Life in the Fast Lane

He was a hard-headed man, he was brutally handsome

She was terminally pretty.

She held him up, and she held him for ransom

In the heart of the cold, cold city.

Draco Malfoy, the pair of guns that hung low on his slim, almost feminine hips creaking softly, strode into the bar, fluorescent lights creating an eerie glow on his face, making him appear to be a sort of blonde demon. If he had realized this, he wouldn't have cared; in fact, he would have found it pleasantly appropriate. A small smirk played on his lips as the noise in the bar stopped abruptly and heads turned to stare at him in frightened fascination; but his eyes remained the same, cold as winter, and as silver grey as cold hard cash or the barrels of the guns that gleamed maliciously on his hips.

The heels of his dusty, worn down boots, made the only noise as he walked casually over to counter.

"Martini, old friend," he said to the bartender, and his voice, though cultured and polite, was as frigid as his eyes.

The bartender smiled warmly at him and his hands moved mechanically, getting Draco's drink.

"Draco, Draco, I haven't seen you in quite a while, seems like years..."

"Well, it has been. Three to be exact."

"Why, so you're right!" the bartender straightened and pushed the glass towards him. "Here you are, my boy, just the way you like it."

"Thanks Tom, you always made them best."

A young, dark-haired man sat unnoticed by Draco, fingering his glass with one hand, and toying with something else in his pocket. His emerald-eyed gaze was focused on his glass, but his attention was rapt upon the pale, blonde man sitting next to him.

"Draco Malfoy," he said quietly, not looking up from his glass, "I finally have the pleasure of meeting you..."

Draco glanced casually at the raven-haired man sitting next to him. His smirk grew more pronounced.

"I don't believe we've been acquainted..."

The man stopped toying with the object in his pocket and slowly pulled it out. A gleaming Smith & Wesson .38 was pointed nonchalantly at Draco's chest.

"The name's Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you."

No sign of shock or worry displayed itself on Draco's face at having a lethal weapon pointed at him. His icy manner remained unthawed.

"And what is it you want from me, Mr. Harry Potter?"

Harry gave Draco a small frown, his bow-like lips pursed together gently, creating a charming, pouty look that would have melted young girls' hearts.

"Don't toy with me, Malfoy. Money. That's what makes the world go 'round, didn't you know?"

Draco put his hands on his hips, mocking Harry's displeasure.

"This is your first hold-up, isn't it Potter? Not doing such a bad job, I'd say," Draco smiled indulgently. "Fine, you seem serious about shooting me, and I tend to value my life above anything else, including my money, though it is pretty close. Come with me, and I'll get you your money, just put that damned gun away, before you hurt someone."

Harry lowered his gun hesitantly.

"How do I know you won't turn on me?"

Draco gave a small laugh that only increased his frigid demeanor.

"I give you the Malfoy word of honor, my friend."

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was riding 106 miles per hour along route 25 in Draco's car. The windows were rolled down and a tangibly erotic wind swept through their hair and pumped their adrenaline to new heights. Suddenly an exit 6 sign appeared and Draco swerved, tires screeching, onto the exit, barely decreasing speed.

"Canto alla vita!" Draco sang to the night at the top of his lungs in a surprisingly beautiful tenor voice. Harry grinned broadly, feeling his blood race, high on the night, and high on life.

Draco's hand moved to his hip. Harry, usually sensitive to the barest movements, yet not thinking clearly from his exhilaration, didn't notice. Suddenly, the barrel of a gun was against his head, quickly sobering him up.

"Sorry to do this on such a beautiful night, bro, but as you say, money makes the world go 'round," Draco yelled over the rushing wind.

"What are you doing?! You gave me your word of honor, you bastard!"

"Talk is cheap, ransom isn't, baby! The only thing I value almost as much as my life is money, I told you that!"

Anger flared in Harry at being deceived. Young, relatively innocent, and untried, Harry expected all people to uphold the same codes of honor as he did. Deception and betrayal were the worst sins in his mind.

A red cloud of rage filled his vision and before he could think of the consequences, he had reached into his pocket and drawn his .38.

"Mexican standoff, baby," he said coldly.