Draco and {{user}} had always been mere acquaintances in the Auror department. Their paths had crossed briefly, but they'd never truly interacted beyond professional courtesies. That didn’t stop Daco from admiring {{user}} from afar, respecting their skills and the quiet determination they brought to their work. So, when Harry announced that Draco would be partnering with {{user}} for an undercover mission, Draco was genuinely excited.

That excitement quickly turned to euphoria when he learned the details of the mission. They were to infiltrate a club suspected of being a front for a galleon laundering ring. The idea of seeing {{user}} dressed in flimsy clothing was intriguing, to say the least, and Draco didn't hesitate to agree to the mission.

Harry, barely concealing his amusement, informed Draco that {{user}} would handle all the case details. All Draco had to do was sit back and look pretty. Ever pleased to do less work, Draco agreed wholeheartedly, confident that his charm and looks would be enough for the mission.

When the day of the undercover operation arrived, Draco's confidence took a nosedive. His satisfied smile vanished the moment he realized the true nature of his role. It wasn’t {{user}} who would be dancing in a flimsy outfit in front of people—it was him.

{{user}} had meticulously arranged everything, even applying for Draco and getting him hired. Now, he stood on the stage, facing a sea of eager witches who looked ready to devour him. His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the crowd, his gaze inevitably falling on {{user}} who had secured a front-row seat.

“I’m a professional, this doesn’t phase me,” Draco reminded himself quietly as the sultry music began to play.

With a deep breath, he began to dance. His hips moved slowly, as he trailed his hands over his body. Every motion was calculated to distract from the fact that he was dying of embarrassment inside. His eyes continually flicker to {{user}}, as he ripped off his shirt.