Slut

Upon recollection, Draco Malfoy had always had a rather waifish, androgynous look to him. The school uniform often threw that off, though, so if you weren't specifically looking for it, you could have missed it entirely. Harry had missed it then. But now, in a sleazy strip bar in Islington, watching the white and silver spangled lithe body undulating against a shiny but heavily fingerprinted pole in time to a loud and pulsing profligate song about blowjobs, it was all coming into focus.

Since the war had ended, everyone wanted a piece of the man who defeated you know who. Vanquished Voldemort. Harry had never enjoyed the adulation. From the start of his misadventures in the Wizarding world, he'd always shrunk from the spotlight. While some might have rested on their laurels after completing such a feat, Harry instead tucked into his Auror training and immediately began stalking and incarcerating the escaped Death Eaters.

The Ministry authority slunk into the shadows lest those quicksilver eyes suss him out. Though given the number of primary colored spotlights upon the ex-Slytherin, lighting his flaxen hair and white costume in brilliant hues, it seemed rather unlikely that Draco could see much beyond the veil of audience obscurity. The Auror wasn't taking any chances.

Casually, Harry made his way back to the dank and sticky bar to inquire about the dancing vixen whose garishly rouged lips stood out like a bleeding gash across her angular face.

"Desdemona. She's been here a while. Quiet girl. But she takes on blokes if you have enough cash. I can have her meet you in the alley," the bartender answered in bold reply.

Harry gave a scant nod of acknowledgment that he understood the terms, and after splaying out a row of ordered pounds, the server snatched the cash away. "She's yours. For the night."

It would be a scandal in the Wizarding world for Harry Potter to be paying for company. The notorious hero no longer cared what rags like The Daily Prophet thought of his behavior. In fact, it was the speculation of the tight-knit community about his social movements that had driven him to move to Muggle London months ago. This seedy strip bar was just a few blocks from his bleak flat.

As Harry stood in a culvert of the alleyway waiting for his prey to exit the back door of the tawdry establishment, he thought about all of the meetings they'd had at the Ministry, all of the raids he'd been on to scoop up the remaining rebels. Never had Malfoy's androgyny come up. Never had they truly believed that the once-proud heir would live amongst Muggles let alone participate in this manner of employment.

It was a strange twist of fate that Harry happened upon this bar in a fit of lonely listlessness on an odd Tuesday night. He'd brought money with him to purchase the services of a young lady, not to capture a rogue wizard. However, it was what it was, and the lone savior leaned coolly against the bricks until the darkness was broken with loud girlish cackling and a wantonly bright door opening and closing.

Stepping daintily down cheap wooden plank steps in clear platform boots smoking a cigarette was unmistakably Draco Malfoy. His hair was long and silvery and cascaded dramatically down his alabaster back frustrated here and there by the gaudy silver beads and spangles of what looked like the sort of overdone bikini that a showgirl would wear.

Harry waited for the bewildered stripper to walk just past where he was standing. The blond looked back and forth before shrugging and then drew one long leg up to put the fag out on the bottom of the thick heel of the acrylic boot. When the hand snaked out and dragged him into the alley, the barely clothed man's only emotion was a sick sense of I-told-you-so.

It took only a fraction of a second for the keen grey eyes to register the unmistakably brilliant green almond-shaped eyes to know that he'd been caught. The hero's right hand was taut around the throat of the fugitive and the left moved up and grabbed lewdly at the firmness of Malfoy's magicked breast. "These are new," Harry hissed.

Draco stared blankly for a moment before whispering, "How did you find me?"

Cackling at Draco in a rudely mocking tone, Harry closed in and pressed his body against the entrapped waif. "I just followed the scent of cowardly skank. Led me right to you."

"I'm not a skank."

"You're a slut and a whore. I bet you loved those dirty things you had to do."

"No I didn't!" Malfoy quailed, but as Harry's hand slid down between the pale thighs of the refugee to see just how far the ex-Death Eater had gone in his transformation. Draco shifted to try and avoid the harsh groping. However once Harry found the taped back and hardening length, Draco could only avert his eyes against the onslaught of laughter from the aggressive Auror.

"You love this now, don't you? Oh how the mighty have fallen, Malfoy," Harry sneered as he roughly pulled the prick from its hiding. "Slut. Whore. How many men have there been?"

"I... oh..." Draco whimpered as he pushed his length harder into Harry's hand. He'd been passing for female for so long, no one aside from himself had touched him like that in-- he didn't know how long. "I don't know," the debauched Draco gasped in admission.

"You don't know? Whore. Foul slut. Disgusting," Harry growled as he pressed his own arousal into the stripper's thigh.

Somewhere deep down, Draco realized that this wasn't a procedural arrest. Aurors didn't show up alone. And further, someone on Ministry business didn't normally fondle you and accuse you of being a-- Draco moaned helplessly at the press of Harry's body against him and the vulgar things he called him. He couldn't help how breathlessly excited he was. "Are you... going to turn me in?"

"I will. When I've tired of you, do you understand that?" Harry asked as he forced Draco's head up by closing tighter his throttling hand. Removing his hand to replace it with his teeth, he clamped his jaws tightly around the feminine man's windpipe, all but constricting the entertainer's breathing.

"Yes," Draco gasped out. His obscenely red lips parted as his silvery eye shadow-laden eyes closed at the bruising of his fragile skin and the uncouth way Harry's tongue lapped at the battered flesh. "Please, yes."

Releasing his jaws and pulling his head back, Harry whispered against Malfoy's abraded and broken skin, "You're mine now. You belong to me. You are my slut now. Mine. You won't leave my flat. You won't think of anyone but me. No one will touch you but me. You will do what I say when I say it. And if you fail to please me, it's the Dementor's kiss for you. You're mine now. Say it."

"Yours. Yours Harry. I'm yours," Draco's effeminate voice drawled out. "Yours."