Title: September First
Prompt: on a magical mode of transportation
Pairing: Albus/Scorpius
Warnings/enticements: blowjob, underage

Once the train has been boarded and parents have been waved to (and, in Albus’s case, ignored), the two of them head straight for their compartment. It’s the one that’s always empty because the stuffing has been ripped out of all the seats. That suits them fine: neither of them has any plans to spend the trip to Hogwarts sitting down.

Scorpius does the locking spell while Albus gets his kit off.

“Hands up,” Scorpius instructs, and the sight of Albus’s fingers whitening around the sliver bars of the luggage rack is somehow just as erotic as Albus’s trousers down around his ankles, where they’ll stay in case he needs to yank them up in a hurry, on the off chance that someone manages to barge in.

Scorpius lets his gaze stray to Albus’s cock itself. Fully hard already of course, the smooth head nudging the faint line of reddish brown hair that trails from Albus’s navel to the thicket at his groin. Where Scorpius will soon be playing. His own cock pushes hard against the confinement of his pants, and he palms himself just a little through the expensive fabric.

Then he drops to his knees. Albus hangs on to the luggage rack and Scorpius hangs onto Albus.
Scorpius doesn’t know why the train ride is always the worst part for Al, but it is; Albus would jump off again in a heartbeat if he could. But he won’t; not now. Not since Scorpius has found a sure-fire way to stop him.

He lets his lips graze just around the tip of Albus’s foreskin, insinuating his tongue inside the folds so he can lick the smooth head, tasting.

Albus moans above him, shaking with his effort not to thrust. Scorpius brings both hands up to palm the globes of Albus’s sweet arse, steadying himself while he strips back Albus’s foreskin with just his lips with his lips, taking the cockhead inside his mouth.

Albus actually cries out then. And they’re not even out of London yet.

Scorpius lets Albus’s cock slid out of his mouth again until only the tip of the head is resting against Scorpius’s lips. A pulse of precome leaks out, bitter with Albus’s need.

Scorpius grins up at Albus, whose face is flushed and hungry and desperate and shining.

“Suck me,” Albus whimpers.

“We’ve got time,” Scorpius teases. But it’s not a tease, really; he’s got to make this last, after all.

Albus knows it. He hangs his shaggy head and Scorpius sees the moment when he really submits. Just there, in the tremor that goes through him as he gives in to the reality that, much as he hates the Hogwarts Express, he’s going to spend his next three and a half hours on it subjected to the most exquisite and tortuous cocksucking the world has ever known.

Albus Potter isn’t going anywhere.


For the next square, see comment below!

Title: After Dinner
Prompt: food smut
Pairing: Harry/Sirius-Padfoot
Warnings/enticements: underage, pseudo-bestiality, crossgen

Harry lies back, feeling Sirius’s hand come to rest on his hip while the other hand paints stripes of melted chocolate across his bollocks.

Maybe Harry’s so into this kink because he never got enough to eat at the Dursley’s.

And maybe Sirius is so into it because he spent twelve years starving in Azkaban.

Maybe it’s because neither of them is really quite okay with what’s going to happen in a minute, and the chocolate or butter or marmalade or whatever provides some kind of distraction from the reality of what they’re doing.

Oh no, Harry’s got chocolate all over himself, and the Order meeting’s going to start in ten minutes! Of course Padfoot will have to help him clean it up!

Or maybe they’re both into it simply because it feels really fucking good.

And shouldn’t they both have that?

Padfoot’s long, sloppy tongue so insanely perfect as it wraps around Harry’s cock, taking the entire length of him in a single wet stroke.

Harry’s never felt anything better in his life. Not even flying.

And Harry’s pleasure is the only thing Padfoot wants. And if Padfoot gets to be the cause of that pleasure, too?

Well, who’s a good dog, then?

Who’s the best dog?

This way it’s so uncomplicated.

And shouldn’t they both have that, as well?

Padfoot isn’t Harry’s godfather, after all.

A dog lapping at a boy is entirely different from a man sodomizing a teenager twenty years his junior.

Padfoot just wants to help.

They have nine minutes.

“Get going,” Harry tells Sirius, whose human face is such a mess of love and desire and pain that Harry can’t bear to look at it. He closes his eyes while Sirius transforms.

And then it’s just a boy and a dog and a dark rich sweetness that gets everywhere and covers everything. It fills their noses with the fragrance of pleasure, it coats Harry’s skin with the texture of pleasure. The velvet of chocolate, the velvet of Padfoot’s tongue. The velvet of Harry’s cock, the velvet of pleasure. The pleasure of orgasm. The taste and scent of Harry’s orgasm in Padfoot’s mouth, and nose, the senses overwhelmed with pleasure.

Harry holds the dog’s ears, one in each hand, keeping Padfoot’s huge hot mouth pressed close to his groin. He sighs, sated and limp on his back on the table. The clock on the kitchen wall ticks and neither of them notices the sound. And that absence of noticing, the absence of thinking anything at all for a few more moments while they lie here together, is pleasure.


for the next square, see comment below!

Title: Closed for Lunch
Prompt: anal play with toys
Pairing: Angelina/Fred/George
Warnings/enticements: twincest, polyamory, threeway, implied DP

In the office above the joke shop, Angelina perches on the edge what used to be a desk and is now a very fine bed (thank you Professor McGonagall, for riding our asses so hard in transfiguration). She studies George, who has dropped to his elbows on the mattress, his freckled arse in the air. The plug sticking out of it is only the size of a thumb. They’ve got quite a ways to go, the three of them.

Fred’s kneeling on the floor by the head of the mattress, his head level with his brother’s. He strokes George’s forehead and looks up at Angelina.

“Can you take more now?” she asks George.

“Yes,” Fred answers for his twin.

Anybody else and Angelina wouldn’t take that as consent, but it’s different with the twins. It always has been. It’s one of the reasons she’s here. The way they get on either side of her, they way they envelop her with themselves, it’s like there’s enough of them that they aren’t frightened by the force of her. Every other bloke Angelina has been with can’t handle the fact that she knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it. Can’t handle her expectation that others do the same. But that’s never been a problem with the twins. Two of them against one of her is a perfectly matched game.


“He’s ready,” Fred urges her on.

Angelina slides out the plug and picks up the empty butterbeer bottle. The bottle is her third favorite part of this. She likes the way the glass thickens at the bottle’s mouth, then thins again once you get past that first bit, only to widen as you move down the bottle neck. She likes the way the ridged bit at the top takes real concentration—her own and George’s—to insert.

“Doing the bottle now,” she tells him. She watches as Fred reaches for George’s hands, interlacing their fingers. George makes a sound, the vulnerable open sound Angelina loves. She slicks the brown glass with the lube in the palm of her hand and presses its smooth, curved edge against George’s hole. Nudges it back and forth against the pale purple folds, which have contracted closed again.

“Come on, Georgie,” Fred croons. “We’ve got you. Open up for us.”

And he does. It’s beautiful to watch, the way George’s anus relaxes at Fred’s command, the way her wrist twists the bottle just so, nudging the ring of the bottle’s mouth inside George’s hole. George sighs as the cool, slippery glass breaches him. Angelina works it in an inch and waits. When Fred nods, she presses in a bit further.

“Good?” she asks.

“Good,” Fred and George reply together, Fred’s voice steady, George’s voice a little breathless.

Angelina beams. “So good,” she repeats. In a few minutes, George will be ready for Fred to fuck him, and then Angelina will take a turn to kneel by George’s head, to watch and kiss and praise him. She won’t be there for long, though; Fred will pull out in time to save himself for the main event.

Angelina’s broomstick handle will be next, polished dark and smooth as skin. The broom she rides, inside him. The broom handle is her second favorite part.

And then, finally, she’ll kick off her knickers, step into the harness. She’ll Summon the cock the three of them transfigured together, the one that’s just for her to use with them. George will lift himself up on all fours and Fred will lie beneath him. Once George has slid himself down onto Fred’s cock—and he will slide, after that broomstick—Angelina will get on her knees behind George. And then George will fall forward into his brother’s arms, opening up for her as well.

And that’s her favorite part of all. The way George makes room for both of them. The way it feels like there’s more room in her heart because she shares him with Fred. Or because Fred shares him with her, since Fred had him first. The way she doesn’t need to keep track of that anymore, of who has what, who got what when, and how much there is of it. There is enough. Enough of her to handle both of them. Enough of them that they can take her, take her all the way in.


for the next square, see comment below!

Title: Before the Exam
Prompt: frottage
Pairing: Ginny/Lavender
Warnings/enticements: clothed sex, semi-public sex, underage

“Are you fucking crazy?” Ginny hisses.

She’d been rushing into the Great Hall for breakfast, horribly late, just as Lavender was coming out. And here she is thirty seconds later, shoved her up in this little alcove, Lavender’s very shoddy disillusionment charm the only thing between them and the entire castle seeing them like this, on the morning of Ginny’s OWLs, no less.

“Crazy for you,” Lavender drawls, in that half-stupid voice that Ginny never realized was a huge act, back when Lavender was having it off with Ron. “Crazy for your charms,” Lavender murmurs, low and dirty and much too sexy for eight o’clock in the bloody morning. But that voice of Lavender’s works on Ginny just like it always does, that hard glint in Lavender’s eyes reminding her at the same time that there’s much more to Lavender than this blowsy sexpot persona she likes to affect.

“Come on, Ginny,” Lavender purrs. “I need you to make me feel gooood.”

Lavender shoves one of her ample thighs hard between Ginny’s smaller, more muscled ones, her hands wrapping around Ginny’s arse and pulling her forward.

Get the fuck off, Ginny intends to say, because she’s got her bloody OWLs in fifteen minutes, she hasn’t eaten breakfast, and she can hear her mother’s voice, and Percy’s voice too, in her head right now, admonishing her about the perils of test-taking on an empty stomach.

Lavender pulls Ginny further up her thigh, lifting her up a bit so that Ginny’s actually sitting on that thigh now, Lavender’s generous breasts pressing right up against Ginny’s small ones.

“I’ll make you feel good too,” Lavender hums in Ginny’s ear.

And it’s true, she will. Lavender Brown is a very reliable girl. A girl who always keeps her word. The voices of Ginny’s mum and Percy can fuck right off. Ginny buries her face in Lavender’s neck, and arches back hard, grinding her clit against Lavender’s thigh.

And they’re off. Lavender’s a fucking racehorse the way she she lets Ginny ride her. Ginny fists her hands in Lavender’s hair, holding on tight as Lavender rocks her. Lavender’s much bigger than she is; Ginny can really sit on that thigh, her feet all the way off the goddamn floor, her leg wrapped around one of Lavender’s legs to hold herself in place so Lavender can get off too.

Lavender’s a gusher. There will be a damp mark on the front Ginny’s robes for at least an hour after. And Lavender’s a screamer. Lavender buries her mouth in Ginny's shoulder when comes, howling so loud it’s a wonder McGonagall can’t hear them all the way at the teacher’s table on the other side of the Great Hall’s oak doors. Ginny bucks her hips harder, shifting forward until she’s right at Lavender’s hip. The hardness of Lavender’s hipbone amidst all the softness of Lavender’s belly and breasts feels to Ginny’s clit like finding a diamond in a field of clouds.

And Lavender’s strong, She grips Ginny’s hips and lets Ginny ride her. Lavender the thoroughbred nobody notices. Nobody except Ginny, who Lavender takes farther each time.

“Come on, Ginny,” Lavender urges, low. “Come right here in the hallway. Show me how good I make your pussy feel. Come just for me. Be a good girl, Ginny.”

And that does it. Ginny’s orgasm breaks over her the shudder of pleasure ripping through everything else, her anxiety about the exams, her fear of getting caught, the voices in her head, the fear that never goes away. For a moment she feels like she’s falling, as if without all that fear she’s nobody. But Lavender has her, her strong arms around Ginny’s back, holding her while she bucks, keeping her seated, keeping her on.

Ginny’s head falls against Lavender’s shoulder. She lets herself breathe hard. Lavender strokes her head, and then, too soon, lowers Ginny down an inch, sets her back on her feet on the floor.

Ginny clings to her.

“Fucking hell,” she manages to say after a moment.

Lavender touches Ginny’s chin, tipping her head up to look in her eyes.

“Give ‘em hell on your OWLs then, sweetie,” she says. And then, reaching into her robes: “Here. I saved you a scone. You shouldn’t take tests on an empty stomach.”

For the next square, see comment below!

Title: Sunday Morning
Prompt: sadism/masochism
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Warnings/enticements: nipple play, pain play

“Harder?” Remus asks.

Even now, he can still hear the amazement in his own voice, not daring to believe it’s really all right. But Sirius’s yes is so guttural and urgent, so certain, that the hissed syllable drags another wave of endorphins through Remus, even before his fingers actually tighten on Sirius’s reddened nipples, squeezing and twisting until Sirius moans again in pain.

That moan goes straight up Remus’s spine. And on the heels of that, the experience of his own fingers, pinching and twisting, sends a flood of pleasure through his whole body. From his bollocks to the top of his head, an overwhelming burst of sensation that is maybe even better than orgasm. Remus isn’t even hard right now, and yet he’s as turned on as he’s ever been, dizzy and drunk and in love with the high of this. In love with Sirius. And in love with the hurting. With being allowed to do it. With being begged to do it, in fact.

“More, Moony,” Sirius slurs drunkenly, though neither of them has had anything stronger than pumpkin juice.

Remus screws his fingers into those sensitive nubs of flesh, his eyes darting between Sirius’s ecstatic face and his weeping cock.

“I’m hurting you,” Remus says softly. Reverent and grateful.

“Yessss,” Sirius answers, and Remus hears his own reverence echoed in Sirius’s reply.

This call and response between them is part of it, part of the ritual that takes them deeper in.

“I love hurting you,” Remus whispers. His voice so gentle, his fingers so hard.

And again Sirius moans his assent, and in that moment Remus understands everything about devotion, about communion, about prayer.

Flails at all of these but esPecially the last. Omg, gOrgeous.

Thank you so much! <3

So much for pacing myself on these!

I kept thinking, well, that's it, that's the best one yet. Now I'm done and I'm not sure I could even choose which one is most marvelous.

If I had to, I'd probably go with the Remus/Sirius, but only because it's so satisfying to see Remus enjoying himself and being honest about it. The Harry/Sirius one was so powerful too, though--that history of deprivation they share hit me very hard.

Then again, I might have to go with Angelina and the twins :). The three of them together, the way the twins just know each other, the way it takes two of them to balance out the one of her...so fantastic.

-lefthandofglory

Thank you for commenting, and happy you liked them. I was pretty stoked to write something where Remus isn't drowning in angst for once; clearly he needs to do that kind of thing *much* more often! : ) The Angelina/twins one was a complete surprise to me, one that might to be investigated further....

Wow, these are all great! I also like how the titles form a little time-related theme linking them all together.

September First - It's so cool how the train itself is like one big time-release bondage device, keeping Al trapped right where Scorpius wants him. >:D

After Dinner - Oh yessss, this is good. The rhythm of it feels like a glimpse into Harry's secret thoughts, conflicted with the wrongness of it and yet wanting the taboo so badly (Well, who’s a good dog, then? Who’s the best dog?) and the relief at the end of *not* having to think for a minute.

Closed for Lunch - Besides being smoking hot, this is such a keenly observed portrait of Angelina and the twins. I feel I've learned more about them in this short piece than I know of the characters in many much longer fics! Two of them against one of her is a perfectly matched game. I love that, it feels like I know her instantly with this line. The way she doesn’t need to keep track of that anymore, of who has what, who got what when, and how much there is of it. There is enough. This thought is so lovely I gasped out loud!

Before the Exam - Oh, I love what you did with Lavender here. I think sometimes people aren't sure how to write her because we see such an unattractive angle to her in HBP, but this feels much more three-dimensional. You have a knack for capturing characters in a few lines.

Sunday Morning - This might be the best of the five. I'm struggling to put into words how much I like it. Maybe there's nothing more to be said — you've already put so perfectly exactly how much hurting someone, and allowing oneself to be hurt, can mean.

Thank you for these wonderful comments and for your keen reading. I'm so pleased that you noticed the time theme that connects them together, as well as all the other things you mentioned. Yours is the kind of comment I'll go back to and read for inspiration when I feel stuck. <333 Thanks again!

My pleasure! And I sent you three long-winded PMs... Hope they aren't so heavy they fall out of the sky when DW tries to beam them to you. (That's how the internet works, right?)