I'm at some boring bar. Did your dad's guests leave yet? I wondered if I could drop round and see you.
I warn you, I'm pretty drunk.
You're welcome any time. I'll open the Floo for you.
Not too drunk for a bit of fun, I hope? Spend the night if you like.
The bar's resident owl drops Scorp's note in my lap, and I feel a slow smile spread across my face as I manage to focus on his perfect, flowing script. Man, he's just the best.
I check I've got my robes and wand, and stand up, a bit unsteady. I'm not just drunk, though I didn't want to mention it in an owl. Noël kept passing me his vial of Euphoria under the table, and I had a few good snorts of it. The room blurs into double vision, then tips sideways for a second, but I grab hold of the table until it passes. It'll be wearing off by the time I get to Scorp's. "I'm off, guys. Thanks for everything."
Olga spots the parchment in my hand and pouts. "Got a better offer?"
"Something along those lines." I can't help smiling at the thought of Scorpius' wicked mouth, his lean body and possessive hands.
It started as a casual thing between us – after a night out, some of us usually stay over at Noël's, and nobody asks questions about who's sleeping in what room, or with who. But lately, it seems like it's tipping over into something more regular. I'd like it to be. I was hoping to see him tonight, but his dad had these people coming over and expected Scorp to be there to do the dutiful son bit. I haven't told my parents about Scorp... that's he's my boyfriend. God, is he? We haven't talked about it. I think he is, anyway. Mum and Dad know we're friendly, but that's it. Dad would probably go all Incendio about it, anyway. He's told me not to get too involved with the Malfoys, whatever that means.
Rose looks concerned as I stumble against the table. "Oh, Al, you're not going to Apparate like that?"
I shake my head. "Nah, course not. Use their Floo. See you later."
I orient myself with some difficulty, knocking into a couple as I leave the table and cross the dance floor. I don't care. I'm too busy feeling the slow thrum of desire building, buzzing up from the soles of my feet and making my cock twitch slowly into life. Scorpius fucking Malfoy. I don't care what Dad says – I still can’t believe my luck that Scorp was interested in me in the first place. He's not just hot... I like being with him, too, and he seems to like me quite a bit... Hell, I hope tonight he'll really slam into me, fill me up—
All right. Now I'm properly hard and sort of embarrassed at the things my brain is coming up with. I palm my cock through my jeans as I push between the crowds, getting buffeted this way and that. I give myself a little squeeze to keep my mind on my goal. Nobody notices, or if they do, they don't care. Some bloke's being pressed up against the wall, his hands splayed out as the guy behind him holds his hips and grinds against his arse. I can see the door to the Floo, and all I can think about is how horny I get when I mix drink and potions. I should have just left after the first glass, gone to find Scorp. I feel sort of shameless, like I might beg him for it. Merlin, I'm aching to be filled, the Euphoria making everything feel so slow, so muzzy, blurring everything but the hammering need in me to be bent over and fucked.
Someone's standing in the doorway, but I just squeeze past them, and there's the heavenly sight of the Floo. I take a big pinch of powder, spill most of it on myself, but who cares. The flames roar green, and "Malfoy Manor," I say, as clearly as I can, and then the walls are rushing around me and I'm wishing I hadn't had that last glass, and then I'm falling out of the fireplace in some massive room – I think it's the ballroom? - and cracking my elbow on the stone hearth.
"Fuck." I really need to be quiet. I don't know if Scorp's dad is still home, or what. It makes me laugh, the two of them living in this enormous place all on their own, but Scorp seems to like it.
I head for the hallway. I hope I can remember the way to Scorp's room. I've only been here once before, and, frankly, I was a bit distracted. Scorpius was kissing me as we came out of the Floo, then pushed me down onto my back and began taking my shirt off, right here on the stairs. The walls are lined with portraits of his ancestors, and several of them started spluttering disapprovingly. Tonight they're mostly sleeping, thank god, but one old geezer in a tricorn hat mutters, "Filthy. Filthy," as I stumble up the stairs, so it's quite possible he remembers me from last time.
I make it to the top of the stairs, and now I'm frankly lost. This place is bonkers. There are so many doors. Or am I seeing double again? My head is swimming, but at least my erection is still rock solid. The only thing I'm sure of is that I need to get to Scorpius as soon as possible. I pick a door at random, push it open, and a load of towels and sheets fall onto me. Great. The next door along contains a giant marble bath, easily big enough for three or four people to share. And then I push open a third door and hear the sound of breathing in the dark.
I cast a low Lumos, just enough to see a fall of blond hair on the pillow. Scorpius. My throat tightens with anticipation. I let my bleary eyes run over his shape, long and lean, lying on his side under a thin sheet. He's so fucking gorgeous. He must have fallen back asleep after my owl arrived. The thought of slipping in between the sheets next to his warm, relaxed body... I extinguish my wand and strip my clothes off as quietly as I can, half-tripping as I pull off my jeans in the darkness, but Scorp sleeps on.
I can hardly see a thing. Naked, hard, and with my blood beating in my veins, I grope my way towards the bed and lift the sheet. I can smell the heat of him. I take my cock in my hand and tease my foreskin forwards and then back again, moaning in my throat at the delicious sparks of pleasure. I can't wait any longer, but slide into the bed next to him and let my cock thrust against the smooth, firm muscles of his arse. Finding him naked – did he undress to be ready for me? – man, it's everything I could ask for.
"Wake up..." I breathe. The slow rhythm of his breath stutters. "Wake up and fuck me." He makes a little sound in his chest, a pleased sound, but I don't think he's fully awake yet. Maybe he thinks it's happening in a dream. It feels dream-like to me, too, the Euphoria still pumping lazily around my blood. I think of putting a light on, but there's something about being in the dark that I'm really getting off on. All my senses feel heightened, his skin so smooth and fine. Even the sheets feel softer. I reach around and run my hand along his flat stomach, down to the curls of hair and the fat, soft shape of his prick, which stirs beneath my fingers.
"God, you're so hot," I whisper. His cock is filling against my palm, and I've never wanted him more in my life. I cup his balls and squeeze them, and I nuzzle into his shoulder, and fuck, he really smells so good, I can't believe how much I want him—
"Hng—?" he says, and rolls onto his back. His cock is fully erect now, and all I want to do is take it in my mouth. It feels different to normal, somehow, and I love the newness of it. My pulse is singing in my ears as I crouch over him and lick a wide, wet stripe from his balls right up to the crown of his cock.
"Uhhhhh..." he breathes, and as I flick my tongue over his slit, he reaches up to thread his fingers into my hair and pulls me down, my mouth taking him deep, and he tastes so good, and his hands in my hair are strong and demanding and that's just what I want as well, but more than that, I need—
I pull off with a sloppy wet sound. "I want you inside me."
I think he must still be half-asleep. His voice is odd and husky. "Who—?"
"Who? It's me, Al." I laugh, amusement spilling out of my lungs in breathy spurts. "Who did you think it was?"
A tiny alarm bell rings somewhere inside me at the way he's behaving, but I ignore it. I suck him down again, taking him as far back as I can, and he makes a sort of choking sound and bucks up until my nose is buried in the curls surrounding his prick. Smells so good. My need for him is bubbling up in me, pressure at the base of my spine nagging for release. "You have to fuck me."
He makes another strange sound, like he can't quite make the words come out. He's being so weird, but I don't care. I just want him.
"I need it so bad." I'm licking him in between speaking, relishing every drop of pre-come that I can tease out of him, loving the smooth heaviness of his cock on my tongue. "Please, just fuck me." I push up on my elbows with my arse in the air. "Come on, Scorp."
I moan, raw and needy. "Fuck me, dammit. I'm going crazy here." It feels easier to say it like this in the darkness. I don't think I've ever been so direct with anyone before. "I want you to do me so hard that I can't walk straight tomorrow."
I can hear him swallow. Everything sounds louder when you can't see a thing. I feel a sort of shiver – something about this whole situation is niggling at me – and then he's getting up and kneeling behind me, and the heat of his skin is warming the back of my thighs. His hands run over my hips, cupping the curve of my arse, slow and deliberate, like he's trying to memorise it. His fingers feel incredible – firm and sensual – and I just want him inside me, now.
"Uhhh. Yes, please. Please do it." I've got my head dipped down and I'm squirming around, desperate for him to touch me. He reaches across, and then he's got his wand and there's a dim glow of light around us. I can feel his eyes on me, and it makes me harder than ever to know he's looking at me, watching me here on all fours, spreading my legs for him.
His hand runs over my back, almost shakily, and I'm about to turn round to see if he's OK, because, really, what is all the hesitation about? But then his fingers press between my cheeks and I feel a silky warmth spreading across the furled skin of my arse. I hollow my back and push towards him, opening up for him, his finger dipping inside me, smoothing warm lube all around the places I ache for him. It soothes me and makes me burn for it all at once.
I lift my arse still higher, offering myself to him, and before I'm expecting it, he's pushing inside me, while I'm still quite tight. He doesn't wait for me to get used to it, but starts thrusting straight away, sweet and smooth and so deep, and oh, holy fucking hell, I had no idea it could feel like this. He's— I don't even— Is it the angle, or something? Because, god, I always love Scorp fucking me, but tonight it's— Uhh, it's really deep, for a start, like each thrust really means something. Scorp is gorgeous, he's so enthusiastic and tireless. He's not shy about things like I am, either. Sex with him is probably the best fun I've ever had. But, man, being fucked this way... it's something else. Like I've been craving it without even knowing it.
I'm trying to tell him, trying to let him know what he's doing to me, but I'm breathless, and my head is still full of drink and potions, and I'm gasping, and shivering, and I'm talking nonsense, really: "So... fucking... good... never... never... oh, hell, it's too good, ah, don't stop, ahh, so fucking good..."
God, he's like a demon, giving me everything he's got – I've never felt him give it to me like this; so fierce, but never losing control. Like it's a fucking art form. He's so assured; every stroke spears me with desperate, agonising bliss, every moment taking me closer and closer to the edge. I can feel his hands digging into my skin, marking me, and he starts to make low, crooning sounds that surely mean he's near to the end. I've never heard him like this. I listen avidly, drink in each grunt and gasp. I can't even move; I can only let myself be borne along by the certainty of his rhythm. He's holding my hips and driving into me so hard, I can only close my eyes and breathe, "Yes, yes, yes."
"Yes," he answers. "Yes, Albus, yes, fuck..."
And then at last… at last I realise what I should have known all along. Perhaps what part of me guessed already. My eyes snap open, and I see the wand lying there on the bed, and it's not Scorp's wand.
Scorp never calls me Albus.
Scorp never fucks me till I'm fully stretched. He always takes his time and makes sure I'm ready, no matter how much I ask for it.
Scorp never gives it to me like this, with such focus, like there's no point messing around. Like he knows exactly how to give me what I need.
Scorp never hits my sweet spot with every single thrust, never has me spiralling too high to breathe. Never brings me, skillful and sure, to the brink of orgasm without so much as a whisper of a touch upon my cock.
Sweet Mother of Merlin. It's his dad. Scorp's dad is fucking me – ahhhhh – and it's the best I've ever had.
"Oh, god. Oh, no." My voice comes out in a sort of wail. I think he realises then, realises I've caught on, because he pauses, and there's a horrible moment when I think he might actually pull out, and leave me like this, with my balls so tight and full that I feel like I could come double what I usually do. "Fuck, no, don't stop," I cry, my voice sounding hoarse and strange. "Please."
He starts to move again, and it's even wilder than before, so loose and free and yet still so bloody perfect, like he can do no wrong, like he's a prince of fucking. I let out a moan of utter delight, long and low, sounding like the happiest, sluttiest bottom in the history of the world. I hardly know what I'm doing – I'm just sort of existing – like all I am is an arse to be fucked and two aching bollocks ready to spunk my load all over his sheets. But I have to know. I have to see. I manage to twist my head around, look over my shoulder, blink to clear my eyes, and, oh, holy fuck, there he is, in the dim light, not Scorp at all, but Scorp's dad, giving it to me like the world's about to end. His face is contorted, and slick with sweat, and every muscle on his arms is standing out with exertion. Like fucking me is the only thing worth doing.
It looks so wrong, him there behind me, pounding away instead of Scorpius. His hair's the same colour. His body's lean and fit, like Scorp's, and he moves with the same grace, the same arrogant certainty. But he's more than twice my age, and he's my boyfriend's dad, for god's sake.
The terrible thing is that it's about the hottest thing that's ever happened to me.
"Please." I whisper it, my breath almost gone. "Please, fuck me, never stop." And he grips my thighs and pulls me onto him, the full eye-watering length of him, fucking me even deeper, sweeter, fiercer, ohhhh...
He slams into me, once, twice, and my orgasm rips through me, unstoppable, unbelievable, like a rolling, terrifying tidal wave. I feel his strokes juddering as I clench around him, and he lets out a lingering, guttural groan and empties himself deep inside me. I don't even know what sounds I'm making any more. I can't stop coming, my cock jerking again and again until I feel empty and raw. He collapses on top of me, his chest slippery against my back, pressing me into the mattress, against my own mess of spunk. He's wirier than Scorp and surprisingly heavy. After a minute I push him off and wriggle away.
We lie there panting, and then he reaches for his wand and casts Nox.
My head is pounding. It starts to hit me, then, what I've done. "Oh, god," I say.
He keeps quiet.
"I— I didn't mean to..."
"I got the wrong room." It comes out as a sort of whine.
There's a pause, and then, "I was asleep," he says, and I don't know how I mistook his voice for Scorp's, even for a second. He's so fucking haughty.
"You weren't asleep the whole time!"
"I was... confused. You more or less ambushed me."
"I was drunk out of my skull," I say, and my voice cracks as I say it. Because, who am I fooling? I knew it was him. Not at first, but...
His voice is sly and knowing. "You seemed to know what you were doing. And you were begging me. You were begging me not to stop."
"I didn't mean— Oh, hell."
"You begged me, like a little slut, and you loved it, Albus. You loved every second of it."
I roll out of the bed and fumble about for my clothes. I pull my wand from out of my jeans and clean myself up a bit, then get dressed in a hurry.
"That's not fair." I sound about eight years old. "I was— I didn't know—"
But I did know, and he's right: I did love every second of it. It wasn't like I stopped wanting it when I realised who it was. More like the opposite.
I give a little moan, and head for the door, grabbing my shoes and socks without bothering to put them on.
He lies there in complete silence as I leave.
Al crashes into my room like a sweaty ball of Gryffindor craziness. I'm lying reading in bed with a low light on, just chilling out, getting comfy, and giving myself the occasional slow stroke under the covers. Just enough to get me revved up for him. I've been hard since I got his owl. Al Potter is a bloody hot package: fit, insatiable, funny, and with an irresistible goofiness. I laugh at him as he bumps into the bed and curses. He stinks like cheap alcohol, and – I pull him onto the bed – quite a lot like sex. I'm guessing he must have got all hot and bothered dancing at some club or other.
I sit up, so that we're face to face, and gaze into his wide eyes as I undo his shirt. "What's up?"
"Merlin, Scorp." He's breathing funny, and his hair's even more of a mess than usual.
"Did something spook you on the way here? You look funny." I need him naked, preferably now.
"Don't... Just, stop a minute."
I still my hands. "What? Did something happen?"
"Shit, what is it?"
He swallows, and it looks like it's painful. "When I got here..."
"When you got here? You mean, just now?"
"No-ooo." He looks like he might cry. "Scorp, I did something really fucking stupid."
"Fuck's sake, Al, you're freaking me out. Just tell me. Did you break something? Forget about it."
He makes an unhappy sound.
"Seriously. Father won't care. He hates most of the stuff in this house anyway. It's all old ugly heirlooms. He says he'd like to Evanesco the lot and—"
I start to mouth at his skin in between the undone buttons of his shirt. "Man, you smell good. Where did you go? You been dancing, pressing up against some other blokes, getting all sweaty for me, hmm?"
"Will you listen?"
I look up, surprised. He really sounds wound up about something. "I'm listening, I'm listening." But really I'm wondering whether to have him on his back or sitting in my lap.
"I got the wrong room."
"Hah! You got lost? I still do that sometimes if I'm drunk."
"I— I went into your dad's room."
"Really? Is he pissed off? I'll sort it out, don't worry."
"I— I thought..."
His shirt's half off, and I nuzzle at the trail of hair leading down from between his nipples. I'm so glad I got naked myself before he arrived. Less time to wait until—
"I thought it was you."
This takes a moment to lodge itself in my brain. I'm still not exactly sure what he means. "You did?"
He just looks at me, those big green eyes scared and sorry.
"You— You mean, you..."
"You— You thought it was me? But you didn't..."
He's worrying at his bottom lip.
"Al, you didn't... I mean, you didn't do anything?"
He whispers it. "I did. I got into bed with him."
I'm feeling like I'm the drunk one, all of a sudden.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He looks like someone's hit him.
"You— But— Surely Father would have known..."
He doesn't say a word.
"Al, you got into bed with my father, and he – he—" My pulse is buzzing in my ears. "He touched you? What?"
"What? Did he feel you up or something?" I can't quite believe this. But, then again, I totally can. My father is... well, he is what he is. And Al – Al is fucking gorgeous.
"I started it." His voice is so small.
"Well, when you realised, yeah? When you realised, you—"
He hangs his head.
"Fucking hell, Al, what are you telling me?"
He can't seem to look me in the eye. But he's determined to tell me, even though it looks like every word is agony. "I – we – oh, god."
I'm holding his wrists, and I realise that my fingers are digging in. But I don't let go. "Just say it." My voice sounds weird. Like it's not me talking.
He lifts his head and takes a deep breath. "Your dad fucked me. I— I asked him to. I thought it was you... at first..."
I feel like all the blood has drained from my head. I'm dizzy, and my vision seems a little blurry. "He fucked you?"
"Yeah. I'm really sorry, Scorp."
"That bastard fucked you?" My voice is cold and hard. I have to let go of his wrists before I do something I'd regret. I feel like going in there – to Father's room – and taking all the skin off his body. Or maybe making his eye sockets dry up. It would be his own fault for teaching me those spells in the first place.
Al looks like a puppy. A puppy that's been kicked. "I had to tell you, Scorp. I know you probably won't want to see me any more, but I just had to tell you the truth..."
"He actually fucked you? Up the arse?" For some reason I need to know the details. "How did he do it? Did he finger you first?"
Al's blushing and mortified, but I don't stop.
"Did he use a spell?"
"He used his fingers... a little bit." He takes a big gulping breath. "Not as much as you do."
"Did he hurt you? Shit, Al, did he make you do stuff? I swear, I'll kill him if he—"
He shakes his head, again and again. "No, no, nothing like that."
"Did you— Fuck, did he come?"
He nods, and I feel something dark and strange stirring in me. "Inside you?"
He winces, but I catch hold of his wrists again.
"I need to know. Just tell me."
He nods again. His whole body is slumped and miserable.
"My father fucked you and came inside you." I want to hurt somebody, but also, I want to... I want to hear more.
"How did he do it? Were you on your back? Facing him?"
He shakes his head.
"How then? On your knees? Did he do it from behind?"
I can picture it, the two of them. Al's dark head, and his blond one. Al's perfect arse, with my father buried deep inside him... fucking hell. It pierces me, but at the same time, I can't stop thinking about it. I look at Al again. His face. There's something more. There's something... I feel a strange, compelling heat welling up inside me.
"Was it... Was it— Shit." My heart's thumping. "Was it good?"
He doesn't answer, but I grip his wrists tighter and pull him nearer so that we're almost nose to nose. His pupils are dark, and there's a sheen of sweat on his top lip.
"Was it good?" I'm gripping so hard there'll be bruises tomorrow, but I can't seem to stop myself.
He chokes the word out. "Yes."
"As good as when we do it?"
I have to know. "Did my dad make you come, Al?"
"Fuck, Scorp. Yes."
A fire is prickling in the pit of my belly. I feel a little like I'm watching this happening to someone else. Al's sitting there, reeking of another man's sweat and come. My father's sweat and come. He looks miserable and anxious... but also well-fucked. I look at his mussed hair, his bitten lips. I've never wanted him more.
"So now you've had both of us."
"Merlin! It wasn't like that—"
"Who did you prefer?"
"It's not really fair, is it, Al? You came here to see me... but he had all the fun." I reach for his buttons again, watch his face as I undo another one. "Do I get a turn?"
His mouth opens in surprise. I push my fingers under his shirt and find the hard nub of his nipple. He arches towards me, and I gather him up and pull him into my lap, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against my erection.
"Do I? Do I get to have you too? Or is it just my father who gets to fuck you tonight?"
Al's making little noises, his face flushed and twisted in confusion. "I don't know, I—"
"You don't know? You don't know if you still want me, now you've had him? Was it that good?" I let my tongue trace over his collarbone, taste the salt and the sweat there. I grip his arse and shift him deliberately so that he can feel exactly how turned on I am. "You need to decide what you want." A tense little moan rises up in his throat. I move him back and forth, dragging him over the hard length of my cock again and again, until I see his face slacken. "Because it seems to me like you haven't had enough yet this evening."
His head falls back, and a pink flush starts to prickle across his chest. Merlin. He's pretty far gone already.
"Do you want to go back to my father? Ask him for some more?"
"You sure?" I wind one hand into his hair and pull his body against mine, sucking at the flesh on his shoulder, so warm beneath my lips, the skin so easy to mark. "Because I bet he'd love it if you did." My teeth graze along his collarbone. "Dirty fucking bastard that he is." I watch Al's face, the lush softness of his lips, the way his eyebrows pinch into an expression of pain. "I need you naked," I tell him. "Can I?"
He looks at me, and his eyes look a little bit wet, and horrified and grateful all at the same time. He nods.
I can't wait another second, so I Vanish his clothes, and then I've got a lapful of naked, flushed Al Potter, and I bury my face into his shoulder and grind hard against his arse. My fingers are reaching for him, seeking out the intimate grip of his sweet, hot, tight little hole, and then I feel it. Oh, Salazar. Al's wet. He's wet, and loose, and, oh, fucking holy hell, he's dripping with it. My father's spunk is sliding out of his body, hot and sticky and right there on my fingers, and a shocking thread of desire slices right through me. I've always wanted Al, but never with this biting need that shakes me deep in my guts. All I have to do is raise him up a little and then I'm pressing in, watching his face as I nudge my way into the warmth of his body.
It's like... It's like something from a dream. He's so hot, and ready, and so soft and wet for me. I slide inside, and he's still snug in there, gripping me with delicious friction, but it's so easy. I don't need to worry about hurting him, not at all. I'm pretty careful, usually... He always tells me to just go for it, but... I don't know. Anyway. This is different. As I begin to move, Al's eyes close, his pillowy mouth falling open, and I hear myself make a loud groan at the knowledge I don't have to hold back.
I suppose I should cast a Privacy spell, but you know what? I don't care if my shit of a father hears this. I bet he thinks he's so fucking smart. I bet he thinks Al will be too horrified to say anything; that he's got away with it. I feel a stab of rage and thrust in, almost cruelly deep.
Al makes this delicious moan. I can feel it vibrating through him, right where I'm inside him, and oh, god, I just lose my head. I feel so wound up and furious and turned on and confused and so very, very horny, and I just give it to him, like that. I think maybe I'm kind of rough. I don't think I've ever fucked anyone angrily before, but this time perhaps I do, and Al seems like he's loving every second of it. He's gasping yes, yes, please, and I wonder for a moment whether he was like this with my dad, and then I'm coming, spurt after perfect spurt, pulling him onto me and hoping that our sounds are reaching right into my dad's room.
I come so hard that I'm shaking afterwards. I slump back against the pillows, let my breathing subside for a minute, and then pull Al onto me again, so he's sitting on my chest. His cock bobs in my face, hopeful and eager. I crane my neck to take him into my mouth and he looks so bloody grateful, it nearly kills me.
"Ah, Scorp... that was so good. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."
"Shhh," I tell him. "Just enjoy it." I rest one hand on his hip, while the other reaches around behind him. He feels maybe a bit swollen, but he doesn't tense up when I touch him, so I finger him again. Just gently probing, slow and lazy, but all the time, I'm thinking, That's two lots of come I can feel. That's mine, and my father's spunk, mixed together inside my boyfriend's body, and I know dimly that something about it should disgust me, but instead it makes me reel, just the slick sticky warmth of it on my fingers, and the feel of Al's arse so well-used, and I moan around his cock and suck him until he comes.
Afterwards, I think maybe I should feel guilty, but I don't. I feel heavy and contented. I feel like Al is really seriously amazing. And most of all, I feel like... I want to do this again.
I wake up with a groan. My head throbs with a sick ache, and I don't even want to think about the insistent feelings of guilt and dread that are hovering in the background. I turn over, stretching a leg that's gone to sleep and wince at the twinges in my muscles and, deeper, a tenderness right inside me. What the hell did I do last night? I remember too much to drink, the mellow buzz of Euphoria, and then coming to see Scorp...
Oh, fuck. It all washes over me in one shaky moment. Scorp's dad. Scorp's fucking dad. And then, afterwards... then Scorp.
I roll over and look at him, lying peacefully on the pillow next to me, a half-smile on his lips, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. I really like him. I mean, really like him. And then I go and do something as stupid, as fucked-up, as this. I feel self-pity pricking hotly at my eyes. If this hadn't happened, I could have watched him sleep for a little bit – not in a creepy way or anything. I just like his face like this. It's less sharp and knowing than usual, and I can look at him without worrying that I'm staring. I could have woken him up by diving under the covers and nuzzling my way along his hipbone until I reached his soft, gorgeous prick, taken him in my mouth when he was all dozy and unaware...
There's a hot lump of shame swelling in my throat, and I can't swallow it away. I'm a fucking idiot. He'll wake up in a minute and remember what I did. I know he seemed OK with it last night, but maybe he'd been drinking too. It was probably a shock for him. Now he's had time for it to sink in, he'll be fucking horrified. I push the covers back and start to look around for my clothes. I can't bear to see his face change from this sleepy smile of contentment to a look of anger and revulsion. What sort of a person fucks his boyfriend's father?
I stifle a little appalled noise and get up from the bed. There's my wand, but where the hell are my clothes? My head thrums with a nauseating beat as I remember Scorp Vanishing them. I'll just have to borrow something, return it later, and—
I glance back at the bed. Scorp is lying on his side, watching me. A lazy smile pulls at his mouth. "Hey, Al."
I swallow. "I'm going. I just need some clothes."
Scorp props himself up on one elbow. "Going already? What's the rush?"
I feel such a dork, standing here naked, my wand in my hand. "I— I mean— Oh, Merlin."
He pulls back the covers. He looks so good, stretched out like that, and his hair all soft and rumpled. "Come here," he says, and pats the bed. "You don't have to go yet, do you?" His prick is stirring, and I watch it, helplessly, while trying to think of one single thing to say.
"Are you OK?" His brow scrunches up in concern. "Bad head?"
I nod. "Pretty awful."
He sits up and scrambles out of bed to root in the drawer of his dressing table, then hands me a familiar green bottle containing one dose of Hangover potion. I gulp it down, wincing at the bitterness, but almost immediately the misery that was my hangover recedes.
"Euphoria, as well, yeah? Have you got the shakes?"
I look at my hands. "No, I'm OK. I only had a little. But how did you know, anyway?"
"Your face looks sort of smooth when you've taken it. All young and cute." He sits on the bed again. "Better now?"
I nod, and he reaches for my hand, pulls me towards him. "Come on, then. Stay a while. We can get the house-elves to bring breakfast up here."
I sink awkwardly onto the mattress next to him. It's like he's forgotten what happened. What I did. "Scorp..."
"Mmm?" He's lying down and pulling the covers over us both.
He wriggles closer so that our knees are bumping together. His feet are cold, like usual, but his hands are warm, and smooth, and... "Mmm," he says. "You were hot."
It's so not what I was expecting. "I— I'm so sorry. I fucked up so badly."
He's rubbing his face against my jaw. His stubble is so soft compared to the sharp scratch of mine. He groans with pleasure. "Forget about it."
"Forget about it? I—"
"Shhh, and let me...." His hand is on my thigh, moving slow. "You worry too much." He shifts so that his cock brushes over mine, and then he's wrapping his hand around both of us and pulling with lazy, loose strokes. "I'll just do it like this, yeah? Nice and easy."
My toes curl at the feel of our cocks sliding together, smooth and supple, sending sparks of heat through me.
"Just relax, Al."
God, maybe it really can be OK? He seems exactly like normal. If anything, he seems happier than before, more attentive. His lips brush across my ear with a thrilling wash of damp breath.
"I bet you're still sore," he murmurs, "after last night," and his cock twitches against mine.
I don't know what to say. There's a low ache inside of me; I can still feel those deep, deep strokes, and the way my body craved more. Scorp strokes us both until warmth is flooding up from my thighs, washing over my stomach, making me jerk in his arms. I come all over his fist, and then he's panting out his own orgasm against the side of my neck.
It feels so good afterwards, lying there with him holding me, our bodies damp with sweat and Scorp's face still rumpled from sleep. I mouth a silent Luck Charm that this can work out. I'll never be so stupid again – no way.
Scorp dozes a bit more, and then, when he wakes up, he's starving. He has the house-elves bring all sorts of things – toast and eggs and fruit and coffee and juice – until the little table they've Conjured to put it on is groaning under the weight. Scorp just grins and fills up his plate. It really smells good, so I tuck in, and we sit on the bed, cross-legged, probably getting crumbs everywhere.
"Father's out till later. Why don't you hang around for the day?"
I nod, unable to speak around my mouthful of toast and eggs.
"We could play a Seeker's game. Or, we don't have to stay in, we could go and watch a match and then come back here afterwards?"
All of his ideas sound great, but in the end we both shower and then laze around, wearing not very much, reading back copies of Quidditch Players Monthly and arguing over who's the fittest out of the Norwegian team.
"Ivan's got that angelic face, but I bet he'd be really dirty in bed, know what I mean? And his abs are to die for." Scorp passes me the magazine, and I watch as Ivan blushes, then peels his shirt up over his admittedly impressive torso, over and over again.
My gaze drifts over to the other page, where a tall blond twirls his broom suggestively and smirks out at us. Scorp catches my gaze and protests. "You don't like Sven Bentzen, surely? He's so arrogant! I'm convinced he cheated in that match against Greece, too."
I smooth the page down. "I know, he's kind of a git... but you can't deny he is pretty hot."
Scorp wrinkles his nose. "I suppose, but... Hey, you know who he reminds me of? My dad." He jabs a finger into the sensitive skin under my ribs, and an undignified squeak comes out of my mouth.
"Oi! Watch it."
"He does, though, Al. My dad." Scorp raises an eyebrow meaningfully.
Shit. I really hoped we weren't going to talk about this any more. I can feel sweat gathering on my top lip, but I don't want to wipe it away while Scorp's watching. Luckily, he doesn't seem to notice my discomfort, but appears to think of something else instead.
"Are you getting hungry?"
"Not particularly..." I shrug.
"I really fancy a cup of tea. Shall we go downstairs and see if the house-elves have set stuff out for lunch?"
I'm happy up here, just spending time quietly with Scorp in his room together, but I guess I don't mind. "OK." It feels too weird walking around his house undressed, though, so I borrow some jeans and a shirt before we go down.
The portraits mutter a few things at us as we walk past, but Scorp just sticks his middle finger up at them. I see one grand-looking lady hide her face behind her fan and shudder.
Scorpius takes the last few steps at a trot, and then veers off to the right. I've never been in this part of the Manor before. It's pretty imposing. The floor is something like marble, and there are a lot of little statues and things on tables lined up against the walls on both sides. I keep my arms close to my sides, nervous of breaking something priceless.
"Here we are," announces Scorp cheerfully, and he pulls open a heavy wooden door to reveal the expansive dining room. Wow, it's big, and panelled in dark wood, and—
Oh, fucking hell. Scorp steps aside and his dad is sitting right there. I mean, right there, at the head of the table, facing us, and there's no way to back out without looking like a complete dork who's basically terrified. Which I might well be. But I'm not bloody going to show it.
Scorp hardly bothers to hide his grin. The bastard. He said his dad was going to be out all day. But he knew.
"Hello, Father." Scorp leans on the table and takes a deep breath of the steam rising from a large tureen in the centre of the table. "Smells good; what is it?"
Mr Malfoy has a small furrow in between his eyebrows. "Broccoli soup. I do wish you'd let me know in advance when you are planning to eat here."
I'm just standing there awkwardly. There's an actual chandelier in here. I should make up some excuse and leave—
"Well, sit down, then, don't loaf about." Shit, Mr Malfoy looks sort of irritated.
Scorp pulls out a chair for himself, and then looks round. "Sit down, Al."
I can't think of anything to say, so I slide onto one of the high-backed chairs. Man, they're uncomfortable.
"I wasn't aware you had a guest, Scorpius," Mr Malfoy says, taking another mouthful of the vivid green soup.
"Weren't you?" asks Scorpius, and my stomach sort of drops. He looks innocent, but I've heard that tone of voice before, and I don't trust it. "Oh. I thought you knew quite well that Al was here."
Mr Malfoy's hand wobbles, just for a second, but it's enough to splash soup onto the front of his robes. He curses under his breath before drawing his wand and Vanishing the splotches.
Scorp evidently senses his advantage. "In fact, I thought you knew he was here before I did."
Mr Malfoy lifts his gaze to meet Scorpius', and two sets of steel-grey eyes lock in challenge across the table. I don't know how Scorp can keep it up – Mr Malfoy looks dangerous, and almost as if he might go for his wand at any moment, but Scorp holds steady, and in the end it's Mr Malfoy who looks down first.
He dips his spoon into the soup bowl again, and this time, his hand doesn't shake. "Albus mistakenly came into my room last night while I was sleeping. I presume he was looking for you. Rather late to be paying a call, wasn't it?"
"Not too late for what we had in mind." Scorp beckons with his wand, and two bowls fly over from the sideboard and plop down in front of us. "Soup, Al?"
I shake my head. "I'm actually not very—"
Scorp waves his hand. "Just a small bowl, then." He directs the ladle, first to my bowl, and then his. I busy myself with my napkin and spoon. Perhaps now they'll stop—
"But you got there first, didn't you, Father?" Scorp says it casually, while Summoning the rolls and the butter. "I was waiting for Al in my room, and all the time, he was with you."
There's the clank of china as Mr Malfoy puts his spoon down into the bowl. Two spots of colour are forming on his cheeks. "Your friend barged into my bedroom, rather the worse for wear."
"But you didn't seem to mind too much." Scorp looks up at him as he lifts his own soup spoon to his mouth. This all seems completely unreal. This enormous room, with the long table, the candlesticks and shit, just for the three of us... this whole conversation. I think longingly of the friendly bustle of a meal at home.
Mr Malfoy looks from Scorp, to me, and back again. "I'm not sure what you're insinuating, Scorpius, but—"
"Oh, I think you do. You can stop pretending."
"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean."
"Scorp!" I say, but no-one is listening to me.
"Well, Al told me everything." Scorp waves a bread roll airily at him.
"Did he tell you he begged like a whore?" Mr Malfoy hisses the words out, and then there's a shocked silence.
My stomach lurches horribly. Scorp's eyes are wide. Mr Malfoy looks as though he regrets it immediately. He picks up his napkin and dabs at his forehead with it.
"Well," says Scorpius. "Now this is getting interesting."
I push my bowl away and stand up. "I think I should leave."
"Sit down, Al." Scorp's voice is sort of commanding, and I find myself doing what he says. It's like some terrible surreal dream, the kind you never manage to wake up from in time. Where you're caught in Devil's Snare, and the more you struggle, the less chance you have of getting free. Maybe it's the right thing to do – to stay and face this. I look from one to the other of them and meet only the same calculating grey eyes, whichever way I turn.
Holy Merlin. I never expected this. When I realised Father was home for lunch, I thought it would be... I don't know. Entertaining. A bit of sweet revenge, to rattle him a little. I'm pretty fucked off with him, to be honest. He must have known perfectly well what was happening, and even if Al was willing, you'd think the old bastard would have some kind of family loyalty to his own son.
Actually, no. That would be a stupid, Gryffindor thing to think. I should know full well he's got no loyalty to anyone but himself.
Anyway, I couldn't resist the chance to wrongfoot him. I bet he thought he was safe – that Al would trot off home with his tail between his legs, too ashamed to mention it to me or to ever show his face here again. But he doesn't know Al like I do.
Al is pale as he perches on the chair, and I can see his hand visibly trembling as he reaches for some water. I look at Father, sizing up the situation. I only wanted to needle him; to see him lose that irritating bloody composure for once. But when he called Al a whore... to hear that word from his lips, talking about my boyfriend... that changed everything.
"So you admit it, then? That you slept with Al?" I'm satisfied with how steady my voice is. You wouldn't know that my pulse is hammering at my temples. That weird rushes of jealousy and a twisted kind of excitement are warring inside me.
"For god's sake!" Al butts in. "Can't we just ―"
"Shh, Al. I want to hear what Father has to say about it."
Father's face is frosty. He stands up, his chair scraping against the floor. "I'm not going to sit here and be interrogated by you, Scorpius, whatever you may think. I'm not interested in discussing this further."
"I bet Al's dad would be interested, though." I tilt my head. It's a weird sensation, not knowing quite what I'm going to say until it comes out of my mouth.
"What?" Al looks dumbfounded.
Father's fingers clench around the edge of the table. "You— Sometimes you go too far, Scorpius."
Father shouldn't be surprised. Where does he think I learned this stuff from? "I bet Al's dad would be very interested," I carry on. "Both as Head Auror, and as Al's father."
Al's eyes are wild. "Scorp... stop."
"It's none of his business." Father's face is disdainful. "Albus is of age, and presumably competent to make his own decisions—"
"But you said yourself, he was pretty drunk, wasn't he, Father? In fact, too drunk to really know what he was doing. Wasn't there a big case lately where a wizard was giving young women potions for that very reason? Didn't he get a trip to Azkaban when it all came out? I seem to remember it quite clearly..."
Father sinks down in his chair again. Just for a moment, he looks very tired, and it's sort of terrifying. "Why are you doing this?"
"I'm not doing anything. I'm just discussing the interesting situation that took place last night." Truthfully, I'm starting to feel out of my depth. As if I shouldn't have started this if I didn't know where I was going with it.
But Father's eyes are narrowed. "Don't treat me like an imbecile. What is it that you want, Scorpius?"
"Me? I don't want anything." And as I say it, I realise: that's a huge fucking lie. I know exactly what I want. But I force myself to sit back in my chair nonchalantly. "It's not for me, Father. Al wants something, don't you Al?"
"Me?" Al clearly hasn't a clue what I mean. Father turns that fierce gaze to him, instead, and I can see Al wiping his hands on his jeans under the table.
"What do you want, then, Potter?" He glares at Al. "I must say, I never thought you'd stoop to such a filthy trick as this."
Al gapes. "It's not a trick— Merlin! I don't want anything!"
It's actually laughable to think that Al could plan this kind of crafty game. But I'll help him out. I lean forward. "Yes, you do. You see, Father... Al wants it to happen again." A knife-twist of hurt jabs me in the guts as I speak, but I still can't stop.
Al looks dumbfounded. A great wash of heat rushes over his face, flushing his skin right to the hairline.
Father just stares. First at me, then Albus.
"I— I don't!" Al's voice is like a strangled squeak. "What the hell?"
I just smile. It's almost frightening, how easy this is. How transparent they both are. "Try and deny it, Al. You can't."
"Yes, I bloody can!"
"Go on, then. Tell us. Was what you told me last night total bollocks, then?"
His face is fiery red. Father and I are both watching him, and he looks like he wants to squirm. "It— No, but—"
"When you said how good it was."
"I— Oh, hell." Al's eyes flick from one to the other of us. Father's furious look has gone, now. He's drinking in every moment of Al's reactions.
"How he made you come," I continue. I remember just how it felt last night, and I'm breathless with it. Al's voice, scared but determined to tell the truth. His body, already pliant and relaxed from another man. "But you didn't tell me whether he – sorry, Father, you'll have to forgive me for being crude here – whether he had a hand on your cock when you came."
Al doesn't seem able to speak. It looks quite possible that he's going to die of embarrassment. Probable, even. There's a long silence in which I wonder what the hell I've done, and then—
"No." It's Father, his voice low, but quite clear.
Me and Al both turn to face him.
I blink, then ask, "Sorry, Father?"
"I said, no. Albus came undone quite beautifully without me having to touch him."
I swallow. Father's got a smug smile pulling at his lips. Merlin. I can't— I can't fucking believe any of this. And yet it's making me feel so bloody alive, so energised.
"Yes." Father runs a hand over the tablecloth, smoothing the fabric. "He was... very appreciative."
There's a rolling heat, low in my belly, and as he speaks, it flames, hot and terrible.
"To be honest, Scorpius, when I first heard that you were spending time with the youngest Potter, I was concerned for your sanity. But after last night..." He's talking to me, but his smile is all for Al, and it's a wicked, sly thing. "I can certainly see why you bother."
There's a buzzing in my ears. Al's staring into his lap, but then he peeps up at Father, and the look that passes between them... I'm almost dizzy with it.
I fumble for words. "Uhh. I—" Merlin. The two of them are just— I have to stop for a moment. "Well. I'm sure we can sort this out reasonably."
"There isn't anything to sort out!" Al's voice is squeaky again. I feel sort of bad for him, but this isn't going to happen by itself.
I take a breath, wait until my voice sounds firmer. "Al. I'm only thinking of you." I almost believe it myself.
"You don't need to! I'm sorry, Scorp. I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, but I honestly never meant this to happen—"
We both laugh, Father and I, the same amused, mocking sound coming from our mouths. "Oh my god, Al. You still call him Mr Malfoy? You do know his name, right?"
Al glares at me. "He's your dad. And— It seems weird, OK? I'm just being polite."
I laugh some more. Al looks like he hates us both, but, seriously, this is classic. "So it's OK to beg him to fuck you, but calling him by his first name is too disrespectful?" I ask.
Father is smirking openly now. "Albus. You have my permission to call me Draco."
Something about that sends shivers right through me. The intimate way he speaks to Al. The way he fucking looks at him. As if he'd like to eat him.
"Look, Mr— Draco. Thank you for letting me stay here. And for the soup and – and everything."
I snigger. I can't help it.
"Oh god, I don't mean that," Al protests, the poor bastard. "But I think I'd just better go home now."
I get up and walk over to where he's sitting, stand behind him, my hands on his shoulders. Heat is rolling off his body. I run my hands over the knotted muscles of his back, then glance up.
Father's eyes are on Al. On his face. I feel a shiver down my back, all the way along my spine to my seat. I wonder if Al can still feel what it was like. To have my father inside him. I think again of how they must have looked together. Al so young and pretty, and my father, powerful and lean and insatiable. I try to make my hands persuasive, kneading at the tension in Al's shoulders until it begins to loosen.
I lean over Al, inhale the addictive scent of his sweat. "You smell amazing." I bend close to Al's ear, my hands working over his biceps, back up to his neck and the ridges at the top of his spine. Fuck. He feels so good. "I just want you to have fun, Al. I don't want to stop you from doing what you want."
Al lets his head fall back for a moment, eyes closing, giving in to the unrelenting movement of my hands. "But, I just want... Ahh."
"Both of us. You want both of us. I know."
His eyes open, and it looks as if he's going to protest, but Father's eyes are on him, watching, appraising, and I feel Al's resistance melting like wax beneath my fingers. Father's lids are heavy, and as I watch, his hand moves under the table, as if he's adjusting himself beneath his robes, and I think Al sees, too, because a stifled moan rises up in his throat.
"I don't want to be possessive," I whisper. It sounds convincing. My hands wander down to Al's chest now, under the borrowed shirt. I reach his nipples and give them the merest brush. His whole body arches towards my fingers.
I look up at Father. His eyes are fixed on Al. I've never seen him look like that at anyone before. I let my words breathe against Al's ear. "I like you, Al; I really like you, but I'm very reasonable, you know."
Al looks scared, but I don't know whether it's because of what I'm saying, or how it makes him feel. I flick my tongue against the tender lobe of his ear. "We can... share."
Al whimpers. Father's eyes flash hotly for a moment. Then two lines appear between his eyebrows. "Scorpius. Think of what you're saying."
"I'm just thinking of Al."
"I understand that." He looks at me shrewdly. "But... think of who he is."
I feel like what I want is so close. Like I could reach out and snatch it from the air, like a Snitch, golden and divine. My breathing keeps getting a little bit too fast. I can hear it, catching in my airways. "That's part of what makes it so perfect. Isn't it, Father?"
Father swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing in his narrow throat, and I hold my breath, half-crazed with wanting.
God, I feel so lost, and I don't know if I want to find my way again or not. There's a kind of silent exchange going on over my head between the two of them, and it scares me to think that they know each other so well that they can communicate without words.
Don't talk about me as if I'm not here, I want to say, but Scorp brushes my nipple again and all that comes out is a long, needy sound.
"He wants it. Don't you, Al?"
He doesn't know how right he is. More than want it, I think I need it. But I wish I didn't bloody feel this way. I don't want to be sitting here with Scorp touching me, thinking about Draco's hands on me, like last night wasn't nearly enough. Leaving me so turned on that I have to clench my jaw to stop myself from making shameful noises.
Draco's sitting there, so still, just watching me, watching my face, and then the tip of his tongue comes out to wet his lips and I groan, helpless to stop it, and Scorp makes a sound, too, low and hungry.
"Scorpius." Draco's face is stern. "That's enough." He stands up, and I look at him gratefully, as if he's the one who's going to save us from this madness. But his robes are parted, and, oh fuck, his trousers are tented, the line of his cock solid and unmistakeable beneath the fine wool. I can't take my eyes off it. I remember every single inch.
Draco twitches his robes together. "I'm going to my room now," he says, and I let out a breath, half-relief, half... not. But Scorp's straightening up and pulling at my arm.
"Get up, Al," he tells me. "We're coming, too."
"No." Draco shakes his head.
Draco puts his hand up. "No, Scorpius."
"But..." He sounds like a child who's been denied a promised treat.
Draco's face is disapproving. "Not you, Scorpius. I told you: sometimes you go too far."
Scorp looks as if he's going to argue, then he waves a hand. "Whatever."
Draco nods, then gives me one last long, slow look, and I feel it right in my bones.
"Tell the house-elves we're finished here, would you, Scorpius?" His boots make a sharp clicking sound across the floor as he leaves.
He's not even out of the door before Scorp is gesturing to me. "Al! Go after him."
"What? Scorp, you heard him; he said no."
"Fuck that – he didn't mean it. Didn't you see the way he looked at you?"
Oh, I saw it all right. Maybe I was hoping Scorp hadn't seen it too.
"He said, Not you," Scorp explains. "He meant he doesn't want me to come. He only wants you." He says it so patiently, like it's the kind of thing he discusses every day.
I'm shaking my head. This can't be really happening, can it?
"Go to him, Al." Scorp's moving around to the side of me, now, and I'm still sitting in this bloody cripplingly hard chair, as if I'm stuck to it, and he's perching on the edge of another chair, and his hand slips down under the table and between my legs. "Go and tell him how hot you are just for the thought of it. How hard you are for him right now."
He palms my erection, right there, and I buck up against his hand, craving the pressure of it.
"Uhh... I knew it," he says.
"Tell him," Scorp urges, cupping me tenderly through my jeans, and I whine. "Merlin, Al, you're so fucking hot like this. Go and tell him you want him."
"Yes what? You're going to have to say it."
"Yesss. I want him."
"And me?" Just for a moment, he looks unsure. "You want me too, right?"
"Yes. Oh, yes."
His look is so intense. "You want both of us?"
"Ahhh... yes, hell, yes." I pant it out. "Please, Scorp, don't make me say it any more."
"OK. Go, now. You know where his room is. Go."
"Should I... I mean, really?"
"Fuck, yes." He whispers it urgently. His face looks pained, but sort of glowing, as well.
I get up from the table. My arms and legs feel strange. Like it's not really me moving them. "You really want me to? You... don't mind?" I gaze into his eyes. I'm quivering – with want, and tension, and the fear that I'm going to fuck this up.
"No. I want this for you. Please. Will you? Do it, Al." He looks at me, sees how wobbly I am. "Come on. I'll take you."
He leads me along the corridor and up the stairs, the portraits complaining furiously to themselves. Oh, god. Am I really doing this? Are we really doing this? And then we're at Draco's bedroom door, and Scorp gestures at me to knock.
I watch my own hand rising up in front of me and brushing the wood of the door. I turn to have one last look at Scorp. For a moment, he looks almost as scared as I feel, and I let my hand drop down – it's not too late, we don't have to go through with this – but Scorp leans past me and knocks himself, two sharp, decisive raps, and then a voice from inside is telling me to come in.
I hold my breath, half-expecting Al to come straight back out again, hexes crackling at his heels, but as the seconds tick by and all that I can hear from inside is the sound of low conversation, a hot dizziness sweeps over me and I have to lean against the doorframe for a minute.
It's actually going to happen, I think. It's happening, and the knowledge of it burns through me like Fiendfyre.
The tension between them... I've never seen anything like it. I knew it – I knew that if I could just get the two of them in Father's room together, it was fucking inevitable. And now...
I take a few deep breaths, trying to steady myself. And then I make my way back to my room, hardly knowing how to put one foot in front of the other.
This has got to be the most wholly embarrassing shit that has ever happened to me. Scorpius walking me along the corridor and up the stairs like that, knocking for me, watching me go inside... I feel like a bloody rent boy or something. Paid for by somebody else and handed over like some kind of possession. I suppose I should feel furious with him. But mostly... I'm mostly so grateful. Despite the humiliation, I've never felt so lucky.
Now I'm here, I feel dazzled just looking at him – at Draco. He's taken off his robes and he's just wearing a shirt, pure white, and these fitted trousers that hide absolutely nothing. He's so slim; his hips are narrower than Scorp's, but I remember the sinewy strength in his arms, the power behind each drive of his hips. I'm answering his questions, nodding and agreeing, but I don't even really know what he's saying. It's like my brain has shut off and my dick has seized control of my whole body.
The way he's looking at me... I know I'm gaping back at him, like some sort of idiot. He's twirling his wand in his hand as he speaks, his fingers elegant and steady. I remember last night, how they felt inside me, so skillful and certain, and some kind of humiliating noise wells up in my throat and manages to escape before I can do anything about it. He smiles at that, and his eyes half-close, and then he's next to me, stroking a thumb over my jaw.
I think this is the closest I've ever seen his face. He's so like Scorp, but maybe a bit too angular – I guess I'd have to say that Scorp is more handsome. But... there's something imperious about Draco's face. Like he knows he could have anything he wants. It makes me want to... I don't know. I'd kind of like to get down on my knees for him.
"Albus." His voice is low, and I really hope Scorp isn't waiting outside, or if he is, that he can't hear. "Last night was just a bit of entertainment..."
He makes it sound like nothing. I feel the corners of my mouth pull down, and he frowns.
"Oh, don't get me wrong. It was... very enjoyable. I enjoyed it – I enjoyed you very much."
My cheeks are burning. I can't look at him. But he holds my chin in his hand and tilts my face towards him.
"But... you have to admit, it was rather brief. Unsophisticated."
He snorts to himself, and I feel the same irritation I felt when he and Scorp laughed at me before. Like I'm totally naïve.
He's watching me carefully. "I merely mean... if it were to happen again... I should want something more. Something a little more memorable for both of us." He sounds unconcerned, but I notice there's a light flush at his throat where his shirt is open. "I'm sure you feel the same."
I don't know what to say. Last night was pretty fucking memorable as far as I’m concerned.
He runs his fingers through the hair just above my ear. I know it probably needs a cut. It usually does. "You're very like your father, you know, Albus."
I nod. "I know. Everyone says so."
"If you do want what Scorpius says you do... I'd want to take my time with you." He steps even closer, and I can feel the heat from his body, under the formal clothes.
I'm mortified, but I actually whimper, and when he strokes his hand over my jaw, over my cheek, his thumb brushing at my lips, I close my eyes and hope I'm not going to come in my pants, because I feel like I might do just that.
I feel his breath against my skin, and then he presses his lips to the spot just next to my mouth, so nearly a kiss, but not quite. Hell, it's torture. I try to turn my face, desperate to know what his mouth would be like on mine, but he pulls away again.
"I wonder if you quite know what you're asking for, coming up here?" he says, and his smile is so superior that I feel a bubbling anger inside.
"Yes, I know," I say. "I'm not some stupid kid."
He does at least try not to smile at that.
"I want it," I say. I try to remember how it was last night, how I felt in the dark, shameless and free. "I want you to fuck me. Like you did before. I really want it."
His eyes flicker with interest. "Ah..." he says. "Yes. But not like last night." His hand slips under my shirt and his fingers brush, cool and smooth, against the heated skin of my stomach. "Face to face, this time."
I nod. "Yes." I imagine it, him driving inside me, sure and exulting.
"You haven't been drinking today? Or taken any potions?"
Is he mocking me? I can't tell. "No," I say.
His fingers slip around to my waist. It feels so intimate. "I want you to be quite sure about who it is that you are with," he says.
My cheeks are fiery. "Uh-huh. I'm sure."
"And this isn't just one of Scorpius' dubious ideas? He hasn't talked you into doing anything you don't want to do?"
Maybe it felt like that at first. But now, it's more like... he gave me permission. To have what I didn't even know I needed.
"In that case... this time... I'll go slow," he says. His pupils are wide, so black against the silver of his irises. So like Scorp's, but flecked with a lighter grey.
He smiles again, and for a moment I feel like a trapdoor is opening beneath my feet. Like maybe I should take my dad's advice and get the hell out of here while I still can.
"But not gently. Hmm, Albus? You don't want to be treated like a piece of porcelain, do you." The way he says it, it's not a question.
I shiver. His eyes are so penetrating. Like he's looking into my head.
"You want to be taken apart slowly, so you're right on the edge, begging for it, and then held down and fucked hard, isn't that right?"
There's no saliva left in my mouth. I can't even answer him.
One hand rests on my hip. He lifts the other to let his thumb brush over my mouth again, pressing into the soft pad of my bottom lip. His voice is quiet and confident. "I know just what you need, Albus. And I'll give it to you. If you only say the word."
Something comes out of my mouth, but it's only a sound, not a word in any language on earth.
He lets his hand drop to his side. "Or you could just walk away."
My pulse is thumping in my ears. I need to sit down. I need him to touch me again. I need it so badly. "No," I manage to croak out.
"No... what?" There's a furrow in between his eyebrows.
"I don't want to go."
"Then what do you want?"
"I told you. I want you to fuck me. Please. Give it to me." My voice is cracking. All I can think of is how he felt inside me last night, and I feel hollow with aching for him. "Ple-ease. I need it so bad."
"I have your full permission, to do as I wish with you?"
"Yes. Yes, for god's sake. Don't make me wait any more. Please. Give me what I need."
"Oh, Albus." His face creases with concern, and he touches my cheek again. "I'll give you what you need. But this is only the beginning. I'll have you properly begging before we're done."
"Yes. Anything. You can do anything. Just, please, fuck me."
There's a glow of triumph on his face as he pushes me down onto the bed.
I've been waiting for hours. Days. Surely. The clock only says half-past two, but it's got to be broken. This was a really bad idea. I know I said I wanted him to… but I think I've changed my mind. Seriously, this is becoming unbearable now. What the fuck are they doing in there? No-one can take this long!
I've been sitting here for fucking forever, and now I can't wait a second longer. At first I thought I'd go straight up to my room and enjoy the most filthy and glorious wank ever. A real toe-curling, turn-you-blind one. Because, I seriously don't know what the fuck is going on here, but I do know it gives me a hard-on like nothing else.
Al. And my father.
Sweet Merlin, why is that so hot? Because it is. It still is. Even though I've changed my mind. I've definitely changed my mind, and this has got to stop.
I half-run along the corridor to Father's room. My hand's poised to knock, opening my mouth to tell them to stop, stop, for fuck's sake, or I'll come in and Hex them both, when I finally stop and listen.
It's a noise I've never heard before, but I know exactly what the fuck it is.
It's Al, moaning.
It's Al, moaning like he's going to die of pleasure. And I can't work out whether it makes me want to curse my own ears off, or yank my jeans down and wank myself off right there on our beautifully-polished oak flooring.
I've heard Al make noises before, of course. Like my father said, he's seriously appreciative. I know how to get him all worked up, and then have him blow his load, and he doesn't try to keep quiet while I'm doing it.
Well, unless you count that time in the loos at the Leaky Cauldron.
But this... this is something else. Al sounds like nothing in the world could make him be quiet. Like he's coming to pieces. He sounds like my father has been working him over since the moment I left them, and that he's about to lose his mind from it.
I think I hate my father.
And I need Al. I need him now.
My knock is so loud it even startles me. There's a sudden silence from inside, so profound that I'd wonder if I imagined the whole thing if my ears weren't still ringing from Al's moans.
I knock again.
"What the hell is it?" Father doesn't sound too impressed.
"Scorpius. Bugger off. Bugger off now."
"You've had him long enough. It's my turn."
Father's voice is deeper than usual. "Sweet Merlin, he's not a bloody Quaffle you can demand to have back."
"I need him." I try to keep my voice steady. "Come on."
I can hear low conversation, then Father's voice. "Scorpius. Your timing is atrocious. Kindly go away."
"How can you not have finished yet?" My voice is high with disbelief.
"Use your bloody imagination."
"OK, then." I draw my wand. "I'll just have to come in."
"Scorpius! Don't you dare defy me—"
I know all Father's warding spells inside out. I've known them since I was fourteen and used to break into his room to look at his collection of kinky magazines. I slice through the wards in about four seconds flat and fling the door wide.
Long seconds go by in which nobody moves. I think my brain has sort of given up. They're on the bed. On my father's massive four-poster bed, which is, like, some ancient priceless Malfoy heirloom. It's almost certainly the place I was conceived, and probably my father too, and every Malfoy before that, for generations untold. And my father is kneeling on it, bare-naked, his cock buried deep in my boyfriend's arse.
Holy fucking shit.
Al's on his back, his arse propped up with a couple of pillows, and his legs over Father's shoulders. And he looks like... god, I don't know what he looks like. Like he's been fucked halfway to madness. His eyes are wild, and his hair is all over the place, and there's sweat shining on him, on his chest and his face. The air is heavy with the smell of sex and exertion, thick with tension. Al and my father are frozen in this fucking erotic tableau. Father looks pretty far gone himself, to be honest. And I'm just staring and staring, and part of my mind is screaming, noooo, and the rest of it is saying, hell yes.
And I find myself walking over to the comfortable old armchair that sits in the corner of Father's room, sitting down and crossing my legs.
"Scorpius." Father's still inside Al, his expression murderous. "Leave. Now."
Al can't seem to focus properly. He turns his head to me, but he doesn't speak. Perhaps he can't.
I sound quite calm, considering my brain is doing backflips trying to make sense of how I'm feeling. "I'm just going to sit here and wait. Until you're quite finished."
"Get the fuck out of my room immediately."
"I don't think I will."
Father's face is dark with anger, but I notice he still doesn't pull out of Al's sweet, tight arse. "Your behaviour is outrageous."
"You're fucking my boyfriend, Father, and I can do what I like. And I think I'll watch."
Father's face is red, and he takes a furious short breath, but then Al makes a sound and we both turn to look at him.
He wets his lips and tries again. "P-please."
My throat clenches. Is Al going to ask me to leave? Because I don't think I can sit here and listen to that. My wand's still in my hand and my fingers tighten around it. If Father's taken Al away from me, I fucking don't know what I might do.
"Please. Don't stop," Al says. He's all hoarse. He sounds incredible.
"Scorpius." The muscles on Father's arms are standing out as he props himself up over Al. I have to admit, he looks bloody good naked for a guy of forty-five, the old bastard. "I'm going to ask you to leave. One. Last. Time," he says.
My stomach is turning over with jealousy and frustration, and—
"No," Al croaks out. "Let him... Let him stay."
My stomach does a loop-the-loop. Al's biting his lip and looks like he's dying of embarrassment, but he puts his hand on Father's arm and says again, "Please. Let him stay. If he wants to."
Father looks from Al, to me, and back to Al. His hair is dark gold with sweat. Merlin, what have they been doing in here? I'm suddenly glad I'm sitting down, because my legs are trembling.
"This is— Scorpius, this is disgraceful."
It makes me want to snigger, the sight of my father telling me off when he's balls deep in a teenager's arse. "What's the matter, Father? Don't you think you can manage in front of an audience?"
I can see his jaw clench from here.
"You are the most insolent—"
"Please." I can see Al's legs quivering. They must be getting tired, hooked over Father's shoulders like that for so long. "Please, Draco. Fuck me. Fuck me some more."
Bloody hell. His words go straight to my prick. Father's arse cheeks clench, and he thrusts forward a little deeper into Al, as if he can't help himself. Al moans, and I don't know what's better, hearing it, or seeing my father's reaction to it.
"Very well." Father pulls back to a kneeling position, his hands gripping Al's thighs. I can see Al's hole stretched around the head of my father's cock.
"Watch. You might learn something."
I swallow. I can't believe it's actually happening. Al's face is taut with need. He looks like he's been on the edge for hours.
"I don't need you to teach me about fucking Al."
Father's voice is a little less steady, now. "We'll see. But I warn you: I won't forget this in a hurry, Scorpius."
And Merlin, neither will I. Not so long as I live. This is like the hottest, sickest fantasy I've ever had, and it's playing out right before my eyes, so close I could reach out and touch it.
Father pulls right out, so I can see Al's hole twitching around empty air, and then – sweet Merlin – he slams back into him, and Al freaking howls.
I flinch as if I felt it myself. "Fucking hell!"
Father ignores me and does it again. All the way out, slow, slow, slow, then slam, Al's whole body is shunted forwards, his face twisted up into an intense knot.
I don't even know when I started pointing my wand at Father. "Stop hurting him."
He looks at me and sneers, his face ugly with it.
"Is this what you've been doing to him all afternoon?" I ask. I think of the noises I heard Al making, and chills run along my spine.
Father draws back again. I swear I'll Cast if he carries on. I can feel my magic gathering at my fingertips, at the tip of my tongue—
"Amongst other things, yes." His face is smug with amusement. "Ask Al if he wants me to stop."
I look at Al. He's panting, his hands thrown up above his head, eyes closed. God, he's not just hot, he's beautiful. I never really realised how much, until—
"Al. Al." It's like he doesn't quite hear me, at first. "Tell him to stop hurting you. It's not right. Al."
He opens his eyes and looks straight at me, the deep green and the dark lashes flooring me.
"Tell him. Please, Al." I feel like crying.
"He's not hurting me." It comes out in a whisper.
"Feels good, Scorp. So good. I can't tell you." He gives me a lopsided little smile.
Father's face is gloating, unbearable. He slams into Al again, harder than ever, and this time, I hear Al's guttural cry for what it is.
Oh, god. He fucking loves this.
"You see?" Father's voice is steady as he nods at me, so superior that I wonder how he'd react if I flung a quick Stinging Hex at his bare arse. "This is what he likes," he tells me, pulling out with perfect control. I watch Al's face, the naked want in it. Then – oof – the way it crumples with the intensity of being filled before smoothing out into something blissful, something close to how he looks when he takes Euphoria. Fuck. I could watch this all day. And at last I see why Father's kept him up here so bloody long.
"Do it," I say, not much more than a whisper. "Give it to him hard. Again."
Father flicks a tight little look at me, but he doesn't let up in his rhythm, in fact, he quickens his pace, hardly hesitating after he pulls out before twitching his hips forward and driving into Al's body. I have to say, Father's got some stamina. Al's using his hands against the bedframe to brace himself and stop his head hitting the wall. He looks so good, stretched out like this, just letting it happen. I wish I could touch him. But watching is pretty much blowing my mind.
It takes less than a dozen fast strokes and Al's writhing and beginning to make the same noises that I heard from the other side of the door. His face is wearing a constant look of tormented rapture now, his mouth open and head thrown back. Neither he nor my father pay me the slightest bit of attention as I unfasten my belt and free my cock from its confines.
Merlin, I'm like a rock. My balls are so tight, they're almost painful to touch, but I keep my eyes fixed on Al's face as I fold my fist around my length and groan at the friction of my foreskin rolling over the head.
Al makes a particularly ardent cry, his stomach muscles tightening, and my father stops his movements at once.
"Oh, please," Al breathes. "Oh god, Draco, please."
"No..." Father shakes his head. "No, I told you how it would be, Albus."
His name sounds sensual, tender, even, on my father's lips. I never call him by his full name – it sounds like some old bloke with a long beard, doddering around – but I can maybe hear the appeal, now.
"I'm so close," Al whines. "I've been so close for so long, I can't – uh, please."
My hand's moving steadily over my dick, which is standing up at an almost comical angle, my eyes watering from trying not to miss anything.
"You see, Scorpius? You see how he begs so nicely?" Father looks almost malevolent, and I know he's trying to pay me back for what he calls insolence. "Does he beg like that for you? Does he come to pieces like this, when you're inside him?"
I'd bloody lie, except that Al is right there, and we both know that he doesn't. Fuck. I thought Al was bloody happy with what we did in bed. He always seemed to have a really good time. Until I saw this.
Al looks over at me, a worried look on his face, and then his eyes widen as he sees me with my cock in my hand. He tries to sit up, but Father pushes him back down. "I haven't finished with you yet, Albus. I haven't finished with you at all." And he begins a tortuous slow thrusting, rolling his hips in a way that must be dragging over all of Al's nerve endings. Al's mouth falls open again, but he keeps his head turned towards me, face glowing and amazed as he watches me fist my cock, slow and sure, in time with my father's fucking.
I can see Al's cock leaking onto his stomach. There's a pool of pre-come there, and I can't begin to imagine how desperate he must be to come. All he has to do is reach down and touch himself, but instead he lies there, all pliant and yielding, arching towards every stroke, watching me watching him.
"Touch yourself," I mouth, trying to reach his ears alone. I know he'll understand. It's what I tell him when I'm inside him, when I'm nearly ready to come. But Father obviously hears, because he bends over Al and holds his wrists up above his head.
"Oh, no." He shakes his head. "We'll have none of that, will we, Albus?" He flicks me a contemptuous glance. "He comes from this, when I decide he's earned it. And Scorpius, it really is shockingly disrespectful to masturbate in my presence."
Al makes a little grimace at me, but he looks so fucking happy that I'm not sure if I can bear it. He's making crooning noises now, his eyes falling closed and then fluttering open, looking at me so... well, I don't know how to describe it, but it tugs at something deep inside my chest. I swallow around a lump in my throat and watch him sigh a deep sigh as Father pulls him by his hips and grinds against his arse, sunk deep inside him.
"Oh, Albus," he says quietly. "You're a lovely creature. And this is what you deserve. To have someone make you feel this good, all of the time. Remember that. Don't settle for less."
Bastard. Was that a dig at me? Albus hardly looks like he's listening. His head is turning this way and that, his hands clutching at the sheets. The sounds he's making rise in pitch and volume, and in between he's panting as if trying to catch his breath. I can't even tell what my father is doing to him any more, with his face screwed up in concentration like that, but it's bloody working. Al's cock is jerking, untouched, and his whole body begins to tremble.
"Please, oh please," he says, and his voice sounds wrecked, like he'll be hoarse for days. I wonder how many times my dad brought him to the edge before I got here. He's a twisted old fuck, but I have to hand it to him, he's got Al right where he wants him.
I push roughly against my own fingers, wishing for the tightness, the heat of Al's arse. Wishing I could brush his sweaty hair off his face. Feel his breath on my shoulder, feel him clenching around me as he spurts into his own hand. I'm so close myself, dark, delicious waves of familiar pleasure building, and something more complex, something more than a little fucked-up. My father's buried deep in Al, grunting with satisfaction, but I'm aching for something I'm not sure I can put into words.
"Father." I say it louder to get his attention. "Father." He looks like he's on the edge himself, his muscles standing out with the strain of not coming, the tendons in his neck like fine ropes. I don't know how he can stand it, to be surrounded by Al's delicious heat, the firm grip of his arse, and deny them both the joy of emptying himself deep inside. "Do it. Fucking do it. Just... give him everything."
Father seems to gather himself together, every inch of his body poised and ready. Al is begging, properly begging, half of it just sounds and babble. The tension stretches out, tense and unbearable, so that I feel something inside me might snap, and then Father begins to move, and just watching him steals my breath and fills my chest with a tight, swelling awe instead. It's kind of wild. I don't know how to describe what I'm seeing – the grace and the danger of it. I'd be scared for Al if he wasn't so clearly having the time of his life.
Every now and again Al opens his eyes to look at me and I feel lost in him. Lost in his satisfaction, his uninhibited joy. Lost in the sounds he makes, loud and fearless, his face, so expressive, so free. I watch everything, my balls aching with urgency, and then, as Father pulls Al's legs higher onto his shoulders, so that I think he can't possibly get any deeper, Al cries out with such an agony of longing, and then, oh, god, he's coming, his cock jerking, stomach muscles clenching, and arse clenching, too, from the look on Father's face. Long strands of come shoot across his body, splashing his chest with white. He groans deep in his chest, a sound of such relief and satisfaction that I can feel it vibrate through me as well, and then his body arches up and another strand of spunk hits him on the cheek.
"Oh god," he moans. "Oh god, oh fucking god, ohhhhhh."
Father's face wears a look I've never seen on him before. Something close to reverence. He watches Al twitching beneath him and then throws his head back, letting out a deep, sincere groan as he comes, grinding deep inside Al. I come, too, watching my father spill inside Al's hot, perfect body. I come hard, with a rough shout as my prick flings spunk into the air, landing on me, and then on the upholstery of Father's chair.
Father sinks forward, unhooking Al's legs as he slumps down onto his body. They both lie as if felled, chests heaving almost in tandem. Then Al's eyes open, slow and lazy, and he looks right at me again. His face is smooth and free from care, his lips divinely soft. I want to kiss him, again and again. His eyelids are heavy, but he holds my gaze and mouths, "Thank you."
I clean myself quickly, and tuck my cock away, but somehow it slips my mind to clean Father's chair. I can't take my eyes off the two of them. My father rolls off Al and lays on his back on the bed, his softening dick nestled against his thigh. He lies there with his eyes closed, and I watch him grope blindly for Al's hair and run his fingers through it affectionately, almost paternally. Al sighs happily and snuggles against him. I should feel horrified. And a fat maggot of jealousy is writhing inside me, for certain. But mostly I feel kind of... special. Like, I'm the only one who got to see this.
Also, it's a weird thought, but I don't think I've ever seen Father, well, hug anybody before. Although, it's more like… allowing himself to be hugged, but still. I suppose I should have guessed that sex would be the way to my father's heart. Al opens his eyes again and stretches a hand out towards me, and I feel a leap in my chest.
"Come over here," Al says quietly. Father's eyes spring open and he's frowning, but, "Draco, I want Scorpius, too," Al says, sounding like a little boy asking for a treat because he's been good, and Father just waves a hand and closes his eyes again.
I get up on cotton-wool legs and walk the few steps to the bed. Al pats the mattress next to himself. There's plenty of room for me. Of course there is. Hell, for all I know it's a Malfoy tradition – the family orgy, held once a year on this great big bed. Al is so warm, and as I lie down, he wraps an arm around me and makes a happy sound when I kiss his face. Father's got an arm flung over him, too, and I guess it's like being the filling in a Malfoy sandwich. Al looks pretty satisfied about it.
"Thank you," he whispers again. "Is this OK?" And I wonder: who exactly is the Slytherin, here? Because I feel as if I could not refuse him anything at this moment.
"It's fine," I murmur, and then I'm kissing his mouth, his beautiful, generous mouth, and, god, Al is just the best.
The strange thing is that I actually feel close to Father, too, lying like this, closer than I have done for years. I guess having a mind-blowing orgasm at the same time as someone else does leave you with a certain amount of affection for them. Also, this is fucked-up, but I feel like I've finally got his approval for something I've done. The fact that he likes Al, too – I feel sort of proud.
Of course, just as I'm enjoying this feeling, he has to spoil it. Father sits up, shaking off the leg that Al had twined around him. "Right."
Al's bottom lip actually pouts a little. "Don't go yet," he says.
"I have work to do."
This is bullshit. Father can work whenever he wants to. Or not at all. He never usually lifts a finger on weekends. I hope Al doesn't realise what a lie he's telling.
Father is standing up, pulling his clothes on. Al looks like he's been told that magic isn't real. "Get dressed," Father says. "The party is over."
I sit up, and, as I'm dressed already, I look around for Al's clothes – the ones he borrowed from me. They're on the floor in a crumpled heap. I wonder if Father dropped them there, not caring what state he left them in, or if Al wriggled out of them in a hurry. I find my wand and give them a quick press before I pass them to Al.
"Thanks," Al says, and he slips his pants back on. "So." His face is all pink, but he carries on. "Are we going to do this again?"
I look up at Father, but he's doing up his shirt and I can't read his face.
"Well." Father works his way methodically up the buttons. There are about a dozen of them, and I know he's making us wait for an answer on purpose, damn him. "That would depend on you, I suppose, Albus."
"I want to," Al blurts out. I put my arms around him and hide my smile in his hair. He's just so ridiculously open about everything. He looks up at my father like he's some sort of god standing there. "Can we?"
Father fiddles with his shirt cuffs, straightening what's already straight. "Well," he says again. "Possibly... if the right occasion presented itself."
Al wets his lips. "So you're going to... share me? Like Scorp said?"
There's something shadowy lurking inside me. I can feel it warning me, like the blade of a knife, the way you only realise how sharp it is just before it cuts into you. But there are also strange curls of something like joy.
This time, Father doesn't answer, but looks down at me.
"Yes," I answer.
"And..." Al's eyebrows are raised, his face so hopeful. "And that's OK? I mean, we're all OK with that?"
I meet Father's eyes over Al's head. "Yes," I say. "We're OK."
Al makes a soft noise, like a little oooff, and I hold him tighter.
"Are you OK?" I ask him.
I feel like I'm holding my breath waiting for his answer. But he just grins. "Yes. Oh, yes."
Father's fully dressed now, but Al, still in just his pants, has more questions. "So, sometimes it'll be me and Scorp, and sometimes me and Draco, right?"
Father nods. "Very well."
"And... when it's me and Scorpius... will you watch? Sometimes?"
"I have no desire to see my son's graceless teenage fucking."
I wince, but Al just looks thoughtful.
"What the two of you get up to is your own affair," Father says, waving his hand dismissively.
"But Scorp can watch us?" Al persists.
"Oh, dear Merlin." Father looks exasperated. "If that's what you want. Scorpius, will you be down to dinner?"
I shake my head. "Not tonight." I think sitting down together for a formal family meal would just about finish me off, after what's gone down here.
"Very well. As you seem so familiar with my wards, perhaps you'd be so good as to put them up again as you leave. I'll be changing them in the morning, just so you know."
Big deal, I think. Bet it won't take me two minutes to figure them out.
Father pauses at the door. "Goodbye, Albus. Do come again, won't you?"
He closes the door behind him, and I just look at Al, all light-headed and, I don't know, giddy at how fabulous he is, and I dissolve against him in helpless laughter.
"What the hell?" He looks bemused.
I try to stop, but I can't. "Do come again," I mimic Father's haughty tones, and then Al is laughing too.
We lie back on the bed for a while, giggling and holding each other.
"Are you sure you're all right?" I ask again. "Do you – I don't know, do you want me to run you a bath, or something?"
Al smiles. "That would be seriously nice."
So I take him into the family bathroom, the one that I used to think was as big as a lake when I was a little boy and Mother used to Charm toy ducks and mermaids to swim around in it for me. I run him a good, deep bath, the water steamy and fragrant, and I help him get in because his legs are pretty wobbly. He's a bit of a wreck, to be honest, but once he's in the bath he just lies there with a peaceful expression, smiling at me from time to time. I don't get in, even though there's plenty of room; I feel like he deserves it all to himself, so I just sit and watch him soak for a bit, then Accio a sponge and start to gently wash him. I smooth soap over the places my father and I have left marks on him, letting the water soothe all of the soreness away.
"Everything in your house is so big," says Al, his voice sleepy and relaxed. "We could all fit in here... all three of us, I mean."
He's got his head tipped back, and the ends of his hair are starting to curl in the steam. He's gorgeous like this, all wet and soapy and sweet-smelling, his cock and balls bobbing in the water, limp but still beautiful.
"You're incredible," I say, and his eyes open wide and questioning, but I don't know how to explain this to him any more than I can explain it to myself. I think I fell in love with you while watching my dad fuck the living daylights out of you. Yeah, explain that one if you can.
Instead I wash him some more, letting my hands tell the story of how I feel, and then I watch over him as he lies there, so loose and floppy that he seems to doze off for a while. When he opens his eyes again, they nearly stun me with how fucking warm and green they are.
"Wow," he says quietly. His smile flickers like a flame, warming me right to the core. "Today was something else."
I nod. And after a while, I help him out, wrap him in one of our towels that's almost as big as a Quidditch pitch, and just hold him, feeling how relaxed he is now. I've always thought of Al as being like a puppy, or maybe a rather excitable dog, loyal and spirited. But now, he seems mellower. More self-contained, like a cat. A pampered cat. He curls against me, all sleek and soft, but I can also feel the strength of his body beneath. He nuzzles into my shoulder, then lays his head there, breathing slow and delicate, and satisfaction stabs through me that here is something that my father didn't get. Here is something that's just for me.
I don't even remember how I get home. Scorp said I could stay, but I've got work tomorrow, and I feel like if I spent another night at the Manor, I might just stay there forever and never come back to reality. Maybe I flew home. Yeah, without a broom. My head feels up among the stars, and my feet as if they're not quite touching the ground.
Dad's out, luckily, but Mum and Lily are there at the kitchen table. Lily's almost hidden behind a pile of school books, and Mum's busy with a shopping list.
It's so weird; I feel like everything has changed, like I'm not even the same person who left the house yesterday evening and headed for the club, but they're still sitting there, exactly as they were, and they don't know that the whole world is different, now.
They don't know that there are two sets of marks on my body, from two different pairs of hands, two different mouths. They don't know that I can still feel the drag and heft of two cocks inside me with every movement. I didn't let Scorp heal me this time – said I'd do it myself at home – but really I just wanted to feel it. To remember. They don't know, as I stand here and shift my weight onto my right foot, that I can feel the tenderness and it makes me want to get down on all fours and howl for more.
"Albus?" Mum puts her quill down. "Are you OK?"
I realise I'm just standing there, staring, my eyes probably unfocused. I pull myself together with an effort. "Oh, yeah. I'm great, Mum."
"Did you have a good evening? Where've you been?" She tries to make her voice casual, but I can hear the anxiety beneath.
"Yeah, good. I saw Rose."
I can see Mum relax a little bit.
"Stayed at Noël's."
She purses her lips, but doesn't say anything. They think Noël's a bad influence, but part of me is having to fight down a horrified laugh at how she'd look if I told her the truth, right now.
I stayed with Scorpius. Yeah, that's right. Scorpius Malfoy. His dad fucked me, and then Scorp fucked me, and then the next day they took turns again, and then his dad fucked me while Scorp watched. And Mr Malfoy gave him some tips for next time.
"It's OK, Mum. I'm fine."
"You look a bit... I don't know." She looks hard at me. I'm wondering if the Glamour that Scorp cast over the bite on my neck is holding up. "Are you getting a fever or something?"
I shake my head. "I'm fine. Don't fuss."
"Well... OK. Do you want some dinner? We're eating in half an hour."
"No, I'll be fine." My stomach is actually pretty empty, but I don't want to sit and pretend to listen to Mum and Lily chatting. "Maybe I'll take a sandwich upstairs."
Mum frowns again, her skin creasing into two furrows between her eyebrows, but after a minute, she turns back to her list, while I rummage in the cupboards and manage to sneak a pretty massive snack onto a plate and up to my room.
I look at myself in the mirror. My hair's all over the place, and I automatically run a hand through to settle it. I look kind of the same... and not. I can't put my finger on it. I think back to stories Dad told me. About growing up as a Muggle, never realising he was a wizard. I wonder if he looked different to himself, afterwards. When he looked in the mirror like this.
I look at my flushed skin. My mouth. My lips look sort of swollen. I've seen myself after sex before, and I kind of like how I look, but this is different. I run my eyes all over my face, searching, trying to pin it down. I think.... I think it's my eyes. I feel like I see something there. Like a secret spark, or something corny like that. I wonder if this is how Dad felt, the day he realised that his life wasn't going to be the same as everyone else's. The first time he realised that he could do magic.
We settle into the cosy routine of me watching my father with my boyfriend. Sometimes I take Al to my room and fuck him afterwards. Sometimes I just wank while I'm watching. If I'm honest, it's usually both. Either way, it's the weirdest and hottest thing that's ever happened to me.
I sometimes feel ashamed... worried that there's something seriously wrong with me. Like this is the kinkiest, dirtiest thing anyone ever thought of. But then, there isn't that much space in me for shame when desire is raging through me like a furnace most of my waking hours. To put it simply: I've never wanted anyone as much as I want Al while I watch him getting fucked by my father. I think about it all the bloody time.
Luckily, Al seems equally smitten with the situation. At first it was just the weekends. But now he's coming over every few nights. Sometimes two nights in a row. Father's not even always here, but it doesn't seem to matter. The sex is best when my dad is around, I can't deny it, but it's still pretty excellent when it's just me and Al, too.
And Al... I would worry how it's affecting him, except he's clearly thriving on it. He seems to glow... like there's a pulsing energy coming from him. He's more confident, too – not in a loud way. But he has a kind of quiet assurance.
I just want him so much.
So, everything is rosy. If you view a father and son sexually sharing a nineteen-year-old boy as anything other than warped and disgusting.
And then, on a Saturday afternoon, Al changes everything again.
I'm sitting in the armchair, in my usual spot. Father lies on the bed and gets Al to strip, and even though I've seen him with his clothes off loads of times, it's a different thrill to watch him like this. The slow, deliberate exposing of his body, his face flushed and anxious at first, but alight with anticipation. He's not exactly poised, but there's still something graceful about the way he moves. His fingers move to undo his belt, his shirt hanging open over his chest. He bites his lip as he works at the buttons of his jeans, revealing a messy line of hair leading down, down, and – sweet Merlin – since when did Al not wear anything under his jeans? His dick is leaning to one side, erect but still hidden by the denim, and he leaves the jeans just like that, hanging around his hips, and gives my dad a slow smile.
I don't think I'll ever get enough of watching the two of them. Father's trying to be all cool and unruffled, but he can't hide the sweat gathering at his temples, nor the thick bulge of his cock pushing at the folds of his silk dressing gown. Al sees, too, and his face is alive with it. He wets his lips and lets his hand slip into his jeans to palm himself.
I'm already wanking, and have been since we came up to Father's room, gliding my foreskin back and forth with excruciating slowness. I look from Al, with a mottled flush creeping up his chest to his neck, to my dad. He's so focused on Al, his eyes sweeping over every inch of him, his face sharp and hungry. And Al looks drunk on the power. He runs his hands over his torso, up to his own nipples. His shirt is falling off his shoulders, now. Father makes a small sound, just an exhalation, and Al's eyes flare with heat, and I have to stop touching myself already because there is nothing, nothing hotter than the two of them watching each other like this, seeing how engrossed they are in one another, and the addictive, heavy scent of their desire that hangs in the air.
Al shrugs the shirt off and lets it fall on the ground, then tilts his head. One hand runs over his stomach, then down. Father and I both watch it, as if under Imperio. Al takes hold of his cock, freeing it from the denim. It's flushed and gorgeous, and mine jerks in admiration. It seems very still in here, suddenly, as Al pushes his jeans down, two sets of eyes glued to his every movement. We stare like we'll never get enough of the ridge of his hipbones, the curve of his arse, the muscled swell of his thighs, and the dark hair liberally covering his legs and curling thickly at the base of his cock.
I'm praying that Father chooses not to drag things out today. I honestly don't think I can sit and watch while he takes Al to pieces bit by bit. I don't know how Father can resist him. I want to stride across the room myself, fling Al onto the bed and shove my cock into his perfect arse until we're both panting and sated. But I'm hesitant to do anything that will rock the boat. Sometimes it seems my dad holds all of the power here, and he knows it. I suspect that me approaching any nearer the bed would be the end of this little arrangement. And I really can't risk that happening.
Al steps out of his jeans and stands naked. Now he's finished stripping, he looks less sure of himself. Perhaps, like me, he's wondering what's coming next.
"Why don't you fuck him now, Father?" I say.
"No heckling from the audience, thank you." Father looks down his nose at me. "Turn around," he tells Al, his eyes dark with arousal.
"Go ahead," Father tells him. "I want to see you. All of you."
It sounds perfectly natural, but I don't miss the fact that Father's eyes flick in my direction. He's showing Al off. To me. Look what I've got. But Al's my bloody boyfriend. Isn't he?
Al moves slowly, turning his back to us. The delicate bones of his spine and the satisfying, meaty jut of his arse. My hands ache to touch him, and I shift in the armchair, wishing I'd worn something more comfortable than jeans and a t-shirt. Father lounges on the bed in his silk while I wipe my forearm across my face and grimace at how hot it is in here. Al's head is bent, his confidence clearly faltering now he can't see our faces.
"Hold your head up," Father says, and Al does so. He does look superb from behind. I remember standing behind him waiting to get served at the bar the night we first got together, thinking, Al Potter's arse in jeans is a gift from the gods.
"You are beautiful," Father says, just how he always talks, with complete conviction, and I can see a tremor run through Al's body. "Isn't he beautiful, Scorpius?" He arches an eyebrow at me. "Look at him."
"I am looking." I try not to sound sulky.
"Don't you want to touch him?" Father asks, a smirk pulling his face into something almost ugly. I don't know what makes him such an arsehole.
"You know I do." My throat feels gritty. I had him before you. The words fizz on my tongue, wanting to spill out, but I keep them inside. I had him first.
Father sits up and gets to his knees, shifting across the mattress to the foot of the bed where Al is standing. He slides a hand into the cleft of Al's arse and, extending his fingers, fits the pad of his middle one against Al's hole. I know exactly how it feels, the delicious soft wrinkles of skin, and the dark heat hidden inside. Al trembles and moans, and my dad presses his face against the smooth muscles of Al's back and inhales.
"Oh, Albus," he breathes. He whispers something into Al's skin, and then his hand moves, and Al gasps and opens his legs, and I can't see my father's fingers any more. They're hidden, buried deep between Al's cheeks, and Al is making breathy, low sounds, and my father's face is blazing with wicked triumph.
I can't bear it; I have to look away for a minute. It's too much, too fierce, too hot and impossible and unreal and I feel like I can't breathe, want and jealousy spearing me, white-hot and cruel. I can hear them moving about, but I keep my eyes screwed up until the dark thoughts subside.
When I can look again, Father's got Al on the bed, his silk robe discarded on the floor, and he's fucking Al from behind. He's got Al angled towards me so I can see his face and every emotion flitting across it, and the intoxicating swoop of his back as my father pounds into him.
It's not going to be slow, then, this time. I wish I could wait until afterwards, to come in the sticky heat of Al's arse, but I can't resist. I tighten my hand around my cock and feel the familiar rush begin. My dad is fucking Al as eloquently as he always does. I feel a sort of pride at the way he moves, his hips pumping, potent and fluid. I can see why Al looks like he does, acts like he does, with my father inside him. He looks like there's nothing else in the world except my father's dick and the pleasure it brings him.
Al opens his eyes. He takes a moment to focus, then finds me in the chair. He smiles, just for me, sweet and shy, and then Father thrusts in, a long, punishing stroke, and Al's mouth forms an 'O' around a long, wondering moan.
Father draws back and lets Al catch his breath, and then I hear it, just a whisper at first: "I want Scorpius, too."
I stop touching myself with a jolt and freeze, waiting to hear the response.
But Father either doesn't hear, or doesn't think it worthy of his attention. I can see his grip tighten on Al's hips. His face is damp with sweat, and vivid with greed, his attention riveted on Al. He looks like he's not far off from coming.
But Al draws another shaky breath and tries again, louder. "Draco. I want Scorpius, too."
Father's face creases with irritation. "He's right there like always, you stupid boy."
"Don't call him stupid." I swear I'll hurt him if he speaks to Al like that again. "He's not stupid."
Father sighs. "No... perhaps not. But he certainly is very foolish sometimes."
My hand goes to my wand, but Al is quicker. "I mean, I want Scorp over here. With us."
Al's eyes are liquid, pulling at me. I desperately want to go to him, but I stay right where I am, bright flutters of longing beating against my ribs.
"No, Albus." Father buries himself inside Al and then reaches around for Al's prick. I've never seen him do that before, and I'm consumed by the proprietary way he touches Al. Father fists it, his hand moving smoothly along the length, milking out a dribble of pre-come. Al cries out and shakes visibly, his legs juddering.
"Isn't this enough?" Father asks, in a voice that dares anyone to disagree.
"Please," Al says. "I want Scorpius. You and Scorpius. Please."
I can't speak, daren't move. Can't look at Father. Instead I watch Al. His face is screwed up in an agony of hope. I think I might hate Father for making him beg like this.
"Please," he says, and surely no-one with blood in their veins could resist him. "Draco. You're so good to me. Please." He sounds right on the very edge.
I hear Father exhale, and then when he speaks, he sounds resigned. "Very well."
Al's face smooths out and he closes his eyes for a moment. As if it's too much to take. I know how he feels.
"Come, Scorpius." Father pulls out of Al, and I see his cock, dark and shining slightly with lube. "Albus, sit." He sounds like we're two naughty puppies that he has to discipline. "Now... how shall we...?"
His voice trails off, and Al sits back on the bed, gingerly, facing me with his eyes wide and shining. I want to touch him, but I don't dare.
"Albus." Father points. "Face the foot of the bed."
There's a jittery, jumpy excitement in my chest.
"Scorpius. Why in Merlin's name are you still dressed? Clothes off, and kneel behind Albus."
Oh, hell. My hands start to shake, but I still manage to strip off my clothes in about six and a half seconds. I'm so fucking hard. My balls are so heavy, I feel like I might come just from looking at Al. Just from touching his skin.
"Albus. On all fours."
Like I might come just from hearing Father ordering us around like the arrogant bastard he is.
Albus goes onto hands and knees and arches his back, tilting his bum towards me. The little pucker of his arse is so tempting. Merlin, please let me not come the second I get inside him. I try to find something else to focus on, but everything in the whole fucking room seems charged with erotic associations.
Father considers us – Al presenting himself to me, and me behind him, almost crippled with desire – and his face becomes strangely rigid. He snatches up his wand and gestures to his own prick. "Purifico." Then he climbs onto the bed, kneeling in front of Al's face.
Oh, holy fuck.
Al lets out a sound of pure, raw need. My father's cock is bobbing in front of his nose. My own prick twitches uncontrollably, pre-come spilling from the end. I look anxiously at Father. I feel like – I don't know. Like he might change his mind. Oh, god, he might change his mind, and then—
He looks at me and grimaces. "Stop pulling faces, Scorpius. For goodness’ sake. Anyone would think you don't want to fuck him."
He winds his fingers into Al's hair and tilts Al's head back a little, then nudges at his lips with his cock. I don't know where to look. Al's round arse, angled eagerly towards me. The tender furls of his arsehole, with my cock sliding over it, slicking it with pre-come. Al's open mouth, wetting my father's cock with saliva. Or Father's face, his eyes slightly glazed as he slides between my boyfriend's waiting lips.
"Oh," says Father, and closes his eyes for a moment, and I grit my teeth with the effort of not coming all over the soft peach fuzz of Al's backside.
Father stares at Al's face. At Al's mouth stretched around his cock, his cheeks hollowed. "You really – ahh – you really do look astonishingly like your father, Albus."
Al just moans, soft and low, and needy, and then Father looks up at me. "Are you not fucking the boy yet, Scorpius? What's keeping you?"
I pull myself together with a start and rest one hand on Al's back, pressing the other between his cheeks. My finger slides inside without much trouble, the silky lube easing my way.
"He's ready." Father sounds exasperated. "You just saw me inside him."
"He's still tight," I say, watching his hole grip my finger as I pull it back carefully.
"For god's sake!" Father says. "Do you want him to feel you, or not?"
"I just don't want to hurt him, OK?" I scowl in Father's smug face. Why is nothing I do ever good enough for him? "We're not all bloody sadists like you."
"Scorp..." Al's pulled away from Father's cock and is looking around. His face is sort of shy. "Scorp... it's OK. I like it."
"Of course he likes it. Only a bloody idiot could fail to see that." My dad pushes back into Al's mouth and grunts in satisfaction. "I can't believe a son of mine would be such a limp-wristed— Ah, yes, Albus, yes. Just like that."
Hell. This was a really bad idea. I feel cold inside, my guts twisted up with anger. I can feel my erection flagging, and Father's bound to notice any moment, and if that bastard says a word about it, I swear I'll—
He strokes Al's throat, cups his cheek. "Ohh. Yes. He's very good with his mouth, isn't he?" There's an obscene sucking sound, and Father tightens his grip on Al's hair. "I'm very pleased you brought him here, Scorpius, very pleased indeed. Just— Ahhh. Yes."
Father pulls Al's hair, tilting his head backwards, lengthening Al's throat so he can take his cock deeper.
I watch, fascinated. It's like one of those top-shelf Patented Daydreams, the twenty Galleon ones, happening right before my eyes.
"Just don't treat him like a china doll, for heaven's sake. Nnnnnng. Ahh. He doesn't need it," Father tells me sternly. "And he doesn't – ah – want it, either. Do you, Albus?" He releases Al's hair and allows him to pull off.
Al's breathless and his eyes are watering, but when he speaks, he sounds blissed out. "Scorp, please. Please fuck me. I want it so bad."
I feel a surge of power, like a rawness raging through my veins. I don't need to look at my cock to know that it's hard again. Hard and ready. I nudge my way inside Al, ignoring the resistance, trusting his body to let me in. He's tighter than I've ever felt him, and I panic for a moment, but then he pushes back against me and I slide all the way in, gripped to the hilt.
Fuck. He's hot, and slick, and he's clenching and unclenching around me, and the pressure and friction is sending me just about out of my mind. I pull back, just so I can have the pleasure of sliding all the way in again, and he's still tight – man, so tight, so good, so fucking good – and he's gasping and moaning and I'm buried deep inside him and Father's watching me and oh, hell, I don't know how to handle it being this way. I don't know how to handle it being so good.
"That's it. That's it." Father's voice is steady, pulling me back from the edge. "Come on, Scorpius."
I pull in a breath and look down at Al. He's lapping at the head of Father's cock, and I feel my cock twitch powerfully, deep in his arse. "Uhhhh. Yes. Please. Please," he says, in a broken whisper.
I start to move again, searching for a rhythm. Father watches with the trace of a smile around his lips. "Yes." He rubs his cock over Al's lips. "Yes."
A hot, wicked pulse is thrumming through me. With every stroke inward, Al moans, and Father's smile grows wider. "That's it."
I – god – I look at Al, his hair all over his face, his arse high and back arched, his skin beaded with sweat.
Father watches Al's mouth with an expression approaching awe. He speaks almost tenderly. "Suck it, Albus. Mmm, you love my cock, don't you? Look at you taking it." He lifts his eyes to meet mine, and his face becomes gloating, and unless I'm imagining it, mocking. He holds my gaze, and I know this is really for my benefit. "Yes, you love it. It's the best you've ever had, isn't it, Albus?"
And then I don't know quite how it happens, but one minute I'm still mostly in control, and then the next, I'm fucking Al harder than I've ever done before. And he's just taking it. A wild sound comes from his throat, and he struggles to stay in place on the bed. Father holds his shoulders, and I grip his hips, and Al's stuck there, skewered between the two of us, unable to move or do anything except brace himself against the onslaught.
And, put it this way, neither of us hold back. It's almost like some fucked-up competition, but it also feels like something we're doing together, the two of us, giving Al the best fucking of his entire life.
It's only a few dozen strokes or so before Father fists Al's hair again and pulls his head back and away. Al moans, bereft, and strains towards my dad's dick as if he can't live without it.
"Good, Scorpius, very good. Look at him. He loves it," Father says. He lets Al take him back between his reddened, spit-slicked lips. I try to imagine how good it must feel for Father, all of the noises Al's making, his lips and throat vibrating with it.
"Yes. Yes. Don't stop," Father says, and I don't know if he means me, or Al, or both of us. My legs and arse are tiring, my muscles burning with exertion, but I find, with my father spurring me on, that I've a little bit more to give. I want it to be so good – for all three of us. And then Al starts to make the same sounds I've heard him make with Father, and I feel so bloody proud. Father grunts in approval, and I feel like I'm making the two people I care about most in the world happy, both at the same time. And it feels fucking fantastic.
I never dreamed, I never... The way it feels, to be between them like this. Both of them filling me, taking me, and I'm just helpless in between the two of them.
The taste of Draco in my mouth, the heaviness of him on my tongue. When I look up at him, his lean torso stretching above me, his face, the way he's revelling in it. The way he teases me before he gives me just what I need.
And Scorp, Merlin – filling me from behind. I can't see him so well, but god, I can feel him. My back feels like it might snap if I arch it any more, but I just want him deeper. He feels so good, god, yes. I want him. I want both of them.
Scorp's dad is spurring him on... taunting him, even… but oh, hell, it works, and Scorp's giving it to me, so deep and sweet and sort of savage.
I never want this to end. They're amazing – both of them. They just make me want more, and more, and more, and...
Scorp is really slamming into me. I want to sob with gratitude. I want to thank them, try to make it so good for them, but I can't speak, can't even move. I can't do anything except be fucked, thankful for the two sets of hands holding me steady.
I can't even— Uhhhh.
Yes – yes. Please. He's going so hard. He's so deep, and it's perfect, oh, god, so perfect. I can't— I—
I look up, and Draco's smiling, but he's not smiling at me. He's looking over my head at Scorp, looking so proud of him, and – oh, hell – something about it sears me, and I feel the inevitable rush of my orgasm, building and building, until I reach the top. Euphoria. This is it – not that cheap, synthetic bullshit you get in a vial. Oh, man, this is the real thing.
Feels like flying. So fucking good. Like flying, holy fuck, yes, just like that, like flying.
We're lying in a kind of spunky, tangled sprawl on the bed. I feel like most of the mess is probably mine – I came so hard and so long that I thought I was going to turn inside out – but I'm not sure whose feet are whose, and what I initially thought was Al's arm turns out to be my father's, after all.
It feels good.
It actually feels the best.
Al's doing his affectionate kitten act, all smoochy eyes and squirmy soft limbs. He seems to want a lot of kisses, and I give them to him, open-mouthed and tender. I try to pour my gratitude into every one. Every now and then he sighs a deep sigh of contentment, and I feel it somewhere deep inside. Father's lying on his back, not facing us, but he's here, still, and he didn't object to returning Al's kisses when Al curled on his side towards him, and he doesn't seem to be going anywhere. Not just yet.
It must be about four or five in the afternoon. I can hear a bird singing outside, something pure and sweet. Al's breathing gets softer, and slower, and his leg wrapped around mine gets floppier, and heavier, and still Father lies there, apparently staring at the ceiling, from what I can see of his face. I watch Al's chest rising and falling, relish the warmth from his body, the smell of his skin and Father's clean cotton sheets, and my eyelids begin to droop.
Just as I'm sure Al's asleep, and I'm more than halfway there myself, Al speaks in a low voice.
"You know.... my dad specifically told me to stay away from the Malfoys."
There's a pause as it sinks in, and I feel Father stiffen from the other side of Al. Then I realise that Al is shaking with gentle laughter. I look at him, amazed, and when I see his face all creased up like that, a great snort builds up inside me and forces its way out of my nose and mouth. Oh, hell.
"I really should have listened to him," Al says, and hides his face in my neck to muffle his giggles. I don't even know why it's so funny. But, just thinking about it, I'm helpless to stop my own breathy sounds.
"You should definitely do as your father tells you," I manage. "I always do."
Al lets out a fresh wave of laughter. The bed is rocking with it. I steal a look at Father. His face is sort of unimpressed.
"Hey, Al, I know what we should do. If we invited your dad round, he'd get to see a different side to us," I suggest.
Al's giggle turns near-hysterical.
"There's plenty more room in the bed," I add. "We could fit any number of Potters in here."
"Scorp, don't! Don't be so weird!" Al clutches himself and gasps for breath.
Father makes a choking noise in his chest, and I wonder if we've gone too far, then realise that he is laughing too. Not the brittle, mocking sound that I know quite well, but something from deeper down. A low, rolling rumble that sounds, for a moment, a lot like happiness.
Al laughs so hard that his eyes are watering, his legs pulled up as if in pain. I meet Father's gaze over Al's shoulder, and he rolls his eyes. But when Al's hilarity has subsided, I see Father press a kiss against his temple, soft and lingering.
Al turns to face my father, now, and murmurs something to him which I don't catch, but I'm too relaxed to care. I wriggle closer until I'm lying flush with the heat of Al's back, my cock nestling, limp and sated, along the sticky cleft of his arse. Father casts a few cleaning spells and then Summons a blanket. He twitches it over the three of us and I sigh as the intense softness of cashmere sinks down onto my skin. Al lies quiescent between us. The room is hushed and still as he falls asleep in our arms, as fiercely guarded as though he were the most precious of all the Malfoy treasures.