InsaneJournal

Scorpius's Very Happy Christmas
 

“No thanks, Scorpius.  Muggle beer suits me just fine.”

Al’s Uncle Charlie waves away the proffered pumpkin juice and raises his Guinness; Al’s grandfather sees and raises his own in a toast of Muggle-loving solidarity.  Charlie gives me a knowing wink, leans in close.  “You’d best keep that flask of Firewhisky out of sight, though.  My sister won’t care, but Al’s dad can be a bit uptight...”

“I know,” I assure him.  “Thanks.”  I smile, tuck the flask deeper into my pocket.  It was Al’s brother’s gift to me, passed secretly in the hallway of the Potters’ home this morning on my way to the loo.  “Happy Christmas,” James had uttered, smirking.  “Be careful where you put your mouth right after you drink it, yeah?  Don’t go burning Al’s dick off.”

Hardly a necessary reminder, but his gift – and easy warmth – were most welcome.  I’m still getting used to the idea that Al’s family accepts me now, after all our years together.  Al’s father was the last to come around, but even Mr. Potter seems genuinely glad to have me here with them for the holidays.  He didn’t even flinch when I found myself trapped beneath the mistletoe last night – charmed, as it was, to immobilise passers-by – and Al rescued me with a kiss.

We Apparate from the Burrow back to the Potters’ house later that evening, in various states of sobriety.  Al’s parents say goodnight and head to bed, as does his sister.  James and his girlfriend linger in the sitting room, next to the fire; for obvious reasons, we’ll stay away from that part of the house tonight.  I decide to shower before turning in.

Minutes after I step into the steaming spray, Al pulls back the shower curtain, naked and half-hard.

“Hi, babes.”  He steps inside and pulls it shut.  I grin.

“Is this the Christmas present I’ve been waiting for all day?”

“Yeah.  The first part of it, anyway.”  He takes the soap from me, lathers his hands, and runs them down my back, to my arse.  I chuckle.

“How pissed are you?”

He pulls me close, rubbing his cock against mine, puts his lips to my ear.  “Not too pissed to shag you.”  His fingers snake down the crack of my arse; I start to breathe faster as he ruts against me under the hot water.  A soapy finger finds my opening and pushes inside; I groan and cant my hips into his.

“Al...”

“Shhh,” he warns me.  “I left my wand in my bedroom.”

No Imperturbable Charms for us, then.   He finger-fucks me slowly.  “Like that?”

“More,” I beg him quietly.

One slick finger is replaced with two.  I reach between us, wrap my hand around his now fully-erect cock, and stroke him in time with the rhythm of his fingers inside me.  His soft moan vibrates against my cheek.

“Wanted to touch you all day,” he mutters, his voice low and rough.  “Wanted to bring you home and throw you down on my bed and...mmmppphhh...”

I shut him up with a deep, Firewhisky-fueled kiss, tighten my grip on his cock.  A few more strokes of his fingers in my arse, and we’re panting into each other’s mouths.

“Why don’t you throw me down now?”

“We’ll get to that, definitely.”  He pulls away, grinning, his lips swollen and red.  “But there’s something else I want to try first.”  He turns me around, his hands caressing my chest.  He kisses and sucks the back of my neck; I brace myself against the tiled wall to steady myself. Al licks a path from my shoulder blades down my spine, his tongue igniting my skin, no doubt due to the Firewhisky he’s been sneaking from my flask all evening.  I shudder when he reaches my bum.

“What are you doing?”  I whisper.

“Relax,” he murmurs, kneeling on the floor of the shower. His tongue dips lower; his hands smooth over the cheeks of my arse, then spread them apart. My legs tremble; my cock twitches and throbs. He laps lightly at my opening; I feel a wet, tickling, tingling sensation, and then…

“Oh, God…”

His tongue pushes into me, and tears spring to my eyes; it burns – Christ, it burns – but in the most exquisitely pleasurable way. I can’t move, can barely breathe; he’s either going to kill me from the pain or make me come harder than I ever have in my life.

“Oh, fuck, Al…oh, please…”

A hand slips around my hip, fondles my balls; I want to scream, but it wouldn’t do to wake his family under these circumstances. I force myself to stay quiet while he tongues me. His hand moves from my balls to my prick, stroking me, and then I can’t wait anymore; I need his cock, now. He must hear it in my breathing, because he stands, reaches around the curtain for something – lube, I’m sure – and moments later, Al is cursing softly under his breath as his cock presses into me, thick and blunt and slippery…

And I can’t tell anymore if the pain or the pleasure is from his cock or the residual Firewhisky, and I don’t care…I only know that it feels fucking incredible, the steady, burning press of his prick in my arse. He reaches around to stroke me again; I watch the head of my dick slip through his fingers, glistening with pre-come. A sudden, delicious trembling races up my spine, and I come, gasping, ropes of white hitting the tile; seconds later, Al grabs my hips and pulls me hard against him, shuddering.

We stand like that – spent and shaking, Al’s arms around me – until our breathing returns to normal. At last he slips out of me, turns me around.

“Want the rest of your present in my room?”

“Definitely,” I sigh. “Staying quiet like that was torture.”

He smiles, pulls back the curtain. His wand is lying on the edge of the sink.

“You fucking arsehole.”

Al grins. “Happy Christmas.”

It is.