Summersmut Mod (summersmutmod) wrote in hp_summersmut, @ 2009-08-04 00:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2009, fic |
[FIC] Strung Along :: Albus Severus/Draco | gift for literaryspell
Title: Strung Along
Author:
Recipient: literaryspell
Pairing: Albus Severus/Draco
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 3397
Warnings: crossgen, bondage, a bit of D/s
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Albus wants a harsh lover, but isn't prepared for the one he gets.
Author's Notes: this didn't get as dub-con as I wanted to write for you, but I hope you still enjoy it! Thanks to Caty for the last minute beta.
Albus casts his eyes around his bedroom trying to figure out what he can still do. He's horny as hell, but simple masturbation isn't going to cut it. It's been a long time since he's had sex with his last girlfriend, and it's not like he truly wants to go back. She doesn't have the body he wants. Whilst he can tolerate fucking a girl he'd much rather be fucked by a man. But he did enjoy how adventurous Corina had been. There were things she did to him that he can't possibly do alone. In certain moods he can swear he misses her hairbrush more than her.
The best he can do alone is strip, then toss the clothes scattered on the floor around until he finds a discarded school tie. With a combination of hand and tooth he manages to fasten his wrist to the fancy wrought iron headboard. He inches down the bed until his shoulder is straining. It's a loose bind, and he wishes he was back at Hogwarts, capable of doing magic. If he could Bind his wrist rather then tying it, life would be so much easier.
His free hand drifts to his bollocks, rolling them in his hand. He settles his fingers on his hair then pulls, trying his best to stifle a moan. What he wouldn't give to have an older lover with a house where he can scream as loud as he wants and not disturb his siblings.
Albus works a pattern, alternating between wanking and playing with the coarse hair between his legs. Each hard tug makes his body arch and the tension in his shoulder increase. The pain gets to him more than the wanking, and finally he comes, coating his hand.
*
Albus tries to plan his attack before he does anything - a normal occurrence for him. When you have two siblings you have to strategise if you plan on getting what you want. His objective is the newspaper on the living room coffee table, the family has a subscription but only James reads it on a daily basis. Mum and Dad only care if it has an article about them or the rest of the family, Lily and Albus will read articles James recommends. This early in the day he'll be wrestling it out of James' hands, who compulsively needs to read every line of text.
"What do you want?" James asks without looking up as Albus enters the room.
"I need the classifieds."
"Can you look at them, you mean? Yeah, I'm done that section." he plucks it deftly from the pile of sections and holds it out to Albus. "What do you want anyway?"
"I'm looking for a girlfriend." It's close enough to the truth that he won't forget it later and be caught in a web of lies. James and Lily- his entire network of parents and cousins, really - are good at spotting holes in stories.
"Couldn't you just look for one, talk to women you see? You have eyes and a voice, do you? I mean-" James stops upon looking up and noticing Albus' death glare.
He holds the paper up to his face so that James can't see he's flipped to the men seeking men page.
Hi! I'm a tiny young bubble butt, and 100% bottom. I'm looking for an older but fit man who will tell me how naughty i've been and teach me to be better. BDSM preferred, no safe word needed. Discretion required.
It's a provocative ad, but Albus hopes it'll grab attention.
*
When he was younger, breakfast with his family was the highlight of his day, as they were often the only time he would see his father. But now he's just turned seventeen, and getting some sleep seems far more important to him and his siblings. Albus wouldn't be surprised if James moved out soon just so he could sleep in. On the other hand, moving out would necessitate him getting a job to pay for his own food and flat and newspaper subscription and Quidditch gear, and James will never go for that.
When the owls fly in, the table is, as always, bombarded with mail. For a brief moment Albus feels like he lives in Eeylops Owl Emporium. Half a dozen tiny owls deliver Lily's mail from her friends. She's somehow friends of every person in Hufflepuff and gets a handful of correspondence every day. A large brown owl drops off James' Quidditch Weekly, and his brother opens it with one hand whilst eating toast with the other. Similar to the newspaper, James acts as if he doesn't read it immediately and thoroughly the world will end. At least a dozen owls bring his father's fanmail. Each successful raid is published and the same people always write letters lauding Harry Potter for once again protecting the innocent. And a couple of snowy owls deliver his mother's fanmail. Being chaser of the Harpies makes her very admirable to some people. Albus doesn't really get the whole Quidditch religion but feels happy for his mother.
After each person picks up their mail there's still one envelope on the table, steel grey and unaddressed. On a hunch Albus picks it up and after reading it is intensely grateful. It's quite possibly the filthiest thing he's ever read, and it's addressed to Bubblebutt.
Dear Bubblebutt,
I find your letter intriguing. You say you do not need safewords, but that is a hard claim to make. What would you do if I Bound you to a wall in the middle of Hogsmeade and pulled down your trousers, fucking you in front of a hundred passersby? What if I chained you to my dungeon wall, whipping you until your back ran with thick, beautiful, blood? Would you cry out? And would it be in pain, or ecstasy? Would you sob for me to stop, or would you arch your torn body towards me, begging me to fuck you using only your blood as lubrication?
I find it hard to believe you know what you want. Surely you are young and innocent, and I should not sully you. But I am a man unconcerned with morals, and if you truly want what you claim to, I will gift you with it in spades. Each Thursday I eat at Coriander, and if you wish to find me I wear grey robes.
It was likely that the other members of his family would consider it obscene. Depending on how upset he felt, Dad might even attempt to trace the letter to its owner. It was Fate intervening that made him open the letter, and there's not a chance he's not going to go on Thursday. He's already hard thinking of the things this brave man will do to him.
*
Albus enters the restaurant by Floo. Though he's old enough to apparate, he fears splinching like Uncle Ron fears spiders; with unmanly terror. He stumbles out of the fireplace in the waiting room and hopes that he didn't look too much a fool, like his father he never manages to floo gracefully. His favourite means of travelling is a portkey, but there's no sense in creating one for a one time meeting.
He has no coat to give the house-elf to hang up, it's the middle of the summer and wearing a jacket would cause him to faint. However he does take a moment to briskly brush his hands over his robe, removing floo ash and hopefully smoothing out any wrinkles his robe might have acquired since the last time it was washed. He doesn't bother to attempt to flatten his hair, messy is currently trendy, and besides, it suits his face wonderfully.
Satisfied with his appearance, or at least resigned to not being able to change anything this late, Albus leaves the arrival room and enters the seating area. There is only one man wearing grey. He has his back towards Albus. He strides over, sure that the man is his man. Albus puts a hand on the man's shoulder and confidently introduces himself. "Hello. I'm Albus."
The man's posture stiffens and Albus' hopes sink a little. The stranger must already recognise who he is. Oh well, at least he understands the need for discretion now. He walks to the other side of the table, sitting down and straightening his robe before looking up. It's then that his stomach sinks. Of course the man recognises him by name, Albus recognises him too.
Using manners to mask his horror he politely asks "Could you please ask for menus? I'll be back in the moment; I need to use the facilities."
Not waiting for an answer he flees.
*
Locked into a stall, Albus rages at himself, and at fate. Only he would be unlucky enough to get hit on by Draco Malfoy. Of all the possible men to answer his ad, it had to be an ex Death Eater, a man who had witnessed his aunt get tortured and said nothing, a man that had once tormented his father and uncle for six years straight at Hogwarts.
He hates himself for still wanting it. By all means he should come out of the bathroom wand raised, cursing the man a hundred times. But he can't help but think of the letter Draco had written, the two scenarios he had offered, how many more things he might know. He has a feeling that sex with Draco Malfoy would be a hundred times more fulfilling then anything he'd ever done with Corina. She might have spanked him with a hairbrush, but surely Draco would own a dozen or more implements designed specifically for spanking.
He's plagued with indecision. Run from the man that he's heard so much about over the years, or run towards the man that can fulfill his every need. Making it worse is the awareness that each moment he spends thinking Draco is sitting alone in the middle of the restaurant. He's not stupid enough to think he fooled Draco with his excuse, but every second is making it more obvious that he's freaking out about the idea.
Even if he decides he needs to escape, he can't apparate. He'll have to go back through the restaurant to get to the Floo, and there's no question that Draco will see him. Oddly enough it's that that decides him. He can back out, but he can't stand looking like a coward to anyone.
*
Albus plunks himself down across from Draco, looking away a moment before facing him. The older blond has a single arched eyebrow. "I'm surprised you came back, I must say."
"Look, can we skip eating? I'm not sure I can do this if I have to wait an hour, eating and thinking." Potters are not supposed to be honest with Malfoys, but Albus figures with the kind of sex he wants honest reactions are going to be a large part if it.
"If you can't do it if you have to think about it, you shouldn't be doing it at all."
"You can cut the wise prophet act. You want to have sex with a wimpy bottom, I want to be hurt by a powerful top. It works to do this, what does it matter if you get to eat your chicken Kiev first?" Albus demands.
"On the contrary. I want a strong man that's able to take the blows we both want."
Albus stiffens at the idea that he can't handle pain. "I can take anything you can give. You're not the first person I've asked to give me bruises, and Merlin knows you won't be the last. But if you're unwilling to skip the small talk and go straight to enjoying the evening, then I'll go home and respond to one of the other letters."
It's a complete bluff, he never asked Corina, she offered. There are no other letters; Draco was the only one to reply. But he means what he says - it's either now or never.
Draco's chin moves down incrementally, the smallest nod Albus has never witnessed. He places his napkin neatly on the table and stands. Albus flinches and begins to babble an explanation but it's too late, Draco wraps his arms around him and they apparate. As they land and Draco lets go, Albus falls to his hands and knees. He pants, eyes wide, trying not to panic.
"What's the matter?" the older man asks, oddly kind.
"Apparition phobia," Albus manages to get out. He hears feet padding away and groans. By showing weakness he's already botched it, Draco is clearly disgusted if he can't even stand being in the same room. There's not a chance he's going to get laid tonight.
But then the feet return, and he feels a warm hand on his shuddering back. "Here, drink this."
Albus looks up, Draco is holding out a silver flask. "What is it?"
"Albus, I'm not attempting to poison you."
Though he knows that the man had tried that very thing on his uncle, he doesn't feel worried. "No, I just mean... is it a calming draught or what?"
"It's a nicely chilled, exotic vodka." Obviously seeing the shock on Albus' face he explains "It'll calm you just as much, and make you happier for the events later tonight."
Albus continues to eye the flask warily. He's never gotten drunk before, and tonight would not be a good night to start. But Draco clearly misinterprets his attention to the container. "Look, Albus. If you can't trust me enough to take a sip from a flask, then we certainly can't continue this. The things you want revolve around trusting the dominator enough to let yourself go. I cannot, and will not do this with someone who doesn't trust me."
At a loss, Albus takes the flask.
*
Ten minutes later, following Draco down a darkly wallpapered hallway, his throat still burns. Drinking the flask had nearly shrivelled his tongue, the vodka tasted wretched. After it was drained it had taken all the control built over years of nasty medicinal potions to stop himself from vomiting immediately.
His stomach leaps when Draco pauses at an open door and looks at Albus expectantly. He walks in, not surprised by all the different pieces of equipment the man owns. There's a frisson of nerves, but mostly it's a thrill to see it all. There are things he doesn't have the faintest clue on how to use, but has no doubt that they'll hurt deliciously if Draco decides to use them.
"You'll call me Sir," Draco says almost casually. Albus melts at the idea, it's something he hasn't thought about before, but likes the position it implies.
"Yes, Sir. Any other rules, Sir?"
"Despite your foolish statement in your ad, you are to state if something goes too far." Draco's voice is icy, and Albus has no doubt that he means it.
"Yes Sir."
"Put your hands through those loops," Draco orders, gesturing to the hanging green ropes. Albus complies and then gasps as the loose circles tighten around his wrists. They're abnormally smooth for rope, and seemingly fixed solidly to the ceiling. He tugs hard to test their grip, after a month of shoddy necktie bonds he wants to experience real bondage. Pulling is seemingly a magical cue; the moment he does, the length of rope shrinks. Albus flies straight up, arms fully extended, until his toes are several feet in the air.
The heat in his shoulders begins almost immediately. Albus isn't overweight, in fact he has the tiny build of his father unlike his larger, muscley siblings, but his weight drags heavily on his arms. As the pain starts to develop, running like fire through his veins, Draco- no, Sir - strides over to him. Albus can almost find a smile in his expression, though Sir would never admit to it.
The blond pushes up his robe and fixes it to stay bunched around his waist with a spell Albus has never heard before. Then Sir's warm fingers hook around the elastic of his pants, tugging them down in one rough moment. The elastic momentarily catches on his erection, causing it to bob before slapping against his groin. Sir's mouth encloses him, and it's been so long since he's had the heat of another body whilst turned on that it's all Albus can do to not come that moment.
"Thank you, sir, it's very good of you," he babbles, somehow certain that that's what Sir wants from him. He thrusts forward to get deeper into Sir's mouth and his entire body swings from the rope. His shoulders ache from the movement, and that's when Albus realises he can control his own pain. He sets up a fast rhythm, each jerk of his hips turning into a smooth slide of his whole body as the ropes rock back and forth. Albus loses control quickly, but holds onto the last vestiges of it as tightly as he can. The longer he holds out the more he can experience, the more his arms will hurt. He doesn't want to lose that yet, not when coming means going home and being stuck with his own hand for the foreseeable future.
Finally though, Sir moves his head and says "You may come." His lips are reddened, his face pink with exertion. Albus lets himself go, cock shooting across Sir's face. That which doesn't land on Sir splatters on the floor, and Albus' cock gives one last interest twitch when he imagines Sir ordering him to lick the mess up.
Sir waves his wand and mutters another phrase Albus doesn't recognise and the ropes loosen, leaving Albus to fall several feet to the hard stone floor. Before he crashes, Sir catches him, easily holding his weight. He doesn't try to get out of the hug, though it feels creepily mother-like. He just needs a minute to absorb the affection.
*
He doesn't go straight home afterwards. He's not nearly ready to act normal, and James and Lily will notice if he's not. Instead he goes to the one place he knows he won't be bothered.
Uncle Bill had built a treehouse for his sons years ago, and as far as Albus can tell it has never been entered. Louis and Dominque are the girliest teens he has ever met, and would far rather face a squad of Death Eaters from their father's time then spend more then a moment outside. Victoire might consider climbing a tree, but she's long since moved out. It makes the treehouse the safest place to hide.
Draco has invited him back, an open invitation to meet him any day he wants. It was the last thing he was expecting, and he hadn't managed to stammer a reply. He'd left silently, flooing to the closest public fire near the Delacour-Weasley's home then walking the rest of the way. Better to have to hop a fence or two then wake up the whole family by stumbling through their living room in the dark.
Most of him wants to meet Sir a second time, then again and again. He wants to spend every minute of every Thursday hanging from ropes or being spanked or whatever else Sir might have in mind. Soon he has to go back to Hogwarts for his last year, and he'll be starving for the brutal affection he needs, it only makes sense to get it while he can.
But part of him remembers that Draco has a son, and Albus isn't sure if he'll be able to look Scorpius in the eye if he spends his entire summer being fucked by his father. And Draco has a wife, meaning Albus is the elicit affair. That too brings up more guilt than arousal.
Then there's the fact that spending the entire summer meeting someone for sex is far different from having a one off. It's almost like dating, except this isn't an equal footed date. If Albus commits to this, he's committing to being submissive and letting a Malfoy dominate him completely. It goes against seventeen years of conditioning to trust him that much.
Albus doesn't know what to do, so he just sits on the roughly sanded plank floor and looks out the window at the stars.