title: the Simple Life
fandom: Harry Potter
characters/pairings: Harry/Draco
rating: PG
warnings: bloodplay
summary: Draco reflects. (Bloody Kisses Ficlet)
notes: for Kendra, her bloody kisses ficlet. i can't believe i just wrote Harry/Draco... and that it was relatively happy...

He caught sight of his reflection in the window, and became mesmerized. He watched from the corner of his eye as the shadow of his profile was superimposed over the streaming lights and concrete of the road. He had not realized that he would look so much like his father if he grew his hair out.

A secret smile played with the corners of his mouth. What would Lucius Malfoy think if he saw his son in the back seat of an expensive limousine, wearing a fine, hand-woven silk suit, tapping his finger on the smooth screen of a smartphone? It almost made him laugh. But this, this was America. Even since Salem, magic of any sort was utterly taboo here. Which did not mean that it did not happen; perish the thought. It just made magic a black market trade.

Draco stroked the baby-soft leather of the seat with gentle care. His father had not given those Muggles a proper shake. Admittedly, he had fled to this country to avoid falling to the same fate as his father, and his father's master, but the opportunities available for someone of discernment and good judgment, as well as the raw power inherent in his blood, more than made up for whatever Draco might have lost.

The limo glided up to the front entrance of the nightclub, the pulsing beat just barely infiltrating the exterior. Yes, there were plenty of opportunities here, within the Muggle world, and all that was required to capitalize on them was power, a certain lack of interfering ethics, and the determination to see things through.

Draco moved through the crowds of people like a demigod, the simple Muggles moving aside for him without even being fully aware of what they were doing. Those that had enough of their faculties still operational were awed, and sometimes frightened, to see him, but for the most part, they were like a herd of cattle, moving according to his will on instinct.

This pleased Draco immensely.

He took each step slowly, enjoying the feel of the plush carpet giving to his weight. There were times when he missed the conveniences that he had taken for granted in the wizarding world, but it had been a small price to pay. The luxuries and opulence of the Muggle world was quite suitable.

He stopped at the head of the stairs, resting his hands on the golden railing, eyeing the crowd critically. Every shade and sort of Muggle swarmed beneath him, their fake leather clothes glistening with sweat, their raw, animalistic behavior growing more uninhibited as the night flowed on, the special drinks that Tabula Rasa were famous for doing their charms on the populace. It wasn't hard to pick. He knew the tastes of his companion as well as he knew his own. In fact, time and circumstance had combined to make it so that his tastes and the tastes of his companion were exactly the same. He indicated to the oily lackey a couple, thin, gaunt, late teens to early twenties, with long, dark hair, and tight, dark clothes. The girl had a tattoo on her arm, a magical symbol she undoubtedly knew nothing about, and the boy had several silver appendages decorating his face and torso.

They were perfect.

Draco shrugged off his jacket as soon as he entered their private quarters, breathing a sigh of relief when the door shut and all the sound disappeared. He strode purposefully through the long series of room, until he came to room that was in complete darkness, the walls and ceiling painted a thick black to further insulate it from the harshness of light. He moved without trepidation, guided by experience of many nights like this one, knowing exactly when to lift his knee to begin crawling along the bed.

The sheets were of the finest silk, so smooth and slippery he practically slide down to his companion's side. It was a goose down feather mattress, each feather blest with the blood of the innocent to protect the sleeper. Draco had learned much of blood magic from the vicious practitioners of the arts here in this New World. He gently ran his fingers over the face of his beloved. Without sight, his thumbs unerringly sought out the deep, jagged scar on the forehead, tracing the lightning bolt delicately. Bright, red eyes snapped open, shining dully, illuminating the narrow feature minutely.

Suddenly, Draco was in an iron embrace, the blinding penetration of his neck too fast to be painful. But Harry never fed on him; it was more of a love bite than anything else. Draco slipped down onto the silk sheets, grinning up at Harry.

Harry licked his lips slowly. "You have... work for me this night?"

Draco shook his head lethargically, tracing patterns on the silk that draped over Harry's hip. "Not this night, I'm afraid, my pet."

Harry hissed in disappointment. "...food?"

"Oh, of course... pretty food, my sweet, I promise you..."

Harry attacked Draco in pleasure.

Draco waited on the bed while Harry finished his meal. He watched the door, seeing beyond the scope of his vision simply from habit; he knew the pattern of his love's appetites all too well.

He grinned as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. No, Lucius Malfoy might not be proud of his son, the Muggle mobster. He might not be proud of his son, the fugitive. He might not be proud of his son, the traitor, the lover of the boy vampire who killed Voldemort.

But Lucius was dead, and Draco was living very well indeed.