Don't Get Caught
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
7,780
Reviews:
25
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
7,780
Reviews:
25
Recommended:
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.
Don't Get Caught
Do NOT read if Cross!gen fic is not your thing. This series will portray a relationship between Harry and Scorpius. So far I have 8 mini chapters planned, but it might end up as more :D
It takes Scorpius six minutes and forty five seconds to get from the Slytherin Common room to Professor Potter’s quarters. He is still annoyed that he wasn’t made Head Boy, because that would have given him free rein to walk the corridors at night, but he has the next best thing; an Invisibility cloak.
Scorpius remembers it being thrown at him as he was pulling his trousers up after their first time together, his first time ever. He recalls the words ‘Don’t get caught’ that accompanied it’s flight across the room and whispers his thanks every time he slips it over his head for the part it plays in enabling their clandestine meetings. He still wonders why Professor Potter entrusted it to him instead of Al, though the benefits are plainly obvious on the man’s face every time he slides into Scorpius and fucks him through the headboard, desk, or floor.
Tonight he hopes they will make it to the bedroom, but usually, they don’t. Usually, Scorpius knocks quietly, heart hammering in his chest as he waits for it to swing open. More often than not, he barely has time to pull the heavy fabric off before he is pushed up against the door, mouth assailed so quickly his head hits the wood in surprise. Typically, he leaves his pyjama top unbuttoned to allow the warm, calloused hands immediate access to the contours of his chest.
Scorpius likes all of these things. He also likes Professor Potter flirting with the elastic of his pyjama bottoms. Sometimes, he slips one finger just inside and runs it back and forth along Scorpius’ toned stomach, dipping down to stroke the light blond curls and teasing until Scorpius begs to be touched. Occasionally, he hurries them down with his teeth until his nose is buried in the sparse thatch of hair, his breath glancing off Scorpius’ leaking prick before he swallows it whole.
Scorpius doesn’t mind that they never speak. Who could form a coherent sentence when their mouth is filled with nine glorious inches of hard, damp flesh, convulsing against their tongue? Who wants to make small talk when their entrance is quickly prepared and thrust into, giddy pleasure interlaced with a delicious hint of pain? What should you discuss when someone closes a fist in your hair and draws your head back, puncturing the skin of your earlobe, neck, shoulder with their teeth? If that counts as worthy of conversation, then Scorpius is guilty of asking for ‘more,’ and ‘harder’ and ‘now’.
But above everything else, Scorpius loves returning to the common room, his arse still dribbling Professor Potter’s warm fluid. He loves saying goodnight to Al as it drips down the insides of his slender thighs; Al who remains blissfully unaware that his best friend has just been roughly fucked by his father. Scorpius finds it amusing to write a letter to his own father as he lays on his green satin counterpane and idly explores his stretched hole, bringing away a finger slick with come. Sometimes, he licks it off. Occasionally, he smirks to himself and lets a drop of it smudge the ink.
***
It takes Scorpius six minutes and forty five seconds to get from the Slytherin Common room to Professor Potter’s quarters. He is still annoyed that he wasn’t made Head Boy, because that would have given him free rein to walk the corridors at night, but he has the next best thing; an Invisibility cloak.
Scorpius remembers it being thrown at him as he was pulling his trousers up after their first time together, his first time ever. He recalls the words ‘Don’t get caught’ that accompanied it’s flight across the room and whispers his thanks every time he slips it over his head for the part it plays in enabling their clandestine meetings. He still wonders why Professor Potter entrusted it to him instead of Al, though the benefits are plainly obvious on the man’s face every time he slides into Scorpius and fucks him through the headboard, desk, or floor.
Tonight he hopes they will make it to the bedroom, but usually, they don’t. Usually, Scorpius knocks quietly, heart hammering in his chest as he waits for it to swing open. More often than not, he barely has time to pull the heavy fabric off before he is pushed up against the door, mouth assailed so quickly his head hits the wood in surprise. Typically, he leaves his pyjama top unbuttoned to allow the warm, calloused hands immediate access to the contours of his chest.
Scorpius likes all of these things. He also likes Professor Potter flirting with the elastic of his pyjama bottoms. Sometimes, he slips one finger just inside and runs it back and forth along Scorpius’ toned stomach, dipping down to stroke the light blond curls and teasing until Scorpius begs to be touched. Occasionally, he hurries them down with his teeth until his nose is buried in the sparse thatch of hair, his breath glancing off Scorpius’ leaking prick before he swallows it whole.
Scorpius doesn’t mind that they never speak. Who could form a coherent sentence when their mouth is filled with nine glorious inches of hard, damp flesh, convulsing against their tongue? Who wants to make small talk when their entrance is quickly prepared and thrust into, giddy pleasure interlaced with a delicious hint of pain? What should you discuss when someone closes a fist in your hair and draws your head back, puncturing the skin of your earlobe, neck, shoulder with their teeth? If that counts as worthy of conversation, then Scorpius is guilty of asking for ‘more,’ and ‘harder’ and ‘now’.
But above everything else, Scorpius loves returning to the common room, his arse still dribbling Professor Potter’s warm fluid. He loves saying goodnight to Al as it drips down the insides of his slender thighs; Al who remains blissfully unaware that his best friend has just been roughly fucked by his father. Scorpius finds it amusing to write a letter to his own father as he lays on his green satin counterpane and idly explores his stretched hole, bringing away a finger slick with come. Sometimes, he licks it off. Occasionally, he smirks to himself and lets a drop of it smudge the ink.
***