A raucous cheer erupts across the great lawn, numerous laughing guests clinking their glasses against one another, but Draco Malfoy just sinks further into his chair. He presses the tips of his fingers firmly into his temples, a vain attempt to chase away the oncoming headache, as his eyes scan the bustling crowd.
People mill around the tables under the open sky, engaging each other in conversation and well wishes while others gather around the few tents spread about, filling their plates with food in—what some excited Lovegood relation referred to as—buffet style. The horror. His son happily waves at him from across the lawn before turning back towards the groom-to-be and clapping him animatedly on the back. The engagement party for Rose Weasley and Lorcan Lovegood-Scamander is certainly the last place Draco would like to be at the moment, yet here he is all the same. Scorpius, being one of the groomsmen, all but begged him to come, however it was Hermione’s horrendously sincere personal invite that left little room for argument. Draco and Hermione had become cordial enough when they began working together long ago, but many years, lunch dates and awkward apologies later Draco supposes they might be what one would call casual friends.
And yet… Draco can’t help but regret his decision to attend as he skulks in the far corner of the party, away from the crowd. His son has all but abandoned him in favour of excitedly planning the stag party with James, Lysander, and Hugo. Hermione is, understandably, busy with her duties as mother of the bride-to-be and Draco is still hiding from Luna and her husband Rolf after the hour long conversation they engaged him in about Aquavirius Maggots and their usefulness in memory potions. The garden is packed to the brim with Luna’s eccentric family and more Weasleys than Draco is comfortable being around at one time. He’s already been subject to Ron Weasley’s less than sincere greeting as well as Potter’s weak handshake and is hopeful that he can avoid having to make pleasantries with anyone else for the rest of the afternoon.
In fact, the only person who looks like they are having less fun than Draco is Potter’s youngest son. Albus sits a few tables away, fingers drumming listlessly on his beer bottle, eyes glazed with clear boredom. Draco has seen him around the party a few times (not that’s been watching him, of course) and Albus has a constant air of sullenness and disinterest about him. However, the few times their eyes meet, that expression melts away and turns into something much more searching and responsive. Those bright green eyes peer into his, refusing to look away (the nerve, really), and it’s Draco who finally admits defeat and pulls his gaze away. Once again, Draco can sense Albus’s eyes on him, but he refuses to play along this time and resolutely does not return his penetrating stare. Despite Draco’s strong will, heat still rises up his neck and into his face as Albus’s gaze lingers. That’s quite enough.
Draco makes his way to the bar, grateful that, despite his misgivings, the Weasleys and Lovegood-Scamanders do indeed have an idea about quality liquor. It appears they have stocked a fine bottle of DragonOak Whisky for this celebration and after a few extra Galleons, and infamous Malfoy persuasion, Draco manages to get the bottle all to himself. He scans the festivities, looking for the quietest corner he can find (far away from loud Weasleys and ridiculously young and good looking Potters) to enjoy his drink in peace, when the sky opens up and rain pours down on the party. Of course. The crowd gasps and rushes around, diving into the various tents set up for food and storage. Draco locates a modest looking tent by the bar, thankfully being ignored by the other guests, and swiftly steps inside, closing the flaps behind him. He sniffs slightly upon realizing this tent holds all the coats and is small indeed, but all's not lost. The sudden downpour has gotten him away from the party, and alone, with a very fine bottle of whisky.
Draco takes a seat on the ground, leaning against the side of the tent and uncaps the bottle, ready to spend a good hour in lovely solitude when the front flap opens and Albus comes rushing in.
“Oh! Sorry, I thought this tent was empty,” Albus grins, not looking very apologetic at all. His unruly hair is dripping, plastered to his forehead, giving it a nearly tame appearance. Pert nipples peak out from underneath his button up, damp from the rain and clinging obscenely to his toned frame.
“No, it’s not,” Draco replies cautiously, forcibly looking away from Albus’s chest. “There are plenty of other tents out there. Isn’t there another you’d prefer to be in?”
“I don’t want to go back out there and get soaked again.” Albus runs his hand through the back of his damp hair. “And besides, all the other tents are full of guests. I could use a break…”
Albus loosens his tie and takes a seat opposite Draco.
“Ooo, and it looks like you have some booze!”
Draco grits his teeth but silently passes the bottle of whisky over. Albus’s mouth stretches into a wide smile as he accepts the bottle and takes a long swig of the liquor. Draco watches the way his throat works as he swallows, beads of liquor clinging to his full lips before a pink tongue darts out to lick at them. This is not acceptable; Albus is far too young and looking far too good. He passes the bottle back to Draco, their fingers brushing in the exchange, and sparks of pleasure travel through his hand where their skin meets. Draco clears his throat before taking a pull of the liquor himself.
“Don’t you want to be with your family and friends?”
“It’s nothing against them.” Albus frowns. “These sort of parties just aren’t my thing. They can get kind of boring and tedious. This is the third engagement party I’ve been to this year. It’s just starting to get a bit much…”
Draco can understand. Now that Scorpius is getting older many of his friends are started to get engaged or married and he’s been dragged to more than a few of these parties over the past couple of years. These dull and monotonous gatherings are hardly worth the promise of free, quality booze. Speaking of which… Draco takes another large sip of the whisky, savouring it’s sweet burn down his throat, before passing it back to Albus.
“You don’t seem to be having a very good time, yourself,” Albus retorts, accepting the bottle.
“I’m having a perfectly fine time,” Draco lies, unconvincingly.
“Is it because of your recent divorce?” Albus inquires earnestly, “Does that make it difficult to be at a celebration like this?”
“What?” Draco demands, startled, “How do you even know—Ah, Scorpius must have told you. Right. It was a very amicable divorce, Astoria and I remain good friends. It’s certainly not that.”
“So, you’re not seeing anyone now then, are you?” Albus asks slyly.
Merlin, what is this kid doing? Albus is smirking openly now, pulling his tie loose and biting his lower lip. He’s too young, far too young. The warning screams through Draco’s mind but he can feel the words begin to be edged out by a wholly different reaction. He’s so attractive, so damn attractive. Draco shakes his head to clear it of all excitable thoughts.
“That’s certainly none of your business,” Draco says stiffly, leaning over and snatching the bottle from Albus’s hands before taking a long drink.
“Hm.” Albus crawls over towards Draco, removing the bottle from his hands and setting it to the side, “And what if I want to make it my business?”
Draco has only a moment of warning before Albus leans in and captures Draco’s lips in a kiss. Stop this now, this is wrong! The words flash through Draco’s mind and he grabs Albus’s shoulders with every intention to push him away, but his hands act of their own accord and only grip Albus tighter, bringing him closer. Albus’s mouth opens with a happy sigh and Draco’s tongue plunges inside. He tastes like whisky; warm, smoky and delicious. Albus’s tongue presses against his and Draco groans into the wet heat of his pliable mouth. Never breaking the kiss, Albus moves forward, knees spreading apart as he straddles Draco, his arse fitting snuggly into his lap. His hands tangle into Draco’s hair, mouth devouring him, as he deepens the kiss and begins to rock gently. Draco is hard in moments, intoxicated with the wet slide of Albus’s tongue against his and the firm pressure from Albus’s arse against his growing erection. He pushes his hips up, rubbing the length of his hard prick against Albus and is rewarded with a low moan.
Albus finally breaks the kiss, leaning back and gasping as he rocks back and forth, grinding his arse against Draco’s trouser-covered cock, hands carelessly pulling off his tie. Draco reaches out to assist, trembling fingers undoing buttons, pushing the fabric aside and caressing the exposed, toned chest beneath. Merlin, the kid is ridiculously gorgeous. His cheeks are flushed, pupils blown wide in arousal, still wearing his rain-soaked button-up—the front completely open now—displaying his lightly-tanned chest and stomach. His skin is smooth and hairless, hot to touch, and completely irresistible. Draco brushes his knuckles against his hard nipples, delighting in the tremors and soft gasps that escape from Albus’s mouth.
Albus’s eyes flash darkly, his hands reach forward and shove at Draco’s shoulders, pushing him roughly to the side and entirely on his back. Albus adjusts his position and Draco’s body surges with lust as he feels the hard length of Albus’s cock pressed firmly against his own leaking prick. Albus begins to rock earnestly against him and it feels like pure heaven. His hips surge upwards, hands grabbing and squeezing Albus’s arse, grinding Albus harder against him. Albus meets him thrust for thrust, mouth open and panting, fingers digging nearly painfully into his shoulders.
This shouldn’t feel so good; rubbing against each other, trousers still on, like desperate school boys. Draco is certainly far too old to be getting off with someone half his age in a tent during some Weasley engagement party and yet he can’t seem to care. Draco can feel the shape of Albus’s throbbing prick through his pants, taste the sweat collecting in his collarbone, smell the arousal radiating off of him. This is likely the most turned on Draco has ever been in his life. His cock throbs in sympathy and Draco is driven with the need for more.
“Albus, Albus… I need—I need…”
“Yes, yes,” Albus groans in return as if he understands exactly what Draco is saying.
Albus releases his hold on Draco’s shoulder and sits up, arse pressing firmly against Draco’s hard cock. Draco bites back a moan at the sensation and releases his grip on Albus’s arse, allowing his arms to fall to his side. Albus makes quick work of undoing the flies on his trousers and pushing his pants down just below his hips. Albus’s prick is thick and hard, flushed as it strains upwards and against his stomach. His eyes are swimming in lust and longing as he undoes Draco’s trousers as well, pushing his pants slightly down and pulling out Draco’s prick. His cock jerks at the contact, a slippery pulse of pre-come escaping the tip as Albus’s slender fingers wrap around his throbbing cock. Draco groans lowly as Albus runs his thumb over the pool of pre-come collecting at the tip, spreading it over the head in circles. Draco reaches out and presses the heel of his palm against the dark curls at the base of Albus’s prick, applying light pressure to Albus’s tightly drawn bollocks. Albus whines pitifully in response, a dribble of pre-come leaking from the tip of his aching prick. This won’t last long, Draco can tell already, but he hardly cares. The only feeling that really penetrates through Draco’s mind is desire; pure and unrelenting need. Albus must feel similarly as a moment later he releases his grip on Draco, spits into his hand, and grabs both of their cocks in the same hand. Merlin, there are spells for that, Draco wants to tell him, but he can’t find the words, couldn’t form coherent speech now even if his life depended on it. It’s all so dirty and wrong and Draco is loving every minute of it. Albus’s head tilts back, exposed throat flushed, as he roughly pulls on both their pricks. Draco reaches out and grips them as well, hands working together as they continue to frantically wank themselves.
It’s so adolescent, it truly is, but it might be the best thing Draco has ever experienced. His desperate prick slides against Albus’s rock-hard one, the heat building between the two, his flesh becoming slippery and slick with their combined pre-come. Albus’s whining becomes louder; high moans as his movements stutter and Draco can feel the moment Albus finally gives in. His mouth opens in a silent groan, chest and neck bright pink, and his thick cock pulses against Draco, spurt after spurt of come spilling from the tip, over their linked hands and onto Draco’s cock. Draco can feel his orgasm building in the pit of his stomach, the desperate need to come racing through his body. He’s right on the edge, ready to explode, when Albus’s trembling finally subsides and his eyes open, glowing and bright. His hand speeds up on Draco’s prick, eyes burning into his, as he speaks:
“Come on, Draco. I want to see you come. Come for me.”
Fuck. Fuck! Merlin, fuck! Draco arches his hips as his orgasm is torn from him, prick hot and heavy as it shoots ropes of come all over Albus’s still working hands. Draco shudders and pants, allowing Albus to milk every last drop out before Albus finally removes his hand and collapses bonelessly next to Draco. They lay there in silence for a few moments, catching their breath, shoulders touching one another on the cool ground. When his heart finally ceases it’s pounding, Draco reaches for his wand, mutters a few cleaning spells and pulls his pants and trousers back on, leaning against the wall of the tent. Albus joins him a moment later, buttoning up his shirt and taking a seat directly next to Draco, so close his wild hair brushes against Draco’s cheek. He turns to Albus, to kiss him or perhaps tell him this was a mistake, when the tent’s flap is pulled open.
“Al! There you are,” James pauses a moment as he takes in their wrinkled clothes, flushed cheeks and close proximity. “Um, yeah… The rain let up. Everyone is back outside again.”
“Great,” Albus croaks out. “I’ll be back out in a minute.”
James nods his head warily in response and slowly backs out of the tent. Draco can feel nerves coursing through his body, a certain uneasiness taking over his post-orgasmic state.
“Well.” Draco clears his throat. “I suppose we should go back out and join the party.”
Albus turns his head to look at Draco before snatching his hand and interlacing their fingers together.
“I think we both can agree this party is a bore,” Albus begins hopefully, his eyes darting nervously around. “Why don’t we go somewhere more private and—”
Albus’s words are cut off as Draco leans forwards and presses his lips against the younger man’s. He pulls away ever so slightly, forehead resting against Albus’s, lips just barely touching.
“My place or yours?”