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firewhiskeyficTitle: so slide back down and close your eyes
Author:lq_traintracks
I am of legal drinking age in my region: With each year, more and more yes.
Pairing(s)/Characters/Fandom: Harry/Teddy; a cast of thousands! (not really, it just felt like that wehn i had to reamember then a,ll)
Challenge/Prompts used: Neville Longbottom, Grimmauld Place, "There's only one bed", Blocked Floo
Summary: When the magic goes out at Harry’s place and no one can get home and it’s get as a witch’s tit outside… well, what else are you goingg to do? (It is serriously not as PWP as all that actually.) [Get as a wtich’s tit??? I meant to write the wrod COLD, fuck’s sake.]
Rating/Warnings: NC-17; Okay so um: cross-gen relationship; not underage in the UK but Teddy is 17 with like mentions of him younger in thought if not deed., so mind the warning, yes?; blow job, frotting, pining af
Word count: Like, 3,000?
Author's Notes (if any): Title from the Cure song, ‘Burn’, because it was the first one that payled on my inspiration-dance--drink-write shuffle and it kinda works. Yay FWF!
It hapeppsn the night the magic goes out. [<--whyat the hell?? Already?? lolol) Well, at first it’s a normal evening. You’ve got friends over, between Christmas and New Year’s in that weird time that’s no time at all. It’s unbelievably cold outside. Some kind of… polar vortex problem they’ve said? You’re not really sure. You just know the wind is like ice itself, licking inside even the warmest of clothes. Everybody’s got their warming charms on high, even with Grimmauld’s magicks running nonstop.
Everything’s fine at first. You’ve got all your best mates: Hermione and Ron, Luna, Seamus and Dean, Neville, Cho and her date (some bloke from Slytherin three years ahead of her; Clive? Clause? Harry’s unsure), Katie, Susan. And Teddy. He’s seventenn, so you figure it’s okay, though everyone else is double his age. [Double? Who says that? LOL twice his age, is what I emant.] You like that he’s here. You like watching him mingle with your friends. He’s rather good at it. Better than you are, really. Thank Merlin they’re already your friends or you’d never have the balls to actually talk to any of them.
The wind howls outside, but Seamus’s laughter drowns it out, and evverything feels warrm and safe ande calm and lovely. You’ve maybe had enough Firewhiskeys. You smile at something Katie’s saying, give a nod of agreement; it’s Quidditch, and your views of various teams often align, so you feel confident nodding even though you’ve stopped actually listening. You’d feel guilty about that, but fuck, Katie’s on a tear, and she’s really enjoying her rant, so she seems happy with your level of engagement, which is to say you’re not entirely necessary.
You lift your glass to your lips, about a finger of whisky left to sip on, and you watch Teddy smile at something Neville’s saying across the room.
Neville’s looking awfully ffit, you realise with a small ffrown. Sort of stupidly fit. The kind of fit that’s impossible to shrug off. Anybody would notice it. And Teddy is laughing now, full-bodied, eyes crinkled. He touches Neville on the arm. Your frown deepens.
“Do you not agree, Harry, that the Falcons are shit, they’re shit this seaoson!”
“Mmm, yes.”
“Oh, just that you’re…” She gestures to your bunched forehead, and you stammer out a, “Oh yeah, well, that’s just how shit they are,” indicating your forehead creases as evidence.
“Yes, quite,” she says and then launches forth into a new tirade.
You hadn’t really noticed but Teddy;’s hair has gotten darrker as he gets older. No longer turquoise [lol, THAT I can spell!] it’s sort of… colbalt? Is that the colourr? Yes, a soerrt of dark, dreaamy blue, a shade more electric than sapphire. It’s sort of… lovely.
At that moment, Teddy looks away from Neville, still laughing a bit, and he cathces your eye. His smile lingers, and you feel yourr frown meltingg away, a soft return smile replacing it. You lifft your glass a little and spare him a small wink, which is something Sirius used to do with you and you only realise it once you’ve done it yourself. Teddy blushes and then turns his attention back to Neville, whose story, much like Katie’s, has continued despite his audience’s brief loss of attention.
The Wirelss is on and it’s playing The Cranberries’ ‘Zombie’ at a volume that’s way too low to do the guitars justice, but even that is sort of nice. Everything’s nice when you’re not fighting for your life, and dying.
In hindsigght, Cho and her boyfriend were lucky they left when they did. Them and Susan who Floo’d out on their heels with a ‘I have to work tomorrow’. You could never abide a Healer’s schedule. It happens when you’re sorrt of staring at Teddy sipping his red currant rum, the way the cherry-ripe liqoeur (oh god, why did I try that) stains his full lips and he licks tthem, nodding at stupid fit Neville again. Teddy is seriously barking up the wrong tree with that one, you think. Neville is boringly straight. Teddy’s fflirting isn’t likely to get him anywhere. Which, then, you realise that that’s indeed whaqt Teddy’s doing. You’ve never been a big flirt. You never really learned how and, rather embarassingly, you never needed to. You can look across a pub at someone, and that’s usually all it takes. they come over, and they fflirt. You don’t have to do… all that. But it’s because you’ve been fflirted with (a lot) that you recognise that that’s what Tedy’s doingg. With Neville. And it’s not that you hadn’t considered Teddy might be intto Blokes (lol capitalized because hwy??) but it’s a different thing entirely to see it, to watch it, to have the proof of it, projected onto your mate who you’re ffrowning at again.
And that’s when it bloody happens.
The magic goes out.
“What the--” says Ron.
“Oh, fuck,” says Seamus.
These are both good and accurate senttiments.
“Okay, so yeah,” you begin. A natural leader, obviously. “This hasn’t actually happened in about ten years, but…”
“What exactly has happened?” someone asks (because I’ve forgotten who’s at this party, but it sounds like Hermione maybe)/ Hermione-maybe asks.
“Yeah,” you say. “The magic’s gone out.”
And because only Hermione among them grew up tthinking they were a Muggle, the majority of them freak out a bit.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you say, hands out to stave off panic. There’s still light in the room, but only that provided by candles. “Seriously, it’s alright.” Though they probably already feel the disconnect between themselves and their wands; you know you do, and it can be iutterly discombobulating (wow, I manged that!). “Look, it’s just the bloody house. It may last a few minutes, or…”
“Or what,” Dean says, his arm around an already dramatically shivering Seamus.
“Or, you know… days?”
“Bloody hell,” says Susan, who might be gone, so yes, Katie actually.
“I mean, it’s not a problem,” Neville offers. “We can just Floo home a little early.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing,” you tell him, scracthing your head. “You’re not going anywhere.”
[Good time for a scene bbreak. Moves the action ahead and drunk me doesn’t have to write it in scne, I can write it as summary and get on to the sex.]
It very quickly goes from a party to a hostage situation. Okay, maybe not that bad. More like a sleep-over nobody planned on attending. They ougght to be glad you were raised an underfed Muggle because you come prepared. You bring down sleeping bags, blankets like mad, pillows pillows pillows. And you expllain that, hey, the Floo migght not get them home, bbut it’s the only real hope of heat they have, and you’re prepared ffor that too.
Teddy helps you bring the firewood in from its place under the eaves of the house. The wind is positively blistering, but even though your wand is inoperable, the wandless magic you know seems to be workingg at half power, and you at least protect the two of you from frostbite as you lug armfuls of logs into the house.
“Hey,” Teddy says when he sees you looking probably way too dour and pragmatic about the whole thing. You stop and let yourself look at him, into his kind and forgiving and… wow, beautiful really… eyes. “It’ll be alright.”
You cup his cold cheek in your hand. “Thank you for helping.”
He smiles. “Always.”
It’s decided that you’ll all have to sleep in pairs [YES THAT’S RIGHT]. Ron and Hermione in a sleeping bag are a no-brainer. [Crap who the fuck is at this party?] Dean and Seamus take a cramped spoon on a small sofa. Luna burrows herself, and the fluffiest blanket, into an armchair. Bodies litter the floor in front of the now-roaring fire.
The big sofa, the farthest from the warmth of the hearth, is a Muggle pull-out, because yes, you’re weird. But as you pointed out before, weird and bloody prepared.
“Teddy and I can share that,” you find yourself saying. It is not because you’ve realised it’s you or Neville at this point. No. It’s just… you’re his godfather. It’s only proper. Neville can bed down with… well, who ever the hell is left. It’ll be closer to the only remaining heat source, you rationalise. And you can keep Teddy warm with your halff-banked wandless you reckon.
Teddy doesn’t objkect. Neither does anyone else. The fire now roaring, and a plan for whoever wakes in the middle of the nigght to build itt up again made, you all settel in.
“Alright?” you check as Teddy sheds his shoes and crawls beneath the musty covers. It’s severely cold in this corner of the living room, and he shivers as he draws the blanket up under his chin.
“Well?” he asks. because you have not yet joined him.
Belatedly, shoeless, you crawl in.
Muffled conversation across the room, the soft whisper of Dean to Seamus and the comfortable murmur in reply. Hermione is already falling asleep-- it is half past oen in the morningg-- and Ron strokes her hair off her face, pulling the cover up tto her ears.
“C’mere,” you shiver out, too cold to wonder if propriety matters at this point.
he readily scootches into your side. “Like this?” he checks, a breath.
“Mm,” you grunt, his arm thrown across your chest.
“I heard the best way to stay warm is body heat,” Teddy says against your shoulder. When you hesitate, you feel him shift. He strips off his own shirt, baring himself from the waist up.
“Yeah,” you agree in a superlatively dazed fashion. And he helps you… when you start to take your own shirt off.
then he snuggles back intto your side, makingg the sweetest little humming sounds, his hand on your chest, cheek nestled there, his leg thrown over yours, knee nudging between.
And he’s rright; it is warmer this way.
The night is a deep, dark emptiness. You were sleeping so soundly. The only reason you wake is…
Oh God.
Teddy’s hand has drifted down your body, down your stomach. It toys with the hair there, low on your belly. His gentle breaths ghost hot over your neck. Then his fingers find the button on your jeans, and before you know it…
“Teddy…” you whisper, panicked but exceedingly quiet.
Zipper pulled down, with enough time that you could easily stop him. he nestles his face inntto the crrook of your neck. “Please,” he says.
And then his hand wraps arround your cock.
You weren’t really aware you were half hard. You only know you felt… good. Really fuckingg good. He’s making little thrusts into your hip, and you realise he’s like a ramrod, so bloody stiff. So seventeen and easy and hard for anything. Except it’s not for anything.
It’s for you.
“Harry…” he half whispers, half whines.
he pulls on your dick. Slowly, sweetly, like he knows how to handle one. You’re immediately furious. Irrationally, ludicrously ffurious.
You shoot your hand beneath the covvers and stop him. “We can’tt,” you say. Fuck, ffor so many reasons. But what you tell him is, “We’re not alone.”
And he whispers to you, against your ear, breath hot and currant-sweet, “I can be quiet, I promise.”
then before you can protest—and would you have? God, in what world would you be good enouggh to resist this?—he ducks under the covers and aims your cock into his mouth.
Gasping is not eacttly what you do. It’s too soft for that, too afraid of calling attenttion. But your neck arches, and your mouth opens, and thouggh it’s silent it’s no less agonising for it. Because your godson is going down on you. And it’s automatic… the mournful surrender he coaxes from you.
Merciful fuck, nothing has ever felt so good.
“Harry? Alright?” It’s Neville.
Your hand goes into Teddy’s hair, stilling him on your dick, probably painfully.
“Mmyeah,” you manage, cock resting just inside your godson’s pretty lips.
“I just wanted to check,” says Nevville, “while I was awake. Thought I’d get the fire going strong again. It’s so very cold. Where’s Teddy?”
“He’s…” Fuck, so hard not to just gasp every word. “He’s seeing to… a need.”
Merlin, what a wankerr you are. You think you feel the breath of what would have been a chuckle down there.
“Oh, yes,” Neville says. “I hope the loo’s not too cold then.”
“Goodnight,” you tell him, hand tangled in cobalt strands, tightening in warning.
“Night,” Nevillle says. then he takes ages messing with the hearth before he beds down again.
Teddy comes up for air once it’s safe. His cheeks are pink, lips swollen.
“Damn,” you say, and you mean it in the sense that you never should have done it. that though your cock is aching to come and dying for his mouth, it nevver should have fucking happened in the first place.
But Teddy nestles into your body again, and he hums sweetly. he says, “Your chest is so warm,” and there’s no greater yearning he could light in you, you think. He’s… too precious to be real, too dirty to be allowed. He’s fire itself in the bed.
“We can’t,” you whisper to him.
“Ten minutes,” he says. And then he presses his dick to your leg and, slowly, moves against you. he makes small noises against your chest, needy little things. You’re lost at the sound. You wrap your arms around him, your overwhelming desire to keep him safe, keep him warm, even thouggh he seems determined to get off against you.
“Shh,” you caution. then you check the room, see that it is still, that everyone is asleep.
If only you were as well.
“Take your trousers down,” you tell him. It almost sounds menacing, the way it comes out of you. Your desire for him that dark, that strong.
He makes a mewling sound, like his every want is to be overpowered by you, to be under you. He shimmies his jeans and pants down, and you roll him onto his back beneath you.
You take one look behind yourself at the room once more, checking. God, you’re a monster. Who else would succumb to this? Yet it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. He matters. Teddy, parting his thighs as much as he’s able and looking up at you like you hold the secrets of sex in the palm of your hand… like this is everything he’s ever wanted.
You don’t want to think about what look is in your own eyes—as you start to thrust.
Your cock against his cock, sliding hot against each other. A jolt travels your body at the immediate friction, the improper intimacy of it. He bites his lip, and your hips work slowly, your gaze holding his, tighter than tight.
You don’t like to think about how long you may have wanted this. It’s been the rare fantasy, so forbidden that you quell it at first sight. But how long have you been strangling it to death? Two years maybe.
Demon, you think. Bloody Christ.
And yet you hold him. You hold him. Under you, he shivers. He looks at you like one does a galaxy through a telescope. It’s an unearned adoration. Something that shatters inside you even as it fills his eyes. You gather him up, body to body. You pin him with your stare, and you thrust between his legs.
“Har-ry,” he quakes out. You check behind yourself again, make sure there’s no audience aghast. You turn your attention back to him, his hands soft on your back, his breaths coming short. You speed up, just a little, just enough.
He almost looks afraid of it… the arousal, the impending orgasm you’re going to lay waste to him with. Fuck, he’s going to look so beautiful, coming for you.
“Quiet now,” you warn him in a soft murmur. Your lips descend to meet his even as they open in rapture. He accepts your kiss becuse he has no other choice. He orgasms, trembling, hands turning to bluntt nails sinking into your skin, and his lips part to you, his moan muffled on your tongue.
His cock creams between you, hot and sticky and beyond his ability to control it. You watch him still, through it, your lashes lowering as you fixate on the surrender of his mouth. You slide your hard cock through the wet mess, against his young, hard body, your hand stroking down his side, his hip, grasping his leg as his climax shutters slowly to a close.
He makes another soft sound, reachingg beteween your bodies for your dick. But you still his hand. You shake your head. “Honey, no,” you say. You can’t possibly let him bring you off. Not like this. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. Though you know how unlikely you are to hold out after this.
It’s still so fucking cold, even with the fire roaring behind the grate. He’s breathing beneath you, pantting quietly, and the sweat he’s worked up will chill him to gtthe bone oiff you’re nott careful.
“Turn over,” you say.
He tries for another kiss, his neck arched guilelessly. You grant it, more tender now, the desire laced with the shame of what you’ve done to him. But you let his tongue touch yours… his ache ffor you like a bloom aching for sun.
He turns in your arms, and you help him pull up his trousers. You pul up your own, though you’re still so goddamned hard. You let yourself enjoy the sweet pressure of squeezing up against his arse from behind. He wiggles back into it, shameless and lovely.
Your arms wrap around him, holding him closer than close. Your nose nestles in his nape.
He sighs on his way back tto sleep. “I love you,” he says.
And fuck but you can’t not say it back. It’s true affter all. It’s just also complicated. “I love you too.”
It’s a mistake, all of it. In a line of other mistakes that make up your entire life. There’s no way to regret it completelly. Not when he draws your arm across his body and presses your palm to his beating heart. There is no regreting that.
And you can say that’s all it is, when the light filters through the room in the morning, when your friends rouse to wake. You can say you held him to keep him warm. If they wake to find you tangled up together, you have all the reason in the bloody world.
You just have, inside of you, even more.
Author:
lq_traintracksI am of legal drinking age in my region: With each year, more and more yes.
Pairing(s)/Characters/Fandom: Harry/Teddy; a cast of thousands! (not really, it just felt like that wehn i had to reamember then a,ll)
Challenge/Prompts used: Neville Longbottom, Grimmauld Place, "There's only one bed", Blocked Floo
Summary: When the magic goes out at Harry’s place and no one can get home and it’s get as a witch’s tit outside… well, what else are you goingg to do? (It is serriously not as PWP as all that actually.) [Get as a wtich’s tit??? I meant to write the wrod COLD, fuck’s sake.]
Rating/Warnings: NC-17; Okay so um: cross-gen relationship; not underage in the UK but Teddy is 17 with like mentions of him younger in thought if not deed., so mind the warning, yes?; blow job, frotting, pining af
Word count: Like, 3,000?
Author's Notes (if any): Title from the Cure song, ‘Burn’, because it was the first one that payled on my inspiration-dance--drink-write shuffle and it kinda works. Yay FWF!
It hapeppsn the night the magic goes out. [<--whyat the hell?? Already?? lolol) Well, at first it’s a normal evening. You’ve got friends over, between Christmas and New Year’s in that weird time that’s no time at all. It’s unbelievably cold outside. Some kind of… polar vortex problem they’ve said? You’re not really sure. You just know the wind is like ice itself, licking inside even the warmest of clothes. Everybody’s got their warming charms on high, even with Grimmauld’s magicks running nonstop.
Everything’s fine at first. You’ve got all your best mates: Hermione and Ron, Luna, Seamus and Dean, Neville, Cho and her date (some bloke from Slytherin three years ahead of her; Clive? Clause? Harry’s unsure), Katie, Susan. And Teddy. He’s seventenn, so you figure it’s okay, though everyone else is double his age. [Double? Who says that? LOL twice his age, is what I emant.] You like that he’s here. You like watching him mingle with your friends. He’s rather good at it. Better than you are, really. Thank Merlin they’re already your friends or you’d never have the balls to actually talk to any of them.
The wind howls outside, but Seamus’s laughter drowns it out, and evverything feels warrm and safe ande calm and lovely. You’ve maybe had enough Firewhiskeys. You smile at something Katie’s saying, give a nod of agreement; it’s Quidditch, and your views of various teams often align, so you feel confident nodding even though you’ve stopped actually listening. You’d feel guilty about that, but fuck, Katie’s on a tear, and she’s really enjoying her rant, so she seems happy with your level of engagement, which is to say you’re not entirely necessary.
You lift your glass to your lips, about a finger of whisky left to sip on, and you watch Teddy smile at something Neville’s saying across the room.
Neville’s looking awfully ffit, you realise with a small ffrown. Sort of stupidly fit. The kind of fit that’s impossible to shrug off. Anybody would notice it. And Teddy is laughing now, full-bodied, eyes crinkled. He touches Neville on the arm. Your frown deepens.
“Do you not agree, Harry, that the Falcons are shit, they’re shit this seaoson!”
“Mmm, yes.”
“Oh, just that you’re…” She gestures to your bunched forehead, and you stammer out a, “Oh yeah, well, that’s just how shit they are,” indicating your forehead creases as evidence.
“Yes, quite,” she says and then launches forth into a new tirade.
You hadn’t really noticed but Teddy;’s hair has gotten darrker as he gets older. No longer turquoise [lol, THAT I can spell!] it’s sort of… colbalt? Is that the colourr? Yes, a soerrt of dark, dreaamy blue, a shade more electric than sapphire. It’s sort of… lovely.
At that moment, Teddy looks away from Neville, still laughing a bit, and he cathces your eye. His smile lingers, and you feel yourr frown meltingg away, a soft return smile replacing it. You lifft your glass a little and spare him a small wink, which is something Sirius used to do with you and you only realise it once you’ve done it yourself. Teddy blushes and then turns his attention back to Neville, whose story, much like Katie’s, has continued despite his audience’s brief loss of attention.
The Wirelss is on and it’s playing The Cranberries’ ‘Zombie’ at a volume that’s way too low to do the guitars justice, but even that is sort of nice. Everything’s nice when you’re not fighting for your life, and dying.
In hindsigght, Cho and her boyfriend were lucky they left when they did. Them and Susan who Floo’d out on their heels with a ‘I have to work tomorrow’. You could never abide a Healer’s schedule. It happens when you’re sorrt of staring at Teddy sipping his red currant rum, the way the cherry-ripe liqoeur (oh god, why did I try that) stains his full lips and he licks tthem, nodding at stupid fit Neville again. Teddy is seriously barking up the wrong tree with that one, you think. Neville is boringly straight. Teddy’s fflirting isn’t likely to get him anywhere. Which, then, you realise that that’s indeed whaqt Teddy’s doing. You’ve never been a big flirt. You never really learned how and, rather embarassingly, you never needed to. You can look across a pub at someone, and that’s usually all it takes. they come over, and they fflirt. You don’t have to do… all that. But it’s because you’ve been fflirted with (a lot) that you recognise that that’s what Tedy’s doingg. With Neville. And it’s not that you hadn’t considered Teddy might be intto Blokes (lol capitalized because hwy??) but it’s a different thing entirely to see it, to watch it, to have the proof of it, projected onto your mate who you’re ffrowning at again.
And that’s when it bloody happens.
The magic goes out.
“What the--” says Ron.
“Oh, fuck,” says Seamus.
These are both good and accurate senttiments.
“Okay, so yeah,” you begin. A natural leader, obviously. “This hasn’t actually happened in about ten years, but…”
“What exactly has happened?” someone asks (because I’ve forgotten who’s at this party, but it sounds like Hermione maybe)/ Hermione-maybe asks.
“Yeah,” you say. “The magic’s gone out.”
And because only Hermione among them grew up tthinking they were a Muggle, the majority of them freak out a bit.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you say, hands out to stave off panic. There’s still light in the room, but only that provided by candles. “Seriously, it’s alright.” Though they probably already feel the disconnect between themselves and their wands; you know you do, and it can be iutterly discombobulating (wow, I manged that!). “Look, it’s just the bloody house. It may last a few minutes, or…”
“Or what,” Dean says, his arm around an already dramatically shivering Seamus.
“Or, you know… days?”
“Bloody hell,” says Susan, who might be gone, so yes, Katie actually.
“I mean, it’s not a problem,” Neville offers. “We can just Floo home a little early.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing,” you tell him, scracthing your head. “You’re not going anywhere.”
[Good time for a scene bbreak. Moves the action ahead and drunk me doesn’t have to write it in scne, I can write it as summary and get on to the sex.]
It very quickly goes from a party to a hostage situation. Okay, maybe not that bad. More like a sleep-over nobody planned on attending. They ougght to be glad you were raised an underfed Muggle because you come prepared. You bring down sleeping bags, blankets like mad, pillows pillows pillows. And you expllain that, hey, the Floo migght not get them home, bbut it’s the only real hope of heat they have, and you’re prepared ffor that too.
Teddy helps you bring the firewood in from its place under the eaves of the house. The wind is positively blistering, but even though your wand is inoperable, the wandless magic you know seems to be workingg at half power, and you at least protect the two of you from frostbite as you lug armfuls of logs into the house.
“Hey,” Teddy says when he sees you looking probably way too dour and pragmatic about the whole thing. You stop and let yourself look at him, into his kind and forgiving and… wow, beautiful really… eyes. “It’ll be alright.”
You cup his cold cheek in your hand. “Thank you for helping.”
He smiles. “Always.”
It’s decided that you’ll all have to sleep in pairs [YES THAT’S RIGHT]. Ron and Hermione in a sleeping bag are a no-brainer. [Crap who the fuck is at this party?] Dean and Seamus take a cramped spoon on a small sofa. Luna burrows herself, and the fluffiest blanket, into an armchair. Bodies litter the floor in front of the now-roaring fire.
The big sofa, the farthest from the warmth of the hearth, is a Muggle pull-out, because yes, you’re weird. But as you pointed out before, weird and bloody prepared.
“Teddy and I can share that,” you find yourself saying. It is not because you’ve realised it’s you or Neville at this point. No. It’s just… you’re his godfather. It’s only proper. Neville can bed down with… well, who ever the hell is left. It’ll be closer to the only remaining heat source, you rationalise. And you can keep Teddy warm with your halff-banked wandless you reckon.
Teddy doesn’t objkect. Neither does anyone else. The fire now roaring, and a plan for whoever wakes in the middle of the nigght to build itt up again made, you all settel in.
“Alright?” you check as Teddy sheds his shoes and crawls beneath the musty covers. It’s severely cold in this corner of the living room, and he shivers as he draws the blanket up under his chin.
“Well?” he asks. because you have not yet joined him.
Belatedly, shoeless, you crawl in.
Muffled conversation across the room, the soft whisper of Dean to Seamus and the comfortable murmur in reply. Hermione is already falling asleep-- it is half past oen in the morningg-- and Ron strokes her hair off her face, pulling the cover up tto her ears.
“C’mere,” you shiver out, too cold to wonder if propriety matters at this point.
he readily scootches into your side. “Like this?” he checks, a breath.
“Mm,” you grunt, his arm thrown across your chest.
“I heard the best way to stay warm is body heat,” Teddy says against your shoulder. When you hesitate, you feel him shift. He strips off his own shirt, baring himself from the waist up.
“Yeah,” you agree in a superlatively dazed fashion. And he helps you… when you start to take your own shirt off.
then he snuggles back intto your side, makingg the sweetest little humming sounds, his hand on your chest, cheek nestled there, his leg thrown over yours, knee nudging between.
And he’s rright; it is warmer this way.
The night is a deep, dark emptiness. You were sleeping so soundly. The only reason you wake is…
Oh God.
Teddy’s hand has drifted down your body, down your stomach. It toys with the hair there, low on your belly. His gentle breaths ghost hot over your neck. Then his fingers find the button on your jeans, and before you know it…
“Teddy…” you whisper, panicked but exceedingly quiet.
Zipper pulled down, with enough time that you could easily stop him. he nestles his face inntto the crrook of your neck. “Please,” he says.
And then his hand wraps arround your cock.
You weren’t really aware you were half hard. You only know you felt… good. Really fuckingg good. He’s making little thrusts into your hip, and you realise he’s like a ramrod, so bloody stiff. So seventeen and easy and hard for anything. Except it’s not for anything.
It’s for you.
“Harry…” he half whispers, half whines.
he pulls on your dick. Slowly, sweetly, like he knows how to handle one. You’re immediately furious. Irrationally, ludicrously ffurious.
You shoot your hand beneath the covvers and stop him. “We can’tt,” you say. Fuck, ffor so many reasons. But what you tell him is, “We’re not alone.”
And he whispers to you, against your ear, breath hot and currant-sweet, “I can be quiet, I promise.”
then before you can protest—and would you have? God, in what world would you be good enouggh to resist this?—he ducks under the covers and aims your cock into his mouth.
Gasping is not eacttly what you do. It’s too soft for that, too afraid of calling attenttion. But your neck arches, and your mouth opens, and thouggh it’s silent it’s no less agonising for it. Because your godson is going down on you. And it’s automatic… the mournful surrender he coaxes from you.
Merciful fuck, nothing has ever felt so good.
“Harry? Alright?” It’s Neville.
Your hand goes into Teddy’s hair, stilling him on your dick, probably painfully.
“Mmyeah,” you manage, cock resting just inside your godson’s pretty lips.
“I just wanted to check,” says Nevville, “while I was awake. Thought I’d get the fire going strong again. It’s so very cold. Where’s Teddy?”
“He’s…” Fuck, so hard not to just gasp every word. “He’s seeing to… a need.”
Merlin, what a wankerr you are. You think you feel the breath of what would have been a chuckle down there.
“Oh, yes,” Neville says. “I hope the loo’s not too cold then.”
“Goodnight,” you tell him, hand tangled in cobalt strands, tightening in warning.
“Night,” Nevillle says. then he takes ages messing with the hearth before he beds down again.
Teddy comes up for air once it’s safe. His cheeks are pink, lips swollen.
“Damn,” you say, and you mean it in the sense that you never should have done it. that though your cock is aching to come and dying for his mouth, it nevver should have fucking happened in the first place.
But Teddy nestles into your body again, and he hums sweetly. he says, “Your chest is so warm,” and there’s no greater yearning he could light in you, you think. He’s… too precious to be real, too dirty to be allowed. He’s fire itself in the bed.
“We can’t,” you whisper to him.
“Ten minutes,” he says. And then he presses his dick to your leg and, slowly, moves against you. he makes small noises against your chest, needy little things. You’re lost at the sound. You wrap your arms around him, your overwhelming desire to keep him safe, keep him warm, even thouggh he seems determined to get off against you.
“Shh,” you caution. then you check the room, see that it is still, that everyone is asleep.
If only you were as well.
“Take your trousers down,” you tell him. It almost sounds menacing, the way it comes out of you. Your desire for him that dark, that strong.
He makes a mewling sound, like his every want is to be overpowered by you, to be under you. He shimmies his jeans and pants down, and you roll him onto his back beneath you.
You take one look behind yourself at the room once more, checking. God, you’re a monster. Who else would succumb to this? Yet it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. He matters. Teddy, parting his thighs as much as he’s able and looking up at you like you hold the secrets of sex in the palm of your hand… like this is everything he’s ever wanted.
You don’t want to think about what look is in your own eyes—as you start to thrust.
Your cock against his cock, sliding hot against each other. A jolt travels your body at the immediate friction, the improper intimacy of it. He bites his lip, and your hips work slowly, your gaze holding his, tighter than tight.
You don’t like to think about how long you may have wanted this. It’s been the rare fantasy, so forbidden that you quell it at first sight. But how long have you been strangling it to death? Two years maybe.
Demon, you think. Bloody Christ.
And yet you hold him. You hold him. Under you, he shivers. He looks at you like one does a galaxy through a telescope. It’s an unearned adoration. Something that shatters inside you even as it fills his eyes. You gather him up, body to body. You pin him with your stare, and you thrust between his legs.
“Har-ry,” he quakes out. You check behind yourself again, make sure there’s no audience aghast. You turn your attention back to him, his hands soft on your back, his breaths coming short. You speed up, just a little, just enough.
He almost looks afraid of it… the arousal, the impending orgasm you’re going to lay waste to him with. Fuck, he’s going to look so beautiful, coming for you.
“Quiet now,” you warn him in a soft murmur. Your lips descend to meet his even as they open in rapture. He accepts your kiss becuse he has no other choice. He orgasms, trembling, hands turning to bluntt nails sinking into your skin, and his lips part to you, his moan muffled on your tongue.
His cock creams between you, hot and sticky and beyond his ability to control it. You watch him still, through it, your lashes lowering as you fixate on the surrender of his mouth. You slide your hard cock through the wet mess, against his young, hard body, your hand stroking down his side, his hip, grasping his leg as his climax shutters slowly to a close.
He makes another soft sound, reachingg beteween your bodies for your dick. But you still his hand. You shake your head. “Honey, no,” you say. You can’t possibly let him bring you off. Not like this. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. Though you know how unlikely you are to hold out after this.
It’s still so fucking cold, even with the fire roaring behind the grate. He’s breathing beneath you, pantting quietly, and the sweat he’s worked up will chill him to gtthe bone oiff you’re nott careful.
“Turn over,” you say.
He tries for another kiss, his neck arched guilelessly. You grant it, more tender now, the desire laced with the shame of what you’ve done to him. But you let his tongue touch yours… his ache ffor you like a bloom aching for sun.
He turns in your arms, and you help him pull up his trousers. You pul up your own, though you’re still so goddamned hard. You let yourself enjoy the sweet pressure of squeezing up against his arse from behind. He wiggles back into it, shameless and lovely.
Your arms wrap around him, holding him closer than close. Your nose nestles in his nape.
He sighs on his way back tto sleep. “I love you,” he says.
And fuck but you can’t not say it back. It’s true affter all. It’s just also complicated. “I love you too.”
It’s a mistake, all of it. In a line of other mistakes that make up your entire life. There’s no way to regret it completelly. Not when he draws your arm across his body and presses your palm to his beating heart. There is no regreting that.
And you can say that’s all it is, when the light filters through the room in the morning, when your friends rouse to wake. You can say you held him to keep him warm. If they wake to find you tangled up together, you have all the reason in the bloody world.
You just have, inside of you, even more.
🍹
Date: 2020-07-29 02:12 am (UTC)Word.
Bwahaha! These are the best moments in drunk-fic.
This both confuses and amuses me. Love it!
Snerk!
Re: 🍹
Date: 2020-08-02 09:22 pm (UTC)