Round One

Harry watches Severus exit the Floo, an unconscious hand gesture sweeping ash from his shoulder. The thick layer of tension must be sharp enough to prickle the Potion Master’s skin, because his hand hovers mid-air and he glances up suspiciously.

“Gentleman? Is there a problem?”

Draco snorts and crosses his arms, glaring pointedly at Scorpius, who looks somewhat bewildered. Severus notices Harry’s proprietary hand tighten on Al’s shoulder, the pressure firm enough to elicit a fleeting grimace from the boy. Severus peers into the sparkling emerald depths, lush as summer grass, silent in their pleading. Intrigued, he removes his coat and raises an eyebrow.

“Well? Would anyone care to explain why once again, our two boys appear to be the subject of reprimand? “ He steps protectively towards Al and cups his chin, angling the defined jaw until he can lock eyes with the youngster and discreetly slip into his mind.

Al welcomes his intrusion, pushing forward the vivid recent memory of Harry shouting and Draco swearing; Lucius silent throughout the rebuke, yet his presence foreboding nonetheless. Severus blinks until the memory fades and takes a step back.

“If no one is prepared to divulge the reasons for the overwrought ambience here today – “

He begins to unbutton his shirt, making it quite plain what his attendance demands.

“No.” Harry’s voice is quiet but strong. “Draco and I aren’t letting them play today.”

Third button down, the long, stained fingers still. Al’s face radiates genuine distress at the declaration. Severus’ chest tightens imperceptibly. “Oh? And your sound reasoning for that would be?”

“They’ve been suspended!” Draco says angrily, finally breaking his silence, “Professor Sprout caught them in Greenhouse Three. Together.”

Severus, of course, already knows this. Not simply because he’d seen Al’s memory of Harry and Draco ranting about it prior to his arrival, but because he had personally witnessed the coupling. Had, in fact, suggested it. Now, however, is perhaps not the best time to confess to such a thing.

“Really?” He tries to muster as much shock as possible, forcing his lips to sneer rather than curl into a smirk.

“Yes,” Harry hisses, so vehemently that Severus can taste the spiked envy, “so they will simply be allowed to watch, and not participate.”

Scorpius looks crestfallen; Al miserably outraged. Still neither of them speak to defend themselves, nor do they turn Severus in for his part in their current predicament.

Lucius shifts and pushes himself away from the windowsill. “Draco, Harry,” he murmurs, “I hardly see how excluding them punishes anyone but ourselves. After all, they are our playthings, we are not theirs.”

“Quite,” Severus agrees quickly, carefully avoiding an encounter with the silver and green gazes that watch him hopefully. “Might I suggest this to be a case of ‘cutting off your nose to spite your face’? Why not let them repent in a manner that will benefit us?”

Harry might be adept at fooling himself, but he doesn’t fool Severus. The angry outline of his erection challenges the stitched seam of his trousers. He hardly requires much persuasion, and if Harry relents, Draco will surely follow, especially if Severus has Lucius’ endorsement.

“There are many other suitable options that might be implemented to deal with their insubordination,” Lucius drawls, moving to stand behind Draco and slipping a hand around his waist, “of course, on what grounds your irritation stems from, you must be perfectly clear.”

Taking his cue from Lucius, Severus casually mirrors his generational equal until he too has a pair of hips gently encased in his palms, pressing forward just so, leaving Harry in no doubt that he plans on accomplishing his goal one way or another.

“Shit,” Harry mutters, glancing over at Draco, who is enduring a similar incentive.

“Yes, Father,” Draco says dreamily, eyelashes fluttering under the sensual assault. "They should be punished.”

“And what is their crime?” Severus demands, moving away from Harry to stand in front of the accused. He notes the spark of fear in Al’s eyes, though the boy swiftly betrays himself by displaying an excited bulge beneath his school robes.

“Oh, take your pick,” Lucius says airily, wedging his hands in the waistline of Draco’s pinstripe trousers, “bringing shame on their families, being caught in broad daylight like two Knockturn whores, failing to control their adolescent desires until we were all gathered together; the catalogue is infinite.”

“Knockturn whores,” Harry repeats, a surprisingly malevolent scowl flashing across his face as he glances at Scorpius. It is then that Severus realises how betrayed Harry feels, and he experiences a brief moment of remorse for encouraging the boys.

Draco suddenly breaks away from his father’s handling, and paces to stand in front of the seated youths. Drawing his wand, he aims it at Scorpius and orders him to rise. Scorpius obeys without hesitation, glancing at Al as he ascends.

“A whore, Scorpius, is that how you plan to carry the Malfoy name?” Draco says in disgust, running his free hand distractedly through the fine blond mane. Severus can see minute beads of moisture gathering at his hairline and knows full well Draco is no longer angry with his heir.

“I’m sorry, Father!” Scorpius cries, playing his part to perfection. Severus feels his cock twitch and discreetly adjusts himself. The heat of Al’s gaze, flickering between the scene and Severus’ crotch, further fuels his arousal.

“I’m afraid I don’t believe you. How disappointing, when a father cannot trust a single word that falls from the lips of his only child?”

“We shall have to make an example of you, so that you may rediscover your familial loyalties,” Lucius cuts in, joining Draco. “It is for your own benefit, Scorpius. And may I suggest, Harry,” he continues, inclining his dignified head in the direction of the two Potters, “that you might be wise to consider a similar chastisement for young Albus.”

Severus’ dark gaze snaps back to Al, the tendons in the boy’s neck straining as he stares up imploringly. Harry ignores him and nods his approval, causing a slow smile to catch and spread over the distinctive dual profiles of the elder Malfoys.

Without further comment, Draco transfigures Scorpius’ robes into an obscenely tight miniskirt and matching sheer black blouse, the thin, opaque fabric straining to meet across the expanse of chest. His socks become gossamer stockings, and his shoes assume the form of tacky red stilettos, setting him to wobble precariously as he tries to keep his footing. Another slash of Draco’s wand conjures a garish palette of cheap, greasy makeup. Draco takes great delight in scooping up a fingertip of the brassy lipstick and smearing it over Scorpius’ mouth, blatantly disregarding the fine art of careful application.

Severus is entranced as a Kohl pencil is plucked next from the tray, transforming the almond grey eyes with steady strokes. Draco drags it over the top lid, accentuating the golden eyelashes, then minutely adjusts his aim to underscore the bottom one. Harry makes a low gurgling sound and Severus has to suppress a smile; his own resistance will be shot to pieces once Draco has subjected Al to the same treatment.

When Draco has finished, he steps back and examines his handiwork. Scorpius’ painfully hard cock is visible for all to see, poking out from beneath the cheap scrap of material too short to cover it. Severus fancies he can hear the saliva collecting in Harry’s mouth and sympathises; who could remain unaffected by the vision set before them? The boy, beautiful slut that he is, scrabbles futilely at the pathetic fabric around his arse, but it doesn’t stretch enough to cover more than the dimple above his cleft. The delicious divide of his cheeks draws more moans from the assembled men, whilst he revolves slowly on the spot, just as Lucius commands.

Severus breaks the enchanted atmosphere with a growl. “It is hardly fair to let the boy suffer this indignity alone. Perhaps it is time for Al to begin his penance too.”
Draco’s smirk tells Severus he is not stupid; he knows the demand for urgency has nothing to do with fairness, and everything to do with getting Al prepared as quickly as possible.

“Why not do it yourself, Severus? Then you may dress the boy to your liking,” Lucius suggests.

Needing no further invitation, Severus beckons Al to his feet and circles him, thinking through the required spells for the changes he has been envisaging since realising what Draco’s plans were.

Muttering the incantation, rather appropriately in Latin, Severus watches with satisfaction when Al shivers pleasurably at the gentle application of magic. He starts with the unremarkable school shoes and works his way up, finishing off with a spell directed at the boy’s wild hair.

Al looks down at himself and gasps. Lucius and Draco are stunned into silence, and only Harry half-heartedly objects to the outfit deviation.

“Since when did Knockturn whores wear togas?” he says, moving to get a better view of his son.

Al meets Severus lust-darkened gaze and smirks his approval. His feet are clad in sandals, the criss-cross ties winding around his muscled calves and ending just below the knee. His solid frame, tanned beautifully, contrasts with the cream cotton toga, one shoulder unbearably erotic in its nakedness.

A sash is tied around his midriff, gathering the material tight at the waist. Two thick, gold bands are cuffed around each bicep and a garland of fern leaves crown his head. Severus does not feel embarrassed to hear himself exclaim breathlessly, “Merlin, you’re exquisite.”

“Quite so,” Lucius confirms, “but as Harry ascertained correctly, not a Knockturn whore.”

“No,” Severus agrees, unable to drag his eyes away, “he isn’t.”

“Spartacus,” Draco says in an awed whisper. “The Gladiator.”

Scorpius clears his throat. All eyes turn sharply.

“Gentlemen,” Lucius drawls, palming his own covered cock as he stalks towards his pouting grandson. “I do believe redemption is close at hand.”

***

Severus steadies Al’s hips and takes a deep breath before sinking into the clutching heat, shuddering with the effort of holding back his orgasm. The pained expression on Draco’s face whilst furiously pumping his cock, causes Severus’ own to swell, forcing the slick walls further apart.

Lucius’ desk has provided the perfect hard surface on which to bend both boys over, but from opposite sides. The width aligns Al and Scorpius’ mouths perfectly, albeit upside down. They have certainly been making the most of the ingenious positioning, as much as Severus and Harry have, facing each other across the flat expanse, both burying themselves deeply. Severus notices how Harry obsesses with the skirt, stretching it down to cover Scorpius’ plundered arse before letting it snap back into shape and ride high; a little action he repeats over and over again.

Equally fixated is Draco, whose fist is a terrific blur as it drags his foreskin back and forth, one hand reaching out intermittently to touch the crown of ferns atop Al’s head. It secretly pleases Severus that Draco shares his Roman fantasy and that no one insisted he change the boy’s attire; it is enough that he can enjoy the view of Scorpius dressed so commonly.

“Attend Draco,” Severus growls, slapping a perfectly round buttock hard enough to make Al yelp. Rather unfair really, since he gave the boy no time to obey his command, but satisfying nonetheless, and he wants to see how those swollen pink lips will look painted with Dracos’ seed.

Al breaks his kiss with Scorpius, and Severus pulls him back onto his cock, aiding the awkward movement of turning his head. Draco moans loudly at seeing the flushed cheeks and wet mouth, green eyes hungry for his prick. Surging forward, he slaps his palm on the desk and touches the spurting head to Al’s lips, eyes rolling back in pleasure as the pink tongue darts out to capture as much of the pearly liquid as it can.
Severus nearly loses himself again, only managing by sheer force of will not to explode inside the boy.

Scorpius strains to see over the top of Al’s head, but Lucius grabs a handful of the blond hair and turns him to face outwards, rubbing his leaking shaft over his grandson’s chin. Scorpius opens his mouth on a gasp and takes as much of the length as he can, humming gently around the rock hard flesh.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Harry chants, a tic in his cheek twitching furiously. His thrusts speed considerably, the violent slapping of his balls leaving a rosy discoloration on Scorpius’ pale bottom. Harry continues to fiddle with the skirt, frantically smoothing and rucking alternatively, until Severus sees the telltale sign of impending orgasm.
Harry chews his lip and relinquishes the black fabric, clutching instead at Scorpius’ hips. He drives forward and pulls the boy back to meet his last frenzied slide. Severus watches in fascination; both Al with his come-smeared face captivated by his father’s orgasm, and Harry himself; jerking violently as he finds his release, collapsing heavily across Scorpius’ back.

Lucius follows with a quiet grunt, filling Scorpius’ mouth with wave after wave of viscous fluid. He pulls out as Scorpius swallows greedily, smearing the final dribbles across his flushed cheek.

It’s too much visual stimulation; Al is looking back over his shoulder, and Severus reads the desperation in his eyes. His punishing pace lasts no time at all, but Al makes the most beautiful sounds; ones Severus is convinced the boy composes only for his ears. Warmth floods the tightness, Al’s body clenching around him, drawing every last drop of ejaculate from his throbbing cock. Even without looking, Severus knows all eyes are on the two of them.

Al sighs quietly when Severus’ forehead presses between his shoulder blades, the long fingers combing through his hair. When he has caught his breath, he withdraws carefully, and tries not to wonder at the small whine of disappointment Al makes.

Lucius is already moving to replace him, and Severus takes Draco’s place, bringing his face close to Al’s. The boys’ left cheek is splattered with come, the right one chafed raw from the desk, assailing Severus with a pang of guilt for being too rough. Al lifts his head and licks his dry lips, holding Severus’ gaze until he gives him what he wants; a long, slow gentle meeting of tongues. Severus pulls away, panting; his lungs feeling impossibly large, like no amount of deep breathing will ever fill them completely.

Straightening himself, he observes the rest of the room. Draco has replaced Harry, his face buried between his son’s arse cheeks. His moans are muffled against the come-streaked skin, and from the way Scorpius writhes and pushes himself back, Severus is willing to bet the slide of Draco’s tongue as it circles the boy’s stretched hole will likely push him over the edge. Harry grips Scorpius' chin, determined to lick all traces of Lucius' seed from his face, but Scorpius rocks harder, and Severus can imagine the ramrod straight erection rubbing against the polished wood, trapped between the desk and his stomach. Harry must realise it too, because he tries to wedge his hand underneath and grasp Scorpius’ shaft, but Draco stabs his tongue deep and Scorpius arches off the desk, babbling nonsensically as he comes.

Severus’ attention snaps back to Al when the boy suddenly cries out. Lucius has thrust two fingers inside him, mercilessly probing his prostate and landing short, sharp smacks on the trembling thighs. His green eyes widen and fix on Severus as he surrenders to the stimulation, and Severus bends down to kiss the sweat damped forehead before licking away the sticky remnants Draco left, sharing them in a searing kiss when Al parts his lips in invitation. Seemingly satisfied, Lucius wipes his fingers across the boy’s arse.

Severus rolls him onto his back and takes the half-hard cock into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the slit to coax a last dribble, sucks the softening prick until he is sure he has captured every last drop.

Finally contented with his thorough clean up job, Severus helps Al sit up. Scorpius has also been turned, and Harry’s ravenous mouth sucks at the damp patches, grey eyes watching every swipe of tongue with lustful absorption. With the lipstick smeared and the eyeliner all but melted from his heated face, Scorpius is a masterpiece of debauchery.

“There now,” Lucius drawls, pulling Draco into his lap, “it is quite clear we have found an agreeable way in which to settle matters pertaining to discipline.”

“Right,” Harry says, breaking away from skin-on-skin just long enough to speak. “I suppose this is your idea of tough love, Lucius?”

“Call it what you will, Harry,” Severus replies.

“Works for me,” Draco manages through a yawn.

Al and Scorpius exchange a look, another imperceptible smirk passing between them.
Severus picks up the fallen crown of ferns and turns it over in his hands. “I believe they have more than earned a pardon.”

At least, he thinks to himself, until next time.

***