Just a quick disclaimer, Anything you recognize is JK Rowlings. I own nothing but my imagination. Many thanks to my wonderful beta Hanyou Elf. You Rock! And thank you to Angie for telling me about her trip to the stylists.

The bell jingled cheerily as Harry Potter opened the door to the hairdressers. He stood for a moment before the reception desk, the faint smells of fruity shampoo and bitter hair setting solutions assaulting him. He wrinkled his nose in annoyance. "How the hell did I let Hermione talk me into this?"he wondered, a small sigh escaping his lips.

"But Harry, you have to look good for the wedding. You're Ron's best man, and I won't be having you look scruffy at our wedding," she'd said, the memory flowing through his mind. "You need to go to Sheer Wizardry, they're the best, and I've already set the appointment. I won't have it any other way now." She'd stood there with arms crossed and a look of determination on her face. Harry had long ago learned that when Hermione had that look on her face, it was just easier and much less painful to go along with her.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted when a small dark-haired man with his hair pulled into a long pony tail spoke to him. "Mr. Potter, right on time now. Let's see, you've an appointment with the owner. Only the best for The Boy Who Lived," he said briskly. "Follow me, please."

Harry frowned slightly at the last remark, as he followed the hairdresser. He wasn't a boy anymore. 'Dammit, I'm 24 now, and am really tired of being called The Boy Who Lived,' he thought exasperatedly. 'Why not call me The Man Who Lived, or He Who Slew Voldemort, or maybe even just Harry Potter,' the thoughts ran idly through his mind.

Belatedly, Harry realized that the dark-haired man had stopped and was barely able to keep from running into him. "Oh, sorry sir," he said with a slight lisp. "Sit here; and the owner will be right over," he said professionally, pulling out a black drape and tying it around Harry's neck. "I'll let him know you're ready," he said as he left the room.

It seemed odd to be sitting in a private room for just a haircut, but probably, that was the way things were done in shops like this. He'd never been in a place like this before. It was done up with stark white walls, with black accents scattered about tastefully. Artwork in muted shades of black, white, and grey adorned the walls. Black, granite countertops with grey flecks sat above white cabinets. Even the chair was made of the softest black leather possible. 'Maybe this won't be so bad,' Harry thought as he shifted in the chair.

Harry's haircuts had first, consisted of Aunt Petunia cramming a bowl down on his head and trimming around it and then, Mrs. Weasley's attempts to tame his hair, and lastly, his own futile attempts at trimming it. He'd decided that his hair had a mind of its own and had cultivated the messy-bed-hair look as his own. Not that he followed fashions, but it was the only one that worked for him, even if it was sadly out of date.

"Potter," a familiar voice drawled.

Harry looked up to find Draco Malfoy leaning against the doorframe. Dressed in a snug black t-shirt, black trousers that rode low on his slender hips, black Gucci loafers and a silver chain with a small dragon on it around his neck; Draco was the image of a high-profile hairdresser. His long platinum-blond hair was tied back loosely and still looked soft and inviting.

The dark-haired man shook his head slightly at the thought. Yes, he was gay, but he'd never once been attracted to Malfoy, his schoolboy rival. He gaped slightly as Draco walked over with a pronounced swish to his hips.

"Malfoy, what are you doing here?" Harry asked incredulously. He hadn't seen Draco since he'd finished seventh year at Hogwarts. And over the ensuing years, he'd lost track of the Slytherin Ice Prince.

The years had been quite kind to the blond man standing before him. He'd lost that tight, pinched look about his face, the arrogant cast of his eyes, and the tall gawkiness of youth. His face glowed with good health, his eyes were feathered with small laugh lines, and he'd filled out with arms that were cut and well defined. The tousle-headed wizard had never seen a finer six pack either. The only thing that hadn't changed was his hair. Draco had let it grow, but it was still the same shade of blond that Harry remembered. If Harry could only describe him in a few words, it would be that he looked like walking wet dream.

"I'm the proprietor of this fine establishment," Draco said with a sweep of his hand and a small bow. "When Hermione called to set the appointment, I just couldn't refuse. She can be quite persistent, you know," the blond said with a small smirk.

Harry had to snicker at that. "Yes, she's definitely a force of nature," he replied good-humouredly remembering how she'd pressured him to get his hair styled. "But how'd you end up doing this? I thought for sure you'd go into potions?" Harry asked curiously.

Draco picked up a brush and tapped it against his palm while looking at Harry thoughtfully. "Well, I would have, but Father disowned me, and I couldn't afford to study under a potions master," the blond replied a bit sadly as he started trying to run the brush through Harry's tangled locks. "Luckily, Mother was willing to lend me enough to get set up here. She had told me that she respected me for making a choice between what was easy and what was right, and I had chosen what was right for me."

They were interrupted when the small stylist Harry had seen earlier popped his head into the room. "Draco darling, I'm finished for the night. Is there anything else you need done before I'm off?" he asked.

"Ramon, be a dear and turn off the outside lights and lock up when you leave. I'll let Mr. Potter and myself out when we're done here," Malfoy replied throwing a small kiss to the dark-haired hairdresser.

Harry watched this exchange with interest. Hmmm, was Malfoy gay? He'd noticed that he had a little swish when he walked, and sometimes he seemed a bit feminine in his gestures. Not that these were signs of being gay, but it seemed quite odd for any heterosexual man to blow a kiss to another man.

Draco laid the brush down and began running his fingers through Harry's hair, his fingers occasionally catching a tangle, causing Harry to flinch. "You know, I've wanted to get my hands on your hair for years now," the blond said conversationally, as he moved around his client.

"What d'you mean by that Malfoy?" Harry asked mildly flustered.

"I'm sorry, I just meant that I've wanted to style your hair for years now," Draco replied, blushing lightly as he caught the subtle nuance behind Harry's question. Clearing his throat, he continued conversationally. "In fact, you're part of the reason I took up hairdressing."

The dark-haired man looked at Draco quizzically before nodding slightly. Draco took this as a sign to continue. "You used to tease me about being such a pretty priss because I took pride in my appearance. And after I got over those remarks, I realized that I was really quite good at styling hair." The blond continued fluffing and feeling Harry's hair, a smile spreading across his face. "Bet you didn't know I did Hermione's for fourth year Yule Ball," Draco said, smirking at the look on Harry's face.

"Gods, she looked beautiful that night. I never knew," he stammered.

"Yes, she did," Draco said proudly. "And now, I've got quite the base of clientele that affords me the good life. I'm quite in demand now, Potter. And quite expensive, too," Draco finished, his hands leaving Harry's hair and coming to rest on his hips. "Well, first things first, hop out of the chair and sit over at the wash basin," Malfoy said as he turned to get a few bottles out of the cabinet to his left.

Harry rose and sat himself at the wash station. He fiddled absently with the drape as he waited for Malfoy to finish collecting the bottles. Malfoy set the bottles on the counter next to the basin and smiled down at Harry, his eye crinkling with delight of a new challenge.

"Sit back Potter," he ordered, helping the man lean back by supporting his neck. He deftly rearranged Harry's hair until it was all in the sink.

"What are you going to do to my hair?" Harry asked curiously. He wasn't one to fuss with his hair, but he was a bit apprehensive about this whole hair styling business.

"First, I'm going to wash your hair with one of my signature shampoos, use a little crème rinse, add a few highlights, a good trim, and a special style created just for you," Malfoy finished in one long breath. Harry only nodded, just wanting to get this over with.

Harry watched as Malfoy started mixing ingredients in a small bowl on the counter by the sink. Malfoy grimaced slightly.

"What's wrong Malfoy?" the former Gryffindor asked curiously.

"Oh, just a crick, I've had a long day," the former Slytherin replied as he stretched sensuously, his hands coming to rest on his neck as he stretched and twisted, working out the crick in his neck. "Damn, this has been pulling on my hair all day," Malfoy said as he chucked his hair clip on the counter. He leaned over at the waist and flung his hair up and down, running his fingers through it. Finally he stood back up, his hair now lying in smooth waves over his shoulders except for one pale lock which hung down the side of his face.

Draco turned the taps on, getting the temperature comfortable. "Now tell me if it gets too warm," he said as he started wetting Harry's hair. "Oh, hold on, can't be leaving those on," Draco chuckled as he plucked the glasses from his client's face and placed them on the counter.

Harry sighed as the warm water poured over his scalp. He shut his eyes as a few drops hit his face. 'Ahh, maybe this won't be so bad after all,' he thought contentedly. He felt the long fingers of his former rival massaging his scalp, the delicious sensations running down his spine making him suppress a shiver of delight. Harry opened his eyes to find Draco leaning over him, his hands never stopping their sensuous kneading of his scalp. The dragon charm on his necklace was beating a steady tattoo against Harry's shoulder with each movement of his arms. The flexing muscles in Draco's arms mesmerized him, each movement was followed by another wonderful spike of pleasure through his scalp. 'Maybe Hermione's got a point about visiting the hairdressers,' he thought, as Draco lifted his head, getting the last little bit of hair wet. He relaxed and waited for Malfoy to continue the massage of his head.

Draco turned and scooped up a dollop of the goo in the bowl. Looking down at the slightly lost face of his client, he asked, "What?"

A little embarrassed that Malfoy had caught him looking longingly at him, Harry stuttered the first thing that ran through his mind: "It just felt so good, the hair washing thingy."

A small laugh bubbled from Draco's lips. "I've been told that I've got very good hands," he said as he started massaging the goo into Harry's hair. He leaned a little closer to work the shampoo through the tangled locks before him. "Hmm, Potter, no wonder you have so much trouble with your hair, it seems to tangle on its own."

Harry didn't really care about his hair at the moment; he was far too interested in Draco's throat. The creamy white skin that moved with each word Draco spoke intrigued him. Harry sighed, as those oh-so-talented fingers began massaging the shampoo into his hair. It seemed as if Malfoy was determined to touch every inch of his head, never missing a spot, and the kneading continued. The sensations that coursed down his spine had reached little Harry. And little Harry was becoming not-so-little Harry. The dark-haired man shifted, trying to adjust himself inconspicuously as Malfoy continued massaging his head. He was grateful that the drape covered his interest in a certain hairdresser. Harry looked up into Draco's blue-grey eyes as he happened to look down. Draco flashed a brilliant smile and said, "Just about done now, and then I'll give you a trim."

Harry almost groaned as the deft kneading stopped. Malfoy started rinsing the shampoo from the dark locks before him, his fingers mimicking the streams of water flowing through each strand. Harry closed his eyes, willing Malfoy to take his time. He slid his hand under the drape and down over himself, trying to relieve the steadily growing pressure. Harry felt the water stop and heard the taps squeaking as they were turned off. Harry turned his head to see what was in store for him next, and almost laughed out loud at the blurred sight before him.

Malfoy was standing next to him, one hand on his hip, the other hand tapping one finger against his lips, a thoughtful expression on his face. He reminded Harry of a childhood rhyme that he'd once heard; "I'm a little teapot, short and stout..." it had gone.

Draco started as he realized Harry was grinning at him stupidly. "What?" he asked perplexed.

Harry couldn't help the goofy grin spreading across his face. "Malfoy, I'm sorry, but I have to ask, and please don't take it wrong, but are you a poof?" he asked with a flick of his wrist.

Draco's look of confusion slowly turned to one of gaiety as he realized how he'd been posing. He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, as he answered his client. "It's just an act, Potter. My clients seem to like a gay stylist better than a straight one. They seem to think they'd have better fashion sense or something like that," he continued conversationally, "Besides, the tips are better when I sashay a bit."

"How very Slytherin of you," the former Gryffindor replied, trying to keep a straight face.

"Well, I have tried to stay true to my roots," the former Ice Prince sniggered at the unintentional pun.

The dark-haired man watched with amusement as Draco moved closer, deliberately giving his hips an exaggerated swish. "Alright now, let's get a towel around your head and get you done," he said as he wrapped a towel around Harry's damp head. "Move over to the chair and I'll be right back."

Harry obediently got up and sat himself in the stylist's chair and waited. He idly reflected that Malfoy seemed so much freer than he'd been in school, so much happier, too. If only he could only turn back time he would have been friends, and maybe more with this Malfoy.

Draco returned carrying a small box of foil. Setting the box down on the counter, he reached over and started patting and gently massaging Harry's head again before pulling the towel off. "First a trim and then, I'll put a few highlights in your hair. It'll give it more shine," he stated briskly.

Harry nodded and felt Draco threading his fingers through his hair. He flinched as he tugged lightly at a tangle. Draco frowned slightly, and then reached over for a detangler spray. The fine mist fell around Harry's head, and it started a tickling in his nose. Draco continued finger-combing the tangled locks before him. Harry watched Draco whose attention was focused solely on detangling. He felt the arousal build again as he watched the shimmering waves of hair dance on Draco's shoulders each time he moved. He stifled a gasp as Draco leaned closer, his chest pressing against Harry's shoulder. He could smell the faint sent of cologne emanating from his skin. Slipping his hand under the drape again, Harry tried to assuage the heat burning in him. Malfoy stepped back, and the messy-headed man let out a breath that he didn't realize that he'd been holding.

"Well, hold still now, I'm going to trim your hair properly," Draco grinned. "Whoever's been cutting it has done a poor job, totally against the flow."

Harry nodded slightly, mildly afraid of being around a Malfoy with scissors. Small pieces of hair floated down on the drape. Harry sat very still as his hair was cut, but watched a slightly blurred Malfoy move around him, leaning closer then stepping away, almost teasing him with his sexiness. Harry groaned as the heat from the blond's body washed over and around him.

Malfoy cleared his throat breaking the silence between them, "Harry, I wasn't quite truthful with you earlier. I'm not quite a poof, I'm bi. That's why Father disowned me. Said he couldn't trust me to carry on the Malfoy name, such that it is," the blond said wryly.

Harry looked into Draco's eyes, astounded that he'd told him something so personal. The awkward silence stretched on until he found what he'd been looking for in Malfoy's eyes. "I know what you're going through," he said finally, watching the other man for his reaction.

Draco's eyes widened slightly as he caught the meaning of Harry's revelation. "I'd heard rumors, you know…" his voice trailing off.

The silence grew between them; the only sound in the room was the snip, snip of Draco's scissors. The small pieces of hair, drifting down on the drape kept Harry from watching Draco. He wasn't exactly sure if he should have let Malfoy know his sexual preferences. Life was hard enough as it was without being known wide and far as The Gay Who Lived. Lost in his thoughts, Harry started as he realized that Draco had stopped and was directly in front of him, studying him.

"Your fringe is a little off," the blond said as he stepped closer. He grasped Harry's chin, raising it to his eye level.

Harry closed his eyes to keep from looking into the dark blue-grey ones that were right before him. He felt Draco place his hand on his neck and adjust the tilt of his head. And almost so softly he could have missed it, he felt a gentle brush of lips against his. Startled, he almost drew away, but felt his head being held still as the lips pressed more urgently against his. 'This is Malfoy, this is wrong, but oh so good,' he thought deliriously as Draco held him. The soft caress of a tongue being swept across his lips caused him to moan softly, and Draco's tongue snaked into his mouth, exploring every hollow and drawing him into the deepening kiss.

Without breaking the kiss, Draco straddled Harry's lap, his legs on the outside of Harry's. He pulled Harry closer; his hand released Harry's chin and slid into his still damp hair. His groin pressed against Harry's and he wriggled slightly, the added friction only serving to inflame him more. Almost gasping from the need for each other, the two men broke apart. Gazing into each other's eyes, blue-grey meeting Slytherin green, they looked at each other with incredulous wonder.

Tracing a finger over Harry's cheekbones, Draco smiled before saying, "Mother always did say that I'd always have to make choices between what was easy and what was right." He leaned over and whispered, "And Harry, it would have been much too easy to let you leave."

Draco slowly reached back and untied the drape from Harry's neck, flinging it to the floor. He leaned over and pulled a lever on the chair which slid back smoothly. Never breaking eye contact with the man beneath him, Draco began undoing the buttons to Harry's shirt. Stopping between each undone button to the next, Draco licked a trail of heat. Finally reaching the last one, he pulled the shirt tails from Harry's trousers. He grinned as he slowly fingered open the trouser button just below his new favorite client's navel. Pushing the shirt aside, Draco ran his hands lightly over the muscled, slightly furred chest. Almost by instinct, his hands massaged the flesh; he wound his way upwards to the tangled mane that begged to be caressed once again.

Harry watched as the blond head traveled tantalizingly southward, the soft strands of hair brushing his chest with each lick. He'd somehow gotten his arms around Draco's shoulders, but they were slowly falling to his waist as the blond moved away from his embrace. He'd watched those long lashes, opening each time Draco looked up, to reveal lust-filled eyes. He almost sobbed with relief when the former Ice Prince undid his trousers, but the sweet torture called Draco Malfoy continued.

Wrapping his arms around the dark-clad blond, he pulled Draco closer, who responded by kissing him lightly on the lips and then planting small kisses intermixed with small nips until he reached the ear he'd whispered in earlier. Harry gasped at the light flicks tickling his ear. Suddenly, he felt a smile cross Malfoy's face.

"Harry, I told you you'd need highlights, but you don't. All you needed was a light trim. I'm sorry to say that the messy-headed look suits you well," he murmured in his ear, his hands ruffling through the dark hair.

Harry paused and turned his head until his lips were touching Draco's. He smiled lightly and kissed him gently. "But Draco, what about my crème rinse?" the messy-haired man asked and he ran his hands down to Draco's tight jeans.

"Later Harry, later," he replied snuggling down into Harry's embrace.