L.A. Heat

A Malfoy, P.I. smutlet

Author: Nancy
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended
Summary: The heat outside is nothing compared to what's generated in Draco's office. Part of the Malfoy, P.I. universe.
Archivist's Notes:While this is part of a larger AU futurefic (see link above), it stands alone. But you should read the full Malfoy, P.I. fic anyway -- the Noir style just rocks! (See blurb on the Offsite Recs page for further details.)

Another hot night in the city. The fan in my office did little more than blow the hot air around. I was drinking tequila, feet up on my desk. All the lights in the office were out. I knew it was dangerous to drink. I knew it'd make me remember him. But I also knew it'd help me forget. If just for a little while.

I walked to the open window. The city lay before me, glittering against the cool black velvet of night. Just across from me, a motel flashed its vacancy light. Several more motels did the same. The price you pay for an office on the cheating side of town. I pulled at the bottle again, bidding the shadows away. Forget it all.

Memories. No good comes from them that I can tell. Everyone says the past is your friend. Everyone also says they won't come in your mouth.

In the dark of the office, something still haunted me. A pair of green eyes. My newest client. Harry Potter, owner of those green eyes.

Allow me to introduce myself. I´m Draco Malfoy, Private Investigator. Mom run off with the pool man? Need dirt on the gigolo boffing granny and coaxing her out of your inheritance? Fido the dog gone missing? Someone framed you for a crime you didn't commit? I'm the guy they turn to. Not a glamorous job by a long shot. But it pays the bills.

Knocking back another shot, I closed my eyes. But it wasn't working. I could still feel his hands on me. I could see my sweaty imprint on the surface of my desk. Limes and salt were scattered across its surface and on the floor.

The memories arose, unbidden, just as a corpse will eventually float to the surface of the water. It isn't a pretty world out there; it's a seamy one, but I've seen it all.

Until I saw those green eyes.

The evening had begun like any other. Tiffany had left, adjusting the tissues she stuffed her bra with. I assumed she had another date, one that would lead to a torrid three-week affair and leave her with the requisite broken heart. Tiffany did heartbreak well. She'd done it often enough. Not a great secretary--dumb as a bag of hammers--but she had great funbags. You take what you can get. She was an okay playmate.

I toyed with some paperwork for a while, but it was too hot to think. Idly I thought about going home, but the effort of moving just seemed to be too much. Even the hookers were inside. The haze of a thousand crushed dreams seemed to shimmer in the air.

"Malfoy?" Green eyes. In the outer office.

"In here, Potter." I was sitting in the dark, tie off, shirt unbuttoned, smoking.

He walked in and stood in the doorway. Those green eyes looked into mine and I forgot all about the way my shirt was sticking to my back.

"Have you come up with anything new?"

"Nothing, Potter. You're being framed, but whoever is doing it is doing a damn good job of it. But I'm still on it. Got a few new leads. Don't get discouraged. I'll figure it out." With a client this rich, you gotta throw 'em a bone now and then. Keep them encouraged. Keep the money coming.

I stood up and walked over to the window, looking out at the steamy night. The air was still and expectant. Storms were supposed to be on the way. I had no idea they'd be of the personal variety.

"Any idea who'd want to frame you?" I felt his gaze as he sat down.

"No one, really. Well, there's Fleur Delacoeur. She's got her finger in a lot of pies and I called her on it. Got her busted for booking. She didn´t like that too much."

"How can I get in touch with her?"

Our eyes met and he reached for his wallet. I couldn't help but notice the way his shirt stretched across his chest with that motion. He opened his wallet--I spotted several large bills in there--and pulled out a piece of paper.

"Here's the last number I had for her. It's a start."

I walked over to him and took it from him, careful not to touch his hand. I was on the edge of something I couldn't identify, and I didn't like it.

Sitting down, I lit another cigarette and offered him one. He refused.

Right. Goody two-shoes here. Didn't drink, didn't smoke.

But somehow I had the feeling that still waters ran smutty in his case.

"You know, Malfoy, we've been working on this case for a month now, and I was just thinking that I don't know a thing about you."

"What do you want to know?" I don't get personal with the clients. But answering a few of his questions couldn't hurt, right? Famous last words.

"Tell me about yourself."

"Well, you and I are the same age. Both of my parents are dead--at least I'm pretty sure that they are, and if they aren't, they will be someday--but that's of no consequence. I don't have any siblings, just me. Single. Graduated from college with a degree in journalism. Not sure how I ended up a P.I. but it passes the time. I'll probably die early--guys in my line of work often do--and when I do, no one will feel that the bottom has dropped out of his or her world."

Somewhere off in distance, an ambulance's wail cut the night air as it sped someone, in the process of dying, to the hospital.

"I'd like to see you in action, Malfoy."

Looking back, I realize that that was when everything changed.

His voice held an undercurrent of tension. Slowly I raised my eyes to his. Green eyes pinned me under their gaze and I couldn't move.

I took a sip from the bottle.

He walked to the desk and sat on it. Picking up the bottle, he glanced at the label and put it back down.

"Tequila. You've been drinking hard lately. I've noticed."

I ran a hand through my hair. "I've got salt and lime if you're interested."

He smiled faintly. "I might be. What are you trying so hard to forget, Malfoy?"

God. He was getting personal. I had always prided myself on keeping my clients on a strictly professional footing. My own feelings were never part of the equation. Safer that way.

"That's a rather personal question."

His eyes burning into mine, he pulled off his tie.

I changed the subject fast.

"Fred and George Weasley seem rather convinced that you sent their brother Ron into the big sleep. All the evidence points to you murdering him."

He looked at me calmly but I saw the steel in his eyes. "And do you agree?"

"I'd hardly be trying to find evidence to the contrary if I did, would I, green eyes?"

Fuck. It just slipped out. I was losing my edge.

He smiled slightly. "Here all this time I thought you were only responding to my greenbacks."

I shrugged. "Those too." I got up, looking out the window. "Look at the city. It looks so peaceful at night, but right now people are getting robbed, raped, murdered. It's a cold world."

He sat in his chair. Harry Potter. Green eyes.

"Detectives with no conscience have no reason to get drunk, do they?"

Oh. He wanted to duel. Fine with me.

"I've seen life's soft underbelly. Bit of an expert on it. It holds no fear for me."

He eyed me. "And it's dark backside."

I shrugged casually. "I've seen the backside too. Many backsides. Some are more attractive than others. It's a hard life as a detective."

"I know you. You like it hard. The harder the better, I'd say."

An electric current shot through me. The temperature in the room seemed to double and I couldn't think, couldn't speak, couldn't move. I was riveted in place, pinned by two green eyes. I thought of all the bugs that had died a slow death, pinned to a piece of wood, soon to be a dusty specimen in a biology classroom somewhere.

This, however, was a lot more enjoyable.

"I like a challenge, yes, and some challenges I want more than others." Did I say that? I must have, for his eyes narrowed, though not with suspicion.

I heard him walking, felt him walking, and he came to stand beside me. A bit too close.

"I know you're doing a good job. Staying on top of things."

Surely he did not drawl out the words "on top" and grin at me as he said them?

I tested him.

"It's hard being a detective. The competition is rather stiff."

No. I wasn't imagining a thing. He shifted again, and moved closer to me. I didn't move.

"I'm sure that you will rise quite nicely to any situation that you encounter."

"It is very hard work, as you've said."

"Ah, but you must feel so good after you've blown a case wide open."

I turned and looked at him. He smiled and those green eyes became my universe.

I was in deep trouble. I was starting to think like a dime store romance.

Sex. It was just sex.

I could do just sex. Tiffany was one example. Love doesn't happen to guys like me.

I offered him the bottle. "Tequila?"

Those cool green eyes on me. "I've never had it before."

"And just how do you want it?"

"It's hard liquor. Why don't you show me what to do with it?"

"Fine." I got up and pulled a few limes and a salt shaker out of my drawer. With a knife, I cut the limes into quarters.

"Watch." I licked my hand between the thumb and forefinger, then sprinkled salt on it. I licked it, took a slug of tequila, and sucked on a lime wedge. "Got it?"

"I think I´m up to it, yes. If I do anything wrong, just give me a heads up." He repeated my actions, shuddering as the tequila made its way down his gullet.

"Like it?"

He looked at me. Harry Potter. He wasn't a murderer. I knew it, knew it the way you know a car dealer is pissing on your leg and telling you it's raining.

"Oh, yes. I want more."

"You have to suck hard on the lime, Potter."

He moved closer to me. Taking my hand, he licked it between the thumb and forefinger and I gasped. His tongue was hot but his breath was cool. He sprinkled salt on my hand, licked it, took another slug of tequila, and sucked on a lime wedge.

Fuck. I wanted him so badly I could taste it.

He smiled, and unbuttoned his shirt. And either he was packing heat, or he was, indeed, glad to see me.

Rules. I needed to know the rules of the game. "What is this, Potter?"

He put his arm around my waist and leaned me back against the desk. "Nothing. Just trying to be courteous and help cool you off on this hot night." And with that, he unbuttoned my shirt the rest of the way. He pushed it back, and, eyes on mine, licked a path down my stomach. Reaching for the salt shaker, he sprinkled some on me.

And oh, it felt good. I arched up against him. I was so hard I could have carved my initials in my dick. Or his initials, for that matter.

"That's step one, right?" I nodded dumbly as he knocked back another shot.

"Now the lime," he murmured. He ran his hands down my chest, and my skin tingled in their wake.

He squeezed the lime on my nipples. And it was too much. Mad with desire, I cried out and pulled him to me and his tongue went to work, laving the cool juice from my sweat-slicked skin, his hands roaming, mapping out my stomach, my chest, teeth pulling at my nipples, tugging. Oh, yes, I wanted more. I took one of his hands and placed it on my crotch, letting him know just how hard he was making me. His breath in my ear, tickling me, he moved so that his own erection was against my leg and moved slowly, tantalizing me.

His mouth moved to my neck, kissing me, kisses that sought to devour me, and he moved to my chest, and his hands were at my waist. I pulled my shirt off, and he pulled my belt off, and I growled. An utterly primal sound that was opposite of the cool persona I presented to the world, and this seemed to ignite something inside of him. He yanked my trousers down, along with my boxers, and fell to his knees. Foreplay was a complete superfluity now. His eyes were dark green with desire, and then he took my dick into his mouth and he was hot and slick and it was wonderful.

Don't know where he learned to do that. Didn't care. I twined my hands in his hair and pushed my pelvis to him as his tongue swirled around the head of my cock and his hands did the most talented things. I wanted only to sink into the warmth of him, deep, deeper, deepest. Something snapped inside me. And for the first time in my life, lost to desire, I was no longer in control, and I let it go gladly.

Potter's hands roamed over every inch of me that they could reach as he blew me, and there was an almost desperate quality to his caresses. I didn't notice it at the time but, looking back, I see it.

And oh, his warm wet mouth, and I felt myself beginning to climax, but I didn't want this to end. I thought of baseball scores, my mother, my mother naked--which led me to imagine Harry naked--and I arched into him in an ancient rhythm and those green eyes locked on to mine as I came, and I was so overwhelmed I couldn't make a sound. I emptied myself into the warm vault of his mouth, steadying myself with one hand back against the glass covering my desk. Harry shivered and reached behind me, sliding one finger inside me and I exploded.

"God… green eyes… Harry…." It felt so wicked, so wanton, so forbidden… so good.

I realize now that was the first time I ever called him by his given name. He grinned at me, licking his way up to my throat, and I offered it gladly to the predator before me as he inserted another finger inside me, and I widened my stance.

I leaned into him, nipping at his earlobes, trailing kisses along his jawline and down his throat, moaning softly, my hands yanking at his pants, unfastening them, pulling them down, taking his hardness into my hand, stroking him, tongue-fucking his ear and he turned me around, pushing me to the desk, laying me down on it, and then he was on top of me, pressing against me urgently. I raised my hips to meet his and he pulled away briefly, doing something with his hands, and then he was back on top of me, slick with lubricant, his eyes aching for relief, his breath coming in quick short gasps.

"God, Potter, just fuck me already," I hissed.

He moaned, nodded, and slid into me slowly, taking his time, moaning again, more loudly, shuddering, mouth seeking mine, but I threw my head back quickly and gave him my throat instead. He gave me a look, claiming me with his eyes, then began to pummel himself in to me. I wasn't going to be able to walk for a week but I didn't much care. He grabbed my ass and fucked me good, hard, fast, deep. I wrapped my legs around him, rising to meet him as he pounded in to me. God, he was epic, and I bit him on the shoulder, hard, wanting to leave some sort of mark so that he would, maybe, remember me. I knew I'd never forget him.

He cried out at my bite, and came, half-sobbing, but those green eyes never left mine as he released himself deep inside of me. I ran my hands down his back, memorizing him, marking the moment.

He slumped down on top of me, silent, but kissing my jawline, my temple, my forehead. Our noses met and he rubbed his against mine in a friendly way, smiling.

He traced my lips with his fingers.

And I pulled back.

It was an instinct. He used to do that, and the memory of him still sent a bright, hot, sharp spike of pain through me.

If Harry was hurt he didn´t show it. He smirked--much as I am prone to do--and straightened, rolling his shoulders, tossing his head.

We talked then of inconsequential things--the time had come, the walrus once said, to talk of many things--and then he left.

And I sat in the dark. Alone. I sit in the dark. Remembering his touch. His voice. His eyes behind the glasses he wears. His messy hair.

Maybe I'll see him again.

Maybe he'll let me explain myself.

Maybe he'll stay.

I looked out the window. A cool breeze ruffled my hair and swirled through the office.

The desert heat had broken.


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