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Buy Me a Pony

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***

“Albus. What is wrong?”

Albus stared out the window forlornly, and then sagged back in his chair. It was his favourite one, made from the softest kid leather and had a deep emerald green pillow, embroidered with snakes and fawns. He sighed disconsolately. Nothing could cheer him up today.

“Albus,” the master repeated again, sternly. He never raised his voice, not when angry, not when happy. Only at certain times could Albus make him shout, make that deep voice bellow. But not even the memory of that could lift his spirits today. He brought his knees up a little higher on the chair, and wrapped his arms around them.

“I have been summoned. By a butterfly. To attend to your… Needs. Pray tell me, why is this?” The master said coldly. The click of his shoes on the cold stone floor echoed around them as he walked closer to Albus, his gait as slow and languid as a lazy cat.

Albus dropped his feet to the cold floor again, in a soft flurry of silken skirts. The floor was cold, and it sent a shiver of goosebumps up his calves. His feet were bare. They were always bare, now he lived in the tower. The master preferred it, and Albus had always hated wearing shoes anyway; they made his feet hurt, and left them swollen and blistered. He wiggled his toes. No unsightly callouses or cracked heels for him now. This was much better, he thought happily. But he was forgetting himself. He sighed again.

Albus.

“Sorry, sir,” Albus said quietly, in the contritest voice he could muster. “It’s nothing, sir.”

“Nothing,” the master said curtly. “Then am I to understand that I have been summoned for nothing? That you are...Wasting my time?” He rested his hands on the back of the chair, the leather creaking under his tense fingers as he leaned forward. “You know I despise having my time wasted,” he said in a low and measured tone. Albus felt his breath ghost over the top of his head, the tip of his ear, and suppressed another shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. He swallowed, and sat as still as he could.

“Albus.” The master moved one hand and brushed the hair back from Albus’s neck, and he obediently straightened up to give him better access. Lord Malfoy’s fingers were soft, but his tone suggested that Albus was already skating on thin ice. He tried not to feel so pleased about that fact. His master had a fabulous temper, and nothing made Albus giddier than seeing that flush of colour on the other man’s cheeks, that hardened glint in his eyes--all because of Albus. He imagined it was there now, as that calm voice spoke quietly in his ear.

“I ask one final time. What is the meaning of all this….sighing?”

Albus blinked, and looked down at his knees, at his hands clasped in his lap. “You...You won’t be angry with me, sir?”

Draco’s hands tightened in his hair, momentarily, and Albus stifled a gasp, before the master collected himself and loosened his grip.

“That remains to be seen,” he said, slightly more kindly, before smoothing a hand down the dark tresses, down onto Albus’s shoulders. Albus breathed in deeply. Now or never, he decided.

“I--I’m lonely, sir,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. Draco stilled his hands, then moved them to Albus’s neck.

“You are lonely,” he stated plainly, fingers moving in a steady rhythm up and down Albus’s throat. “How can you possibly be lonely?”

“I--I’ve no one to talk to,” Albus said, squirming. It wouldn't do to appear too eager. Sometimes the master liked to pretend he disliked that, but really Albus knew he just liked to prolong the game as much as Albus did himself.

“You have plenty to talk to, Albus. I gave you those animals,” he said, voice turning hard. “Do you not like your gift, Albus?” He said, tangling his fingers back into Albus’s hair briefly, fanning it out before smoothing it back again and returning his hands to Albus’s neck. The master loved his hair, and Albus’s washed it every day for him, drying it in the sun from the window. “I brought you those animals from a witch from the farthest woods, Albus, to make you happy. And you do not like them?”

Albus swallowed. “No sir, I love that gift, sir. I love all your gifts.” He looked away, and tilted his head, as far as he could with master’s hand firm against his adam’s apple. “Well, except…”

“Except?” Draco tilted Albus’s head back up, fingers gentle but insistent on his chin.

“I--I don’t like the squirrel.”

“Why--” Draco sighed, letting go of Albus’s chin and moving his hand down to his shoulders. His palms were warm through the silk of Albus’s sleeves. “Why don’t you like the squirrel, Albus?” He said, his tone long-suffering.

Albus sniffed. “It’s claws are scratchy. And…” He trailed off and bit his lip. “And it says I’m not a real princess. It says boys can’t be princesses.” Albus looked away, felt Draco's hands tighten on his shoulders. He stilled, then sighed gratefully as he felt those hands slip lower down the front of his dress. Cream silk, was what he had chosen today, with little pearl buttons down the front, and the finest woven laces tying it together. Albus didn’t particularly like this one -- he liked the stiffer fabrics, with bright colours or pastels -- but the master liked silk, and the way it tore so nicely. Albus did like to please; it was always in his best interests.

“The squirrel says that, does it,” the master said, his tone icy. His fingers brushed gently over Albus’s collarbone, then lower to the smooth planes of his chest. Albus cooed softly at the touch, his heart beating a steady patter. He turned to look up at Draco.

“Well. That won’t do,” the master said. “That really won’t do at all,” he declared slightly more loudly to the room. Albus heard the faintest scurry of paws at the master’s hard tone and stern voice, and resisted the urge to smirk. He could be a princess if he wanted, if the master wanted. What the hell did a squirrel know about that, anyway? He schooled his face into something more appropriate. It wouldn't do to look too pleased; the master would see it and think he was up to something.

Draco straightened, moving his hands to grip Albus’s arms. “Up,” he said, pulling Albus to his feet, releasing his arms so he could stand. “Come here. Let me look at you,” he said, and Albus moved around the armchair to stand in front of him. He left his hands delicately clasped in front of his lap to conceal the growing hardness there. Silk was all well and good, and these skirts were billowing enough, but they still hid nothing. The master smirked as his eyes travelled lower, and Albus felt himself start to blush.

“So you want another gift,” the master stated, rather than asked. He stepped closer to Albus, crowding him somehow in this giant room. He toyed with the woven laces of Albus’s dress, pulling at one, dragging it slowly out as he undid it. “And what is it you want now?”

One, two, three--Draco pulled the laces out. Albus chewed on his lip, fighting the urge to twitch as he felt Draco’s fingertips brush over his skin, over the peaked nub of a nipple. This silk hid nothing.

“Jewels, perhaps?” The master asked politely, and Albus gasped, a tiny frown appearing between his brows as Draco ran his knuckle back over the sensitive flesh.

“I’ve plenty of jewels, sir,” Albus mumbled, and it was true. He had rings of silver and gold, rubies and emeralds and opals. He even had a white gold crown, sitting in a chest atop a bed of satin. No, he didn't want any more of those.

The master raised a brow, and ran his fingers down the unlaced front of Albus’s dress.

“I see. Perhaps you’d like a new dress then?” He said quietly, before pulling as hard as he could, ripping the soft material. Albus jumped in surprise--that was somewhat faster than usual--and Draco smiled at him with pleasure, showing his teeth. Albus could see from the sizeable bulge in the front of Draco’s breeches that he wasn’t the only one interested in the way things were proceeding. Draco did so very much enjoy ruining pretty things. Perfect, Albus thought.

He looked down at his exposed belly, at the little thatch of hair trailing down from his navel, and then looked up again.

“Yes, I might need a new dress,” he conceded, then bit his lip. He looked up at Draco through his lashes. “I’ll still be lonely though,” he said in his sweetest tone, and Draco narrowed his eyes. Albus took the opportunity to step closer, and then closer again, until they were almost touching. He felt the heat from the other man’s body on his bare skin, and watched Draco’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“Lonely,” Draco repeated, and Albus nodded, biting his lip and leaning in closer still. He was almost close enough to touch his lips to the master’s--but he mustn't do that. Much better to wait.

“Well, we can’t have that…” Draco breathed, and Albus shook his head in agreement, staring at the other man’s lips. No, they couldn't have that at all.

Draco breathed in deeply, then out again, hands resting on the torn front of Albus’s dress, before he gripped it tightly and pulled Albus up against him.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he whispered, then crushed his mouth to Albus’s own. Albus stood on tiptoes, felt the silk of his dress rip further, as Draco deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue inside. Albus gasped, and let his hands hang limply at his side. He didn’t swoon--he’d never quite mastered that--but he did let his head tilt back, his eyes slide shut, and his lips part on a sigh as Draco kissed his way down his throat. The master moaned, sucking at the tender flesh of his neck, before bending his knees to scoop Albus up, skirts gathered around him. Albus sighed, winding his arms around Lord Malfoy’s neck.

Albus’s bed was an opulent four poster, carved from the wood of the oldest tree, in the oldest forest in the land. It had a deep green coverlet, with silken sheets underneath, woven from the thread of a thousand rare and terrifying Byzantine Behemoth silk worms. Albus slept here every night, with the windows open, a soft breeze blowing the gauzy curtains as he lay amongst his soft pillows and decadent, embroidered cushions. It was here, then, that he landed in a gust of silken skirts as Draco threw him onto the bed. He bounced slightly as he landed. He wriggled up the bed, knocking a few pillows to the floor as he did so, and watching avidly as Draco removed his deep blue jacket before crawling over him.

He knelt, one leg on either side of Albus, as he undid the buttons of his breeches. Albus licked his lips, and then looked away. The master liked it when he was coy, sometimes. Tonight, however, it seemed he had another idea in mind.

“Watch,” he ordered as he moved Albus’s face back up to look at him. Albus blinked his eyes up, and Draco smiled hungrily down at him.

“Good boy,” he whispered, as he pulled himself free, and ran a hand up the length of his cock. He curled his hand into a fist, before kneeling further up the bed, and pressing the tip of his cock against Albus’s lips. He ran the head languidly around Albus’s mouth, smearing precome against his lips. Albus sighed, and eagerly opened his mouth to let him inside, but Draco pulled back with a soft tutting noise. Albus pouted. He loved the feel of the master’s cock against his tongue, filling his mouth. He liked the challenge of relaxing his throat, feeling that weight push inside him, and out, and then inside again. He wanted it. He pouted harder.

Draco smiled indulgently at him, and ran a thumb over Albus’s bottom lip, where his cock had rested just moments before. “Such a greedy thing you are,” he said fondly. He made a pleased humming sound when Albus sucked his thumb into his mouth, looking up at him with wide, imploring eyes. Perhaps the master would change his mind, if Albus was very, very good. Or perhaps he had even better things planned for them.

Master Malfoy watched him with hooded eyes, his chest beginning to move noticeably as his breathing sped up. He groaned as Albus sucked on his thumb, ran his tongue over the rough pad, before pulling off with a wet sound. Albus groaned himself, moving his hips against the bed. He was hard, achingly hard, under those soft layers of material. It felt maddeningly good against him, but he wanted more.

“Look at you,” Draco said, voice deep, as he moved backwards down the bed. “You are just…” he paused, then ripped off the last of the top of Albus’s dress, “begging for it.”

Albus keened, half in arousal, and half at the loss of his dress. It wasn’t his favourite, but it was pretty, and there was no way he could fix a tear like that. He hoped the master had meant it when he said he would buy him a new one. Or perhaps he could ask that nice bird to mend it for him...or the deer.

He promptly forgot all about torn frocks and woodland creatures, as he felt the master’s broad palms run down his thighs, and then lift his legs and spread them. Oooh, yes, that was a much better idea, he agreed, letting his legs fall apart and around Master Malfoy. Draco made a quiet, surprised sound as he lifted the skirts up and onto Albus’s belly. He raised his eyebrows.

“What’s this...” He said. “Nothing underneath?” He ran his hand over the swell of Albus’s bollocks, then lower over the curve of Albus’s arse cheeks. He spread them slightly, and Albus gasped, then shut his mouth, sucking on his lower lip.

“I like--ohh--I like the feeling of the, uhh, the silk,” he stammered, as Draco ran the fingers of one hand up the length of Albus’s cock, the other toying with the rim of his hole. Albus heard him whisper a soft spell, felt the sudden lubed slickness both inside him and on those probing fingers, and he sighed against the pillows. He loved the feeling of the master’s magic swirling around him, so powerful, so intoxicating. His cock twitched, leaving a damp spot on the ruffled silk.

Yes, he loved that, but he loved this even more, he thought as the master pushed his fingers inside him, first his middle finger, then his index next to it. In and out, he moved them, a slow and steady rhythm, and Albus pushed back, arching his back, planting his feet on the bed for better purchase. He wanted to feel it. Draco watched him for a moment, eyes dark and mouth parted, before he growled and roughly pulled his fingers free. Albus whined at the loss.

“Quiet,” Draco barked, as he placed his dry hand over Albus’s mouth. Albus licked at his palm, letting Draco move one leg up and onto his shoulders, before getting the message and lifting his other leg as well. He moaned happily at the slight burn in the backs of his thighs, but it was easily forgotten; all those years of ballet had not been for nothing, after all.

He smiled against the fingers over his mouth, then bit at them and moaned as he felt the master push inside him. Draco pulled his hand away and Albus gasped in air, and then let it out again in as the master began to fuck him without preamble. It was tight, but oh so wet, and it felt wonderful. Albus did like to feel it, after all.

“Oh, you--uhh--love this, don’t you?” Draco grunted, hands gripping the sheets by Albus’s head.

“Yes,” Albus groaned.

“Yes, what?”

Ohh!” Albus frowned as he tried to think. It was ever so hard with the master pounding into him, hitting his prostate on every other thrust.

“Yes, what?” Draco snarled, and bit at Albus’s earlobe, before pulling back and gripping the backs of Albus’s thighs. He stopped moving, his fingers hard on Albus’s legs. Albus wriggled, trying to focus, but it was so hard, when the master was inside him, when the master was...

“Oh!” he suddenly remembered. “Yes, sir!” He choked out, pushing against Draco’s hands for all he was worth. If he could just get him to move.

“Better.” Draco moved out, and then slammed back in again, and Albus made a desperate sound. “That’s much better, isn’t it?” He ground out, and Albus nodded frantically as Draco began to fuck him in earnest.

Albus lay there, amongst his frills and pillows, silk skirts billowing around them, as the room filled with the sound of the bed creaking against the stone floor, the wet slap of sweaty skin on skin. Draco grunted, fingers leaving marks on the backs of Albus’s knees, and he moved in a relentless pace. Albus stared at the ceiling before shutting his eyes and giving over to it. Perhaps he did swoon, after all, he thought faintly as the master moved one hand to his aching cock. All it took was one, two, three hard pumps of his hand and Albus spilled against the soft fabric of his ruined dress with a breathy moan.

He melted into the soft covers of his bed, sated and happy, as Draco thrust into him again, before he came with a loud shout. The sound reverberated around the tower room--they could probably hear it all the way down in the stables--and Albus sighed happily, before wincing slightly as Draco pulled out of him. Not much of a one for relaxing in the afterglow, Albus mused, stretching his legs out on the bed. Draco sat next to him, breathing hard as he tucked himself back into his breeches, then smoothed his fine, pale hair back into place.

“I’ll--I’ll send for you when dinner is served. You will not be late,” he said softly, patting Albus on the knee before he stood.

“Mmm,” Albus stretched languidly, popping the joints in his hips and shoulders. His dress was ruined, and his thighs ached. How utterly wonderful. “What are we having, sir?”

Draco pulled his jacket on, over his loosely laced-up white shirt. “Squirrel stew, I rather think,” he said with a small smirk, his breathing almost under control again. Albus beamed.

“Oh, how wonderful,” he said, as he heard the frantic patter of more paws. He knew the master was joking; one did not eat squirrel. Too tough, for one thing, but above all it was far too common for them. They would have pheasant, and venison, and…ostrich, Albus guessed. He didn’t cook. But either way, that was the last time that pest of a squirrel was going to bother him, he thought with delight.

Draco sniffed, straightening the cuffs of his jacket, before he ran a hand over his face and cleared his throat.

“I will be in my quarters until then. Don’t disturb me again.” He looked to the side. “And don’t bother me again with this...Lonely nonsense either,” he said quietly, and Albus tried not to smile. He knew he’d won. Instead, he nodded solemnly, his eyes wide, and Draco nodded back curtly, before turning on his heel and stalking out.

Albus waited until the heavy, oak doors had closed behind the master before he grinned and kicked his legs out, smiling at the ceiling. Oh, he had absolutely won, he thought gleefully, as a bluebird settled on his finger. Although...He scrunched his nose up at the wet feeling between his arse cheeks. He was going to need another bath.

***

The next day, Albus woke to a note on his pillow, informing him to head to the stables after performing his morning ablutions. He brushed his hair, raced through his buttermilk bath and his stretches, before throwing on his softest, blue-est gown and trotting obediently down the narrow stairs. He wasn’t allowed out of the tower very often, or so the master claimed, and he suspected he knew what was waiting for him.

Once down at the stables, he pushed the wooden door open slowly, wrinkling his nose at the smell. He unwrinkled it again in delight when he saw the pure, white stallion waiting for him. He clapped his hands together with glee, beaming as the horse turned slowly to look at him over his shoulder.

“Hello,” it said, chewing softly on some hay. “I hear I’m to be your new friend.”

Albus grinned back at it and nodded.

“My name is Abelard,” the stallion said mildly, and Albus made a face. No, that wasn't right at all. He was clearly called Snowflake or Buttercup. The horse sighed, as though it knew what Albus was thinking, then nodded towards another note pinned to a wooden pillar. Albus plucked it down and read it.

Princess,
Hopefully this will shut you up.
Your Master.

Albus crumpled the note gleefully in his fist, biting softly at one of his knuckles so as not to scream in joy. He quickly squashed that down, and looked around him to make sure no one had seen. It would not do to look too happy; If the master knew that this was what Albus had wanted all along, he’d have to try even harder to get what he wanted next time. He dropped the note onto the floor. What did he want next? Perhaps a new carriage, pulled by hippogriffs, with jewelled collars, and reins of golden silk. Or, maybe he’d ask for a new fur coat, made from the pelt of a werewolf killed in the light of the full moon. The master would have to wear his riding clothes, and travel to the forest for that one. Albus sighed happily, and stroked the horse’s beautiful mane.

Either way, they were going to need a new stable boy for Buttercup.

***