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bottom_dracoTitle: Greenwhich Be-Bop (1/?)
Author: Me
Rating: pg-13 for languge and drug reffrences (NC-17 in later chapters)
Summery: It's 1957, Draco's a beatnik living in the village, trying to become a writer, Harry idolizes James Dean, they meet by chance, and visit the cinema... we'll get to the sex soon
Warnings: Drug use, pre-slash, minor languge, AU
Legal BS: Not mine... don't sue
Note: Make me a banner/illustration, and I will love you forever
Greenwhich Be-Bop
Hazel
Ch. 1: Village Morning
Harry woke up, his head pounding with a hangover in the bleary light of early morning. The room was small and cold. He blew into his hands, and tried to recall last night. He’d been out, he remembered records playing, Elvis, he remembered the party, talking to a blond guy he didn’t know, remembered leaving the party too drunk to get home, stumbling on the dark side walk, and kind steadying arms.
There was a knock on the door, and there was the blond. In the light of morning Harry could get a better look at him.
He was tall, almost as tall as Harry, and good looking in a way that wasn’t quite handsome, because it was too much like beauty. He wore his white-blond hair long past his shoulders. His slim body was draped in a green satin bathrobe; he wore thick square framed glasses, and a beret that looked as if it might have been slept in. He was carrying two large mugs of coffee.
“I thought you might be hungover,” he said, his accent was upper-class English, it surprised Harry, he rarely saw any of his countrymen since he’d moved to New York.
“Yeah,” said Harry with a weak smile.
“Drink up then… unless you want tea,” said the blond with a little grimace, as he handed Harry a cup of strong smelling black coffee.
“Thanks.” Harry warily took the first sip, it was good, but much stronger than any coffee he’d had before.
“It’s espresso, oh, by the way, I’m Draco… call me Drake, I never got your name.”
“Harry,” said Harry, gulping coffee.
“Cigarette?” inquired Draco, pulling a two hand rolled cigarettes out of his breast pocket.
“Thanks.” Draco lit one for Harry, and then for himself. Draco inhaled deeply and blew smoke from his nose.
“How’s your head?”
“Almost bearable.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I move around.”
Draco gave Harry the slow nod that hipsters have given when they like something since the beginning of time.
“How long have you lived in the states?”
“Year or two,” said Harry shrugging.
“It’s freezing in here, let’s go sit in the living room, sorry about that, I’m airing this room out, my last roommate used to smoke the cheapest tea in here, the apartment reeked of it,” Draco curled his lip fastidiously.
Harry nodded, and got up, ran a hand through his hair.
The living room featured sagging Victorian furniture, and piles of books, Marx, Keroac, Burroughs, Orwell, Heller, Steinbeck, Ginsberg, and others stood in deep stacks around the room. Coffee stained papers, and full ashtrays lay about in confusion.
“Have a seat, just toss the papers on the floor, I really should put them all somewhere, I’m rather awful at housekeeping really.”
Harry contentiously gathered the papers and put them in a neat stack on the table.
“I never would have taken you for fastidious,” said Draco giving Harry a pleased look over the top of his coffee mug “something about the blue jeans, and leather jacket, you don’t grease your hair though… a greaseless greaser…”
“Doesn’t work… too unruly,” said Harry sipping coffee and taking a drag on his cigarette.
“Suits you. I just realized you ought to eat something, otherwise you’ll be throwing up again,” said Draco, setting down his mug, and hurrying into the tiny equally messy kitchenette.
“I can make toast… or umm toast.”
“Toast then, thank you,” said Harry.
When Harry had eaten, and the coffee was gone, Harry zipped up his jacket and prepared to go.
“Thanks, it was really nice of you--”
Draco cut him off “It’s fine, are you busy?”
“No,” said Harry warily.
“There’s a theater down the street, I have nothing to do today, and I hate going to the movies alone.”
“I guess…” said Harry.
“I’ll go get dressed, I’ll buy you lunch after, yeah?”
“Sure, thanks.”
“No problem,” said Draco, disappearing behind a door who’s salmon paint had began to peel in patches.
Ch. 2: Not Quite the Drive In
Draco emerged looking very elegant in a fresh beret, and a well cut suit with velvet lapels, and narrow trousers, indicating his bohemian nature.
The theater was two blocks away, built in the style of thirties movie palaces with a blazing gilded marquee, and a myriad of lights which at night gave the place a fairytale sparkle.
Draco paid the ticket taker, a young student in a black turtleneck and jeans, and they went in. The theater was empty except for them, and the concession stand had been unattended.
“What are we seeing?” Harry asked.
“It’s French, I can’t remember the title…”
“Oh…” said Harry.
“New to foreign?” asked Draco, looking at Harry with pity.
“Oh… um, yeah.”
“For a greaser, you’re awfully polite.”
“Yeah, I guess I am, but no one bothers me…”
“No, I suppose most people would be nervous bothering you.”
“Why did you move to America?”
“I heard Louis Armstrong, and you?”
“I saw James Dean, in Rebel Without a Cause, and never recovered.”
“Everyone wants to be Jimmy Dean now, don’t they?”
“I guess, movie’s starting.”
The lights dimmed, and credits that Harry didn’t understand rolled across the screen.
To his surprise, Harry actually found himself enjoying it, the plot was incomprehensible, the main character changed several times, and there were a great number of scenes involving wandering through open market places, and it was wonderful. When the end credits finally rolled, Harry had to be poked rather severely in the side to get him to move he had been so entranced.
“Do you still want lunch?” asked Draco.
“Yeah, I’ll buy, where do you want to go?”
“No, I insist.”
“Not fallen gentry then,” said Harry with a little smile.
“No, the Malfoys escaped that thank god.”
Harry nodded “So, where’s lunch?”
“Let me surprise you,” said Draco giving Harry a wicked grin. Draco couldn’t help noticing Harry’s lean body in his tight tee shirt and jeans that clung like a second skin.
Draco took him to a little deli around the corner that served them both excellent turkey sandwiches with homemade mayonnaise. Harry are ravenously, like he hadn’t had a decent meal in days.
“So, what did you think of the movie?” asked Draco, his eyes running surreptitiously over his companion’s face, he was regal looking, with wide eyes, and well cut firm lips; he was clean shaven, marble smooth, it was surprising, once again not quite fitting with his street tough image, his eyes too were surprising behind glasses that he seemed actually to need (unlike Draco‘s occasionally affected pair), they were brilliantly green.
“I liked it, wasn’t as impenetrable as I thought it would be…”
“Do greasers often use the word impenetrable?” said Draco, giving Harry a knowing look, something in his voice hinted at a private school background, as much as he tried to cover it with Liverpool tones.
“No, I guess not,” said Harry with a quick charming smile.
“So, you liked it though?”
“Yeah, I did,” said Harry through a bite of sandwich. Harry looked at Draco for a moment, the blond wasn’t close to beautiful… he was beautiful. Full yet, somehow still male lips graced a spare elegant countenance, his silver eyes were rimmed with thick, surprisingly dark lashes, and his face was high cheekboned and almost ethereal looking, he reminded Harry of illustrations of Oberon he’d seen in some book when he was younger, the black and white illustration had fascinated him, something in the eyes, and the elegant line of the jaw, had spoken to him.
“So, what were you doing at a Greaser party?”
“I had nothing else to do, and I was bringing the Mary Jane, made 200$ that night just selling at parties.”
“You don’t need it though…”
“Hate to be dependant, I like to know I can make it on my own in case my parents ever throw me out, I‘m not exactly what they wanted. What about your’s?”
“They’re dead…”
“Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, I don’t remember them, I was just a baby, left me money though.”
“Who were they?”
“Lily and James Potter.”
“Harry Potter, I swear I’ve heard that name before…”
Harry shrugged, and finished the last of his coke.
Author: Me
Rating: pg-13 for languge and drug reffrences (NC-17 in later chapters)
Summery: It's 1957, Draco's a beatnik living in the village, trying to become a writer, Harry idolizes James Dean, they meet by chance, and visit the cinema... we'll get to the sex soon
Warnings: Drug use, pre-slash, minor languge, AU
Legal BS: Not mine... don't sue
Note: Make me a banner/illustration, and I will love you forever
Greenwhich Be-Bop
Hazel
Ch. 1: Village Morning
Harry woke up, his head pounding with a hangover in the bleary light of early morning. The room was small and cold. He blew into his hands, and tried to recall last night. He’d been out, he remembered records playing, Elvis, he remembered the party, talking to a blond guy he didn’t know, remembered leaving the party too drunk to get home, stumbling on the dark side walk, and kind steadying arms.
There was a knock on the door, and there was the blond. In the light of morning Harry could get a better look at him.
He was tall, almost as tall as Harry, and good looking in a way that wasn’t quite handsome, because it was too much like beauty. He wore his white-blond hair long past his shoulders. His slim body was draped in a green satin bathrobe; he wore thick square framed glasses, and a beret that looked as if it might have been slept in. He was carrying two large mugs of coffee.
“I thought you might be hungover,” he said, his accent was upper-class English, it surprised Harry, he rarely saw any of his countrymen since he’d moved to New York.
“Yeah,” said Harry with a weak smile.
“Drink up then… unless you want tea,” said the blond with a little grimace, as he handed Harry a cup of strong smelling black coffee.
“Thanks.” Harry warily took the first sip, it was good, but much stronger than any coffee he’d had before.
“It’s espresso, oh, by the way, I’m Draco… call me Drake, I never got your name.”
“Harry,” said Harry, gulping coffee.
“Cigarette?” inquired Draco, pulling a two hand rolled cigarettes out of his breast pocket.
“Thanks.” Draco lit one for Harry, and then for himself. Draco inhaled deeply and blew smoke from his nose.
“How’s your head?”
“Almost bearable.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I move around.”
Draco gave Harry the slow nod that hipsters have given when they like something since the beginning of time.
“How long have you lived in the states?”
“Year or two,” said Harry shrugging.
“It’s freezing in here, let’s go sit in the living room, sorry about that, I’m airing this room out, my last roommate used to smoke the cheapest tea in here, the apartment reeked of it,” Draco curled his lip fastidiously.
Harry nodded, and got up, ran a hand through his hair.
The living room featured sagging Victorian furniture, and piles of books, Marx, Keroac, Burroughs, Orwell, Heller, Steinbeck, Ginsberg, and others stood in deep stacks around the room. Coffee stained papers, and full ashtrays lay about in confusion.
“Have a seat, just toss the papers on the floor, I really should put them all somewhere, I’m rather awful at housekeeping really.”
Harry contentiously gathered the papers and put them in a neat stack on the table.
“I never would have taken you for fastidious,” said Draco giving Harry a pleased look over the top of his coffee mug “something about the blue jeans, and leather jacket, you don’t grease your hair though… a greaseless greaser…”
“Doesn’t work… too unruly,” said Harry sipping coffee and taking a drag on his cigarette.
“Suits you. I just realized you ought to eat something, otherwise you’ll be throwing up again,” said Draco, setting down his mug, and hurrying into the tiny equally messy kitchenette.
“I can make toast… or umm toast.”
“Toast then, thank you,” said Harry.
When Harry had eaten, and the coffee was gone, Harry zipped up his jacket and prepared to go.
“Thanks, it was really nice of you--”
Draco cut him off “It’s fine, are you busy?”
“No,” said Harry warily.
“There’s a theater down the street, I have nothing to do today, and I hate going to the movies alone.”
“I guess…” said Harry.
“I’ll go get dressed, I’ll buy you lunch after, yeah?”
“Sure, thanks.”
“No problem,” said Draco, disappearing behind a door who’s salmon paint had began to peel in patches.
Ch. 2: Not Quite the Drive In
Draco emerged looking very elegant in a fresh beret, and a well cut suit with velvet lapels, and narrow trousers, indicating his bohemian nature.
The theater was two blocks away, built in the style of thirties movie palaces with a blazing gilded marquee, and a myriad of lights which at night gave the place a fairytale sparkle.
Draco paid the ticket taker, a young student in a black turtleneck and jeans, and they went in. The theater was empty except for them, and the concession stand had been unattended.
“What are we seeing?” Harry asked.
“It’s French, I can’t remember the title…”
“Oh…” said Harry.
“New to foreign?” asked Draco, looking at Harry with pity.
“Oh… um, yeah.”
“For a greaser, you’re awfully polite.”
“Yeah, I guess I am, but no one bothers me…”
“No, I suppose most people would be nervous bothering you.”
“Why did you move to America?”
“I heard Louis Armstrong, and you?”
“I saw James Dean, in Rebel Without a Cause, and never recovered.”
“Everyone wants to be Jimmy Dean now, don’t they?”
“I guess, movie’s starting.”
The lights dimmed, and credits that Harry didn’t understand rolled across the screen.
To his surprise, Harry actually found himself enjoying it, the plot was incomprehensible, the main character changed several times, and there were a great number of scenes involving wandering through open market places, and it was wonderful. When the end credits finally rolled, Harry had to be poked rather severely in the side to get him to move he had been so entranced.
“Do you still want lunch?” asked Draco.
“Yeah, I’ll buy, where do you want to go?”
“No, I insist.”
“Not fallen gentry then,” said Harry with a little smile.
“No, the Malfoys escaped that thank god.”
Harry nodded “So, where’s lunch?”
“Let me surprise you,” said Draco giving Harry a wicked grin. Draco couldn’t help noticing Harry’s lean body in his tight tee shirt and jeans that clung like a second skin.
Draco took him to a little deli around the corner that served them both excellent turkey sandwiches with homemade mayonnaise. Harry are ravenously, like he hadn’t had a decent meal in days.
“So, what did you think of the movie?” asked Draco, his eyes running surreptitiously over his companion’s face, he was regal looking, with wide eyes, and well cut firm lips; he was clean shaven, marble smooth, it was surprising, once again not quite fitting with his street tough image, his eyes too were surprising behind glasses that he seemed actually to need (unlike Draco‘s occasionally affected pair), they were brilliantly green.
“I liked it, wasn’t as impenetrable as I thought it would be…”
“Do greasers often use the word impenetrable?” said Draco, giving Harry a knowing look, something in his voice hinted at a private school background, as much as he tried to cover it with Liverpool tones.
“No, I guess not,” said Harry with a quick charming smile.
“So, you liked it though?”
“Yeah, I did,” said Harry through a bite of sandwich. Harry looked at Draco for a moment, the blond wasn’t close to beautiful… he was beautiful. Full yet, somehow still male lips graced a spare elegant countenance, his silver eyes were rimmed with thick, surprisingly dark lashes, and his face was high cheekboned and almost ethereal looking, he reminded Harry of illustrations of Oberon he’d seen in some book when he was younger, the black and white illustration had fascinated him, something in the eyes, and the elegant line of the jaw, had spoken to him.
“So, what were you doing at a Greaser party?”
“I had nothing else to do, and I was bringing the Mary Jane, made 200$ that night just selling at parties.”
“You don’t need it though…”
“Hate to be dependant, I like to know I can make it on my own in case my parents ever throw me out, I‘m not exactly what they wanted. What about your’s?”
“They’re dead…”
“Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, I don’t remember them, I was just a baby, left me money though.”
“Who were they?”
“Lily and James Potter.”
“Harry Potter, I swear I’ve heard that name before…”
Harry shrugged, and finished the last of his coke.
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