Title: Teachable Moment
Author: songquake
Characters/Pairings: Horace Slughorn/Anthony Goldstein (odd unrequited Horace/Tom Riddle Jr)
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Anisonogamism: attraction to persons much younger or older than oneself (disparity >64 years, given that Sluggie is estimated to be over 80 in HBP); spitting/swallowing.
Other Warnings: almost-snowballing
Word Count: 4072
Summary/Description: Horace has a soft spot for Ravenclaws.
Author's Notes: I don't think I've ever felt icky from writing porn before. Which just goes to show that even the most unrepentant kink-writers can discover kinks they find morally reprehensible. Oh, Sluggie. *shakes head*
Thanks so much to leela_cat for letting me post on her day, and the mods for approving the change!

Teachable Moment

One of the unexpected advantages of teaching NEWT Potions, Horace Slughorn had found, was that it allowed him to meet (allowed him to watch) nearly all the upper-level Ravenclaws each year. There were other students taking NEWT's in his subject, of course, but the Ravenclaws tended to be naturally curious about everything, while the Slytherins and odd Gryffindor would be drawn by a particular affinity or a need to gain the qualifications for their chosen careers.

Ravenclaws, however, wanted to learn everything, and were known also for seeking authorities to instruct them.

Horace would never act inappropriately with one of his students, of course. But he was a mere wizard, not a Muggle saint. He knew about ethics and legalities, but he had absorbed the lessons of his House so well as to become its paragon. He knew how to exploit situations and legalities to his advantage.

He had long cultivated an image of utter approachability before his students, a demeanour so open that it fairly begged students to ask him about topics which they were too timid to approach their peers or other staff. It had served him very well through the years, mostly—Horace didn't care to think too much about the time his sharing of knowledge had wrought disaster on the entirety of wizarding Britain. But aside from that rather unfortunate encounter with the (thankfully now) late Mr Riddle…

As he did every time he thought of his folly with the young Tom Riddle, Horace wished the boy's interests had run more toward sexual esoterics.

But that was the province of Ravenclaws. As noted, Slytherins were more likely to engage the NEWT-level Potions course out of specific interest or ambition—even the ones Horace had thought particularly lovely to the eyes. They were also likelier to press their own advantage afterwards.

And Horace, as much as he loved a little quid pro quo, did not much enjoy outright bribery or blackmail.

Still, the young man who had asked to "continue our discussion about the strategic use of Amortentia-like substances during the recent unpleasantness," after the Leaving Feast was unusually bold.

Horace smiled, fox-like. Yes, he would do. "I'm sure you've more entertaining things to do on your last night at Hogwarts, Mr Goldstein," he said, "but still, still! Your enthusiasm must be commended. Shall we adjourn to my quarters and have a collegial drink to celebrate the end of your formal education and the beginning of a friendship of scholars?" Horace nearly grimaced in frustration at his own enthusiasm. Still, it wasn't every day that teenagers propositioned him. Usually, he had to woo them a bit.

"Er…Yes, thank you, Professor Slughorn. That would be lovely."

Not as lovely as that blush of yours, young man, thought Horace.

They walked silently from the Great Hall to Horace's rooms, entering through his office so as give a greater appearance of propriety, even though the boy was of age and finished with school. Still, Horace knew the importance of keeping a respectable image, and would no sooner deny that to young Anthony Goldstein than to himself.

Young Anthony Goldstein, who was visibly restraining a shuffle of embarrassment as he stood in Horace's sitting room, watching his erstwhile professor pour two generous glasses of firewhisky.

The room was outfitted with a silk-cushioned settee, two wingback chairs, and a coffee table between the two in front of the fireplace. Horace set the tumblers down on the table and sat in the centre of the settee.

"Now, my boy, have a seat!" Horace boomed, patting the spot to his right. His companion took the seat that was offered and lifted his drink, looking as though he were about to gulp it down. "No, we must toast!" Horace said gaily, madly.

Anthony Goldstein was well-mannered, in any event. The boy moved the glass away from his lips and into the air.

"To your future, lad!" Horace said. "And to a warm and prosperous friendship!" He tipped his glass towards Goldstein's. "Sláinte!"

"Sláinte," said the boy, blinking, as he clinked their glasses together.

Horace snorted good-naturedly. "I know we're both English as the day is long, dear Goldstein, but I've always found there to be something particularly warm about the old Scotch-Irish toasting tradition." He watched Goldstein nod and take his first gulp of whiskey. Horace loved watching the young man's Adam's apple bob as the liquid burnt his throat. "And now, dear boy, what can I do for you? You came seeking advice, or in pursuit of knowledge arcane?"

Let it be advice, please Merlin, he thought.

"Not so much advice, sir," Goldstein said, the slowness of his speech belying his nervousness, "as information."

Horace approved of Goldstein's careful elocution; it spoke very well of his upbringing. This lad, one who hadn't garnered much of Horace's attention in the years he'd been back at Hogwarts, was a real diamond in the rough, and one that Horace had nearly missed while distracted by the already sparkling jewels of Potter, Zabini, and Granger.

Still, Horace was never one to miss who was paying attention in his lessons, and this quiet young man, so proper, so well-bred, had been staring at him with more than academic interest for weeks. Horace was certain of it.

He turned towards Goldstein. "Now, dear chap," he said, patting his hand, "what sort of advice did you seek? You said something about Amortentia during last year's unpleasantness?"

Goldstein blushed. "I did." He took a breath, obviously mustering up some courage. Horace smiled, hoping to add to it. "But it's all very silly, and I expect I was looking for a potion to be involved to explain away feelings I couldn't understand and don't know how to cope with."

Oh-ho! thought Horace. "Dear me, who did you think had slipped you a love potion?"

"Well, it couldn't have been you, sir—I know you are much more honourable than that. But I found myself…" The boy's cheeks were aflame, and the flush crept down his neck from his ears. The effect was quite fetching. He took another swallow of his Firewhiskey, seeming to seek a respite from his awkward confession.

"Yes?" Horace said quietly, warmly, encouragingly.

Goldstein closed his eyes and turned his head toward the fire. "I found myself thinking of you…in most inappropriate ways. So I wondered whether perhaps somebody had dosed me, as a joke. Or whether there had been some tactics afoot last year involving love potions to…well, distract students who had previously been members of Dumbledore's Army." He turned back to look at Horace at last.

Horace merely raised an eyebrow. "Of course, I understand completely," he said, a bit unsure himself of how to play this hand. "Of course you wouldn't feel an honest, natural attraction to an old man," he said, "although you wouldn't be the first."

Goldstein's eyes widened. "Oh no! Sir!" he said, clearly mortified. "I didn't mean—I didn't mean to insult you! I meant…"

Horace sighed. "Mr Goldstein," he said softly. "You mustn't feel ashamed of such feelings, even if they might be better directed at someone your own age. It's not uncommon for students, especially ones who are confused about their desires, to become…fixated on a teacher. It's a very normal, if awkward, process called transference. You're not actually attracted to me, but what I represent."

Goldstein sat quietly for a moment. Horace regulated his breathing, keeping it steady, comfortable, comforting. It would not do for the boy to realise just how much Horace wanted him, even if Horace were 'just' a symbol of some deeper teenage desire or rebellion.

Still, Horace had experienced this scene often enough to know that there were three ways this would go: Goldstein could insist he was attracted, he could continue to pursue his curiosity, or he could accept Horace's explanation and go on his way.

Horace dearly hoped it would not go the third way.

When Goldstein spoke, his voice was low. "I—I think I am attracted to you, or maybe what you represent, I don't know." Horace could hear him swallow, his throat empty this time. "I hate not knowing."

Horace's breath caught a bit when the boy looked at him; his hair, backlit by the fire, had fine streaks of reddish-gold amid the brown. His face was likewise a mix of warmth and shadows; the nose and brow he was still growing into stood sharp among his still-round face.

Merlin, but Horace loved the look of men at this age.

He dared not whisper, but still answered quietly. "What is it you want to know?"

Young Goldstein's chin trembled as though terrified. "What you're like." He took a shuddering breath, and Horace could feel his todger take note. "What a man likes," he continued. "How to do things properly."

Horace's mouth dried, his own skin warmed. "Proper, my dear chap," he rasped, "is hardly what you're looking for."

At that, Goldstein chuckled. "No," he said, "I suppose it isn't."

A slow smile spread across Horace's face. "Though I do appreciate your passion for a thorough education in every respect."

"If I'm going to do something, I'd rather do it well. But doing things well does require…practice."

"Of course," Horace murmured. "And detailed instructions can be very helpful for beginners of any craft."

He felt his blood quicken at the sight of Goldstein's blush at that.

"Yes," Goldstein said, "and it would be nice to…feel like less of a beginner when I step out into the world." His breath was already beginning to shallow, much to Horace's delight.

"Well, then," he said, deepening his voice as much as he could. "Shall we start with the basics? Perhaps some fellatio?"

He watched as Goldstein bit back a gasp. Oh yes, these young ones, the ones who wanted to learn properly, were always shocked when talk moved from the euphemistic to the precise.

"Yes," the young man said. He shifted forward, already reaching for Horace's trousers, but Horace caught his hand.

"Hush," whispered Horace. "Not so fast. In most cases, you'll be starting out with something like this." He reached up with his free hand, feeling the heat of Goldstein's cheek as he cupped it.

Goldstein's lips were chapped yet slick—clearly, the boy had planned for something like this and applied some sort of lip balm. Horace could feel the tingle of its menthol, could taste the mint of it when he used his own lips to drag Goldstein's open. He smiled as he felt the shuddering intake of air where their mouths joined, and broke away for his own breath before bringing his other arm up to press Goldstein closer against him. He licked Goldstein's lips and thrust his tongue inside, reaching to stroke as much of the mouth as he could reach.

Goldstein moaned, and Horace licked his lips again before breaking away.

"Good," he said. "Let the other person know how much you like it." He kissed Goldstein again, eliciting another low whimper. Horace pulled back, caressing Goldstein's face and neck. "You're doing very well, Anthony." Horace warmed with pride as Goldstein shivered at the sound of his given name. "Now, try kissing back, using your own tongue. Some men—women, too—like to trade dominance."

Goldstein reached down to clutch Horace's head back to his mouth, stabbing Horace's lips with his tongue. "Easy," Horace muttered into his mouth. "The idea is to stroke the other person." He gave a slow, luxurious rub of his own to illustrate, and was gratified by how well Goldstein imitated.

"Now," Horace said, keeping his voice as even as possible, "another thing that many people consider important is finding other erogenous zones: the ears, the neck, the chest." He punctuated his statement by biting, nuzzling, and massaging these areas in turn.

Goldstein moaned again before reciprocating.

"Excellent," Horace hissed.

His trousers were beginning to feel rather tight, indeed. He reached around, slid a hand down Goldstein's back to the swell of his arse. Goldstein bucked and pulled away from their kiss, eyes closed.

"Good boy," Horace praised. Goldstein looked up, eyes half-lidded yet bright. "You're a natural, lad."

Goldstein's voice, when he spoke, was breathless. "Thank you, sir."

Horace wasn't sure that it was appropriate, how much that honorific turned him on. Still, this was hardly the time to worry about 'appropriate'. It was time for the next step in the lesson.

"Now, you've been doing very well, but if I remember what it was like to be eighteen, you're probably only a few moments away from climax."

Goldstein's flush deepened; his face looked nearly scarlet in the firelight. "Er," he said. "Yeah."

Horace nodded kindly. "I know. And while immediate gratification feels awfully good," he waited to see Goldstein nod in agreement, "seeking it is unlikely to…impress lovers, especially ones who have a bit more experience. Or ones who are women. Women do take a bit more work to bring off, you see, and many young men forget that their partner's pleasure is just as important."

Goldstein gave an embarrassed cough. "I really don't think that will be a problem, sir."

Horace made a show of surprise, though in truth he felt none. "Still, it's good to keep in mind. You never know when having at least a theoretical knowledge of what pleases the fairer sex will be useful."

Goldstein looked away. "I suppose you're right," he said.

"Anthony," Horace said, reaching up to direct the boy's gaze back to him. "Let's not get distracted by hypotheticals, eh?" He pulled Goldstein's head down again, allowing their kiss to stoke the younger man's interest again. This time, Goldstein pulled back first.

"You were saying?" he asked breathlessly.

Horace smiled. "Indeed. I was saying that a certain level of self-control is sometimes called for. You showed admirable restraint right now, and an even more admirable attention to your partner, by bringing things back to the conversation I'd initiated."

Goldstein had the grace not to outwardly preen, but Horace could tell he was chuffed.

"What do you want to teach me next?" he asked.

Horace smiled, hoping to reassure. "Now you should do what you were ready to do at the start," he said. "Most men you decide to be intimate with will be very visual, so a slow slide down to your knees, your eyes on their faces, will be particularly appreciated. If you can combine that with a caress to your partner's chest and thighs, more the better."

"Mm, like this?" Goldstein asked, following Horace's instructions to the letter.

"Ten points to Ravenclaw for precision," Horace said.

"Hm, don't think I can earn points anymore," Goldstein murmured, his hands moving from the outside of Horace's flanks to his inner thighs and back.

Horace chuckled. "True," he said, "though you'll appreciate the sentiment?"

"Of course," replied Goldstein, smiling softly. The combination of innocence and lust there was as obscene as Horace's proclivities.

"You're doing very well," Horace said. "When you are with a future lover, you might consider opening his shirt, playing with his nipples, licking and nipping at his chest, his belly."

Goldstein's hands travelled up to Horace's shirt, played with the buttons near the bottom. "Would you like me to do that?" he asked as he pulled the shirt out of Horace's trousers.

Horace shivered as Goldstein's hands brushed against his belly, which shook a bit as he moved. "No, leave my shirt," he said, knowing his belly was his least attractive feature, and hoping that the shirt would keep Goldstein from coming to his senses. "But it's something to keep in mind when you are ready for your next seduction."

To his surprise, Goldstein leant forward and nuzzled his gut through the shirt. "Alright," he whispered. Then he looked up. "What would you like me to do?"

"Undo my belt, slowly," Horace said, enjoying the feel of its edge sliding past his waist. "Now, the button and zip of my trousers. Think about what sort of thing would feel good to you: the stroke of a finger, the cupping of my confined prick, a little squeeze." He gasped as Goldstein tried each of these. "You don't—" he broke off, groaning. "You don't need to work through all your tricks at once. In fact, if you plan to pursue further engagements," he gasped again, "you'll want to do hold some of them in reserve."

Goldstein nodded. "I understand, but still, I'd like to try things out," he swallowed, "with you." He looked up, utterly serious. "And how about this?"

He buried his face in Horace's strained, dampening pants. Horace groaned loudly in appreciation. "Oh, that's marvellous," he said. "What do you think?"

"The smell here, it's so strong," whispered Goldstein.

Horace hummed. "Yes. Do you like it?"

"Merlin, yes," Goldstein said. "I can't believe how much."

Goldstein was a quick learner, responding to Horace's small thrusts and moans by lifting Horace's belly and rubbing his face all over Horace's covered erection, using his hands to widen the gap in Horace's trousers.

"Here," breathed Horace. "Let's take my trousers and pants down."

Goldstein moaned.

"You sound so lovely, moaning like that," Horace said. "It's very arousing."

"Good," Goldstein said as he backed away just enough to let Horace raise his hips. He eased the trousers down, caressing Horace's bare legs as he did so.

When Horace was bared, Goldstein moved back between his legs.

"Now," Horace said, "you'll want to give the prick a few strokes with your hands. Familiarise yourself with the contours of your partner, the length, the texture. Make sure he's fully aroused and wanting before you first put your mouth on him."

Goldstein looked up. "Why?"

Horace smiled indulgently. "Because building the desire is half the fun. And because when you finally take your partner in, he will be both desperate and inordinately grateful." He ran a hand gently through Goldstein's hair. "Now, just run a hand down my prick, and then up again, as if you were wanking yourself."

Goldstein's hands bore familiar calluses; he must have been playing some pick-up Quidditch lately. His grip was strong and smooth, and as he pulled Horace's foreskin over the head of his cock, Horace had to breathe extra-deeply. "Now, as I was saying, it's important to know how to hold oneself off. Deep breathing is a technique many men find helpful in staving off the inevitable." He took another slow, shuddering breath. "Some men also find it useful to think of things they find grotesque, though it is in poor taste to mention that to a partner."

Horace paused as the hand on his prick slowed. "Are you doing that now, sir?" Goldstein asked.

"Heavens, no," Horace said. "But you might find that advice useful later."

Goldstein's grip tightened. His hand stopped its slip up and down Horace's todger in favour of a rhythmic squeeze.

"Oh, that does feel lovely, Anthony," he said. "You can alternate between those techniques until you see the first beads of pre-ejaculate on the slit in the penis." It was only seconds now, Horace knew.

Sure enough, Goldstein was soon looking up at Horace again with eyes so wide that Horace nearly felt guilty for what he wanted to do to the face holding them. He shoved that germ of feeling to the furthest recesses of his mind. The boy, to be sure, had asked for this instruction and certainly seemed to be enjoying himself.

"I can see it," Goldstein said, breathy with awe. "Can I taste it?"

"Wrap one hand along the base of my prick, Anthony," he said. "And then by Merlin, yes you may taste it!"

Horace had to resort to his deep breathing again as the hand continued its pulsing around his cock and Goldstein's impossibly hot, wet lips kissed the head of his cock and began to suckle it.

Horace suspected his groan was rather undignified.

When he could speak, he said, "Good. Now use your lips to cover your teeth, and try to work your mouth up and down a bit."

The boy had a mouth like a hoover. "Ease up with the sucking every once in awhile," Horace said, gasping. "Men tend to be embarrassed if they—ah!—climax right away, so it's good to vary your approach…"

Goldstein hummed in response. "Oh!" Horace exclaimed. "Yes, and humming feels very good, too. It causes your whole mouth to vibrate on my prick." He began to thrust, just a tiny bit, not wanting to overwhelm the young man.

He felt Goldstein gag, and realized that the boy had taken nearly the entire length into his mouth. The spasm, Horace would have been ashamed to admit aloud, felt heavenly.

But Goldstein was off of him, coughing.

"Take a breath," Horace said, cursing himself to the seven hells for getting carried away enough to cause that. Goldstein looked up to him with wet eyes and splotchy face. "Are you alright?"

Goldstein nodded. He tried to speak, but coughed. He tried again. "I'll be okay," he said, reaching back for Horace's prick. "How can I prevent that?"

"First, you can keep your hand around your partner's erection, so that only part of his penis enters your mouth. Keep a bit more in control that way." Horace cast a non-verbal Aguamenti into Goldstein's empty tumbler and passed it to him. Goldstein nodded his thanks, and Horace continued. "You'll need to remember to breathe through your nose, of course, but that only helps so much. The two things that will help you really overcome your gag reflex, however, are swallowing and practice."

"Practice?"

"Yes," Horace said. "That's the most important thing."

Goldstein nodded and wrapped his hand around Horace's todger once more.

Horace was glad the boy hadn't decided to give up.

His mouth remained astonishingly warm and wet, his suction varied between strong and supple, his tongue remembered the lessons from their snogging session. Horace threw his head back and let his body move as it wished, trying to fuck the mouth surrounding him.

Goldstein had taken Horace's advice to heart, however, and kept his hand tight around the base of Horace's erection, which had the added bonus of staving off the older man's orgasm a bit.

"So—good—Anthony," Horace bit out. "You can also cup or squeeze your partner's balls, and tickle his anus—" He gasped as Goldstein proceeded to do those things.

"I'm nearly there," he warned. "But like many men, especially bent ones, I happen to like a little tickle with my slap."

Goldstein pulled up. "Sir?" he rasped, his throat obviously raw from his work below.

"Right. I like to have my arse filled a little bit—just a finger, you see."

Goldstein's eyes remained wide and locked on his as he sucked a finger and then leant back down to Horace's erection. He slid that finger behind Horace's bollocks, tickling along Horace's hole a bit before sliding in.

"A bit further," Horace gasped, "and wiggle it a bit—"

Goldstein hummed his understanding and wiggled that finger back and forth, finally hitting Horace's prostate.

Horace released his ejaculation and a throaty cry. He was gratified that Goldstein didn't withdraw, but attempted to keep his mouth on Horace's prick as it pulsed into his mouth.

When he was finished, Horace tugged lightly on Goldstein's hair, pulling the boy up so that they could stare at each other once more. He saw a bit of semen on the corner of Goldstein's mouth, and rubbed at it with his thumb.

Goldstein didn't open his mouth. Horace lifted an eyebrow.

"Are you holding my come in your mouth, Anthony?" he asked.

Goldstein nodded.

"You don't have to do anything you don't like, of course," Horace said, "but, like many men, I do appreciate it when my partner cares enough to swallow my emission."

Horace's gently chiding statement cause Goldstein to gulp, which accomplished much of what Horace had asked him to do.

Horace smiled, pulling the young man forward. He kissed him, tasting the remnant in Goldstein's mouth.

"If you keep it and share it with your lover, it's called snowballing," Horace whispered.

Goldstein gave a high whimper.

Horace pulled him onto his lap, stroking his back. "You've certainly passed this lesson," he said. "Exceeded Expectations, indeed." He reached between them to palm the boy's erection.

"Now," he said, "would you like me to show you just what you did to me?"