Skinny and tall like his father, intolerably smart like his mother. The sheer gingerness of his hair enough to make my eyes bleed.
I feel my jaw tighten as I see him, the nightmarish lovechild of freckles and know-it-all and pedantry and two fucking thirds of the Golden Trio. Another unwelcome reminder of the ridiculous Weasley fertility and the highly contagious red hair. His presence is enough to drive me up the wall, making me dig my fingernails so deep into my palms I am afraid I’ll break the skin. It is like my school days all over again, Potters and Weasels all over the place, poncing around like they own the bloody castle. And Hugo may appear shy, but he gets on my nerves most of all. From day one, when he first walked into my Arithmancy class, his soft, modest voice barely audible, his eyes blue and large with barely concealed nervousness behind his round glasses when I asked him a question. His voice a pitch too high as he addressed me with ‘Professor Malfoy’, and confirmed my dark suspicions he had the brains of his mother.
As the years passed, he grew even taller and skinnier, letting his hair grow slightly long. Long enough to look like one of the Beatles, a Muggle band I’ve come to appreciate over the years, although that stays between you and me.
And as if the red hair wasn’t bad enough, he also inherited a toned down version of his mother’s bushy mane. His hair slightly curls up at the nape of his neck, folding itself right along the curve of his ear. My hands itch as I see it. I want to grab it and pull his head back, see those blue eyes widen in fear as I snarl at him for not turning in his homework, for wandering around the corridors at night, for not paying attention in my lessons.
But I never do. Never get the chance, as he of course always does his homework, is sound asleep during the night, and his eyes are like saucers during my lessons, his cheeks blushing red as he hangs on my every word. It distracts me and annoys me to no end, perfect little Hugo, hesitantly raising his hand in class, his soft voice giving the right answer. Always. Not even giving me the pleasure of subtracting so many points from Gryffindor. Points for forgetting his books or giving the wrong answer. But most of all, punishment for reminding me of his parents and his godfather, and for his own appearance throwing me off guard, with his behaviour and his eyes so blue and honest it hurts when I look at them for too long.
So you can imagine my luck when he fell into my lap – figuratively speaking. Stumbling into me when I walked around the corner, spilling a cup of hot chocolate over me, all over my robes and the parchment rolls containing the third year's homework. His eyes widen in fear, and he mumbles something apologetic as he reaches out his hands to help me wring out my robes, before thinking the better of it and blushing a glorious red.
And despite the anger over my dripping robes and ruined parchment, I feel victorious. I finally have an opportunity to punish him, to subtract points, or give him detention even. Eight o’clock at my office, Hugo, and his blue eyes contrast so beautifully with his reddened cheeks as I see him process this, alarm written all over his face.
Overdone, you say? Punishing him like that? Yes, I know the poor boy couldn’t help it. But you know, I may have a conscience, but I am not fair. And why should I be? He has been under my skin for far too long.
And so, at eight, he is standing in the doorway of my office, huddling a bit, as if trying to hide his lanky frame. His tie neatly knotted, grey school jumper soft and fluffy. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt. His hands are shaking slightly and he does not dare to look me into the eyes. Poor thing. I wonder what makes him so nervous; the boy has probably never had detention before. Well, Hugo, welcome to the real world.
I am sitting in my leather chair. Charcoal robes envelope me almost like a veil, flowing down and over the tiles of the dungeon floor. My hand rests on my cane. Father's cane. Hugo stands in the doorway, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, and I let my fingers glide over the smooth silver of the head. I encircle the snake on top, like Father always used to do when he ordered me to come to him, all those years ago, just the two of us. My breath hitches at the memory of that, and I grip the cane slightly tighter as I feel my heartbeat speeding up. The scales of the snake are cool under my hands, smoothed and sleek after centuries of Malfoy fingers gliding over them, searching for leverage.
'Hugo. Come in.'
'Yes, sir,' he stammers, and I can barely contain my glee. Oh, it is so delightful having him here under my mercy, his speech faltering, body strung with tension. My, what does he think I plan on doing with him?
I stand up and walk near, until we're nose to nose. He is almost as tall as I am, although he tries to hide it by standing hunched, his eyes focused on the ground.
'Look at me.' My voice is cold, and he hastily looks up, backing away a bit, as I'm clearly too close for comfort. Good.
Impossibly blue eyes hook into mine, and for a second my self-assurance wavers as something sparks between us. I reflexively step back, but recover myself quickly. Straightening, I look down my nose at him and raise a brow, hiding my earlier discomfort. Unable to resist my glare he stares at his feet again, fiddling with the hem of his shirt once more.
'Stop pawing your uniform, or I’ll keep you here the whole night.'
He blushes a furious red and stops immediately, his rumpled shirt hanging out from under his jumper. Oh, and who knew he would be so delectable to command? But there is work to do, so in my coldest voice I command him to follow me, and walk to the desk in the corner. A large pile of brownish parchment is lying atop of it.
His eyes widen, and he nods.
'I hope you agree that I can't possibly mark this sticky mess. Seeing as it was your fault the third year's homework was ruined, I want you to write it over on clean parchment.'
I give him a quill and as I knock on the ground with my cane, he hastily sits down on the wooden chair. I walk back to my desk, the sharp tapping of the cane on stone tiles accompanying my every step. I can't see his face, but I am sure he's blushing again, and probably fiddling with the quill.
'Oh, and Hugo? A rumpled quill means another evening of detention.'
With satisfaction I see him tense slightly, then he picks up the first ruined parchment and goes to work. I seat myself in my chair again, pretending to read but I am enjoying this too much to really concentrate on the article. How delightful to have this loathsome Weasley here, in my office, tense and tight like a piano string. Barely saying a word, too frightened to show off his knowledge for once.
For a while, the only audible sound in the room is his scribbling on the parchment. I give up reading and sit in my chair, ensuring his writing doesn’t falter. I enjoy the strained lines making out his scrawny waist and lanky shoulders, capped by a uncivilized mop of ginger hair. Even him sitting here annoys me to no end, knowing he’s probably making a mess out of the work. I itch to stride towards him, grab those bony shoulders and tell him I am highly unsatisfied. With his scribbly handwriting. How a Flobberworm writes faster than he does. And is that my quill, mangled like he tried to eat it for breakfast?
I carefully rise up from my chair, robes rustling, boots clicking on the floor as I walk to his desk. I see him tense even more, but he doesn’t look up when I set myself directly behind him. Placing my hands lightly at his shoulders, I feel the bones protrude under my fingers, skin warm under his soft jumper.
‘Yes, sir?’ he breathes. I feel my heart rate picking up speed at hearing his barely audible, slightly high-pitched voice.
I bend over, my mouth next to his ear. I can almost taste him. Taste the soft pink skin of his ear, the beginning of an Adam's apple halfway down his throat, the fluttering pulsations right under his jawline.
‘Please explain this,’ I say, in my coldest, softest voice. I point at the parchment, where a large ink stain is now forming where he dropped the quill.
But he doesn’t look at the parchment, instead he looks down at his lap, and as I follow his gaze, I see him shuffling on his chair. Desperately trying to hide – but it is too late, and I feel filled with glee. My, who would've thought detention would affect him this much?
‘Well, well,’ I purr, ‘Do you like it here, Hugo? Do you like being punished, like it when it’s just the two of us? Knowing you're under my control?’
He holds his breath, sitting frozen in his chair when I come even closer, mouthing the shell of his ear with my lips. Tasting the soft skin of his earlobe, tracing the rim with my tongue. He tastes luscious, boyishly fresh and slightly salty. It makes me want to taste even more of him, his full mouth, his throat, his lanky body. His fists are clenched white around the chair’s seat, and I can clearly see the outline of his cock, a bulge in his woollen school trousers. It makes my mouth water. So many opportunities to use this, to punish him.
He obeys, eyes to the floor, arms hanging limp down his body. I touch the knot of his tie, trace his jawline. Reach around his head to catch his hair, pulling his head slightly backwards.
He looks me in the eyes, lips slightly parted. His mouth is a thin line in his white face, making the freckles stand out even more. He looks afraid, but his pupils are blown wide, the black a sharp contrast with the thin ring of blue surrounding it. He nervously licks his lips, leaving a moist shimmer on his bottom lip. He looks so scared, so soft, so kissable, and I can think of nothing but to taste that mouth, to bite on that bottom lip, to show him he's under my mercy tonight. I softly tug on his tie and close the gap, my mouth touching his lips. He stands frozen on the spot, hands clenched into fists at his sides, eyes wide and scared. I breathe out slowly, then kiss him again, my hand on the back of his head hauling him in. My other hand still tightly grips the knot of his tie, knuckles white, almost like I'm afraid he would run away. Ha. As if he would dare, and like I care if he does. More detention for him, then, and he can sit here with a raging hard-on for all I care.
Then he sighs softly, and kisses me back. His lips are soft and salty, his body pliant against mine, and as I kiss him back more fervently, he opens his mouth and allows my tongue to glide inside.
Fuck. The boy tastes... well, I've had better than this trembling Weasel of course, but it is not bad. Not bad at all. My tongue roams the inside of his mouth, searching out his tongue, tasting him and the warmth of his mouth. He is soft and smooth and like wax in my hands, his body brushing mine, mouth opening up for me. His hands have come up and I feel the lightest touch of his fingers on my waist, like he wants to but doesn't dare yet. I'm wondering if I'm the first to discover, if anyone else has had the pleasure to haul this sweet, scared boy in and show him how it's done.
My hands let go of his tie and roam over his body, under his grey jumper. He feels smooth and bony and I like it more than I care to confess. I mustn't forget he's only here to be punished. That his arousal is nothing more than an excellent opportunity to humiliate him. To make him confess he gets an erection from his professor, a Weasley getting a hard-on when being punished by a Malfoy... he'll never overcome the shame. That'll teach him.
As I let my hands glide over his arse, he rolls his hips and pushes forward. I feel his cock gliding over my groin, and I can barely suppress a groan when he finds mine. And when did that harden? He rolls his hips again and I dig my nails into his arse cheeks, hard enough to leave bruises. Interrupting the kiss, I hastily pull his jumper and shirt over his head, until he's only wearing his tie and trousers. His hair looks mussed, his lips are red and swollen from the kissing, his eyes bright behind his glasses. His hands find their way under my robes, and I quickly unbutton them, letting them fall to the ground. Underneath I'm wearing a button-down, and his nimble fingers make quick work of the buttons, until we're both half undressed and taking each other in, a feverish shine in his eyes giving away his arousal. And the realisation that he is clearly aroused suddenly hits me, running straight to my cock. This is not just an awkward teenage erection; he actually wants this. Fuck. As I stare at him, I see goosebumps spread over his pale, freckled skin, making his nipples harden and stand out.
'Why, Hugo, are you cold?' I say, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice. My cock has fully hardened under his gaze, my heart pounding with arousal and anticipation on what will come next. Of what I can do to him. Of what I will do to him, as long as he's so very pliant in my hands, obedient under my command, hard under my gaze.
I lay my hands on his shoulders and gently push. He goes down slowly, until he's seated on his knees, looking upwards, his lips almost touching my cock. And such a pretty picture, his full mouth so close to my cock, round eyes looking scared and eager in equal measure, asking me wordlessly what's next. I open my trousers, which takes longer than it should, my fingers tense and white as I undo the buttons. My cock springs out hard and flushed, and not a little pleased I see Hugo blush, breaking eye contact to stare at my cock instead.
'Well, boy, what are you waiting for?' I say in a low voice, and at that he comes closer, taking my cock into his mouth. Oh fuck. His mouth is divine, warm and soft, as he sucks me and swirls his tongue around the head of my cock. Who would've thought this shy boy would give head like this? My hands grip his hair, pulling hard at it as I try to keep my breathing even, try to keep my control. His head bobs and he hollows his cheeks as he sucks me in deep, over and over, guided by my hands firmly gripping his hair and forcing him to take me in. For a second he falters as he opens his own trousers and takes out his cock, starting to tug it. And such a lovely picture he makes. Sucking me in all earnest, lips around my swollen cock, glistening with spit, his glasses sliding off as his nose almost touches the curly hair at the base, trying to take me all in. He wanks himself furiously, the head of his cock peeking out from between his fist, already slick with precome. I feel my balls drawing up already, but that's not what I want; I don't want this to be over too soon. I want to teach him another lesson yet.
Because he is still that wildly annoying boy, so pretentious, and it has been driving me wild for years. I want to shut him up good, and as delicious as this blowjob is, I even more want to fuck him, hard and unapologetic. I want to press his face into the carpet and fuck his pristine, pretty arse so thoroughly he cannot answer even one question, any question at all. Until he cannot even remember his own name, gasping only mine.
So I gather all my willpower and pull his head back, my cock gliding out of his mouth. He looks up, expectant and wide-eyed like a puppy, fingers hesitantly circling the head of his cock.
He immediately drops his hand, looking a bit startled. How sweet.
'Undress.' I find some of my control again, my voice sounding sharp and clipped. He blushes, then clumsily rises up from his knees, hooks his fingers behind his waistband and pulls his trousers and pants down in one swift move.
His cock, surrounded by a sparse amount of gingery hair, is smooth, flushed pink. No freckles there, thank Merlin.
I see him shiver, the rumpled tie the only thing he’s wearing now. I wave my hand, making the flames in the hearth flare to life again, blazing over the crackling wood and painting long shadows on the walls. His skin glows gold in the light of the fire.
He starts to loosen the knot of his tie, but I still his movements with my hand on his. Grasping his tie, I pull him against me and kiss him again, making him open up for me and searching out his tongue. I feel soft, chilly hands tracing the muscles on my back, following the curves of my shoulder blades. I reach down to grasp his cock, and hear him gasp in my mouth as I encircle the head with my thumb, cock already slick with precome. My other fingers dip into the cleft of his arse, carefully searching out his hole, and I push the tip of my finger against it. He shivers and presses his body firmly against mine, rocking his hips back and forth between my hands. His eyes are closed behind his glasses, and a blush has spread to his chest.
I take a step back and hold my index and middle finger in front of him. He blushes, then takes them into his mouth and sucks, circling his tongue around them, making them wet until they glisten with his spit. The squelching sounds he makes are obscene, and I feel my heart beating in my throat. I have the overwhelming urge to turn him around and push him down roughly on his knees, but instead I pull my fingers out of his mouth and let them glide along his arse crack again.
His breath hitches as I find his hole and push softly against his entrance. As I tug on his cock he gasps, and I simultaneously push my middle finger in, breaching him. He feels tight, so tight and warm and his muscles are firmly gripping my finger, keeping it inside. And Merlin, how good this feels already. How will it feel when I push my cock in, when I lose myself in his warmth and tightness and take what I want from him? His body is tense, but his eyes are closed and he slowly moves between my hand tugging on his cock and the finger in his arse, slick with his own spit. Dirty boy.
I carefully move my finger, searching out that spot, and almost immediately he throws his head back, mouth open, his lips forming a perfect, silent O. I feel my own cock throbbing, hard and neglected, covered in his cooling spit. Spurred on by the feeling of his tight, tight arsehole around my fingers and the arousal sparking through my body, I push in another finger. He takes it immediately, surprisingly easy, but then his hips are thrusting back and forth and the feeling of him fucking himself on my fingers is all I can think of. I move my fingers and he moans, so willing and docile under my touches. Carefully scissoring him open, I feel the precome slicking the head of his cock and fuck, the idea of him being aroused like this, and so ready for me…
I decide I’ve waited long enough and pull my fingers away. He slowly opens his eyes and looks at me, his gaze dark and unfocused.
‘Turn around. On your knees.’ I can barely keep the shiver out of my voice as he obediently and almost eagerly turns, his arse soft and smooth and the pale skin contrasting beautifully with the black sheep skin on the floor. I push him forward and he goes down so easily, arse in the air and everything on display for me. It almost makes me think he knows what he’s up to, but I quickly dismiss that thought. After all, this is not something taught in the classroom, not written down in the library books.
I murmur a spell and feel the slick coldness of lube filling my palm. Though I would love to go in like this, his own spit being the only thing to ease the way, I’m not that harsh. Not even on detention night.
I deliberately swipe my sticky fingers down his arse crack and he shivers, rolling his hips. His eyes are closed and his teeth almost bite through his bottom lip as I press the head of my cock against his hole and slowly push inside, his fingers grasping the rug. He feels tight and hot and so fucking good, like he was made for this. The head of my cock is buried inside him and I start making small thrusts. He gasps beautifully, his arse clenching around my cock.
‘Hush, boy. You’re doing well, so well, taking me in like this.’ My voice is low and slightly breathless, and he moans at the sound and reaches around for his own cock.
As he starts tugging his cock slowly, I carefully deepen my thrusts. Feeling his muscles around my cock relax as I go in slow but deep, deeper, until I am completely inside him and I feel the cool skin of his arse against my balls. He feels even better than I thought he would, an overwhelming heat around my cock, his erratic breathing the only sound in the room. I pull back carefully and then thrust in again, less cautious this time, but he pushes his arse back against me and his moans are not quite muffled by the rug.
‘Eager, Hugo? Who would have thought you would take me like this? So hungry for me, for my cock.’ At the sound of my voice, dripping with honey and almost purring, he moans and starts pulling on his cock in earnest. He looks so delectable, face blushing, arse in the air, eager and aroused and wanting for me to fuck him. And somewhere in the back of my mind I feel something like tenderness trickling through, the desire to make it so good for him. To make sure he won’t forget. And where did that come from? I am not experiencing emotions, Malfoys don’t do those. But then he looks at me intently and almost impatient, and I push my thoughts aside, because this is only punishment. Nothing more.
As I set up a steady rhythm, I feel his muscles slowly relax around my cock, widening under my thrusts. He feels divine, hot and tight and his bony hips a perfect anchor point, my nails digging deep into his skin. His eyes are closed and he moans softly, as his cock drips with precome, the pearly liquid making a mess of my rug. But I don't care, because he feels so fucking good, so willing and hot and made for my cock. The way he just takes it, his messy hair glowing in the light of the fire, a blush spreading rapidly over his face and throat. I pick up the pace and he starts to moan with every thrust and my, does he know how hot that is? How divine the sounds are he’s making, so wanton and needy? And the words start to spill from my lips, praising him, telling him how hot and tight he is, how well he is taking my cock, how he is made to be fucked.
'You're doing so well, Hugo, taking me in all the way. Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me, fucking you like this, fucking you into the floor.'
He gasps, his breath erratic, knuckles white, his long pale body stretching out for me and rocking in my every thrust now.
'I... fuck,' he moans, gripping the rug even more.
I slow down, gliding lazily in and out of him. I can so easily lose myself in this boy, lose myself in his tight heat and the throaty, yearning sounds he makes, in the longing I can so clearly read in his eyes. I want to hear him breathe in raggedly, voice hoarse as he tells me how badly he wants this.
'Fuck,' he breathes, 'yes, I want to. I want... oh, please.'
‘Yes,’ I groan, shivering as I hear him begging like that. Laying down and opening for me like this, his face distorted in an expression both tense and blissful, his lips red and swollen. It is almost too good, having this exquisite boy here under my hands. I want to praise him, tell him what a divine fuck he is, want to hear him say he is mine tonight. Hear him pleading to be fucked.
'You’re doing so good. You were made for me, made for me fucking you. Made for my cock. And you know it.' My voice has gone husky and he shivers under my hands, nods and moans at my words, tries to spur me on by moving backwards and riding my cock. I pick up the pace again, grabbing his hips and hauling him backwards, changing the angle. I slam into him again and I know I've found the right spot when he cries out, his arse clenching around me. But it is still not enough.
'Say you're mine tonight. Say you want me, want me to fuck you so hard you'll feel me for days afterwards. To feel my come filling your beautiful arse, dripping down your legs, reminding you how you were spread wide for me. Moaning like this. How eager you were, wanting nothing but my cock.'
My voice sounds low and breathless as I fuck him thoroughly now, slamming into him deep. I want to take him completely, want to hold this beautiful boy here, want to fuck him the whole night and well into the morning. Want to hear his moans as he takes my cock so beautifully. Want him to forget there is anything else besides me, besides the rug and the fire and my cock in his arse, my hands on his hips. Want him to forget his books and his studies and everything else. As there is only me now, only me making him feel so good.
'Yes,' he gasps, 'I... fuck, don't stop, please.'
Merlin, and he begs so prettily. I can't stop watching his lush mouth stuttering, panting, begging me to go on. I am not gonna last this way, but I can't for the love of Salazar slow down. My every nerve is on edge, singing, the world centered around his divine arse and me plunging into him. His hips are snapping backwards now, meeting my every thrust, and he is pumping his cock in earnest. I feel him tightening around my cock and I speed up even more, my thrusts becoming erratic.
Then he cries out, arse clenching impossibly tight around my cock, the rocking of his hips faltering as he shoots long white spurts onto my rug. He looks almost painfully beautiful, mouth slack and back tense as he babbles incoherently about fuck and go on and please don't ever stop. And right through my own panting and the blood rushing in my ears I hear him gasping my name, carried on his moans.
Malfoy. The two syllables a sigh, a plea, stuttered as I drive into him relentlessly. Making his body jerk forward with every thrust, his hands scrambling at the rug for leverage. I feel my balls draw up, body tense as a bow string and thrusts erratic, and I know I’m close, so close. And I don’t want this to be over, I want to hammer him into the carpet and fuck him in half. But then he turns his head and looks right at me with those impossibly blue eyes, large with reverence and hazy with desire, and it is too much. I feel my orgasm unrolling and crashing through my body like a whip crack, arching my back and making me jerk forward one more time, slamming into him deep. My fingers dig into his hips and mark him with bruises, branding him mine, and I throw my head back as his name, strangled and hoarse, fights its way out of my throat.
Panting and limp, I fall forwards, resting my hands on his sweaty back. He is lying on the rug, eyes closed, a small smile on his lips. I feel my consciousness returning, the blissful haze slowly dissipating and making room for the realisation that this is still detention night. That he is being punished here for spilling hot chocolate over me and my parchment scrolls. And fuck, this boy almost made me forget about this and lose control, with his willingness and his divine arse. Almost, mind you.
I quickly pull out and hear my knees creak as I rise, even though the rest of my brain screams to stay, to pull him into my arms, to rock him and stroke his hair and maybe let the languid moments of the afterglow slide seamlessly into another round.
I quickly cast a cleaning charm on my cock and fasten my trousers with all the dignity I can muster. The spell burns, but I barely feel it as my mind is preoccupied with the boy. He should get out of my dungeons now, because I am not quite sure what just happened. This was detention... right? Making him clear, in an albeit somewhat unconventional way, that I was fed up with his behaviour. Nothing more.
'Detention's over. Now dress,' I say, trying to sound as icy and Malfoy as possible. He looks over his shoulder, then gets up slowly and collects his clothes. I turn around to fumble with the buttons of my shirt, and when I am done, he is standing at the door, looking fully dressed if not a little bit rumpled. And relaxed, the earlier tense lines of his shoulders and face gone completely. Hm.
'Goodnight, professor,' he says, and a sly smile curves his lips before he turns around and disappears through the heavy door.
I sink into my Chesterfield, wondering what the hell just happened. Somehow, I've got the feeling the lesson I wanted to teach him didn't really come through.
After a while I get up, walking to the cabinet to pour myself a Bowmore. Eyeing the stack of scrolls, I see he's barely worked his way through one fourth. With content I swirl the copper liquid around, making it draw church windows on the inside of the glass. I hope he doesn’t think he’ll get away with lousy work like that. He will definitely need a few more nights to finish the work, and it’ll be my pleasure to give him detention the entire bloody week. For trying to bring me off-kilter like this. Not that he's succeeded, of course, but I guess there's no harm in making clear one more time who’s calling the shots here. I smile and take a swig, the whisky pleasantly burning it’s way down my throat. I cannot wait until tomorrow.
Art by shiftylinguini