Horace Slughorn's fingers trailed down his satin and velvet robes while he pinched another piece of candied ginger from the squat little box sitting on the brocade poof beside his armchair. The gluttonous smacking of his lips filled the small, opulent room with sound. He leaned back and took another generous swallow of mead. He shivered with delight as the heady taste of the mead mingled with the sharp bite of the candied ginger. He spread his legs across the overstuffed ottoman so that they were bent outward at the knee. He looked rather like a frog prince, squat and long limbed, surrounded by opulence, his eyes narrowing into froggy little slits while his thin lips stretched into an unnatural grin.
With a satisfied "ah," he dipped his hand into his trousers and massaged his aching cock. He moaned as images of tow and pitch colored hair flickered through his mind's eye. Such beautiful boys they were, so deliciously feral, and passionate, and young. Horace whimpered as he squeezed his cock. Oh yes, he liked the young ones. The beautiful ones. The ones that looked as though they'd been plucked from the strawberry patch at the height of season—flushed and ripe, and unaware of their lurid charms. Ones like Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. Horace's stomach lurched. He bit his lip—not able to resist a quick dart of tongue to catch the last crumble of candied ginger—as he thought about Harry's bee stung lips and feline gait; Draco's pale-as-heaven skin and reptilian slither.
He'd noticed the intensity of their feelings straight away. With the barest of convincing, Horace had persuaded a cheeky little house elf to give the boys a little something extra in their pumpkin juice each morning. It was amazing how much difference a slow and steady stream of his special, secret, lust philter had made. The obsession between Draco and Harry burned and crackled like fire now. They stalked each other like prey, ready to strike, needing to find a release that, so far, Horace had denied them. Horace chuckled at the thought that they didn't understand that their obsessions had nothing to do with hatred and everything to do with passion.
He loved thwarting them, frustrating them, keeping them apart. Both proved to be far more resourceful and cunning than he'd anticipated. The thrill of the chase kept him excruciatingly hard as he kept them on the edge of release. Horace would stoke their desire until, at long last, he could not delay his gratification a moment longer. That moment was fast approaching.
He'd had another run in with them earlier in the day. He'd found them in a small broom cupboard on the fifth floor. He'd almost been too late. Harry's shirt was nearly off and Draco's trousers were undone. Horace had almost come then—the picture they made was almost better than his nightly fantasy.
He threw his head back as he pulled and squeezed his cock at a faster pace. His leg kicked out, knocking over the candied ginger, as he gasped for breath at the thought of his boys tumbling on the ground in front of him, like naked little savages. He would lord over them while sitting on his squashy frog-prince throne, waiting for nature to finally take its course. And that's the point from which his nightly fantasy took flight. He began his masturbation in earnest as he thought about his boys. Perhaps they were in his chambers for a detention, or counseling of some sort? Oh yes, he'd played that scene out scores of times. He'd have the fire stoked blistering hot. He'd slip into the hall with some vague excuse while he hovered and watched.
It would begin with a jostling elbow, an intentional jab from Malfoy as he tried to push Harry off the plush sofa.
Horace's fingers continued to tease as vivid scenes tore across the back of his closed eyes. He watched, in first person, as his most delicious dream came true.
The boys are already seated. I've drugged them with my lust philter before I slip away into the hall and watch them, Horace thinks to himself as his hand curls harder around his leaking cock.
Draco jabs Harry in the side with his elbow, intent on knocking him to the ground.
Harry snarls and his face flushes that same delightful pink it always does. "What are you playing at, Malfoy," he says as he grabs hold of Draco's arm and forces him to stop.
Anger blossoms across Draco's face as he jerks his arm away. "Don't touch my you filthy half-blood. I can't stand the sight of you," Draco hisses as he moves closer instead of farther away.
"You're a right bastard," Harry seethes as he licks his lips. Harry—beautiful, hotheaded Harry—is always the one who breaks first. He screams in frustration and, with a solid smack, tries to slap away the haughty sneer sprawled inelegantly across Draco's pointed, aristocratic face.
Draco's taller and more emotionally controlled. He easily catches Harry's hand in his and forces it behind Harry's back, causing their chests to crash into each other. Draco's arms pin Harry's hands behind his back as Harry struggles and seethes.
"Let me go," Harry moans through clenched teeth as he fights and kicks and spits like the lion cub he is.
"No," Draco says in a low hiss as his body undulates with every buck and kick Harry gives him.
Harry dips his head and thrusts it under Draco's chin, striking him in the Adam's apple.
Draco lets go and falls to the floor in agony. Harry leaps from the divan and crashes on top of him, growling and roaring and bearing his perfect little white teeth.
"Get off of me, Potty," Draco spits as he twists and turns and strikes out with his teeth. He manages to flip them over and the real fight begins.
On and on it goes until the boys tire and my aching cock can take no more, Horace imagines.
I step into the hall just as Draco draws Harry's hands above his head and crushes them down with his larger hands. Their faces are flushed and sweaty. They pant. Their eyes are alight with anger, loathing, and the kind of arousal that only my creation can tease from them.
Their breathing slows as they stare at each other, saying nothing, as their bodies begin to take over. Draco shifts a bit and gasps. Harry's eyes roll back. Ho, ho! What's this? They've discovered their jaunty little cocks! I've never been so aroused. I could watch my beautiful, beautiful boys forever. Harry and Draco are ever so much better than the others. I wish I could create a potion that would keep them like this until the end of my days.
I'm brought from my musings as Harry licks his lips. Draco smirks. He whispers something. Harry blushes harder. Draco starts moving. His body ripples up and down, up and down, up and down, as he frots against Harry's achingly sweet body.
I stifle a groan as my cock leaps with glee when Harry tilts his head up with parted ruby red lips. Draco strikes with his tongue as well as his cock as he presses himself against Harry fully and captures those red, swollen lips with his. He dominates the kiss and Harry lets him—for a moment—and then Harry takes advantage of Draco's slackened hands and flips them over. Now he undulates and presses and takes and takes and takes with darted tongue and undulating body. For a moment, I wonder if he wouldn't have done well in the serpent's house, the way his body and his tongue flick and twist. When Potter's eyes close and his ruby red lips fall open in invitation, I make my presence known.
"Boys," I call out with a chuckle. "What's this now? Fighting in a professor's chambers? What would your heads of house have to say, hmm?"
With the speed of a viper and the snarl of a lion, their bodies still and they whip their heads around, angry at having been interrupted. Their eyes are dilated and fogged with lust. They don't comprehend what they're doing—animalistic need charts their course. Malfoy snakes his arms around Potter and restrains him further when the boy appears ready to spring away from the floor and take a swipe at me with his grand Gryffidor claws. Oh, how he makes me shiver. The splendorous pain in my cock is overwhelming.
"I think it's time to let Mr. Potter go, don't you Mr. Malfoy?" I say with another chuckle.
Draco makes a non-committal noise in the back of his throat before loosing his grip around Harry's waist and pushing him off. Draco stands and, as the lust shakes itself from him for a moment, he seems horrified by what he's done. But then Harry's body twists and his shirt rides up and we both can see a sliver of his luminous skin peeking out.
Harry rolls over and massages his throbbing wrists, still sprawled on the floor. The unbridled lust in his eyes makes me stagger. Harry really should try and hide his emotions a bit better.
Harry snarls at the odd glint in Draco's eye, not understanding what it is.
Before things can get out of hand, I intervene. "Five points, Mr. Potter. For fighting. I think it would be best if you returned to Gryffindor, Harry."
"But that's not fair," he cries, as he leaps to his feet, his eyes still tracking Draco.
"Mr. Potter," I say with a dramatic sigh as my cock pulses and dances and begs for release, "this is the third time I've caught you and Mr. Malfoy in such a compromising position in as many days. This really must stop."
Harry bites his lip, trying to keep himself from saying something else, while Draco smirks.
Horace hesitates in his fantasy. His fingers still. He could, he supposed, let the boys finish. Perhaps Draco would snarl and charge across the room, rip away Harry's clothes, throw him to the floor, and open him with sharp fingers and sharper words. Or, perhaps, it's Harry who flings Draco against the wall and tells him what a dirty whore he is before taking him roughly and making him feel every inch of him.
Horace wilts a bit. No. That's not the way the fantasy ends. Instead, he sends the boys on their way, deliberately goading them into walking through the halls together knowing that, at any moment, he'll find them in another abandoned cupboard on the brink of release.
Horace's cock hardens again. He moans louder as his hand slides up and down faster, and faster, and faster. His world spins bright and cold as he comes at the thought of his beautiful boys, panting with anticipation, denied until Horace allows them to take their pleasure. He doubts he ever will. He loves his beautiful, beautiful boys most when they are ripe for the plucking and unaware of their lurid charms. He could never despoil such beauty.
Horace breathes out a sigh. His hand withdraws from his trousers. He murmurs a light Cleansing Charm. He leans over with great effort and plucks a piece of candied ginger from the overturned tin. He pops it into his mouth and savors the sharp taste as his eyes narrow in pleasure, sated as he is.
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