Don't Get Caught

Harry feels like his insides have been dipped in acid and then set fire to. It takes every ounce of self-control he possesses not to open the door. Scorpius’ knocks began quietly, the way he remembers them being before his entire world crashed down, but now they are louder, more insistent, and if the boy isn’t careful, someone will hear. Harry paces his living room, fists alternating between clenching and carding through his hair.



Since the new term started just over a week ago, he has seen Scorpius exactly seventeen times; in three Defence lessons and at fourteen mealtimes. Not one of those occasions did the boy look him in the eye. In all three defence classes, Scorpius went out of his way to cause maximum disruption. He should have given the boy detention but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.



Harry walks towards the door, reaches for handle, pulls his hand back. Malfoy’s threats weren’t idle; even if Scorpius is here to kiss and make up which Harry seriously doubts, the slightest suspicion that their relationship has resumed would find him unemployed and in the custody of Aurors. New Ministry rules are strict regarding teacher student relationships, and with good reason, he knows. But he has never taken advantage of Scorpius and the boy was most certainly not unwilling.



None of this detracts from the physical ache in his chest, aggravated further with every passing second and each increasingly angry thump on the solid wood. Harry should have known better than to get involved with a Malfoy, but from the moment he laid eyes on Scorpius, all rational thought flew out the window. The boy would stare at him relentlessly, no matter where they were; Quidditch pitch, the hall, class, corridors. The eyes, a warmer shade than Draco’s, did not mock him. They appraised him, flirted with him, dragged him in until he thought he might drown in the silver pools and be glad of it.



The first time Harry slipped his hand inside the black silk pyjamas, hesitating only briefly before wrapping his fingers around solid pink flesh, Scorpius moaned and came instantly. Grey eyes, wide open the entire duration of his knee-jerking climax, locked onto green and bled with intensity as his cock filled Harry’s fist with warm semen.

The memory fades and it startles Harry when he realises the knocking has stopped, legs automatically transporting him to the door. Some part of his brain tells him it is an exercise in futility to look for someone wearing an Invisibility cloak, but Harry isn’t listening. As soon as the latch clicks open, a breeze and a swirl of magic rush past him. A hefty kick slams the door shut, barely missing Harry’s nose before his shoulders are seized. He is half expecting to punched in the face again, but the clawed fingers relax slightly and the laboured breaths beneath the cloak compliment the erratic beating of his heart.



The fingers move down to grip his biceps and a weight settles on his shoulder in their place. It is Scorpius’ forehead; Harry can feel the warmth of his breath against his skin. He doesn’t want to get aroused by this; he shouldn’t be getting hard but the boy is so close, and he can no more control the most natural of reactions than he can the tides. He feels Scorpius tense against him, and doesn’t realise the boy is upset until his shirt becomes moist.



Harry carefully runs his fingers over nothing until he finds the fabric edge and slips the cloak off. He puts his arms around Scorpius, closing his eyes as he noses the blond hair and inhales deeply.



Scorpius’ whole body shakes harder, and in an act that seems almost begrudging, turns his head until their lips brush; a tiny, tentative kiss. The boy’s face is wet and Harry can’t bear to feel his misery pressing damp streaks into his skin. He takes Scorpius’ cheeks in his hands, wipes them with his thumbs and forces him to meet his eyes.



“Your father – I didn’t, I wouldn’t – “



Scorpius nods, blinks, two more tears squeeze from the glassy gaze. He says it doesn’t matter and Harry doesn’t know whether to be angry or flattered; the boy doesn’t believe him but he’s here in his arms regardless.



He tells him again, forcefully denying what Scorpius thinks he saw. He presses kisses along the boy’s jaw, threads his fingers through the fine blond strands and insists Scorpius is the only person he wants, needs, has to have and can’t be without. The pyjama top falls open to his touch and he mouths his innocence around a firming nipple. Fingers slide from hair to rub the back of Scorpius’ arched neck as Harry’s tongue licks down the neat trail of chest hair, mouthing his version of events as he nears the elasticated waistband.



Scorpius gasps and hooks his thumbs inside them, dragging them down to let his aching erection spring free. Harry is so close; he can smell the boy’s arousal, his frustration, his impatience. He grips Scorpius’ slender hips and sinks to his knees, mouth watering in anticipation of taking the ramrod-straight cock into the tight, wet heat of his throat.



He whispers to the shiny head in between chaste licks, missed you, God, I missed you so much and Scorpius jerks and moans, threading his fingers into Harry’s hair as he repeats the words back to him.



Now is the time for proving it, Harry knows that, but later, later he will leave the boy in no doubt that he is innocent and he will take great pleasure in outing Draco as the manipulative bastard he really is. But now, now he just revels in the slide of soft-hard velvety flesh slipping down his throat.



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