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honestly these teeth won't let you go

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Tap, tap, tap.

Albus’s long, slender fingers move against the edge of the table. The steady thrum increases in intensity, disrupting the name cards as they tremble against the ivory linens. Bright green eyes stare off into the distance, dark lashes fluttering as he blinks idly and stifles a yawn. Albus is only feigning boredom and disinterest, Draco can tell. He can see the rigidity in his clenched jaw, the stiffness spreading throughout his neck and into his back. Draco can read the young man perfectly, even across the crowded room.

Albus could have dressed differently, Draco supposes. He could have easily worn a suit that didn’t accentuate the lithe lines of his body, could have found trousers that weren’t fitted to perfectly display his pert arse. Albus may have gone without sex for nearly two years now, but he couldn’t have lost all sense. He must be aware of how he looks tonight; how the charcoal vest hugs his torso, how the moss green tie matches his eyes perfectly. Draco is certain there is no way Albus is blind to the delicate way his curly hair falls across his face, how his bottom lip swells with every nervous bite from his sharp, white teeth. Albus is a walking wet dream and Draco is utterly enchanted.

It’s been a long time since Draco has seen Albus last. He remembers watching the emotional embrace as Scorpius bid Albus farewell when he left England so many months ago. Scorpius had been loathe to see his best friend leave, especially with no certain return date. He sulked around the Manor for weeks after that. Draco recalls the rainy evening when Scorpius entered his study, sullenly collapsing into a chair and moaning about how his other friends just didn’t get him the way Albus did. His tongue was loose from an afternoon of drinking at some gathering and the words uncontrollably spilled from his mouth. He confessed the real reason for Albus’s departure, why his best friend had to leave the country for an undetermined amount of time.

Draco wasn’t entirely oblivious—he had seen the papers. He remembers arching an eyebrow at the grainy photos of Albus stumbling out of bars and clubs, a different man on his arm every night. He recalls the front page spread when Albus had been caught midday in an alley next to Twilfitt and Tatting's, on his knees with his mouth full of a stranger’s cock. Draco remembers the twist of arousal in his stomach as he skimmed the article, pushing away the paper when mother arrived for afternoon tea.

Apparently these youthful indiscretions were more frequent than the media even knew. Potter had hired a top mind healer for his son, anything to get to the bottom of Albus’s reckless sexual behaviour, but the sessions did little to help. His family was concerned and supposedly Albus himself was filled with helpless frustration, unable to control his urges for self-destruction. Draco had unintentionally snorted when his son used that word, earning him a sharp glare from Scorpius. Truly though, what was so destructive about giving in to one’s deviant desires? Honestly, Draco felt sorry for the boy, that his family of stiff Gryffindors were perpetuating the belief that his behaviour was wrong. That was when Scorpius shared the most interesting part of his confession—the vow of celibacy.

Scorpius’s glassy eyes went wide when the words slipped from his mouth. He stuttered frantically afterwards, begging Draco to not breathe a word of what he said. Draco reassured his son, of course. He gave Scorpius a sobering potion, told him to sleep it off and promised that they both would pretend the conversation had never occured come the next day.

Draco never shared the things Scorpius told him that night, but he certainly didn’t forget. The idea of Albus, with his handsome dark looks and fit, young body, traveling around Europe and remaining celibate enthralls him. Draco can’t help but think it was a terrible waste and yet he is thrilled at the idea of Albus being pure and untouched. Mostly he is captivated by the thought of shattering his useless oath, of being the one to break through Albus’s defenses. Draco wants to be the one to taste that newly forbidden fruit and Malfoys always get what they want.


An involuntary shiver passes through Albus’s body, but he resolutely ignores the sensation and keeps his gaze fixed firmly away. He can feel Malfoy’s eyes on him, feel his stare burning through him. Unease enters his bloodstream, pumping distress through his veins. Albus knows that look, has felt it before in clubs and bars throughout the years. It begins with a spark of recognition, a low fire burning at the edge of their gaze. Soon the flames rise, heat and desire spreading and reaching towards him, calling out with their tempting song. Albus has spent years stepping towards it and being burned. It’s a dangerous game.

Albus wills his leg to stop jittering beneath the table and instead smiles blandly as an older witch nods in greeting. The fundraiser is nearly over; just one more hour, and he can escape to his rented flat, hiding from the rest of the world. Tonight has been torture and not only because it’s Albus’s first public appearance since returning to England. The most excruciating aspect hasn’t been the constant fake conversations, or turning a blind eye to the hushed whispers as he walked away. Rather it has been Malfoy’s presence.

Malfoy has been watching him all night, his silvery eyes fixed on Albus from the moment he entered the venue. At first Albus thought nothing of it, categorizing it with everyone else’s curious glances.

That soon became impossible.

There is no way Albus can ignore the teasing smiles, the pale raised eyebrow, the heat and intensity in those eyes. Albus spent most of the night keeping a wide berth from the other man, determinedly refusing to meet his searching gaze. Albus has met temptation before, but there is a precarious gleam in Malfoy’s eye that unsettles Albus to his bones.

He’s so lost in his troubling thoughts, fighting to keep composure, that he doesn’t even notice as the man in question approaches behind him.

“Hello Albus.”


Draco smirks inwardly at the involuntary flinch and tightening of Albus’s shoulders. He smoothly sits in the chair next to Albus, plastering a warm grin across his face.

“Mr Malfoy,” Albus greets through clenched teeth.

“Please,” Draco says, leaning forward. “Call me Draco.” Albus nods stiffly but doesn’t respond, choosing instead to return his gaze across the room. “Quite an event, don’t you think? Your father has really outdone himself.”

“Aunt Hermione arranged most of it,” Albus replies, craning his neck as he looks around the room, clearly searching for a quick escape.

“Ah, figures,” Draco mumbles. He smiles softly when Albus bristles next to him, opening his mouth to respond before firmly shutting it again. He looks even more delectable up close—his long, dark lashes fluttering madly as he blinks rapidly and fidgets in his seat. Draco leans back in his chair, soaking in the image of Albus before speaking again. “I haven’t seen you around England for a few years.”

“I was traveling,” Albus says tightly, clearly becoming more uncomfortable with every second. Draco loves the subtle way he squirms in his chair.

“Yes, Scorpius told me as much.” Draco watches Albus’s face soften slightly at the mention of his son. “He did miss you terribly. He was lost without his best friend.”

“I’m sure Scorp was fine,” Albus remarks fondly, his stiff posture relaxing ever so slightly.

“He managed,” Draco agrees. Albus smiles again, this time genuinely. He pauses his incessant tapping, and Draco’s eyes are drawn to his stilled hand. Albus’s cufflink has popped open and it hangs precariously at the edge of his sleeve. Albus draws in a sharp breath of air as Draco reaches out and adjusts it. He secures the cufflink, his fingers brushing against Albus’s exposed wrist, lingering for a moment before he pulls them away. His voice drops low as he peers at Albus. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Albus stands abruptly, wincing slightly at the sharp sound his chair makes as it scrapes against the floor. He turns to Draco, face blank and polite even as his cheeks flush red.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr Malfoy.”

Draco intends to.


Albus feels utterly flustered, heat rising up his collar as he quickly stalks away. He’s tempted to grab a drink from a floating tray, but he pulls his hand back at the last moment and resists. The last thing he needs tonight is alcohol.

He’s been good these past couple of years, strong and determined despite the many temptations he’s faced. It had been a relief, to realize he didn’t need sex, that he could survive quite happily exploring Europe and Asia, sightseeing and learning about different cultures. In fact he hardly craves it anymore, no longer depends on the slick press of a warm body against his to feel alive. This renewed confidence is what pushed him towards the decision to return to England. If he can handle the temptations of anonymous foreign men—exotic and enticing—then coming back home should be simple.

Malfoy’s eyes still burn into his back, even as he scurries away to hide. It makes him feel itchy and uncomfortable, like something unwelcome and dangerous is crawling under his skin. The slight stirrings of arousal, deep in the pit of his stomach, make him feel dizzy, and he grips a chair to steady his balance.

Albus knows he’s stronger than this, has proven himself time and time again during his travels. He refuses to fail, to fall back into old patterns, to give into the intoxicating pull of the man across the room. Albus lifts his head proudly, ready to return Malfoy’s invasive stare, but his breath catches in his throat when their eyes meet. The determined glint in Malfoy’s is terrifying, and Albus finds himself frozen to the spot, a cold bead of sweat trickling down his spine.

He feels like prey, spotted by the wolf in a fine three piece suit, exposed and vulnerable to slaughter. His weak legs tremble as alarms sound in his head.

He has to get out of there.

Albus’s feet carry him quickly into the empty corridor. The cool air is welcome after the confining heat of the crowded room.


Draco watches Albus scurry off, but he doesn’t rush to follow him. This is a delicious game, and Draco wants to savour every moment. He slowly finishes his drink, relishing the sharp burn of liquor down his throat before setting the empty glass on a tray and moving towards the corridor.

The hall is empty, but Draco knows Albus can’t be too far away. He can feel the vibrations of his restless energy, smell the remnants of arousal as it drifts through the corridor. Draco’s senses are all heightened, focused on his one task, his most fervent desire.

Draco has had his fair share of men over the years, but Albus is different. The younger man is special, a unique challenge that Draco is determined to conquer.

A sliver of light spills onto the ground from a door left slightly ajar at the end of the hall. Draco moves towards it, smiling to himself. It’s almost as if Albus wants to be found. He pushes past the open door to the lavatory, spotting Albus bent over the sink as he splashes water on his face. The door swings shut silently, but the clicking of Draco’s shoes against the hard tile draws Albus’s attention. He whips his head up, rivulets of water dripping down his handsome face. Albus stares into the mirror, his startled eyes meeting Draco’s through the reflection.

Draco spells the door locked and takes a step forward.


Albus should have known Malfoy would have followed him here. A traitorous voice inside tells him that he anticipated it, perhaps even secretly wanted it.

No, that can’t be right.

Albus has been diligent these past two years; he’s pushed away all temptation, smothered the sparks of desires that have threatened to erupt into great, consuming flames. He wouldn’t throw it all away for a fleeting attraction to his best friend's father.

Even as he reassures himself of this he can feel his resolve weaken, the truth flooding his veins and pumping through his body. This isn’t a fleeting attraction—this is a primal desire, the seed planted years ago during visits to the Manor when he was younger.

Albus recalls sitting at their grand table, chewing mechanically on roasted pheasant and trying to listen to Scorpius’s rambling. His attention would falter and his gaze would fall on Malfoy, the careful way he’d cut his food, the movement of his jaw as he chewed, the working of his throat as he swallowed a sip of wine.

Those seeds would bloom at night, vines of desire wrapping around him as he wanked silently in the bathroom, closing his eyes and recalling the way Malfoy’s lips wrapped around his fork. He had pushed those yearnings away long ago, just as he has repressed the bodily cravings these past two years. Yet here stands Malfoy, a devious gleam in his eye, threatening to undo all of Albus’s meticulous work.



Albus starts at the sound of his name, spinning around to glare at Draco. The whites of his knuckles are vivid as he grips the sink behind him.

“What do you want?” He asks coolly but his voice is betrayed by the slightest tremor.

“You know what I want.”

“You can’t have that.” Albus holds himself tall, but his eyes give him away. Those deep pools of emerald can’t hide what he really wants.

“I wasn’t asking,” Draco says, stepping closer.

Albus looks alarmed. Draco can see his pulse fluttering in his neck. Fear and arousal pours off him, and Malfoy takes a deep breath, inhaling the tempting scent.

“I think you should leave.” Albus maintains fierce eye contact, but his words come out more like a question than a command.

“What are you so afraid of?” Draco steps forward, closing the space between them. “Breaking a few vows?” He leans forward and catches Albus’s earlobe between his teeth, speaking softly in his ear. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“That’s—that’s not the point,” Albus protests breathlessly. His body trembles against Draco’s.

“What is the point then?” Draco asks against Albus’s neck, his lips caressing the warm skin there. “Why do you deny yourself these pleasures? Do you truly believe you’re stronger for it?”

“Mr Malfoy,” Albus pleads, his hands gripping Draco’s forearms. He squeezes tightly but doesn’t push him away.

“No,” Draco asserts. “Call me Draco.”

“Don’t,” Albus says on a shaky exhale.

“Resisting doesn’t give you strength, Albus.” Draco’s voice is low and menacing. “It doesn’t make you special or better than anyone else. It doesn’t make you free.” Draco licks a hot, wet path along his throat. “This—this is what releases you. This is what allows you live freely, openly, and without regrets.”


Albus feels as if he is breaking from the inside out. His heart is a steady drum against his chest, pounding and violent as it grows louder and stronger. His cock strains against his trousers, stiff and wanting. He’s been half-hard since Draco first locked eyes with him hours ago, attempting in vain to push away his arousal through all the teasing looks and seductive smiles. This whole evening has been a torture of foreplay, a taste of honey wine that masks the poison laced beneath the cloying sweetness. Malfoy’s breath is hot against his neck, sending shivers of sensation down his spine. He needs to leave, needs to push Malfoy away and escape while he still has a chance.

“Say yes,” Malfoy says his hands skating softly over Albus’s ribs.

“Please,” Albus begs, though he’s not certain what he’s asking for anymore.

“Say yes,” Malfoy repeats, his hands settling on Albus’s hips.

“I—I can’t,” Albus stutters brokenly.

“Say yes.” Malfoy’s fingers press against Albus’s hipbones, the fierce pressure sure to leave bruises.

“No, no,” Albus chants, his body shaking and tears of want prickling at his eyes. He wants to resist...needs to resist...can’t resist…

Malfoy presses his hips forward, his hard cock rubbing against Albus’s. It feels like an electric shock, a jolt of energy and lust flashing across his body. A pulse of pre-come escapes from the tip of his prick as he helplessly thrusts back against Malfoy.

“Say it,” Malfoy growls, his voice rough and commanding.

“Yes,” Albus sobs, half in anguish and half in relief.

Malfoy smiles against his neck and rests his full body weight against Albus. The hard surface of the sink presses into Albus’s back, but he hardly notices the discomfort. His cock is throbbing desperately in his pants, a wet spot spreading on the soft cotton. He can feel the heavy weight of Malfoy’s prick on his thigh and he gasps loudly when Malfoy shifts so that their cocks line up.

Fuck, he’s missed this! He doesn’t know how he’s gone so long without it, without another hard cock pressed against his own. He ruts fiercely, squirming gracelessly as their fabric-covered pricks meet again and again.

Malfoy backs up slightly, ignoring the pitiful whine that escapes from Albus’s lips. His nimble fingers make quick work of Albus’s trousers, undoing the fastenings and reaching his hand inside. Those slender, elegant fingers push past the waistband of his pants and curl around Albus’s fevered cock. One, swift tug and Albus sees stars. His vision fades and with a surprised groan he spills himself all over Malfoy’s hand. His bollocks tighten, drawing close to his body as his prick continues pulse spurt after spurt of come. It feels never ending, this intense orgasm that racks his entire body. He feels a wave of embarrassment wash over him at how quickly he came but the shame is outweighed by sheer relief.


Albus’s expression is hazy. He looks ready to collapse, but Draco holds him steady. He leans forward, hand still wrapped around Albus’s softening cock as he captures his lips in a kiss. There is nothing gentle about this kiss—it’s hard and fierce—but Albus melts into it all the same.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Draco teases, nipping at his lip. “We aren’t done yet.”

Albus blinks, his thick, dark lashes fluttering as he refocuses his vision. He nods softly, loose and compliant in Draco’s arms. Draco thought he would have prefered Albus to be stubborn and resistant, but this post-orgasmic Albus—all dreamy and soft—is intriguing as well.

“Turn around,” Draco commands, pulling his hand free from Albus’s pants and tugging them, along with his trousers, down to pool around his ankles. Draco’s cock throbs, begging for attention at the sight of Albus’s bare arse, but he ignores it for now. “Bend over.”

Albus braces himself against the sink, silent except for the stuttering sounds of his heavy breathing. He’s so gorgeously on display that Draco is tempted to pause for a moment and admire that perfect, pliable arse. However, his cock is too impatient for that, and it appears so is Albus. The younger man spreads his legs as far as he can, dipping his spine and wordlessly asking for more.

The conjured lube drips on his fingers, slick and silky as he circles Albus’s hole. He’s so tight when Draco presses the first finger inside that Draco wonders just how long it’s been since Albus has had someone inside him. Despite the initial resistance, his body seems to remember and soon his arse is greedily sucking Draco’s wet fingers inside. Albus rocks back against him, soft moans and slick sounds filling the empty loo.

Draco can’t wait any longer.

He spreads the leftover lube on his cock and pushes inside.


The pain is incredible, sharp and biting as Draco’s thick cock spreads him open. The burn spreads throughout his body, his arse clenching around the massive girth of Draco’s prick.

It’s been so long, too long. How could Albus have gone all this time without this, without the devastating push and pull of a cock filling him whole?

Malfoy’s cock, he reminds himself, and the knowledge thrills him all over again. His own prick begins to fill once more, twitching to attention as Malfoy picks up speed. Albus grips the sink, his hands trying to find traction against the smooth, slippery surface.

Malfoy feels so good inside of him, pressing against all the perfect spots, keeping the most divine pace. Of course Malfoy would be a virtual sex god. Albus tries to feel bitter about this, but he finds he can’t seem to feel anything but building pleasure and overwhelming gratitude.

Albus bites his lip to try to hold back the moans that threaten to spill from his mouth. He can’t hold back, not anymore than he could resist Malfoy the moment he spotted him across the room earlier this evening. Malfoy adjusts his angle, and Albus cries out, unable to keep the sounds inside anymore.


“Draco,” Malfoy instructs, the controlled tone of his voice cracking at the edges. Their eyes lock in the mirror and Albus finally relents.



Hearing his name slip from Albus’s lips sends a renewed shock of pleasure through Draco. His thighs tremble and his fingers dig into Albus’s hips. Albus’s gaze doesn't falter, and his iris’ look nearly black as his pupils dilate completely.

Draco wants to hold on a bit more, prolonge this intoxicating pleasure, but he finds himself at the boy’s mercy. He’s laid bare by Albus, and he wonders when he started to lose control of this game. Albus’s wanton moans, increasing in volume supply the answer for him.

Draco’s orgasm overtakes him, hips stuttering as he spills himself. He reaches around and wraps his hand around Albus’s cock. The head is slick with beads of pre-come, the shaft hot and stiff as he strokes it vigorously. His own prick twitches as it remains in Albus’s arse, already becoming too sensitive, but he stays pressed firmly inside as he pumps Albus to completion.

Albus comes with a shout, their gaze finally breaking when he squeezes his eyes shut. His cock throbs steadily, spurting sticky seed over Draco’s hand and onto the tiled floor.


Albus slowly comes back to himself, his vision returning as the heavy fog clears around his head. Malfoy pulls out with a soft curse, already casting cleaning charms and tucking himself back into his trousers. Albus’s fingers shake as he attempts to re-do his own. Malfoy peers into the mirror beside Albus, silently fixing his pale, blond hair.

Albus can feel the first stirrings of regret in the pit of his stomach. Was it really worth it, throwing away two years of celibacy, two years of self-control for one fantastic fuck? His cock twitches at the recent memory, shouting at Albus that it was entirely worth it. His heart, however, flutters with the start of misgivings.

Malfoy’s eyes slide over to him as he straightens his tie and smooths his vest. Albus opens his mouth to say something, anything, but his words are cut off when Malfoy grabs him by the shirt and captures his lips into a rough, searing kiss.

“Next time,” Malfoy murmurs against Albus’s mouth. “Don’t wait so long to give in to your desires.”

Malfoy’s lips twist into a taunting smirk, but his voice his soft and his eyes full of promise. He turns around and sweeps out of the loo, leaving Albus alone. Albus lifts his gaze to the mirror, adjusting his clothing and staring intently at his reflection. He waits for the shame and remorse to wash over him, the regret of his actions to carry him into a sea of despair.

The feeling never comes.

Albus washes his hands thoroughly, not bothering to check his reflection again when he opens the door and walks away.