Taken by Surprise

Warnings: just in case – it was never meant to be a sweet, fluffy fic.


Chapter 8


Like any game this one has its own rules and rule number one is that it is up to Scorpius what rules there are; rule number two is that there are no other rules. Or so he thinks. Harry is quick to learn that. Or so he lets Scorpius think as they are kissed into his mouth and breathed into his ear and pressed into his flesh. They are never the same and are often updated. Harry hides the updates carefully under his buttoned-up robes. He smiles as he does that. It’s a secret that he likes to keep. It might become a problem when it gets warmer, but Harry tells himself that it won’t last that long. Occasionally, he worries that his calculations are faulty at best and that he should start researching necessary concealing charms. Scorpius has very sharp teeth.

No one knows anything, no one suspects. Why would they? They are understandably shocked that he has moved out and possibly moved on with his life, while everybody is still waiting for this folly to come to an end so that he and Ginny could be together again. Now they start dreading that this is the end, but Harry tells them that it is not, that it is only for a short while and that he simply needs space or, using Ginny’s term, time-off. How handy it has become. She is furious that he flings it in her face, but she started it all. If she hadn’t left that day, nothing would have happened to their happily ever after. Harry blames her for disillusioning him, but thanks her for opening his eyes to the world outside their little domestic world.

Al is blissfully unaware of what is going on in the flat whenever he is away, which happens a lot, because he and Scorpius have different time-tables and Harry and Scorpius use it to their advantage. But things don’t go exactly as Harry planned. Scorpius is still interested in him and Harry still doesn’t miss Ginny. He wonders if things would have been different if instead of playing the injured party, Ginny would have sneaked into his bed and seduced him back to her. It would have been only too easy, considering with how little effort Scorpius secured Harry’s interest. This past month gave Harry a new perspective and he has already embraced the fact that he is easy and sex-deprived and, despite having sired three children, almost innocently inexperienced when it comes to sex. He only now starts to explore it for real.

Harry doesn’t dream about Ginny when she’s away. He doesn’t want her. There is no longing and no passion that keeps him awake at night when he is not otherwise occupied. Their sex life was timid at best, though Harry never had anything to complain about. He was content and satisfied. He loved Ginny and never questions his feelings for her or his preferences. He didn’t know he had to. But now that he had a taste of an entirely different thing, he cannot go back to what they’d had before. There is no comparison. Harry discovers new things about himself.

He never imagined that he could like someone else or want someone else or could be with someone else but his wife. Harry never knew that he could like having his limits tested. He never knew that he could like being pushed into things, pushed in, fucked, talked dirty to. Scorpius talks dirty all the time. Plays dirty too. He has little respect for Harry or for what he wants and he is generally rough. And yet, Harry finds that he likes it. He plays along. Maybe he’s a pervert. That’s new too. But then so is Scorpius. And he is not the only one who needs therapy. The thought should not make him feel better about himself, but it certainly does.

Harry knows that Scorpius is nice and charming and funny and easily managed and ordered around – he has no trouble making him do what he wants around the flat – on general basis. Harry also knows that Scorpius is completely different when it comes to sex. He is dominant, arrogant, aggressive and even cruel. He doesn’t take no for an answer and never bothers with preliminaries. Harry wonders if Scorpius knows what foreplay is. What Scorpius wants – he gets. That’s how it works. Harry is secretly amused and indulgent, because he’d had enough interaction with the Malfoys to learn that every Malfoy man needs to prove himself and that every one of them chooses the wrong way to go about it. Harry finds Scorpius’s way most to his liking. It’s like a battlefield and Scorpius is the conqueror. Harry finds that this is the only battlefield that he doesn’t mind forfeiting. He finds giving up control exhilarating. He doesn’t have to be in charge. He doesn’t have to make decisions. All he has to do is open up to new sensations.

Kitchen is the place where most of the action takes place. It is not the most comfortable of places and Harry would much rather prefer the living-room where there is a nice sofa and a carpet on the floor, but this is where they mainly meet as Harry goes to or comes from the Ministry. He often cooks and washing the dishes calms him down. Sometimes he casts the spell, but more often than not he does it manually. He wonders if he does it on purpose, standing with his back to the door, unarmed and unprotected, waiting for Scorpius to pounce. Is this how he initiates contact? Scorpius likes to sleep in and if he doesn’t hurry up Harry will run out of the dirty dishes today. It’s not like he and Al had that much for breakfast to draw out the process interminably.

He set up the wards, checked and double-checked them. It doesn’t hurt to be cautious. Not when you’re having an illicit affair with your son’s best friend. Anticipation coils in his gut and Harry starts humming a tune along with the wizarding wireless. Scorpius thinks that he sneaks up on him, but Harry knows better. He lets him sneak up on him. He lets him startle him. Harry wonders if he should turn up the volume, but just then Scorpius wraps his arms around his waist and bites his shoulder. It’s his way to say good morning. It is soon followed by a spell – a speciality of Scorpius’s – that leaves Harry in nothing but a T-shirt. Another spell and it doesn’t take long before Scorpius is pushing into him. It’s not always like that: rough and hurried, but mornings don’t have much room for anything else and it is the fastest way for Scorpius to wake up. Harry’s coffee cup that didn’t have time to hide, hits the floor with a crash. Scorpius grips Harry’s hips and Harry grips the sink.

‘I wish you wouldn’t do it quite like that.’ he gasps out. He doesn’t know why he says it, only that it will make Scorpius even more vicious. There must be something seriously wrong with him.

‘And what would you want me to do instead, Harry?’ asks Scorpius, thrusting harshly, his voice low and hoarse with sleep. ‘Court you? – thrust – Whisper sweet nonsense in your ear? – thrust – Cover your bed with rose petals? – thrust – Lay you on the bed and worship your body? – thrust – Kiss you senseless until you’re so far gone that you don’t care what I do to you anymore? – thrust – Pry your legs slowly open and enter you gently and lovingly? – thrust – Is this how you went about it with your wife?’

Harry laughs. Scorpius pulls out of him before Harry stops counting the thrusts and turns him so that they are face to face. They kiss. Or clash more like. An image of a pair of Monster Books of Monsters comes to Harry’s mind, ripping each other apart. And then they’re on the kitchen countertop and Harry loves and hates it. There is hardly any space, the surface is hard and cold and slippery, but it brings them together like nothing else. He is folded almost in two, like a men-sized penknife; it is uncomfortable and undignified; he knows that he must look grotesque and he feels ridiculously exposed. Their magic sends sparks; things explode and go flying all over the place. Scorpius slams into him for all its worth, sending him reeling into an explosive orgasm.

Somewhere along the way Harry realises that he lost all of his inhibitions.

Like any game this one must have an end. Harry doesn’t see it yet. His vision is blurred by Scorpius’s face and hair as he kisses him. Slowly and tenderly. Almost unconsciously. Clinging onto him. Almost desperately.

Like any game this one has its winner and loser. But it is not exactly clear, because the loss is never complete and the victory is never enough.


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