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Duet for the Price of Unspoilnnocnnocence	By : biichan Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 2880 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Duet for the Price of Unspoiled Innocence
- 1
Duet For The
Price of Unspoiled Innocence

written by Becky M

The Old Man: Lollipop

He bought the bag of blood lollies for this very purpose.

The child, the pretty child with the wild curls, sits on Albus' lap, sucking
diligently. He's getting too old to be sitting on that lap; he's just past
twelve, though his smooth hairless body is big enough for a boy of thirteen or
fourteen.

"Was it very bad, your dream?" Albus asks, caressing the boy's skull.
The child always comes to visit him in his quarters when he has a bad dream and
he has them quite often.

The little boy nods. "Father. He was yelling at
me and he threw me against the wall. Called me a dirty little
sodomite."

"I'm sorry," Albus whispers, pulling the child closer.
"Do you feel any better now?"

The boy regards his sweet, sucked halfway through already. "A
little," he whispers back.

"Do you want to feel better still?" Albus asks softly. The little boy
nods after a moment and Albus lets his fingers drift along the front of the
child's pajama bottoms.

"Do you trust me?" Albus murmurs, stroking the child through the
fabric. He can feel the little boy's prick harden underneath his gentle hands
and he marvels at the innocence in his lap.

"'Course," the child murmurs, letting his head loll
back a little. Albus slips his hand inside the pajamas, kissing the child's
forehead as he grasps that sweet little prick.

Such a pretty child. Such a good
boy. Such an open, trusting mind, a mind Albus could play like a violin.

"Oh-oh!" the child cries as he tenses and spends himself in Albus'
hand. His eyes are hooded and his red-stained mouth is half open. The perfect picture of debauched innocence.

Albus kisses those lips, tastes the blood on them and the sweet untouched mouth
that kisses him eagerly back. The child squirms a little in his lap, feeling
Albus' erection beneath him. Such an eager, affectionate
little boy. So curious. So
helpful.

Curious and helpful enough to reach down underneath him, to carress and stroke
Albus through the fabric. So very endearing as he clings to Albus, arm around
the old man's neck, as Albus jerks his hips under that playful hand.

Albus does not cry out when he spends himself, though he whimpers slightly. The
boy looks at him with wide, shining eyes. "I love you," he whispers,
smiling shyly, and Albus knows that what the child means is that he loves him
because he isn't that father.

"I love you too," Albus murmurs back, gazing back at him. To be loved
so well and so unreservedly, to be trusted so for no other reason than
'Granddad says you're nice'... Albus can't begin to describe how precious this
is.

"My pearl of great price," Albus murmurs in the child's ear. Worth
everything he owned.

"Matthew, chapter thirteen," the child murmurs sleepily and Albus
knows that it is time to send the boy back to his dorm. A few murmured cantrips
and the boy is in the hallway again, bound for his
bed.

When his head touches his pillow again, the boy will forget everything.

The Child: Strangely Too Big

"My good little boy," the old man purrs, caressing
Alastor's skull through his mass of curls. There is a fire before them. The old
man sits in a plush armchair while Alastor kneels before him, his head resting
on the old man's knee. It's a familiar position by now.

The old man's words puzzle Alastor. He's not little anymore. He doesn't
remember when he grew, but he's not little at all. His voice went low somehow
and he's so very tall and there's hair in funny places. But, then again, he
doesn't remember much at all lately. Nightmares and the old man making them go
away

The calendar says funny things. Alastor passes it when
he leaves the dorm room. It says September now, and that's right, but the
number on the end is 1942, which is just silly. If it were 1942, Alastor would
be nearly fifteen. Not eleven.

But that almost explains what's happened to his body.

"I love you," the old man tells him, softly, reassuringly. Alastor
smiles at that. He likes being loved, likes being touched. Father used to love
him, used to stroke his hair like this before he decided Alastor was a
sodomite. But even Father didn't touch him so much or in so many places as the
old man does.

"I love you too," he whispers back because he does. The old man makes
the nightmares go away, gives him lovely sweets that taste like blood, strokes
him and pets him and makes him feel warm all over. Alastor loves him so much
that he doesn't even mind when the old man asks him to do funny things, like
take off his pajamas.

The old man smiles down at him delightedly. "Do you want to show me how
much you love me?" he asks, his voice as warm as
the fire. Alastor nods eagerly and the old man pulls his shining, sparkling
robes up, up, up, revealing the hard prick that had been hiding beneath.

Alastor smiles at it for a moment, just looking, then
swallows it as he knows the old man wants him to. It fits all the way in his
mouth, just like the old man had said it would the first time he did this for
him. Alastor likes having it in his mouth. It feels right to have it there, to
be sucking on it while old man twists his hands in his curls, pulling his hair.
Even if there's a moment that he can't breath when the
old man's prick presses hard into tender skin at the back of Alastor's mouth,
right before he comes down his throat.

Alastor pulls away when the prick goes soft in his mouth, smiling happily at
the old man. He licks his lips, top and bottom, to make sure that they're clean
again. The old man just stares im, im, seemingly fascinated. "Touch yourself," he tells Alastor hoarsely.

Alastor laughs happily, sliding to his seat on the stone floor in front of the
old man. He can feel the heat of the fire at his back as he grasps his prick
with too-big hands. His prick, too, is bigger than it should be but that
doesn't bother Alastor at all. He's rather proud for some reason; it's bigger
than the old man's is now.

Alastor closes his eyes while he strokes himself, thinking of those nights when
he was somewhat closer to his proper size and the old man would sit him in his
lap, sliding Alastor onto his prick. He thinks of Riddle, who is very pretty
even though he's so very, very mean to Alastor. He thinks of the little boy
that was running around on the train that morning, the last morning he
remembers, the one with the hair that didn't lie flat and the robes that were
all twisted and tangled and the voice that sounded like places in a book. Who
smiled and smiled and smiled at him, all through the feast.

Alastor can see that smile behind his eyelids when he comes, a surprised and
delightly cry escaping his mouth. He opens his eyes then, startled, and the old
man is looking down at him, almost hungrily.

"Come here," he rasps and Alastor crawls over to the old man, looking
up at him curiously. "Open your mouth," he elaborates and Alastor
complies, making an "aaah" noise like he would for the school nurse.
The old man mutters a charm and Alastor's mouth feels clean now, not the least
bit sore at all. Another charm and his body is clean
as webr> br>

"You should be getting to bed," the old man whispers and Alastor
nods, finding his pajamas under the chair, where they had been balled up
before. The old man rises to hug him and with a kiss and a few whispered words
in his ears, Alastor leaves.

He closes his eyes and knows nothing until the next nightmare.

Author�s Note: Although
inspired by Lightning War, this story never actually happened in said pastfic RPG.
Please don�t confuse this particular smut and the game.
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Duet for the Price of Unspoilnnocnnocence