Archive of Our Own

He checks beforehand, meticulously, that the place is above-board. That the… "workers" are of age, and paid fairly, and safe. It's not a difficult task for someone in his position; a simple chat to a bored admin assistant one floor down and a few fake notes on a piece of parchment to make it look official; a night staked out the front, hiding in a muggle car, watching the comings and goings; a few informants from the industry sold a line about trafficking and illegal workers. Everything about Serenity is beyond reproach. They even offer a retirement scheme. Draco wonders how often a sub or a dom has to retire once they're too old to sell themselves. He wonders how far a sub will go to please someone, whether they'll risk themselves, or openly accept damage, just for the thrill of approval. He doesn't know why they do it. He can't think of anything worse than giving up his choices again.

He knows what he'll get when he arrives. Localised disillusionment as you approach the door, a guarantee you won't run in to anyone in the corridors, the option for polyjuice for you or for your new friend for the evening. Even the two-way mirrors have charms on them. The voyeurs, if there are any in the adjoining room, can see you but they can't recognise you.

He tries not to think about the possibility that his choosing someone young means he's regressing, that he's trying to recapture something he lost in his own youth, other than youth itself. He might be going backwards a bit. But he's fine with that, really. Maybe he'd like to go so far back he never met his second wife. Ex-wife. Harpy. Perhaps he'll just give up on women altogether now.

He pays his money at the desk. It's dark in the foyer and smells of expensive flowers and clean carpet. It's warm too, or maybe he's just nervous. The cashier — hostess? Madame? The Woman, he'll call her, because she's probably the only one here — isn't young anymore, she's probably his age, and he wonders if the whole business is hers. She's dressed well; her makeup isn't dreadful. Lipstick pristine. She smiles at him, a smile she's probably been holding in since he made his request for a certain type , no doubt, and he gives her a polite nod.

'You have room seven, sir,' she says, and hands him a key. 'Alex will take care of you.'

Alex had better know what he’s doing because Draco surely doesn’t. All he knows is that he’s sick of being told what to do and it’s his turn, now, to make the decisions. His turn to decide how he likes it, and what it is.

Room seven is carpeted in thick grey pile; good for kneeling on, Draco reflects. The walls are delectably ostentatious flocked wallpaper, charcoal velvet on gunmetal, in heavy flourished stripes. The curtains are closed and the room is lit by a single candelabra on the sideboard. It strikes Draco as odd that a room in what is essentially a fancy porn dungeon might have a sideboard. Like they're going to want to keep their best china on hand. All the better to serve you with, sir. There's a bed off to his right, a tall four-poster that he can tell is at the perfect height for fucking someone into the mattress while standing, a position he prefers nowadays. He may only be in his early forties, but his knees aren't what they used to be. It's good he won't be the one kneeling.

His gaze alights — finally, he's been fighting the urge to stare — on the boy. Alex. He's kneeling already, blind-folded, with his hands behind his back and a look of passive interest on his face. His lips are full and slightly pouty, and doesn't that just remind him of someone… The hair is tidy, dark, and closely-cropped on the sides. He supposes they couldn't have got that perfect on such short notice, even with polyjuice. It'll do.

For some reason the boy is wearing clothes; plain black trousers and a white shirt buttoned all the way up to the collar, neatly tucked in at the waist. He supposes someone decided he might want to unwrap him, and it's not a bad idea, even if it's yet another decision he didn't get to make himself. He'll need some practice commanding anything at all, let alone here, in a bedroom. It's been so long since he had any say. Astoria needed him to be gentle when she got sick, and then she needed him to just not . And he doesn't blame her, never, he blames the illness, the curse. He can still be mad about it, even if he has nowhere tangible to direct his rage.

Lydia (the Harpy) had been robust and healthy and energetic but exceptionally boring once they got down to it, though her initial help in making the Manor feel less empty while Scorpius was away at school had been welcome. After they had married, she had single-handedly clawed the house back from the depths of grim neglect he'd let it fall into, and he was grateful for that. She was also surprisingly useful with the hoard of increasingly feral peacocks running rampant outside, and yet still entirely useless to Draco's libido, also left to run rampant, filling the Manor's hallways with resentment and tension. It was better than sickness and grief, but it wasn't what he wanted for the sad remains of his middle age. She lasted a couple of years before Draco had to admit he'd prefer a furtive wank in his study to yet another routine stab at the ever-popular missionary position. Still. At least the pre-nup had been solid. And the peacocks culled. And now he got to be here, doing what he wanted.

'Hello,' he says, and feels immediately stupid.

'Hello, Sir,' Alex says, his voice low, barely above a whisper. Draco wonders if it's an effort to sound sexy, or show submission, or if his throat is so well-fucked by others that he can no longer talk. He doesn't even know if it matters.

There's a rich pause in which Draco doubts his every desire to be here, in this club, in this part of town, standing in a room which is one-quarter mirrors. And they're two-way, so not only is he here, but he's also now in other men's heads, a star in their upcoming wank fantasies. If he goes through with it. If he stays. He may as well — the mirrors are charmed such that he’s nothing more than a nondescript blonde of indeterminate age. If only that were true of real life.

He wonders if he should make reference to his inexperience or if he can simply trust it's understood. Perhaps it's gauche to talk so openly about such things here, amongst the fantasy. Maybe it'll put them both off. Maybe he's just supposed to pretend he knows what he's doing and what he wants, blagging his way through. It seems deceitful, though, clumsy, and not at all in line with what he wants from this. Merlin, what does he want from this?

'Tell me what you like,' he says instead, since maybe having a clear task will make him feel more relaxed in this new space.

'Making you happy,' the sub says, and flexes his hips slightly, canting forward in a way that indicates either growing arousal, which seems unlikely at this stage, or the intention of imitating growing arousal. Draco doesn't know whether to give him credit for the detailed performance or not, since he doesn't really like being lied to, and flattery isn't why he came here. If he wanted flattery there were other avenues.

'My happiness is dependent on more than my own desires,' Draco says. 'I have no interest in making you do things that benefit neither of us. I shan't order you around for the sake of it.'

The sub smirks, and it's almost comforting. 'There's a clipboard on the bedside table,' he says. 'The parchment lists the things that I'm willing to do for you. Or for you to do to me. It's a blanket consent form; you're free to do any of those things at your leisure.'

'And the quill?' Draco asks as he walks over to it.

'For you to sign. To show you understand. There's also an exclusion list.'

'That seems reasonable,' Draco admits, picking up the clipboard. 'Do you have a safeword?'

'Daddy.'

He almost laughs out loud. 'Yes, that will definitely turn me off. Good choice.'

'It would bother some people in this… lifestyle… not being able use that word,' Alex says.

'Some people don't have fathers like mine,' Draco growls out.

'Or mine.'

'Well, at least we have something in common other than being startlingly attractive.'

The sub smiles, and Draco remembers he's under polyjuice — he doesn't actually look like this, with his inky black sweeping fringe and plush lips. His skin is pale, shaved smooth, and he has narrow shoulders, bony even through his white shirt. He's exactly what Draco usually finds striking in a man, but the image of him bound and kneeling is something else altogether and he finds himself feeling quite weak to it. Which probably isn't how he's meant to feel, under the circumstances. He's probably meant to be a bit more forceful, in control.

He reads through the list. It's extensive. He doesn't know what half the stuff is, or if he does, he didn't know it was called that. He recognises some terms and can deduce others; he's pleased to see the sub disagrees with scat play, since Draco can definitely understand what that one means and the unsanitary nature of it makes him shiver with distaste. For the most part, there's nothing Draco wants to do that isn't on there, and there are even a few things that give him ideas about what to do first. Things he likes the concept of that he wouldn't have considered overtly sexual before now. He signs the agreement and it chimes as he lifts the quill, duplicates itself, and disappears. He's left with a list of options and a willing body to perform them on.

He looks around and his gaze falls on the sideboard again. It's suddenly home to an array of interesting looking implements that weren't there a second ago. Draco realises it probably doesn't have crockery in it. And if there's silverware, it's not the kind you eat with. He steps across to it and studies the tools at his disposal, taking in the small details, the clearly high level of craftsmanship, even though many of these things he's seeing for the first time.

'Is there anything you'd like me to do?' Alex asks from the floor.

'I'd like you to be quiet,' Draco drawls back at him, and watches the twitch on the young man's cheek get smothered in obedient neutrality. Good.

'Yes, Sir.'

Draco runs a finger over a leather-handled something. It's obviously meant for some sort of impact play, but having multiple long, leather strands coming out of the end of it makes him think it could be used to tickle as well. Versatile. And the detailing on the handle is beautiful. Neat, supple and elegant, with precise black stitching instead of just cheap glue. He isn't a total stranger to toys, and this is a nice one. An expensive one. He gives it one last stroke with a fingertip and diverts his attention to the thing next to it. Shaped like a Muggle cricket bat but flatter, smaller, it's obviously for spanking. He's used something similar before, once, a long time ago, when he'd first seen the very edge of something bigger, a world of sexual possibility that both scared him and made his skin tingle. It had been a short-lived foray, though; he'd met Astoria soon after and it had fallen away. Another thing on a list of unexplored eventualities. Well, no longer.

This particular paddle is snakeskin, or an approximation of it, with a slight green tint to it. He wonders if this is for him specifically or if it always looks like that. Maybe when they have former Gryffindors using this room it's red and furry. The Hufflepuff one could be yellow-trimmed hide, hair on, and soft so it didn't actually hurt anyone. That'd be about right for a dominant Hufflepuff, if there were such a thing. The Ravenclaw one would probably just be a heavy book and not a paddle at all.

He wonders absently what house the boy at his feet had been in. He can't have been out of school long, with skin like that. Though, it isn't his skin, is it? And even if he pulls off the blindfold to see the gentle lines around the eyes of a man in his late twenties, they still won't be his lines. He's taken them from someone else.

Draco picks up the paddle.

'Take off your trousers,' he commands. 'I'm going to try out some of these toys on you.'

'You're going to have to untie me first,' Alex smirks, raising both eyebrows like it's so obvious , twisting to reveal his bound wrists.

'And you,' Draco grips him by the upper arm and pulls him bodily to his feet, 'are going to have to ask nicely.'

He's glad rough handling had been on that list, it's been years since he's been able to be remotely aggressive with anyone and it feels good to let go. To not have to worry about his delicate wife, or his poor, motherless child, or, more recently, Scorpius’s infuriatingly cocky and ever-present best friend, who, frankly, deserves a bit of a slap, and clearly isn't getting it at Chez Potter. But then, that was part of the whole thing, wasn't it? The young, dark-haired whippet standing in front of him, ever so slightly shorter, but with that same impish smirk that begged to be smacked off his face. It's like he's practiced it.

'Or?' the kid asks. 'What will you do?'

'Or,' Draco says, as he lifts his hand to the blindfold and unceremoniously whips it off. 'We'll find out just how much you like spanking.'

The kid almost gasps, his lips falling open and his eyes wide and dark, dilated from their containment. They're standing close enough that Draco sees his pupils contract and then twitch wider again, a burnished hazel sort of colour, framed in long dark lashes. He appears to be wearing eyeliner, and Draco finds himself very interested in that. Curious.

The boy continues to look at Draco with a sort of fascination that's slightly unsettling. Almost like he recognises him. Not that that's inconceivable. Draco's far from unknown in some circles, certainly everyone in his own generation would recognise him. He remembers then that Alex's youth is perhaps a facade, that there's every chance this man is Draco's age and knows exactly who he is. Or… maybe the poor wretch has just never had a client so well-dressed before. Who knows what kind of heathens come here?

He lifts his hand again and uses a single finger to push Alex's chin back into a normal position; this is the first time they've touched properly and it's strangely affecting. Draco is tempted to not stop touching him, because even if it's not this young man's body, it is a rather nice one, and he likes nice things. He relents and swipes a thumb across the sharp line of Alex's jaw, and it's smooth, soft. He remembers there are perhaps people watching, over there on the other side of that mirror, and part of him wishes they'd yell through the wall and tell him what to do, because otherwise he's probably going to kiss him, and he isn't sure he should. Draco lets his thumb trail back to centre and skims the protruding edge of his bottom lip anyway, barely touching him at all, but it’s enough to elicit a tiny noise from his new plaything, and he likes that .

Kissing was on the list. He's allowed. Alex looks clean. Smells clean. His eyes are still fixed on Draco's and there's something in there that's either very good acting or a very bad sign. He drops the paddle back onto the sideboard and reaches out with his free hand. He finds Alex's hip, strokes it absently for a moment, savouring the masculine feel of hard muscle and bone under his fingers. This is one of the reasons he likes men — the firmness, the strength. Knowing they can take it, that he doesn't have to be gentle all the sodding time. He fists his hand into the crisp linen of Alex's shirt and tugs upward, freeing it from the front of his trousers, and using it to pull him closer. Closer. He's not going to reach for him with his mouth, that would seem too much like he cared, he's just going to drag him here and see what the little whippet does.

'Sir?' Alex whispers, and his breath tickles Draco's face.

'Yes?' he answers, and he can feel how close they are, their magic humming as it tries to occupy the same space, a cool tingle playing over Draco's lips. He drops his other hand and tugs the other side of Alex's white shirt out of his trousers, jerking him slightly so their lips graze for a split second. He's gifted with another tiny, pathetic sound of wanting and he takes pity on the kid, or perhaps himself, and pulls him in the remaining millimetres, each fist full of linen, and not a gap to be seen between them but the open nakedness of their throats. It goes from just a firm press of lips to a delving, wet, glorious, filthy mess in mere seconds and Draco feels his heart float for a moment, and then it's gone, the shock of kissing someone who isn't his wife only temporary and easily buried by the wave of rampant need filling his gut.

It's easy to get swept away. The natural equaliser of kissing someone just as confident in the art as one is themselves, shifts the balance of power too close to the centre and Draco has to claw back his self-control. He uses it to step in between Alex's bare feet, pushing him so his back arches in supplication and he has to stop and gasp for air.

'Was there something you wanted to ask me?' Draco purrs, pushing his fingers into the dark shock of hair and tightening them for just a second.

'No, Sir.'

'Good,' Draco says and summons a ball gag and a tiny bell from the sideboard. 'Open up.'

Alex acquiesces to the gag without protest, licking at it as Draco fumbles to get it in place. This fulfills twin goals of detracting from Draco's pitiful inexperience with the device and also igniting a tiny spark of something in his groin, which of course doesn't help with the fumbling. Once it's situated, the pale pink mouthpiece damp and shining in the candlelight, Draco takes a step back to admire his plaything, pacing a slow circle around him. He presses the bell into his bound hands as he passes behind.

'You know what the bell is for?' he asks. Alex nods, managing to look patronising despite being dishevelled, bound and gagged, which only serves to annoy Draco. He did his research, after all, he deserves some credit for that. 'I do hope you won't feel the need to use it,' he bites out, letting his displeasure be known. That's part of the point, after all, not having to hide it.

'I'm going to remove some of your clothes now,' he says, starting at the open neck of the white shirt and unfastening each button slowly in turn, watching the pale, lean chest emerge, completely hairless and pristine. Alex is patient, or possibly bored, staring down at Draco's fingers as he works, his eyes fluttering shut as soon as cool hands find the smooth skin of his stomach. How gratifying. He’s warm, and firm and everything you could want in a half-naked temptation, sighing prettily as Draco ghosts his touch slowly back up to his shoulders. He pushes the white linen back so it shrugs down to where Alex’s hands are still bound and it stops there, trapped and trailing almost to the floor.

They're standing very close again. Draco takes advantage of the fact that Alex still has his eyes shut and studies the angles of his face. He's rather pretty, pink around the cheeks, his lips still reddened and wet from Draco's kiss, pulled debaucherously tight around the rubber ball. It's tempting to lick them.

Instead Draco pulls his hands back, letting them skim over Alex's shoulders, his chest, his taut belly. He pokes a curious finger into the shallow divot of his belly button and the hazel eyes snap open at once. Draco traces his finger around the rim of his navel, watching cool detachment lose the battle and be replaced with a wary scowl.

'Ticklish, are we?' he drawls.

Alex nods. Tickling was not on either list. Did he not think of it? Maybe, like 'drawing on skin', it is something that might not be considered sexual until someone suggests it. Well. Without express forbiddance, Draco is hardly going to hold himself back. He continues his soft, leisurely circles, a smirk growing on his face. Alex continues to scowl, his jaw twitching. Delightful.

Draco extends his range, dipping barely-there fingertips into the downy fuzz that blazes its trail downwards and under the waistband of the smart black trousers. He wonders if Alex is wearing anything under them as he watches the muscles beneath his touch twitch, the tell-tale suck-in of his stomach the best evidence of his effect. Draco runs a bold, taunting finger along the edge of the waistband, hip to hip, and the kid almost crumples, pulling his body out of reach.

'Come back here,' Draco teases, sliding two fingers into Alex's trousers, right at the concave point by his hip bone, drawing him back into position. He definitely doesn't appear to be wearing any underwear and though that is distantly horrifying, it's immediately arousing and Draco feels himself growling low in his throat. 'Stay still.'

Alex lifts his gaze and glares shamelessly, hazel eyes alight with a wilfulness Draco can't help but see as a challenge. Very well then. He drags his fingertips up, up, 'til they coast over the bump of his ribcage, goosebumps blossoming across his chest, nipple hardening as Draco's touch skims its edges. Back down over the gentle ripple of his abs, and Alex is trying desperately to arch out of range again, but Draco has a firm grip on his trousers now and there's no escape.

'Do you not like that?' he whispers, fingering the little hollow by Alex's other hip and hearing a tiny whine in response. His eyes are clamped shut now, breathing heavily through his nose, lips wet around the gag. 'Would you prefer it if, perhaps…' he dips his finger into the hollow again, '…you weren't so overdressed?'

Alex mewls and tries to buck away again, almost managing this time. Draco tightens his grip, annoyed at almost being bested. Perhaps it’s time to get rid of the trousers altogether, bend him over and teach him to not wriggle around so much. He strokes the back of his hand over the kid's stomach in a way that's hopefully soothing, and turns his attention to the series of fastenings holding the two of them here, on the proper side of decency.

Was he ready for this? Having complete control over someone else's cock? There was a noticeable bulge in the black fabric, so it wasn't even going to be casual dormitory cock, glimpsed between pants and pyjamas and never spoken of. It was going to be proper, swollen, lusty cock, with the assumption of a decent size, since this was a polyjuiced fantasy-fuck and not the lottery of a nightclub hook-up.

Draco slides the clasp free with a tiny scrape of metal on metal and the kid's eyes snap open. Alex flicks his gaze lower and watches his zip's quiet descent; Draco has to pull it out and down, holding it away from the pressing heat behind it so nothing gets caught in its teeth.

There's a pale pink stripe of skin visible now, and only one hidden button to go 'til everything is right there in front of him for the taking. He can't help himself. He hooks a finger around Alex's fly and pets his cock where it is, trapped inside his trousers. He feels it twitch and he smirks, putting his lips close to Alex's ear. 'Do you like that?' he whispers, stroking it again. The kid makes a muffled sound and Draco feels him nod against his cheek. 'Good,' he says, and drops to his knees. He gets the feeling this isn't how it's supposed to go, he certainly hadn’t anticipated kneeling, but he'll be damned if he's going to rush it, and having someone practically vibrating like this is too tempting. He leans in, letting his breath skate over that slender gap in Alex's defenses. He lines himself up, closes his eyes and licks a swift stripe upward, getting both cock and fine woollen fabric, one smooth and warm, the other slightly rough to the touch. Alex tries to gasp around the gag, a wet, vulnerable sound that Draco decides he rather likes. He goes back in with a pointed tongue and does it again, but doesn't even make it all the way up before Alex has stepped back, his eyes wide.

'Stay. Still,' Draco purrs at him, wrapping his hands around the backs of Alex's knees and tugging so he has to either step forward or fall. 'I'm not done with you.'

He tries again and Alex continues to struggle, even when Draco's hands tighten around his knees and surely it must hurt. Eventually, he ends up with his arms wrapped around the kid's thighs and still he's trying to twitch out of his grasp. Draco wets his tongue and licks a sloppy trail up the length of the ever-widening gap, more and more of the pale length becoming visible as it hardens and pushes the fabric aside. He sits back a bit and blows a pointed breath over the wetness, looking up at Alex's anguished face. His eyes are closed again, brow furrowed in concentration. At least he's trying to not be twitchy. Though maybe that was just acting as well? Draco blows again on the cooling moisture and watches the kid’s chest rise and his belly hollow, and decides that if so, it was very good acting. Still, he's been told to hold still. And he isn't. Naughty boy.

Draco comes to his feet and flicks open the button just inside the waistband of Alex's trousers, watching the fly fall open and his cock spring free to bob gently between them. He hadn't been wrong. This particular polyjuice donor had definitely not been chosen on looks alone.

'You're not very good at staying still,' Draco admonishes, and grabs a handful of black fabric on either side of Alex's hips. He tugs downward, before pointing, 'Over there, I want you bent over the sideboard.' Their eyes meet, and there's still such wilfulness in the kid's expression he's certain this is the right call. He grasps Alex's shoulder and shoves him 'round, admiring the dishevelled clothing, the thickening cock, the depravity of that scowl peeking out from between the ruffled hair and the glistening, spit-covered rubber ball shoved between his teeth.

As Alex positions himself obediently in place, Draco realises his bound hands and the trailing shirt are going to get in the way, and he pulls out his wand, sending a silent spell to unravel the knots, watching the rope unfurl and coil itself neatly on the floor. The shirt, he grabs and yanks free, tossing it aside. He makes sure the tiny bell is still there, clutched in the kid’s hand.

'You might want to hold on,' Draco says as their eyes meet in the mirror. 'And don't forget to smile for the nice men on the other side of the glass.'

***

It turns out Alex likes being spanked a lot, even though Draco has thought, multiple times over the last few minutes, that he's gone too far and actually, properly hurt him. Then again, maybe Alex likes that too. Maybe he has deep-seated issues and thinks he deserves it. Perhaps life has been too good to him and he knows it. Too lenient. This is something Draco almost struggles with himself, until he remembers living with the entire upper echelon of the Dark Lord's regime and he puts it all down to time served, well before the war was over and he was officially exonerated by the Wizengamot and the first of the incorrigible Potters.

He does look lovely like this though, his top half spread out over the toys, gripping the back of the sideboard, his knuckles white. Draco purposely put him here so he could see him in the mirror and enjoy the anguished pleasure on his face as well as the blossoming redness across his tight little arse. They really did choose their polyjuice donors well.

He leans forward and loosens the gag.

'Would you like more?' he asks, eyeing up the many-tailed leather something he'd admired earlier. Seems a shame not to use it.

'Yes,' Alex whispers.

'Yes what?' Draco places the paddle down and picks up the exquisite leather handle from beside the boy's elbow. It's light in his hand; he can barely feel its weight. It must be charmed, surely?

'Yes, Sir.'

'Better,' Draco drawls, refastening the gag and examining the new toy, twirling it in one hand and watching the leather strands flare out. He sees movement in the corner of his eye and notices Alex is watching him, slightly trepidatious, probably trying horribly to be brave. 'Nervous?' he asks.

Alex gives him a patient look in the mirror and tips his chin, drawing attention to the gag again. He looks on the verge of rolling his eyes and Draco feels his own narrow at the cheek of it.

'Looks like you're still good,' he says and twirls the new thing one last time. 'Drop the bell when you need to. Don't wait 'til it's too much. You're probably enough of a handful as it is without being tearful and whimpering.'

Draco draws his arm back and lets the strands fly, so fast he doesn't even see them land across Alex's already flushed backside. It makes the most delightful sound. He draws back again and aims lower, so the leather bites at the back of his thighs. Alex jumps a little, and Draco realises that with his legs slightly parted, there's every chance he's just hit his balls. He wonders if the kid's going to readjust, and waits a second, but he stays put, eyes closed, one hand still curled around the back of the sideboard.

If Draco looks, he can see the shining smear of precum on the front of one of the drawers, just an inch from the tip of Alex's cock, still hard, still pointing resolutely upward, despite the lashing. Draco can hardly judge — each to their own — his own trousers are so uncomfortably tight now that he's beginning to think fondly about rubbing himself over those smack-reddened cheeks, and the thin little welts coming up on Alex's skin. He looses another blow, harder this time, and the pitch of the impact changes slightly, Alex jerking under it, his eyes springing open. He's fiddling with the bell in his hand and Draco wonders how long it'll be 'til he asks him to stop, and whether he'll feel resentful when it happens. Perhaps a change of pace instead? One under his own control.

'Needing a break, are we?'

Alex glares in the mirror, gag still firmly in place. Draco leans forward to loosen it. 'You wish,' he spits the second his waspish little tongue is free.

Like that, then.

'I'm going to test you,' Draco purrs. 'Answer correctly and I will do this,' he tickles the strands of leather up the back of Alex's thighs, and over the cleft of his arse cheeks to rest on his lower back. Alex seems to shudder under the touch and Draco can't help but smirk to himself. 'Answer incorrectly, or hesitate too much, and I'll go back to spanking you.'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Question one. What Hogwarts house were you?'

Draco watches Alex in the mirror. He wonders if he'll answer. It's not a question that can be right or wrong after all, but it's a good test of his intelligence to see if he notices that.

'Slytherin,' he says, after a beat.

'Hmm.' Draco does as he said he would and lightly traces the leather along the same path as before. 'Are you lying?' he asks as the strands dip into the crevice of his cheeks.

'No, Sir.'

'Hmm.' Draco suspects he might be, and is just appeasing him, and if so… does that mean Alex knows who he is? Knows him to have been a Slytherin? Draco wonders if maybe he should've taken polyjuice himself. The voyeur on the other side of the glass might not be able to recognise him, but Alex could. Maybe did already. 'What colour are the velvet couches in the Slytherin common room?' he asks, just to be sure, wondering if they've changed the decor in the last 25 years or so.

'Black, but they aren't velvet,' Alex says. Clever boy, maybe he is a Slytherin. Draco skims the leather up the back of his thighs again, letting the handle dip slightly into the space between his cheeks, not quite touching them.

He has a lovely arse — even before it was flushed and marked Draco had noticed it was nice. He's not adverse to the idea of slathering the whole thing in lube and humping it into oblivion. He does love to see his cock encompassed like that, fat cheeks hugging his length, the tip peeking out the other side. He likes coming on someone, seeing it happen, living out his own pornographic fantasies and replaying them later. No man should be without a private pensieve in his bedchamber. Tonight would be a gift that kept on giving. His memory will last longer than the polyjuice, even. Which was a point. How long did it last? An hour? He'd need to be sure the kid was keeping an eye on the time — he might not want to be stuck here with whoever it really was; what a way to spoil a perfectly good memory.

It occurs to Draco then, that the man (if it even is a man) beneath this enchantment might not be someone he would normally lower himself to touching. Even abnormally. Even if under duress, or the threat of world's end, he might give this person a pass. What sort of hideousness would require only working under polyjuice? What sort of personality flaws could be hidden by the subservient act of a submissive?

And what if he was just gleefully waiting for Draco to do something damning, weak. What if the sub was in cahoots with The Woman out the front and he was going to end up in the paper? Ex-Death Eater Falls Even Further, Caught Shagging Britain's Most Unattractive Prostitute. He claimed to be a Slytherin, after all. Had apparently sat on the same couches Draco had. Was he as wily? Was he like him? Was he a Pureblood? Did he even have anything to lose? Perhaps it was paranoia, or the honest result of years of terrible things happening to him, but being on the back foot made him nervous. He needed to know who he was with.

' Sprichst du irgendwelche anderen Sprachen?' Draco asks. Alex looks at him in the mirror, his eyes blank. Not conclusive. 'On vous a peut-être appris une autre langue quand vous étiez jeune?' Draco cocks his head to the side, looking for signs of recognition. Nothing. 'Ore no itteru koto wakarimasuka? Entiendes lo que estoy diceindo ahora?' Draco sighs. Probably not a Pureblood, then. 'Should I try cockney rhyming slang?'

'Please don't,' Alex smiles, his brow still quizzical. 'Sir.'

'Very well,’ Draco pauses, thinking of a Muggle invention a woman might know about. ‘Can you tell me what a Hoover is?'

The kid looks baffled for a second before smothering it in politeness. 'An animal podiatrist?' he guesses.

'No, not even close,' Draco says and swings his arm, sending the leather in a close arc, so he would feel it but it wouldn't truly hurt. Clearly his mother was magical. What about dear old Dad? 'How many people on a football team?'

'Eleven, Sir, not counting subs.'

'Good boy,' Draco teases the strands across the angry pattern he'd left behind. Daddy's likely Muggle-born or half-blood, then, but how old is he? The same age Lucius would’ve been or the same age Draco is now? 'Who sings 'This Is The Night'?'

There's an almost indeterminable sigh. 'The Weird Sisters,' Alex says, and he sounds arduously patient. Like to him it's old-people music. Good. Younger, then.

'What about 'Amor-Tension'?' Draco silently thanks his only child's obsessive prattling about one thing or another. It's never been particularly helpful before.

'Illegal Potions Promise Ring,' Alex answers, confident and without pause.

Interesting. Some evidence of actual youth. So his parents were possibly Draco's own generation, or thereabouts. And if the real Alex is young enough and cool enough (though who really knew if Scorpius was actually cool) to know of Illegal Potions Promise Ring (or I.P.P.R, as they‘re referred to at home) then he might be around the same age as Scorpius.

It occurs to Draco then, as the warm buzz of finally getting somewhere with a puzzle fades, that this kid might know his son. Might've been at school at the same time as him. Might know who Draco is, not because he's a notorious ex-Death Eater, but because he's Scorpius's Dad. And Merlin's balls, that's so much worse. He tries to not let the dread show, and skims the ends of the strands in a small whorl on this unknown person's lower back.

'Alex,' he asks, assuming now that that isn't his real name . 'Do you know who I am?'

He hesitates for just a second. 'Yes, Sir.'

The cold spill of dread in his chest permeates through to his gut in less than a breath. 'Do you not think that seems a trifle unfair?' Draco growls.

'No, Sir,' the kid looks right at him in the mirror, and the feeling of being terribly exposed, embarrassed and… unsafe , permeates Draco's controlled facade. Would this be his undoing? A person he cannot even identify knowing his dirtiest secret? What tragic fall from grace might this be? Not that Draco was the most adored man in England, but he'd done well to reassert his place in society after escaping the horrid mantle his father had laid on him, albeit accidentally. He had a ways to fall, even if it wasn't as far as some. And he wouldn't want any of it to tarnish his son's (far better) reputation.

Draco draws his arm right back and smacks the long leather strands across the already pink arse. 'Incorrect,' he snaps, 'that's terribly unfair, actually.' He pulls his arm back and lashes at him again, hard.

'Hey!' Alex glares into the mirror. 'You asked if I thought it was unfair, actually , I'm relatively good at knowing what my own thoughts are,' he says, and raises his closed fist. Draco realises what Alex is doing a second before he opens his hand and the tiny bell drops out onto the sideboard.

Fuck.

What has he just done? His anger dissipates in a cloud of shame and regretful self-awareness. Vulnerability has never brought out the best in him. And he should've been ready for it, here, doing this for the first time.

'You're right,' Draco concedes with a broken sigh, and lets the finely detailed leather handle fall from his fingers. 'I'm sorry.' It's hard to even look at Alex. Despite the fact he's been systematically smacking his arse red for who knows how long now, that last blow, or rather those last blows , were out of line, contrary to the agreement. A betrayal of trust. Draco turns away and drops himself onto the end of the bed, erection wilted and the prospect of getting off a distant memory. 'I'm terrible at this,' he says, the ruse of dominance seeming suddenly silly, childish.

'You're not,' Alex says, eyes cast down, one hand resting on the sideboard as he shakes his trousers the rest of the way off, one leg at a time. 'And there's more to it than just smacking me if I'm bad.'

'Pray tell.' Draco risks a glance up. 'What would you like me to like you to do?'

Alex smiles, shy now, and opens the top drawer of the sideboard. Draco wonders what devious tool of his trade might make this all better. A time turner perhaps. How melodramatic to want to go back in time! Was he being ridiculous? It had been a mistake. But he didn't often make them these days — he was careful. It rankled. He'd asked for the sub to be polyjuiced. Of course that was going to bring up issues. He's an idiot. But it’s fine. He’ll be fine .

He fixes his eyes on Alex and watches as he runs his fingers over something in the open drawer, just out of sight at this angle. A moment's deliberation and he plucks a small jar from the stash and slides the drawer closed. He tosses it to Draco where he sits on the bed, and stalks across the carpet after it, coming to stand in front of him, legs akimbo, pink cock still quite impressively full and heavy between his thighs. Draco averts his eyes to the jar in his hand.

'Lady Lovegood's Lovers' Lubricating Lotion?' he reads. 'For sore bits and whore's bits?' He raises an eyebrow.

'It's soothing,' Alex smirks. 'When someone has just destroyed your arse with a flogger.' His gaze flicks up to the ceiling for a second. 'Well, maybe not destroyed,' he shrugs a little. 'Yet.'

Draco feels his own cock rouse at the implication. The idea that a nice fuck might still be on the table. That he hasn’t completely ruined it. 'You want me to rub it on you?'

'Please, Sir.' His delightfully forgiving sub gives him a coy look, eyes wide under the shock of black hair.

'Okay.'

'Gently.' Alex smirks as he crawls up onto the bed and lays himself face down, his head turned to the side. Draco can't help his eyes following him, and he ends up twisted in his seat, unwilling to look away. His arse is glorious. It needs to be on display better, really, especially if there is anyone next door, hoping to see it.

'Here.' Draco stands and walks around the bed, grabbing a pillow from the head. He stops before he climbs up and unties his shoes, toeing them off in exactly the way he knows he shouldn't, but not really caring. He hauls himself onto the bed and taps Alex's hip. 'Lift up.'

The kid does exactly as he's told, rising onto his elbows and knees, and Draco pushes the pillow into the gap, watching as it catches on his cock and drags it to the side. He pulls the pillow back slightly to centre it again. He's always liked things to be aligned properly.

'Okay, relax now,' he says and Alex sinks back down, the pillow pushing his hips up and back, and making his arse suddenly that much more of a spectacle.

Draco reaches out and touches it. It's warm, soft, and he can feel the welts he's left there — firm, swollen stripes under his fingertips as they skim across the skin. 'I'm sorry if I hurt you,' he says, almost whispering in his shame. 'More than you like to be hurt.'

Alex looks completely relaxed, eyes closed and muscles slack. 'It's okay, Mr Malfoy,' he says and Draco's hand stills, right at the crux of buttock and thigh. Alex opens one eye, slowly, hesitantly. 'Too soon?'

'I don't know,' Draco says, deciding to be honest. 'I'm not really sure how to process that.'

'Consider it a mark of respect?'

'I guess I could.'

'Or you could let me have it as an apology for brutalising me?' his eyebrow raises and it's amazing how cheeky he can be while spread out on the bed and completely at the mercy of the man who allegedly just "brutalised" him.

'You're a little shit, aren't you?'

The thin shoulders shrug where they lie. 'Slytherin.'

'Very well.'

'Thank you, Mr Malfoy.'

'Shut up.' Draco can't help smirking at his boldness, and picks up the small jar from where he'd left it on the bed, twisting the lid off. The fact it isn't slippery on the outside fills him with hope it's a fresh jar, and no other deviant has stuck his filthy fingers in it. He then wonders how many deviants have stuck their fingers in Alex, and whether he wants to himself.

If not for the doubt of who the sub really is hanging over him, he thinks he would. But what if he wouldn't consent to touching the real person under this magical shell? If he knew he didn’t object to them, maybe he could do it, even with them in this other body. Certainly, he and Astoria had considered it when she was sick and in pain — if she could be someone else for an hour, would the symptoms go away? Would she be able to move freely again? Would they be able to do the things they used to?

Draco scoops a little of the gel out and spreads it over his fingers. It's viscose, thin, and leaves a cold tingling sensation behind. It smells slightly of peppermint. Pleasing to the touch and the nose. He wonders if Lady Lovegood is Luna, or if the name is just a coincidence. It certainly lends itself well to a line of sexual aides.

Alex tenses when Draco first makes contact with the Lubrication Lotion on his hand, and he can't tell if it's in pain or surprise. 'Too cold?' he asks.

'A little,' Alex smiles. 'Warm it on your hands first please, Mr Malfoy.'

'You're not going to let that go, are you?'

'No.'

'You should tell me who you are,' Draco says.

'No.'

'What difference will it make?' he wonders, suspicion building.

'I don't know. And I don't want to find out before our hour is up.'

'After that then?'

'No,' Alex looks almost sad, and it's not obvious why. Is he actually someone Draco hates? Is it enough that he's not a Pureblood and he thinks that as a Malfoy, Draco will still hold it against him? Is he someone he knows too well? Maybe it's Lydia, out for revenge. But then, she'd never have been into this. Draco goes back to his task, softly rubbing warmed lotion into the evidence of his latest mistake.

He notices, after a while, once Alex is calm again, eyes closed and breathing steady, that there's a crescent-shaped scar on the back of his leg, just above the knee. Another in the small of his back, tiny but nasty looking, and he can tell the cut, if that's what it had been, was deep. He wonders if it belongs to the sub or the man he's masquerading as.

There are so many things to process, if he thinks too much about it all. There are at least three people involved in this charade, and likely more if there's already a connection between two of them. The sub knows him. Well enough to not want to reveal himself. Which means Draco probably knows the sub. He doesn't know the polyjuice doner, the shell. Does the sub? Does the shell know either of them? Would he consent to an ex-Death Eater pillaging his physical form, even if it isn't him inside it? If the sub or Draco got a chance to know the shell, would either of them want to be inside him in any way?

Most importantly, if the sub has judged Draco worthy of his attentions, and yet doesn't want Draco to know who he is, is that a sign that Draco wouldn't consent to being with the sub if he knew who he was? Is it a hint that maybe he wouldn't even be comfortable rubbing slippery lotion into the blushing globes of his arse? Wouldn't be comfortable thinking about how easy it would be to spread those cheeks apart, wondering what the lotion would taste like on his tongue?

Or is it something else? Maybe Draco would want all of that, but still wouldn't do it if he knew. If he's right, and the sub is young, the age gap might be enough of an impediment, or at least appear that way to the sub. Draco doesn't know how he'd feel about dating someone who was around his son's age, but he's pretty sure Scorpius wouldn't be thrilled about it. A couple of years older might be enough though. Maybe Draco would like it, a younger man to spend his nights with?

Of course, Draco thinks as he scoops more lotion onto his fingers and rubs it between his palms, it could be nothing to do with his personal life at all. Maybe it's an intern at work and their HR department would get them both fired. That'd be reason enough to keep their identity a secret. Worse, maybe he's a criminal Draco has had legal dealings with in the past. He's never been one for the bad boys, so it would be personally reprehensible, and again, HR would probably declare it was no good for a public defender to be fraternising with the clientele.

The worst option, of course, is that he personally knows them. Or perhaps that’s the best option. If it's personal, then maybe Alex is just being shy, and assuming Draco doesn't care for him because he's too into it himself. Maybe this could be the beginning of something. Even if it's something secret. Draco can think of a thousand reasons to not tell someone you want to fuck them 'til their eyes bleed, all of them valid in their own way. There’s someone in particular he’ll never be able to tell that to, and although this technically could be them, karma has never loved him that much.

'Where's this from?' he asks, running a slippery finger along the crescent shaped scar.

'What?' Alex says, lifting his head.

'There's a scar there. And watch your mouth.'

'Oh,' he says. 'That's, er, not mine. Sir.'

'Hmm.' Draco adds the fact to his knowledge of polyjuice. Scars can transfer. He runs a finger around the one on Alex's lower back, and looks to see the hazel eyes fixed on where his hand is hovering over his lumbar. Maybe that one is his. 'It looks deep,' Draco says, carefully not asking anything.

'Curse scar,' Alex says, ‘Dark magic,’ and his eyes flick up before skittering away again. Like maybe that was something Draco wasn't meant to know. Which means there’s a chance he can figure this out, maybe. Or at least gain some comfort from the fact the kid didn’t seem too worried about giving away a clue. It suggests the divide between them in the real world isn’t set in stone, isn’t forbidden in an insurmountable way. Like it isn’t completely inconceivable that Draco might be okay with it.

Draco can take a hint, and he goes back to massaging the lotion in, slightly less worried, now, about getting too close to the crevice between his cheeks, occasionally letting his fingers dip in slightly, even though the paddle's wrath won't have reached that far. He's subtle though, and it's not until his hand reaches into the gap between his thighs that Alex reacts. It's almost imperceptible, a tiny flex of muscle, barely a thrust. He presses himself into the pillow though, and Draco sees it, and he wonders.

'Feeling better?'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Anything else need soothing?'

Alex looks at Draco over his shoulder again, as if he's trying to figure out what the question means. Like he has a few answers and he's not sure which will get him in the least amount of trouble. Like the truth might not be the best answer.

'Perhaps, Mr Malfoy.'

'I think you should tell me the truth,' Draco whispers, and gives him a look he's trying to convince himself isn't paternal. Because that would open up a whole new basket of depravity.

'You seem reluctant to do anything with me now you know that I know who you are.'

'I'm concerned about the fact you don't want to tell me who you are.'

'Even though I want you to do whatever you like?'

'Especially because of that. It suggests you're someone I shouldn't be locked away in a sex club with, no matter how much you might like it.'

'I'm old enough to make my own decisions.'

'And saying that means you're young enough to think that age is the only factor.'

'And if it is? I'm well above legal age and I want you to fuck me, so what's the problem?'

'You know who I am. Which means I must know who you are. So why hasn't this been an option before you were disguised as someone else?'

'Maybe I was shy.'

'Then you don't deserve me.'

'And if I'm not shy now?' Alex turns, rolling onto his side to face him properly. His cock pops out from where it was trapped against the pillow, and no, it's definitely not shy. Draco is sitting cross-legged in front of what looks to be quite a lovely looking specimen, as far as cocks go, moist at the tip and flushed pink. The pillow is wet where Alex was pressed against it, and it's altogether too intoxicating. The knowledge that Draco's ministrations with the lotion were arousing, the thought that maybe his wandering fingers weren't so subtle, and the idea that he could touch this person, take them apart, and nothing bad might happen. It was a power thing, really, to touch someone, make them feel things. He wouldn't be getting off on it, necessarily, he wouldn't be giving any of himself to this person, whoever they were. He'd just be… playing with them.

'How long does polyjuice last?' he asks.

'An hour,' Alex smirks. 'Don't worry, we have some time.'

'And what if I want more time than that?' Draco asks, realising it might be true. He certainly wants to get off, even if it’s only by his own ministrations, and he doesn’t want to rush it.

'Then there's more in the bedside table.'

'You're prepared for all eventualities, then?' Draco wonders how many men extend their time with Alex, how many of them are weak to his many charms.

'Is anyone ever prepared for you?'

'You flatter me.'

'I think you like that?'

'It's acceptable to me.'

'Am I?' Alex dips his head down, letting his fringe fall over his face. 'Acceptable to you?'

'Who can tell?’ Draco says. ‘ You're not really you, after all.'

'What do you mean?'

'You aren't actually the person you're being right now. Your words might be yours, your mannerisms, your voice. But all of this,' he gestures, a sweeping hand that takes in all of Alex's body, stretched out in front of him, 'is someone else's.'

'It's what you asked for,' Alex sounds small, unsure.

'Maybe I didn't consider what it meant to take pleasure in someone's body when it isn't actually their body?'

'But you're considering it now?'

'I am.'

'And?'

'I'm not going to have sex with you like this,' Draco sighs. 'I don't even know who you are.' He has his suspicions, but the sub could've lied. He could be an old, wizened, toothless wretch, destitute and desperate. Diseased. Willing to do whatever they had to to survive and only a viable prostitute if they were smothered in someone else’s pretty exterior. Worse, they could be stupid and morally bereft, corrupt, unchanged by war and reform and as such, the exact sort of person he and Astoria had so fought against. He wouldn't besmirch her memory by taking any sort of pleasure in such a person. He wouldn't.

Though. He didn’t seem that way.

'I'm nice looking,' the boy huffs.

'That wasn't my main concern,' Draco drawls.

'Do you really want to know who I am?' Alex asks, and he sounds confused. Scared, maybe.

'I'd prefer it, before I consider using your body to pleasure myself. I need to at least know you won't get me in any trouble.' Draco gives him a wry smile. 'I've spent far too long avoiding social disasters — I'm not about to accidentally stick my dick in one.'

‘I’m not a social disaster,’ he says, all youthful, righteous anger. ‘I’m nice, people like me. I might not be the life of the party, but at least—’

Draco summons a riding crop with a wave of his hand and slaps him gently on the thigh with the flat leather tip. 'Did I ask you a question?' he interrupts.

'No, Sir.' Alex is still seething, and the depth of his offense makes Draco worried that he really does know the kid, that his words might have actually hurt him.

'I'm going to ask you one now, are you ready?'

‘Yes, Mr Malfoy.'

'Do you want me to fondle your cock?' Draco watches as the boy’s eyes widen and his jaw softens, hope blossoming on the pretty, borrowed face. He’ll play with him, whoever he is, because there’s a chance, however remote, that he’s someone Draco would rather like to take apart and he might not get another opportunity. For now, he can claim ignorance at least. He can’t be a monster if he didn’t know. No one could hold it against him. Not really.

'Yes, please, Sir.'

‘And would you like it if I fingered you open?’ Draco fights to not look away as he speaks, no matter how out of character it feels to say these things out loud.

‘Yes, very much, Mr Malfoy, Sir.’

‘Then pick one.’

‘Wh—’ Alex whimpers. ‘Only one, Sir?’

‘Only one.’ Draco preens.

‘What if I tell you who I am? Will you do both?’ The kid sounds almost desperate.

‘I might do neither. And besides, you could tell me anything. I need to see you.’

‘I have fifteen minutes still. ‘Til I would’ve needed to take more polyjuice.’

‘Well then, what would you like me to do to you for fifteen minutes?’ Draco purrs at him, already starting with the tease. ‘Keeping in mind it might be the only thing I ever do…’

‘I—’ Alex looks distraught, any semblance of neutrality gone from his face. ‘Finger me. I want you inside me.’ And for all of his wealth of experience, he looks petrified at his admission, like he might have just told his most absolute truth to the one person who could squash it. Well, Draco wasn’t about to do that. He’d keep his word, for fifteen minutes at least.

‘Very well. On your front then,’ he says, sliding off the bed and walking over to the sideboard. He replaces the riding crop and tugs open the top drawer, perusing its contents. It’s full of tiny tubs and tubes and bottles — single servings. All with different promises and enticements, and altogether too much to choose from. Draco hones in on the other Lady Lovegood’s products, and alongside the balms and lotions finds a selection of lubricants. He supposes he could use the other one, but the thought of double-dipping combined with anal play was unconscionable. He scans the flavours, raises an eyebrow at a few of them and on a whim selects the lime one before pushing the drawer shut.

Alex is lying face down when he turns, still obediently propped on the pillow with his arse in the air. Draco approaches from the foot of the bed, admiring the still-shining pinkness, the flogger’s stripes all but faded away. He fixes his gaze on the crux of Alex’s thighs and nudges at his ankles ‘til his legs are spread wide enough apart. Wide enough that Draco can just about see the pink pucker of skin and muscle that he’s going to use to disassemble him. Wide enough that Draco can nestle between his thighs and focus on his task. Wide enough that the light will fall into the dark spaces. It’s a delightful sight, one he’ll enjoy again later, but unfortunately for whoever might be in the adjoining room, not one they’ll be privy to. This is his. Something he doesn’t want to share.

He palms himself through his trousers, trying to get comfortable. He’s hard again, remarkably so, and his own touch is enough to force a breath into his throat. Fuck. He undoes his fly and the worst of the pressure eases, though his neglected cock still feels trapped. He thinks of Lydia, and how he never got what he needed then, and wonders why he shouldn’t get what he needs now. There’s no reason he can’t lube up his cock and enjoy his own fist while he works the kid open. It’d certainly help him resist doing any more than that to him.

Draco crawls up onto the bed and settles himself between Alex’s legs, tucking the waistband of his boxers under his balls so his cock is bobbing proud and free between them. The temptation to rub it between slippery buttocks 'til he comes is still there, dancing in the back of his mind, but it can wait. Either fifteen minutes when he finds out if this is any of the people he thinks it might be, or twenty until he gets home to his own toys.

He twists the tiny cap off the tube, hears the comforting snap of the security seal and it occurs to him then he should probably make sure the kid is clean first. He directs a gentle wandless Scourgify at Alex’s spread cheeks and wonders if he need go deeper.

‘I’ve already taken the necessary precautions,’ comes a voice, and Draco startles — there’s no way he should’ve felt that, he was so careful. It’s not exactly polite to throw a tangible cleaning charm at someone you’re not in a relationship with. ‘Sorry, Mr Malfoy, I should’ve said.’

‘Did you feel that?’

‘Oh. No?’ Alex turns his head back into the quilt. ‘I smelled lemons,’ he says.

Or at least that’s what Draco thinks he hears, but it can’t actually be that, because it would mean too much. Draco can count on one hand the people he knows who habitually do a lemon-scented Scourgify . Most people’s end up smelling like an approximation of some sort of soap (or in one troubling case, bleach). Blaise’s smell of leather conditioner, of course, but he’s a special case. The only two living people Draco knows who use the same variation as him are his mother and his son. And this person, whoever he is — and the options are narrowing fast — is obviously not either of those people. This is definitely someone else. Someone who knows the Malfoys intimately. Or one of them, at least...

Maybe… Fuck. Does karma love him after all?

Well. He can’t be sure. Not for another fourteen minutes. He squeezes a line of lubricant onto his left hand and wraps it around his shaft, giving himself a few languid strokes to spread it around. He feels his body react, tighten, his hips rising of their own accord. He hadn’t realised how wound up he was. How much he needed release. Or perhaps he hadn’t needed it like this until now, thinking of who this might be, laid out and begging for his attention. Who it probably is. Who it must be. And if it is him, then what is he waiting for, because this isn’t going to happen again, an invitation like this, with nothing of who they are to each other to get in the way.

He leaves his cock be for the moment and squeezes a little lube onto the middle finger of his right hand. Even if it isn’t him , maybe Draco can pretend it is. Just for a few minutes. He reaches out and brushes the back of his hand over Alex’s thigh, up and over the globe of his arse. He slides the edge of his hand into the space between his cheeks and pushes away to the side, opening up the gap so he can see, and twists his hand to swipe his slicked finger over the tight muscle of his entrance. Alex jerks under him and Draco can’t help smirking. This is going to be too easy. He gets his hand right in there, his middle finger flicking back and forth and his other fingers holding the space open. He could use two hands but he wants one for himself, even if he just sits with his fingers wrapped around the base of his cock. It’s comforting, solid, known.

Alex is putty in less than a minute, arms stretched out in front of him and hands clutching at the quilt. Draco presses a little harder, feels the firm ridge of the little circular muscle. He gives himself a slow stroke as he traces his finger round the edge of the tight circle that’s holding the kid together. He’s gifted with the glorious sound of an involuntary shuddering breath and he repeats the slow circle again and again, once firm, once quick, once barely touching at all, until Alex is breathing so hard it’s visible, his pale shoulders heaving as he fists the bedlinen into a tumbling mess of colour. Perfect.

Releasing his cock again to pick up the tiny tube, Draco keeps his right hand moving and dribbles the lubricant onto his knuckles and down the length of his middle finger, letting it warm slightly as it slides lower and lower and starts to pool at his fingertip. The pink furl of skin is shining, primed and inviting. Alex hums his approval into the mattress, and Draco wishes he’d be a bit more wanton with his appreciative noises, so he waits 'til he turns his head to the side to breathe. Just as Alex opens his mouth to suck in some air, his eyes closed and his brow creased like he’s in the most exquisite pain, Draco pushes through his body’s defences, breaching him with a single slick finger, pushing in all the way to his second knuckle and relishing the surprised shout that follows. He whips his finger almost all the way out again and surges back in, the tight heat making his cock twitch with need.

‘Fuck,’ Alex gasps into the bedding, flexing his hips and pressing back onto Draco’s finger. So eager. He gives him more, faster, short sharp strokes designed to be just a little too much, a little too overwhelming, before he pulls out completely.

‘Lie down properly,’ Draco purrs, giving himself an indulgent squeeze, sliding his hand slowly up and around his corona, twisting a fraction, running a curved palm over the damp head of his cock.

Alex settles back onto the pillow and Draco replaces his finger, slowly this time, his movements languid, sensuous. He presses against the muscle from the inside, massaging it loose, sweeping the pressure of his touch around the edges again and again 'til Alex is lifting off the pillow and his breathing is desperate, ragged.

‘I said,’ Draco says, sliding his finger free and rubbing it covertly against its neighbour 'til they’re both slippery with lubricant. ‘Lie. Down.’

‘Please, Mr Malfoy,’ Alex whines, and Draco has to stop touching his cock or he’ll spill himself right here at the sound of his name on those lips. Now that he knows. Probably. Hopefully.

Alex settles back onto the pillow with a thrust and isn’t that lovely — he’s so hungry for it he’s humping his pillow like a teenager. Draco rewards him with two fingers this time, slowly letting him acclimate, twisting deeper and coiling back a little each time, adding a little more lube, easing him wide as he pants and begs for more, harder, please. His humping speeds up, and that won’t do — if Draco’s not getting off, then neither is he. Not yet. They still have a few minutes to wait. To be sure. He retrieves his hand and summons a glass plug from the sideboard, warming it with a quick spell and sliding it home to the hilt, which earns him a startled grunt. He’ll keep him stretched just in case. No sense wasting his efforts.

‘Turn over,’ he commands, slipping back off the bed and tapping at Alex’s calf to get him moving. He moans pitifully as he rolls onto his back, his cock bright and hard, skin shining with precum that he’s managed to spread all over the pillow — a wet patch of affection that fills Draco with satisfaction. He watches as Alex adjusts to the plug, grinding down on it, back arched, eyes closed, hands trembling at his sides. Insatiable thing.

‘Did I say you could do that?’ Draco asks, palming his cock where he stands at the foot of the bed. ‘Come here,’ he commands and lets go of himself to grab one of Alex’s ankles in each hand and pull his knees to the edge of the bed. The kid grips the quilt in shock and it comes with him, sliding down the mattress, the patterned fabric gathering in a pile on the carpet. He’s flat on his back with the balls of his feet just touching the floor. No purchase this way, so no chance to get himself off unless— ‘Did I say I could touch yourself?’

‘No, Sir, but—’

‘But nothing,’ Draco growls. ‘Hands by your sides.’

‘Will you touch me, please?’

‘How about I touch me instead?’ Draco summons the tube and empties it into his hand before wrapping long fingers round his cock and smoothing along his length. Alex watches with lips parted, rising onto his elbows. His right hand strays close to his hip and Draco almost wants him to disobey — to prove just how arousing it must be for him to watch Draco touch himself, to observe what he might’ve been fantasising about for some time before today.

Draco teases himself a little, not wanting to lose control, needing only the barest of touches to stay hard now, especially as Alex’s hand inches closer to his own forbidden cock. Draco adjusts his grip, and reaches down to tug gently on his balls, rolling them between his fingers, showing them off, really, and he hums deep in this throat as Alex’s cock twitches in response and his hand goes automatically to grasp it.

‘No touching…’ Draco reminds him, and steps forward so his knees are against the bed, straddling Alex’s. ‘Do you want me to have to stop you?’

‘I— Maybe, Sir,’ he sighs, giving his cock another sly tug. ‘How would you stop me?’

Draco could tie him up, but that makes it very easy for him to be obedient and that’s not interesting at all. He could put the kid’s trousers back on, but where’s the fun in that? He wants to see his cock, watch it drip, and pulse and twitch. There’s not a lot he can do that makes it better. Unless… Draco places one knee up on the bed, then two, and shuffles forward so he’s kneeling over Alex’s naked crotch. The boy’s hands come to Draco’s thighs instantly, smoothing the fabric where it’s stretched over his quads, and disappearing under the open top of his trousers, boldly grasping at his hips, pulling.

‘What do you want, Alex?’ Draco asks, eyebrow raised, knowing full well they want the same thing. One of them is going to have to beg for it, though.

‘I want you to sit on my dick,’ he gasps out, rolling his hips up so Draco feels the pressure of the boy’s pelvis against his inner thighs. ‘I want you to frot me, please, Mr Malfoy. I need it.’

‘What’s in it for me?’

‘I’ll do anything you want.’

Draco lowers himself down, sitting perfectly on top of the hard length and grinding into it.

‘Anything?’ he asks.

Alex answers with a tortured moan, gutterral and bold — a growl that’s both pleasure and need, so intertwined that they’re indistinguishable from one another. ‘Yes,’ he whines, pushing his hips up.

‘Tell me what you want to happen when your polyjuice wears off,’ Draco says. ‘Tell me what you want me to do to you. Tell me what you’ve thought about me doing to you.’

‘Will you do it?’

‘I don’t know,’ Draco grinds his hips down. ‘Perhaps I’ll just get up and leave.’

‘Please, no, please stay,’ Alex begs. ‘I need you to fuck me.’ He bucks against Draco’s weight, earnest impatience making him strong.

‘How do I know you’ll be any good?’

‘I can take it, whatever you want.’

Draco drops a hand behind him, reaches between Alex’s spread legs and grabs the ornate flared base of the plug, twisting it in place. ‘I already know you can take it, pet, what else can you do?’

‘Let me suck you.’

‘Hmm, no,’ Draco rolls his hips again, wondering how far he can take the teasing. ‘I told you. I’m not taking pleasure in you til I know who you are,’ he leans forward, one hand finding the bed for support, the end of his cock now mere inches from Alex’s mouth. ‘Not much longer now.’

Draco works his hand up and down his shaft, letting his knuckles graze the tip of Alex’s chin on each pass. The kid lasts all of twenty seconds before he can’t keep his hands away and Draco feels the pressure of his grip slide off his hip. Moments later, tentative fingers brush gently over the sensitive skin of his balls. He considers letting it go because it feels good, knowing that Alex can’t resist him, and because his fingers are careful and sure and it’s been so long since someone wanted to please him with their touch. But there are rules.

‘I said no hands,’ Draco growls and lets go of himself to grab Alex by the chin. ‘Which means you don’t get to touch me.’

‘Please, we only have a minute.’

‘You seem sure I won’t want you,’ Draco says, tugging Alex’s chin down so his mouth is open, his lips pink and full. He takes his cock back in his hand, holding it tight around the base, and leans in a fraction, skating the head over the kid’s jaw and up to the corner of his mouth. Alex turns in earnest, reaching with his mouth, tongue wet and shining, and Draco pulls himself out of reach. ‘Tell me why you think that.’

Alex’s gaze is fixed on Draco’s cock and he babbles incoherently for a second. ‘I— You— We sort of—’ he breaks off and drops his head back on the bed, staring up at him. He takes a breath. ‘It’s not socially acceptable, Mr Malfoy.’

‘Is that all?’ Draco asks, and he lets his grip loosen, the head of his cock falling heavy on that fat bottom lip. A hungry tongue flicks up and licks at it, and Draco closes his eyes for a second to focus. ‘Do you care what people think?’

‘My dad would kill me,’ Alex’s gaze is still locked on Draco’s face when he opens his eyes. ‘And maybe you.’

‘I can probably look after myself.’

‘I—’ Alex takes a shuddering breath. 'I can feel it starting. Promise you won't run?' He sounds scared, almost desperate. Lovely. Sad, somehow, but nice all the same.

'I'll do exactly as I please.'

'Can you at least not tell—'

Draco smacks him gently on the mouth with his cock, because he shouldn't be making this real like that. But he gets it. The need for discretion. 'I'm hardly going to tell anyone I was here.'

Alex must accept that as assent, a promise that their secret — whatever it turns out to be — won’t leave this room. Part of Draco is disappointed at that, that this might be it for them. He could do with an outlet, even if they only met up here sporadically. In secret. It’s going to be hard to forget and the promise of more will surely ease the day-to-day tension they're inviting into their lives by doing this. By being here and by letting it get this far.

Alex shudders. His body quakes as he starts to change, his hair lengthening and his eyes going a brilliant green. Draco rubs his cock over trembling lips, watching as they melt into a mouth he recognises. The quivering stops and Draco shoves his dick between them.

'Hello, Albus.'