The Sweetest Secrets
Title: The Sweetest Secrets.
For: This is a much-belated birthday fic for potion_lady Sorry its so late *kisses feet*
Pairing: Harry/Al (mentioned Al/Scorpius, vaguely implied Harry/Al/Scorpius)
Rating: N-17
Warning: Incest, desk!sex, food!sex, drunk!sex, mindfuckery, fleching, rimming, masturbation, (mild rough!sex and very mild bloodplay)
Also, I borrowed kilted!Scorpius from fbowdens Potterverse, but I promise to return him once I'm done with him and his pretty skirt *leer*
Oh yeah, and Al is underage (15) *beams* got it all.
Disclaimer: I don't think JK would WANT to slap a copyright on this...
~*~
“This is all your fault.” Albus Severus Potter announced with what he felt to be an appropriate level of bitter indignation.
The culprit said nothing to deny his culpability.
“Oh sure!” Al mocked, steadying himself on the edge of his father’s work desk. “Just sit there, don’t say anything, why don’t you?”
The whiskey bottle remained stubbornly silent.
Al groaned as he sank into the squishy red armchair positioned behind the desk. Maintaining his accusatory glare at the half-empty bottle of firewhiskey, Al laid his forehead against the blessedly smooth mahogany and attempted to stop the world from spinning.
He was very, very drunk, Al now realised, as his brain struggled to process the conflicting changes in gravity and perspective. Who knew whiskey was so alcoholic?
And that sculling half a bottle was a fundamentally bad idea?
And that being drunk, once the initial wonder wore off, rendered one frustratingly incapable of even the most basic of functions?
Sitting upright, for instance, Al thought grimly as his face started to meld into the shape of the desk at which he lay.
“S’your fault.” Al slurred again, prodding the bottle as gently as he could, yet still managing to send it flying off the desk at alarming speed and onto the floor, where it shattered into a hundred wet, sharp little pieces.
Al swore half-heartedly, and then giggled as the whiskey in his system somehow bought to Al’s attention the comedic value of having just consumed a priceless bottle of his father’s fire-whiskey.
Harry would be furious. Livid. Probably angrier than Al had ever seen him.
Al giggled again.
Would Harry actually be angry though? Probably not, Al grudgingly decided, feeling a little guilty. Harry almost never got angry with his children - Ginny had always been better at that.
Al stopped giggling and scowled as his mothers screeching face floated to mind. Not that he had seen much of it since the divorce, nor had Al seen much of his brother and sister.
Al suddenly wished he hadn’t ruined the rest of that firewhiskey.
Attempting to distract himself from his growing resentment towards his mother, Al lazily reached down and scrabbled at one of the desk drawers in an attempt to slide it open.
Smirking knowingly to himself, Al fished through the old quills and bits of parchment for the magazines he knew were kept neatly stacked underneath.
Al raised his head high enough to spread open one of the magazines, leering appreciatively at five or so fit young men in mock-quidditch uniforms, much like the ones that Al himself wore at school, albeit devoid of large nipple-holes and phallic-shaped groinal padding.
Al sighed in relief as uniforms were shed and cocks were revealed to his hungry, adolescent gaze. The content of the magazines was not news to Al. It was, after all, the reason for his parents’ separation, or at least his fathers taste for what was in the magazines rather than the magazines themselves.
Al’s scowl deepened as his mind flitted back to the day his mother had addressed her husband over breakfast - I believe it’s time you told your children that you’re a screaming fairy, dear.
Lily’s eyes had gone very wide, and she had frozen, mid bite.
James had looked back and forth between his parents, his expression alternating between shock, disbelief, disgust and anger.
Albus found himself doing nothing but watching his father as he pushed himself back from the table and slowly exited the house without so much as a door slam.
James and Lily left the table not a moment afterwards, James spitting out phrases like ‘bloody queer’ and ‘no way’ while Lily’s breathing became ragged and then softened into tiny sobs.
Only Al remained at the table, studying Ginny coldly as she finished her breakfast.
“You’re not getting me.” Al told her bluntly.
Ginny had stopped eating then, and for the first time that morning, a shadow of hurt crossed her features.
She turned imploringly to her youngest son, but he returned his icy stare to his plate without so much as a glance in her direction.
Al had not spoken to his mother since.
Ginny had walked away from the divorce with half of Harry’s wealth and two of his children. But, true to his word, Al had remained in Harry’s care and had refused all contact with his mother and siblings.
He now sent her letters back unopened, blocked the fireplace when she called, and spent his required custody visits locked in his room.
It was impossible to decide who was more difficult to ignore at Hogwarts. Al had never been quite so thankful that his siblings had ended up in different houses to him, and so managed to avoid them for the most part.
Still, Lily would seek Al out at meals and beg endlessly for Al to agree to live under Ginny’s custody, for she loved her mother and hated to see her distressed.
“And it’s Dad’s fault, really.” Lily had explained softly over breakfast. “I know you don't believe me, but it's been proven that homosexuality is a choice. Loads of people have gone from being qu- gay to straight, so there's no excuse for what Dad did. It was his choice, and it was a selfish one. Nobody owes him anything.”
At this point, Scorpius Malfoy had slammed his goblet down and offered to escort Lily to the hospital wing.
“I feel fine.” Lily had replied blankly.
Scorpius had smiled sweetly and insisted she would feel much differently in the next five seconds.
Lily had squeaked and fled.
James had gone for a more direct approach.
“Mum’s completely fucked.” He announced in a crowded corridor, drawing stares as Al and Scorpius stopped in their tracks.
“Good for her.” Al replied smoothly. “It’s nice to hear she’s moving on with somebody else. Be sure and wish her luck for me.”
James blushed crimson and seized Al by the front of his robes. “He’s a dirty, fucking bastard.” James hissed, flecking Al’s face with bits of spit. “And I don’t want anyone in my family associating with a fucking queer.”
"How lucky for you, because it's been a fair while since I've considered you family." Al replied evenly, despite the fact that his older brother was much bigger than he was.
"People know I'm your brother." James' face contorted unpleasantly as he said it. "And everyone knows Harry Potter's a fairy. People will say things." James leaned in even closer. "They'll say them about you. You want people thinking you're a poof?" James glanced at Scorpius, and Al saw the not that they don't already that James left unsaid.
At this point, Scorpius withdrew his wand and offered to escort James to the hospital wing.
James told Scorpius to stick it up his kilt.
"Why don't you?" Scorpius purred, to much whistles and cat-calls.
James' eyes lit up with rage, before taking one look at the prefect badge on Scorpius' chest and settling for a sneer.
"Good boy." Scorpius smirked as James stalked off.
“Wanker. Pity really.” Scorpius commented mildly, unashamedly watching James’ arse as he left. “Good legs by the looks of him. Reckon the kilt trend’ll catch on before the seventh years leave?” he asked hopefully.
“Probably not.” Al replied, trying not to gag at the thought of his brother in a kilt.
“Pity.” Scorpius repeated, smoothing his pleats. “Still, fit or not, I reckon he’s being a right prick about the whole thing. I mean, how’s him and the rest of them going to react when they find out you’re…” Scorpius dangled his hand in a gesture that suited him almost too well.
Al smirked, but didn't answer.
Al had come out to Harry only a few days after the divorce was finalised. Harry had nodded once and then asked that Al keep it quiet until the revelation of Harry's own sexuality had died down a bit.
The sad truth was that Harry felt hideously guilty about the whole thing, and, as he explained to Al, he suspected that if Ginny discovered her son and husband were flaming homosexuals, it might have devastating consequences on her already fragile mental state.
Knowing this, it had taken unbelievable self-restraint for Al not to revisit an offer - made rather coincidentally by the photographer of the very same magazine Al was currently engrossed in- addressed to him and Scorpius Malfoy when they had last ventured together to a seedy part of Wizarding London.
Scorpius had turned down the offer on the grounds that ‘my father would kill me if he saw me in a fag rag’, but Al had been intrigued, if only for the purpose of providing his mother with a daily subscription (and hopefully, a heart attack).
Now, drunk and masturbating in his fathers office, Al smiled at the idea as he toyed with his growing erection, eyes fixed on the moving bodies splashed across the glossy double page.
One viewing this scene might evaluate that the increasing lump beneath Al’s pyjama pants was down to the energetic youths in all their sporting glory.
They would be wrong, for as Al palmed his fully-erect prick firmly beneath the flimsy fabric, Quidditch-clad boys were far from the object of his fantasy.
Instead, Al imagined the man who normally read these magazines, imagined what he might be doing if it were him up late and in this big, squishy armchair and not Al.
Al, squirmed against the oddly flexible leather, imagining Harry pressed against it as he wanked under his desk. He imagined Harry panting over cock after cock as he jerked his wrist over his throbbing erection. Al’s pupils dilated and his breath caught as his eye snagged on a something on the corner of the page that looked suspiciously like Harry’s come.
Whether it was the alcohol in his system or his growing arousal that spurred him into his next decision, Al wasn’t sure, but he lowered his pyjama pants and tugged out his swollen prick nevertheless.
Al moaned in sheer relief as his warm hand came into contact with heated, sensitive flesh. The head of his prick was moist, clear fluid welled up in the slit, and Al swiped a thumb through it, spreading his precome over his cock and making his movements easier.
The very action had Al thinking about Harry doing the same thing to himself and Al bucked, nearly coming at that thought alone.
Al closed his eyes against the men in the magazines and focused on the man in his minds eye, daring to imagine Harry in his situation - Harry, up late with his hand in his pyjamas, stroking himself to thoughts of men, thoughts of cocks, thoughts of Al.
Pushing the magazine away, Al dragged his fist up his reddened length in tight, rough strokes, more intent on milking his fantasy than on the carnal pleasures that resulted from it.
Summoning the last of his motor function, Al pulled himself up and draped his body over Harry’s desk, rubbing his swelling cock against the smooth, unsplintered varnish, hissing at the initial cool contact, but then moaning as the wood warmed under his heat.
The rough brush of wood wasn’t as fulfilling as the touch of his hand, but the idea of being sprawled of his fathers desk like this, the idea of coming on his fathers desk, was far more arousing than any self-gratification Al could provide.
“Oh yes,” Al whispered to himself as he ground into the unrelenting desk, imagining it’s usual occupant standing just behind it, trailing teasing fingers up, between his thighs, reaching forwards to press and prod against hypersensitive balls. “Just like that, Daddy, touch me just like that…”
“Al?” Al stopped moving against the wood, his heart beating somewhere in the region of his throat.
Harry stood in the doorframe of his office, mouth open, blinking blankly at the scene before him, from his half-naked son, to his upended stack of pornography, to his best bottle of firewhiskey, shattered on the floor.
Harry coughed gruffly in an effort to disguise the hot flush creeping up his neck and over his chest.
Al struggled to pull himself up, then collapsed again on the untidy desk, groaning out a few choice curses.
“You’re drunk.” Harry stated bluntly, eyes narrowing in parental disapproval.
Al made a sad little noise, but no efforts to disagree. He shifted in his position on Harry’s desk, crying out softly as his sensitive cock head trailed through the pool of sweat and precome that had formed on the smooth surface.
Harry watched his inebriated son sadly, sighing as he pondered how to deal with this.
Ginny, no doubt, would shriek and storm and ground Al til Kingdom Come. But then, Harry reminded himself grimly, Ginny wasn’t here to deal with this. Harry raised his eyebrows as Al raised himself once more, providing Harry with a glimpse of Al’s arousal, And thank heavens for that.
Sighing, Harry ran a hand through his dishevelled hair and considered the situation.
It would be no use rebuking Al for the moment, Harry realized- the boy was clearly too intoxicated to properly understand a good telling-off.
No, Harry decided as he tiptoed over the broken glass and came level with Al’s exposed behind. His main objective now was working Al through tonight and the hangover he would undoubtably have tomorrow morning. Punishment could wait.
“Lets get you to bed.” Harry murmured gently against Al’s neck, tugging him upright and blushing as he caught sight of the boy’s stubbornly erect prick.
Harry reached down to gently tug Al’s pajama pants back into place over his cock, ignoring the pleased little noise Al made as Harry’s hand accidentally brushed against the stiff length, radiating heat through the thin layer of fabric.
Harry could have pulled away then, but he fussed with the waistband, touching and pressing at the front of Al’s groin under the illusion of straightening his pants. Al’s cock jerked under the gentle teasing and wept a damp stain into the striped bottoms.
Harry swallowed and drew his hand away reluctantly.
“Come on, then.” Harry pulled Al’s arm over his shoulder and walked forwards, dragging his son with him...
…right over the broken liquor bottle.
“Ow-ww!” Al moaned as he clutched the side of Harry’s desk, half-hopping, half-staggering on one foot as the other bled from the chunk of glass lodged inside.
Al fell against the desk, managing to drag himself into a sitting position atop it as he held his foot in the air, making pained little noises as the shard poked at a variety of sensitive little nerves within.
Harry swore and fell to his knees to inspect the cut. Oh yes, Harry, you really have the single-father thing down pat, don’t you?
Harry frowned as took Al’s foot and touched the protruding chunk gingerly. It wasn’t lodged in terribly far, but one judging purely on Al’s resounding shriek might have guessed otherwise.
“Hurts…” Al whimpered, trying to jerk his foot out of Harry’s hand.
Harry shushed and rubbed his palm soothingly over Al’s ankle, surprised when Al immediately stopped evading his gentle prods.
Luckily the cut seemed to be the result of one big chunk rather than any loose little splinters that might have burrowed in there. Stroking Al’s foot with his thumb, Harry extracted the glass with a minimum of fuss from Al.
Holding the bloody shard like a trophy, Harry beamed at his second-born and waved it with an air of triumph.
“All better.” He announced, amused at the drunkenly grateful expression on his sons face, right before he pitched forwards into Harry’s arms.
“I’m drunk, Dad.” Al confessed, rubbing his face against Harry’s dressing gown.
Harry smiled and stroked Al’s unruly hair. “I would have never guessed.” He cooed, registering the warmth radiating from Al’s body, despite himself.
Al nodded seriously, reaching an arm around Harry’s back to steady himself. “And I drank your whiskey. Then told it off. Then it broke.”
Harry’s soft smile was now a full-blown grin and he could no longer summon any paternal anger over the fact that his underage son was completely shitfaced. “Yeah, I know. It’s fine, Al, it’s fine.”
Al nodded and turned his face against the collar of Harry’s dressing gown, probing his nose inside to rub against the bare flesh underneath.
“Don’t tell Mum.” He pleaded in a tiny voice.
Harry stiffened, the caress of his sons hair stopping immediately.
“She’ll take me.” Al muttered, tightening his grip on Harry’s robe. “And I don’t want to, want to stay here, with you.”
Harry’s heart was breaking.
“Dad, please, you can’t tell her! It needs to be a secret!” Al’s voice rose and became urgent.
“No.” he agreed. “No, I won’t tell her. It’ll be secret. Tonight will be our secret.”
Our secret. Al made a choked sound of gratitude and turned his face up to his father.
“I love you, Dad.” He slurred, reaching up to kiss Harry lightly on the cheek.
At least that’s what Harry assumed Al was attempting to do, as it was a gesture one might expect from one’s son. It was purely the effect alcohol was having on his sons coordination that he missed and pecked Harry’s adams-apple instead.
“Love you too, Al.” Harry replied, a little too jovially, clapping his sons shoulder blade in a fatherly gesture.
“No.” Al insisted fiercely, locking his arms around Harry’s neck. “I really love you.”
The next thing Harry knew, his eyes were closed and his mouth had another mouth pressed against it. A mouth whose tongue spared no hesitation in sliding past Harry’s teeth to probe and tease in ways that sent Harry’s brain cells scattering.
A mouth that belonged to his son.
“Al!” Harry broke away in alarm, tugging frantically at the arms locked behind his head.
Al was not discouraged, and simply latched his lips on to the nearest patch of Harry’s flesh he could find, which unfortunately happened to be a rather sensitive part of Harry’s neck.
Harry stilled and gasped at the hot, wet suction tingling that particular patch of skin, desperately trying to ignore the sudden flare of arousal in his chest and groin.
“Our secret, Dad, you promised.” Al whispered against the rapidly heating throat, delving his tongue into the hollow of Harry’s neck.
“Al, please, let me go.” Harry tried to sound authoritative, but it came out as more of a weak plea.
“You watch me.” Al stated bluntly, his grip strong despite his inebriation. “All the time, I’ve seen you do it. You look at me and get that look. That look.” Al elaborated, focusing blearily on Harry’s blown pupils and flushed cheeks. “I won’t tell.” Al assured Harry, who looked nothing short of horrified. “It’ll be our secret…”
“Al, you’re drunk, you’re very drunk…” Harry was saying it as much to himself as to his son. Al opened his legs and tugged Harry into the space between them.
“I’m not drunk when I watch you back.” Al informed a stunned Harry triumphantly. “And I’m not drunk when I wank and all I’m thinking about is you…” Al rolled his hips and grinned as he met a hardness that matched his own.
“You do it too…” Al groaned and rocked his hips as gently as he could. “I’ve heard my name once or twice. You’d be able to hear yours if you could break my silencing charms as good as I can break yours.”
“Al…” Harry warned, cursing his own hips for throwing themselves forwards to meet the boy’s teasing press.
“Daddy…” Al countered, in a voice not unlike a purr, though with enough masculine gravel to awaken Harry to the fact that his son was, in fact, no longer technically speaking a boy, despite his delicate features and the childlike innocence he was now attempting to pantomime. The long, hard length pressing against Al’s pyjama pants was certainly evidence of the fact that Albus Severus Potter was no longer a child, least of all an innocent one.
“Oh God, Al, you’re going to hate me for this.” Harry moaned as he sank once more to his knees, feeling like a man possessed as he struggled with the damnable fabric of Al’s pyjama bottoms, mouth watering in anticipation for what they struggled to contain.
“No, never Daddy…” Al promised, wiggling his bottom to assist in their removal. Harry and Al groaned in unison as Al’s cock sprung forth, purple from lack of attention.
Harry burrowed his face between Al’s parted legs quickly, before either of them could change their minds. He licked and sucked hungrily at the straining member and lightly furred balls for a minute or so, becoming thoroughly acquainted with Al’s genitals, before seizing the base in a determined gesture.
“Oh fuck, yeah.” Al gasped as he watched the head of his cock disappear between Harry’s lips.
There was no going back now Harry realised with a jolt as the musky pole of flesh slid past his tonsils and into his throat.
Then Al’s hand was embedded in his hair, and all such thoughts were abandoned as Harry worked his mouth furiously, using every trick he’d ever learned from the sorts of men Harry had picked up in the stolen hours between work and home.
Harry pressed his tongue hard against the underside of Al’s cock, lapping at the fat, pulsing vein there. He pulled off enough to tease the engorged head, then descended again swiftly so that Al jerked and cried out, burying his fingers into Harry’s hair and pulling him tight against his groin.
Harry panted through his nose, gasping breath around the cock in his mouth when he could. The hot, wet noises, reverberated off the sweaty V-shaped cavern of Al’s thighs. Disgusting, Harry thought, his stomach leaping with arousal at the idea.
Al moaned and lolled his head from side to side, panting and heaving and looking very wanton indeed. He glanced down at the beads of sweat on Harry’s forehead, and stuck his pointed tongue out, as though desperate to taste that sweat for himself.
Harry’s mouth was perfect, hot and wet and fucking talented, far more capable of providing pleasure than Al would have ever given his father credit for. Thought accompanied with a twitch of jealousy, Al cried out and bucked as his cock throbbed with arousal at the idea of his father experimenting with all sorts of different men.
Harry’s cock pulsed excitedly as the sweaty insides of Al’s legs rubbed against his cheeks with every jerky little movement of Al’s hips, chafing Harry’s face with their semi-developed leg-hair. Harry worked a hand up between them, situating it under his chin so he could rub encouragingly at Al’s balls.
Al threw his head back and moaned, his voice pitching and breaking as Harry sucked hard at his length, rolling his balls and pressing two fingers against his perineum.
The combination of the alcohol and his impending orgasm was too much, and Al fell back against the desk, his head spinning and his knees sticking out at awkward angles, locked at the feet by the pyjama pants tangled around his ankles.
“Dad-ddyy…” Al groaned, craning his head to peer down his body at the sight of Harry’s mouth, working determinedly up and down his shaft, green eyes staring at him and glowing with lust. “Oh God, Da-” Al stopped, mid-word as his entire body seized with the power of his climax.
Harry moaned around the throbbing shaft a moment before the first pulses of liquid splashed against his tongue.
Harry held Al’s prick between his lips, suckling lightly to milk all he could from the softening flesh, but didn’t swallow the pool of bitter liquid in his mouth.
Crawling atop his desk and straddling his panting son, Harry bent forwards and pressed his lips to Al’s, parting them and allowing the tart fluid to spill into Al’s mouth, letting his son taste himself on Harry’s tongue.
Al swallowed reflectively as the tangy flavour assailed his tastebuds, too stunned to properly register the fact that he was actually drinking his come.
Harry groaned as the final trickles of his son’s orgasm disappeared into the greedy mouth now licking away the smears of white from the cherry-red of his lips, fat and glistening with saliva and arousal.
“Daddy…” Al whispered, tugging Harry’s open dressing-gown from his shoulders. “Please…”
Harry’s eyes widened with pleasure at the insatiable boy, his cock pulsing in appreciation at the thought that it was undoubtably soon going to be buried balls-deep inside this beautiful, amazing creature.
It was then, as he shucked away his robe and hastily withdrew his own aching length, that Harry realised how lost he was. Al was exquisite, the sweat of Harry’s ministrations making him shine in the moonlight, ever the debauched masterpiece.
Harry ran his hands down strong, sweaty calves, pulling away the flannelette pyjama pants so that he may spread Al’s legs and feast his eyes on the tight hole now exposed to Harry’s hungry gaze.
Lube, Harry thought immediately, reaching for his wand, only to remember with sick realisation that he has left it in his beside drawer.
The drunken youth beneath him keened in frustration, and Harry knew he couldn’t bear to leave this scene for even a moment, yet alone the several minutes it would take to fetch his wand or some form of lubrication. Dammit, why couldn’t he keep a jar of lube in every room of the house, like a normal single man?
Harry scanned the room in desperation for some sort of substitute lube, his eyes lighting up as they reached the liquor cabinet.
Scrambling away despite Al’s mournful wail, Harry wrenched open the cupboard and withdrew a bottle of peppermint schnapps.
Harry plunged his finger in the bottle and upended it, coating his digit in the syrupy fluid.
The urge to lick away the sweet, sticky substance was tempting, but the idea of applying it to something far sweeter was significantly more enticing. Harry smiled and stood again between Al’s legs.
Al sniffed tentatively at the air, wondering vaguely what smelt like candy, before a cool finger circled his entrance and dipped gently into his tight, unsuspecting hole.
“Nnng!” Al whined as that finger slid in deeper, wetted by something, although not something as slick as Al was used to, drawing from his admittedly very limited experience.
It was cold as well, Al reflected, but not cold in the way that lube or saliva usually felt cold… it was something sharper, not a mere state of temperature…
Harry watched his finger slide in and out of Al’s body, mouth watering at both the sight and the sweet smell of peppermint, wafting up from his hand.
Al made a discomforted little noise, and Harry brought the bottle in between his legs, splashing a good measure of schnapps over Al’s groin and on a second finger to work alongside the first.
Al tensed in shock as cool liquid splashed over his balls and trickled down into his crevice, stilling further as a second finger breached him. That cool feeling was in his arse now, he realised, and it was not going away. If anything, it was increasing, like an icy burn spreading throughout his passage.
Al squirmed against Harry’s probing fingers, not sure whether this burning sensation was good or bad. As if in answer, his prick stirred tentatively, spurred on by the tingling sensation the schnapps had inflicted on his balls.
Harry pushed his fingers in and out, panting in earnest with every slide. He was almost dizzy with lust and the mingled smell of sweaty arousal and peppermint.
Scissoring his fingers quickly, Harry pulled them out, ignoring his sons pitiful whine, which quickly transformed to a heightened moan as his fathers fingers were replaced with the hot, wet laving of his tongue.
Harry moaned against Al’s flavoured hole, wondering which was the more delicious of flavours now dancing on his palette- the sweet, sharp taste of peppermint or the hot, musky taste of Al.
Al, hands down, Harry decided as he pushed his tongue through the tight ring of muscle, forcing his way as far as possible, before withdrawing and stabbing back inside in imitation of what was to come. Harry wiggled his tongue with no small effort, but groaned in satisfaction when Al’s quiet gasping suddenly heightened to an urgent scream.
“Shit, hurry up…” Harry growled at Al’s words and hoisted himself from the tasty orifice in favour of positioning himself in front of it.
“Touch me.” Harry commanded with obscene parental authority, resisting the urge to smirk when Al obeyed, eyes widening with disbelief as he slipped a hand around Harry’s length and felt the sharp contrast in size. Harry smiled reassuringly and took hold of his sons renewed arousal, squeezing hard so that Al jerked bodily and leaked into Harry’s grip.
“Not bad. For your age.” Harry provoked, gratified to see the indignant spark through Al’s haze of arousal.
“At least mine works at my age.” Al retorted, thrusting into his father’s tight grasp.
More than happy to accept Al’s words as a challenge, Harry slapped Al’s hand away and shoved forwards, impaling his son with one stroke.
Al gasped and cried out, seizing Harry’s shoulders blindly as he struggled with his conflicting feelings of pain and euphoria.
“You’ve not done this before.” Harry said softly as he watched his sone writhe in pain and confusion.
Al stilled and looked up at Harry from under dark lashes, the alcohol in his system prompting him to blurt “I have.”
Harry froze, suddenly very aware of how much he hadn’t wanted to hear that.
“Not… not much.” Al confessed feebly. Harry arched an eyebrow, and Al continued, blushing. “Just once. Twice, if you include, um, mouths…”
“I see.” Harry moved forwards, nudging the rest of the way home, brushing against Al’s prostate as he did so. Al gasped, his eyes losing focus completely.
“Dad, you can move now.” Al whined, his arse finally relaxing around Harry’s shaft, locked in position against Al’s sweet spot. Harry ignored him.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Harry asked, a little sharply, not sure that he could stop himself now even if he did.
“No!” Al protested, resisting the urge to point out that Harry, having had God-knows-how-many homosexual liaisons while married to Ginny, was hardly in a position to lecture Al about monogamy. “It was just a- a one time thing. To get rid of it.” Al explained in frustration, shaking his head as though to clear it of the drunken fuzziness still clouding it. This wasn’t the conversation he wanted to be having right now.
“And who, may I ask, took the liberty of deflowering my son?”
“Oh for- Scorpius, okay? Bloody hell…” Al squirmed under the unrelenting press against his prostate, combined with the delicious burn of peppermint.
“Draco Malfoy’s son took my child’s virginity.” Harry summarised. “I really should have a word with him about that.”
“No!” Al managed to force out through all the yes’s within him, clamouring to be heard.
“Was he good?” Harry whispered, angling his hips to press harder into Al’s swollen prostate, making him scream against the sensation. “Did he make you feel good? Did he make you come, Al? Did he fuck you, hard, like I’m about to fuck you right now?”
Al swallowed, not wanting to admit that Scorpius topping had been more of a favour than a preference, and that the awkward stabbing that each of them had administered on the other had been nothing short of pathetic.
Al had only come with the aide of his own hand, and was barely allowed five minutes to recover before Scorpius was demanding his turn at bottoming. A pity, really, as Scorpius had said - if they weren’t so stubbornly similarly inclined position-wise, they might have been a handsome couple indeed.
“I… rode him in the end.” Al confessed, a little thrill coursing through him as he said it.
Harry’s pupils visibly dilated. “Bet you were hot. Bet you both were.” Harry whispered, new sweat forming on his neck and chest as he imagined his son bouncing in ecstasy on the milky hips of Scorpius Malfoy.
Truth be told, ever since Scorpius had started wearing those fucking skirts, Harry had always harboured an itch to yank one of them over his head, bend him over the nearest surface and tonguefuck the son of his (now) second-least-favourite pureblood into next Tuesday. Now aided with the knowledge of Scorpius and Al’s coupling, Harry swore and snapped his hips as fresh new images and ideas sprang to mind.
“Hold on.” Harry whispered, leaning forwards and bracing himself on the desk. He had wanted to draw this out, but Al was so hot, so tight and Harry was so needy…
Al locked his arms around Harry’s neck, trusting the strength of his father above any rudimentary support the solid, sturdy desk could provide.
Drawing out slowly, savouring Al’s nervous, shallow breaths, Harry dove back into his sons body, marvelling at the sudden easy intrusion. Truly, Al was made for this, made for him, Harry corrected as he lost himself in his pounding rhythm.
Smooth, hot, tight, perfect, Harry didn’t even realise he was shouting Al’s qualities at the top of his lungs until Al’s pitched voice rose to join him.
“Oh Gods, Daddy!” Al all but screamed, his unmanned cock bouncing with every driving thrust Harry delivered. “God, it’s so much, you’re so much, I don’t think I can…!” Al broke off gasping for air as Harry struck his prostate a vicious blow.
“You can,” Harry huffed between loud, guttural noises. “You can, Gods Al, you can and it’s so bloody perfect…”
“Gonna come!” Al’s eyes went wide and startled as he announced his need with sudden urgency. Without pausing to ask why, Harry reached for the bottle of schnapps and poured the remainder all over his son.
Al closed is eyes and moaned as the liquid splashed over him, wallowing in the sticky syrup that now covered his skin.
The smell of peppermint was everywhere, almost stinging in its potency, and as Al reached down to palm his erection, he realised that the cool, burning sensation was especially strong on his most sensitive area.
Al rubbed the burning syrup into his flesh, his voice rising to crescendo as the cool sting of the peppermint mingled with the heated spreading of approaching orgasm. The cool feeling was all over his skin, the smell of peppermint was singing his nostrils, and his eyes were stinging with the fumes.
Lost on a plane of sensory overload, Al came, screaming as he did so, hot come raining onto his chilled flesh.
“Beautiful…” Harry groaned, swooping down to lap away the clear, sticky beads of sweet smelling moisture from his son’s body, along with the thick, pearly ropes that clung to his unblemished chest. “Sweet, beautiful boy…”
Al whimpered under the gentle lapping of his fathers tongue, clenching his arse so that his father might reach a similar climax.
After another minute of rhythmic thrusting, Harry stiffened and jerked sporadically, bathing Al’s inner walls with a generous amount of much-welcomed warmth.
Not pausing to recover, Harry pulled out and immediately delved below to lick away the first dribbles of white, enjoying the sharp contrast between tangy come and sweet schnapps. Harry stilled when a coppery taste assailed his buds, and he drew away in alarm to see a tiny river of rose amidst the creamy spills.
“Did I hurt you?” Harry whispered against Al’s abused hole.
“It’s fine.” Al replied honestly, sighing with relief as Harry returned to the task at hand, lapping away the blood as though he thought no part of Al to be in any way off-putting. The soft muscle against his skin felt soothing, and Al made soft little noises as Harry healed him with his tongue.
Al hissed as Harry kept moving, snuffling against his balls, taking little kitten licks at his flaccid organs, finally trailing his tongue up to Al’s chest and then, blessedly, his mouth.
“You need a bath.” Harry murmured against Al’s lips, smiling as his chin came away sticky with schnapps.
“Maybe if you took it with me?” Al purred seductively, sitting up in a fluid feline motion.
Suddenly the world tilted on its side and Al slid sideways off the desk, narrowly missing the glass shards as he crumbled.
“Not tonight.” Harry said firmly, tugging his tipsy son upright and steering him past the hazardous glass. “Bath. Bed.”
“Bed?” Al grinned half-heartedly, closing his eyes and melting into his fathers embrace.
“Sleep.” Harry amended softly as he apparated them to his bedroom.
Harry left Al sitting on the bed and went to draw a bath, but by the time he got back, Al had crawled beneath the covers and fallen asleep.
Ah well. Harry smiled and slid under the duvet, pressing against the sweet-smelling boy. He was about to nod off himself when Al’s half-drunk, half-sleepy voice stirred him from near- unconsciousness.
“Dad? Don’t forget, you need to get some more firewhiskey.”
Harry chuckled and leaned forwards to lick a patch of peppermint-flavoured neck.
“Indeed. Remind me to get some more schnapps while I’m at it.”
For: This is a much-belated birthday fic for potion_lady Sorry its so late *kisses feet*
Pairing: Harry/Al (mentioned Al/Scorpius, vaguely implied Harry/Al/Scorpius)
Rating: N-17
Warning: Incest, desk!sex, food!sex, drunk!sex, mindfuckery, fleching, rimming, masturbation, (mild rough!sex and very mild bloodplay)
Also, I borrowed kilted!Scorpius from fbowdens Potterverse, but I promise to return him once I'm done with him and his pretty skirt *leer*
Oh yeah, and Al is underage (15) *beams* got it all.
Disclaimer: I don't think JK would WANT to slap a copyright on this...
~*~
“This is all your fault.” Albus Severus Potter announced with what he felt to be an appropriate level of bitter indignation.
The culprit said nothing to deny his culpability.
“Oh sure!” Al mocked, steadying himself on the edge of his father’s work desk. “Just sit there, don’t say anything, why don’t you?”
The whiskey bottle remained stubbornly silent.
Al groaned as he sank into the squishy red armchair positioned behind the desk. Maintaining his accusatory glare at the half-empty bottle of firewhiskey, Al laid his forehead against the blessedly smooth mahogany and attempted to stop the world from spinning.
He was very, very drunk, Al now realised, as his brain struggled to process the conflicting changes in gravity and perspective. Who knew whiskey was so alcoholic?
And that sculling half a bottle was a fundamentally bad idea?
And that being drunk, once the initial wonder wore off, rendered one frustratingly incapable of even the most basic of functions?
Sitting upright, for instance, Al thought grimly as his face started to meld into the shape of the desk at which he lay.
“S’your fault.” Al slurred again, prodding the bottle as gently as he could, yet still managing to send it flying off the desk at alarming speed and onto the floor, where it shattered into a hundred wet, sharp little pieces.
Al swore half-heartedly, and then giggled as the whiskey in his system somehow bought to Al’s attention the comedic value of having just consumed a priceless bottle of his father’s fire-whiskey.
Harry would be furious. Livid. Probably angrier than Al had ever seen him.
Al giggled again.
Would Harry actually be angry though? Probably not, Al grudgingly decided, feeling a little guilty. Harry almost never got angry with his children - Ginny had always been better at that.
Al stopped giggling and scowled as his mothers screeching face floated to mind. Not that he had seen much of it since the divorce, nor had Al seen much of his brother and sister.
Al suddenly wished he hadn’t ruined the rest of that firewhiskey.
Attempting to distract himself from his growing resentment towards his mother, Al lazily reached down and scrabbled at one of the desk drawers in an attempt to slide it open.
Smirking knowingly to himself, Al fished through the old quills and bits of parchment for the magazines he knew were kept neatly stacked underneath.
Al raised his head high enough to spread open one of the magazines, leering appreciatively at five or so fit young men in mock-quidditch uniforms, much like the ones that Al himself wore at school, albeit devoid of large nipple-holes and phallic-shaped groinal padding.
Al sighed in relief as uniforms were shed and cocks were revealed to his hungry, adolescent gaze. The content of the magazines was not news to Al. It was, after all, the reason for his parents’ separation, or at least his fathers taste for what was in the magazines rather than the magazines themselves.
Al’s scowl deepened as his mind flitted back to the day his mother had addressed her husband over breakfast - I believe it’s time you told your children that you’re a screaming fairy, dear.
Lily’s eyes had gone very wide, and she had frozen, mid bite.
James had looked back and forth between his parents, his expression alternating between shock, disbelief, disgust and anger.
Albus found himself doing nothing but watching his father as he pushed himself back from the table and slowly exited the house without so much as a door slam.
James and Lily left the table not a moment afterwards, James spitting out phrases like ‘bloody queer’ and ‘no way’ while Lily’s breathing became ragged and then softened into tiny sobs.
Only Al remained at the table, studying Ginny coldly as she finished her breakfast.
“You’re not getting me.” Al told her bluntly.
Ginny had stopped eating then, and for the first time that morning, a shadow of hurt crossed her features.
She turned imploringly to her youngest son, but he returned his icy stare to his plate without so much as a glance in her direction.
Al had not spoken to his mother since.
Ginny had walked away from the divorce with half of Harry’s wealth and two of his children. But, true to his word, Al had remained in Harry’s care and had refused all contact with his mother and siblings.
He now sent her letters back unopened, blocked the fireplace when she called, and spent his required custody visits locked in his room.
It was impossible to decide who was more difficult to ignore at Hogwarts. Al had never been quite so thankful that his siblings had ended up in different houses to him, and so managed to avoid them for the most part.
Still, Lily would seek Al out at meals and beg endlessly for Al to agree to live under Ginny’s custody, for she loved her mother and hated to see her distressed.
“And it’s Dad’s fault, really.” Lily had explained softly over breakfast. “I know you don't believe me, but it's been proven that homosexuality is a choice. Loads of people have gone from being qu- gay to straight, so there's no excuse for what Dad did. It was his choice, and it was a selfish one. Nobody owes him anything.”
At this point, Scorpius Malfoy had slammed his goblet down and offered to escort Lily to the hospital wing.
“I feel fine.” Lily had replied blankly.
Scorpius had smiled sweetly and insisted she would feel much differently in the next five seconds.
Lily had squeaked and fled.
James had gone for a more direct approach.
“Mum’s completely fucked.” He announced in a crowded corridor, drawing stares as Al and Scorpius stopped in their tracks.
“Good for her.” Al replied smoothly. “It’s nice to hear she’s moving on with somebody else. Be sure and wish her luck for me.”
James blushed crimson and seized Al by the front of his robes. “He’s a dirty, fucking bastard.” James hissed, flecking Al’s face with bits of spit. “And I don’t want anyone in my family associating with a fucking queer.”
"How lucky for you, because it's been a fair while since I've considered you family." Al replied evenly, despite the fact that his older brother was much bigger than he was.
"People know I'm your brother." James' face contorted unpleasantly as he said it. "And everyone knows Harry Potter's a fairy. People will say things." James leaned in even closer. "They'll say them about you. You want people thinking you're a poof?" James glanced at Scorpius, and Al saw the not that they don't already that James left unsaid.
At this point, Scorpius withdrew his wand and offered to escort James to the hospital wing.
James told Scorpius to stick it up his kilt.
"Why don't you?" Scorpius purred, to much whistles and cat-calls.
James' eyes lit up with rage, before taking one look at the prefect badge on Scorpius' chest and settling for a sneer.
"Good boy." Scorpius smirked as James stalked off.
“Wanker. Pity really.” Scorpius commented mildly, unashamedly watching James’ arse as he left. “Good legs by the looks of him. Reckon the kilt trend’ll catch on before the seventh years leave?” he asked hopefully.
“Probably not.” Al replied, trying not to gag at the thought of his brother in a kilt.
“Pity.” Scorpius repeated, smoothing his pleats. “Still, fit or not, I reckon he’s being a right prick about the whole thing. I mean, how’s him and the rest of them going to react when they find out you’re…” Scorpius dangled his hand in a gesture that suited him almost too well.
Al smirked, but didn't answer.
Al had come out to Harry only a few days after the divorce was finalised. Harry had nodded once and then asked that Al keep it quiet until the revelation of Harry's own sexuality had died down a bit.
The sad truth was that Harry felt hideously guilty about the whole thing, and, as he explained to Al, he suspected that if Ginny discovered her son and husband were flaming homosexuals, it might have devastating consequences on her already fragile mental state.
Knowing this, it had taken unbelievable self-restraint for Al not to revisit an offer - made rather coincidentally by the photographer of the very same magazine Al was currently engrossed in- addressed to him and Scorpius Malfoy when they had last ventured together to a seedy part of Wizarding London.
Scorpius had turned down the offer on the grounds that ‘my father would kill me if he saw me in a fag rag’, but Al had been intrigued, if only for the purpose of providing his mother with a daily subscription (and hopefully, a heart attack).
Now, drunk and masturbating in his fathers office, Al smiled at the idea as he toyed with his growing erection, eyes fixed on the moving bodies splashed across the glossy double page.
One viewing this scene might evaluate that the increasing lump beneath Al’s pyjama pants was down to the energetic youths in all their sporting glory.
They would be wrong, for as Al palmed his fully-erect prick firmly beneath the flimsy fabric, Quidditch-clad boys were far from the object of his fantasy.
Instead, Al imagined the man who normally read these magazines, imagined what he might be doing if it were him up late and in this big, squishy armchair and not Al.
Al, squirmed against the oddly flexible leather, imagining Harry pressed against it as he wanked under his desk. He imagined Harry panting over cock after cock as he jerked his wrist over his throbbing erection. Al’s pupils dilated and his breath caught as his eye snagged on a something on the corner of the page that looked suspiciously like Harry’s come.
Whether it was the alcohol in his system or his growing arousal that spurred him into his next decision, Al wasn’t sure, but he lowered his pyjama pants and tugged out his swollen prick nevertheless.
Al moaned in sheer relief as his warm hand came into contact with heated, sensitive flesh. The head of his prick was moist, clear fluid welled up in the slit, and Al swiped a thumb through it, spreading his precome over his cock and making his movements easier.
The very action had Al thinking about Harry doing the same thing to himself and Al bucked, nearly coming at that thought alone.
Al closed his eyes against the men in the magazines and focused on the man in his minds eye, daring to imagine Harry in his situation - Harry, up late with his hand in his pyjamas, stroking himself to thoughts of men, thoughts of cocks, thoughts of Al.
Pushing the magazine away, Al dragged his fist up his reddened length in tight, rough strokes, more intent on milking his fantasy than on the carnal pleasures that resulted from it.
Summoning the last of his motor function, Al pulled himself up and draped his body over Harry’s desk, rubbing his swelling cock against the smooth, unsplintered varnish, hissing at the initial cool contact, but then moaning as the wood warmed under his heat.
The rough brush of wood wasn’t as fulfilling as the touch of his hand, but the idea of being sprawled of his fathers desk like this, the idea of coming on his fathers desk, was far more arousing than any self-gratification Al could provide.
“Oh yes,” Al whispered to himself as he ground into the unrelenting desk, imagining it’s usual occupant standing just behind it, trailing teasing fingers up, between his thighs, reaching forwards to press and prod against hypersensitive balls. “Just like that, Daddy, touch me just like that…”
“Al?” Al stopped moving against the wood, his heart beating somewhere in the region of his throat.
Harry stood in the doorframe of his office, mouth open, blinking blankly at the scene before him, from his half-naked son, to his upended stack of pornography, to his best bottle of firewhiskey, shattered on the floor.
Harry coughed gruffly in an effort to disguise the hot flush creeping up his neck and over his chest.
Al struggled to pull himself up, then collapsed again on the untidy desk, groaning out a few choice curses.
“You’re drunk.” Harry stated bluntly, eyes narrowing in parental disapproval.
Al made a sad little noise, but no efforts to disagree. He shifted in his position on Harry’s desk, crying out softly as his sensitive cock head trailed through the pool of sweat and precome that had formed on the smooth surface.
Harry watched his inebriated son sadly, sighing as he pondered how to deal with this.
Ginny, no doubt, would shriek and storm and ground Al til Kingdom Come. But then, Harry reminded himself grimly, Ginny wasn’t here to deal with this. Harry raised his eyebrows as Al raised himself once more, providing Harry with a glimpse of Al’s arousal, And thank heavens for that.
Sighing, Harry ran a hand through his dishevelled hair and considered the situation.
It would be no use rebuking Al for the moment, Harry realized- the boy was clearly too intoxicated to properly understand a good telling-off.
No, Harry decided as he tiptoed over the broken glass and came level with Al’s exposed behind. His main objective now was working Al through tonight and the hangover he would undoubtably have tomorrow morning. Punishment could wait.
“Lets get you to bed.” Harry murmured gently against Al’s neck, tugging him upright and blushing as he caught sight of the boy’s stubbornly erect prick.
Harry reached down to gently tug Al’s pajama pants back into place over his cock, ignoring the pleased little noise Al made as Harry’s hand accidentally brushed against the stiff length, radiating heat through the thin layer of fabric.
Harry could have pulled away then, but he fussed with the waistband, touching and pressing at the front of Al’s groin under the illusion of straightening his pants. Al’s cock jerked under the gentle teasing and wept a damp stain into the striped bottoms.
Harry swallowed and drew his hand away reluctantly.
“Come on, then.” Harry pulled Al’s arm over his shoulder and walked forwards, dragging his son with him...
…right over the broken liquor bottle.
“Ow-ww!” Al moaned as he clutched the side of Harry’s desk, half-hopping, half-staggering on one foot as the other bled from the chunk of glass lodged inside.
Al fell against the desk, managing to drag himself into a sitting position atop it as he held his foot in the air, making pained little noises as the shard poked at a variety of sensitive little nerves within.
Harry swore and fell to his knees to inspect the cut. Oh yes, Harry, you really have the single-father thing down pat, don’t you?
Harry frowned as took Al’s foot and touched the protruding chunk gingerly. It wasn’t lodged in terribly far, but one judging purely on Al’s resounding shriek might have guessed otherwise.
“Hurts…” Al whimpered, trying to jerk his foot out of Harry’s hand.
Harry shushed and rubbed his palm soothingly over Al’s ankle, surprised when Al immediately stopped evading his gentle prods.
Luckily the cut seemed to be the result of one big chunk rather than any loose little splinters that might have burrowed in there. Stroking Al’s foot with his thumb, Harry extracted the glass with a minimum of fuss from Al.
Holding the bloody shard like a trophy, Harry beamed at his second-born and waved it with an air of triumph.
“All better.” He announced, amused at the drunkenly grateful expression on his sons face, right before he pitched forwards into Harry’s arms.
“I’m drunk, Dad.” Al confessed, rubbing his face against Harry’s dressing gown.
Harry smiled and stroked Al’s unruly hair. “I would have never guessed.” He cooed, registering the warmth radiating from Al’s body, despite himself.
Al nodded seriously, reaching an arm around Harry’s back to steady himself. “And I drank your whiskey. Then told it off. Then it broke.”
Harry’s soft smile was now a full-blown grin and he could no longer summon any paternal anger over the fact that his underage son was completely shitfaced. “Yeah, I know. It’s fine, Al, it’s fine.”
Al nodded and turned his face against the collar of Harry’s dressing gown, probing his nose inside to rub against the bare flesh underneath.
“Don’t tell Mum.” He pleaded in a tiny voice.
Harry stiffened, the caress of his sons hair stopping immediately.
“She’ll take me.” Al muttered, tightening his grip on Harry’s robe. “And I don’t want to, want to stay here, with you.”
Harry’s heart was breaking.
“Dad, please, you can’t tell her! It needs to be a secret!” Al’s voice rose and became urgent.
“No.” he agreed. “No, I won’t tell her. It’ll be secret. Tonight will be our secret.”
Our secret. Al made a choked sound of gratitude and turned his face up to his father.
“I love you, Dad.” He slurred, reaching up to kiss Harry lightly on the cheek.
At least that’s what Harry assumed Al was attempting to do, as it was a gesture one might expect from one’s son. It was purely the effect alcohol was having on his sons coordination that he missed and pecked Harry’s adams-apple instead.
“Love you too, Al.” Harry replied, a little too jovially, clapping his sons shoulder blade in a fatherly gesture.
“No.” Al insisted fiercely, locking his arms around Harry’s neck. “I really love you.”
The next thing Harry knew, his eyes were closed and his mouth had another mouth pressed against it. A mouth whose tongue spared no hesitation in sliding past Harry’s teeth to probe and tease in ways that sent Harry’s brain cells scattering.
A mouth that belonged to his son.
“Al!” Harry broke away in alarm, tugging frantically at the arms locked behind his head.
Al was not discouraged, and simply latched his lips on to the nearest patch of Harry’s flesh he could find, which unfortunately happened to be a rather sensitive part of Harry’s neck.
Harry stilled and gasped at the hot, wet suction tingling that particular patch of skin, desperately trying to ignore the sudden flare of arousal in his chest and groin.
“Our secret, Dad, you promised.” Al whispered against the rapidly heating throat, delving his tongue into the hollow of Harry’s neck.
“Al, please, let me go.” Harry tried to sound authoritative, but it came out as more of a weak plea.
“You watch me.” Al stated bluntly, his grip strong despite his inebriation. “All the time, I’ve seen you do it. You look at me and get that look. That look.” Al elaborated, focusing blearily on Harry’s blown pupils and flushed cheeks. “I won’t tell.” Al assured Harry, who looked nothing short of horrified. “It’ll be our secret…”
“Al, you’re drunk, you’re very drunk…” Harry was saying it as much to himself as to his son. Al opened his legs and tugged Harry into the space between them.
“I’m not drunk when I watch you back.” Al informed a stunned Harry triumphantly. “And I’m not drunk when I wank and all I’m thinking about is you…” Al rolled his hips and grinned as he met a hardness that matched his own.
“You do it too…” Al groaned and rocked his hips as gently as he could. “I’ve heard my name once or twice. You’d be able to hear yours if you could break my silencing charms as good as I can break yours.”
“Al…” Harry warned, cursing his own hips for throwing themselves forwards to meet the boy’s teasing press.
“Daddy…” Al countered, in a voice not unlike a purr, though with enough masculine gravel to awaken Harry to the fact that his son was, in fact, no longer technically speaking a boy, despite his delicate features and the childlike innocence he was now attempting to pantomime. The long, hard length pressing against Al’s pyjama pants was certainly evidence of the fact that Albus Severus Potter was no longer a child, least of all an innocent one.
“Oh God, Al, you’re going to hate me for this.” Harry moaned as he sank once more to his knees, feeling like a man possessed as he struggled with the damnable fabric of Al’s pyjama bottoms, mouth watering in anticipation for what they struggled to contain.
“No, never Daddy…” Al promised, wiggling his bottom to assist in their removal. Harry and Al groaned in unison as Al’s cock sprung forth, purple from lack of attention.
Harry burrowed his face between Al’s parted legs quickly, before either of them could change their minds. He licked and sucked hungrily at the straining member and lightly furred balls for a minute or so, becoming thoroughly acquainted with Al’s genitals, before seizing the base in a determined gesture.
“Oh fuck, yeah.” Al gasped as he watched the head of his cock disappear between Harry’s lips.
There was no going back now Harry realised with a jolt as the musky pole of flesh slid past his tonsils and into his throat.
Then Al’s hand was embedded in his hair, and all such thoughts were abandoned as Harry worked his mouth furiously, using every trick he’d ever learned from the sorts of men Harry had picked up in the stolen hours between work and home.
Harry pressed his tongue hard against the underside of Al’s cock, lapping at the fat, pulsing vein there. He pulled off enough to tease the engorged head, then descended again swiftly so that Al jerked and cried out, burying his fingers into Harry’s hair and pulling him tight against his groin.
Harry panted through his nose, gasping breath around the cock in his mouth when he could. The hot, wet noises, reverberated off the sweaty V-shaped cavern of Al’s thighs. Disgusting, Harry thought, his stomach leaping with arousal at the idea.
Al moaned and lolled his head from side to side, panting and heaving and looking very wanton indeed. He glanced down at the beads of sweat on Harry’s forehead, and stuck his pointed tongue out, as though desperate to taste that sweat for himself.
Harry’s mouth was perfect, hot and wet and fucking talented, far more capable of providing pleasure than Al would have ever given his father credit for. Thought accompanied with a twitch of jealousy, Al cried out and bucked as his cock throbbed with arousal at the idea of his father experimenting with all sorts of different men.
Harry’s cock pulsed excitedly as the sweaty insides of Al’s legs rubbed against his cheeks with every jerky little movement of Al’s hips, chafing Harry’s face with their semi-developed leg-hair. Harry worked a hand up between them, situating it under his chin so he could rub encouragingly at Al’s balls.
Al threw his head back and moaned, his voice pitching and breaking as Harry sucked hard at his length, rolling his balls and pressing two fingers against his perineum.
The combination of the alcohol and his impending orgasm was too much, and Al fell back against the desk, his head spinning and his knees sticking out at awkward angles, locked at the feet by the pyjama pants tangled around his ankles.
“Dad-ddyy…” Al groaned, craning his head to peer down his body at the sight of Harry’s mouth, working determinedly up and down his shaft, green eyes staring at him and glowing with lust. “Oh God, Da-” Al stopped, mid-word as his entire body seized with the power of his climax.
Harry moaned around the throbbing shaft a moment before the first pulses of liquid splashed against his tongue.
Harry held Al’s prick between his lips, suckling lightly to milk all he could from the softening flesh, but didn’t swallow the pool of bitter liquid in his mouth.
Crawling atop his desk and straddling his panting son, Harry bent forwards and pressed his lips to Al’s, parting them and allowing the tart fluid to spill into Al’s mouth, letting his son taste himself on Harry’s tongue.
Al swallowed reflectively as the tangy flavour assailed his tastebuds, too stunned to properly register the fact that he was actually drinking his come.
Harry groaned as the final trickles of his son’s orgasm disappeared into the greedy mouth now licking away the smears of white from the cherry-red of his lips, fat and glistening with saliva and arousal.
“Daddy…” Al whispered, tugging Harry’s open dressing-gown from his shoulders. “Please…”
Harry’s eyes widened with pleasure at the insatiable boy, his cock pulsing in appreciation at the thought that it was undoubtably soon going to be buried balls-deep inside this beautiful, amazing creature.
It was then, as he shucked away his robe and hastily withdrew his own aching length, that Harry realised how lost he was. Al was exquisite, the sweat of Harry’s ministrations making him shine in the moonlight, ever the debauched masterpiece.
Harry ran his hands down strong, sweaty calves, pulling away the flannelette pyjama pants so that he may spread Al’s legs and feast his eyes on the tight hole now exposed to Harry’s hungry gaze.
Lube, Harry thought immediately, reaching for his wand, only to remember with sick realisation that he has left it in his beside drawer.
The drunken youth beneath him keened in frustration, and Harry knew he couldn’t bear to leave this scene for even a moment, yet alone the several minutes it would take to fetch his wand or some form of lubrication. Dammit, why couldn’t he keep a jar of lube in every room of the house, like a normal single man?
Harry scanned the room in desperation for some sort of substitute lube, his eyes lighting up as they reached the liquor cabinet.
Scrambling away despite Al’s mournful wail, Harry wrenched open the cupboard and withdrew a bottle of peppermint schnapps.
Harry plunged his finger in the bottle and upended it, coating his digit in the syrupy fluid.
The urge to lick away the sweet, sticky substance was tempting, but the idea of applying it to something far sweeter was significantly more enticing. Harry smiled and stood again between Al’s legs.
Al sniffed tentatively at the air, wondering vaguely what smelt like candy, before a cool finger circled his entrance and dipped gently into his tight, unsuspecting hole.
“Nnng!” Al whined as that finger slid in deeper, wetted by something, although not something as slick as Al was used to, drawing from his admittedly very limited experience.
It was cold as well, Al reflected, but not cold in the way that lube or saliva usually felt cold… it was something sharper, not a mere state of temperature…
Harry watched his finger slide in and out of Al’s body, mouth watering at both the sight and the sweet smell of peppermint, wafting up from his hand.
Al made a discomforted little noise, and Harry brought the bottle in between his legs, splashing a good measure of schnapps over Al’s groin and on a second finger to work alongside the first.
Al tensed in shock as cool liquid splashed over his balls and trickled down into his crevice, stilling further as a second finger breached him. That cool feeling was in his arse now, he realised, and it was not going away. If anything, it was increasing, like an icy burn spreading throughout his passage.
Al squirmed against Harry’s probing fingers, not sure whether this burning sensation was good or bad. As if in answer, his prick stirred tentatively, spurred on by the tingling sensation the schnapps had inflicted on his balls.
Harry pushed his fingers in and out, panting in earnest with every slide. He was almost dizzy with lust and the mingled smell of sweaty arousal and peppermint.
Scissoring his fingers quickly, Harry pulled them out, ignoring his sons pitiful whine, which quickly transformed to a heightened moan as his fathers fingers were replaced with the hot, wet laving of his tongue.
Harry moaned against Al’s flavoured hole, wondering which was the more delicious of flavours now dancing on his palette- the sweet, sharp taste of peppermint or the hot, musky taste of Al.
Al, hands down, Harry decided as he pushed his tongue through the tight ring of muscle, forcing his way as far as possible, before withdrawing and stabbing back inside in imitation of what was to come. Harry wiggled his tongue with no small effort, but groaned in satisfaction when Al’s quiet gasping suddenly heightened to an urgent scream.
“Shit, hurry up…” Harry growled at Al’s words and hoisted himself from the tasty orifice in favour of positioning himself in front of it.
“Touch me.” Harry commanded with obscene parental authority, resisting the urge to smirk when Al obeyed, eyes widening with disbelief as he slipped a hand around Harry’s length and felt the sharp contrast in size. Harry smiled reassuringly and took hold of his sons renewed arousal, squeezing hard so that Al jerked bodily and leaked into Harry’s grip.
“Not bad. For your age.” Harry provoked, gratified to see the indignant spark through Al’s haze of arousal.
“At least mine works at my age.” Al retorted, thrusting into his father’s tight grasp.
More than happy to accept Al’s words as a challenge, Harry slapped Al’s hand away and shoved forwards, impaling his son with one stroke.
Al gasped and cried out, seizing Harry’s shoulders blindly as he struggled with his conflicting feelings of pain and euphoria.
“You’ve not done this before.” Harry said softly as he watched his sone writhe in pain and confusion.
Al stilled and looked up at Harry from under dark lashes, the alcohol in his system prompting him to blurt “I have.”
Harry froze, suddenly very aware of how much he hadn’t wanted to hear that.
“Not… not much.” Al confessed feebly. Harry arched an eyebrow, and Al continued, blushing. “Just once. Twice, if you include, um, mouths…”
“I see.” Harry moved forwards, nudging the rest of the way home, brushing against Al’s prostate as he did so. Al gasped, his eyes losing focus completely.
“Dad, you can move now.” Al whined, his arse finally relaxing around Harry’s shaft, locked in position against Al’s sweet spot. Harry ignored him.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Harry asked, a little sharply, not sure that he could stop himself now even if he did.
“No!” Al protested, resisting the urge to point out that Harry, having had God-knows-how-many homosexual liaisons while married to Ginny, was hardly in a position to lecture Al about monogamy. “It was just a- a one time thing. To get rid of it.” Al explained in frustration, shaking his head as though to clear it of the drunken fuzziness still clouding it. This wasn’t the conversation he wanted to be having right now.
“And who, may I ask, took the liberty of deflowering my son?”
“Oh for- Scorpius, okay? Bloody hell…” Al squirmed under the unrelenting press against his prostate, combined with the delicious burn of peppermint.
“Draco Malfoy’s son took my child’s virginity.” Harry summarised. “I really should have a word with him about that.”
“No!” Al managed to force out through all the yes’s within him, clamouring to be heard.
“Was he good?” Harry whispered, angling his hips to press harder into Al’s swollen prostate, making him scream against the sensation. “Did he make you feel good? Did he make you come, Al? Did he fuck you, hard, like I’m about to fuck you right now?”
Al swallowed, not wanting to admit that Scorpius topping had been more of a favour than a preference, and that the awkward stabbing that each of them had administered on the other had been nothing short of pathetic.
Al had only come with the aide of his own hand, and was barely allowed five minutes to recover before Scorpius was demanding his turn at bottoming. A pity, really, as Scorpius had said - if they weren’t so stubbornly similarly inclined position-wise, they might have been a handsome couple indeed.
“I… rode him in the end.” Al confessed, a little thrill coursing through him as he said it.
Harry’s pupils visibly dilated. “Bet you were hot. Bet you both were.” Harry whispered, new sweat forming on his neck and chest as he imagined his son bouncing in ecstasy on the milky hips of Scorpius Malfoy.
Truth be told, ever since Scorpius had started wearing those fucking skirts, Harry had always harboured an itch to yank one of them over his head, bend him over the nearest surface and tonguefuck the son of his (now) second-least-favourite pureblood into next Tuesday. Now aided with the knowledge of Scorpius and Al’s coupling, Harry swore and snapped his hips as fresh new images and ideas sprang to mind.
“Hold on.” Harry whispered, leaning forwards and bracing himself on the desk. He had wanted to draw this out, but Al was so hot, so tight and Harry was so needy…
Al locked his arms around Harry’s neck, trusting the strength of his father above any rudimentary support the solid, sturdy desk could provide.
Drawing out slowly, savouring Al’s nervous, shallow breaths, Harry dove back into his sons body, marvelling at the sudden easy intrusion. Truly, Al was made for this, made for him, Harry corrected as he lost himself in his pounding rhythm.
Smooth, hot, tight, perfect, Harry didn’t even realise he was shouting Al’s qualities at the top of his lungs until Al’s pitched voice rose to join him.
“Oh Gods, Daddy!” Al all but screamed, his unmanned cock bouncing with every driving thrust Harry delivered. “God, it’s so much, you’re so much, I don’t think I can…!” Al broke off gasping for air as Harry struck his prostate a vicious blow.
“You can,” Harry huffed between loud, guttural noises. “You can, Gods Al, you can and it’s so bloody perfect…”
“Gonna come!” Al’s eyes went wide and startled as he announced his need with sudden urgency. Without pausing to ask why, Harry reached for the bottle of schnapps and poured the remainder all over his son.
Al closed is eyes and moaned as the liquid splashed over him, wallowing in the sticky syrup that now covered his skin.
The smell of peppermint was everywhere, almost stinging in its potency, and as Al reached down to palm his erection, he realised that the cool, burning sensation was especially strong on his most sensitive area.
Al rubbed the burning syrup into his flesh, his voice rising to crescendo as the cool sting of the peppermint mingled with the heated spreading of approaching orgasm. The cool feeling was all over his skin, the smell of peppermint was singing his nostrils, and his eyes were stinging with the fumes.
Lost on a plane of sensory overload, Al came, screaming as he did so, hot come raining onto his chilled flesh.
“Beautiful…” Harry groaned, swooping down to lap away the clear, sticky beads of sweet smelling moisture from his son’s body, along with the thick, pearly ropes that clung to his unblemished chest. “Sweet, beautiful boy…”
Al whimpered under the gentle lapping of his fathers tongue, clenching his arse so that his father might reach a similar climax.
After another minute of rhythmic thrusting, Harry stiffened and jerked sporadically, bathing Al’s inner walls with a generous amount of much-welcomed warmth.
Not pausing to recover, Harry pulled out and immediately delved below to lick away the first dribbles of white, enjoying the sharp contrast between tangy come and sweet schnapps. Harry stilled when a coppery taste assailed his buds, and he drew away in alarm to see a tiny river of rose amidst the creamy spills.
“Did I hurt you?” Harry whispered against Al’s abused hole.
“It’s fine.” Al replied honestly, sighing with relief as Harry returned to the task at hand, lapping away the blood as though he thought no part of Al to be in any way off-putting. The soft muscle against his skin felt soothing, and Al made soft little noises as Harry healed him with his tongue.
Al hissed as Harry kept moving, snuffling against his balls, taking little kitten licks at his flaccid organs, finally trailing his tongue up to Al’s chest and then, blessedly, his mouth.
“You need a bath.” Harry murmured against Al’s lips, smiling as his chin came away sticky with schnapps.
“Maybe if you took it with me?” Al purred seductively, sitting up in a fluid feline motion.
Suddenly the world tilted on its side and Al slid sideways off the desk, narrowly missing the glass shards as he crumbled.
“Not tonight.” Harry said firmly, tugging his tipsy son upright and steering him past the hazardous glass. “Bath. Bed.”
“Bed?” Al grinned half-heartedly, closing his eyes and melting into his fathers embrace.
“Sleep.” Harry amended softly as he apparated them to his bedroom.
Harry left Al sitting on the bed and went to draw a bath, but by the time he got back, Al had crawled beneath the covers and fallen asleep.
Ah well. Harry smiled and slid under the duvet, pressing against the sweet-smelling boy. He was about to nod off himself when Al’s half-drunk, half-sleepy voice stirred him from near- unconsciousness.
“Dad? Don’t forget, you need to get some more firewhiskey.”
Harry chuckled and leaned forwards to lick a patch of peppermint-flavoured neck.
“Indeed. Remind me to get some more schnapps while I’m at it.”