Archive of Our Own ^beta

Harry notices the change before Draco spots him. The smooth gate to his walk, his naturally pale skin turned almost white. The light catches in his eye and where a cool silver should be is red. 

It’s true, then. Draco Malfoy is a vampire. 

What business he has in a Muggle club is a mystery, but it definitely can’t be anything good. It’s *Malfoy*. It's never good. 

Harry downs the rest of his drink in one gulp. He’s had too much, his cheeks hot and his brain foggy, but he would need a few more before he could enter that blissful state of unawareness he craves so much. He pushes away from the bar, slightly unsteady as he weaves through the crowd. 

“Malfoy,” Harry says. When he doesn’t turn, Harry repeats himself louder. 

Red eyes find his, and Harry swallows. He wasn’t entirely sure he was sober enough to have this confrontation, but it felt important. Draco was here to hurt someone; Harry couldn’t let him. 

“You should leave,” Harry says as someone jostles his shoulder, making him take a step forward into Draco’s space. He smells like iron and expensive cologne. 

“Now why would I do that?” Draco drawls, unimpressed and unsurprised at Harry’s sudden appearance. 

“You’re here to feed, aren’t you?” 

A flash of something, interest maybe, and Draco takes a step forward. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, unless…” He reaches out and brushes the curls away from Harry’s neck, his cold fingers gentle over his skin. “You’re offering?” 

Harry shudders into the touch. He’s only now realizing how overheated he is, how out of his depth. He sways towards Draco, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not.” Even with his fuzzy perception, he can tell it isn’t convincing. 

Draco takes another step closer, winding his other hand around Harry’s waist. Harry lets himself be pulled in, let’s Draco lower his mouth to his ear, too close, dangerously close. 

“You’re here to forget, aren’t you,” Draco purrs. “I can help you.” 

Harry is leaning against him now, the pounding of the music turning the rest of the club into a blur of movement and noise. He can’t pull his attention to anything but the points of contact, the cool press of Draco’s skin. Harry deliriously wants more, if only to douse the heat in his blood.

“I can take it all away—make you forget your own name.” Draco pulls him flush to his chest, a spark of triumph as Harry’s half-hard cock is pushed against his. He trails his sharp canines over the shell of Harry’s ear. “I can make you feel so good.” 

This was a bad idea. Harry should have ignored him, left him to do whatever he came here to do, let him take someone else. But Harry has never been able to ignore Draco, why would a few years and newly acquired vampirism change that? 

“Dance with me,” Harry breaths, desperate for Draco’s hands to cool his system. 

And so they dance. Slow movements to keep Harry from stumbling, Draco’s strong arms wrapped around him, holding him upright as they grind into each other. 

It’s been so long since Harry’s been touched, and the sensation of their cocks pressing together is almost maddening. He wants more. He needs Draco’s hands to explore him, touch him until he can’t breathe, press into him until all that’s left is Draco. He knows something is wrong, but it’s nothing another drink couldn’t fix. 

Life can be so simple, so enjoyable, after all. 

Draco’s teeth sink into his neck slowly at first, a tentative bite, a sharp sting, and then, bliss. Harry’s mind is wiped clean. The war, the alcohol, his friends slowly distancing themselves as he sank deeper into whatever fugue state he’s in. He is new—made fresh again, and he clings to Draco desperately as he feels his blood pulled from his veins. 

Take it all. You can have it. He thinks as Draco’s hands shove roughly at his clothes. They find the floor, sticky with spilled drinks and sweat, as shoes part to make room for them in the crowd. 

It’s yours, he thinks, his brain finally quiet as Draco bites down again. It’s less painful this time, and he moans, spreading his legs wider as Draco lines up. He’s distantly aware of the gasps, the sounds of horror mixing with the din of music, but he doesn’t care. 

The last thing he feels is Draco’s cock spearing him open, the pressure at his neck as his fingers go numb. Good, he thinks, as he loses consciousness, if the last thing he is, is wanted, he supposes that’s alright.