Fic: Stuck

Mar. 20th, 2012 10:24 am
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[personal profile] all_not_well
Title: Stuck
Pairing: Al/Scorpius
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-con.
Summary: Malfoy was alone, as far as Al could see. There was no sign of whoever had recently used and abandoned him.


Malfoy stood with his hands braced against the rough stone wall, not ten feet from the entrance to the Slytherin common room. He might as well have been in the red-light district on Mardjinn Alley – he was the perfect picture of a pretty young whore fresh from his latest trick. He stood with his head bowed, his face hidden behind the shining fall of his white-blond hair. He lacked a shirt or robe, though he still had his black-and-yellow tie draped loosely around his neck. His trousers were tangled down around his ankles. His pert, pureblooded arse stuck out on display for anyone to see.

Gleaming-white gobs of come trickled down Malfoy’s slender thighs.

Al had to fumble with the placket of his own trousers, which were suddenly far too tight for his comfort.

And Malfoy just stood there. Well-fucked, clearly, and breathing hard. But he was alone, as far as Al could see. There was no sign of whoever had recently used and abandoned him.

Al could only stand and stare, stupefied by the sight. The air under his dad’s invisibility cloak was close and stale; he wanted to rip the shimmering fabric away and take a deep breath of clean, cool, sex-soaked dungeon air. Sweat crawled down Al’s scalp and dampened the collar of his shirt.

Malfoy’s thighs trembled, and his arse flexed.

Al shifted his weight without even thinking, ready to take a step closer. His mouth watered.

Then he heard it. A thick wet choking sound. A sniffle through tear-clogged sinuses.


Not a whore, then, but a victim.

He saw then what he’d missed before. The long, uncomfortable stretch of Malfoy’s arms. The way his heels didn’t quite touch the floor. The red chafing around his wrists from the invisible bonds that held him in place.

Al bit his lip hard, willing his erection to flag, even a little bit. The situation was all sorts of wrong, but somehow his cock found it so perfectly right all the same. A Malfoy at his mercy. Al was Slytherin enough to be able to appreciate the symmetry of that particular concept.

But he was too much a Potter to take advantage.

Al let the cloak slip from his shoulders. The fabric pooled around his feet with a soft whisper of sound, barely audible over Malfoy’s harsh breaths - but Malfoy apparently heard it all the same. His head came up and his blond hair fell back, smooth as silk, against the damp nape of his neck. He twisted, trying to peer back over his shoulder, though his stretched arms hampered his efforts.

Al expected a plea for help, or perhaps panic; to his shock, he got neither. Instead Malfoy pushed himself up on tiptoe, arching his back and thrusting his arse out in invitation.

Al’s cock throbbed; he wanted nothing more than to take what was so clearly on offer. Why had he never noticed just how lithe and gorgeous Malfoy had become? All that pale skin, just begging to be licked.

That filthy, stretched arsehole…

Potter, I’m a Potter, Al chanted in his head. Potter to the rescue. He tried to picture his father, looking stern and forbidding in crimson Auror robes. His father would do the right thing. But Al wasn’t his father, and the memory did nothing to block the vivid reality in front of him. Al bit his lip a second time, and felt the skin split. He licked his lips and tasted copper.

"Stop that," he said out loud. "You don’t – I’m not going to fuck you." His mouth wanted to linger on the ffffffffffuck, his teeth scraping lightly over his stinging bottom lip. His voice sounded hoarse and strange to his own ears, as though someone else had spoken the words.

"Please," Malfoy whispered. "Please fuck me, I deserve it. I’m a slut, I need it--"

"Knock it off," Al said sharply.

Malfoy fell silent, though he shifted restlessly, his fingers scrabbling at the wall.

Potter. Potter. I’m a Potter. Al sighed.

He spared a glance down to Malfoy’s groin and immediately wished he hadn’t: Malfoy’s cock was half-hard, blushing rosy-red.

Al wondered briefly if he really could make Malfoy want it – then firmly stomped down on that thought.

"How do I get you off this wall?

"Fuck me," Malfoy whispered.

"Damn it, Malfoy--"

Malfoy shook his head, blond hair flying every which way. "Need three more," he said, so softly that Al had to lean in close to hear him. "The bindings won’t release until then."
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