Pints, pondering and Potter.
Draco stepped into the pub and shook the rain out of his hair. He definitely hadn't missed the English weather. Six months in France had been more than enough time away, though. He was glad to be back in London, miserable winter and all.
He walked to the bar and quickly ordered a pint of real ale. He immediately took a large gulp and savoured the taste. This, this he had missed. A real bière anglaise. He needed to stop thinking in French, though.
Picking up his pint he headed over to an empty table to wait for Pansy. It would be nice to finally catch up. He had only seen her once since he got back and that was a brief meeting filled with 'How are you?'s and 'You're looking well's.
As he settled into his seat Draco rubbed absent-mindedly at his chin and remembered Pansy's reaction to his new appendage. The rustic life he'd been living in France was strange to get used to, and by the end Draco had given up on shaving all together. It had been itchy and annoying at first, but now he found it kept his chin warm. Pansy had initially been shocked, asking him if he planned to shave it off now he was home. He didn't plan on going anywhere near his face with a razor; he'd grown quite fond of the thing, and told Pansy just that. She had only smiled and nodded, looking mildly interested.
A glance at his watch told him that Pansy was already late. He looked briefly around the pub to make sure he hadn't missed her already sat somewhere with an empty glass of gin and tonic. He didn't spot any dark haired ladies, but a dark haired man by the window across the room did catch his eye. He was currently turned away from Draco, but he had broad shoulders and gorgeously dishevelled hair. Draco decided to simply enjoy the view until Pansy arrived. He picked up his drink and took a sip. As he placed the glass down on the table the man he'd been admiring turned his head towards Draco, and Draco spilt a fair portion of his beer as it slipped from his hand. He quickly grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the mess he'd made.
Once he'd cleaned up his spilt beer, Draco looked back up at the man, but he had turned away once again. Draco had only gotten a quick look at the man's face, but it had been enough for him to almost drop his drink in shock. Harry Potter was currently sat across the pub from him. Not only that, but since the last time Draco had seen him, which to be fair was probably months before he'd left for France, Potter had gone and become the Bearded One, the Boy Who Grew Facial Hair. And damn it, it suited him.
Potter was sitting alone with his own pint of beer in front of him. If Draco shifted his chair slightly to the right and turned it a few degrees and... perfect. Now he could see Potter's profile surreptitiously if he glanced slightly to his right, whilst all the time seeming to look straight ahead.
Careful not to pick up his drink, Draco took his time to study Potter. His facial hair was past the stubble stage, and was quite full. Draco had to be impressed. Some men just couldn't grow full beards, and any attempt to do so just made them look immature, but Potter; his beard covered the whole of his chin, all the way up to his sideburns. He even had that mignon (it was easier to admit in French) little tuft of hair under his bottom lip. Lips... Draco could see Potter's smooth plump lips all too clearly. He obviously kept his moustache trimmed. Licking his own lips, Draco's mouth suddenly felt very dry and he looked away to grab his beer and take a large gulp.
Rubbing his forehead, Draco tried to calm down. He was getting all worked up over Potter. Okay, a rather sexy bearded Potter, but still. He knew they had friends in common now-a-days (where wasPansy?), and the two of them hardly hated each other anymore, but Draco still wasn't comfortable ogling the man from across the room. And Draco certainly didn't want to imagine how soft that beard would feel to stroke. And he definitely wasn't getting hot under the collar wondering if Potter had spotted him, perhaps had his eyes on Draco right now, admiring Draco's own beard.
Unable to refrain any longer, Draco glanced up at Potter again. He was almost sure he had seen those green eyes look hastily away in another direction. Potter's hand moved up to rub at his beard; a nervous gesture if ever Draco saw one. The hand drew Draco's attention to Potter's beard once again. The hairs seemed heavy, but fine. Draco unwittingly imagined the feel of those hairs on his own sensitive skin. They would be ample and intense, but gentle and tender.
Draco closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the images and feelings going through him. He could not start thinking that way about Potter. No matter how hairy the man's face got. No matter how kissable his lips looked. No matter how tight Draco's trousers suddenly felt.
When he opened his eyes it was to find green ones staring right back at him. This time neither of them looked away. Draco held Potter's gaze with what he knew to be a look full of intensity and need. He knew, because that was the exact look that Potter was giving him, as well.