#The curse / dark spell one just sucks overall lmao | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

madamemalfoywrites · 5 years ago

Text

Professor Carter is Up to No Good

Commission done for the lovely and amazing @mzuul ! Girl thank you so much for letting me write your fucking amazing OCs!! This has got to be my favorite AU of them ^^ Warning for DP and just overall nsfw-ness lol. Enjoy ;D Also its 12k so...this one kinda got away from me lmao. Enjoy!

Alan Wilson had made three mistakes that day.

The first being that he may or may not have left his textbook behind on purpose. Anything to have just a few minutes more with Professor Sullivan. It was silly, he knew, to have developed a crush on a teacher, and a man at that. But Alan couldn’t help himself. There was something about the potions master that was just so…rugged, so cunning, so manly. Perhaps that simply came by virtue of being a Slytherin.

Alan was a Hufflepuff himself. And rather garbage at potions, so it went without saying that he’d never catch the professor’s attention even though he really, truly wanted to. It didn’t help that Professor Sullivan was so young, nor that Alan was now in his 7th year. It opened his mind up to possibilities that shouldn’t exist.

He managed to shut himself down though, every time. Because with looks like that, and with such obvious charm (the female professors were always flocking him), there was no chance in hell that Professor Thomas Sullivan would ever be gay.

Or at least, that was Alan’s full fledged belief, until he stepped into the classroom that day, Professor Sullivan’s back to him, legs spread over one of the tables, and though Alan had no experience with such things, he’d watched enough muggle porn to know that the professor was receiving a blowjob.

What lucky witch had been chosen to do that??

Alan swallowed, frozen, knowing he should run and yet entirely unable to look away, settling for crouching behind the back row of desks. Such had been his second mistake. He should have left when he still had the chance.

“Do you only ever shut up when there’s a dick in your mouth?” Professor Sullivan growled, in a tone that was not his own, hands gripping the girl’s hair with such rough control that it left Alan wondering if this was truly the same, gentle professor he’d always admired.

“I can be louder if you want,” came the reply, and Alan’s blood ran cold.

Because that was no girl.

Wasn’t even a student. In fact, if he’d heard correctly, then that voice belonged to—

“Shut it, Carter. Any more than this and we’ll—” his voice broke off in a groan.

“Isn’t that what makes it exciting?” Professor Carter returned with a moan, and Alan had to throw his hands over his own mouth. His body shouldn’t be reacting to this. Knew that this was wrong, and that he should leave, but those moans held him there, the lewd sounds of Professor Sullivan thrusting into Professor Carter’s mouth.

He’d never thought of Professor Carter in that context before. The Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor was a bit of a bully, particularly so against the Hufflepuffs, and what with his sarcastic manner of speaking Alan hardly ever paid him much attention.

But now here he was, on his knees, sucking off the man who’d been the cause of Alan’s sexual awakening.

This far surpassed any type of awakening, though. He was drowning—could hardly breathe—his dick so hard against his pants he was worried the belt might just start to cut into his flesh.

He wanted to join.

It was so wrong but he wanted to join—he didn’t even care if Professor Carter stayed, just wanted some sort of relief to the ache between his legs, some attention to his parched lips and a voice in his ear that promised praise.

He whimpered at the thought, rubbing his thighs together.

That was his third mistake.

Because silence fell upon them, the eerie quiet of the room striking fear into Alan’s very core.

“Oh?” Professor Carter clicked his tongue, shuffling about as Alan assumed he stood up, “Have we a mouse in our midst?”

Professor Sullivan hissed, cursing under his breath and muttering something else that shook the desks, everything in the classroom parting to reveal a trembling Alan. Professor Sullivan was still not decent. And Alan couldn’t look away.

Professor Carter clicked his tongue, wagging his finger at him, though he was so far away, “My, my, what a naughty little Hufflepuff we have on our hands—”

“Leave it, Ven,” Professor Sullivan tucked himself back into his pants, the sound of the zipper causing a shiver to run down Alan’s spine. Then, Sullivan turned to Alan, those usually brown eyes looking black, and Alan had never been so thankful for his robes in his life, otherwise the two professors would have definitely seen his…reaction.

“What you just saw, Mr. Wilson, will remain between us. Is that understood?”

Alan’s voice failed him. He opened his mouth, and yet no sound came out. His head felt numb, muddled, and if he weren’t feeling so lost in his haze, with those sharp eyes that Professor Sullivan was looking at him with, Alan would have sworn the professor could read his mind.

“I—“

“Is that understood?!”

Alan had never heard Professor Sullivan speak so harshly. It was almost enough to make him cry. “Yes,” he bowed his head, “I’m so sorry—”

“You may leave,” Professor Sullivan continued, with a wave of his hand fixing the desks, and a gust of wind pushing Alan towards the door.

Feet finally finding their movement, Alan dashed for the door, and ran down the hall, not stopping even when he hit the stairs, not stopping even when he made it past his common room, not stopping until his face hit his pillow with full force.

He didn’t know what to do.

Back in the potions classroom, Ven stood beside Thomas, adjusting his robes, “You just let him go,” he said.

“I did,” Alan replied, curtly, with a hint of a growl.

Ven hummed, sliding his hand around Thomas’s waist, “That’s not very much like you. What’re you up to?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

Eyes widening, Ven let go, “Oh my~ Don’t tell me you went into that poor Hufflepuff’s head?” Thomas looked at him, though he said nothing, which was enough of a confirmation for Ven. “You sly devil! Talent doesn’t give you the right to intrude upon our students~” Even as he said so, however, his voice held no inklings of condemnation. “So, what did you see?”

The sing-song of Ven’s voice was perhaps what Thomas hated the absolute most.

“Once again, my answer is that it does not concern you.”

“Oh, but it does concern me, doesn’t it? That little mouse was looking deliciously flushed, don’t you think—?”

“He’s our student—”

“He’s of age,” Ven smirked, fingers dancing along Thomas’s collarbone, “but you already knew that, didn’t you? Professor Sull-i-van~”

…

Needless to say, Alan did not get a hair’s amount of sleep that night. After witnessing what he had, he’d spent most of the night wandering aimlessly around the hallways, blush burning holes into his cheeks at the memory that had been imprinted into his brain. When he finally made it to his bed, he just laid there, staring up at the ceiling, replaying the afternoon’s exchange over and over again.

He’d always had feelings for Professor Sullivan. He was a kind and gentle teacher who took the time to answer his students’ questions, and not once was he ever condescending or demeaning about it. It made Alan feel comfortable in his class, and best of all Professor Sullivan always gave credit where credit was due.

It felt good to be praised—to be recognized, every once in a while.

But now that image was wholly ruined. The teacher he’d so admired—for him to be cursing—to be engaging in such activities—in a classroom—with a fellow teacher, no less…

Had it truly ruined his image of the professor, or had it simply enhanced it?

Because as much as Alan tried, he couldn’t help but want to replace Professor Carter, to have Professor Sullivan grabbing at his hair instead, to have him cursing at him because it felt so good, to watch the professor’s head throw back in pleasure and for Alan to feel that hot heat in his own mouth, because how long had it been now, since Alan had begun craving that exact sort of thing?

He covered his face in his hands. Just what was he thinking? How was he supposed to face Professor Sullivan in class tomorrow—or rather, later today? He didn’t even want to look at the clock. The last he’d checked it was well past two in the morning.

But he couldn’t sleep. Because as if all that weren’t bad enough, he was now thinking of Professor Carter as well. Which was as surprising as it was disgusting.

Alan didn’t care much for Professor Carter. A rather rude man by nature, he was. But there had to be more to him—had to be more, if Professor Sullivan was choosing to engage with him in such a way. And Professor Sullivan seemed to be enjoying the pleasure Professor Carter was giving him quite a bit.

Was that what it was? Was Professor Carter skilled in that department? With such a sharp tongue and his loose manner of speaking, Alan had always assumed him to be more of a playboy, but…

Had Professor Carter seduced Professor Sullivan? Had he perhaps placed him under some sort of spell?

No, not likely. Professor Sullivan was a Potions Master. They were a rather cunning sort of lot, potions professors. But then that meant they were both doing this out of their own volition. That meant that whatever Professor Carter was doing—Professor Sullivan wanted it done to him.

Which sent Alan’s mind reeling. Just what, exactly, was Professor Carter doing that Professor Sullivan was so desperate for? To the point that they couldn’t even wait to get behind closed doors, choosing to risk it in the middle of the classroom instead?

Did Professor’s Carter mouth feel that good…?

Alan shivered, half wanting to know, half cursing himself for the fact. Professor Carter was tall—had rather long fingers, in fact. No doubt they felt good, if he were to caress someone. The men hadn’t been kissing from what Alan had seen, but he was sure they were quite skilled in that regard as well. To be kissed by both of them at once…

No no no, what was he thinking? That was disgusting! It was obnoxious! It was selfish! It was—it was cheating. His heart belonged to Professor Sullivan and Professor Sullivan only. To also be thinking of Professor Carter now in such a way, when he never had before—that was adultery. He should be looking to Professor Carter as a rival, not as a potential boyfriend.

Though, then again, if Professor Carter was his rival, then Alan didn’t stand a single chance. The two couldn’t be more different. Alan had neither the charm nor the wit that Professor Carter had. He was a Slytherin who was confident in every regard, who was playful and fun and sure of himself and—the complete opposite of Alan.

Alan was afternoons in the library and leaving quidditch games early because there were too many people in the crowd.

Still, he couldn’t shake the sounds from his memory, of the images that he’d only half seen—that his mind had been only too eager to complete. How would it feel, exactly, to be in Professor Carter’s mouth?

No no no!! NO! What was he doing? What was he thinking? Was he so depraved? Did he not jack off enough on his own? Was it just because of the exchange he’d seen that his mind was reeling like this? Of course it was different than just watching porn, but he hadn’t expected it to be so…raw—so real.

Everything that had happened in that room—it’d all been so real. Maybe that was why Alan couldn’t seem to comprehend, could seem to wrap his head around the fact that it had actually happened, that he’d actually witnessed it, that Professor Sullivan had let him leave with nothing more than a feeble warning.

Because it was a warning at best. There were no guarantees that Alan wouldn’t spread the rumor.

Maybe…maybe he could use this as leverage to get Professor Sullivan to go on a date with him…

No. No, Alan wasn’t capable of something so underhanded. His feelings for Professor Sullivan were real. And so he wanted Professor’s Sullivans feelings to be real, should he ever decide to reciprocate them. Because Alan…Alan had been feeling like this for quite some time.

Fourth year, was when Alan probably realized it. When he just happened to see Thomas Sullivan returning from quidditch practice, shirt all askew as he laughed with his friends, the lot of them only half dressed because the weather had been uncharacteristically boiling that day.

The seventh year’s laugh had been absolutely captivating to Alan. His confidence more so, and the gleaming stretch of toned skin even more than that.

But Thomas was so much older, and Head Boy at that, and Alan was nothing but a measly Hufflepuff, so the times they ever ended up passing one another, Alan could count on one hand.

He’d never expected the seeker to return to Hogwarts as a professor.

That was just like him, though. Thomas had been brilliant from the start. And regardless of whatever had happened that afternoon, even if his partner was a man, and a fellow professor, Thomas Sullivan deserved more peace of mind than Alan’s sputtered words.

Which was precisely why that next afternoon, Alan went into potions with the intention to apologize. Thoroughly. Only, he never got the chance, because Professor Sullivan began the lecture right away, and then they jumped straight into recreating a recipe, of which Alan always greatly struggled with, and so most of his focus became dedicated to that.

That is, until Professor Sullivan came right up behind him. Alan could tell from the scent of his cologne, and that intimidating heat that was smoldering against his back.

“Juniper leaves?”

Alan swallowed, “Yes, sir.”

The Professor hummed. Alan’s heart pounded. Had he gotten it wrong? The recipe was written partially in riddles. But he was almost certain the directions called for juniper.

This potion wasn’t about to blow up in his face, was it? He’d heard stories of students having their eyebrows burnt off. But then came the strong hand on his shoulder, the subtle squeeze from Professor Sullivan’s large hand, his hot breath on the shell of Alan’s ear, “Well done, Mr. Wilson.”

It wasn’t quite a shiver, that went down Alan’s spine. More like a chilled trickle, one that threatened to leave tremors in its wake, but was wholly outdone by the professor’s heat radiating against Alan’s back.

His ear burned.

“Th-Thank you, Professor.”

“However, if you’d like to make your potion more effective…”

Professor Sullivan was talking. Was certainly talking but it was muddled in Alan’s ears. Despite that the tone of his voice was perfectly clear, dulcet as velvet, straightforward and assertive and yet still hopelessly caring, because Professor Sullivan genuinely wanted his students to succeed.

Professor Sullivan eventually left, without so much as a single word as to everything that’d happened yesterday evening.

Which should have been the end of it.

But Alan had Defense Against the Dark Arts after lunch. And he had a feeling Professor Carter wouldn’t be nearly as docile as Professor Sullivan had been.

Alan spent the entirety of his lunch hour mulling over the fact. He didn’t know much about Professor Carter, but he was about as Slytherin as they came. How he and Professor Sullivan could belong to the same house was a tragedy at best. Professor Carter—Ven Carter, that was his name, even the sound of it was snake-like—was supposedly one of the most brilliant wizards of his time. One had to be, to teach something like Defense Against the Dark Arts, but you’d hardly know it, what with how carelessly he taught his classes.

No, well, perhaps carelessly wasn’t the right word. He allowed his students to make mistakes. Or rather—he pushed his students towards mistakes. Because in order to defend yourself from dark magic, “you must always stay on your toes.”

Alan didn’t quite agree. There was no use being on your toes if you didn’t know what to do in the first place. A vagrant few managed to pass his class with high marks, but the overwhelming majority got through scraping with the lowest possible scores.

Professor Carter’s class was, in all respects, a nightmare.

Which made it all the more terrifying, Alan thought, when Professor Carter did nothing to him. Said nothing to him, gave away nothing, said not a single sentence that might have held malicious meaning. Alan had remained as invisible as ever.

In many ways, Alan was relieved. In others…annoyed.

Exactly why he was annoyed he couldn’t particularly pinpoint. Had Professor Carter not cared enough to remember? Was Alan so forgettable and insignificant that he wasn’t even worth a brief moment of torment? It was one of Professor Carter’s favorite pastimes, after all. Making students noticeably uncomfortable in front of their peers. It was why no one dared act out in any of his classes. The man had an uncanny ability to read into his student’s weaknesses.

Was Alan so…bland?

No, well, he already knew the answer to that. Alan would hardly be worth anyone’s time.

Unless…Professor Carter actually felt threatened…?

No, no no, what was Alan thinking? A man like Ven Carter couldn’t possibly feel threatened by a student like Alan. There was nothing to be threatened by.

Although…

Alan was aware of the number of complaints the Headmaster received in regards to Professor Carter. About how his class was impossible to pass and how he would single students out. If the Headmaster were to receive news of inappropriate sexual conduct, then…

Wouldn’t that be the end of Professor Carter’s stay at Hogwarts?

And…following that logic…wouldn’t it be the end of Professor Carter’s relationship with Thomas…?

Alan could never threaten Professor Sullivan. He was simply too good of a person. But Professor Carter was an entirely different situation. If the blackmail only concerned Professor Carter, then the man was simply getting what he deserved.

It was gutsy, and risky, and horrifically uncharacteristic, but Alan stayed after class. He’d never had leverage over anyone before—let alone a professor, of all things—but if nothing else came of this then he could at least get some decent marks on his upcoming Dark Arts exams.

“Did you fall asleep with your eyes open?” Professor Carter dropped a book right in front of Alan, the sound making the Hufflepuff jump, “Class is over.”

Chewing his bottom lip raw, Alan cleared his throat, “I-I wanted to talk to you—”

“If you’re going to stutter through it don’t bother. I’ve other things to do—”

“Like blow Professor Sullivan?”

He regretted it the moment it left his mouth. In all honesty, Alan didn’t know where the words had come from, or why they’d been so quick to jump out. But all he knew now was that he was most definitely going to die.

Professor Carter’s expression didn’t darken, however, the way Alan thought it might, like a villain on all of those muggle television shows. His lips did, however, curl into a smile that sent shivers down Alan’s spine. Objectively, Alan didn’t quite know which was worse.

“Precisely.”

That was terrifying. Professor Carter wasn’t even trying to deny it. Was acting like it was completely normal to be discussing such a thing with a student.

“Now if you don’t mind,” Professor Carter continued, “Thomas doesn’t like to be kept waiting—”

“No!” Alan shook, his fists trembling at his sides. He’d begun to sweat, but he was too far in now to simply walk away with his tail between his legs. “Wh-What you two are doing is indecent. It’s wrong—! If you—i-if you don’t want me to say anything to the headmaster, then—”

A chair clattered, making Alan jump. Professor stood up, outstretching his arms so that his robes looked like wings. The man towered over him. “Forgive me,” he continued to smile in that unnerving way, “my hand must have slipped.” He reached for the chair, putting it right-side-up again. “Do continue,” Professor Carter sat in it, crossing his right leg over his left. He motioned with his hand, “I believe you were just about to threaten me.”

Alan licked his lips, swallowing down again. He couldn’t stop shaking. Even if Professor Carter seemed perfectly calm, even he had to have some sense of fear regarding the headmaster, right?

“I want high marks on my next three exams!”

“Do well, and I’ll happily grade them as such—”

“I-I know you know what I mean! I-If you don’t—don’t pass me with high marks then—then I’ll—”

“Aw,” Professor Carter pouted, scooting on the chair so that it scraped against the floor, leaning over Alan with an absurdly dark aura, “or what? You’ll report me? And what will you say, Mr. Wilson? ‘I saw Professor Carter sucking Professor Sullivan off and I wish it would have been me instead’—”

“That’s not true—!”

“Isn’t it?”

Something happened. Alan wasn’t sure what, but it felt like a punch to the stomach, all air knocked straight and clean out of his lungs. His head was spinning—or maybe his body was—but he didn’t think Professor Carter would go so far as to hit him, especially when…

He could hear himself breathing. And when he finally took a moment to look around, he realized he was no longer in Professor Carter’s class. He was still in Hogwarts, certainly, but it felt blurry—as if his eyes weren’t fully focused—as if he’d been crying.

“Hey cheer up,” Professor Sullivan—no—Thomas was in front of him, giving his shoulder a quick pat, “maybe Hufflepuff will win the next game.” He laughed, that large hand ruffled his hair, Alan feeling that pleasant warmth in his cheeks again, “You first years get so emotional.”

Alan remembered that. That was from his first year at Hogwarts. It was the night of the final quidditch game, but that hadn’t meant anything to Alan. It just so happened to be the same night he’d lost his mother’s necklace. It was all he really had left of his parents. He was so relieved when he finally found it again that he’d begun to cry. Thomas had happened to run into him, then.

But that was Alan’s memory. Why did it feel like he was reliving the event?

“How quaint,” Professor Carter’s voice sounded in his head. “But let’s fast forward a bit, shall we?”

The scenes whirled as though Alan were truly traveling through his own memories. Was Professor Carter a Legilimens?

They made it to Alan’s fourth year, on that day with the sweltering summer heat, where Alan finally noticed the sweat dripping down the seventh year’s stomach, to that very same night when Alan…

Professor Carter saw everything. Saw Alan completely exposed, saw how the Hufflepuff had defiled himself over and over again, Thomas’s name on his lips, the endless days Alan spent in his fourth year trying to see as much as he could of the seeker, his failed attempt to join the quidditch team, the day where they happened to brush shoulders in the hallway, the one time Alan nearly fell in the middle of the Great Hall only to be held up by Thomas, the endless confession letters Alan wrote and then threw away, and the very last day of school, where he didn’t even get to see Thomas, and spent the entire day in his room being miserable about it.

And then came the first day of Alan’s own seventh year. Where he walked into potions, thinking he was in one of his own fantasies, thinking that it was fate and yet knowing it wasn’t, wanting to blurt out everything all over again and yet knowing he was too much of a coward to do anything of the sort.

And all of it—every single memory—was bitterly mocked by Professor Carter’s vile tongue.

When the Professor finally got out of his head, a huge burst of air rushed to fill Alan’s lungs, and he was back in the Professor’s classroom, bones feeling like mush and head positively spinning. He knew he was breathing—but it hardly felt like it.

After finally catching his breath, he still found himself leaning against the desk for support. “You can’t—“ he exhaled, “That’s illegal! What you’ve done is an entire rape of my consciousness! The Headmaster will have you sacked—!”

Professor Carter only laughed. But that was demented. Alan had the upper hand. He was sure of it.

“Oh? Is that what you’re going to do? Report me? I’m quivering.” He laughed again, kicking his feet up onto the desk.

Alan swallowed, “You’ll lose your credibility. Your profession, your rank, everything you’ve ever worked towards—”

Again, Professor Carter began to laugh. He was far too relaxed. The laugh far too carefree. Just what had he gotten himself into?

“If it will make you that happy, then go ahead and report me. I am a firm believer that people should always follow their base desires.”

“I will,” Alan retorted. “And this isn’t a base desire! It’s a matter of illegal magic use an-and inappropriate conduct—”

“I do wonder though,” the professor drawled, “what will Thomas think of you, when he realizes you’re the reason he’s been fired?”

Alan blinked. Became unsure of what to do. Because none of what the professor had just said made any sense at all. He tried to laugh, though it came out dry, “Are you daft…? The only one to be fired will be you—”

“If you report me,” Professor Carter interrupted, “I’ll have no choice but to save my own skin. As a Slytherin,” he grinned, tongue curling over his teeth, “it’s what we do best. Given that you’re threatening me with my own job, I’ve no choice but to threaten you with your beloved Thomas. Report me to the Headmaster, and I’ll accuse the two of you with a student-teacher relationship.”

“But that’s not true—!”

“You know the funny thing about the human mind,” Ven—because the man no longer looked like anything that even remotely resembled a professor—outstretched his legs, standing up and appearing much taller than Alan ever remembered, circling around Alan and giving him a quick touch on the forehead, “is that it’s hopelessly unstable. Everything is fragmented and therefore terribly fragile. In fact, human beings are quite stupid. They can create memories that never existed in the first place.”

Alan wasn’t entirely sure where Ven was going with his speech, but he didn’t want to know. Even still, he could’t bring himself to move. The professor was still circling around him like a shark, and the steady movement of it, the silent threat of it, kept Alan in place.

Fear was a hopelessly immobilizing thing.

“It’s true, I went into your head. But how could I,” he put his palm flat on his chest, “a concerned teacher not do what I can to help one of my prized students? If you even think to breathe a word to the headmaster, I’ll explain that Professor Sullivan has had quite the inappropriate relationship with you, and I merely used my skills as a Legilimens to confirm my suspicions and gather evidence. To help my darling student, of course.”

“But you have no proof! There’s never been anything between Professor Sullivan and I—”

Clicking his tongue, and wagging his finger in Alan’s face, Ven hummed, “You never were good at properly paying attention, Mr. Wilson. Did you not hear me the first time? When it really wants to, the mind can create memories. And you,” he motioned to Alan, pulling out a grey, milky vial from his robes, “have such intricate fantasies that I hardly had to do any work at all.”

The smile that curled his lips was like a snake slithering through grass, Alan’s heart pounding in his chest as he tried to process the professor’s words.

“Do you understand now? The Headmaster will have no choice but to get rid of Thomas—”

“Th-That’s not—“ Alan shook his head, “That can’t be—!”

“You’re about ten years too early to try and threaten me,” Ven barked, for a moment Alan thinking he might strike him, but instead the professor put the vial back in his robes, tucking it away for safekeeping. “Now,” he patted his robes down, “here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go and confess to Thomas, the way you’ve always wanted to but were far too meek to do. You’re going to tell him all of those naughty fantasies that vile little head of yours has managed to come up with. And then, you’ll sit there and listen to him as he rejects you.”

That was just about the last thing Alan wanted. He’d come to terms with his feelings long ago—and he’d also decided long ago that he would never burden Thomas with the knowledge of it. Because Thomas didn’t deserve to have his time wasted by some no-name Hufflepuff.

He folded his hands in his lap, trying to steady his breathing which still hadn’t returned to normal since Professor Carter had first entered his head. “What do you get out of this?” he asked, refusing to look up.

“As I said,” Professor Carter lilted. “People should follow their desires. And right now, watching you squirm—that is my desire. Naughty brats should be punished. Especially a peeping one like you.”

“I wasn’t peeping! If you hadn’t forced Professor Sullivan to do something so unabashed in a classroom then I never would have seen—”

“Ah-ah-ah. Don’t begin to place blame when you’re wholly ignorant. Thomas asked me to do so. Now. You have twenty-four hours to confess to him. If you don’t, I’ll be sending this memory,” he patted at his robes, “to the headmaster. Do we have an agreement?”

Could that be true? Had Thomas truly asked for something like that? But Thomas had always been so composed, so upstanding, so proper…

Perhaps Alan didn’t know much about Thomas at all.

With a sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach, Alan nodded his head, silently agreeing to Ven’s terms.

He may as well would have made a deal with the devil.

…

Mulling over what to do didn’t exactly amount to much. Either Alan agreed to throw up his insides and place them at Thomas’s feet, left to forever be scrutinized by the man, or, he refuses to do so, and in doing so, cost Thomas his career, left to be hated by him forever.

And the latter was certainly worse.

Alan rolled over in bed, hugging his pillow to his chest.

He’d never needed Thomas to like him. He was nearly six years his senior—Alan had never hoped for that. The only thing he wanted—he just needed—he didn’t want Thomas to hate him, no matter what. And he certainly didn’t want to be the reason Thomas would never again be able to teach potions. Because it was clear to any and everyone—potions were the man’s passion. He’d always been skilled in the subject. Alan remembered once, towards the end of Thomas’s seventh year, when he received an award for being one of the youngest wizards to compete in a national competition.

He was simply brilliant.

There had to be a way around this. Professor Carter was too horrid of a man. Regardless of Alan’s own feelings, Professor Sullivan deserved much better than him.

He sat up. Maybe that was precisely the solution. Misunderstandings and blackmail only continue to happen when things continue to be misunderstood. When information is continuously and purposely occulted. If Alan went to Professor Sullivan and confessed everything that’d just transpired, then maybe the two of them could figure out how to report Professor Carter to the headmaster and have him banished for good.

Yes—! That was it!

Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, he damn near stood up. But stopped. Gripped the edge of the mattress. Even if he explained everything to Professor Sullivan…to Thomas…then Alan would still have to admit his feelings. He wouldn’t be able to explain everything that was going on without that crucial detail.

He swallowed, knuckles ghosting from his grip on the bed. That was fine, he decided. This would be momentary embarrassment. Between his embarrassment, and Thomas’s passion, obviously Thomas was more important. Alan would be able to live with that. He’d been mortified plenty in his life. At the very least, this time he knew it would be serving a decent purpose.

With newfound resolve, he got out of bed and put on his shoes, making his way towards Professor Sullivan’s office.

Professor Carter may have been a cunning Slytherin, but Alan was a Hufflepuff; he wasn’t afraid to take the harder, more beaten-up path.

The staircases seemed all the more scrambled, today, as Alan tried to time himself, to keep his feet from slipping, to run through in his head what he planned to say to Thomas.

He didn’t have the slightest clue. He’d begin at the beginning, he supposed. And then work his way from there. Of course, there was no guarantee that Thomas would believe him. Perhaps he’d take Ven’s side. Because Thomas was virtuous like that—maybe he would side by his lover.

Alan hadn’t considered that. But despite it, even Thomas had to be aware of Ven’s nature. The accusation wasn’t so much of a stretch even if they were lovers. And more importantly, what Alan had to say was the truth. And Alan believed that the truth always had a way of shining through to people.

His heart sped up the closer and closer he got to Thomas’s office. For a moment, he thought to turn back. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to gather the courage to come all the way back here, so with a shaky breath, and an even shakier fist, Alan knocked politely on the door.

“Come in,” came the muffled voice from inside.

“Mr. Wilson,” Thomas acknowledged when Alan walked in, “to what do I owe this visit?”

There were papers scattered along the desk, and a few splotches of ink on what Alan could only assume to be drafts of new potions. A cat rested on the right side of the professor’s desk, its tail hanging over the edge, swinging lazily back and forth. It glared at Alan when he entered, but Alan had never quite been very good with animals to begin with.

Out of nervousness, he licked his lips before beginning to chew on the inside of his cheeks. He’d originally thought to stay standing, but his knees were buckling and threatening to give out. So he sat down on one of the chairs in front of Professor Sullivan’s desk instead.

“Um,” he swallowed, squeezing his hands in his lap, “well—y-you see…um…it’s about…um, Professor Carter—”

Professor Sullivan’s eyes narrowed, and Alan felt cold fear drip down his spine.

“I thought we agreed to keep this between ourselves, Mr. Wilson—”

“I-It’s not that—!” Alan was quick to say, practically lunging forward in his seat, “I just think—I don’t think you should see Professor Carter anymore! He’s not a very good boyfriend. I know this isn’t my place but he doesn’t even care if you lose your job. It’s my fault because I tried to threaten him but to get back at me he doesn’t even care if you’re the one who ends up suffering! If you love someone you shouldn’t do that! A-And if we don’t do something then Ven is going to report you to the Headmaster and you’ll be removed from Hogwarts and—!”

“Mr. Wilson,” Professor Sullivan held his hand up, giving a long, tired sigh. “From the beginning, please. Just how does Professor Carter intend to have me removed?”

Again, Alan swallowed. This was it. He’d no longer be able to hide it. “I…” he began, but then found himself unable to meet Thomas’s gaze, and so he lowered his head. “I’ve always had feelings for you, Professor. But please know I never intended to act on these feelings! I merely…” he closed his eyes, shaking his head to look at Thomas again. “I’m entirely at fault. Professor Carter is quite strict in his classes. I thought I could use what I saw the other day as leverage but it didn’t work. A-And Professor Carter is a Legilimens. Since I threatened him, he came into my mind and planted a fake memory and then somehow extracted it. The…” he paused, his face burning up with shame, “The memory he created…has to do with you and I. It’s…it’s inappropriate, and so Professor Carter said that if I didn’t…” he stopped, because the tears were prickling at his eyes. He never should have said anything from the start. Never should have approached Professor Carter, never should have gone back to Professor Sullivan’s room that day, never started liking Professor Sullivan in the first place.

“If you didn’t what, Mr. Wilson?” Professor Sullivan nudged gently.

Alan let the tears slip, “If I didn’t admit my feelings for you then he would reveal the memory to the Headmaster, and you’d be fired.” He gasped, choking on his silent sobs, “Please, Professor Sullivan, you have to know I never intended for any harm to come to you in any way! I only wanted,” he wiped his face, “I don’t even know what I wanted—I never should have tried in the first place—”

“Mr. Wilson,” Professor Sullivan folded his hands over his desk, a pillar of calm, “what I am about to say should quell your worries.”

Alan was quick to nod, sniffling and wiping at his eyes again. He knew Thomas would have a solution. That was just who he was. A brilliant, admirable wizard.

“Implanting fake memories is not possible. By that reasoning, extracting such a memory is all the more impossible.”

Alan’s eyes widened. Was that true? “But—”

The cat meowed, it��s open mouth stretching and stretching until the figure became human, Ven sitting with his long legs extended across the desk. “Boo, Thomas. You’re no fun at all.”

“Have you had quite enough tormenting our student—?”

“Not nearly enough,” Ven waved at him. “He couldn’t have cried for more than two minutes. I was quite enjoying his tear-stained face.”

“Ven,” Professor Sullivan chastised, but Ven didn’t stop.

Crossing his legs over the desk, Ven motioned at Alan, “I did you a favor. You know how he feels about you. Will you leave him without an answer to his pitiful confession?”

“I won’t lay my hands on a student,” Thomas barked at Ven. Then, turning to Alan, “I’m sure you understand—”

“No,” Alan shook his head, “I mean yes! Of course! I wouldn’t ever—that is, we wouldn’t—”

“Oh but you do,” Ven chirped, and for a moment, Alan thought the professor was talking to him, until he realized Ven was speaking directly to Thomas. “You’re as hot for student as he is hot for teacher.”

Alan stood up, “That’s not true! Don’t accuse Professor Sullivan of being as debauched as you!”

With that chilling grin, Ven hopped off the desk. “You know,” he trilled, “it’s quite the shame Thomas here is an Occlumens, or I’d show you myself. Your feeling are mutual.”

The sentence alone had a strange tightness bursting in Alan’s chest, Alan unable to sit still, “You—You just like playing with me…”

“You’re right about that,” Ven licked his lips, “but I like playing with Thomas more. Which is why, if you’ll excuse me,”

Alan wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but he certainly didn’t think Ven would lean in and kiss him—would remain kissing him, would draw his tongue out and—

A yelp parted Alan’s lips when he felt Ven’s tongue, or maybe it was the fact that Ven was ripped off by Professor Sullivan, the man’s expression curled in a snarl. Alan didn’t know what to do, save for try to slow down his racing heart, but he’d never seen Professor Sullivan look so angry before.

Anyone would be, Alan supposed, if you saw your lover kiss another person. The thought did nothing for his heart, however, only added a twisting feeling in his stomach, Alan licking his lips to try and apologize.

But before he could say anything, Professor Sullivan was hovering over him, that warm hand outstretching to cup Alan’s cheek. His thumb slid down, brushed over Alan’s bottom lip.

“He’s dirtied you.”

“I-I’m sorry—” Alan tried, thinking the Professor meant he to Ven, but was silenced with a softer, much more delicate kiss to his lips.

Ven sneered, “What happened to not laying your hands on your students?”

“That is as far as I’ll go,” Professor Sullivan affirmed, nodding at Alan, “I will show you out, Mr. Wilson.”

Alan’s head was reeling far too much to truly comprehend anything that anyone had said, but his body responded regardless, functioning on autopilot as Mr. Sullivan showed him out of the office.

He accompanied him all the way out into the hall, the Professor pulling the door behind him so that save for sliver of a crack, it was closed. “I meant what I said, Mr. Wilson. I will not lay my hands on a student.”

Alan nodded, hanging his head ever so slightly, “I understand, Mr. Sull—”

“However,” he interrupted, “I will look forward to the day of your graduation.”

Red blossomed over Alan’s cheeks, spread all the way up to claim his ears and most of his neck as well. “I-I’m—”

“Until then, Mr. Wilson.”

With that, Professor Sullivan slipped back into his office, leaving Alan in a heavenly daze. Was it possible that all of this, just now, had been a dream? That everything, from the very start, had been a dream? Because it hardly seemed real, the ghost of the touch left behind by Professor—by Thomas’s lips.

He was looking forward to graduation day…did that mean…?

No, it couldn’t, could it? But it had to. To what else could Thomas be referring? But then that meant that their feelings were mutual. And if that were true then come graduation day…

Wait.

What would happen to Professor Carter?

“Oy, Doll Face!”

Alan jolted, turning around. Professor Carter was strutting up to him, and Alan scowled, “I have a name. And my face doesn’t at all resemble a doll.”

“You say that like I’m aware of your name—”

“It’s Alan Wilson! I’ve been in your classes for two years now—!”

“Besides you’ve got a doll’s face. So pale. Is it the ‘face’ part that bothers you? Doll is shorter for me anyway—”

“It’s Alan. Or Mr. Wilson—”

“So Doll,” Ven continued, “I need to try something, if you don’t mind. Because this has been bothering me for a while.”

He said nothing more, took a bold step forward, and kissed him.

“P-Professor Carter—!” Alan brought a quick hand to his lips, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“What?” the man shrugged, “The one who said he’d wait until graduation was Thomas, not me.”

“But that’s not—it’s not decent—!”

He was pinned to the wall by that tall figure, Alan worried the professor might be able to hear his heart beating. “Have you not figured it out yet? I don’t care.” He made to kiss him, but Alan turned his head away. “T-The one I like is Professor Sullivan. This has nothing to do with you.”

Ven grabbed at Alan’s chin, turning it so that they were face to face. “I don’t care about that either.”

He managed to kiss him this time, keeping Alan in place with nothing but a simple touch of his fingers.

It wasn’t a very strong hold. Alan could have broken it, if he wanted.

If he wanted? Did that mean he didn’t want to push him off? Professor Carter’s lips were somewhat pleasant on his own, Alan would admit, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to kiss him. The only one he wanted to kiss was Professor Su—Thomas. And he’d stay true to that. Yes. He’d definitely push Professor Carter away and then tell him off.

He certainly would have, if Professor Carter hadn’t pulled away first.

“I don’t understand what Thomas sees in you. You’re rather…feeble. And naive.”

“At least I’m not vulgar or a cheater.”

“Oh?” Ven lilted, “Well I don’t spend my time spreading false accusations about others. Thomas and I are in an open relationship, you wannabe know-it-all. And the primary reason for that is you. But again, I don’t see the appeal, lanky thing like you.”

“I can’t help being la—“ Alan shook his head, “Did you say I-I’m the reason you’re—“ he motioned from Ven, to Professor Carter’s door, “But I’m…we’ve never even talked.”

Ven smirked, “And yet you fell for him anyway.”

How could he not, Alan thought. “But that’s different! Professor Sullivan is—”

Ven kissed him again, and Alan pushed him away, making a disgusted sound and wiping his mouth, “Would you stop that! I don’t know if this is all some large joke to you but I—if you think I won’t report you—!”

“Threats don’t suit you. And you’re not the kind to carry them out anyway. So stop getting your knickers in a twist. I’m just here trying to have some fun. As soon as I figure out what Thomas sees in you I’ll leave you alone.”

…

Ven did not, over the course of the remainder of the year, leave him alone. In fact, annoyed him all the more, what with his relentless teasing and side comments and calling him out in the middle of class and…the occasional….kiss every now and then.

Though it was perhaps much more often than just every now and then, because Alan had grown so terribly used to them. To the point where he no longer flinched, when Ven approached him. Rather, parted his lips slightly instead, so that it’d be easier for Ven, so that the professor could glide his tongue just over the top of Alan’s bottom lip.

It was embarrassing. And, though Alan could no longer say he disliked it, exactly, that didn’t stop him from feeling terrible about the whole thing. Because his feelings for Professor Sullivan were still very much there, and graduation was only just a few measly days away now, but not once had Professor Sullivan approached him in any sort of way.

So, Alan was under the impression that this was all still one large joke at his expense. Two Professors feeling bored and wanting to torment one of their students.

Graduation came and went, confirming Alan’s suspicions. That is, until the second evening after Alan had already returned home, when an owl flew in through the window to his messy room. The servants always offered to unpack his things for him, but Alan preferred doing it himself.

He thought nothing of the letter, thinking it one of his distant relatives, until he opened it up to see Professor Sullivan’s neat penmanship inside. Alan nearly screamed.

It was an invitation. An invitation to the Professor’s home—no—to Thomas’s home, to “properly congratulate you on your commencement.”

Alan’s heart pounded in his ears. What did that mean? Surely the joke had already ended, hadn’t it? Unless it’d never been a joke from the start. But then that would mean that Professor Sullivan—that Thomas—that he intended to—did he intend to…?

Frazzled, and rushing to the bathroom, Alan decided he should look his best, just in case. He left all of his clothes sprawled out across the room, wanting to focus on his hair, which was always bland and never quite curled in the way he wanted to. Even after a shower and styling it properly, it didn’t quite turn out how he’d been hoping.

But the clock was ticking, and Alan didn’t want to keep Thomas waiting. He briefly informed the servants that he was going out as he rushed down his staircase, reaching for the pot of floo by the fireplace. He spoke loudly; clearly, and with a toss of the floo, he was no longer staring into his own living room, but into Thomas’s instead.

And it all felt a bit like a dream.

Thomas was standing there, as if he’d been waiting for him, a glass of fire whiskey in his hand, not at all looking like a professor but rather more like a very adult man, and Alan began to feel his fingers start to itch.

“I’m glad you decided to come.”

Alan cleared his throat, realizing he was still in the fireplace, silently screaming at his feet to please move. “Yes. Um, thank you for inviting me.”

“We have a lot to discuss,” Thomas motioned towards the two chairs beside him. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you,” Alan nodded, feeling hopelessly meek. Thomas offered him some whiskey, but Alan declined.

“I suppose we should start with the obvious. Am I correct in assuming that you’re here because we both still have feelings for one another?”

Alan did all he could to not grind his teeth in an overtly obvious way. But he couldn’t well help it. It was either that or let Thomas see him dig his nails into the arm of this very expensive looking chair. “I-I…” he hesitated, looking at Thomas’s knees, rather than his face, “I’ve always liked you, but…I don’t know why you would—I mean I’m not really much of a catch, exactly…”

Thomas smiled, “You’ve always been so insecure. Even when your parents were still alive.”

At that, Alan’s head shot up, confusion blinking into his features, “My parents? Did you know them?”

The glass of fire whiskey clanked when Thomas set it down on the table, the professor bringing his hand up to his face to hide an embarrassed smile, “As I thought, you don’t remember.”

“Remember?” Alan leaned in, blood rushing in his ears, stopping entirely when Thomas took his hands into his own. “We’ve known each other for a long time, Alan Wilson. We used to play together while our parents discussed business affairs.”

Slow, rapid beats rose and then fell in Alan’s chest, like those unstable rides at town fairs. Was that true? From the look in Thomas’s eyes, Alan knew it had to be true, but that was part of what made it all so unbelievable to begin with. Alan did have vague memories of an older boy that would sometimes come to play, but it almost felt like the memory wasn’t quite there, like it turned into smoke the moment he reached out to grab it.

“I think I might, but…I’m sorry my memory has never been very good,” he lowered his head, heart racing when Thomas squeezed his hands.

“Whether you remember or not is fine. You don’t have to. What matters is what you think of this now. I’m a professor and yet I was unable to…are you not disgusted by it?”

“No, no of course not!” Alan squeezed Thomas back, “I’d never think ill of you! The fact that you even noticed someone like me is,” he laughed to himself, looking up to meet Thomas’s gaze. “Besides you’ve a lot more decency than Professor Carter.”

The grip on his hands became tighter, Thomas’s eyes darkened, “What did Carter do?”

“N-Nothing—!” Alan’s breath caught in his throat, “I think he was trying to make fun of me, mostly—”

“No,” Thomas growled. “That’s not likely.”

“What do you—”

“Listen to me, Alan. I need you to understand something. Ven and I have been in an open relationship since our 7th year at Hogwarts. If you wish it, I’m willing to become monogamous once again. With you.”

They’d been together since their 7th year? That was quite a long time, whether the relationship was open or not. And it meant that whatever Thomas and Ven had, it wasn’t something as flippant as Alan had originally thought. He licked his lips, biting the inside of his cheeks, “No, somehow…if the two of you split up because of me…that would feel wrong…”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed, and Alan thought he’d said the wrong thing, until he felt a chill go down his spine.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Didn’t I tell you to wait in the dining room?” Thomas barked, keeping a tight hold on Alan’s hands. Ven walked around them, finishing off Thomas’s fire whiskey, “I got bored. You two were taking too long in here.”

“Ven. The dining room.”

“What’s it matter? He’s already seen me! Besides, its obvious this not-so-innocent Hufflepuff wants us both.”

“Um,” Alan tried, “I—”

“What do you say, Thomas?” Ven’s hand snaked around Alan’s neck, his lips brushing against Alan’s cheek, “I don’t mind if this little thing comes between us~”

“Let him go,” Alan threatened.

“No.”

“Alan,” Thomas snapped, causing Alan’s spine to straighten, his pulse quickening under Ven’s palm. “What is it you want?”

He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. He wanted Thomas, of course. Had always wanted Thomas. But lately Ven was also capable of making his heart race, and with the three of them all together in one room, how in the world was he ever supposed to admit that what he really wanted was to—

Ven squeezed Alan’s cheeks together, popping his jaw open and making to kiss him, only to spill some sort of elixir into Alan’s mouth. Thomas yelled, but Alan didn’t quite catch it, his head starting to spin.

He felt strange.

“I want you both,” he blurted, nausea settling in his stomach. “I want Thomas to kiss me. Ven always kisses me but Thomas never does.”

Thomas’s eyes were so black that it sent shivers down Alan’s spine, and yet in that moment he wasn’t the least bit afraid.

“Very good, Doll,” Ven praised, giving his cheek a chaste kiss. “What else do you want Thomas to do?”

A rush of adrenaline raced through Alan’s veins, the hair on his arms raising in excitement. Ven hadn’t ever praised him before. Perhaps it was only the potion making him feel this way, but telling the truth felt…good.

“I want him to hold me!” Alan gasped almost desperately, nails curling into Thomas’s palms, “Ever since my fourth year I’ve always wanted him to hold me—!”

“Truth serum?” Thomas interrupted. “Do you always feel the need to stoop to such low measures—?”

“I find low measures speed things along,” Ven smirked, Alan not having to look at him to know that his cheshire smile was curling his lips upwards.

Alan’s head pounded. Everything sounded muddled and yet hopelessly clear at the same time. He hoped Ven wouldn’t ask him any more questions and yet he hoped he did, wanting to be praised again, to be kissed on the cheek again.

Thomas noticeably swallowed, bringing a hand to Alan’s cheek, “Forgive me, but I’ll ask again.”

Alan nodded, wanting to tell Thomas that he need not pay it any mind.

“What is it you want?”

“Anything you’re willing to give. Either one of you.”

“Then,” Thomas kissed him, tugging ever so slightly with his teeth, “you aren’t allowed to regret what comes next.”

Ven laughed, finally releasing Alan’s neck as Thomas took him, carrying Alan bridal-style.

“You’ve done it now, Doll. There’s no stopping him when he gets like this~”

They apparated into what Alan could only guess was Thomas’s bedroom, which only made his head spin all the more, Alan wondering why they couldn’t have just walked instead.

He was laid gently onto the bed, shifting only when Ven slid his thighs beneath Alan’s head, to create a sort of pillow. Heat rose to Alan’s cheeks. “What’s wrong, Doll?”

Alan made to say nothing, but his mouth opened on its own, “I’m embarrassed.”

Thomas had just made to get on the bed, leaning over Alan to give him a kiss on the lips.

“Why are you embarrassed?” Ven pressed, hand running through Alan’s hair.

“Because I’ve never done this before,” Alan whimpered, biting back the urge to say more.

Thomas smirked at that, lips dragging down Alan’s neck, “First time with two men?”

“First time ever,” Alan corrected, before Thomas had even finished his sentence. He wished he would have been able to stay quiet, to not give so much away, because Thomas stopped the moment the words left Alan’s mouth.

“I’m sorry I’m not experienced,” he blurted. “I’ll do my best—!”

“Oh, Thomas,” above him, Ven smirked, still stroking his hair, “doesn’t this make it all the more delicious?”

“No,” Thomas pulled away, and Alan’s heart sunk. “We should do things more slowly. Properly.”

Alan sat up, panic making his heart race, “Um! I-I know I’m not—but I really will try—!”

“Don’t worry about him,” Ven’s arm circled his waist, pulling Alan towards him. “If that’s what he wants then I’ll break you in. How does that sound?”

“Um—”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Thomas barked, reaching for Alan. “He’s never done this before—”

“Alan,” Ven’s teeth brushed over the shell of his ear, “tell Thomas what you want him to do.”

“I want him to kiss me like he was before. And to not stop. I want him to—”

“I understand,” Thomas huffed, running a hand through his hair, “but that doesn’t change the fact that—”

“Oh Thomas,” Ven sighed, gripping Alan’s chin and forcing him to face Thomas, “you’re gonna make the poor thing cry.”

Thomas kissed him. Took him from Ven and held him, warm tongue brushing over lips and curling into Alan’s mouth, Alan unable to help the moans that bled into Thomas’s mouth.

“You’re quite noisy,” Thomas stated, but it didn’t sound very much like a complaint, so Alan made no effort to keep quiet.

“Do keep that up,” Ven encouraged, starting for Alan’s pants, “he likes them loud.”

“I’ve no preference,” Thomas tried, but Ven refuted the fact. Not that Alan cared either way, at least, not when he was between the two men he’d been wanting most.

Even though he was kissing Thomas, it was difficult not to notice Ven, particularly so when the man’s hand slid down Alan’s pants, warm ripples flushing Alan’s skin at the of feel Ven’s hands on him, a full on gasp nearly making him choke when Ven finally grabbed his cock.

“Be gentle,” Thomas warmed through gritted teeth.

“I’m nothing but,” Ven countered, beginning to stroke Alan, peppering teeth-filled kisses onto the back of Alan’s neck.

Alan’s eyes were closed, but even if they were open he knew he’d be equally as dizzy. Naturally he’d taken care of himself before, but it felt so different having another person’s hands on him—so much better, and somehow he found himself wishing Thomas would touch him like that too.

He deepened their kiss, silently asking for the same from Thomas. The professor grinned into his lips, “What is it?”

“Touch me,” Alan blurted, the potion still very much in effect and entirely indifferent to Alan’s embarrassment.

Thomas looked from Alan to Ven, a single brow raised, before motioning at Ven to move. They swapped positions easily, Ven pulling Alan to his chest, so that he was in between Ven’s legs, back pressed against Ven’s chest, Alan able to feel how hard Ven already was against his lower back. In front of him, Thomas lowered himself, pulling at Alan’s pants, Alan shivering when his skin felt the sudden cold, heating up all over again when Thomas’s hands touched the skin of his legs.

The shivers weren’t from the cold, anymore. He could feel Ven biting along his neck some more, the demonic man nibbling at him every few moments, Alan knowing he would certainly bruise come tomorrow. But he hoped he would. He wanted those bruises. Wanted proof of any and everything Thomas and Ven were about to do to him.

At one point Ven had grabbed him by the chin—Thomas still massaging his legs with those large hands—so Alan didn’t see the way Thomas crept forward, until his mouth was already pressed against Alan’s boxers. He whined into Ven’s mouth.

“Oh,” Ven smirked. “Did you want to watch?”

Alan wasn’t given time to reply, Ven forcing his head down, so that he could watch Thomas start to peel his boxers away. Ven’s hands snaked across Alan’s chest, stopping only to tease his nipples, Alan’s dick twitching in reaction.

That felt good. But not nearly as good as watching Thomas open his mouth, seeing his tongue slide out and lick the tip of Alan’s already crying cock. He moaned, legs twitching, but Thomas didn’t allow it, held Alan’s thighs in place when he went in again, this time taking Alan into his mouth.

“He likes that, Thomas,” Ven chuckled, “his back arched right into you.”

Alan wasn’t sure if that was or wasn’t true, but one thing he knew for certain was that he was melting into Thomas’s mouth. Hot, and wet, and tight, Thomas took all of him, Alan gasping and bucking his hips though he didn’t quite mean to, feeling the edge of Thomas’s throat and wanting to feel it again. And when Thomas began to move, to bob his head up and down, to suck all around him, Alan couldn’t help but toss his head back, moaning into Ven’s shoulder.

“Oh my,” Ven purred, trailing Alan’s neck with a cold finger, “he really likes that.”

Thomas glared up at both of them, which only caused Alan to shiver, but Thomas didn’t stop, continued to work Alan’s length until his legs were trembling to the point of collapse, Ven keeping them spread so that he had no means of escape. “Th-Thomas,” he begged, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was begging for, his arms curled up into his chest, fists closed with white knuckles.

Ven was pinching his nipples again, though Alan still felt hands on his thighs, and somewhere in his muddled brain he realized they had to have been Thomas’s, but hardly anything registered aside from the fact that he was being touched in every which way, a very specific heat starting at the pit of his stomach and rising and rising, getting tighter and tighter and tighter until his thighs tensed up so much Alan could no longer stand it.

“Oh Thomas,” he whined, “Thomas I’m—”

It was Ven who grabbed Thomas by the hair, yanked him away and brought Alan’s spinning pleasure to a terrible screeching halt.

“No—” Alan scratched at Ven’s arm. “N-No, please—”

“Patience, Doll,” Ven kissed his cheek. “Good things to those who wait.”

“You could’ve let him have at least that,” Thomas smirked, wiping his mouth with his arm, Alan entirely entranced by the motion.

“Let’s get to the main attraction now, shall we?” Ven licked his ear, muttering an incantation that Alan didn’t quite catch. Without warning, he was facing the ceiling, back on the bed and Ven hovering over him. “This is my favorite spell,” he licked his lips, fingers sliding down between Alan’s thighs, and pressing a finger in.

Alan gasped, back arching up off the bed, hands shooting down to grab at Ven’s wrists. That was strange. Was it supposed to go in that easily?

“Thomas,” Ven called, “look at how wet he is.” He pulled his finger out, holding it just beneath Thomas’s lips. To Alan’s suprise—horror?—delight, Thomas licked Ven’s finger, Alan shivering upon watching. “That’s dirty…” he tried, but Thomas refuted the fact, bringing his hand over to brush Alan’s hair back. “Relax while Ven stretches you. Do you want to taste yourself?”

He nodded eagerly, because Ven had just put the finger back in, and although it wasn’t exactly painful, it was hopelessly embarrassing, and just ever so slightly uncomfortable.

Having Thomas kiss him made all of the embarrassment go away. Especially so when Thomas slipped his tongue in, and Alan was allowed to taste himself, the way Thomas had promised. Alan wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting it to taste like, but somehow it wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as he originally thought it might—

He squealed, Ven having curled his fingers inside him, Thomas grabbing his chin and forcing him in place, not letting him move though his legs kicked beneath him.

“Jittery little thing,” Ven breathed, holding Alan’s stomach down as he continued with his ministrations. “Don’t you think he’s just about ready?” Thomas said, somehow managing to not pull his lips from Alan’s.

“I’d say so,” Ven smiled, unzipping his pants. The sound alone made Alan tense. Thomas grabbed for Alan, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Ven frowned, “I took the trouble of preparing him. I think I should be given the first taste.” He grabbed for Alan as he said so, but a blast came, knocking Ven to the opposite side of the room. Slowly, Alan turned to look at Thomas, horror and amazement making his jaw drop.

He’d never seen wandless magic in person before.

“I wish we could have done this more slowly,” Thomas apologized, “but that won’t hold him for long. And I’m afraid I’m already quite distracted.”

Before Alan could come up with any sort of sorry reply, Thomas was hovering over him, kissing him, their clothes vanishing instantly, Alan only briefly wondering where they might have disappeared to, not quite caring the moment he felt Thomas’s heat against his stomach.

“Th-Thomas—“

Hand on Alan’s cheek, Thomas kissed the top of his head, “Try to take a deep breath.”

Alan did as he was told, looking up at Thomas expectantly, “N-Now what?”

“Take another one.”

“And then?”

“One more.”

Alan nodded to show he understood, preparing for his second large breath. Only, when he did, Thomas pushed in, Alan’s breath catching in his throat, his arms shooting up to grab at any piece of Thomas that he could. “Thomas—!”

“Does it hurt?”

“N-No but—”

“Did you not hear me?” Thomas smirked, pressing their chests together and placing a chaste kiss on Alan’s cheek. “I said to take a deep breath.”

Alan didn’t know how deep breaths were supposed to be possible when Thomas was as big as he was. When Thomas was as thick as he was. When Thomas was as hot as he was. How was he supposed to ever breathe again, knowing that this was what it felt like to finally be connected with the man that he’d loved for so long—

His thoughts were cut, the moment Thomas began to move. Because Alan could feel everything—every ridge and bump of Thomas’s length, could feel the low groan rumbling slowly in Thomas’s chest, could feel the depravity of his own hips, wriggling ever so slightly to match Thomas’s movements.

“If we’re all quite done with this sap fest—”

The bed shifted beneath what Alan could only assume was Ven’s weight, Thomas growling at him to stay away but Ven not listening, from the way the weight shifted closer and closer towards Alan.

“You’re not the only one who wants to have some fun.”

“You’ll break him—” Thomas snapped, arms tensing above Alan’s head, still buried deep inside him.

“He won’t break—”

“What if he—”

“There’s a spell for that—”

“And if there isn’t?”

“You’re the Potion’s Master,” came Ven’s drawl of a laugh. “I’m sure you’ll be able to come up with something.”

Alan didn’t know what they were talking about. But he knew that he hated when those two left him out of their conversations. All it did was remind him of how much more history they had. How much more history they would always have.

“Whatever it is…” he spoke up, clearing his throat, “I’m fine with it…”

“See?” Ven inched closer, “He’s fine with it—”

“Alan, you don’t—”

“It’s okay,” Alan reached up, touching Thomas’s face. “I trust you. Both of you.”

Ven chuckled, with a wave of his hand causing both Alan and Thomas to levitate, while he settled himself on the bed, “I wouldn’t trust me if I were you~”

They settled back down, Alan’s back now against Ven’s chest instead of the bed, Thomas still on top of him, still inside of him, Alan entirely unsure of what it was he was supposed to do.

“Alan,” Thomas barked, Alan’s head snapping to attention.

“Yes?”

“This will hurt—”

“Only a little,” Ven licked the shell of Alan’s ear. “Honestly Thomas you’re so dramatic.”

“W-What are you gonna do—?”

“Trust me, Doll. It’ll be much better if I just show you instead,” as he said so, he rubbed against Alan’s ass, and Alan came into terrible realization.

“No that’s—! You won’t fit!”

Ven chuckled, “I’m humbled by the compliment—”

“No, Ven, really—Thomas barely—”

Ven didn’t listen, muttered something beneath his breath and then pushed on through, Alan feeling as though his stomach was in his throat.

He felt…full.

How would they ever be able to move like this?

They were, in fact, able to move, Thomas sliding out and then pushing back in, Ven sliding out as Thomas pushed, the two alternating their movements so that Alan was never at any point empty. And with every minor movement Alan thought his body might tear, thought it might sink into ultimate pleasure, thought he might break, thought he’d slip into unknowable bliss. Ven’s pants were in his ear, heavy and hot, sending trickles down his spine because it tickled more than anything else, and Thomas’s groans were up above him, arms strained from movement and hips jutting in beautiful rhythm.

The same heat that had started when Thomas was sucking him off swirled in him again, twisting and twirling and tightening in the pit of his stomach.

He wasn’t sure if it was Ven, or Thomas, or both, but every so often they would hit something that made Alan see stars, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

Especially so when Ven snaked his hands down his torso, to grasp at Alan’s own heat and start jacking him off.

The heat in him was rising. With every push and pull of Thomas and Ven’s bodies, every breath they gave, Thomas’s groans and Ven’s pants, both of their hands on his body, their sweat all starting to mix together, to become one, the slippery wetness of it all, the scent of the room—

Alan couldn’t take it anymore.

He saw white. The pleasure was inundating, and the whine that broke his lips was deafening, Alan’s legs tightening and then trembling with the rush of his orgasm.

“Fuck Doll—”

“Don’t squeeze that much—”

They were requests Alan was deaf to, because he couldn’t stop shaking, could feel himself squeezing, didn’t want to stop, couldn’t, and when another burst of heat filled his stomach Alan had at least enough sense to realize that it hadn’t come from him alone.

Somehow or another, they all collapsed together. This time with Thomas hugging him from behind, Alan staring at Ven who was lying directly across from them.

Alan’s legs felt like lead.

“You know,” Ven sighed, resting his head against his arm. “I think I like your hair better that way.”

“Me or him?” Thomas was first to say.

Ven chuckled, “I wonder that myself.”

“Ven?” Alan tried, reaching out for him.

“What is it?”

“Will you kiss me?”

Ven raised a brow, “The truth serum should have cleared up by now.”

Alan swallowed, blushing all the way up to his ears, “Is that a no?”

Ven leaned in, but Thomas captured Alan’s cheek, bringing him in for a kiss before Ven could have a say.

“You’re disgustingly competitive.”

“Must be the Slytherin in me.”

“Could be,” Ven grinned. “But I believe Alan asked me. Therefore, that kiss belongs to me.”

Thomas grabbed for Ven, kissing him full on the lips, “Consider it yours, then.”

Ven shot Alan a wicked grin, giving him a quick peck, “Prepare yourself, Hufflepuff. You’re in for a long night.”

#writing #writing commissions

7 notes · View notes