Title: Do I Dare to Eat a Peach?
Author: train_tracks
Pairings: Harry/Teddy, Harry/OMC, Teddy/OMCs, (background Dean/Ginny, past Teddy/Victoire and Harry/Ginny)
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: sex clubs
Other Warnings: group sex, anonymous sex, cross-gen (39/22); godfather/godson; very brief mentions of BDSM (not the main pairing)
Word Count: ~7,600
Summary/Description: In which Harry is having a mid-life crisis and Teddy is just having a crisis.
Author's Notes: Unbounding thanks to tamlane for voracious cheerleading and non-stop support! And elrhiarhodan whose words of encouragement and squee were priceless. Title taken from T.S. Eliot's poem, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock".




It had been years since he'd come here. As Harry fucked, he counted the years in his head:

The war had ended, what, twenty-two years ago? He'd found this place something like three years and many empty gin bottles after that. Then he'd taken that long 'healing' break, gone to Romania and tried to 'find himself', gotten married, divorced, fucked up his life in enumerable ways.

So that'd make it...eighteen years?

Eighteen years since he'd come here, found an anonymous piece of ass, and fucked his brains out. Eighteen years since that brand of oblivion.

Harry was surprised at how easy it was to fall back into old habits. He took a few short, deep thrusts and then came, holding the man's arse tight back against his groin, head back and panting.

"Thanks," the guy breathed as Harry pulled out. "That was fucking incredible."

"You're welcome," Harry said.

He performed some extra anti-STD charms, zipped up his trousers, and left.

***

Harry stamped the snow from his boots and entered his house like a Muggle. Even from outside he'd been able to hear the Weird Sisters 'Greatest Hits' shaking the walls. Now Harry hung his scarf, wincing at the noise.

"Could you turn it down?" he yelled.

When that got no response, Harry Sonorused his voice and called again, "Jesus Christ, Teddy, turn it down!"

The volume immediately dropped so that Harry couldn't even hear it any longer. Harry hung his coat and thought about just throwing together a cold sandwich and going straight to bed. He stood there and inhaled the odor of wet pine and fresh snow, the guilt eating at him. It had been days since he'd seen the boy. It had been weeks maybe since they'd had any sort of real conversation that reached beyond the sorts of particulars great-aunts asked after.

Harry had once had a better relationship with Teddy, but that was so long ago it seemed pointless to try to recreate it. He sighed, wound his scarf around the overburdened hook, and then started making his way upstairs. The house sat quiet now except for the muted thud of his own footsteps.

Harry stood outside Teddy's bedroom door and waited. He hadn't knocked yet. He could walk away still. He was ready to give up and go get that sandwich when a voice called, "Come in why don't you, Harry."

Harry tried the knob and found the room unlocked. He opened the door and peeked in.

"Walk home from the office again?" Teddy asked.

"Oh. Yeah," Harry said. "How did you--?"

"Your nose is red from the cold," Teddy told him. He hadn't even looked at Harry. At least he hadn't appeared to, lain back on his bed and twirling his wand between his fingers as he was. The Weird Sisters sang something slow and depressing now.

"Sorry about the music," Teddy said, though he wore a slight smirk.

Harry waved off the apology. "Did you eat dinner?"

Teddy shrugged.

"Do you want anything?" Harry jerked his thumb toward the general vicinity of the stairs. "I was going to heat up that pot roast," Harry lied.

Teddy shrugged.

"Sandwich?" Harry downgraded. At Teddy's non-response, Harry asked, "Anything?"

Teddy sighed. "No thanks, Dad."

Harry frowned. It had not been an endearment; that much was clear. "You're too skinny," Harry informed him, feeling more and more like an arsehole with every word out of his mouth.

In answer, Teddy transformed until he was the size of Ludo Bagman in his prime.

"Good night," Harry said to him, rolling his eyes and then closing the door on his quickly deflating godson.

Harry cast a hand over his face in tired frustration and started down the hall to his room, foregoing dinner too and wondering where the hell he'd gone wrong with the boy. Again.

***

Harry got down a bowl for cereal and watched out of the corner of his eye as Teddy sat smoking at the kitchen table, sipping cold tea that used to be hot, and reading the Quibbler in his pants.

Harry took a deep breath. Teddy wasn't a teenager anymore, but he could be as morose as one sometimes. "Finished that application yet?" he said a bit too brightly. He poured his Cheerios and waited for the grumbling reply.

"Yeah," was all he got.

"Oh, that's great, Teddy!" Harry enthused, joining him at the table. "That's great."

"Harry."

"Am I doing it again?"

Teddy nodded. He took a drag and then tapped off the ash onto a salad plate.

Harry spread a napkin across his lap. "Inhaling your breakfast, I see."

It wasn't so much the smoking itself that bothered him, although Harry was terribly afraid Teddy would forget to use magic to counteract it, develop cancer unbeknownst to anyone, and die. But it was the not eating that seemed more pressing at the moment. He'd eaten fine enough when he'd first moved in with Harry a year ago when his Gran died, but in the last month or two, he'd seemed to lose interest completely in all things culinary.

Not that Harry's cooking couldn't use some well-placed charms, but, well...he tried. It was edible for Merlin's sake.

Teddy ignored his remark with a particularly long drag. He scratched his bare stomach idly, and Harry dropped his gaze away, tucking into his cereal with determination if not relish.

After a few moments he found himself asking, "Any big weekend plans?"

Teddy shrugged.

"Weren't you thinking of going to the Harpies game? With Victoire maybe?"

Teddy looked at him then. He looked at Harry a long time, like he simply couldn't believe the dolt was uttering words. Then he said, "We broke up four months ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry," Harry fumbled. Come to think, he did remember Teddy storming in one night around that time. He'd thought they'd just had a row. But now Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her. He felt like the planet's biggest plonker. "Teddy, I'm sorry. If there's anything I--"

Teddy interrupted him with a mirthless laugh and went back to his paper, shaking out the page and peering at it through the smoke. "No, Harry," he said. "I don't think there's anything you could possibly be willing to do."

Harry frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing," Teddy said. Then he stubbed out his fag, put the paper down, and stalked away. "I'll be out late tonight," he said.

Harry watched him stalk out, his baggy pants not quite covering his bum. Harry could see the shadow at the top of the cleft.

Harry sat with his spoon dripping milk onto the table for a moment. Then he dropped the spoon into the bowl, pushed the lot away from him, put his face in his hands, and sighed.

Teddy was definitely too skinny.

***

Harry didn't generally go to the club two nights in a row. Hell, he didn't generally go more than a couple times a month. He wasn't sure what was wrong with him lately.

Maybe it was Ginny's impending remarriage to Dean Thomas. Except that Harry felt genuinely happy for them.

Maybe it was work. Being a purchaser for Quality Quidditch Supplies wasn't always as lung-tighteningly exciting as it sounded after all.

Maybe it was that his best friends had moved to America to train Aurors in the States and he was so bloody lonely his life had practically devolved into a set of blues lyrics.

Maybe it was that Harry Potter wasn't any use in peace time. He wasn't any use as a husband. He had no more enemies to fight, no more lives to save, and being that he'd shot blanks for their four years of marital bliss, he couldn't even manage a meager brood of half-Weasleys.

Harry had failed. He'd saved the world and then he'd failed at everything else.

He'd even failed the one person who'd always looked up to him. He'd failed the one person he'd sworn to protect above all others. He'd failed Teddy.

So instead of owling his friends or looking for a better job or wanking in a bed like a normal person, Harry, apparently, had decided to fail in style.

No, he hadn't actually decided any such thing. He wasn't very good at self-pity actually. He tended to bounce back too readily. The club thing wasn't so much a failure in and of itself. It was more an attempt at something he'd never had. Something good that had gotten, momentarily probably, twisted.

Harry had never had really phenomenal sex.

He liked purchasing Quidditch supplies. He loved the smell of a new Quaffle on a crisp Fall day, the newly packed pitch sand, a coffee in the afternoon while he perused the new issue of Brooms Galore alone in his modest office. Hermione would have preferred that he read the latest edition of A History of Magic in which he had his own chapter. But that didn't really suit him, Harry didn't think.

Harry liked not saving the world. He had his ups and downs, but his life wasn't terrible.

It mostly wasn't terrible.

He hated that Teddy barely spoke to him, hated that he'd lost the ability to communicate with the boy. Teddy Lupin was probably Harry's biggest regret.

Well, that and not getting laid properly.

He didn't mind so much not having a lover. But he was tired of his admittedly few dates expecting The Boy Who Lived to turn into The Savior of the World in bed. Mostly he just felt like a disappointment after the fact. And he rarely experienced the kind of satisfaction for which he yearned. He became so busy trying to be himself in romantic relationships that invariably he just got farther and farther away from that lofty goal instead.

At the club, Harry could lose all that. He could go balls-deep in a bloke, close his eyes, and soar above all his petty problems, his failures, his mediocrities, his everything.

So here he was again. Second night in a row.

The main room, though dark, strobed harshly bright for mere moments in places -- enough that Harry could make out the writhe and push of entwined bodies. Harry straightened his shirt collar, unbuttoning another button more for air than sex appeal, and strode across the room toward the bar.

The music thumped hard and fast through the soles of his feet, inside his chest, almost hurting his ears. He had a stray thought that the volume would put Teddy's to shame. Harry found himself smiling vaguely at that but then cleared his throat, exorcising the silly grin from his lips as he took a bar stool and nodded at the approaching bartender.

Harry ordered two fingers of Blishen's and then studiously did not survey the room. This wasn't about knowing. This whole experiment worked better, Harry felt, with a little mystery. Which is why he preferred the back rooms to the front.

He took his time with his whiskey, letting his body adjust, letting it anticipate. He was half-hard. Harry enjoyed being half-hard.

Soon enough -- three songs maybe -- Harry scooted back from the bar and began to make his way to the area that suited him best. He walked through the throng of dancing witches and wizards as the same magic that floated the sky above Hogwarts' great hall made this ceiling misty with stars and streaked with comets.

Harry made it to the first wide hallway. He let his eyes travel over the wall-sized windows and their displays of different scenes. A witch on all fours taking three men here. One witch rimming another in the next. Two young wizards getting whipped in the next.

These rooms were always interesting. But they weren't what Harry came for. So to speak.

He kept walking until he'd reached the darker, narrower hallway that always made his heart skip a few beats. For some reason, tonight, that feeling was amplified. Maybe that particular bottle of Blishen's had been aged longer and now Harry was feeling its effects. Whatever it was, Harry felt a peculiar ringing in his ears and a fluttering in his stomach.

It wasn't bad magic. It wasn't magic at all. It was simple adrenaline.

He wandered slowly and passed several of the rooms. These rooms were smaller, but they had no windows and their doors were all wide open. Inside each room was a bed, a rug, a sturdy table -- all of which could be re-Transfigured to suit the patrons' taste and plans.

Some of the rooms were empty. Some of them were not. Of the ones that were not, mostly wizards not witches, waited alone and naked. Some sprawled arrogantly on the floor or bed or across the table, trying to entice passersby by stroking their erections or fingering themselves.

Harry always kept walking past these.

Eventually, in the right room, the lights would be a little lower. The silence greater. And there would be a man lying face down and waiting for him.

These were the rooms at which Harry stopped and into which he looked. These were the ones he discerned -- yes or no. He came to one such room and studied the figure on the bed. Broad back. Tight little fuzzy arse. Nice legs. Could be good. But Harry moved on.

He strolled past three more rooms, two with their doors already shut, and one with a stroker. His breath began to labor under the expectation of finding the right one.

There was only one door left, the very last in the long hallway. Harry made his way toward it as though through jungles of waving gillyweed. It seemed to take minutes rather than seconds. When he reached the open door, he stopped.

On the bed lay a young man, his body long and sleek. A little spare but muscled nonetheless. A dark head lay on the pillow, its face turned discreetly (shyly? provocatively?) away. The light shone low and ambient. The magics cast in the room were sophisticated, the charms the work of someone with nuance and cleverness. Harry felt the wards and had to smile in appreciation. The man had them set to reject suitors not fitting his ideal description. Harry felt further and realized his chosen wizard had tailored this charm down to internal psychological and personality qualities, not just physical attributes.

Harry seriously doubted he would pass this young man's tests and barriers, but just knowing they were there made him want to try it.

Harry found himself amused and aroused by the challenge.

It had been eons since someone really challenged him.

As he looked inside the room -- something in him already deciding, already more than eager -- the man tightened his buttocks, shifted his hips a little on top of the sheet, and then once again settled. Something about that slow, calculated movement got Harry fully hard in the time it took to inhale a breath.

He lifted his booted foot, hesitated just a moment, and then eased it over the threshold.

And the warded room accepted him.

Harry almost let out a laugh just from the sheer surprise and delight. He eased the rest of the way into the small room. When no murmur or rustle came from the body on the bed, Harry took a deep breath.

He turned and closed the door.

Harry felt the magics seal around the door the rest of the way, insulating them. A feeling of rightness swept through Harry's chest. He turned back and observed the man on the bed. On closer inspection, he appeared to be shivering slightly. Harry had the mad desire to lay himself out over that pale flesh and warm it with his own body. He started unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it free of his trousers.

Harry said nothing, and the body said nothing as Harry walked closer to the bed. He unbuckled his belt with a telling jingle, and the young man shifted again, barely pressing what Harry hoped was a hard cock down into the mattress. Harry opened his trousers and palmed his own prick.

It seemed wrong to just work it in and start fucking. Maybe it was the intricate magic this person had wielded, with which he had taken his time and care. Harry didn't want it to be over so quickly. He wanted to linger.

He knelt down next to the bed, and now he could hear the breaths, fast and quiet. Harry hovered a hand over the man's leg, and then he let his fingers rest against a strong calf muscle. The body shivered hard. Then the legs opened a little.

Magnificent, Harry thought as he allowed his fingers to trail up to the back of his knee -- his palm to rest on the back of a thigh, Harry's thumb running back and forth over the wiry hairs in a gesture of comfort.

Before he could stop and talk sense into himself, Harry leaned in, parted the quivering buttocks, and laved over the young man's anus.

A small, strangled cry muffled into the pillow, and the legs widened further. Harry smiled at the supplication, the permission. He climbed onto the bed, hearing it creak with his added weight. He dove back down into the man's arse and licked him hungrily.

The face turned down into the pillow, and a rough voice began moaning continuously. Harry felt suddenly quite proud and accomplished. The warm pucker bucked back into his face in time with the tonguing he was giving it. Harry's own grunt of lust was smothered by the cushion of the lovely arse moving against his mouth.

He wasn't going to last. Not without cock spells. Harry lifted his mouth, whispered a lubricating charm, and pushed two fingers slowly inside. He watched the man make a fist in the bedding, but then he bent his knees and leveraged himself up a little -- a tacit yes. So Harry finger fucked him, deep and slow, pulling almost all the way out each time and relishing how tight it was.

It wasn't long before the young man's hips started working in counterpoint. Harry got faster, rising up on his knees and putting more of his arm into the thrust. Another moan erupted into the pillow. Harry couldn't help but smile.

They'd gotten into a rhythm, and Harry loved it. This body sang to him. But his cock was aching. His whole body wanted desperately to come. So Harry placed a hand on the man's hip, a soothing caress, and felt the bucking slow to a stop. A small whine issued from the head of the bed.

Harry pulled his fingers free and jerked on the young man's hips until they were up off the bed, his arse open and aligned with Harry's body. When Harry took himself in hand and pressed to the slick hole, he could feel them each holding their breaths. He drove forward until he was snug inside, his whole length, his balls brushing the smoothest arse he'd ever felt and his eyes rolling back on the pleasure of the heat inside. Harry groaned. The young man panted hard, held his breath, and then began panting again.

Harry thrust in and out, whispering the lube spell again to ease the way. The man turned his head, his cheek pressed to the pillow, and soft unidentifiable whispers issued from recently wetted lips. Harry went faster, pulling on the man's hips now. This body was pliant for him, taking him, and it seemed -- for a self-aggrandizing moment -- like the quiet voice was praying for it, pleading for it.

Harry held back so that he wouldn't come, so that this beautiful man he'd chosen -- and who had so fortuitously (for Harry) chosen him -- could have his orgasm first. Harry thought he felt it building. He heard escalating whines, little words of meaninglessness, something speaking directly to Harry's soul it seemed.

And then it happened. The young man's arse clamped down on Harry's cock, his brow knit, he started coming on the bed -- and his hair flashed swiftly from dark brown to...

Blue.

The hair went blue and the facial features changed just slightly, and suddenly there he was -- lying beneath Harry, impaled on Harry's hard dick and orgasming strong and fierce, and Harry's cock had not yet caught up with his eyes. With his mind and his heart -- oh God!

Harry pulled out of Teddy's arse on a strangled moan, falling backward, scrambling, tumbling off the bed, hitting the floor and then pushing back, falling, scuttling back again -- away, away, away. His back hit part wall and part door, and Teddy, sated but alarmed, turned finally, eyes finding him -- widening.

Seeing.

Knowing.

Teddy gasped. And Harry thought he might be sick right there.

He stood fast, his cock still mortifyingly half-hard and hanging out, and he tried to jerk open the door. It stuck. Harry turned and pulled hard, again and again. He could hear Teddy's movements, the sheet whispering along his skin. Then the door came open with a whoosh.

Teddy called, "Harry, wait!"

But in the next moment, Harry's wand was out, and he Disapparated on the spot.

***

Harry didn't walk home that night. He Apparated to the spot he'd established in his own backyard, marched straight into his dark and quiet house and right upstairs to the bathroom. There, he discarded all his clothes -- he considered burning them, but even in that moment of sustained horror, Harry knew that was going a bit far -- and stepped into a nearly scalding shower.

Fuck spells and charms and potions. What Harry needed was hot water, soap, and time.

He needed time. And he needed space. And he needed to stop seeing what appeared against the black of his closed eyes every time he thought shutting them might be a good idea.

Harry needed a Time Turner. He lathered himself under the brutal spray and tried to decide when he would go back to.

Night before last?

A week before that?

Would he retreat to before Teddy had moved in and put a stopper in that plan before it could seem like a wonderful, redemptive idea to him?

Would he go back to the moment when Voldemort cast the killing curse?

Harry rinsed off his body and then soaped up again. Although, it wasn't to wash Teddy off of him. What he needed to be rid of was something within himself: his memories, his choices. Things that couldn't be washed away. Even then, even with the revulsion coiling in him as a viper readying to strike, Harry knew. He knew something he didn't wish to know.

Half an hour later, Harry shut off the water. He stood there dripping and listening for sounds of his housemate's presence.

"Revelio," he murmured.

Teddy was not home. And while some piece of Harry was relieved at this, another part had begun to ache with grief and twist with fear. Because better Teddy come home and Harry have to face him than...

Wherever he might be instead. Whatever he might be doing instead.

Harry sighed, dried off, and Summoned some respectable-looking clothes. A nice Weasley jumper and denims. He looked the epitome of safety and assurance when he viewed himself in the half-foggy mirror.

He looked like a decent godfather.

Harry's stomach knotted up, and he left the accusation of his reflection before he could melt into undignified tears.

Undignified.

Tears would have been the dignified way to go. What wasn't dignified was his cock pistoning in and out of Teddy's arse. His fingers delving inside him, his tongue...

Harry's dick responding to the whimpering sounds Teddy had made.

The memory of that shaking fist clutching the sheets.

Jesus God.

Harry went downstairs, heated up some canned soup, and then didn't eat it. He sat with it in a kitchen so soundless, all Harry could make out was the beating of his own heart, the arrhythmia of his own breath.

He planned out what he would say when Teddy got home. But hours passed. Harry paced and checked the clock and checked outside, checked to make sure the Floo wasn't malfunctioning... Teddy never showed.

By four in the morning, Harry was down to debating whether to pass out on the couch or in his own room. Which would Teddy want? Would he want his godfather there when he arrived? Would he want sturdy arms and apologies? Or would he be praying for no trace of Harry's presence?

Harry dragged his arse upstairs at that, secured himself in his own room, and worried himself to sleep.

***

Three hours later, Harry heard the Floo roar to life downstairs. He blinked and came up on one elbow, rubbing at his eyes. The entire previous night bore down on him, and it felt like his stomach rose up into his throat.

Harry was instantly terrified. That was the feeling. It had been decades since he'd experienced this particular emotion. And now he was feeling it, not over Lord Voldemort, but over his own godson.

He got up and straightened the wooly blue jumper he was still in. He tried to push his hair down. And though his legs felt hexed, he made his way across the room, out into the hall, and finally plodded resolutely down the stairs.

He found Teddy standing in the living room holding a picture frame in his hands. When Harry stepped off the last stair, Teddy put the picture down in a hurry, and it toppled over onto the floor. Teddy turned to him and wiped his hands on his denims. His eyes were wide and grey, his skin unnaturally pale.

Harry swallowed, took one step closer to him, and stopped. "Teddy," he said.

Teddy's response was to gulp. His right foot shuffled against the floor once, and Harry wasn't sure if he meant to run away or come toward him.

"Teddy," Harry said again. He had to get hold of himself. He had to try to let Teddy know he was safe. He had to reassure him of what they truly were. "I'm so sorry about..." he began. Teddy blinked. Harry cleared his throat, once, twice. He tried again. "I'm so sorry about..." It was as though he'd been cursed and couldn't finish that thought.

Maybe Teddy could see something on his face, because the tension left his own features. His eyes went dull, and that jaded, unmoved persona he'd seemed to cultivate took over. "Sorry about fucking me?" he said.

Harry flinched. "I didn't know it was you," Harry said stupidly. "If I'd known, I would never have--"

"No, of course not," Teddy interrupted, and his voice was sharp as shale. He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked at the floor.

"I'm not a monster," Harry went on. "I don't want you to be afraid to--" He had reached out toward Teddy on the words, but Teddy moved back. It pierced straight into the center of Harry's chest. The tears that had threatened before rose once more. He dropped his hand. "You have every right to be afraid of me," Harry admitted. "I unknowingly demolished the trust between us. I changed--" he began.

A glimmer of something, maybe hope and maybe fear, sparked in Teddy's now-risen gaze. "Changed what?" he choked out.

Harry sighed and switched tactics. The boy didn't need to hear that. He needed to hear that things hadn't really changed. He needed stability, security. He needed Harry to renounce what had passed between them -- Harry's hand on the back of his thigh, his lips opening on the bud of his arsehole...

Teddy needed Harry to be good and strong and true.

Harry needed to be good and strong and true.

"No," Harry said. "Nothing's changed. Nothing, Teddy."

Teddy blinked, as though in shock. And then his eyes went hard as stones again. Harry frowned. God, he was rubbish! Utter rubbish at all of this. Remus and Tonks would have been disappointed in him before this. And now... Gods.

"Do you want me to move out?" Teddy asked suddenly.

"What -- no!" Harry said, even though he had been wondering himself if that wouldn't be better. He didn't want Teddy to feel unwelcome. Harry knew all about that feeling. He wouldn't put Teddy out, not for his own conscience, not for anything.

And Harry would miss him. He'd miss him desperately. Not that that mattered.

"So you can look at me and not see the man you fucked last night?" Teddy said, unreadable.

Merlin, that word. It was as though Teddy needed to test Harry. And of course he would. Harry became determined to pass whatever test Teddy gave him. "No. I mean, yes. Yes, I can look at you, Teddy." Even though it was like being struck with a spell. Even though it hurt beyond measure to make eye contact, to have to face his own actions reflected there all over again.

Teddy took what appeared to be an almost threatening step toward him. It was a slow step, but it made Harry's heart hammer. "You can look at me and know you fucked me and that doesn't matter?" he said.

Harry noticed that Teddy's t-shirt was dirty-white and clung to his slender chest, his strong arms. He'd been out there without a coat, the idiot. His arms looked so cold.

Harry wanting to lay himself out over Teddy's bare body...

"I can," Harry got out. He cleared his throat, standing taller. "It doesn't matter. That's not who you are to me."

Teddy's rhythmic whimpers as Harry thrust hard inside him...

Harry swallowed. He thought he saw tears swimming in Teddy's now-brown eyes. But then he smiled grimly, his eyes flashed ice-blue, and he said, "I need to sleep." And he practically ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

"Teddy," Harry tried to call, but it came out in a horrible whisper.

A door slammed upstairs.

Harry swallowed the sob that tightened his throat. He ran his hands through his hair and his eyes fell on the overturned photo. He picked it up. It was him and Teddy. It was the two of them, almost a year ago when Teddy had moved in. They were both smiling brilliantly. They had their arms slung around one another's shoulders. The sun was shining down into Teddy's violet hair.

Harry dropped the photo onto the floor again, sank down into a squat, covered his face with his shaking hands, and cried.

***

The next three days were strangely normal, and that made them feel that much worse.

When they were home together -- which wasn't terribly often, mornings and evenings mostly -- Teddy smiled at him like nothing was wrong. He ate breakfast with Harry and asked after Harry's work. When Harry was watching the telly, Teddy would come and plop down next to him. Not too close. Not touching. But close enough. He'd ask, "What are we watching?" and Harry could barely find the voice to answer.

Teddy kept his music down; he cleaned; he even shoveled snow off the pavements the Muggle way and without complaint.

He was the very picture of normalcy. Until after that third day.

That evening, Teddy came home drunk. Harry was preparing dinner when he staggered into the kitchen smelling of whiskey and smoke and drenched with sweat.

"Hi," Harry said, stirring his stew.

Teddy stripped off his black t-shirt, tossed it into the air, pulled his wand fast, and then Banished it to his room. He smirked crookedly. "Hi yourself."

"Where have you been? It's late." It wasn't that late. Harry just didn't know what else to say.

"Sorry, Dad," Teddy drawled, practically falling into a kitchen chair.

Harry winced. "Would you like some? I made plenty." He scraped his spoon along the bottom of the pot, making a face as he ran into what had to be burnt places. He pulled his wand instead and muttered a few incantations.

"Sounds delightful," Teddy answered. "But no."

"Where have you been?" Harry asked again. He pulled down two bowls from the cupboard. He felt like he was trying to cook with a ticking time bomb at his back.

"Well, Harry, if you must know, I was getting my dick sucked," Teddy said.

Harry stopped moving. He closed his eyes. The bomb had gone off.

"Would you like to hear about it?" Teddy went on. "Would you like to know how he took me all the way down his--"

"No," Harry said softly, turning toward him. He blinked. "No, Teddy."

"Are you sure, Harry?" Teddy asked. Harry's name was a filthy thing dripping from his lips. His hand dropped to cup his crotch. He squeezed. "It was hot."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Teddy replied. "I'm getting over you."

Harry gripped the edges of the counter behind himself to stay standing. "What are you talking about?"

"God, you are so daft. I must say I'm not surprised they rejected you for Auror training. Personally, I expected more from Harry Bloody Potter, too."

"They didn't reject me. I chose not to train. You know that," Harry grit out. He felt like the world's greatest fool. It wasn't even important. He wasn't anybody's savior. He couldn't be anybody's savior. It wasn't wrong to choose that. And it didn't fucking matter! Still, Harry's skin felt like it was burning. The smell of overcooked guinea fowl permeated the air. That and Teddy's sweat.

"I mean, you were in all my textbooks." Teddy flicked his wand into the air and caught it, again and again. "You were my hero. You were everything. But there you stand, too fucking daft to realize how much I--" He seemed to choke but turned it into a laugh. "Really, Harry. You had me coming without touching my cock. Obviously, you're good for something."

It should have hurt, hearing that. The rage radiating off of Teddy should have singed straight through his clothes. It was practically like magic, electrifying the air with its power.

But Harry felt through the rage. The boy -- the man in front of him -- was the one who was hurt.

Teddy was hurt. He was so hurt. Seeing it softened the disgust in Harry's heart. Seeing it was like an indictment on him, and at the same time...

"Teddy..." Harry breathed.

"Jesus!" Teddy yelled, suddenly standing and overturning his chair. He wobbled on two feet, threw his arms out, and shouted at Harry. "What the fuck does it take? What the fuck do you want? My heart splattered on the floor and still barely beating? Open your eyes, Harry, and SAVE ME!"

The last was roared at him. It echoed through the room. Then Teddy's tears streaked down his face.

Harry just stood there for a moment, staring at all this pain, all this formerly unseen feeling. For him. For Harry. And then just as he'd taken the breath, before Harry could take even one step toward him, Teddy's body contorted, twisted, and Disapparated away.

Harry stared at the place where he'd been. The scent of his cigarettes still lingered. Harry realized he'd been holding his breath; it came rushing out, and suddenly the room felt very cold -- and then hot -- and then cold again.

What does it look like? I'm getting over you.

Harry blinked at the overturned chair.

You were my hero. You were everything.

The kitchen blurred.

Open your eyes, Harry, and SAVE ME!

Harry listened to the thump of his heart, fast with adrenaline. He knew he could go sit down and think this through. He knew he could Floo Hermione and Ron or he could have a soothing ale and wait for the emotions to cool.

And he knew he'd sooner die.

Now that he knew.

Harry firmed his jaw and shoved away from the counter. He threw a stasis charm back behind himself at the revolting stew. He knew where Teddy was going. He knew he had to follow.

Harry headed upstairs to his room to change.

***

The music blared, the bass magically amplified, and Harry sent out a personal space charm ahead of himself so that he didn't have to push or wade through the bodies; they parted for him. He shunned the bar, unlike every other time he'd been here. He certainly could have used the alcohol's barbiturate effect, but he needed to be clear.

He needed to be in control.

He needed to -- finally, after many years of abstinence -- be Harry Bloody Potter.

His eyes scanned the crowd. He got duped by a couple people in blue wigs, but only for a split second. They didn't feel right, after all.

Harry had always been well-attuned to Teddy.

He made his way through the main room, across the bloated dance floor. He nodded to the thick-wristed wizards on either side of the playroom hallway. They nodded in return, and Harry started barreling down the hall toward the darker, narrower one.

When he began to pass the third playroom, he abruptly stopped. He turned toward the floor-to-ceiling window, the room lit with fire-sconces, the shadows dancing over their bodies.

His body.

Teddy.

Harry walked toward the window, blatantly staring. Teddy was standing in the center of the room. He had a man on his knees in front of him, laving his cock, another behind with his face full of arse, and about five others waiting their turns with him it appeared.

Teddy's hand moved slowly through the hair of the bloke who was sucking his cock. His eyes were closed, but Harry could still make out the pale streaks of his tears.

Harry placed his hand gently on the glass. "Revelio," he cast on himself. He watched Teddy's eyes open and then look right at him, spearing him.

Harry held his gaze. He traced his thumb over the glass as though it was Teddy's smooth cheek. They looked into one another's eyes, and Teddy's emotions flashed there nakedly: surprise, embarrassment...hope.

Harry's lips twitched into a small, sad smile. "Teddy," he whispered, though he was sure he couldn't hear. He saw. His hips bucked once, his hand went tight into the man's hair, and he shuddered.

Harry should have been jealous. Or rather he should not have been jealous if he were a proper bloke himself. But Harry now knew he was not a proper bloke. He'd surrendered to that when he saw the pain and the desire in Teddy's eyes earlier. Harry wanted him. He wanted Teddy Lupin bad enough to damn them both if this fool thing didn't work. He wanted to touch him and hold him and fuck him again so badly, it pooled like poison in his gut and sang like champagne through his veins.

So yes, he should have been jealous now -- and he sort of was. He didn't like the bastard there on his knees with Teddy's long, pretty prick moving in-between his stretched lips. But he couldn't blame him. Christ, he couldn't bloody blame him.

Teddy watched as Harry stepped to the side, hand squeaking across the glass. He watched as Harry put his hand on the doorknob. Teddy watched, intent, as Harry opened the door and cautiously stepped inside.

The sounds hit Harry at once -- the obscene grunting, the luscious moans, the mouth sounds and the sound of men's fists around their dicks. But over all of that, the racing of Harry's heart.

He stepped forward, passing the collection of would-be suitors one at a time. There was some complaint -- until Harry said, "Silencio," and everything from that side of the room went quiet. Teddy gasped, and Harry neared him as though approaching a nervous deer in the wood.

The mouths on his body kept up their work, and Teddy was jostled between them, his hand still holding loosely to the one man's hair but now trembling, too.

Harry walked right up to Teddy, avoiding the man on the floor. Teddy turned his head to the left to continue searching Harry's eyes.

"I thought about the things you said," Harry told him. They were just inches apart.

Teddy looked as though he were trying to arouse that bratty persona he liked. That Harry was rather fond of, too, if he was honest. And this seemed a time for honesty. "Oh?" Teddy managed to whisper. "And?"

"And," Harry said. Then he wound his fingers into Teddy's hair, angled their mouths, and kissed him.

Teddy blossomed open to him instantly. It was as though Harry had used a spell.

Harry deepened the kiss but kept it slow and purposeful -- not succumbing to the lost and desperate feeling that buzzed beneath his skin like renegade magic. Harry kissed him with everything he had and reined it in just enough to keep from coming.

Teddy was not so able. Ten seconds into the kiss, he stiffened, whined into Harry's mouth, and then started to orgasm. Harry's whole body came alive to how he shook, how he wavered on his feet, the taste of helplessness on his tongue, the smell of his spunk. Harry wrapped a stabilizing arm around Teddy's body as he shot into another man's mouth. Harry only broke away from the kiss to look down at the bloke and command, "Swallow it," making sure by Teddy's high moaning that he was doing so, then Harry kissed him some more. Kissed him through it. Held him through it. Loved him through every moment of it.

When the shudders subsided, Harry released Teddy's lips. They were swollen and deep pink, like his cock. Teddy absently reached back and shooed the fellow rimming him away. Harry gently pushed the other man off Teddy's softening cock. "You're done here," he said down to him. The man wiped his mouth with a crooked smile, nodded in acknowledgement and crawled over to one of the men waiting (and still utterly silent).

Harry waved his hand and the room once again filled with guttural cries and slapping flesh. He looked into Teddy's dilated eyes. "Did that answer your questions?"

"Jesus fucking shit, Harry," Teddy breathed.

Harry laughed. But at the one question left in Teddy's eyes, Harry sobered. "What is it?" he asked.

Teddy blinked. "I don't think I've heard you laugh like that in years," he said.

Harry's chest tightened threateningly. He swallowed, his eyes dropping to Teddy's supple lips. God, he could lose himself there easy. He couldn't help but anticipate their tender suckling at his hard cock. He decided to tell Teddy the truth, to bare everything. "That's because I wasn't in love."

Teddy looked back and forth between Harry's eyes, searching for the lie or the cruel joke. "Do you really want me?" Teddy asked.

Harry grabbed his hand and shoved it hard between his own legs, raising his eyebrows sardonically.

Teddy smiled.

"But not here. Not for this," Harry told him.

"Not for what?"

Harry felt the wicked, wonderful smile start at his lips and then filter down through his every cell. He knew it danced in his eyes.

He tugged Teddy to him -- and Disapparated them home.

***

Harry sipped his coffee and listened to the sound of Teddy's footfalls on the stairs, the rhythm of which suggested a sort of gleeful skipping. Harry was still trying to wake himself up.

Youth.

"Morning," Teddy smiled as he bounded into the kitchen, pajama bottoms riding tantalizingly low on his hips. At least they weren't falling off anymore. Three months of non-stop sex had apparently helped Teddy regain his appetite, and Harry was gratified to see the muscle and healthy skin tone returning.

"Morning," Harry winced. The light was just entirely too bright for his tastes.

Teddy poured himself a coffee and fetched a skillet. "Eggs?" he asked.

"Sure," Harry replied.

Teddy went one better and concocted omelets.

"Seriously?" Harry asked, tucking his napkin into his lap.

"Better than yours," Teddy replied. He shook out his Quibbler and shoved half a piece of toast with marmalade into his mouth.

Harry read his Prophet and they ate in companionable quiet until Teddy asked, "So? Did you do it?"

"Did I do what?" Harry feigned ignorance.

"It."

"Oh. It."

Teddy waited until Harry looked at him.

"Did you?" Harry rejoined, knowing it was completely juvenile.

"All ready to turn in. Do you need help with yours, Harry? Do you need a character reference?"

"Ha ha."

"I'd be more than happy to. 'Can save world and give spectacular blow job.'" Teddy waggled his eyebrows and then picked up their dirty plates, heading to the sink.

Harry sighed. "What if...I'm no good anymore?"

Suddenly Teddy whirled on him, wand raised, hex halfway past his lips. Harry didn't think. He waved his hand in a wordless Expelliarmus and disarmed him. The wand skittered across the floor and Teddy looked at him with a cocky grin.

"Yeah, you're really losing it, old man," he said.

Harry grumbled.

"That's it. I've had it with you, Harry. We're going together. Today."

"Today? But I've got--"

"Bollocks. We're turning in our applications together."

"I like purchasing Quidditch supplies," Harry told him.

"Yes, but you love this."

Harry purposefully misunderstood what 'this' was, turning his chair, opening his knees, taking Teddy's hand, and drawing him between his legs. "That I do," he said. He palmed Teddy's arse and pressed his face into his crotch, inhaling.

Teddy tilted his face up with a finger under his chin. "After," he said. "Now get dressed."

He bounded away again, up the stairs, and Harry could hear him getting ready -- running the water, brushing his teeth like a Muggle, moving from closet to bed to closet to bed, probably laying out Harry's nicest clothes, too.

Harry couldn't help but smile. He couldn't help but be a little bit erect.

He couldn't help pulling his wand as he snuck up the stairs, mischief more on his mind than the Ministry.

He couldn't help making them late, and he couldn't be bothered to mind.

He could be an Auror soon enough.

Teddy could no longer wait.

END