Authority Role Play, BirchingOther Warnings/Content:
Rough sex, clothed sex, pain kink Word Count:
Professor Malfoy catches Harry outside the dorms after curfew. It's just as well Harry was hoping to run into him. Author's Notes:
Hope you enjoy!
“Out after hours again, Mr Potter?”
The soft drawl makes Harry’s skin crawl, just like Lucius knew it would, and it makes it easy to turn his most belligerent stare on his lover; the one he used to reserve for Snape. He lifts his chin, squares his shoulders, and meets Lucius’ gaze head on. Lucius is dressed in a dark robe over a pinstripe waistcoat, a watch chain hanging at his hip. He looks unfairly delicious, especially given that Harry’s dressed in his old school robes.
(He’s mildly offended at how well they still fit him.)
“I guess so, Professor,” he says.
It’s taken them a while to find a role play that they’re both comfortable with. The idea of playing as auror is too close to Harry’s actual job - he keeps losing himself in thoughts of how much paperwork fucking a suspect would generate - and it, along with any role play involving captivity, reminds Lucius too much of the war. Of Azkaban.
School is the safest option: Lucius was never his teacher, and for all that he spent his actual schooldays being stalked by a Dark Lord, he doesn’t have many overwhelmingly awful memories of it. At least, none that involve the uniform.
“You ‘guess so,’ Mr Potter?” Lucius asks, raising an eyebrow. Harry’s hands curl into fists on impulse. “This is not your dormitory, and curfew was...how long ago, Mr Potter?”
“Two hours, Professor Malfoy,” Harry grits out.
“Two hours ago, exactly, Mr Potter.”
“I was in detention, Professor,” Harry says. It is, at least, realistic, and Lucius knows it. There’s a glint of humour in his eye, and the upward quirk of his lip isn’t entirely
“Indeed,” he says, and he sounds so fucking smug
that Harry feels his body temperature rise as a flush crawls up his face. He wants to be bent over and fucked on the nearest hard surface, but he also wants to punch Lucius in the face for playing a surly-Slytherin-dickhead so well.
“Well, Mr Potter, I regret to inform you that it will be detention again. My office.”
“But sir!” Harry protests.
Lucius gestures, and Harry obeys. He stalks stiff-shouldered into Lucius’ actual office. Lucius has tidied away his paperwork for the evening, relocating blueprints and construction permits to god-knows-where. His desk stands in the centre of the room, empty and imposing, and Harry feels his cock twitch.
The door closes behind them with a soft noise, and Lucius brushes hair away from the back of Harry’s collar with a gentle finger.
“Professor?” Harry asks.
“The rules are quite clear, Mr Potter,” he says. “For every late-night adventure of yours, a detention shall be served.”
Harry licks his lips. “How would you like me to serve them, Professor?” he asks.
Lucius’ hand slides lower, down the length of his spine to cup the curve of his arse. Harry gasps – only half pretend.
“Professor?” he asks, turning to look over his shoulder with wide eyes.
Lucius’ eyes are dark, the silver of his irises a pale halo around blown pupils. Harry feels his heart skip and blood surges to his cock. This is working for Lucius too, it seems; working well. Lucius’ free hand comes up to his shoulder, drawing the loose robe down, revealing Harry’s old Gryffindor sweater and the trousers that have only become a little bit too tight around the arse.
“Put your hands on the desk, Mr Potter,” Lucius orders, his voice soft and low.
Harry swallows; does as he says. He parts his legs instinctively, but Lucius forces them shut with gentle nudges to his feet.
“Sir?” Harry asks.
“You might be an eager little slut, Mr Potter, but this is still a punishment,” Lucius informs him, and Harry feels a shiver run down his spine. “You require discipline.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry agrees, chastised in a way that he never actually managed to be in real life. He has a sneaking suspicion that if Lucius had
been his teacher back then, things would have turned out a lot differently. For a start, he would have been madly in lust with the Head of Slytherin from the moment he discovered hormones.
“Undo your trousers,” Lucius commands. “Then return to your position.”
Harry obeys, unfastening his belt and his slacks. He lets them fall to pool around his ankles along with his boxers, leaving him bare to Lucius’ scrutiny as he leans forward once more and grasps the edge of the desk.
Lucius’ hand cups him, parts his cheeks. One long finger swipes down his crease, testing his entrance. He hears Lucius’ breath hitch when he realises that Harry is already prepared.
“What’s this, Mr Potter?” he asks, his voice little more than a growl. “Up to no good, are we? Were you hoping to be passed around by a Quidditch team, perhaps?” He pushes two fingers in, twisting his wrist and making Harry arch back against him.
“Hoping I’d run into you, sir,” Harry corrects. He mewls when the fingers are removed, pushing his hips back. He can feel his entrance fluttering with anticipation.
“Slut,” Lucius says. He sounds breathless.
Harry glances back at him over his shoulder and grins at the flush decorating Lucius’ cheeks. Lucius glowers down at him, recognising the mischief in Harry’s gaze, and he turns abruptly, leaving Harry bent over and wanting.
He returns quickly enough – just enough so that Harry doesn’t really have time to voice a protest. He has a birch rod held loosely in his hand. Thin enough to be a switch, really: long and slender, with a slight point to its end.
They’ve experimented with this before. Not switches, specifically, but pain-play. Lucius has a lot of toys and a rather vivid imagination, and he’s introduced Harry to kink after kink. Harry’s discovered a liking for pain: he likes his pleasure to have a sting to it. He likes being choked and spat on and degraded, and he likes to be cuddled afterwards, held close and allowed to come down from his endorphin high gently.
Lucius traces the tip of it down his crack, teasing the back of his bollocks before letting it fall away. Harry groans, turning his face away and arching his back, rising up onto his toes to present himself. The switch returns, drawing a line across the swell of his buttocks. His cock twitches.
“Stay still, Mr Potter,” Lucius says. “And count.”
The first blow lands, right across the fleshiest part of Harry’s arse. He yowls, jerking against the desk; chokes out a “one” before Lucius has to remind him, and a strong hand smoothes over the welt on his skin.
“Good, pet,” Lucius says. “Maybe there are ways to teach you after all, Mr Potter.”
Harry nods frantically, eager to prove that he’s as good as Lucius said. He keeps counting, even though the sting of the switch brings tears to his eyes. He’s sobbing by “eight,” his breath coming fast. “Nine,” has spots dancing in the corners of his vision and the tip of his cock leaking profusely against the hard wood beneath him. “Ten!” takes the rest of his energy, and he feels nothing but relief when Lucius puts the switch down onto the desk next to him, stepping up behind him. Harry can feel the heat of his body; the rough texture of Lucius’ trousers rubbing against his abused arse as he unfastens them just enough to pull his cock free of the heavy fabric.
Harry wails as Lucius pulls his cheeks apart. It hurts
in a way that riding crops and paddles don’t – it’s so much more intense – and the position he’s in with his legs pressed together makes Lucius feel so much bigger as he enters him; big enough to split Harry apart.
Lucius leans down over him. “Is this what you hoped your detention would be, Mr Potter?” he hisses into Harry’s ear.
Harry sobs, nodding again. He cries out when Lucius spanks him.
“Use your words,” Lucius commands.
Harry whines low in his throat. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, sir. I – I want it.”
Lucius moans softly. The way his hands grasp Harry’s hips, then, is almost gentle. He rubs his thumbs tenderly along the sides of Harry’s arse, pulling him back and lifting him up so that he’s balanced on his toes. The slow glide of his cock as he pulls out is torture; the thrust back in, hard and harsh enough to drive the air from Harry’s lungs, is so much better.
It doesn’t stop Lucius. Nothing will unless Harry taps out or uses their safe-word. He’s always been vocal when he’s being fucked, and Lucius has grown used to the noise Harry makes. He fucks Harry brutally hard until it’s all Harry can do to cling to the edge of the desk as he chokes and wails and comes untouched.
Lucius fucks him through it, keeping up a relentless pace, until he finally comes, spilling into Harry with hot, deep bursts. He’s panting heavily when he leans over Harry again, his cock still buried inside of him, softening slowly. He presses a kiss behind Harry’s ear and whispers, “detention, Mr Potter, every night for the rest of the year.”
Harry laughs, breathless. He turns his head to look back at Lucius through tear-clumped lashes. “Yes professor,” he says.