FIC: "Avarice. Regret and a Spoonful of Courage" for purplefluffycat Recipient: purplefluffycat Author: ??? Title: Avarice, Regret and a Spoonful of Courage Rating: NC-17 (just to be safe) Pairings: Dumbledore/Slughorn Word Count: 2,347 Medium: fic Warnings/Content Information (Highlight to View): *[canon character death]*. Summary: A glimpse of the relationship between Albus Dumbledore and Horace Slughorn. Author's note: Many thanks to my beta sq and the mod for the fest and her patience!
Horace Slughorn propped one leg up on the coffee table and sipped his blackberry brandy. "I won't be your boy toy again, you know."
Albus Dumbledore responded softly. "I don't believe you ever were. Certainly, you were well past the age of twenty-one when we were involved previously." His eyes danced behind his glasses.
Horace took another swig of his drink. "You had been teaching here for a year already the first time I came."
Albus smirked. "Not very good with your hands then, were you?"
"That's not what I meant." His lips pursed and he started again. "You were already established here. I was new and age-wise much your junior."
"Twenty-six years? The chasm was not that large then…certainly it has lessened in the intervening years."
"Whether it's lessened or not, I will not be strung along."
"I've never done such a thing, surely."
"I found you shagging Alphard Black over the back of the sofa," Horace huffed.
"I told you it wasn't what it looked like." Albus sipped his own wine.
"You were shagging! What else could it be?" he demanded.
"It's not as if I offered him bonding or marriage, as I had with you. I believe you told me you wanted to keep your options open." Albus shrugged. "So I intended to do the same. What was it, Horace? The money? Didn't I have enough?"
Albus had hit the nail on the head, well…almost It wasn't just the money; he had wanted to travel the globe, meet fabulous people, party with the elite. Tying himself to a school teacher, no matter how powerful or famous, had not been in the plans. Horace had to keep himself from sighing. He waved his hand. "All water under the bridge anyway isn't it."
"Of course. Would you like to see your new quarters and office?" Albus pointed towards the door.
The office was three times the size of his previous one. A large desk and even larger work table dominated the room, extra chairs, lighting it was incredible. And the storeroom was accessible from the corridor with floor to ceiling shelves and its own library ladder. It made him wonder exactly what Snape and Albus had been up to, but his new quarters put everything else out of his mind. He'd been assigned one of the turret rooms. There were windows on three sides and tiniest of walks outside one full length window. He'd received the plum in the pudding here.
"I hope this suits." Albus watched him.
"Quite nicely." Horace was still taking in all the amenities. A rack to put his spirits in with a few bottles already stashed; he could see some good quality brandy and elf wine. Imported chocolates sat wrapped with a ribbon on the table.
"Dinner is at six in the staff dining room," Albus squeezed his shoulder and whispered. "Enjoy."
Horace shivered and closed his eyes. Albus still had so much power; it was still intoxicating. If he wasn't careful he'd be bent over a sofa and shagged senseless before he knew it.
Horace thought back to his first physical encounter with Albus. He had been invited for a drink and who wouldn't accept an invitation from the wizard who defeated Grindelwald? They had drunk the better part of two bottles of elf wine and the conversation had flowed smoothly. He was quite pleased with the amount of attention his Potions curriculum and his personal life had received. When the clock struck eleven he knew that he should go. He’d bid a very gracious thank you and offered his hand. To his surprise he had been crushed to the door in a searing kiss. Even now, he flinched as he thought how he had stuttered and stammered like a virgin, slipped into the corridor, and fairly ran to his quarters. Naturally, he had wanked himself senseless once he was safely behind his own closed door.
Horace put on his best light-weight robes (it was still August after all) and proceeded to the dining room. A large round table was set up in the middle and it appeared that approximately half the teachers were in residence. He nodded to Albus and took an empty place. He recognised Severus Snape from his teaching days; the man was infamous. Minerva McGonagall smiled her cat-like smile and then Albus began the introductions.
The conversation flowed smoothly and Horace contributed as he could while he savoured the freshness of the fish, yeasty bread and freshly picked courgettes. He waxed poetic about his return to Potions, which earned him a snarl from Snape. Just before pudding was served, Albus excused himself. Horace was slightly disappointed and momentarily forgot about his wish for a lovely summer pudding. In the next moment a fat slice of the bready, berry goodness was in front of him with a huge dollop of whipped cream on the side. He was about to tuck in when he felt a hand on his knee and went still.
The chatter slowed as everyone began to eat the dessert. He took a small forkful and brought it to his mouth. There were two hands on his thighs, spreading them. He wiggled in his seat a little and then one hand gently squeezed his crotch. Hastily, he put the pudding into his mouth and groaned.
"It is excellent isn't it Horace?" Pomona nodded as she took bite.
"Quite." His hand shook slightly as he put the fork into the dessert again. His prick wasn't leaping into the hand that now massaged it, but it was certainly interested. He felt the fastening of his trousers open and he gulped down the berries on his fork. There was no way to tell who was down there without causing a scene, but whom else could it be? He attempted to remain calm as he continued to eat his pudding. The first flick of the warm-wet tongue on his stiffing prick had him gasping. He pretended he was choking and grabbed his water goblet.
Filius jumped up, but he waved him off. "Just went down the wrong pipe, old boy."
Now, Horace carefully timed his bites of food, with the slight rocking of his hips and the suction and playfulness of the tongue on his prick. It had been so long…and it was so good. He wanted to stand up and fuck Albus' face right there in front of the rest of the assembled staff. It wouldn't do though, would it? He kept eating tiny bites. The sweat was starting to bead on his forehead as he attempted to keep himself still and in control. Finally, he noticed that everyone else had finished and was looking at him.
"Are you alright, Horace?" Minerva asked.
"Fine, fine." He waved one hand. "I'm just indulging myself. You can all just go along. I'm happy to finish on my own."
Chairs scraped across the stone floor as everyone muttered their good-nights or made plans for an after supper something. When they had all left the room (house-elves be damned), he grasped the arms of his chair and shoved his prick into the mouth that had teased and taunted him. He was going to give that daft bastard every bit of cream he could muster. His guttural cries echoed against the stone as he came in Albus' mouth. He dropped back down into his seat, panting.
A few minutes later he shoved his chair back and looked underneath the table to find a very familiar pair of blue eyes twinkling at him.
"Enjoy yourself, Horace?" Albus asked.
"Of course I did!" Horace shook his head. "Did we have to start with public-sex?"
"I just wanted to make my intentions clear."
"So you plan to woo me?" Horace asked eyebrows arching high on his forehead.
"Or fuck you and suck you into submission-whichever works best for you." Albus smiled his enigmatic smile.
"Daft bastard." He shook his head fondly. How did you get under the table anyway?
"As you've said before. I believe you do love me though…just a little. As for my table trick I Apparated back in."
“I thought it wasn’t possible to do that within Hogwarts.”
Albus’ eyes twinkled. “There are some advantages to being me.”
Before Horace could respond, Albus was speaking again. "I have some things to attend to," He reached for Horace’s hand and kissed it. "I hope we might have some more time together."
And then he was gone.
Classes began and Horace actively sought to draw Harry Potter close. The boy was a whiz at potions and seemed amenable to joining the Slug Club. During this time he found himself sleeping in Albus' bed, sometimes there was creaky-old-man sex other times simply two warm naked bodies entwined. It wasn't always clear to him which he preferred. Albus frequently left the castle without any warning. A quick note more often than not, found its way to him. The one thing he was certain of was that Albus was hiding something, something big and probably dangerous and having to do with He Who Must Not Be Named.
When the Christmas holidays came they spent three glorious days together. Naturally, they attended meals in the Great Hall with the students and staff that remained in the castle. Albus gifted him with a lovely old family heirloom ring that had the Dumbledore family crest on it; it was charmed with to show Horace’s own seal in the presence of others. He had given Albus beard jewellery with each of their birthstones attached and a pair of hand-knit paisley socks.
January was cold and uneventful but February was a disaster straight out of the gate. The lovely bottle of mead he had acquired had turned out to be poisoned; fortunately, Wembelbee was going to be all right. Albus subtly steered him, without fanfare, to his quarters.
He found his back against the door as soon as they entered. Albus devoured his mouth as if he were a man possessed. It was erotic and overwhelming and appealed to his slightly submissive side. He revelled in it. By the time his robes were being frantically worked open his prick had risen to the occasion. Albus had unfastened his own clothing and his beard did wicked things as it brushed Horace’s hardened prick. One hand kept his shoulder pinned to the door while Albus' other hand rubbed their stiff cocks together.
Albus nipped down his jaw and neck and Horace's fingers tangled in the long white hair and held him close. The beard brushed his nipples, bringing him closer to the edge as the fingers tightened and moved faster over his ever-thickening prick. Horace flung his head back as his orgasm took him, not in the way of the young as a huge cresting wave, but in a gentler albeit thrilling ride. Albus gasped, and Horace could feel the other man pulsing against his prick. Each of them took a few deep breaths before moving.
Horace righted his head and opened his eyes; they widened in shock. The hand at his shoulder was deformed and charred looking.
"Albus, your hand," He gasped.
Albus waved his wand and clean up the small bit of mess they had made. "Everything has a price Horace, you know that."
"What was that the price for?" he demanded.
"It's of little matter, Horace."
"It is to me. More of that He Who Must Not Be Named rubbbish, I imagine.”
Albus was busy tiding his clothes and then beginning on Horace's. "It is not rubbish." Albus stated quietly.
"I know Albus, Merlin knows, I know," Horace said sadly.
They rested their foreheads together for a moment then. "Off you go then," Albus dismissed him.
"I'm staying tonight, Albus," he hoped his tone brooked no retort.
"As you wish."
Suddenly, he did wish. He wished for more time that he feared was running out.
"Men married! Albus that's ridiculous!" Horace paced his quarters.
"It is not specified in Wizarding law that it must be a witch and a wizard since witches and wizards marry Muggles with great regularity."
"But it's just not done!"
"But it could be," Albus cajoled.
"What if I'm one of those rare Wizards who can get pregnant? I cannot work with potions that way."
"Are these the best excuses you can produce, Horace? Albus asked quietly.
Horace bit his lip and considered his bare feet. "I'd really just like to keep my options open, Albus."
Albus slipped his outer robe over his naked frame and shrunk the rest of his clothing to fit in a pocket. "I see. I appreciate you telling me."
Horace didn't look up but asked. "Are we still on for tomorrow?"
"Of course," floated in past the closing door.
The sexual encounters had waned. Horace knew how much the deteriorating hand was taxing Albus. Of course, there still was sex, but always in bed and followed by a nap or a night's sleep. He brought flowers. Cherry blossoms and marsh violets in April, blue poppies and rhododendrons in May and this night he had brought broom and some old fashioned roses. The roses smelled heavenly. Albus was out of the castle again; this time there wasn’t a note. He busied himself putting the flowers in water and then he waited. And waited. An alarm sounded and his heart sank.
Now, the great man lay dead at the foot of the tower at the hand of Severus Snape. Undoubtedly, a plan Albus himself had cooked up. He and Snape were thick as thieves and Horace had been just a bit jealous of the younger man. This He Who Must Not Be Named mess was completely out of hand.
It saddened him that he had never had the courage to tell Albus that he loved him.
He pushed his shoulders back and joined the others holding their wands to the sky. His lips pursed in determination; he would need every bit of it that courage he could muster to see this war through to the end Albus had sought.