Red

The moon was huge, even waning, hanging heavy and low in the sky, its pull drawing the wolf close to the surface, when Draco Malfoy paid him a visit in his office.

There were tears in his pretty gray eyes, tears that spilled to run over his face, still only barely padded with youth, only halfway concealing the sharp angularity that his elfin features would finally grow into. He was thin, waifish almost, and he clung to Remus’ robes with those convincing, perfect tears in his eyes, claiming that he didn’t know who to turn to, didn’t know where his Head of House had disappeared to.

And he was good – too good, really – believable enough that Remus let himself be bewitched by the boy, wrapped his own thin arms around him and cradled him close. Draco climbed onto his lap, squirmed in a way that was too, too innocent, even for a boy of thirteen, and too, too calculated, but Remus allowed it, even let himself take pleasure in it.

Oh, Draco cried about his father, his mother, the terror that was Slytherin House, the pressures he felt, having to live up to such a bloodline, to keep on his toes, to show no weakness to his peers, to best Harry Potter, because Potter hadn’t wanted to be his friend and that had hurt him, terribly, terribly so. Remus wondered how much was crafted around the truth to make it sound so nearly believable, and the wolf wondered how Draco’s skin might taste under his tongue, if it would be bitter and cold like the boy’s true nature, or if it would be salt-sweet and perfect on the surface, just like this.

Draco buried his face against Remus’ shoulder, wet cheek and wet lashes and wet mouth brushing his neck, sending a frisson of delicious, guilty want up his spine. He was hard, so hard, beneath the boy’s squirming thighs, and Draco whimpered so perfectly, huffed a steamy breath against his Adam’s apple, sighed so nicely when Remus dipped his fingers into the collar of Draco’s robes, just to touch the sharp jut of collarbone, to feel the tantalizing flutter of the boy’s heartbeat.

Then Draco tilted his head up, his lips parting in a scandalized, delighted gasp as he moved, just so, Remus’ hard cock pressed tight against his thigh. “Professor?” he asked, eyes wide, luminous and limned with white-gold lashes that shivered down and up again, and Remus could stand it no longer. He slid his hand up that long neck, into Draco’s soft, fine hair, and he dipped his head to lick once at the boy’s jaw, tasting the thick, salty tang of drying tears and the warm, sweet skin beneath.

Draco trembled, released a quiet gasp, but then he shifted too well, Remus’ cock suddenly nestled snug against his lower back, the base just fitting into the top of his clothed crease. He sighed, pulled Draco back against him, and Draco let out a perfect, perfect little gasp at the first thrust of his hips.

He slipped his hands under the boy’s arms, let one slide over his skinny chest, his tight stomach with its barest layer of childish pudge, and the other slowly parted Draco’s robes, reached in to find his half-grown prick, hard and hot in his hand and leaking, ready.

Draco’s entire body quivered, and he made the most incredible, breathy little sounds as he arched and writhed deliciously against him. Remus fisted his cock slowly, in smooth, intense strokes, and he thrust against the boy, delighting in the feel of cloth and this warm, small body rubbing against him. His mouth worked busily, sucking delicately at that fine, slender neck, though he was careful never to linger too long in one place, though the wolf wanted to mark him, turn his white, white skin red, dark red, blood red, perfect.

Remus let out a quiet, shaking moan when he came, flooding the inside of his pants, surely dampening his robes, and he saw red behind his eyelids, perfect and passionate and angry. When Draco shuddered, let out his last mewling whisper, when he spilled hot and sticky over himself and Remus’ hand, the spell was broken.

Horrified, Remus pushed the boy off his lap, and Draco caught himself on the desk, though he nearly lost his footing. The boy turned back, cock shamelessly still exposed, and he looked at Remus with his same, wide-eyed expression. “Did I do something wrong, Professor?” he asked, voice so utterly plaintive, and Remus had to look away.

“Get out,” he said, hoarse and hardly commanding. “You know what you’ve done.”

He heard the rustle of fabric and the shuffle of feet, then the creak of his door opening. When he looked up, unable to help himself, Draco’s final glance back was anything but innocent.