The Facialist

The Facialist

By: Lady Hawk and Deadfishandersonofdeathndoom

-Start-

Draco Malfoy sighed as he let his head drop back onto the pillow and savoured the wonders of a good facial. Draco had ALWAYS been one to enjoy pleasure, especially those of high quality. He always had the best French brandy, rich and delectable Cuban cigars and designer clothing from Italy with cloth from exotic Eastern countries. But Draco Malfoy was also not one to turn his back on tradition, either. The Malfoy family was all about tradition, tradition of the Dark Arts, tradition of money, tradition of politics, even trivial traditions which no member of the family remembered the reason to follow, even 100 years later, were followed.

The tradition he was following now was one that was started by his mother when he was but a mere child. Every year, his mother would take him to run errands with her. She would always buy him something special, expensive candy, or that new toy broom he wanted, something, anything-but it was always special. When he was five, his mother's errand was to go to a spa. There had been nothing he had desired, but he persisted on whining and complaining. Getting a present was part of the tradition, and no Malfoy was happy with breaking tradition. So after half and hour of his non-stop crying, his mother finally said: "Fine. If you insist on carrying on like this, I will insist on giving you a facial, as I am receiving at the present time." Draco had stopped crying instantly. This was a new and interesting experience, and at the same time, it had met all the qualifications of the tradition. Every year after that, Draco insisted on receiving a facial at the very same place they had gone when he was five.

Now, 20 years later, Le Chez Michelle was exactly as Draco remembered. Except for one thing. Harry. Potter. His arch-nemesis had found THIS Taj Mahal of a spa as a perfect place for a summer job. Draco was appalled. Draco understood that Harry could be a good advertisement, but really! To hire the man as a professional facial giver?! The worst of it was that Harry was the only available person to give him his yearly facial. And not being one to break tradition, he grinned and bore it. If nothing else, he thought, it would be something to taunt Harry about at some more convenient moment. When the time for taunting came, he wouldn't admit how much he did enjoy the facial.

Harry had joined Le Chez Michelle when he was in desperate need of a job. The Ministry of Magic thought he was too "high-profile" a person to employ, as did most of the wizarding world, and he was in dire need of money. Most people couldn't believe Harry Potter was in need of money, but alas, he was. It was because Harry had developed a gambling problem. However, it was not the gambling problem that had put him in debt. Oh, no; it was the counseling fees to 'fix' the problem. Somehow, Harry had stumbled across Le Chez Michelle, and of all things, he was actually good at the job they had hired him for. Unlike in most things where people said he was good because he was 'the boy who lived'; he was actually talented at giving facials, head massages, manicures and pedicures.

And now, Harry had his biggest challenge before him: his school rival, Draco Malfoy. He was anxious at the prospect of having to serve Draco because he did not wish for Draco to have yet another thing to hold over his head. The fact that Harry was a facialist was embarrassing enough. But, what he was dreading most was Draco's reaction to the facial. He felt it was a lose-lose situation, for his reputation. If he was a great facialist, then Malfoy would spread all over the wizarding world about how he, Harry Potter, was such a great facialist...because he was gay. And it wasn't that Harry wasn't gay...but he didn't want his sexuality being flaunted all about the wizarding world once more. But if he gave a bad facial, then Harry was suddenly not gay enough, and his sexuality would be flaunted in the wizarding world. Harry knew Malfoy FAR too well.

Harry sighed and readied the soothing organic cremes. Nothing but the best...for Mr. Malfoy. The facial began. Harry heard Draco sigh in relief as his tension was released. This was Harry's favorite part of the day, when the customers were finally completely relaxed and turned to putty in his hands. It was in this moment when Harry could shape their lives; if not for a long period, than just for today. He could make them happy, ecstatic, relaxed, or, he could make their day miserable: pushing a little too hard here, rubbing a little too vigorously there, and the customer would become stressed and leave feeling that way. This was the part of the job that required the most finesse. The scalp massage.

It was something new Michelle had added to the regime, and all the regular customers had been overjoyed with the addition. The scalp massage included not only gentle rubbing of the head with the fingers, but also very special oils, both of Muggle origin and of wizarding. Harry massage gently, making sure to added extra oil to help Malfoy's scalp. Malfoy moaned in appreciation. Draco's face normally grotesque with his mask of arrogance and hatred looked so beautiful now that it was completely relaxed. He wished he could make Draco look like this all the time. When Harry thrust his hands into Draco's luscious silver blonde mane, he felt a wave of pleasure he could not describe. When Malfoy's eyes were closed, he looked so innocent, but Harry knew there no innocence left to Draco outside of the facial, which made him smile unknowingly. The scalp session lasted a regular 30 minutes. When Malfoy felt Harry had desisted, he murmured in desperation, "No...don't stop." These were the first words Malfoy had said to him all day. From the second Malfoy's eyes had landed on Harry, they had settled into their customary glare. And then, he gave Harry a haughty look and sat down on the massage table. He indicated with an aristocratic wave of his hand that he was ready for Harry to begin. But now, Malfoy had lost all of his exterior arrogance that Harry had always associated with the man.

Then Malfoy felt Harry put his hand on his shoulder. "But, Mr. Malfoy, it is time for your Magnolia Olive Bean Potion dip. I personally guarantee that you will enjoy every second of it." Malfoy's eyes widened in anticipation. This was secretly Malfoy's favorite part. The heated concoction felt as grand and decadent as he had always remembered. Harry dipped his hands in the potion, extracted a small amount, and started rubbing the balls, of Draco's bare left foot. Draco moaned once more. He was embarrassed to admit how magnificent this was feeling. This was the best visit to Michelle's in his memory. Because of this annoying little fact, Draco was going to HAVE to give Potter a large, tip. Harry moved on to Draco's right foot. By the end of the session, Draco felt absolutely boneless. Sex didn't even feel this good, and God knew he had had his share of that. In a little traitorous part of his mind, Draco wondered what other great things Harry could do with his hands.

"You know, Potter," he said, standing up and gathering his things, "a man like you could make good money working as a private, facialist. And a man like me could use a massage like that every day."

"You know, Malfoy, it sounds like you are offering me a job," said Harry, straitening his lavender silk shirt and running his hand through his gorgeously tousled hair. The traitorous part of Malfoy's mind thought it was a sinfully delicious motion.

"Well, that's because, I just may well be," Draco said, lifting an eyebrow.

"But why should I work for you?" said Harry flirtatiously, having no intention of refusing.

"Well not only can I pay you twice as much as this place," no longer caring at all for Le Chez Michelle, "but, there will be certain job benefits which I am certain you will find nowhere else." The eyebrow was raised once more.

"I suppose I shall have to give my two weeks notice," said Harry. He walked to the back of the salon where Draco could not hear him and shouted: "Michelle! I found a place that'll pay better! I'm leavin'!"

A crystalline voice tinkled from the beyond the doorway. "I always knew you would, my dear boy. I always knew you would."