For capitu: Mistakes (Harry/Scorpius, ~7k. NC-17)

[birdsofshore]

Title: Mistakes
Author: birdsofshore
Pairing: Harry / Scorpius
Word count: ~7000
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Age disparity: 46 / 20. Dub-con. Unethical conduct while at work. Epilogue Compliant (!). Basically a 7k PWP.
Summary: Some days it's hard to keep your mind on the job.
A/N: For the very lovely capitu, in honour of your birthday. I took an enjoyable stroll through your likes list one night before going to sleep, and when I woke up in the morning Harry and Scorpius had been frolicking in my head all night. Look what you made me do, you bad girl!

Thank you very much indeed to lumosed_quill and raitala for looking at this and helping me make it better than it was. I have fiddled quite a bit since then, so the credit for any cock-ups must go to me.



~~

It's only my third week as Auror Potter's partner, and we keep making bloody mistakes.

Some are not so serious, I suppose. But some of them could have been. Today we get into an altercation with a couple of undesirables in Knockturn Alley, and Auror Potter steps in the way of a Slashing Curse which he should have blocked easily. He's been... a bit off, sort of distracted the whole day, to tell you the truth. They patch him up at the hospital, and then Auror Weasley barrels in and gives him a lecture about not pushing himself too hard. The stress of the divorce. Maybe time to take a holiday, and so on and so on. Auror Potter sits and glowers his way through it, his tunic still ripped and bloody from the attack. Finally, Auror Sedgewick calls us in and tells us both to go home and get some rest. Have a couple of drinks and relax for the evening.

Well, I'm not going to argue with that; the whole thing has made me jittery as fuck. But as I reach for my regulation Auror's outer robes and begin to button them up, I can't help smiling. The uniform is still a novelty for me, and every time I put it on, I think: I'm an Auror now. I'm actually an Auror. I like the way it fits, tight across my chest and flaring out at the hips, the thick wool flowing around me as I reach for my bag and sling it over my shoulder. More than that, I like the things it represents. Power. Skill. Respect.

I look up to say goodbye to Auror Potter and his eyes quickly flick away from me. He looks stern, almost angry, and I wonder for what must be the twentieth time whether it bothers him after all, me being a Malfoy. He swore it didn't, when we were assigned one another. Said he was glad to see I'd made different choices to my father. That he'd help me however he could. But the fact he had to mention it at all speaks volumes. Every now and then, I feel his eyes on me and when I turn to look, he's never smiling. Maybe he thinks it's my fault, what happened today. Did I cock up – should I have been watching out for him more? I was busy trying to avoid a vicious Expulso at the time, but...

I say goodnight, and after I close the door, I stand outside, pulling on my gloves before I head out into the cold, and I hear him let out a long, troubled sigh.

The flat I use during the week is not that far from the Ministry, and I nearly always walk home, a simple Charm disguising my robes as something more prosaic. Muggle London is exciting, with its jumble of noise and lights, but tonight I take the slightly quieter route along the Thames, needing the time to clear my head. I wish I could work out if it's me Auror Potter has a problem with. I'm pretty sure that was the case with Jessop, and that's why I got assigned a new partner so quickly. Father warned me this might happen. I know all about what went down when he was at school; it doesn't take a lot for him to start on about it. A couple of Firewhiskies and it's blasted Potter this, and bloody Potter that, and, well, the curses have got more imaginative since I got assigned to work with him.

I don't know. I try not to argue with Father, but, honestly? Auror Potter seems all right to me. More than all right. He's patient, and he doesn't act as if my ideas are bound to be stupid simply because I'm new, not like Jessop always did. He apologises if he makes a mistake. And when we're in the field, there's something so fearless about him, so untamed and free... it gives you the sense that he might do anything, anything at all. It makes you want to do insane things yourself. The way his wand just snaps into his hand, more like an extension of his arm, the perfect conduit for his frankly frightening magical power. To be blunt, it's bloody hot, seeing him face down a Dark wizard, his eyes all smouldering, and the air around him crackling with magic and menace.

I stop and lean against the railing, look out at the lights over the river. That absurd giant wheel thing the Muggles have built to take themselves up into the sky turns so slowly. It seems a very poor substitute for flying.

I take a deep breath and try to sort through the scattered thoughts going through my head. It certainly doesn't hurt that Auror Potter's one of those blokes who just looks better and better as they reach their mid-forties. That his hair is still black and thick, except for intriguing sprinklings of grey at the temples. That his arse is trim and tight under his robes, that his biceps strain against the sleeves of his tunic, and that the uniform trousers seem not to be cut quite roomy enough for the delicious bulge that I can't help noticing at his crotch.

I know it's highly inappropriate to be thinking this way, but the fact is, he's fit as fuck. You can just see he'd be the type of man who would know exactly what to do. Know how to take charge and have you panting for it. Thinking about him stripping off that uniform has somehow become my favourite wank fantasy. The fact he's my partner – a Senior Auror – just makes it hotter. And more confusing.

I think back to the first time I met him, when I was in training. He came to give a display in Defence, and, god, just watching him cast at the practice mannequins was enough to have me adjusting myself in my trousers. Afterwards, there was time for questions, and when I asked about the wand movement in one of the spells he'd demonstrated, I noticed a flare of interest in his eyes.

I know it was probably just because he recognised me, knew all about my family and was curious to see how the latest Malfoy had turned out. But it didn't feel like that. When he stood close to me, put his hands on mine to show me how my wand should just sketch a little arc in the air, I could feel the heat from his body. I got the movement straight away with him guiding me, and when I thanked him with my most dazzling smile, I thought I saw a red flush rising up from under his collar. I was used to getting plenty of attention from blokes, and women too of course, but it made me light-headed, almost giddy, to have someone like him notice me. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but my opinion at the time was that Auror Potter might be having a little trouble staying in the closet.

But that was nearly two years ago, and, Merlin knows, the couple of times I tried turning on the charm with him since we've been partners, I got only a frown for my trouble. I probably imagined it all anyway. I sigh and walk on, the collar of my robes turned up against the wind.

The next day, when Auror Potter and I happen to arrive at the Ministry at the same time, we travel down to Level Two in the lifts together. A little knot of people get on at Level One, and we move over to make room for them, but Auror Potter shrinks away from me, pressing himself against the back of the lift and holding himself very stiff, so as not to let himself brush against any part of me. I lift my chin high and try not to feel the uncomfortable lump swelling in my throat, but it makes me wonder how long before I get transferred to a different partner again.

This morning starts so straightforwardly. We get a tip off that the potions ring we've been after for some time is based at Ill-League Alley. We've seen plenty of their wares being sold in Knockturn and turned a blind eye, hoping these small suppliers might lead us to the source. The things on sale include a nasty variation on Veritaserum – the side effects of which included suicidal thoughts – a fertility potion which I sincerely doubt had been properly tested, and an elixir which gave two hours of euphoria and then left the drinker retching their guts out. Four of us take turns watching the premises. But after a frustrating day of surveillance where nothing whatsoever happens, Auror Potter seems wound as tight as a spring.

“For Merlin's sake. Let's just get in there.” His voice chafes with impatience.

“Auror Sedgewick said—”

“I know what Auror Sedgewick said. Does she want us to catch these bastards or not?” He twitches something out of his pocket, then, and in a quick, fluid motion, swirls it over his head.

I stifle the sound of surprise rising up in my throat. Now I know why Auror Potter has a reputation for appearing from nowhere.

“Get under here,” he says gruffly, apparently out of thin air.

It's humid under the cloak, the folds of material clinging to me as I practise moving along under it. Auror Potter shows no hesitation and is clearly well used to the sensation, but I feel disorientated and stumble as we go over the uneven cobblestones of the alley. Auror Potter's hand shoots out fast as lightning, grabbing me around my arm to stop me from falling on my face. His hand is warm, his fingers strong and rough. The rays of the sun travel through the cloak as dappled light which plays on his face, so very close to mine. I can smell the scent of his body, the rich sweetness of his sweat, the salt and musk of his skin. I put my hand over his to pull myself up straight again, and he flinches away from me, as if I was something scaly and repulsive.

“Thank you,” I say, feeling my throat tighten again. When he seems angry with me, it makes me feel like a child, not a grown man – not like an Auror, for god's sake.

He pulls his hand away and makes an expression of annoyance.

“I'm sorry,” I continue. “I'm not used to—”

“No. It's fine. It's not your fault.” His breathing hitches a little and I can see his Adam's apple bob the length of his throat. And then he finally meets my eyes and I see his pupils, wide and dark, and all of a sudden I know, know for sure, and a hot rush of desire shoots through me. Oh, my god. He's hidden it well, with his gruff decency, but now we're here, right up in one another's space, there's no mistaking the pull, the physical hunger from one body to another. The knowledge of it twists into me with a bone-deep thrill. I can't help but be intensely aware of the man beneath the uniform, the raw eroticism, primed and ready. He's wearing a fresh cologne, tangy with citrus, but it doesn't mask the scent of his arousal, deep and tantalising. It's not something I often feel – I'm quite fond of being in control, as a matter of fact – but something about him makes me want to lie down and mewl for him to take me, then and there.

I run my tongue across my dry lips and open my mouth to speak, but he cuts in.

“Hurry. We need to—”

“Wait—”

“No.” It's low and vehement. “We need to move. Now.”

I suppose I should try harder, but he is older, more experienced, my senior, and, fuck, it would take a lot to oppose him when he looks like that. So in we go. And then it all goes to shit.


~~


We Apparate back to the Ministry and land in a heap in our office, next to my desk. I can hear Auror Potter's breath coming harsh and fast as he pushes me off where I lie sprawled across him.

“Shit.” He's almost yelling. “Shit!”

The stuff is all over me. The potioneers were clearly not expecting us, but they reacted pretty fast as soon as we appeared. One of them cast a hasty Confringo at the outsize cauldron – more of a vat, really – that they were working on, and then in the aftermath, the four of them managed to Apparate away. The potion had gone everywhere – bloody buckets of it. My hair is dripping and it's soaking through the fabric of my trousers where the vat exploded on my right. It smells sweet, like vanilla, but something musky lurks underneath, a leathery smokiness. I don't know what the fuck it is. Black market potions – they're always coming up with something new, and Merlin, this could be absolutely anything.

He points to the door leading to the basic bathroom facilities which we share with Weasley and Lupin. “You know the drill. Get in there and get clean. Fast.”

But he has plenty on him as well – across his ear, the side of his neck. Hell, it's spattered generously across his cheek, and as I watch, he shivers and wipes his sleeve across the side of his mouth, smearing his face and tunic with the clear, ice-blue liquid. I don't recognise it at all. It looks like some has seeped into his tunic, and he starts to work at the column of buttons, pulling the fabric away from his skin. His fingers are wet with it and he wipes his hands on his trousers and swears again, his hand unsteady.

“What about you?” I ask.

Auror Potter's face is angry, but he sounds panicked. “I'm fine. Hurry!”

I'm starting to shake, but I make my feet move towards the bathroom.

I get undressed without really being aware of what my fingers are doing. The buckles on my boots slow me down, but I scrabble until I can kick them off. I wonder if this particular potion can be absorbed by the skin. Fuck, my heart is pounding. It could be poison. It could be— There are only a few splashes on my tunic, but my trousers cling to me, clammy against my skin and it takes my trembling fingers a few attempts before I can peel them away. My skin feels hot and strangely sensitive to the touch. Is it starting already? Is it—

Auror Potter lets out a groan from the other room, and I freeze at the harshness of the sound. Whatever the potion is, it's affecting him fast.

“Are you OK?”

“Yes. Christ. Just get in that shower.”

I flick the water on and shrug off my undershirt, dumping it on the floor. A sudden wave of light-headedness hits me, and I shoot an arm out towards the cold tiles to steady myself. What the fuck? It feels like most of the blood in my body is racing south. My hairs are standing up in goosebumps all over my skin, and a familiar tightening clenches in my belly.

I pull down my underwear and step out of it, moving towards the shower. A small high note of surprise escapes from my throat. My cock is thick and heavy. Almost hard. Oh, god. A great surge of longing seems to wash up from the soles of my feet, nearly knocking me backwards. I steady myself, step under the spray of the shower, then the warm water hits my skin and I set free a long moan. Oh, my god. It feels incredible. Waves of sensation dance over my nerve endings and my cock twitches up, up, filling out completely, now obscenely hard.

I stick my head under the water and gasp as the flow cascades down over me, flattening my hair and rinsing it clean. A million droplets of water run over me with what feels like indecent touches, and I hear another moan from my own lips echo off the tiles.

Whoa – another surge of wanting arcs through me, rocking me backwards on my heels. What is this? My cock is painfully hard and it's hard to think of anything else but the need for release. I pull my mind back to the situation and move under the flow, twisting and bending, making sure to remove every bit of the blue gunk. The water thunders down my back and over the crease of my arse and I give a grunt that sounds like pain. I have to hand it to the potioneers – they seem to know their stuff. All this from just having some of that stuff splashed on me. What if I'd swallowed it? I want nothing more than to lie down under the delicious, greedy caress of the water and let it run all over my body. To take my cock in hand and pump my fist back and forth until I come, spurting onto my own skin again and again and letting it mix with the water. God, how I want that, and for a moment I can feel myself folding at the knees, can imagine exactly how it would be to just let go, and give myself over to―

But Auror Potter is outside, still half-covered with potion, and god knows what vicious side effects this stuff could have, so instead, gritting my teeth in a grimace, I flick off the water and haul my extremely reluctant body out of the cubicle.

There are always fresh towels on the shelf and I grab the largest one and wrap it around myself. Steam rolls from my skin, the air around me heavy with vapour and the smell of sweet vanilla and dark spices.

A long, low sound comes from the other room. Shit.

“Auror Potter!” I drag the towel over my skin to dry myself. It feels like bloody heaven. My cock has not got the message that this is no time for fun and games and gives jump after appreciative jump as I pull the fabric roughly back and forth.

Silence.

“Are you all right? I'm done. The shower's free.”

Another groan, a strangled sound.

“Are you hurt?” The door stays resolutely shut. Fuck's sake. He had it on his face. His nose. Maybe in his mouth.

“Malfoy... wait... Don't...”

It's the croak of someone badly ill. My fingers fumble to wrap the towel tightly around my waist. Fear clenches in my throat as I snatch up my wand and yank the door open.

Oh, sweet fucking Merlin.

My wand drops from my hand and lands on the floor with a clatter as my brain struggles to catch up with what my eyes are seeing.

Auror Potter... he's sitting in his desk chair, stripped to the waist. Fuck. I'd often wondered, when he undid his top button, whether the hair I could see curling out of his tunic was black all the way down. No need to wonder any more. It's peppered with grey, fading to white in between his nipples, and the sight is now firmly committed to memory, along with the jut of his muscles and the small ripple of flesh at his stomach as he bends forward.

But – oh, holy hell – my eyes slide down, and up, and down again. A luxurious trail of body hair, mostly black, leads from his chest. Across his stomach. Down. Down. Down to where Auror Potter has undone his trousers and opened them just enough to get his cock out. His long, glorious cock, dark with arousal and eye-poppingly thick. It stands out, shameless, astonishing, his hand clasped around it, moving with firm, decisive strokes as he wanks his foreskin to and fro, again and again, his body curled over, panting in quick shallow breaths.

I drink in every inch of him. God, but he's magnificent. His eyes are closed tight, his face transported with what looks like agonised desire, and his hair's plastered to his forehead with what at first glance I assume is the potion, but it's just sweat. Every muscle stands out with exertion and a rumbling groan that sounds like it begins deep in his chest makes its way out from his parted lips.

He grips himself tighter, a vein in his arm standing out, eyes still shut as he bends over his cock, almost rapt in his own movements. “Malfoy... Just... a minute. Don't... come in.”

I take a step nearer. Pre-come glistens at the head of his cock, pearly and slick. I run my tongue over my dry lips. “I already did.”

His head snaps up and his hand freezes guiltily, like a schoolboy. His face was screwed up anyway, but now a look of horror creeps across it. “Jesus. God. I'm so― Jesus.”

He reaches for his trousers and tries to cover himself, but his cock is so distended, so fucking hefty that it's almost laughable to see him trying to tuck it back in his clothes.

He gives up and reaches for his tunic, drapes it across himself. “Malfoy. God. I'm so sorry.” He covers his face with his hands. “The potion. But I should never—” His voice lowers to a horrified whisper. “I thought I had time.”

I just stand there. I can feel drops of water running down from my wet hair. Behind my ears. Down my throat. Over my chest. I stand there until Auror Potter looks up again. I say nothing, as he follows one of the droplets with his eyes, the slow descent from my chest, down to my stomach. A shudder runs through him, then he shakes his head. “Please– Malfoy– you should go to St Mungo's. Get yourself checked over.”

I take another step nearer. I can't take my eyes from the tented material in his lap. It looks so wrong. He's still got his boots on, all proper and polished, his tight uniform trousers, and then there's this monster erection rearing up between his legs. I can't get over how incredibly hot he was, fucking his own fist.

“For god's sake, leave!” His voice is cracking with strain. He must be dying to finish what he started. I can feel heat racing across my skin, a compelling ache in my balls. I can still see a smear of the potion on his face. He should shower, get clean.

“I'm not leaving.” The towel is hanging low on my hips. His eyes keep flicking to where my erection is pushing against the material. If I were to twist my torso, just so... My pulse is thudding in my ears and something reckless burns through me. “We both know what it is we want.”

His eyes dart to mine, suddenly wary. “You don't– I―”

“You like boys, don't you?” I cut in. “I've seen you looking.”

He looks like someone has slapped him.

“Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. But, you see, I know all about it.” I love the sensation of wrong-footing him.

His face is burning. “Malfoy. You need a Healer.” He swallows. “I know– I know how you're feeling. What that filthy potion is designed to do.” His voice shakes a little. “But a Healer could help. Maybe give you an antidote.”

“But it's not just the potion. I don't want an antidote.” My eyes roam across his body. I've imagined this so many times and now he's here right in front of me, as hard and virile as I could ever hope for. The tunic has slipped a little and I can see his erection hasn't flagged at all. “I want you.”

His eyes close for a moment and I can see the outline of his cock giving a desperate twitch under its covering. He parts his lips but no sound comes out at first. “Uh. I. I can't. Take advantage of you.” His pupils are so wide, so black. “I won't.”

It's no trouble at all to make my voice husky and persuasive. “If it's not you, it'll be someone else. I need it. God.” A little whine that wasn't part of my plan leaks from my lips. “I need it. I need you.”

He screws his eyes tight shut and I can see his hands clenching into fists in his lap. “Please, Malfoy. Just—”

“Don't you think I could get ten men if I wanted to?” I just want his hands on me, now. “Strangers. Who knows what they'd do to me?” I watch as his face twists, his eyes still closed. “Why not you? You'd look after me. Wouldn't you?”

I let the towel slip. It makes a soft flomp as it slithers to the floor. I'm fairly sure he hears it. Fairly sure he knows what it means. His head slumps down like he's preparing for a blow.

“Don't you want me?” My voice is a whisper. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you don't want me. That's all you have to do, and I'll leave.”

He takes a deep breath in, a hitching, uneven thing, then opens his eyes. He does at least try to look at my face, but his gaze is dragged down against its will. I know I look good naked. Very good indeed. Showing myself to him like this makes me feel so powerful, so wicked. His eyes sink inevitably to my erect prick. “Oh,” he says, a small, hopeless noise. “Ohh.”

I take the final step towards him. My knees are almost bumping against his.

I don't think he realises that his fingers are spread as if to reach for me. That his mouth is open and soft and amazed. That the tunic has fallen from his lap as he leans forward and that his cock, so thick and beautiful, is curving up towards me, perfect and utterly irresistible.

I'm not ashamed to admit that in the end I simply climb astride as he sits there, apparently stupefied, and straddle him, murmuring the necessary charms as I go. His face is a picture that I won't forget in a hurry. I feel myself become slick, relaxed... but not too much. I want to feel it, to relish the moment when the girthy head of Auror Potter's cock pops past the resistance of my muscles and nudges deep inside me.

“Do it,” I urge him. “Don't you want to be inside me?” But he just sits there, looking both appalled and more turned on than I could have thought possible. A small part of me is aware that this is lunacy, but I've wanted this for too long to stop now that I'm here in his lap. It's too tempting, the chance to see him weaken and crumble, his legs shaking under mine and his eyes flaming with need. For me. For me. I can't wait any more; I brush my own objections away like irritating flies.

I can't believe the sounds he makes when I reach around and touch him – like someone drowning. He feels enormous in my hand and his mouth falls open and sags slackly as I guide the head in. The angle is awkward, but I'm pretty supple, and– Oh, hell. Fucking– fuck. That's– uhhh. For a moment I almost think it's too much, and then my own legs tremble and threaten to give way, so I let gravity do the rest of the work, sliding snugly down the full length of him, until every single stunning inch is inside me.

I'm instantly overwhelmed by the sensation of fullness. By the stretch. The burn and the ache and the sheer fucking divine madness of having Auror Potter deep inside me. I grip the back of the chair so as not to topple off right onto the floor, let my head fall back, and concentrate on my breathing, huffing out in short bursts until my body begins to stop fighting against the intrusion.

When I feel able, I straighten up a little and take a look at him. God, the bliss written all over his face. The gratitude. He looks like he's having some sort of spiritual experience. Fuck, I think this might be his first time. First time with a bloke, anyway. I feel a throb of triumph run right through me.

The lenses of his glasses are getting steamed and misty. I slide them off his nose and toss them in the direction of the table. I don't think he's even aware of me doing it.

His lips are moving as a low stream of sounds emerge. “Oh god, oh god, oh, oh, oh, god, oh god, oh, oh, oh god.”

I move just a little, a mere experimental wriggle, and his eyes nearly roll back into his head. I want to laugh at the heady power of my position. To have him pinned under me, looking like he can't believe his luck, as if he might pass out with the wonder of it all. When I imagined being with him... it was never like this. Such an intimate way to fuck. So bloody kinky, too, right here in our office, with his uniform still half-on and his boots that look as if he sat and polished them carefully this morning before coming to work—

I move again, need to – have to – and the noise I make is far louder than I expect. I wonder if he warded the doors before he started wanking. I wonder if I even care.

He's making all of these sounds at the back of his throat, but he's still just sitting there stiffly with his hands gripping the side of the chair so tightly that his knuckles are blanching. God knows, he feels sensational. I could ride his prick all day and all night, but I know that there's such potency in this body of his. I want to know – I have to know – what happens when he lets go of that control and allows himself to feel. To want. To take.

“Touch me,” I whisper, and, though he holds himself still, I feel his cock jerk in delight. I roll my hips and feel a shiver of bliss pass between us. “Please.”

He looks so guilty, like a little boy caught red-handed, but his hands come up to my waist and stay there. He takes a shaky breath. “Where– where do you want me to– to—”

I lean in towards his ear. His hair smells of smoke and the metallic tang of magic. “Everywhere.”

“Oh, god.” He shudders, but his hands are moving across my skin as if they want to memorise it. He strokes my sides, slow and lingering, then rubs his thumbs across my hipbones and lets his palms splay over my thighs.

“God, you're beautiful, oh, god, you're so—” He chokes and brings his hands around behind me, to cup the cheeks of my arse.

I moan in encouragement and arch my back, pushing myself against his tentative fingers. I want more. I want everything. I rise up, letting him slide out of me a few inches, then sink back down so he's buried to the hilt.

Fuck, that's– that's pretty intense. He gives a throaty cry and his hands tighten around my arse. I do it again, and the sweet tender drag of him as I pull off, followed by the incredible friction as I fill myself with his cock again – oh, hell. I don't know if it's the potion still at work, but it's stellar. He digs his fingers into the meaty swell of my backside and I groan with satisfaction, but the aching need in my balls craves more than this. My cock leaks onto my belly as I lean back and grind against him, and then his hands are gripping my cheeks to pull them apart, his fingers searching, probing, until I know he's found the place where we're joined, where his cock is stretching my arse to its limits.

“Ohhh,” he says, again, but this time it sounds like a growl, not hopeless at all.

His fingers are insistent and greedy. They spread me wide and hold me there, exposed and wanting. “Fuck me,” I tell him. “Just, uhh, fuck me.”

His face. God help me, his face. He looks lost and hungry and amazed and wanting and so, so ashamed.

“You know how to fuck. I know you do.” I'm almost starting to babble. I need this so badly. So desperately. “I know it. Merlin, Harry, please just fuck me.”

Something dark crosses his face, and then I get about a second's warning as his arms tense, the muscles straining as he braces me and takes my weight. He hefts me up and shuffles towards his desk, setting me down near the edge. Then he thrusts into me so hard that for a moment I can't breathe.

It's just as I always knew it could be. His face is serious as he drives into me relentlessly, rolling his hips and pulling me onto his cock again and again with ruthless strokes. I realise I've been fooling myself that I had him where I wanted him, but I've never been put in my place so suddenly and thoroughly. And, Salazar, it's close to perfection. I give it up completely, let him use my body as he wishes and, oh, boy, does he know how to use it. Auror Potter is a bloody animal. I wonder dreamily if he's always like this.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I hear myself moaning, and then he's mouthing at my neck, sucking at the tender spots and dragging his teeth over bone and muscle I find myself writhing in his arms as he takes me with savage determination, his face glowing with a fierce energy. I shudder with pleasure, my cock slapping against my stomach as he fucks me long and hard and fast and punishingly deep, and then I'm careening crazily towards orgasm without either of us having touched my cock. He knows it, for he makes a low growl of satisfaction and thrusts into me with more care and deliberation, his every movement sending wild shivers through me, each one corkscrewing deeper inside me.

I've had this only once or twice before, with wizards who are damn powerful, or just a little more instinctual with their magic, but somehow it's no surprise when I sense his magic gathering itself, preparing to surge through me when he comes. The feel of it – coiled and dangerous, ready to flood out – tips me over the edge. Hot spikes of spiralling joy shoot through me, and I jerk like a fish on a line as my come splashes copiously over his chest. He grunts with pleasure and sinks his teeth into the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, then he pulls me onto his body with all of his might and groans long and loud as he empties himself inside me.

His magic is not as I expected at all – instead of lashing me with its force, it's like a warm waterfall lapping over me, and as it ebbs and flows I feel almost dizzy with contentment. The pulsing of his cock seems to go on and on. He holds me tight and pushes into me, even after he's finished coming, more gently now, but again and again as if he can't ever get enough of it. “Scorpius...” he sighs, letting my name breathe out softly. “Ahhhh.” His face is so blissed out, his body loose and lazy.

“I knew it'd be so good with you,” I say. I lean against him, arms wrapped around his neck, then stretch, my muscles feeling pleasantly abused. “I ought to thank those bastards and their dodgy brewing for a pretty outstanding fuck.”

His face creases instantly, the smoothness all gone. “Jesus. The potion.”

“Yes, the potion.” I laugh. “I wonder if you can buy that stuff on the black market yet, or if they're still developing it, because it really is—”

He's moving away, his cock slipping out of me with a disappointing flop. “Shit. Get up. We need to get you to St Mungo's straight away.”

I look down at myself, smirking. “I seem to be fine.”

He straightens up, pulling at his trousers and getting them fastened. “It's no joke, Scorpius. Bloody hell. What was I thinking?” His face is like thunder, but it holds no threat for me any more. It's all too clear now that it's himself he's furious with.

I loll against his desk, watching as he picks up his tunic and frowns at it. “You were thinking, Scorpius Malfoy is an incredible shag.”

His hand makes a fist and pounds suddenly against the desk, making me jump. “I took you into that place – could have got us both killed. And then to let every one of them escape – ugh. All because I was distracted.” He shakes his head. “And then– then– this.” His face is crumpling. “Christ. I disgust myself.”

I don't even know where to begin..

“I― how could I― oh, my god. I'm so sorry. Scorpius. I mean, Malfoy. I'm so sorry.”

He didn't feel sorry. Not in the least.

He's looking around for his glasses. He looks vulnerable, all of a sudden, and then he finds them and slips them on. “This will never happen again, I can assure you. This must never happen again.” He looks at me, lounging against the desk with my bare bum perched on the edge, and winces. He waves at the bathroom. “Please― get yourself a fresh uniform from the cupboard, and let's go. I'll send a Patronus to let St Mungo's know we're coming.”

I think of how he looked, his face hell-bent on pleasure. The way I could surrender to him, allow myself to be owned. I imagine myself flat on my back with my legs draped over his shoulders and him pounding away above me. I've no intention of letting this slip away. I refuse to be one of his bloody mistakes.

I push off from the desk and turn to the bathroom for the second time that afternoon. I feel his eyes on me as I walk, trying to keep my movements languid and graceful. God, I'm tender, but it's a good, satisfying pain, and nothing a couple of spells won't sort, if I want, once I'm home. When I get to the doorway, I stop and turn. “I wanted you to fuck me. I've wanted it for a long while, Harry.”

I see his Adam's apple bob. He looks slightly sick.

“Now I know what it's like... now I've felt you, inside me... I want it a hundred times more than I did before.”

He clenches a fist and opens his mouth to speak, but I don't give him a chance.

“People say a lot of things must never happen, don't they? The thing is: I'm not interested in never. I don't believe in never. And I don't think you do, either. I think you believe in yes, and why not, and what the hell?”

I watch his face. It's still serious, but I can see his eyes smouldering away behind his glasses.

“I'm going to get dressed now, but I'm not going to St Mungo's. There's nothing in the least wrong with me – in fact I feel better than I have for a long time. A lot bloody better. Don't you?”

“Auror Malfoy.” His voice is rough and deep. He sounds exactly what he is, well-fucked. “Are you disobeying an order from your senior?”

Desire for him curls in my stomach, hot and thrilling. Everything about him is such a delicious challenge. “Yes, I am. You can of course discipline me if you feel like explaining this whole situation to Auror Sedgewick.”

He swallows again, then raises his chin. “It would be the right thing to do. To report what just happened.”

“It would be the procedurally correct thing to do.” I tilt my head to one side. “But since when have you been bothered about that? I don't think it would be the right thing at all. Neither of us are harmed by what we've done. Quite the contrary.”

I can hear his breathing, slightly hoarse. His face is, for once, unreadable.

“I'm going home now – our shift's over. If you didn't know, 'home' is 17 Welkin Square. The wards will be set to admit you until midnight tonight. I'll be bathing, and then I think I might relax in front of the fire with a bottle of rather fine Dwarven brandy. I'm also planning to fry up a large pan of bacon and eggs.”

It's almost too perfect, but right on cue, his stomach bloody rumbles.

I smirk again. “I know you skipped lunch. And I cook just as well as I do everything else.”

I'm leaning against the door frame, but as I straighten up, I grimace just a little bit, and I make sure I let him see. His face reddens, but he doesn't look away. I wonder if he's always so forceful as he was today. Merlin, I hope so.

I turn away again, affording him another delicious view of the arse he's just enjoyed so thoroughly. Then I speak over my shoulder. “So, perhaps I'll see you later. Or not, of course.”

As I walk into the bathroom and let the door swing shut, I'd love to turn and see his expression, but imagining it is very nearly as good.

Comments

[fantasyfiend09.livejournal.com]

This was so hot and you wrote such an enticing and confident Scorpius. I get a bit squicky around age disparity if it feels dubcon against the younger partner, but this was just delicious. It's poor Harry who doesn't have a say in the matter, now or in the future. He's Scorpius' now. No discussion.

The way you describe Harry through Scorpius' eyes was so erotic. *shivers*

Ill-League Alley. You killed me with that. I was laughing out loud and had to back read a bit just to get back into the story again.

[birdsofshore]

I'm so sorry I'm late replying to this one! Thank you for your lovely comment and I completely agree that Harry has no chance here. Poor sod ;)

I was pushing it with Ill-League Alley! I'm sorry it threw you out, a bit naughty of me really.

Thank you so much for giving this a try and I'm happy you enjoyed it.