Title: The Collar
Author: sdk
Characters/Pairings: Albus Severus Potter, Harry Potter (implied past Sirius/Harry, Harry/Ginny)
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Everything Old Is New - pervertibles, magical charms
Other Warnings: Masturbation, a little voyeurism, could have some one-sided incestuous themes if you choose to see it that way, underage (it’s not explicitly stated, but I’m thinking Al is 15-16 when this takes place).
Word Count: 1,870 words
Summary/Description: Al and his father share many secrets, but somehow Al knows this is one he was never meant to discover.
Author's Notes: Thanks to torino10154 for her encouragement and samedy for the beta! And special thanks to the DD mods for allowing me to come back after such a long absence. <3



The collar is a thin black strap of leather with a small silver tag hanging from its center. Al doesn't need to look at the inscription to remember its thick cursive script, embedded with the name "Padfoot". It sits in his father's bedside drawer, coiled next to a small jar of lube.

Al stares at it often. Sometimes he runs his fingers over the supple leather, feeling for cracks and small grooves that come with age and use. He knows what his father uses it for, but Al’s never gained the courage to ask him why.

Al and his father share many secrets, but somehow Al knows this is one he was never meant to discover.

~

It’s summer. The oppressive heat seeps into Grimmauld Place and no amount of chilling charms can cool the place down. More often than not this leads to both Al and his father walking around in their boxers with damp washcloths draped over their necks.

"No need to worry about being proper--not when it's just us, eh Al?" his dad says. Al musters up a smile and his dad ruffles his hair like Al’s still a kid. But Al doesn’t mind. Whatever makes his dad happy is all right by him.

It’s just the two of them--has been mostly since his mum moved out two years before and James started spending most of his summers at the Burrow. When she’s not in school, Lily travels with their mum while she covers Quidditch matches across the globe. Dad claims he isn't lonely--not that Al ever outright asks, but whenever Al subtly hints around that he’d be OK with Dad dating again, Dad just ruffles Al’s hair and says, "I've got you, son. What more do I need?"

Al takes pride in that. He’s here for his father when no one else is. And he always will be.

~

It was only last year when it happened. Scorpius had slipped the latest PlayWizard into Al's bag on the train home from school and Al had barely been able to wait until that night to take a peek at it. Once he was hidden away in his room, he devoured its pages--images of Witches pinching their nipples, fondling themselves, their lips forming a perfect 'O', moist and wet and inviting. Al had his trousers shoved down and his hand around his cock before he even hit the second page.

Al didn't hear footsteps, just the sound of wood creaking as his door opened and his dad's, "Al, do you want--" before his voice caught. Dad's eyes widened and he backed out of Al's room with a mumbled apology. Al had whipped the coverlet over his lap, but he knew he hadn't been fast enough. His cheeks burned; his chest felt hot. He couldn't believe his dad had actually caught him doing that.

But worse was a half-hour later when his father sheepishly knocked on the door, sat by him on the bed, and explained that what Al was doing was perfectly normal.

"Nothing to be ashamed of. I do it too--not that you wanted to know that," he added after Al ducked his head, cheeks burning anew. "I'll knock next time. I just didn't think...you're growing up so fast, you know that?"

"Dad..."

"But it's healthy. I don't want you to think there's anything wrong with giving yourself a once-over."

"DAD!"

"OK, OK, I'll stop." Dad chuckled and ruffled Al's hair. "But we'll both make a pact, yeah? We both knock on each other's bedroom doors. Just in case."

"All right," Al agreed.

But ever since then, Al couldn't quite get the idea of his father doing that out of his mind.

~

The bedroom smells like his dad. Musky. Manly. Bringing to mind warm hugs and bright eyes and the feeling of a hand ruffling his hair. Al closes his eyes and just breathes.

There are reasons his parents gave for splitting up. Growing apart. Falling in love too young. And usually when she doesn’t know Al is listening, he'll hear his mum blame all their problems on his dad's career.

But Al knows better. He knows it all has to do with this collar. Al picks the collar up and lets the leather slide through his fingers before grabbing the half-empty jar of lube from the drawer next to it. Al didn’t make the connection between the lube and the collar when he was younger--it wasn't until Scorpius pressed a similar jar into his hand one afternoon at Hogwarts and promised it would make wanking so much more pleasurable that Al put two and two together.

And then there was that time he walked in on his dad with the collar wrapped around his dick, balls bulging out, his hand slick with lube, pumping his cock and gone to the world. That sort of confirmed things.

Al hates this collar sometimes. It strikes a yearning inside him that he can’t quantify, makes him feel all squirmy and tingly, like something’s missing but he doesn’t know what it is. He doesn’t know how to fix himself.

And now he’s here, in his dad’s bedroom and the feelings are only worse. He knows he should leave, but instead he undresses, leaving his clothes in a puddle at the side of the bed. Soft cotton cools his skin as he settles on top of the blankets.

Al wraps the leather strap around the base of his cock and his balls, securing it in place with the small buckle and a homemade notch he's discovered that would make the collar much too small for a neck. He wonders if his dad had put it there. The idea of his dad measuring the collar around his package, squeezing just tight enough for that extra pressure that Al is feeling right then--it’s indecently arousing.

His cock stands at attention; somehow it looks bigger than it ever has before, with a flush of red blooming down the shaft from the bulging head. He dips into the pot of lube and drags two slick fingers over the head, teasing his slit and around the tapered edge. Every sensation is magnified. He isn't sure if it’s because of the collar or just from the excitement of doing this in his dad's bed.

Al gives himself a stroke and shivers at the intensity. His eyes fall closed. He feels warm all over and his hand starts to move as if possessed. It doesn’t even feel like his hand any more. His fingers are rougher, more calloused; his palm is slightly sweaty and larger, engulfing most of Al’s length into his tight fist. With his eyes closed, Al can so easily pretend this is someone else touching him. Blood rushes in his ears, but it almost sounds like growling; hot breath gusts against his neck and he smells tobacco and the hint of firewhisky--just how his father smells sometimes when Al catches him up late in the study and he shushes Al back to bed after a reassuring hug.

Those memories whirl in his brain mixing with that one shameful night he’d watched his father through the crack at the door. His hand speeds up, his hips bucking into the touch and he knows it must just be his imagination, but he can feel fingers, feather-light, ghost over his bollocks and dip below. There’s a sensation of a mouth, the hint of heat and the sliver of a tongue. His legs bend and spread wide as if they’re being pushed open, a wet tip slides around his entrance and it’s all too much. Al cries out as he comes, thin ropes of white splattering over his stomach and his chest.

The pleasure subsides more quickly than it came, replaced with boneless limbs and numb muscles. As Al tries to resist being dragged under the heady slumber of the afterglow, he feels stubble against his cheek and the press of lips on his jaw.

I love you, Harry, echoes inside his head. Al barely has the presence of mind to unbuckle the collar before he passes out.


~

Whenever his dad works late, Al can’t sleep until he hears the tell-tell creak of the second flight of stairs that indicates his dad has made it home and is on his way to his bedroom across the hall. It’s that creak that wakes him now and jolts his body into a panic. Al scrambles and manages to shove the collar and lube back to their rightful place, but only has time to dive under the covers before his father enters the room.

His dad doesn’t notice Al, not at first. He strips off his Auror robes and throws them on an arm chair in the corner before heading for the bathroom. Al hears water running--likely his father washing his face--and he uses that opportunity to slide out of bed and pull his boxers on.

“Al?” The water’s been shut off and Al looks up to see his father’s head poking through the bathroom door.

“Er-”

“Were you sleeping in here?”

“Yeah--sorry, I-” But Al is not sure what to say. His cheeks flare with heat and he shifts from one foot to the other, debating whether or not he should continue to get dressed or just grab his clothes and flee.

But his father smiles warmly and crosses to him. He’s down to his vest and trousers and Al can see tendrils of dark hair snaking out from his chest. Al has a few sparse hairs himself, but they’re not as thick as his father’s.

Dad lays a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “Your mum would say you’re getting too old to sleep in here, but...if you want to stay--did you have a nightmare?”

“No--no.” Al shakes his head automatically, then wonders if he’s done the right thing. A nightmare would have been a good excuse, but then again, he doesn’t want his father to worry.

Dad doesn’t look like he believes him, but he doesn’t press. They climb into bed on opposite sides. Al snuggles into the covers and inches closer until his arm is lightly brushing his dad’s. He sighs in relief when Dad doesn’t pull away.

Al listens to the sound of their breathing mingling together in the stillness of the room. There’s that strange feeling inside of him again, but he shoves it away and takes comfort in the warmth of his father so close to him.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” His dad says quietly after Al thought he’d already fallen asleep. Al’s chest goes tight and he nods until he realises his father is unlikely to see the movement.

“Yeah. Of course, Dad.”

“Good,” his dad says. “Good.”

The room goes quiet again, but Al’s chest doesn’t loosen until he hears soft snores emanating from his side.

“You too,” he whispers. His head drops to his dad’s shoulder as he falls asleep.


-Fin-