I am a squee myself
oh this is wonderful - I enjoy stories like this - where the fact that Alastor was stuffed in a trunk isn't glossed over in favor of 'younger', more 'interesting' characters.
>Suddenly, he felt awkward and exposed, acutely conscious of his scars and his damned wooden leg. The leg was in the way, but he didn't want to remove it…he didn't want Minerva to see his stump, lest she pity him. Or worse, find him repulsive. And without his leg, he couldn't really balance, couldn't fuck the way he wanted to.
Not that he could manage very well even with the leg, damn it all. But without it, he'd be near helpless, and he liked -- he needed -- to be on top. He wasn't comfortable on his back, revealing his weakness like a dog showing its belly.
He struggled to sit up. "Min, wait…you'll have to…hell, I can't…I'm a goddamned cripple…"
"Shhhh…" she said, pressing him back gently. Then she was warm on top of him, her mouth covering his as she guided their bodies together, lowering herself onto him. Her hair fell around them, closing out the world, and for an instant, Mad-Eye Moody felt -- not safe (for only a fool believed that safety was even possible) -- but something close to it.
Oh how wonderful. that you acknowledged their age, their alleged infirmities and how they didn't really care... at least once the clothes were off