A/N: Voila! Here is the (much anticipated?) sequel chapter! Hope it was worth the wait! This story is un-beta'd, so any and all mistakes belong to me.

Blue, red, or green? Harry scowled as he stared at the three shirts that were currently lying on his bed. Picking out a shirt really shouldn't be this hard. He should just close his eyes and grab one for fuck's sake. It wasn't as if Malfoy, who was going to be here in—Harry glanced at his watch—shit, ten minutes, was going to care which one he picked. Harry stared down at the shirts despairingly. Why had he picked button-downs again? They were only going to make him sweat, and it wasn't as if coffee houses had any sort of dress code. But he didn't have time to go back through his wardrobe…

Drawing in his resolve, Harry pressed his eyes shut and grabbed. He came away with the green one. Quickly, he threw it on and walked over to his full length mirror.

Harry gulped. Wrong, wrong, all of it wrong. He'd obviously grown since he'd purchased the shirt; it fell awkwardly short and boxed out along the sides. And considering the fact that his—still wet—hair was like something straight out of a swamp, the overall effect was nothing short of trollish. By Merlin, he was an undatable swamp troll!

Then, like a siren from hell, the doorbell rang.

Heart jumping up into his throat, Harry looked down at his watch once more. The ponce was early! Or was his watch just running behind? Crap…

Harry ripped off the shirt, throwing it across the room before striding to his dresser. He yanked out his favorite blue v-neck—mentally blocking out the fact that it had two small holes along the bottom hem which Malfoy would undoubtably notice—and jerked it over his head. It clung to his wet skin, rolling up along his ribcage as he stumbled down the stairs.

When he reached the door, he flung it open, realizing a split-second afterwards that he'd just opened his own door like an Auror raiding a crime scene instead of a completely normal person waiting on a date. Malfoy's grey eyes met him on the other side, large and obviously surprised.

Harry gaped at him. "I—hello—Merlin, I'm sorry…"

"Hello," Malfoy replied mildly.

"I don't usually open doors like that."

"That's good to know. I'm not sure most doors could take it." He smiled, and Harry felt his knees wobble a little. Of course the prick had to look brilliant. Bloody gorgeous actually. He was wearing a button-down of the palest pink which was cuffed up to his elbows and unbuttoned at the neck to reveal a glorious sliver of alabaster skin. His charcoal trousers were sharply creased, and folded neatly over the laces of his oxfords. Whatever the opposite of a swamp troll was, that's what Malfoy looked like.

Malfoy's eyes flicked up briefly to Harry's hair. "Forgot I was coming, did you?"

"No!" Harry practically yelled, startling several birds from the nearby trees. He resisted the urge to glare at them as they flew away. "No," Harry repeated, making an effort to be much quieter about it this time. "I'm just…not very good at getting ready for…events."

The side of Malfoy's mouth lifted. "Is this an event?"

"It's not work. Therefore it's an event."

"I see," Malfoy said. "Hence why you were so late getting to the club last night?"

Red crept into Harry's cheeks. He had, in fact, spent well over two hours trying to prepare for the evening. Never mind that the larger part of those two hours had been spent trying on every single article of clothing he owned. After growing up with the Dursleys, putting together a wardrobe wasn't exactly one of his strong suits.

Malfoy's smirk deepened, the dimple on his left cheek making its grand appearance. Harry's eyes flicked over to it, admiring its shape. "Do you want help then?" Malfoy asked. "With your hair, I mean? I could charm it dry for you."

"Oh, um, sure. Come in." Harry stepped aside, and allowed Malfoy space to enter.

Malfoy waltzed into the foyer like he owned the place, his head swiveling to take in the small room. "I see that you haven't done much with it."

Harry closed the door. "What do you mean?"

"The foyer. It looks exactly the same as it always has," Malfoy said.

"You've been here before?"

"Oh, sure." Malfoy peered around the hallway corner into the drawing room. "We used to spend Easters here before Aunt Walburga died."

The fact that Sirius had been related to the Malfoys in any fashion still gave Harry the willies. They were all just so…horrible. Well, most of them were horrible. The youngest Malfoy seemed to have turned out…alright—if alright were to change its definition to indecently gorgeous. Especially when he leaned over like that.

With a good amount of difficulty, Harry pried his eyes away from the perfection that was Malfoy's arse and looked at the back of his shoulders instead. But even that part of him seemed perfect. Who had perfect shoulders anyway? Apparently Malfoy did. Harry suddenly realized that he really needed to say something before he started mentally cataloging all of the other perfect things on Malfoy's body.

"Well that's…weird." Harry said.

Malfoy turned back to look at him. "Is it?"

Shit. He was already sticking his foot in his mouth and the date hadn't even technically started yet. "It's not—I mean—I just forgot that Sirius was your uncle." Great, Harry, bring up your dead godfather. Next you can start swapping war stories and conspiracy theories. That'll really set the mood.

Malfoy took a step towards him, smiling. "You're nervous."

Harry gulped and tried not to look like a cornered mouse as he watched Malfoy retrieve his wand from his pocket.

"Don't be." Malfoy swished his wand and Harry felt warmth trickle over his skull. He ran a testing hand through his hair and found it completely dry.

Malfoy took another step forward, putting him closer than Harry was completely comfortable with. "There," he said, his voice smooth and silken. "All better. You look very nice by the way."

Harry, who had never in his life been told that he "looked very nice", blushed like an idiot. For some reason he couldn't stop looking at Malfoy's eyelashes—they were so pale, as if a cold winter morning had permanently frosted them over. People weren't supposed to have eyelashes like that…unless they were the heroes of fairy tales or romance novels. Maybe Malfoy slayed dragons and rescued buxom heroines in his free time.

"Don't you think that," Malfoy loomed closer, "I look nice too?"

Harry's brain short-circuited as the scent Malfoy's cologne filled his nose and coated his throat. "I—uh—um…" Harry stuttered dumbly.

Malfoy grinned, his lips parting to reveal two rows of pearlescent teeth. "I'll take that as a yes. Now, how about that coffee?"

How Malfoy expected Harry to be able to form coherent sentences while he was standing this close was beyond him. Especially since they'd snogged each other senseless not twenty-four hours ago.

"You are going to be able to carry a conversation whilst being within three feet of each other without alcohol involved, aren't you?"

Harry blinked and took an affronted step back. "Yes."

Something in Malfoy's grey eyes sparked. "Good. Mind if I apparate us out of here then?"

Harry bit his lip. "Couldn't we Floo?" he asked.

"They don't have a connection there."

Harry wrinkled his nose and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm not really much for apparating."

"Oh?" One of Malfoy's pale brows lifted skeptically. He extended out his hand, a ghost of his old sneer twisting the lines of his face. "Scared, Potter?"

Like the flip of a switch, Harry felt himself bristle. A shiver ran up his spine, tensing the muscles in his shoulders. "You wish." He reached out and took Malfoy's hand, gripping it firmly.

Not a moment later, Harry's stomach lurched and all of the air flew out of his lungs. They landed with a hard thud on a crowded sidewalk, and Harry stumbled to the side, barely managing to catch himself against a brick wall. Unfortunately, even when he came to a stop, the world kept spinning around him. For a terrifying moment, he was sure that he was going to be sick. He really needed to stop letting his ego make his decisions.

Malfoy came up behind him, his palm pressing against the small of Harry's back. "You alright?"

Harry nodded as he sucked air deep into his lungs. Each breath he took seemed to slow the spinning down, though Malfoy's hand on his back was doing nothing for his elevated heart rate. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malfoy nod cordially at a few concerned passersby. One woman even came up and asked him…something. In French.

Nausea forgotten, Harry whirled on Malfoy. "Where the hell did you apparate us to?"

Malfoy smiled innocently. "Everyone knows that Paris has the best coffee."

"Paris!" Harry hissed incredulously. "I thought you said we were going somewhere near Diagon Alley."

Malfoy shrugged. "I was using drunk judgment when I said that."

"Malfoy!"

"I'm sorry. Would you have preferred somewhere in London where we would've been recognized and probably harassed while sipping our lackluster cappuccinos?"

"Well, no but, you could've spliced us—apparating that far! And into a crowded street on top of that! I—" Harry looked around, blinking. "How did you do that anyway?"

Something bright seemed to burst just beneath Malfoy's skin. "Apparate us into the crowd without anyone noticing?"

Harry nodded.

Pride swelled across Malfoy's features, and sunlight seemed to be glistening off of him as if he was made of marble. "I used a special type of concealing charm on top of the apparition spell. It makes everyone within a thirty foot radius believe that they just saw us walk out of a nearby door or an alley." His smile broadened. "I constructed it myself."

"You—you constructed it yourself?" Harry goggled out him. "I—that's insane."

Malfoy's expression faltered. "When you say insane…"

"I mean it's bloody brilliant, isn't it?" Harry laughed, staring at the people that brushed casually past them with newfound admiration. He wished he knew French—he wanted to ask one of them how they saw him get onto the sidewalk. Of course, that was probably inane and completely creepy, but that was beside the point. "Wow," Harry sighed. "I didn't even know that you could make up spells like that."

There was a hint of the arrogance that Harry had grown so used to at Hogwarts in the curve of Malfoy's lips, but it had altered somehow. There was a sense of accomplishment behind it now. "Do you want me to tell you how I did it on the way to the cafe? You're okay to walk now, aren't you?"

Harry nodded, beaming.

~oOo~

Somehow, Harry had made it through a whole twenty years of life without knowing that he was, in fact, incredibly stupid. He'd always had a general suspicion about the matter, sure, but a mere ten minutes listening to Malfoy had made him quite certain that he was hanging from the bottom rung of the intellectual ladder. No, scratch that. He was the mold that grew on the bottom of the ladder's feet after being left in the mud for too long.

As they waited at the counter for their coffee (which Malfoy had ordered in French, tallying another item on Harry's 'weird kinks' list), Harry couldn't help but shake his head as Malfoy used a sentence with at least four words he had never even heard before.

"I'm boring you," Malfoy said despairingly.

"No!" Harry shook his head. "No. No, you're not. I'm just afraid I'm a bit…out of my depth."

"I shouldn't have rambled on about it."

"No, it's alright. You're—I never realized that you were that smart. It's a bit sexy really." Wow. Harry frowned miserably. 'Sexy', Harry? Really? That's the best you could come with? You should've brought a shovel if you wanted to dig your own grave so badly.

Luckily, the barista chose that particular moment to deliver their coffees. Harry grabbed for his, tucking his tail between his legs and turning to find a table. He grabbed a small, round one by the window and sipped at the layer of foam on his latte while he waited for Malfoy to join him.

Malfoy pulled out the chair across from him, and slid languidly down into it. Harry vaguely wondered if he was capable of doing anything ungracefully. "So," he raised a single, pale brow, "you think I'm sexy?"

Heat flooded Harry's cheeks. He attempted to mask it by taking another drink of his coffee but only served to spill some down his chin. "I—well, uh, I mean…"

"Lest you forget, I did kiss you last night. I think you're sexy too."

How in the world could Malfoy make that word sound so cool and casual, and yet when Harry said it, it sounded like a freight train hitting a thousand dying cats? But that was beside the point. Whatever adjectives Harry used to describe himself, sexy certainly wasn't one of them.

"How long has it been since you've dated again?" Malfoy asked.

"I—er—three years."

"I see. Pining for me that whole time were you?"

Harry nearly choked on his coffee.

For some reason it made Malfoy laugh. He had a nice laugh; light and effervescent. "Come on, Potter." Malfoy kicked at him under the table. "Loosen up, will you?"

"If that's supposed to be some sort of innuendo…"

"It's not," Malfoy chuckled. "But good to know where your mind is."

Harry blanched.

"Potter…" Malfoy cooed miserably.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, staring down at his coffee. His knuckles were white from gripping the cup so hard. "I'm just…no good at this."

"At what?"

"At this! At dating!"

"Then let's not," Malfoy said.

Harry's eyes whipped up, every muscle in his body seizing at once. He expected Malfoy to look mad, or frustrated, or disconcerted, or—hell—anything but how he actually looked. Namely, smug with a dash of self-assured arrogance.

Harry blinked. "I—what?"

"If you're not good at dating, then let's not date."

"But we're on a date right now," Harry said.

Malfoy tipped his head to one side and took a sip of his cappuccino. "Not necessarily."

A strange heat coiled in Harry's stomach and radiated out until every inch of him was alive with it. He wanted to reach across the table, grab Malfoy by his ridiculously nice, cotton-candy pink shirt, and punch him in the nose. "What the hell do you mean, 'not necessarily'? You're the one who asked me out!"

"That was before I knew you'd be so bad at it." Malfoy smirked and set his cup down.

"Don't be a git!"

A couple of people glanced over at them, and Harry bit his tongue, realizing too late that he'd raised his voice.

Laughter rolled through Malfoy like a steel ball; cold and fast. "I'm sorry. Have you ever found me to be a particularly nice person?"

"Well…no, but—"

"And yet here you are."

Whatever retort had just been sitting on the tip of Harry's tongue fell off, leaving him gaping. He stared at Malfoy, who stared straight back, his gaze cool and unwavering.

"My point is," Malfoy continued, "we don't have to put any pressure on this. If it makes things easier, we can just be two old schoolmates catching up. Or, well," something bright flashed across Malfoy's eyes, "two old schoolmates who are completely and unreasonably attracted to each other."

"Unreasonably?" Harry repeated.

Malfoy shook his head and chuckled, his hair reflecting the sunlight like a halo. "Really? That's the part you focused on?"

Harry stared at him, quite sure his face had never felt this hot before. He hoped that the light was washing out the red that was invariably making his face look like a ripe tomato. "I just mean that—er—well—"

"Use your words, Potter."

Scratch that. Apparently his face could get hotter. "IreallythinkthatIdowanttodateyou." Harry pushed out all of the words in one breath, his heart pounding against his ribs. Great, as if you didn't sound like enough of a baffoon already. Now you're not even forming intelligible sentences!

"Come again?" Malfoy asked even as his dimple deepened.

"I want this to be a date," Harry said, taking his time to enunciate every word, which probably did nothing but made him sound like he was suffering from a speech impediment. "I mean…I do if you do."

And really, no one's smile should be as radiant as Malfoy's was. It was indecent, and it made Harry was to thread his fingers through his hair and snog the living daylights out of him. "I do," Malfoy said.

Relief flooded Harry like a tidal wave. He was pretty sure he melted a bit in his seat.

"If you don't mind my asking though, who was the last person you dated?"

And like the flick of a switch, Harry's spine went rigid once more. "Er—isn't it like, a faux pas to talk about exes on a first date?"

"Look at you using French words! I'm such a good influence on you already."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "It was Ginny."

One of Malfoy's pale, perfectly manicured brows lifted. He took a long sip from his cappuccino before setting it delicately back down, his eyes never once leaving Harry's. "And did things between the two of you end because…?"

"Because I'm gay?" Harry nodded. "Yeah. It, uh, didn't end up well. And I haven't been able to steadily date anyone since."

"Why's that?"

"I don't know." Harry rolled his bottom lip under his teeth as his shoulders lifted helplessly. "I still feel guilty about it I guess. About…hurting her." He'd never said the words out loud before. There was something nice about finally admitting it to someone. He'd never been able to talk to Ron and Hermione about it—they'd been too close to the whole situation to really understand. Plus it was Ron's baby sister. There was no winning against that.

Malfoy merely hummed and nodded, the cords of muscle in his neck tightening. "I had a similar situation with Astoria Greengrass. It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that what happened between us was nobody's fault. I mean, it was bound to happen eventually—she just happened to be the unlucky soul I was dating when it did."

"Were you ever able to patch things up with her?" Harry asked, trying and failing to mask the hope in his voice.

"Eventually. We're not best friends or anything, but we're able to be around each other at social gatherings without making the entire room uncomfortable. That's a win as far as I'm concerned."

Deflating, Harry nodded. After a moment, he took another drink from his latte.

"So then have you even had sex with a man yet?"

The coffee he'd just swallowed decided to reappear and spew over the table. Somehow, Malfoy managed to lift a napkin in time to block most of the spray. Several heads turned to stare at Harry, and one girl at a nearby table even got up and moved to a different seat. Embarrassment warmed Harry's cheeks as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Malfoy peeked around the edge of his napkin as if he was checking for a gunman. "Note to self: don't ask Potter questions when he has liquid in his mouth."

Harry couldn't help but bristle even as heat coursed through him. "You're the one asking insane questions!"

"I don't think 'insane' is the adjective you're looking for. Pertinent, maybe?"

"You're not even supposed to ask those kinds of questions on dates."

"How would you know? You're the one here who doesn't date." Grinning, Malfoy crumpled his napkin and threw it down on the table. "You still haven't answered the question by the way."

Harry was fairly certain that the cloth beneath his armpits was already starting to dampen. He felt hot all over, and his skin was starting to prickle in strange places.

"I'm going to take that as a no."

Resilience bubbled up Harry's throat. "I've done…stuff!"

"Stuff?" Malfoy smirked, his grey eyes sparking. "How descriptive."

"It's not really any of your business!"

"Says the man who invited me back to his place last night. What would we have done when we got there do you suppose? Stuff?"

Harry's mouth went instantly dry. Because he really should not be thinking about what would've happened last night if Malfoy had come home with him. Especially whilst in a crowded coffee shop.

Something in Malfoy's laughter changed. It rolled across Harry's skin like a dark promise. "Are you finished with your coffee?" he asked, his voice rich and sweet as dripping honey.

An uncontrollable shiver skittered down Harry's spine. All he could seem to do was nod.

Malfoy rose out of his seat, his limbs unfolding and realigning in perfect stature before he offered his hand out to Harry. It felt as if Harry's brain was short-circuiting as he placed his hand in Malfoy's. His skin felt cool and dry, and Harry panicked for a moment when he realized how clammy his own were. But Malfoy didn't pull away. He just threaded their fingers together and ushered Harry out of the coffee shop.

Harry felt as if he had stepped out of reality and into a dream. Everything around him seemed blurred around the edges, drifting around him in vague waves of muted color. The only thing that remained in sharp focus was Malfoy's back—the hard lines so sure and undeniably present. Then, suddenly, Malfoy pulled him around a corner and before Harry had a chance to register what was happening, he was being crowded back against a wall.

Malfoy's hand abandoned his to slide up the side of his neck, and Harry released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Malfoy was standing incredibly close, their bodies separated by the barest fraction of air that did nothing to quell the heat that was rising in Harry's veins. Every inch of him seemed to be filled with anticipation for what was about to happen.

Malfoy leaned in, pressing their foreheads together and let out a shuddering breath. He seemed to be trembling, though Harry hadn't the faintest idea why. "I'm sorry," he breathed, his hands sliding farther up to cup Harry's jaw. "I know that I should wait until the end of our date to do this, but you've been driving me absolutely mad."

Harry lifted his hands to Malfoy's sides and felt a wave of magic ripple between them, sensual and purring. Something about it made Harry's stomach flip. "Me?"

"You're such an idiot." Only Malfoy could call someone an idiot and somehow make it sound like a compliment. "If you want me to stop you're going to have to say so now. Otherwise, I'm about to snog you until you're too weak to stand."

Harry's stomach did another spectacular flip as heat flooded south. Because holy shit, it really shouldn't be possible for someone to say those kinds of things and still sound hot as hell. Harry wanted to reply with something equally cool and debonair, but all that came out was a quivering, "Okay."

But it didn't matter, because Malfoy's lips were on his not an instant later. They were even softer than Harry remembered, coaxing his mouth open and flooding him with sensation. Malfoy's tongue slid against his, drawing out a noise Harry was quite sure he'd never made before. Apparently kissing was way better without the inhibition of alcohol. He felt overwhelmed by how aware he was of every part of Malfoy's body. Of his fingertips pressing into his pulse points. Of his chest rising and falling in ragged pants as he pushed Harry harder against the wall. Of his thigh slotting between Harry's legs and driving all coherent thought out of his mind.

Harry could already feel himself unraveling beneath Malfoy's touch. Every time their mouths slid together sent another spike of lust through Harry's blood, and it wasn't long until the ache between his legs grew beyond his control. His hips moved on their own accord, creating only a hint of the friction he craved, but even still he couldn't help but shudder as his breath pooled against Malfoy's lips.

"Let's go back to my place," Harry whispered, his hips moving once more. Merlin, Malfoy had reduced him to acting like a sex-deprived teenager. "Please."

Malfoy's fingers curled, his nails scraping against the base of Harry's skull. "Merlin, Potter…" His head dipped to the side, his teeth dragging against the tender skin along the curve of Harry's throat.

Harry's breath hitched, his lips pursing to keep the whine in his throat from open air. "Please," Harry repeated, if only because he wasn't sure he was capable of saying anything else. Since when did snogging make it this hard to speak?

"I want to. Merlin, I want to." There was an ache, deep and tender, in Malfoy's voice. "You have no idea about the things I want to do to you."

Harry shuddered.

Malfoy tensed beneath Harry's fingers, and with a sharp intake of breath, pulled back. "But I can't. Not yet anyway."

Harry barely managed not to pout at the loss of contact. He did, however, refuse to release his hold on Malfoy's shirt. "Why not?" He sounded like a child who'd just been denied sweets.

"Because I think I really like you," Malfoy said, a soft smile easing the lines of his face. He looked like something that had just waltzed out of a wet dream—his skin bright and dusted with hues of pink and gold. "And I'm trying to be a gentleman here."

Harry tugged at his shirt petulantly. "Being a gentleman is boring." Pretty much doing anything that involved clothing sounded boring at the moment.

Grinning, Malfoy leaned in and brushed a chaste kiss against Harry's temple. "I'd like to take you out again. Tomorrow, maybe?"

"But you're not done taking me out now!"

Malfoy laughed, and something about it soothed the boiling heat in Harry's veins. "Indeed I'm not. The Eiffel Tower is just around the corner. Have you ever been?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I've never been to Paris."

Malfoy's features went abruptly blank. He stared at Harry for a disturbingly long time without blinking.

"Er, did I break you?"

Finally, Malfoy blinked. "I think you might have. Potter! How have you never been to Paris?" Malfoy grabbed his hand and yanked Harry back out onto the street.

Harry yelped, and tried to be discreet about adjusting his trousers even though he was pretty sure anyone who looked at him for more than two seconds wouldn't be able to miss that he'd just been ravaged by the man who was currently hauling him down the sidewalk.

"I have so much to show you!" Malfoy exclaimed, throwing his arm up and pushing them to an even faster pace. "I hope you slept well because we're going to be here all night!"

Harry grinned. He had absolutely no problem with that.

A/N: Reviews, much like cookies, are always appreciated!