in the very center, spread over two pages, and it showed Harry, lying on his back propped up on one elbow, Draco draped negligently on top of him, black clad hips pressed beneath narrow white clad hips, long legs covered in black and white as they slowly entwined. One of Harry’s beautiful male hands curled possessively around Draco’s left bum cheek, dark on the white leather, and the blond’s supple, elegant back bowed slightly, his head turning to one side, his face all but hidden but his mouth clearly visible and open on Harry’s throat. His long pale fingers clenched in the thick black hair on the back of Harry’s head, and Draco looked lost, transported by the feel of their bare chests rubbing together, the taste of the throat beneath his open mouth. And Harry? Harry’s eyes were closed and his head was back, but then he lifted it slowly and his gaze cut to the camera, full of the kind of seductive promise that left one weak in the knees.

That was the one, Hermione knew. The one that had people buying the magazine up before it was even stacked in racks, sometimes multiple copies. It was an absolutely gorgeous picture; so sexy, yet so full of an obvious connection between the two men. Full of the kind of love and desire few people experienced in a lifetime. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything so beautiful.

She just couldn’t remember when it had been taken.
  

End