
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/982738.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Albus_Severus_Potter
  Character:
      Draco_Malfoy, Albus_Severus_Potter
  Additional Tags:
      Teacher-Student_Relationship, Age_Difference
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-09-27 Words: 2256
****** leather runs smooth ******
by Cerberusia
Summary
     Out of school time, they meet far less often...14-year-old Albus and
     his Arithmancy professor Mr. Malfoy manage to steal an interlude in
     the miserable British summer time.
Notes
     Written for the DM/ASP Love Fest. Title from The Smiths' This
     Charming Man.
Out of school time, they meet far less often. There's much less risk of getting
caught, since Mr. Malfoy can just take them to his house where they have all
the privacy they could want, but Al has to constantly think up excuses to be
let out of the house on his own. He's allowed to walk into the village by
himself if they need butter or something, but he's expected back within the
hour, and in their small community there's any number of nosy neighbours who
could see something incriminating. He's taken to cultivating an apparent
interest in long walks through the woods, down by the river, and both Mum and
Dad are sympathetic to his need for solitude on occasion ('If I couldn't get
out of a house filled with six brothers regularly, I'd have probably have
turned to the Dark,' Mum had admitted), and at last they've conceded that so
long as he stays nearby, fourteen is about old enough to be allowed out
unsupervised.
He does a couple of real walks, first, to make sure that his parents haven't
put a trace on him - they do worry too much, Voldemort's gone for crying out
loud - then, free at last, takes his third walk with electricity humming in his
veins, skin prickling with anticipation.
He finds the Portkey quickly, hidden just where he'd marked, and it activates
right on time, the vortex resolving neatly into Mr. Malfoy's front hall, with
the black-and-white diamond patterned tiles on the floor and marble fireplace.
Mr. Malfoy isn't there, but Albus knows what he's meant to do: he takes off his
Muggle clothes and puts them in the basket provided, then makes his way into
the parlour, decorated in deep green and dark wood, where Mr. Malfoy's waiting
for him.
Mr. Malfoy is sitting in an armchair and smoking. He uses a long cigarette-
holder, like they do in the old black and white films, and green smoke trails
from the tip. It smells bitter-sweet and woody, and reminds Albus of incense.
Mr. Malfoy always smells a little like it. On the occasions when Albus is able
to stick around afterwards, Mr. Malfoy lends him a grey dressing gown which is
much too long for him, but it's incredibly soft and smells like Mr. Malfoy, so
Albus doesn't mind.
"Albus," says Mr. Malfoy, exhaling a plume of smoke. "Why don't you come and
sit on my lap?" Albus swallows, very aware of his nakedness, but does as he's
told. Mr. Malfoy doesn't move as he crawls into his lap, though Albus' bony
knees must be digging in uncomfortably as he settles his thighs either side of
Mr. Malfoy's. He's fully dressed in what passes for a casual style among the
fancier sections of Wizarding society, in wide-sleeved grey robes trimmed with
lavender which appear to be cut down the front to wrap one side over the other,
like a dressing gown, though Albus can't tell whether they actually open or
not. The style is not unlike a Japanese yukata; the Orient is all the rage
right now.
With Albus' thighs splayed open over Mr. Malfoy's lap, their faces are very
close. Albus can see the faint crows-feet at the corners of Mr. Malfoy's eyes,
the slightly receded hairline emphasizing his already high forehead, the touch
of grey at his temples. He's only forty, but like Dad and most wizards of his
generation, he seems prematurely aged. Mr. Malfoy doesn't pretend not to be
looking at Albus, which makes him both uncomfortable and thrilled. He's so much
smaller and younger than Mr. Malfoy, and the difference in age and size makes
him self-conscious just as much as it excites him. He knows that Mr. Malfoy
likes it too: that's why he makes Albus strip naked whenever he can while he
stays clothed, why he makes him sit in his lap. Mr. Malfoy is always in
control.
"There's a good boy," says Mr. Malfoy, putting down his cigarette so he can
take hold of Albus' hips. "My, you are growing." Is he? He doesn't feel like he
is, but then other people always notice this sort of thing more. The idea makes
him a little conflicted: he wants to be taller, but he doesn't want to stop
being Mr. Malfoy's little boy.
Mr. Malfoy's long fingers trail down over Albus' thighs, splayed wide either
side of Mr. Malfoy's.
"As white as your name," he says, musingly, tracing small circles ever closer
to Albus' genitals. Albus tries not to shift or wriggle. He has to be good, or
Mr. Malfoy will tease him longer just to be perverse.
For several moments, Mr. Malfoy seems preoccupied with watching Albus' cock
twitch as he slowly makes his way down Albus' abdomen. At last, he trails his
index finger down it, pausing to briefly rub the head, then takes his hand away
and watches it rise to full hardness, foreskin slowly peeling back. He looks
entranced; able to bear it no longer, Albus squirms impatiently.
Mr. Malfoy snorts, delicately, and starts to slowly fist Albus' cock. Albus
knows there's no use hurrying him. It's like in lessons, where he always starts
at the beginning and takes the time to thoroughly explain before getting to the
end. But then Arithmancy lends itself to thoroughness, with its laborious
number charts. It's not really Al's thing, but it has applications in Potions
and it's always worth watching Mr. Malfoy.
Albus is abruptly unsettled from his perch when Mr. Malfoy suddenly gets one
hand under his thighs and the other on his back, and proceeds to pick him up.
In Mr. Malfoy's arms, Albus feels weightless - but only for a moment, before
he's laid flat on the long black leather sofa. He draws up his knees
instinctively, and Mr. Malfoy crawls between them to take Albus' cock in his
mouth.
Albus' head thuds back against the sofa, his legs spasming, as Mr. Malfoy
steadily takes more into his mouth, the flat of his tongue rubbing against the
head just how Albus likes. Albus' knees spread wide, then curve together again
over Mr. Malfoy's head. He can feel Mr. Malfoy's hair brushing his groin and
the insides of his thighs, his strong fingers digging into Albus' arse. His
free hand fondles Albus' testicles. Albus arches his hips off the sofa and
breathes heavily, thighs trembling, clenching his hands into fists, as he feels
the wave of orgasm approaching.
"Sir," he gasps out, and Mr. Malfoy takes his cue to redouble his efforts.
Shortly thereafter, the wave hits and he reaches the crest, lifting most of his
body off the sofa as he comes in Mr. Malfoy's mouth. Mr. Malfoy, of course,
doesn't flinch; he merely sucks the white lights and lingering sparks out of
him until Albus is quite spent, and even seems reluctant to withdraw. He lets
go of Albus' cock gently, and presses a kiss to the soft inside of his thigh
before sitting up.
"Sir," says Albus, fighting through sweet post-orgasm lassitude to struggle
upright. He can see Mr. Malfoy's erection making a tent in the cloth of his
robes, but can't work out if he needs to push them up or whether they just come
undone at the front.
As it turns out, the two sides are in fact separate, one wrapped over the
other, and Mr. Malfoy unties the thick dark blue-grey belt to reveal that -
surprise, surprise - he's not wearing anything under it. A shiny silver scar
stretches across his pale, hairless chest and stomach, almost blending in with
the skin around it. Mr. Malfoy never explained, and Albus never asked, but Dad
told him the story of performing Sectumsempra in the boy's bathroom and nearly
killing Mr. Malfoy in his sixth year, and Albus put it together. He kind of
wants to kiss it, but doesn't know if Mr. Malfoy would like that.
Like the rest of him, Mr. Malfoy's cock is long and pale, with a pink flush at
the head. Penises, considered objectively, aren't particularly attractive, but
Mr. Malfoy's is the nicest that Albus has ever seen. Not that he has that much
experience: his yearmates in the showers and some magazines are hardly a
comprehensive sample group, and he's entirely biased, says the analytical part
of his brain which everyone thought would make him a sure candidate for
Ravenclaw - except that the Hat only took half a minute to pronounce him a
Slytherin. He was, however, outdone in shock factor by eternally sweet-tempered
Lily, who followed in his footsteps the next year. Lily has always been his
favourite sibling.
Mr. Malfoy sighs as Albus gets a hand around his cock at last. Albus scoots
closer, kneeling next to his teacher and resting his free hand on his shoulder.
Hesistantly, he leans in to kiss Mr. Malfoy's neck, white and tempting, just
over the pulse. Mr. Malfoy turns his head and takes Albus' chin in his fingers
to catch his mouth in an involved kiss, which he easily controls. Albus lets
him: there'll be a time to ravish Mr. Malfoy in turn, when he's older and knows
for certain what he's doing, but for now he's enjoying letting Mr. Malfoy do
the work.
Mr. Malfoy licks at Albus' bottom lip, which Albus takes as a cue to open his
mouth and let in Mr. Malfoy's tongue, which promptly tangles with his. Albus
responds with vigour: they've practiced this enough now that he feels confident
in his ability to kiss Mr. Malfoy how he likes. He runs his tongue along the
inside of Mr. Malfoy's bottom lip, and feels his teacher's breath shudder into
his mouth. Mr. Malfoy reaches around Albus to rest a hand on his lower back.
His hand feels very big; a warm, comforting weight.
Gradually, Mr. Malfoy's hips start to move, his thighs twitching restlessly,
his breath coming ragged. Their kiss has dissolved into breathing into
eachother's mouths and occasionally biting eachother's lips. Albus is hard
again, and he rubs his cock against Mr. Malfoy's hip as he steadily pumps him
towards orgasm. He supposes that one day he'll get the hang of knowing when Mr.
Malfoy's about to come, but this time he's still taken by surprise when Mr.
Malfoy makes a low, choked noise and convulses, semen spattering Albus' hand.
He digs his fingertips into Albus' back and, even in the knowledge that they'd
have to be explained away, Albus hopes they'll leave bruises.
Mr. Malfoy watches him through half-lidded eyes for a moment as he gets his
breath back, Then he spells the come away, wandless, rearranges his clothing
and says,
"Sit on my lap again. Face forwards." Albus scrambles to do as he's told, stiff
cock bobbing. Once he's settled, he expects Mr. Malfoy to take hold of his
cock, but instead he feels big hands rest on his thighs and a kiss pressed to
his neck; then the nape; then a little line, from the base of his neck along
the top of his shoulder blade. Only then does Mr. Malfoy take him in hand,
pulling steadily with a firm grip, still dotting kisses over his neck and back,
wherever he can reach. Albus feels like there's something big inside him,
settled nervously in his stomach and expanding up through his chest and throat.
Every kiss leaves sparks in its wake, makes his thighs clench around Mr.
Malfoy's. Mr. Malfoy's breath is hot on his neck.
"Sir," he says, overwhelmed; "Sir," as Mr. Malfoy tightens his grip and moves
his hand faster. Albus gasps and shudders, trying to rock his hips but unable
to gain any leverage. "Sir, please," he all but whimpers, bracing his hands on
Mr. Malfoy's knees, his skin prickling and overheated, orgasm and something
else coiling in his abdomen.
"Good boy," says Mr. Malfoy, between kisses, "good boy." His free hand pulls
lightly at Albus' nipple, flicking his thumb and scraping his nail over it, and
Albus hears the breath shudder out of him in half-vocalised moans. He wants, he
wants — He comes, white clouding his vision, heartbeat loud in his ears, hips
jerking helplessly into Mr. Malfoy's grasp. Mr. Malfoy milks him through it,
never ceasing his tender kisses.
Albus wants to stay there for hours, spread out on Mr. Malfoy's lap, his head
on Mr. Malfoy's shoulder, Mr. Malfoy's arms wrapped warm around his waist. But
he's been gone too long as it is and the rain's started coming down, and he
needs to get back home before he's missed.
He'd been expecting another Portkey, but instead Mr. Malfoy gets him to stand
in the middle of the foyer, then wraps his arms around him and Apparates them
both back to Godric's Hollow, on the path by the river. Rain drips from the
trees onto their heads. It's only the usual British drizzle, but Albus' thin t-
shirt is quickly damp.
Still embracing him, Mr. Malfoy kisses him. He keeps making as if to draw back,
but then returns as if he can't bear to let go. Not wanting it to be over
either, Albus fiercely kisses back.
At last, Mr. Malfoy all but wrenches himself away from Albus, who instantly
feels the cold. A painful foot of distance between them, Mr. Malfoy scrutinises
Albus' face hard for a long moment, longing written bright across his face,
then Disapparates with a crack.
Albus is left to run home alone, hoping to be too quick for the rain to wash
all traces of Mr. Malfoy off his skin.
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