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A morning shag	By : Sparrowbirdie Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 7547 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not make any profit from writing this story.

Chapter List
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The birds outside their bedroom window were relentless this fall. Each sunny morning, their concert was a menace threatening to deafen anyone within a range of a hundred metres. One of these mornings, Neville was the first to wake. It wasn't because he wanted to, but because another voice had added to the gruesome cacophony. It sounded familiar. Hadn't he heard that one before? Neville opened his eyes as realisation hit him. He got up from bed and peered out the window. It was as if the summer heat simply refused to give in. He still slept with the window open.

Below the tree, several hundred metres below, stood old Mr. Filch. He had always been something of a scarecrow, and the years since Neville himself attended Hogwarts as a student, hadn't been particularly kind to Filch. Withered, old and grey, almost hairless and toothless, Filch had retired several years ago, leaving his job to someone else. Not having anywhere else to go, Filch stayed on at Hogwarts, living there as a permanent resident, making life miserable for his successor. Mister Filch was a man who couldn't sit still. He was the kind who would be staggering around until his heart finally gave in and stopped there and then. In a way, Neville envied him. Mister Filch's stern voice rasped through the air, startling birds as well as sleepy students. The retired janitor waved about with his walking stick, shouting and showing his fist at the birds. Mister Filch sensed that he was victorious. He staggered away proudly, confident that he still had it in him. Neville heard the rustle of sheets behind him. The blonde was waking, rolling about, searching about with his arms. Not finding Neville's body, Draco opened his eyes and blinked at the morning sun.

“Why does it have to be morning already?” he asked drowsily, still fumbling for Neville. Taking the hint, Neville stepped away from the window to stand in front of the bed. Draco's warm and timid hands found his thighs. Stroking them gently, as if to assert the landscape, Draco buried his nose into Neville's sheets. They were still warm, smelling of sex and sleep. The blonde's hands suddenly came more alive, and travelled upwards. The fingers enveloped the sack, and Neville jumped at the sudden touch. He was too late to pull away as Draco's right hand found Neville's morning erection. “Oh my” Draco drawled, “what a big boy you are today, professor Longbottom!”

Neville watched the blonde struggle to raise his head and glance upwards. Pulling gently at the erection, Neville followed, bending down to accommodate. He inhaled sharply as Draco stuffed the chrome of Neville's erection between his lips.

“Oh goodness me” Neville muttered in response, feeling his manhood slide all the way into Draco's mouth, past the teeth, the playful tongue. “Oh oh my!” he stammered on. Draco's ministrations was making his rock hard cock even harder. Just when he wondered when it all would end, Draco stopped. He got up on his knees, and began to kiss Neville's nipples ferociously, wrapping his arms around the taut waist. Neville swallowed and arched his neck, revelling in the sensation of belonging to this blonde man only. Draco made a point of letting his own morning erection touch and slide across the moist skin of Neville's shaft, teasing it, kissing it with touches of silky smooth skin against silky smooth skin. Neville wanted Draco's lips sealed to his own, he was spurred by the timid caresses, the restrained signs of ownership which Draco poured onto him. Lowering his head, Neville cupped Draco's chin in his hands and kissed. His right hand travelled down to the slight bump on Draco's belly, making sure it was still there. His thoughts went to the embryo nestling on the inside.

It was like cutting a cord. Neville felt Draco's tongue probe inside his cavity, and the former Gryffindor suddenly felt sick. He backed away, freeing himself from Draco's onslaught. Draco stopped immediately, eyeing his lover and husband. Then comprehension set in, and he said: “Oh come on! Panic attack? Again?” He watched Neville nod in silence. “Honestly, Longbottom!We're having a child, and that's that. Nothing to worry about.”

“What if something goes wrong? What if your master decides to be jealous? How am I to protect the both of you?!”

“You won't be. You can't protect me, and you can't protect the child until it's born. You have to trust that things will work out. And that's all you can do. Now come here, I wasn't finished with you.”

Draco had lost count of how many times he'd given Neville that speech. Neville was a master in the art of worrying to death. Draco lived in the now, never worrying about next week or next year. It was a field in which they were each other's opposites to the fullest. Sighing, Neville decided to try to listen to Draco once more. He felt himself being enveloped by the blonde's arms, his manhood swallowed by the blonde's moist cavity. He willed his mind to drift, focusing only on the sensation of being at the mercy of his husband, aiming only at the pleasing sensation of sliding in and out. Neville arched his head backwards, exposing his Adam's apple, burying his fingers in a mass of blonde hair. Malfoy's head was bobbing back and forth, up and down, and his tongue kept twisting and playing about the chrome of Neville's erection, teasing and working them both up. Reaching downwards, Draco's hands gripped Neville's rounded cheeks, giving them a good squeeze. Neville felt almost dizzy by the exhilarating sensation of being possessed. Unconsciously, he began to buck slightly against Draco's ministrations, wishing for more, feeling his pulse beating more swiftly. The need for completion was nearing, and outside, the birds had once more gathered for another morning overture. Neville closed his eyes and moaned loudly, adding a lusty tone to the squabbling outside. Draco was eager to please, attacking the aching erection like a snake out to swallow its prey whole. He didn't lose his pace even when Neville lost his balance and stumbled backwards towards the window. There, he leaned against the open window, his back towards the fantastic view of the lake. The birds sang loudly. The clock in the living room down stairs struck half past seven.

“We're – we're late for breakfast. Again!” Neville moaned. There was no reply. He felt like he was Draco's appetizer, and that he was being devoured raw. “Oh – oh – oh!” Neville stammered, feeling himself peak. Draco's tongue was doing the trick, beckoning Neville's body to orgasm. Gripping the window frame with both hands, Neville steeled himself as he felt the orgasm bloom from his belly, fan out into his crotch and into his thighs. Draco continued until he had sucked Neville dry of every last drop of semen. Feeling slightly shaky, Neville had to lay down on the bed afterwards. Before he knew it, he was snoring, oblivious of Draco who had dressed and gone for breakfast.

They didn't meet up with each other before lunch time. Draco seemed stressed, obviously having his mind somewhere else.

“You – you abusive git!” Neville whispered as he finally got hold of Malfoy's arm. He checked his surroundings, frightened someone might have heard his outburst.

“What?” the professor answered, looking all innocent. “Professor, I've been looking into Muggle folklore. Isn't it interesting that by studying their records one can actually find evidence of wizards and their spells as far back as ancient Greece?”

“You're not listening, Malfoy!” Neville growled. “Because of you I was late for class. And I didn't get any breakfast!” The blonde professor stopped to watch his colleague with amusement. Longbottom was attempting to do what no man could: To multi-task. He was busy holding on to Malfoy's arm with his left hand, all the whilst piling food on his plate from the buffet. And he went to great lengths to keep both Malfoy and the food within range.

“Well, the longer you waste your time detaining me the less time you'll have for eating now, won't you?” Draco couldn't hold back a nonchalant smirk. It started at the right corner of his mouth and played across. The blond opened his eyes wide for a brief second as he stared into Neville's eyes. There it was. That flare of defiance which gave Neville that extra glow and red tint to his cheeks which held a slight stubble. The blond just loved it whenever he managed to spur Neville on so the Gryffindor looked like he was ready to bang his head against any solid surface with the density of solid oak or better. Draco couldn't help it. It was the Slytherin in him. He derived much pleasure every time he managed to set Neville off just by giving him long looks with hooded eyes which revealed nothing but naughtiness and horniness. Sometimes, all it took, was an extra pause while lifting the tea cup to his lips, glancing over at Neville quite mischievously. There was something about Neville's persistence, the unyielding resolution never to quite back down. Longbottom chose his battles against Draco's master well, making sure never to overdo it, yet never giving in completely. Neville wanted to dominate. Seeing and hearing that Draco bent to his will and listened to his words, gave him the boosts for his self-esteem. There was something completely exhilarating knowing he could exercise some sort of control over this man: This one wizard who very early on had been prophesied as the next Voldemort. With Draco's wife, Neville had stood there as Draco's moral compass, reminding him of the virtues of a great and forgiving wizard. It had worked. Draco's powers were dazzling. He wielded a wand just as great with his eyes open as when they were shut. He controlled magic and illusion just by singing, and he wielded the forces of nature from the tips of his fingers. Draco Malfoy was the world's most dangerous wizard, and Neville had chosen to marry him and to spend eternity with him. Oh yes. Longbottom still remembered late professor McGonagall's words:

“Why is it always you, Longbottom?”

Back in the present, Neville let go off Draco's arm. He turned away from his lifemate and focused on his meal. There was no use in getting annoyed over that blond muppet! Focusing on love, was the thing. Love.

Love for Malfoy had always been there. Or at least from the day Neville learned that disaster had struck Malfoy. The blond had nearly succumbed to the very same master he now served. The half demon was not of the forgiving kind, but Neville had chosen to be by Malfoy's side from the very moment he learned that Draco had been responsible from bringing his parents back from insanity. Love had been in disguise. It had been like trying to see through mud. They had both married each their woman. Neville had married Hannah Abbott, who had become the innkeeper of the Leaky Cauldron. Draco had gone off with Hermione Granger. But after ten long, childless years, Neville and Hannah had gotten a divorce. Life without Draco was too dull. Life without him felt wrong and false. So Neville went to see Draco, where he so declared his love.

It was Draco's master who had seized the moment, taking Neville as his own. The future, the half-demon had said, decreed it so that it was now or never. Neville either became a fellow slave with Draco, or they would not have a future together. Knowing so had made it easier to bear, the first time Neville had been 'initiated' by Draco's sire:

It had been a hot summer's night by the coast of Scotland. After a wonderful and fun dinner with Draco's wife and children, the two men Apparated to Loch Ness. They heeded the summoning of Draco's master, Melchior. Draco was calm and assertive. He had taken Neville's hand, and together they walked up to the discrete site where he always met up with his master. It was on a height, and from there they viewed all of the lake. Draco placed protection spells. Repello Muggletum. Salvio Hexia. Muffilato. Then Melchior had arrived. All fire and brimstone, his black cape still smoking with unholy fumes.

“Sorry for being late. Got held up at work” he told Neville pensively. Draco smiled at the joke, as he knew to the full extent just what Melchior had been working with. The half demon dusted off some ashes from his right arm, put his blackened sword into its sheath before he continued: “So then, Neville Longbottom.” The half demon paused, scrutinizing the Gryffindor. “I am almost disappointed. Still, there's no hint of waver in your resolution. You stand where I left you – courageous on the point of stupidity and your integrity intact. You are determined. Good. I like that. Now, I will claim you, and that means that you will firstly take your clothes off so that I may see my prize”.

It was at this point that Neville's heart had begun to beat faster. It took a great deal of courage and shaking of fingers to undress in front of such an awe-inspiring hellish creature. By the time he was finished, his knees were weak from the sheer effort. A normal man in his mid-thirties, Neville had by then lost a good deal of weight. He had done so through healthy eating and a lot of dance sessions with Draco. He had glanced over to the blond, swallowing hard. Draco's face was unreadable, as it always became when he was in his master's presence. A habit Draco had gotten used to ever since his first year in Melchior's service.

“Yes, you're quite right, Draco” the half demon said from nowhere. A stray thought had obviously slipped the blond's mind, and the half demon had read it. “It would ease him if you were a pair in this.” Draco's response came prompt. He undressed with desperate motions which betrayed to Neville how he felt. Those grey eyes spoke volumes. He had no intent of leaving Neville alone with his fears. Naked from top to bottom, a bedroom fantasy to behold with his taut and perfect frame, the blond walked over to Neville and cupped his cheeks, digging his fingers through dark brown hair. Their lips met in a feverish crash. Draco's skin was soft to the touch, his manhood like velvet against Neville's. Kissing, exchanging sensations, tongues swirling and hands caressing, Neville had felt Draco's member come to life, gently poking against his own member. As if it was tapping on the door gently, asking: 'Hello? Want to come out and play? I promise there's nothing scary here.' It had been so easy with Draco. Draco was experienced. He took his time, showing Neville when to keep up the pace, when to calm down and breathe. He guided them down, making sure he remained underneath whilst Neville straddled him. They continued to kiss.

The fresh breeze from Loch Ness swept across their naked and quickly heating bodies. The afternoon sun bathed then in still strong sunlight, painting them in gold. Neville locked eyes with his lover, watched the colours of nature play in those grey orbs. He had lost himself in those soft lips which whispered reassuring, tender words. He combed his fingers through strands of gold on Malfoy's head, inspected every perfectly situated hair which made up thick eyelashes. They kissed again. Malfoy had instructed him to hoist his bum up, to stand with his knees on either side of Draco's waist. His by now full erection dipped gently against Draco's belly button, as if it wondered whether there might be a way in. Resting on his elbows, he was not even inches away from Malfoy's face, and he was free to observe every last nook and cranny. Every last fine line of whatever little ageing there had been since their days at Hogwarts. Oh yes, Malfoy had aged with such grace!

Malfoy had kept his legs together, giving the half demon room to move in. Placing his knees on either side of Draco's knees, he had been able to come directly behind Neville. He was in the middle of another tongue-tying deep kiss, exploring Draco's, when he felt hands on his buttocks. Neville had tensed, instantly aware of that the moment was upon him. He saw Draco's plan in this. Draco meant to create a diversion which would further pleasure just enough so the pain wouldn't be too hard to bear. Never the less, the tip of that huge cock playing against his entrance made Neville realise just what horrors he was in for. That thing had to be gigantic! He continued to kiss Draco, perhaps not quite to committed as he would have liked. Very aware of the cock which now began to press against his puckered entrance, Neville locked gazes with Draco in search for consolation and advice.

“Breathe” Draco told him quietly. “And then you kiss me some more.” Neville's breath hitched. The pain was of a searing nature. He felt as if he was being split open. “Breathe, Neville, and you'll be all right. Find the pain, breathe through it and ignore it.” He reached up and brought Neville's head down for another kiss. The blond then reached downwards, finding an erection which was on the verge of fading because of the pain. Stroking the velvety flesh there, keeping their gazes locked, was what had saved Neville. The strokes, the intimacy with Draco made it manageable. The freedom, the water and the wind on his skin also contributed, dimming the pain as the half demon began to thrust in and out. He took his time, sliding in all the way and then out all the way, using long, soft thrusts.

“I love you, Neville” Draco dropped his voice to a whisper. “There are no words to express how thankful I am for this – this gift.” He picked up the pace of his stroking the Gryffindor, aiming to give him as much pleasure as possible. When the half demon set up the pace, thrusting harder and more casually, Neville began to whimper. Draco could see the evident pain on his face. Neville was barely able to keep it on a distance. Continuing to whimper, Longbottom bent down and kissed again, seeking solace. Draco felt the man tremble on top of him, felt the cock in his hand grow even harder. This was Neville's fiery test.

The half demon began to breathe heavily, thrusting more carelessly. Neville's whimpers broke out into tiny sobs. Draco gave him whatever comfort he could, remembering all too well his first time with the half demon. And that had been completely different. Uncontrolled. Brutal. No mercy. No nice view. Experience told Draco now that the half demon was getting close. In moments, the pain would seize. He had to bring Neville to orgasm now! Making an effort, he pumped away with his hand, keeping Neville's attention, whispering to him that it would soon be over. He moved his left hand across Neville's torso, across the nipples which jutted out like tiny, tiny mountain cranberries. That did the trick. The touch of those small buttons sent Neville spinning off, his mouth forming a perfect 'O' as he came hard all over Draco's stomach. The half demon – spurred by the clenching muscles in Neville's virginal orifice – followed suit.

Neville had thought that would be the end of it, back then. But no, the half demon had ordered them to switch positions. With their roles reversed, Neville discovered just how much of a novice he was in the ways of lovemaking. Draco gave away his emotions only once, as the half demon entered him without ceremony. Swallowing hard, Draco gazed at the horizon once before everything was back to normal and he turned his attention to Neville. Longbottom wondered at this: Here, a man who now found himself in the agonizing position Neville had been in just seconds earlier, was making comforting small talk to Neville. As if Neville was the one who was in need of comfort. He looked from Draco's face to Draco's cock, now dangling at half mast, dipping at Longbottom's belly, sticky with Neville's come. He seized it with timid fingers, watching the rhythmical jolts ripple through Draco's body every time his master thrust into his orifice.

“You don't have to if you don't want to” Draco had said, hovering above Neville. The Gryffindor moved his hand carefully, as to see Draco's reaction. No reaction. Draco kept his gaze locked with Neville. As the intercourse progressed, Draco's face had adopted a pinkish hue. He bent his head down to meet Neville in a passionate kiss. Neville had come to love the taste of Draco's lush lips. Their softness were undisputed, and his breath always seemed to mingle with whatever he had just eaten. Neville felt out of sorts, clumsily stroking Draco. It wasn't their first intimate experience together, but nevertheless, Neville felt ridiculous.

Back in the present, Neville dug into his lunch meal with much energy. Ravenous, he glanced over to where Draco was sitting. The blond professor was deep in discussion with the professor in Muggle Studies. She was vigorously at work, attempting to enlist Draco as a guest teacher in one of her classes. It was the same discussion every year. And every time, Draco gave the same answer: When it came to Muggles and wizards he preferred not having a public opinion about it.

“But these are the witches and wizards of tomorrow! Surely they could use as much knowledge about the Muggles as possible! And who better then to give a lecture on their fine qualities than, you professor!” Professor Penniless twittered. She reminded Neville of an eccentric version of – oddly enough – professor Dolores Umbridge. Professor Sandtooth was a short, stubby sort of woman with her glasses perched at the tip of her nose. She had short dark hair which curled up about her head. The way the unruly curls arranged themselves gave an impression of a character who seemed rather whimsical. Known to be constantly in lack of pens – because she always forgot she had perched them between her ear and side of head – she had earned herself the nickname: Professor Penniless. She always wore an old-fashioned medieval sort of gown made from black silk. It had a relatively low cut in the front, but it did nothing for her figure. She had a loud, shrill laughter which went through bone and marrow.

“Fine qualities?” Professor Malfoy retorted. “In deed. About half of them have 'fine qualities' as you put it, but you ought to teach your students about how to discern the ones with 'fine qualities' from those with 'not so fine qualities' if I were you. Instead you waste precious time lulling them into some delusion that we are of one mind and one earth!”

“But you said you agreed with me on my principles, professor!”

“I agree that every wizard or witch ought to make an effort to know at least one Muggle during their lifetime. And that the best form of education is to go into Muggle society and live as one of them. But I will not stand in front of the students and proclaim that all Muggles are our friends, cause that's a lie. Nine out ten Muggles cannot or they will not accept any one or anything that's different from the world they live in. They have no desire to see witches and wizards integrated into their society.”

“But if you study their folklore, the way they take history and – !”

“ – they make moving pictures about wizards and dragons and stuff like that, yeah. But when everything comes down to a choice, they don't want it. That's how it is. I honestly don't see how you can ignore the cold facts and simply feed these gullible students a rosy tale of a perfect existence between Muggles and wizards.”

“If we are to make a change, it must start with the young.”

“Who says we need a change? The world isn't perfect but more than adequate. And quite frankly; I find your latest ideas which were printed in the Daily Prophet a few days ago, quite disturbing. To suggest that there should exist a law which would force Purebloods to breed with Muggles, is preposterous!”

“Professor Malfoy!” Professor Penniless/Sandtooth retorted, “I believe that the very progress of our society is being obstructed by the aristocracy” she paused hardly to draw breath, “and by the aristocracy I mean purebloods! Their inability to push change, or evolution if you will, has long hindered us from forming vital alliances with the Muggles. It would make our existence a whole lot easier if we could live openly with them!”

Her face was a deep crimson now, and the more she worked herself up then more she kept leaning backwards in order to allow for her lungs to get enough air. Short and plump, she had no apparent waistline. Draco passed time while listening absent-mindedly to her speech by studying the numerous folds of skin which appeared under her chin.

“Professor, you clearly belong in politics! You have rendered me quite speechless by displaying such witless and completely far-fetched ideas which are the very distortion of the ideals of a certain Dark Lord. I would have laughed” Draco told her with deliberate seriousness to his tone of voice, “had it not been for the ugly undertone of fanaticism behind your words.” The last one was dripping with venom.

He left her there, not caring if she actually understood what he was talking about. People like Professor Penniless annoyed him. Their intentions were good, but they had a way of phrasing their ideas which was dangerous. Such vague and high-strung ideas too often left much to be interpreted, much to be misunderstood. And all it took to get the snowball rolling, was usually just one evil genius.
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A morning shag