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Harry’s eyes watch as he walks from the back hallway, where the loos are situated, to his friends at the bar. He’s beautiful, there’s really no other word for him, and slightly tipsy – no doubt a product of the night’s specials on-tap. A tall blond man throws his arm around him, mouth moving in speech but Harry is too far to hear. The object of his attention laughs, throwing his head back, and all Harry can see is the long column of slightly tanned skin.
A heavy hand claps down on Harry’s shoulder then, and he turns to shoot an annoyed glance at his best friend. Ron tries not to laugh. “Working yourself up there, mate? You’ve been staring at him all night and he hasn’t even looked over here.”
“So?” Harry sounds petulant and he knows it. “Just ‘cause he hasn’t looked over here doesn’t mean he hasn’t seen me.”
“Oh, Harry.” This time, it’s Ginny who speaks. She gives him a knowing look. After dating for almost a year (and being friends for longer), she knows him inside and out. She loves the man but he is sometimes pathetically oblivious to the truth. “How much have you drank tonight?”
“Not enough for what I want to do,” he admits.
For the next quarter of an hour, Harry psyches himself up to leave the table he and his friends have sat at all night, tells himself he can go to the bar where this man – this beautiful man - sits with a group of friends. They’re all insanely attractive – the tall blond man has cheekbones that can cut glass and his arm is now draped over the shoulders of a curvaceous brunette with a wild mane of hair. Next to them is a tall, black man with a piercing gaze; Harry only knows because he seems to be the only one who looks over the bar crowd and his eyes have lingered on Ginny a few times. Rounding out the group is a big, muscular man whose hand covers a slim man’s waist possessively.
Harry is pretty sure they’re all models or socialites or something because he’s never seen a more alluring group of friends.
After the 15 minutes where he’s ordered three more pints and a basket of chips, Harry thinks he’s ready. With a deep breath, he stands from the table, shaking out his limbs from being in a seated position since he arrived from work, and bounces his shoulders. Ron gives him a thumbs up though his girlfriend twists her lips as if she isn’t sure this is the right idea. Then again, Pansy is the most pessimistic of the bunch.
The bar is more crowded now, but Harry is determined and he tries to ignore the male couple’s gazes when he finally reaches the group. The shorter of the two leans up and whispers something in the – he has to be an athlete , Harry thinks - taller man’s ear and the two of them snicker. It’s no matter in the end because Harry gathers up all of the courage he has at the moment and reaches out to place a hand on the man’s shoulder, this brown-haired Adonis he’s been staring at all night.
“Excuse me.” Harry is trying to flag down the bartender, taking his hand off the shoulder, but the other man turns around. Immediately, Harry is distracted by a pair of hazel eyes that are somehow both interested and apprehensive. He repeats, “‘Scuse me, sorry. Just trying to…”
His voice trails off. Being this close, he can smell beer and whiskey and cigarette smoke. There is an underlying scent of oud, the deep and forest-like tones wafting over him. Harry loses all train of thought, his mouth going dry as he stares at this man – this bloody gorgeous man who can’t stop looking back at him. Around them, his friends have fallen silent and there is a tinge of tension in the air now.
Harry clears his throat. Time to go for it. Except when he opens his mouth, the first thing he says isn’t his name or to ask for this other man’s name. It’s not to compliment him or ask if he can buy him a drink. No, the first words out of his mouth are, “Do you like to fly?”
Eyebrows rise high on the man’s forehead, almost disappearing under curly hair. “Excuse me?”
“Airplanes,” Harry spits out. Though he cringes, he’s already started and there’s no way out, so he just goes for it. “There – there’s an airport nearby, I think. We–-we could… Go there?”
The other man is turned to him, an elbow on the bar, and he looks more amused than anything else. “And why would I want to do that? Are you taking me on a trip before telling me your name?”
Harry blurts out, “Because then we could watch my heart take off now that I’ve seen you.”
Horrifying embarrassment. That’s what Harry feels at this exact moment.
But then the man laughs loudly, the sound inviting Harry closer. He sees the brunette girl biting her lip, like she’s trying not to laugh, even when the other men keep their faces blank.
“Well, what if I don’t like to fly?” The man - Harry really should get his name - asks. His eyes are bright, even in the dim lighting of the bar.
Harry purses his lips in thought before he snaps his fingers. “Then I’d ask how tired you are.”
When the blond man takes a step toward them, the man says, “Drake, it’s fine.” He turns back to Harry. “If you follow that up with an offer to ride you if I’m not tired, the answer is yes, I’m tired, and no, I’m no longer interested.”
“But you’re interested?” Harry perks up, smile growing as he pushes up his glasses. “And that’s crass. I was going to ask if you’d found anything interesting in my mind since you’ve been running through it for the past three hours.”
The four friends surrounding them laugh, but yelp when the woman smacks each of them. “Blaise! Marcus! Adrian! Honestly! Leave him be! And you! Be nice, Draco, or I’ll start a Girls Night for when we leave here!”
“Seems I’ve learned your friends’ names,” Harry says. “Do I get yours?”
“Hey mate! Didn’t see you here.” The bartender - Seamus - is someone Harry went to uni with a few years back. “Same as always?”
“Yeah, mate, thanks. And whatever this man is having.” He motions to the man next to him before he slaps the hand Seamus holds out.
“What are you having, man?”
“Manhattan. On the rocks.”
“Posh,” Harry teases. Then he wiggles the fingers on the hand he’d use to basically high-five Seamus. “See this? You should always use this hand when you need to get off.”
The woman sputters, almost choking at Harry’s words. “What did he just say?!”
Then Harry leans in close to the man, his mouth dangerously close to his ear. “It’s mine. And it’ll give you the best orgasm you’ve had all year.”
The man is still silent, his face frozen in shock, when Harry takes a glass from Seamus and sets it on the bar. “That’s for you. Let me know if you want another.”
He winks and takes his own drink back to the table where his friends are. Pansy’s eyebrows are high on her forehead. She tilts her head toward the bar, where the group of six are huddled together. Every now and again, one of them looks over to Harry.
“How did that go?”
“A little rocky in the beginning,” Harry admits. “But I think I got him in the end.”
It takes another 20 minutes before his friends convince Harry he should go back. The male couple have moved down the bar, lost in their own little world, so it’s only the man and three of his friends. On his way back to the bar, he passes the single friend who seems to be aiming toward his own friends.
Harry stops him with a hand on his forearm. “Her name’s Ginny.”
Blaise - he remembers the name the woman called him earlier - grins a sparkly white smile. He nods his head. “ His name is Theo.”
Theo.
Theo is waiting for him this time. He’s casually leaning back against the bar from atop a stool. His elbows are behind him, propped up on the counter, and his legs are spread. He looks like a fucking model waiting for a photographer to come by.
“Is this an invitation?” Harry says, surprised at his boldness.
Theo swipes his tongue over his bottom lip. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
For a moment, Harry falters. Was he wrong in thinking this other man was interested? Did he read the signs wrong? Were there even any signs?
But then Theo sits up and Harry can see the concern and uncertainty in those hazel eyes. “Are you alright?”
He quickly recovers. Putting a hand on his chest, Harry takes a step back, and dramatically says, “I think so. It’s just that – well, rejection can lead to emotional stress. And emotional stress can potentially lead to complications – mentally and physically.” He rocks forward again. “You don’t want to be the reason I fall apart and die, do you?”
“Really?” Theo stands, and that’s when Harry realizes how tall he is. “And how do you know all of that? Are you a doctor or something?”
Perfect.
“As a matter of fact, I am.” He doesn’t mention that he’s a pediatrician. Instead, he steps into Theo’s space, grips onto his forearm and feels the muscles flex. “When’s the last time you had a full physical?”
Theo gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Not too long ago,” he says in a husky voice.
“Shame.” His reaction makes Harry suddenly feel powerful. He moves his hand up to where Theo’s shirt sleeves have been rolled up. Black ink peeks out from beneath the fabric. “I could have shown you what a great doctor I am.”
A lift of eyebrows. “Oh, so this isn’t just for me, then? This is your – what is it – bedside manner? ”
Harry’s eyes widen, floundering to come up with an answer. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Everything had been going well !
The change in mood is obvious to Theo, who wraps his hand around the back of Harry’s neck and leans down so their foreheads press against each other’s. “Are you ever going to tell me your name? Or am I to call you Doctor the entire night?”
“Yo-you can call me whatever you want,” Harry says in a somewhat breathless tone. He’s so close that he can feel puffs of warm air when Theo speaks. “But only if you let me call you Milk because you’re gonna do my body real good .”
It’s the last straw.
Theo laughs uproariously and he pulls Harry in close. Next to them, Draco is losing it, gasping between bouts of laughter.
“No! Tell me you – Harry, you really used those lines on people before Theo?”
“Oh, yes,” Ginny says as she walks up to them, a confused Blaise trailing behind her. She shakes her head. “Hermione, these weren’t even the worst ones!”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Blaise interjects. “This… This wasn’t real?”
Theo laughs, turns Harry so his back is pressed against his chest. “Blaise, meet my fiance, Harry. It’s about time you visited again so you could meet him before the ceremony.”
They’ve all gathered, both groups of friends. It had been a long-standing joke that Harry was always terrible at picking up men and women before he’d met Theo. Hermione, who’d only known Harry as Theo’s other half, didn’t believe it, so they’d decided to show her how awful he was once upon a time. It was only fate that Blaise came as a surprise guest.
“It’s a good thing I was the one to walk up to you that night, eh?” Theo teases Harry. “I’m much more suave about these things.”
His comment makes the majority of the group perk up. While they’re all close, the start of Theo and Harry’s relationship was a mystery. They’ve always kept mum about it. Even Draco, who is practically a brother to Theo, doesn’t know, so he’s the one to ask, “Well? Are you finally going to tell us then? What happened that night?”
Harry laughs. He remembers how drunk Theo was that night, free drink after free drink due to a promotion at work and coworkers celebrating him. Theo, often the calm, cool, and collected one, suddenly flushes a deep pink. He buries his face in Harry’s messy hair and tries to ignore their friends, but finally he lets out a deep sigh and spins Harry back around. The shorter man’s mouth quirks into a smile.
“What’s your last name?” Theo asks. Around them, their friends hush in order to watch the scene.
“Potter,” Harry answers promptly. His smile widens, so bright and happy that the others can’t help but grin with him. “Why?”
“Name’s Theodore. It sounds perfect with your last name.”
Silence. Pure silence. And then so much laughter that other patrons at the bar pause and look over at them. Pansy - the only one who was unknowingly friends with both men before they met - screeches, “No! No, no! Theo, tell me you’re lying. You really said that to him?” Theo shuts his eyes despite also laughing but doesn’t say anything, which is fine because Pansy points a finger at Harry next. “And you! You fell for that?”
Harry’s shoulders are shaking, bouncing up and down, before he manages to answer, “Well. He was right. Theodore Potter does sound perfect.”