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“What would you like for Christmas, father?”

“Harry Potter on his knees before me,” Draco said, flinging down the newspaper onto the dining table and glaring at it. “Have you seen this, Scorpius?”

“Mmm,” Scorpius said, swallowing a mouthful of cereal. “On his knees, you say?”

Draco stared at his son. “What?”

“For Christmas, father,” Scorpius said, before putting another spoonful in his mouth.

Draco tried really, really hard, but he couldn’t help the image that flitted through his mind, just for an instance – himself, bent over the same dining room table he was currently seated at, Potter’s naked body pressed against him, Potter’s cock up his arse. It wasn’t a new thought – but that didn’t make it any more welcome. Fucking, stupid sodding Potter, Draco thought, as he attempted to not think such a ridiculous thing.

He tried even harder when he felt the feather-light touch of his son brush his mind. No-one matched his seventeen-year-old son when it came to Legilimency. Most of the time Draco couldn’t believe his good luck – the secrets his son had discovered had been of immeasurable help in building up various illicit Malfoy businesses and exploiting certain valuable opportunities. But occasionally he wished he’d drowned his son at birth.

“Yeah,” Scorpius said through his mouthful of food. “That’s more what I expected.”

Draco stared at his son. Scorpius didn’t even have the decency to blush. Draco felt a sudden horror as he watched his offspring eating. It wasn’t the sight – although, he thought with some irritation, a Malfoy should have better table manners than that. It was the question – and all it entailed.

To most, the question “what would you like for Christmas?” would be a perfectly innocuous one. Draco had learned, however, that his son liked to put a special effort into Christmas gifts. Whereas most fathers unwrapped antique books or carpet slippers or interesting artefacts – at least, those were the sort of gifts that Draco had given his own father, and been well thanked for them – Draco received a rather more esoteric collection of presents. The complete humiliation of a reporter who’d written an unflattering article had been one year’s – most welcome – gift. Another had consisted of a prestigious award for Lucius from the Ministry itself, honouring his post-war charity work, which had almost completely restored the Malfoy name to its former glory.

Last year’s present had been the most impressive yet – a wizened, stinky old man who’d taken Draco aside, ignoring his protests, and completely removed the humiliating stain of the Dark Mark from his arm. Draco still didn’t know how he’d done it, or what Scorpius had had to do to accomplish something that Draco had been trying for years to achieve.

It wasn’t the presents that Draco objected to – it was the method that his son used to pick them. While Draco was more than willing for Scorpius to use his Legilimency talents for the good of the Malfoy family, he didn’t much like his son poking about in his own mind whenever he chose. Particularly not if he chose to root around at such an inopportune moment. Stupid, fucking Potter was in the headlines again being nauseatingly noble. Opening a fucking orphanage for fuck’s sake. As if he wasn’t worshipped enough by the general populous. Was there nothing that Potter wouldn’t do to get in the papers? It was ridiculous – and Draco knew that he was being ridiculous, and the things that he wanted Potter to do to him really were ridiculous and he was getting a headache. He didn’t need his own son making everything worse.

“Scorpius,” Draco said, in his best chilly Malfoy manner. He thought he said it rather well – he’d learned from the best, after all. His mother could chill his blood with one calm word, even now. Unfortunately, Scorpius favoured the Blacks more than the Malfoys. He had the iron will of Narcissa, a rebellious streak that could only be described as Sirius-like and an uncomfortable charm and intensity that reminded Draco, in a really disturbing way, of Aunt Bella.

Scorpius looked up at him now, and Draco wondered how anyone could look both so innocent and so wicked at the same time. “Yes, father?” he said, a dribble of milk running down his chin. He wiped it off with the back of his hand and smiled. It was a very disarming smile. “I’d better get back to school,” he said, standing up. “I’ve got Potions in an hour.”

“Scorpius,” Draco said, rather desperately. “Don’t.”

Scorpius widened his eyes. “Don’t go back to school?” He smirked and sauntered towards Draco, bending down to kiss him on the cheek. “Don’t you want me to do well?”

Draco snorted. “You know what I mean.”

Scorpius laughed, and Draco could feel his son’s warm breath on his cheek. It took all his strength not to rise up and strangle him.

“Anyway,” Scorpius said, pulling back, “I probably won’t be able to come home for a few more weekends. Unfortunately I do have some work to do. I’ll owl you, okay?”

Draco nodded. He was stressing over nothing, no doubt. It was humiliating, his son knowing – knowing that, but it wasn’t anything to worry about. Scorpius had shown no inclinations towards blackmail. He was a model – if eccentric – son.

Draco would just have to try and forget about it.

I’m bringing Albus Potter to meet you next weekend. He’s terribly sweet and he looks just like his father. I hope you’ll be on your best behaviour.

I’d like to put him in the Mirror Room, so get Tibby to give it a thorough clean.

Scorpius.

Looking at his son’s elegant scrawl, Draco wanted to kill himself. No, he didn’t want to kill himself, he wanted to kill Scorpius. The only question was how – and over what length of time? It was only fair, Draco thought with some desperation. Scorpius was obviously trying to kill him. What the hell was he playing at?

Draco re-read the short note again, hoping that this time it would say something different. It didn’t. There it was – in smooth handwriting on expensive notepaper (purloined from his own study, Draco realised): Harry Potter’s son was coming to stay the weekend. And not only that, Scorpius had something planned.

Draco put the letter down and took a very deep breath, trying to calm himself. His son couldn’t mean what – what he implied in the letter. It was unthinkable. At least – if it were anyone other than Scorpius it would be unthinkable. When it came to Scorpius, Draco had no idea how far the little git would go. He tried to think it through again. So Albus Potter looked like his father. Well, that wasn’t news to Draco – he’d seen occasional photographs in the press, and of course he’d even seen the boy from afar on the few occasions he’d taken Scorpius to King’s Cross station.

The Mirror Room was harder to explain away, though.

It wasn’t a room that Draco had much use for, at least, not nowadays. It wasn’t a family room – it was a guest room with a specific purpose: observation. The wall which joined that room to the next looked like a regular wall – and all the standard (to say nothing of the more complex) privacy spells would indicate it to be so. But Draco’s great-great-grandfather had paid a small fortune for that wall, and it had been instrumental in more than a few double-crosses and dirty dealings throughout the years.

There were mirrors, naturally; several beautiful ones. A person sitting in the next room would be able to observe the happenings from every angle – right through the wall. Because, of course, that was the secret to the room: from inside, the wall looked solid. From the other side, it was as if there was no wall at all.

And into this room, Scorpius Malfoy wished to place one Albus Potter – a young man who looked, in Scorpius’ own words, just like his father.

There could be no innocent explanation for this. Draco shut his eyes for a moment, trying to keep his temper under control. When he opened his eyes again, he summoned the house elf to do as his son had requested.

Once Scorpius had started, there was no way of stopping him. Draco had learned that a long time ago. Besides, Draco decided, his son was just trying to torment him. Moreover, he thought, cheering up a little, it was only the beginning of December. It was Christmas he had to worry about – and he was worried now, he had to confess.

Surely early December was safe?

“Your dad seems nice,” Al said.

Scorpius looked across the dinner table at Al. He was fidgeting in his chair, and when Scorpius caught his eye Al’s expression was one of discomfort. Scorpius grinned at him, and Al’s lips curved up into a responding smile, the line of his shoulders dropping. “He seems weird, you mean,” Scorpius said, sensing what Al’s problem was.

Al’s smile widened. “Well, yeah, a bit,” he admitted, bringing one hand up to ruffle through his hair. “Is it because I’m a Potter?”

Scorpius tried not to inhale the drink he’d just taken a sip of. He managed a nod. “I think it’s that,” he said, when he could bring himself to speak without laughing. “I expect he’s nervous.”

“Why would he be nervous?” Al asked. His eyes were wide and his mouth slightly open.

Scorpius had to stop himself from jumping on Al then and there. Al was too sweet and too ridiculously naïve to be true. This was so much fun - and it was only going to get more fun, in all the best ways. But he had to be gentle, or he’d scare Al off and ruin it for all of them.

“He wants to make a good impression,” Scorpius said, trying to keep a straight face. “He likes you.”

“I got the impression he didn’t like me,” Al said, rather gloomily. He picked up his fork and started to play with the remains of his dinner, pushing a sliver of beef from one side of the plate to the other, and back.

“That’s not true at all,” Scorpius said. He stretched out one leg under the table, curling his socked-foot around one of Al’s own legs and stroking down towards his ankle.

Al went pink, but didn’t move away. Until Scorpius’ father re-entered the room, that is, flanked by several house elfs. Then he jumped, almost upsetting his glass of wine, and managed to kick Scorpius as he did so.

Scorpius blinked away the tears of pain and tried not to collapse into girlish giggles at the look of guilt on Al’s face. He’d have a bruise, but he expected he could get Al to kiss it better and he rather liked the thought of that.

“Are you well, Scorpius?” his father asked. His jaw was very tight, and a muscle in his cheek twitched.

Scorpius tried to pull himself together. His father had always been highly-strung, and he supposed that he wasn’t exactly helping him right now. Since the plan was to make his father happy, winding him up so tight that he had a heart-attack would be a bad result. Right now his father looked like he was on the edge.

“I’m fine, thanks,” he said, and smiled reassuringly first at his father and then at Al. “What do you think about the plans that Gringotts have announced today, father?”

Draco shot him a look of extreme suspicion, but he answered the inane question and soon they were all engaged in polite but dull conversation. Scorpius considered a variety of innuendo-laden comments, but discarded them all with a series of well-suppressed sighs. This boring chit-chat was necessary to his plan. Still, things would progress more quickly if… He caught the eye of one of the house elfs and motioned towards the wine decanter. To his amusement neither his father nor Al noticed. They were actually getting on, Scorpius thought. This was good – very good. It was going to make things all the more fun.

Draco slumped back in his chair, shutting his eyes. He felt like he’d escaped from a very tricky situation – but that was tempered by a strange and unwelcome sense of disappointment.

Albus Potter was, Draco had to admit, much less annoying than he’d expected. He was, in fact, one of the least irritating Gryffindors that he’d ever met. He was well-read and well-reasoned, and he’d presented his opinions in a respectful, but firm, manner, once he’d moved past his initial nervous manner. A nervous manner which Draco entirely blamed on his son – who’d no doubt said things to him about Draco. What things Draco had no idea, but he knew his son and he had great faith in Scorpius’ ability to say things which sounded perfectly innocent but meant something else entirely.

So yes, the young Potter was not as bad as his father, and that was the highest of compliments. Especially as he did look like his father, even down to the tuft of hair that stuck up at a completely different angle to the rest. Still, Draco thought, calming down now that his son and his house-guest had gone to bed and left him in peace, it was obvious, even to the untrained eye, that the boy wasn’t Harry. No scar and no glasses – but not just that, the boy held himself in a different way. Where Harry had slouched, curled in on himself as if he wanted to make himself small and unnoticed, Al sat back. He looked what he doubtless was – a confident, happy young man. Draco rolled his eyes. Potter should be proud.

“Excuse me, master.”

Draco looked down at the house elf who’d appeared at his elbow. A sudden sense of dread overcame him. “Yes?”

“Master Scorpius requests your presence.”

Draco counted to ten in his head, rather than embarrass himself by showing his uncertainty in front of the elf. “Did he say where?”

“No, master,” the elf squeaked. “He said you would know where to go.”

Draco nodded his head in dismissal and balled his hands into fists. What the hell was his son playing at? Did he expect him to… He grit his teeth. To fuck Harry’s son? Was that the plan? He almost laughed at himself for thinking something so ridiculous. It was obvious that Scorpius himself was that way inclined. He’d spent almost the whole meal watching Al. Even an idiot would have come to the same conclusion.

Draco sighed. Perhaps Scorpius was planning on worming some information out of Al about Harry’s views on Draco. If that was Scorpius’ intent, then Draco wasn’t sure he wanted to be there. The only thing Harry thought about him – if he even thought about him at all, any more – was a mild contempt, no doubt. Still, Draco wasn’t a coward, and his son had evidently gone to some effort to set this up.

Draco stood up and walked towards the Mirror room, feeling very glad his son wasn’t around to read his mind at that moment.

If Draco had been expecting anything, he hadn’t been expecting this: his son, leaning against the wall outside the room, grinning at him.

“You took your time, father,” Scorpius said. “Come on, I’m dying to get started.”

Draco allowed himself to be tugged into the room that adjoined the Mirror room. He could see, as if there were no wall to separate them, Al sitting on the sofa in the next room. He looked nervous, his feet tucked up tight beneath him and his hands clasped in his lap.

“You are being rude,” Draco said, trying to stop his heart from beating quite so fast. “Leaving your guest alone, like that.”

Scorpius laughed. “It won’t be for long though.” He frowned, and then looked very faintly embarrassed, crossing his arms across his body. “Listen, I–”

“Yes?” Draco said wearily, wondering what horror was about to come out of his son’s mouth.

Scorpius’ cheeks went pink, and then he smirked. “This is just a taster, you understand? To make you anticipate your Christmas present all the more.”

Draco thought he should probably say something – but he seemed to have temporarily lost the power of speech.

“Since I look like you, and Al looks like him… Do I need to go on?”

Draco looked up into his son’s face, and wondered if Scorpius was actually human, or some sort of demon sent to torment him.

“So just pretend, okay?” Scorpius laughed. “You can leave if you feel too weird. I won’t mind. Al is adorable. I’m planning on having fun for my own satisfaction, not just yours.”

Scorpius’ face was redder now, but he kept holding Draco’s gaze as if he wasn’t ashamed of the things he was saying. “Question is,” Scorpius continued, “do you want to see Harry fuck Draco, or Draco get fucked?”

“Scorpius, enough,” Draco managed. “That’s enough.” He was already hard, and although his robes hid the evidence, he needed to get out of there before this all went much too far.

“Oh, come on,” Scorpius said, pouting. He waved in Al’s direction. “It’s not like he can hear us. Shall I fuck him?”

Oh God, yes, Draco thought, his cock throbbing at the thought of burying itself into Harry Potter’s son.

“Thank you, father,” Scorpius said, dashing out of the room and closing the door behind him.

Draco snapped around. Had Scorpius been prying around in his mind again? He was going to have to do something about that. And he would, he promised himself, as he sat down on the bed that was conveniently behind him. He’d tell his son off in no uncertain manner. His hands wound themselves tightly in the sheets as he watched his son enter the room in front of him. He would give Scorpius the beating of his life once this was over.

Draco attempted to get up but his traitorous body refused – so he cast a locking spell on the door instead. Then, since one may as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb, he cast a sound-amplifying spell and made himself comfortable.

Scorpius composed himself before he entered the room. He was, although he didn’t particularly care for the sensation, a bit nervous. It wasn’t every day he did this sort of thing, after all. He hoped that his father wouldn’t have a heart attack. He hoped that he hadn’t entirely misjudged the situation with regards to Al, because if he had then his father would never let him forget it. Still, Al had given off all the right signs, and Scorpius had no real doubts that Al desired him.

It had come as a surprise to Scorpius to realise that he wanted Al, and that he wanted him very much indeed, but it was a welcome surprise, so he focused on that as he entered the Mirror room and closed the door behind him.

It crossed Scorpius’ mind, as Al smiled up at him rather nervously, that he didn’t know exactly how to start this. He wondered if he should picture Al as Harry, and the thought pushed the situation in his mind from hot to ridiculously filthy. Suddenly, Scorpius knew exactly how to play it.

He walked towards Al, smiling over at him. “Hey,” he said before flopping down in a graceful heap in front of him.

“Hey,” Al said back, his cheeks going pink. “Everything okay?”

Scorpius nodded, reaching up to idly trail a finger along Al’s shin.

Al’s lips parted and he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He shifted, uncurling his legs out from under him.

“I believe my father is jealous,” Scorpius said, trying not to imagine the look of outrage that was no doubt on his father’s face right now.

Al frowned and leaned forward a fraction, forearms resting on his thighs. “What do you mean?”

Scorpius looked up at him. “I think my father always had a thing for yours.”

Al looked thoughtful at that, which surprised Scorpius. “You think?”

“Yeah,” Scorpius said, watching Al’s face. “All that Potter nonsense. I bet he just wanted to have him over a desk.”

Al laughed and pulled a face. “Don’t be so gross.”

Scorpius smirked, trailing his finger up the back of Al’s leg. “It’s not gross. They’re not that old. Don’t you think my father’s attractive?”

Al gaped at him – and then looked away, evidently embarrassed. “Yeah, I guess. You look a lot like him.” He shivered as Scorpius’ finger made its way to the back of his knee.

It was now or never, Scorpius thought. And hopefully now rather than never, because he was seriously turned on right now, even though this was a bit weird, even by his own unusual standards.

“So, Potter,” Scorpius said, licking his lips and liking the way that Al’s eyes dropped to focus on his mouth. “Can I have you over a desk?”

Al made a choking noise that Scorpius’ expert ear deciphered as a mixture of shock and need. He liked that. That was good.

“After all, Potter,” Scorpius continued, deciding to inhabit his role, “you defeated the Dark Lord and fucked my family over. You even took my wand, you bastard. Isn’t it only fair that I should get to fuck you return?”

Al gave him an odd look, but then his expression shifted as Scorpius’ finger made its way up his inner thigh.

Then, to Scorpius’ momentary horror – and then absolute delight – Al shoved his hand away and said, “Fuck off, Malfoy. You brought it on yourself.”

“Oh, so the boy who lived has some backbone, after all?” Scorpius sneered, enjoying himself. “Who’d have thought it?”

“You can’t even think of a decent insult can you, Malfoy?” Al said, his eyes alight with amusement and something that made Scorpius want to ravish him where he sat. “You’re so pathetic – just like always.”

“Really,” Scorpius smirked. “But it’s you that’s going to take it up the arse, Potter. I don’t want you closing your eyes and pretending I’m the Weasley bitch.”

Al pulled a face. “Ew, Scorpius, I don’t want to think about my mum right now.”

Scorpius blinked and then, with a grin that he suspected verged on the demonic, trailed his fingers over the front of Al’s trousers.

Al bucked and made a hissing noise, his hips moving up to seek up Scorpius’ hand. But Scorpius had already moved away.

“Want it that bad do you, Potter?” Scorpius sneered.

Al’s eyes were very wide, and he shivered when Scorpius – very slowly – licked his lips. Then, to Scorpius’ amusement, he frowned and raised his chin. “I’d rather die, Malfoy.”

Scorpius snorted and got to his feet, looking down his nose at the gorgeous, fabulous creature in front of him. He grinned for a moment before composing his features back into a charming scowl, reaching down and tugging Al up to a standing position.

They stood for a moment, eye to eye. They were almost the same height – Scorpius only the smallest fraction shorter. It still annoyed him though, so he tugged Al even closer – so close that he could feel the frantic beating of Al’s heart against him. “Go on then, die,” Scorpius said, enjoying the way that Al leaned in to his touch, and enjoying even more the way that Al hissed when Scorpius placed a hand flat on his chest and pushed him away.

“Make me,” Al said, very softly, standing still.

Scorpius’ lips quirked. “No,” he said and reached forward, tugging Al towards him so hard that Al stumbled and fell heavily against him. Their lips met with a clash of teeth that made Scorpius wince and smile against Al’s mouth. Al made a needy noise that communicated its way straight down to Scorpius’ groin, so Scorpius grabbed Al and almost ripped his shirt off, kissing him with force.

Al was a delicious mixture of fiery and submissive, and while he didn’t stop Scorpius from undressing him he didn’t help either, kissing him back for all he was worth. It was a lovely distraction so Scorpius didn’t feel the urge to complain. Al tasted of alcohol and sugar and he made the most delicious noise when Scorpius went for his belt with both hands, dragging his trousers down his slim hips.

“Shall I take them off, or would you rather die, Potter?” Scorpius asked, taking a step back and raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t be such an arse, Malfoy,” Al said, kicking his trousers off his ankles. His voice was soft and breathy – almost shy, despite what he was saying. “It’s you who’s going to suck my cock.”

Scorpius’ trousers felt far too tight and every drop of his blood rushed down to make it even worse. Al was gorgeous and unforgivably sweet, to add glorious insult to injury. Slim, but not too bony, and lightly muscled from his Quidditch. Scorpius tried not to snicker. Fucking hell, he was going to sleep with the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. How hilarious that was. Al’s team-mates would die if they knew. As would Al’s huge fan-club, which consisted of almost all of the Gryffindor girls.

The other side of the wall, Draco was thinking along pretty much the same lines as his son – only with rather more intensity. Draco was gripping his thighs so tightly that he suspected that he’d be bruised the next day, but he was determined not to relinquish his self-control.

He would have suspected Scorpius of not being his son at all – rather of being some imposter – if it weren’t for the strong precedent of pure-blood psychopaths in his family. Not that he was exactly complaining, mind you, but he had a sense that this wasn’t the sort of thing that aristocratic, pure blood people did and that, if his father ever found out, Lucius would drop dead on the spot from shame.

Draco was impressed though, even though he was never planning on admitting it to his brazen son. He’d never been as forward when he was a teenager; it looked like all Scorpius had to do was ask, and he’d have whatever he wanted from life. Not that Draco had exactly lacked – but when it came to the bedroom, he’d certainly never had what he’d wanted. With … proclivities such as his, he’d always thought it an impossibility. Now, watching his son undress a boy the spitting image of Draco’s favourite fantasy, he wished he’d been a bit more adventurous.

Still, Draco thought, as Scorpius peeled Al’s shirt off, it wasn’t too late by any means – as his frankly bizarre son seemed determined to demonstrate.

“Mmm, but only because you’re going to beg me for it, Potter,” Scorpius said.

Draco could hear his son’s voice perfectly, and the words made him shudder – though whether from disgust or from longing he wasn’t sure. The scenario his son was playing out wasn’t quite right – there wasn’t enough punching, or blood, or unpleasant hexes to make it truly realistic – but it had a certain resonance. It was enough to make him feel deeply uncomfortable, certainly, and not just because of the obvious.

Then his sadistic, evil son spun the Potter-clone around, so that Draco was practically looking him in the eye. Except it wasn’t his eye that Draco was dying to look at, his gaze almost magnetically dragged down to the boy’s boxer shorts. Draco found his mouth opening of its own accord. He swallowed but his whole throat felt dry. All the moisture in his body seemed to have vanished, except for the sweat that suddenly beaded his brow.

When hands pulled down Al’s boxers and his erection bobbed free, Al moaned in a needy, breathy way – and Draco only realised a second later that he’d matched the boy’s noise. By now Draco’s cock was so hard it hurt, trapped tight against his thigh by the close-fitting dress trousers he was wearing under his formal robe. “Fucking Potters,” he muttered under his breath as he stared hard at Al, who was standing legs spread, arms trapped behind his body by unseen hands. “Fucking, fucking Potters.”

“Please, touch me,” Al begged, biting his lip and staring right at Draco.

He wasn’t staring at Draco, of course, Draco knew that, but it was enough for his self-control to break. He tore his robe open, almost ripping the seams of his trousers as he yanked them open, wrapping his hand around his throbbing cock and wanking furiously.

It took Draco all he had, but he managed to still his hand before he came. His heart was pounding, but he wasn’t ever going to have an experience like this again, so he thought he might as well enjoy it and be damned. Al was whining now, muttering expletives and begging for it. He’d dropped the role-play now – and at some point he half-turned, so that Draco got a really disturbing view of his son on his knees, licking at Al’s arsehole.

It was a shot of reality – but surreal enough that it still seemed like an odd, dirty and really, really fantastic dream so it was okay, Draco tried to convince himself. It wasn’t difficult to succumb – given how his brain had turned to mush, handing over all decision-making powers to a more urgent, needy part of his body. Al was making noises that sounded almost like he was crying, and Draco found himself on his knees, one palm flat against the unseen wall, the other working with agonising slowness up and down his erection.

Scorpius dropped to the floor and fiddled with a bottle of something for a moment, before dripping what seemed like half the contents between Al’s arse cheeks. Draco tried not to look at his son’s cock, but his wrist sped up of its own accord as Scorpius pushed inside Al.

Al was red, not just his face but his chest and legs as well, his cock almost purple and his balls tight and high. He struggled to reach down and touch himself but Scorpius still held his hands behind him.

“Still rather die than have me touch you, Potter?” Scorpius panted, thrusting in and out with enough force to make Al’s cock and balls swing and bob.

“Oh God, Scorpius, please. Please. Please,” Al moaned. “God. God.”

“Ask nicely,” Scorpius hissed, nuzzling his face into Al’s neck.

“Please, Scorpius. I’m begging you.”

“And? Tell me why,” Scorpius said.

Draco would have felt sorry for Al if he wasn’t so close to coming, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back his orgasm.

“I – I want you,” Al mumbled. His face was sweaty and his mouth slack. “I need you to. Oh God, Scorpius. Fuck!”

“And?”

“Please, please, please, I’m begging you,” Al cried, “I’ll do anything.”

“Say that I’m your master, Potter,” Scorpius whispered. He twisted his hips and Al stumbled and nearly fell, his legs trembling violently.

“You’re my master, Malfoy!” Al said. “My m-master. God! Please!”

Draco came so hard that he wondered, for a moment, if he’d actually passed out. The whole world tightened into nothing, and he couldn’t stop shaking for what felt like minutes afterwards, his whole body rocked with aftershocks.

A Malfoy hand finally on his cock, and a Malfoy buried in his arse, Al came in under thirty seconds. His legs continued to tremble but he didn’t fall, and moments later Scorpius let out a soft sigh and slammed into him. They did fall, then, but in a slow heap, twisting together and kissing like they couldn’t last another second without each other.

Draco pulled himself together and dressed with as much speed as he could, his fingers shaking. He felt odd and empty and – and still more turned on than he’d felt for years. He was half-hard again already, and he suspected he would be for the rest of his life, fuck it.

Once safely in his room, and locked in with a paranoia-induced number of spells, Draco stripped and wanked until he was so sore he couldn’t take it any more.

One thing was for certain – he wasn’t looking forward to seeing his son and his guest over breakfast the next morning.

With Al curled up against him making the most delicious purring, happy noises, Scorpius reflected on the evening. It had gone even better than expected. He’d heard noises in the hall some time after he’d come for the first time, and the thought that his and Al’s performance had had a willing audience was the biggest turn-on. It was a shame that their audience had missed the second show, of course, but Scorpius was willing to bet almost anything that another such experience could be arranged.

Of course, one of the most pleasing aspects of the evening had been Al himself. He’d been even more up for it than Scorpius had expected, throwing himself into the role and allowing Scorpius to torment him with such sweetness that Scorpius wanted to do it all again right now – if he weren’t so exhausted, that was. He’d come four – or was it five? – times already that evening, and even he had limits.

“You’re really weird, Scorpius,” Al said, snuggling in even closer. “Can we do this all again very soon?”

Scorpius snorted. “Only if you promise to practice your sweet-talk. I’m weird, you say?”

Al smiled against Scorpius’ chest. “You can’t say that was exactly normal, can you? I’ve never had sex pretending to be my dad before.”

Scorpius tried not to snigger, but he couldn’t help it. “You liked it though didn’t you? I should tell your father what a pervert you are. Maybe he’d spank you.”

Al made a shocked snorting noise that was half laughter and half outrage. He shifted against Scorpius and poked him hard in the side. “Don’t be an arse. Besides, I could just as easily tell your dad what a pervert you are.”

Scorpius really did snigger then, rolling on top of Al and pinning him down. Al made a pitiful attempt to escape, laughing and wriggling and doing his best to tickle Scorpius to death.

Scorpius wondered what Al would say if he knew the truth. “So, do you think your father had a thing for mine as well?”

Al stopped tickling Scorpius and his forehead crinkled. He wet his lips. “Um.”

“What?” Scorpius asked, marginally concerned by this reaction.

“You mean you think your dad really did like mine that way?”

Scorpius nodded. “Well, yes. I think he still does,” he said warily, watching Al’s expression with care.

“Oh,” Al said. “But he’s married.”

Scorpius repressed an eye roll. “You may have noticed that my mother is conspicuous by her absence. She lives in the south of France.”

Al looked really nervous, chewing on his lip. Finally his expression set. “You have to keep this a secret. Do you promise?”

Scorpius nodded, rolling off Al and tugging him onto his side. Promises could be worked around. “Of course.”

“Dad’s gay,” Al said. His eyes widened. “I really shouldn’t have told you that. You swear you won’t tell anyone else?”

“Don’t worry,” Scorpius said, “I won’t.” It was true – he wouldn’t. But fucking hell this was the most excellent news, and one that he had no qualms about exploiting for personal gain. “That’s why he got divorced?”

Al nodded, then his face lit up into an enormous grin. “You know, I think I might be gay too.”

Scorpius laughed and grinned back. “You think?”

Al knew for certain that he’d never met anyone quite like Scorpius Malfoy. It was unlikely, really, that anyone else existed who was quite like Scorpius. He’d known Scorpius since first year at Hogwarts – and known of him for some years before that, of course. Except, and this was ridiculous really, he didn’t think they’d actually exchanged a single word before the last few exhilarating weeks.

Without actually taking up any positions of responsibility – unlike Al himself, who was head boy and Quidditch captain – Scorpius was the most popular boy in school. He had a knack of pleasing people without expending any visible effort, he was handsome and well bred and – and he was gay, Al thought, trying not to get a hard-on in class as he reflected on his good luck.

But it wasn’t just that that made him so fantastic. He was unpredictable and unusual. He wasn’t scary, as such, but certainly no-one would want to cross him for fear of what he might do. It was hard to explain, but Al thought that Scorpius wasn’t on the same wavelength as anyone else when it came to morality – but in a way that was attractive, rather than unpleasant. Al got the impression that if Scorpius cared for you, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to make you happy. He hid a smile behind his textbook. Even if it was really, really weird, there was nothing Scorpius wouldn’t do.

Still, Al thought some time later (it was becoming a habit, thinking about Scorpius on an almost constant basis), that didn’t mean that Scorpius couldn’t be a manipulative arse. It was unfair to ask such things when a bloke’s guard was down – completely fucking unfair.

Al strained against the bonds that held him to his bed – he wasn’t sure exactly what they were, only that they were uncomfortably tight, and he was going to have red marks which would be really hard to explain away when he had to change for Quidditch later that day. He hoped that Scorpius had actually closed the dormitory door this time. It would be too much to ask that he’d locked it, but shut would be a good start. Al wasn’t inexperienced when it came to sex, but Scorpius seemed to have a new kink every time they fucked. Not that Al was complaining, and it wasn’t a secret that he was gay, but there was a difference between ‘not a secret’ and ‘being discovered tied to your bed with a supposedly straight Slytherin boy sucking you off’.

“Say that again?” Al managed, as Scorpius came up for air.

Scorpius’ mouth and chin were wet, and his hair was a mess. It was possibly one of the hottest things that Al had ever seen.

“I asked,” Scorpius said, licking his lips and, very idly, trailing a finger between the curve of Al’s arse cheeks, “if you were up for getting my father and your father together.”

Al squirmed, and the restraints bit into his wrists and ankles. Scorpius – fuck him – bent down and blew a draught of air, very gently, over Al’s aching cock. “Well?” Scorpius asked, as he drew lazy circles over the pucker of Al’s arse. “What do you think?”

I can’t think when you’re doing that, Al wanted to say. His brain felt fuzzy and all he could focus on was how much he wanted to come, and how hot Scorpius looked as he towered above him. “Uh, yes,” Al managed. “But wouldn’t we be – uh – brothers? If they, you know.”

“I suppose so,” Scorpius said. He smiled. “Brothers. That would be hot.”

No it wouldn’t! Al tried to say, but Scorpius’ mouth was on his cock, and Scorpius’ fingers up his arse. His muscles clenched around the intrusion, and suddenly the room was too hot and his legs were shaking and out of control. “God, yeah,” Al said. He meant – well, he didn’t know what he meant, but then he was coming. He was coming and fuck it. He didn’t care. Scorpius was fantastic.

“So, we’ll do it, then?” Scorpius asked.

“Mmmm, okay,” Al murmured. He was sweaty and sleepy and so relaxed he couldn’t move a muscle. Scorpius untied his ankles and shoved a pillow under Al, tugging at his legs. Al curled his feet together behind Scorpius’ neck and Scorpius grinned down at him before pushing inside.

Al jolted as his whole body decided it was far, far too turned on. Every time Scorpius moved, Al’s stomach clenched solid, his cock already coming back to life. Every nerve in his body was on edge. He felt so sensitive it was almost painful. He strained against the ties that still held his wrists, but he couldn’t get away. “Slow down,” he said, through a mouth that felt suddenly dry. “Please.”

Scorpius did, but he shifted, angling his hips so that every stroke rubbed against something inside Al that made him see stars.

“Let’s start with my father,” Scorpius said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “He thinks you’re hot.”

“What?” Al squeaked. His muscles tightened in surprise, which sent shock waves through his body. Everything tightened even further, which only made everything feel more sensitive, more extreme.

“Oh,” Scorpius groaned. “That’s good.”

Scorpius took hold of Al’s cock and Al nearly bit through his own lip, it felt so amazing.

“He’s shy,” Scorpius panted. “We’ll need to – uhhh – convince him.”

“H-how?”

“He could … watch,” Scorpius said.

Al’s body was a tense, vibrating, quivering wreck. Scorpius was wanking him frantically. Al wasn’t sure he could come again so quickly. But Scorpius was fucking him. His hand was working. The thought of Scorpius’ dad watching. He screwed his eyes tight shut. God.

“Look at me,” Scorpius ordered.

Al opened his eyes to see Scorpius staring at him. He looked so hungry. Then his face twisted and he slammed into Al, his mouth falling open. He groaned and Al struggled against his restraints. His wrists hurt. The feeling tipped him over the edge.

When he opened his eyes again, Scorpius was drawing patterns in the pool of come on Al’s belly. “So can we?” Scorpius asked, his eyes wide. He was panting hard, and his lips were parted.

“Okay,” Al said, despite his misgivings. He doubted he could deny Scorpius anything at all, even if he wanted to.

Have you ever seen a Muggle play? There are the actors, and then there is the director, who tells them what to do and how to do it.

I’ll be home for the weekend again, and Al will be joining us. I thought we could stage a little play of our own if you’ve no objections.

Scorpius.

Since the previous weekend, Draco had wondered if he was going quite insane. He’d masturbated more over the past few days than he’d done in the past year in its entirety. Whenever he closed his eyes he could picture Potter – and he wasn’t even sure which Potter, any more. He’d been afraid to leave the house for fear he’d actually run into Potter, even though the possibility was remote in the extreme.

He hadn’t seen Al, or his son, since he’d witnessed their performance. He’d planned to go to breakfast with them, to show Scorpius that he wasn’t as easily flustered as all that. But it had turned out that he was as easily flustered, so he’d fled the house until he was sure they were back at school, pleading a sudden business trip.

And now not only did he have to look both boys in the eye this weekend, but his awful son had something else planned. Director. Draco researched the term in his library, but he found nothing to ease his mind. It seemed that his son wished to indulge himself in a similar display to the weekend before, only this time with – with audience participation.

Well, if Scorpius thought that his father would go along with this then he was quite mad. There was no way in hell he’d do that. No way at all.

2 

Draco was quite drunk. Not so much that he couldn’t stand up, and not so much that he was going to make a fool of himself. Nevertheless, he was drunk. He felt warm and relaxed. It was going to be okay. He’d told Scorpius earlier, in no uncertain terms, that he wouldn’t take part in his games. Besides, the Potter child had more sense, he was sure. It would all be fine. It would.

“Let’s all go and sit in front of the fire,” Scorpius said after dinner was finished. He looked relaxed – too relaxed for someone who had a devious plan, Draco thought. It would be fine. It would all be fine.

Draco followed his son and the young Potter, taking the champagne bottle along with him for company. It was Muggle-made but very good. It was very thoughtful of Albus to have brought such a good gift, and so many bottles of it.

Sitting near the blazing fire in a cosy chair, Draco felt very happy. He liked his son. He liked his son’s friend. He liked that his son liked a Potter, and that a Potter liked him back. It was a nice, happy revenge. He bet that Potter wouldn’t like that his son liked a Malfoy. He liked that –

Fuck. He didn’t like that Scorpius was looking at him like that.

“So, Mister Director,” Scorpius said. “Want to play?”

Draco’s jaw dropped. Since his mouth was open, he thought he might as well fill it with champagne, so he did.

“Potter,” Draco said after he’d swallowed. “He doesn’t want—“

Draco looked over at Al. Al had gone a funny purple-red colour in the face. Scorpius whispered something in Al’s ear, and Al’s mouth opened just a fraction. His tongue poked out, leaving a trail of spit on his lips, and he shifted on his seat.

Scorpius whispered something else then slid his hand up the inside of Al’s leg. Al was wearing loose dress robes, but Scorpius’ movement stretched them tight across his lap. There was an obvious bulge. Draco didn’t mean to look, but he couldn’t help it. He was being mesmerised by his son’s boyfriend’s crotch. It was insane.

“This is insane,” Al said, much to Draco’s relief. And then, to his horror, “but okay. If you want.”

Scorpius grinned at Al. “We should set some ground rules. Father, I think I’ll call you Draco right now if that suits.”

“Because that will make this less weird,” Al muttered, and pulled a face.

“Hush,” Scorpius said, and to Draco’s surprise Al obeyed. A Potter, obeying a Malfoy, and not in the heat of the moment either. He took a large gulp from his wine glass and topped it up.

“Rule one – no Malfoy on Malfoy touching,” Scorpius said. “Agreed?”

“This is insane,” Draco said, trying not to whimper.

“You mean you disagree?” Scorpius asked.

Draco noticed that his insane, vile son had a smirk on his face. And now he was standing up, and moving towards him. Draco wanted to step back, but it was difficult to step back when you were sitting down, so he didn’t.

Before he could protest – and he wanted to, oh God – there was a mouth on his and a tongue swiping across his lips. He’d parted his lips to protest before his brain worked out that that would be a really bad idea. His blood surged, every drop in his body rushing between his legs, as a warm, wet tongue stroked his own.

When the mouth moved away a fraction, Draco felt his body strain to follow it, before he managed to pull himself together. He was about to push at Scorpius’ chest, to shove him away, when Scorpius himself stood back.

“Hot?” the devil child asked, directing his words at Al. “Or just too weird? It doesn’t further the plan, after all.”

Potter’s mouth was completely ajar and he’d spread his legs really wide. “Not sure,” he said, very faintly. “Rather you kissed me,” he added.

“I am still here,” Draco said. It wasn’t what he meant to say. He meant to scream, or to protest, or to say that this is not the sort of thing that Malfoys do. He didn’t actually believe that, though. Pure-bloods were so inbred that half his family tree was an incestuous muddle of half-siblings and cousins intermarrying.

“So you do want to play?” Scorpius said, his expression wicked. “Well, go on then. Tell us what to do, Mister Director.”

Draco took a drink. He had no idea what to say. He licked his lips.

“What have you always wanted Potter to do to you?” Scorpius said, very airily. “Go on. I bet he’ll do it to me.”

“I don’t—“ Draco started. “No.” He grasped at straws. “There’s not even a bed.”

Scorpius rolled his eyes and, tugging Al up to a standing position. “Don’t need a bed. Don’t even need a sofa. So, shall I kiss Al?”

“Fine,” Draco said, going for the easy option – anything to shut his son up – before he realised he’d just actually agreed to it.

Scorpius whispered something in Al’s ear. Al nodded and tugged Scorpius towards him. Scorpius melted against Al’s chest. It was obvious who was in control – and who was letting him be in control. Draco wanted to roll his eyes, but that would mean looking away from the vision in front of him. It was compelling. It was hard to pretend that the blond was himself, but easy to focus on their mouths pressed together. The kiss was slow and loose, and every now and then Draco could see tongues sliding against each other.

Both boys held their arms relaxed at their sides. Draco felt a sudden urge to see bare flesh. He held his breath and hoped that things would speed up.

“What do you want us to do?” Al asked, pulling back from Scorpius and looking over at Draco. He bit his lip, but his eyes were wide and eager.

Draco took a drink of wine, and tried not to go red. He was older than Al, and wiser, and – and probably not more experienced. It was embarrassing. He wasn’t sure…

“Please,” Scorpius said. His face was alive with laughter. “Go on.”

Draco felt inspired. The little shit would soon learn that he shouldn’t tease people like that. “Undress him,” he said, trying to sound calm. “Go on, Potter. Do it.”

Scorpius looked unsure for a moment, his eyes darting towards Draco and back, but he allowed Al to disrobe him.

When Scorpius was naked apart from his underwear, Al paused.

“Why are you stopping?” Draco said, refilling his glass. He took a sip and the bubbles fizzed in his mouth.

“Oh,” Al said.

“Pull them down. To his knees. Scorpius, legs apart.”

Scorpius’ face was red and he was staring at the floor, but he shifted his legs wider. Al tugged down Scorpius’ boxers and Scorpius’ cock sprang free, already stiff. A bead of liquid leaked from the tip.

“Can I take them off?” Scorpius asked, his voice sounding stiff.

“No,” Draco ordered. “And don’t speak until you’re spoken to.” He wasn’t sure yet whether he liked the sight or not – but he was already so hard it hurt. “If you let those boxers fall, you’re in trouble,” Draco ordered. “Do you understand? Nod if you do.”

Scorpius nodded sharply.

“That’s rule one,” Draco continued. “Rule two – you are forbidden to come unless I say. That goes for both of you. Understood?”

Both boys nodded. Draco felt drunk with power – and with alcohol too, he had to admit. He felt quite unlike himself.

“Potter. On your knees.”

Al did as ordered, positioning himself close to Scorpius’ cock. Scorpius licked his lips and his hands stretched out towards Al’s hair.

“Scorpius. Hands behind your back.”

Scorpius did so, clasping them together. The movement pushed his hips forward and the drip fell from his cock, narrowly missing Al’s face.

“Lick it, Potter,” Draco said, licking his own lips. “Very slowly.”

Scorpius made a whining noise as Al’s tongue darted out of his mouth and stroked the head of his cock. When Al reached up with one hand to hold the bobbing cock still, Draco barked out a sharp “no”. Al dropped his hand instantly, straining his neck to take one long lick and then another.

“This is where a Potter should be,” Draco hissed, winding his fingers tight into his robes. “On his knees in front of a Malfoy.” He swallowed hard. “Take a suck, Potter.”

Al opened his mouth and took in as much of Scorpius’ cock as he could. His mouth was stretched wide. When he slid up and down, Scorpius bucked his hips and staggered, the boxers sliding further down his legs. “God,” Scorpius said. “God.”

“Al, stop,” Draco commanded, with some satisfaction.

Al stopped, pulling back. There was saliva on his chin and he was panting. Scorpius turned his head to glare at Draco, and Draco felt giddy with power. He’d never had such control of his son before.

“Potter. Behind Scorpius, if you would.”

Scorpius stared at his father and Draco stared back. He spoke, and his words were aimed at Al, but he looked Scorpius full in the face.

“Spread his cheeks. I think my son needs to feel a tongue up against his arse.”

Al shuffled behind Scorpius, still on his knees. He pushed Scorpius forward and Draco watched him grasp an arse cheek in each hand, before pushing his face between them.

Scorpius went very red, but he didn’t make a sound and didn’t look away. There wasn’t silence though. The sound of Al’s licking filled the room. It was a wet, slurping noise. He was breathing heavily too, a sound that was almost a moan.

“Push it in,” Draco ordered.

Scorpius did make a noise then. It was a soft one, but it made itself known right between Draco’s legs. And, as Al continued, Scorpius made it again, this time louder and more desperate. His lips parted and his thighs began to shake.

Draco felt a kind of madness overtake him. His son had tormented him half to death – now it was time to return the favour. He stood up and strode over to him. “Want a hand?” he asked. He stared mockingly at his son – needy and shaking in front of him.

“Oh, yes please,” Scorpius gasped.

Draco nearly died. Scorpius wasn’t supposed to say that! That was not how it was supposed to go!

The madness made him reach between the legs of the boy in front of him. It made him grasp the base of the reddened, leaking penis. And it made him squeeze.

And suddenly he wasn’t the only one who was evidently mad. Because there was a mouth on his, fierce and biting at him. Scorpius' hand was wrapped so tightly around Draco’s wrist that it hurt, and he was forcing Draco’s hand up and down.

Draco was kissing his son. Draco was wanking his son. And the problem he saw with this was not that this was his son, but that his son was disobeying him. This was madness of the highest order.

Draco pulled away, ordering Al to stop at once. Scorpius’ face was red and needy and his brow was slick with sweat. He didn’t look guilty though, or disturbed, and Draco was unwillingly impressed.

“You’re a good boy, Potter,” Draco said. “You get to come. Scorpius, however, must be made to stay still if he can’t obey orders. Stand against the wall.”

Scorpius did as ordered, and Draco flicked his wand. The vines of the floral patterned paper sprang out from the wall, wrapping around Scorpius’ wrists and ankles. They held his arms out wide, his legs spread. He struggled, but they bound him tight.

Draco took a breath. “You may decide how you wish to come, as long as it does not involve my son,” he said.

Al went scarlet. “Will you?” he asked, rather faintly.

Draco’s heart sped up. “And if I choose to fuck you?” he asked, pushing his luck. He could almost see Al’s mind working.

Al set his jaw. “If Scorpius doesn’t mind.”

Scorpius’ eyes were very fierce. He pulled a face. “Okay. If you want.”

Al nodded, eyes darting towards Draco and back to Scorpius.

Draco’s heart was absolutely hammering in his chest. “Strip,” he ordered, as he shrugged off his own robe. “Completely.”

Al did so, almost tripping over his own trousers in his haste to obey. When Draco caught Scorpius’ eye, Scorpius nodded towards the mantelpiece. Draco discovered a small jar of lubricant there. The jar was warm from the heat of the fire.

Draco opened the jar. He pulled Al’s right hand towards him, dipping the boy’s fingers into the mixture within. “Prepare yourself,” he managed to say. It was hard to speak, his heart was hammering so hard and his breathing so erratic. He pushed gently at Al, turning him so that he was facing the bound Scorpius.

The sight of the Potter-clone pushing a finger up his own arse, forehead tensed with concentration, was one that would stay with him forever, Draco thought.

“Kiss Scorpius,” Draco ordered.

Scorpius strained against his bonds, his cock bobbing and his balls swinging as he struggled. A string of pre-come dribbled from his cock. Al groaned, open-mouthed, against Scorpius’ lips. Licking at Scorpius’ tongue, he pushed a second finger inside himself, and then a third. Scorpius made a strangled sound and sucked on Al’s tongue.

Draco stepped forward and pulled Al back, very gently. “Ready?” he whispered in Al’s ear. “Get on your hands and knees.”

Al sunk down to the floor and Draco followed him, opening the fly of his trousers and freeing his cock. He was dripping with pre-come, but he slicked himself up with lube and then greased up his right hand. He positioned the head of his cock against the pucker of Al’s arse and pushed.

Al groaned and pushed back. Draco slid in fully. He held Al’s hips tight, overwhelmed by the heat and the way the boy’s muscles clenched around him. It was the work of a moment to sit the boy up. Even a small flex of his hips made Al quiver and tighten. When Draco wrapped his slicked up hand around the boy’s erection, he squeezed his muscles so tight around Draco’s cock that Draco nearly came.

Draco decided to spread the torture around a bit more. A couple of shoves and Al’s face was up against Scorpius’ cock. “Breathe on it,” he whispered to Al, sliding his hand up and down the boy’s cock.

Scorpius hissed when Al did as ordered, and bucked his hips, his cock bobbing against Al’s face.

Draco reached forward and gently tugged on one of Scorpius’ balls. Scorpius’ breath was coming hard and fast, and he was trying to open his legs wider now, rather than escape.

“Suck on it,” Draco whispered to Al. Al widened his mouth and wrapped his mouth around the ball, his lips brushing against Draco’s hand.

Scorpius made an interesting noise, like he was going to die. When Draco slid his hand higher up, he squirmed and made it again. Only this time it was shorter. Higher pitched. More needy.

Draco pulled on Al’s hair and he let the ball fall out of his mouth with a slurping noise. Al was making little bouncing movements, and Draco could feel pressure building in his groin. He slowed down the movement of his hand on the boy’s cock and Al whined and bucked against him. Draco gripped Al’s hips and held him still, continuing to slide his hand up and down the boy’s cock at an agonisingly slow pace.

“Stay,” Draco ordered, releasing his grip and sticking the fingers of his free hand into Al’s mouth. Al sucked and licked them like he was a starving man. He made a bereaved noise when Draco pulled them out.

“Shall I?” Draco asked, looking up at his son.

Scorpius was nodding even before Draco spoke, almost. Draco slipped his fingers back up between Scorpius’ legs. He stroked the place behind Scorpius’ balls, before sliding up to circle the tip of one finger around his entrance.

“Fuck,” Scorpius said. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

And at that, Al shuddered, bucked and came all over Draco’s hand.

Draco carried on stroking him, very gently, until Al was almost crying. Scorpius was twisting and flailing like a fish on a line, a string of curses coming from his mouth. Draco himself was close – so close – but he didn’t want this to end just yet.

He withdrew his finger from between Scorpius’ legs, and released Al’s cock.

“I did say I wasn’t going to let you come,” he said to Scorpius.

Scorpius stared at him. Then he licked his lips. “Please,” he said.

“And I told you not to speak,” Draco reminded him.

Scorpius went silent, biting his lip. His face was a mask of need, and if eyes could beg then his were begging for mercy.

Draco pulled out from Al’s arse, casting a wordless cleaning spell, and standing up. Al followed his example, and Draco whispered his orders in his ear. Flushing, Al stood behind Draco, wrapping a hand around Draco’s cock and stroking.

Draco leaned forward, bracing himself against the wall, hands either side of Scorpius’ head. His stomach tightened. Everything felt hot and shuddery, and all his muscles began to squeeze and tremble. Scorpius leaned forward suddenly and kissed him. It was a chaste kiss, square on the mouth. But at that moment the world exploded and Draco came in three delicious jolts, his come splattering across Scorpius’ belly and cock.

“My turn,” Scorpius said. He looked shaken but smug, though his chest was rising and falling so fast it couldn’t be healthy.

Draco trailed his fingers through the mess he’d made, slicking them up. He reached down and pressed his finger along the crack of Scorpius’ arse. Scorpius’ muscles pressed back for a moment but then he relaxed, just long enough for Draco’s finger to breach the tight ring.

“You bastard,” Scorpius said, very quietly, against Draco’s cheek.

Draco leaned forward, trapping Scorpius’ cock between them. Draco was still wearing his shirt. When he shifted against Scorpius, quite on purpose, he felt the fabric drag.

Scorpius jerked, trying to rub himself against Draco, but Draco pushed back, restricting his movement. He rocked his hips, very slowly. Scorpius’ breath was hot against the side of Draco’s face. Draco began to finger fuck him. It was odd, feeling the muscles tighten and loosen around his finger. He crooked his finger and slid it up and down.

Scorpius gasped. He shook. His head flopped against Draco’s own. Draco could feel his sweat. He repeated the motion. He did it again. After several minutes, Scorpius' eyes had practically rolled back in his head and his entire body was juddering. His breathing came in ragged gasps. His hips jerked with increasing violence.

Draco stopped.

Scorpius opened his eyes and looked at Draco. “Please,” he said. “Please, please, please, please, please.”

“Come,” Draco said. “Come.”

“I can’t!” Scorpius all but sobbed. “Touch me! Fucking hell!”

“Come. I want you to come.”

Scorpius was bucking his hips, slamming his arse against the wall, in an effort to get any friction against his cock.

Draco stepped forward and slid a finger down Scorpius’ stomach. Scorpius’ eyes widened and his mouth opened wide. His hips still fucked the empty air.

Draco’s finger slipped along the length of Scorpius’ cock, and he tickled it along the slit of the head.

Scorpius moaned. He squeezed his eyes tight shut. Draco slid his finger back along the slit.

“Come,” Draco said.

Scorpius came.

“Lick it clean,” Draco told Al. “Don’t stop until he’s begging for mercy.”

Al did as ordered. While Draco zipped up his trousers and put his robe back on, it was to the sound of Scorpius swearing, over and over again.

It was only once he reached the door of the room that he waved his wand, releasing Scorpius from his bonds. He didn’t stop to see the look on his face – just left, closing the door behind him.

“Why do you do that?”

Al made a choked noise, nearly swallowing his toothbrush, and clung to the basin. “Scorpius!” he said – or at least tried to say. He spat out a mouthful of foam. “Are you trying to kill me, you arse?”

Scorpius leaned against the wall and grinned. “Not my fault you don’t use your ears.”

Al frowned, but his lips quirked, as if he were desperately repressing the urge to smile back. “The door’s locked,” he said. “Or at least it was.” He raised an eyebrow and gave Scorpius a look.

“I have a key,” Scorpius said, all innocence.

“This is the prefect’s bathroom.”

“So? My father was a prefect. I claim my rights via bloodline.”

As Scorpius expected, Al went delightfully red at the words ‘my father’. He didn’t, however, pull the ‘I’m so embarrassed I’m going to die’ face that he’d worn a bit too often over the past few days for Scorpius’ liking.

Al cleared his throat. “So what’s up?” he asked, waving his toothbrush pointedly. “I was brushing my teeth.”

“Why?”

“Hygiene?” Al said, looking a bit bewildered. “I mean, I know you’re a dirty bastard, but surely even you–“

Scorpius rolled his eyes. Al was such a – a Muggle at times. “Magic?” he suggested.

“Oh yeah,” Al said. He grinned. “I like this way though. It’s minty fresh.”

Before Al could protest, Scorpius pulled him over and kissed him – though when Al spluttered and began to struggle, Scorpius let him go.

“Mmmm, chemically goodness,” Scorpius said, watching Al.

Al turned on the tap, rinsing his mouth out.

“You all right?” Scorpius asked. He hadn’t thought it a good idea to ask before – not when Al quite obviously hadn’t been entirely all right. Now he seemed more relaxed, it was a better time to ask.

Al didn’t turn to face Scorpius. He just shrugged. “It’s just… It was…”

Scorpius didn’t even need to ask what he was referring to. It was obvious. “Really hot?” Scorpius said, thinking it would be a good idea to get this established from the start.

Al snorted. “Well, yeah. But…”

“You felt left out?” Scorpius suggested. He was cheeky, but there had been a couple of moments where he’d wondered, so it was worth bringing up.

A flush travelled up the back of Al’s neck. “No. Well, maybe. It was just, you know…” He shrugged again.

“Weird?” Scorpius asked, marginally worried now.

Al turned, not looking at Scorpius. He ran a hand through his hair, and it stood up in wild tufts. He looked so wretched all of sudden that Scorpius couldn’t resist. He pulled him into a tight hug. Al relaxed instantly, his body curling around Scorpius’ like a second skin.

Scorpius felt entirely relieved. He wasn’t much given to tenderness, but Al was just too sweet for words. He pressed a kiss on the side of Al’s head and stroked a hand through his messy hair. “I’m sorry if I upset you,” Scorpius said. He was a bit surprised to find that he actually meant it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d apologised to anyone. He rarely did anything he ever thought he should feel sorry about.

“You meant that,” Al said, rubbing his cheek against Scorpius’ like a cat.

“Of course,” Scorpius said, a bit surprised that Al had doubted him.

“I’m glad.” Al suddenly sounded happier – a lot happier. He was practically purring.

“Did I do something to upset you?” Scorpius asked, feeling more and more bemused.

“No,” Al said, pulling away and leaning against the wash basin. “It was good, what we did. Really good.” He pulled a face. “I even liked watching you and – and—“

“My father,” Scorpius supplied.

“Shut up!” Al all but squeaked. “You can’t say things like that out loud!”

Scorpius laughed, tugging Al closer to him. “So we can do them, but not say them?”

Al joined in with Scorpius’ laughter, although he sounded a bit embarrassed. He reached forward to fiddle with Scorpius’ school tie. “Don’t make fun of me. You know what I mean.” He paused, hands on Scorpius’ collar. “Are you okay?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. I can’t imagine doing anything that with, you know…”

“Your dad?” Scorpius asked, mostly to see the look on Al’s face. It was a pretty picture – all flushed and indignant and… intrigued, almost. Or so Scorpius hoped.

“Ewwww!” Al said, in a heartfelt manner. “Yes, him.”

“Or your mum?” Scorpius asked, possessed by a devilish spirit of fun. “Oh! Or how about James? Or James and Lily together. That would be—“

Al evidently decided that the only way to shut Scorpius up was to kiss him. Scorpius took up the challenge with a will. Al came – almost helpless with laughter and disgust, mixed – to a detailed description of James, tossing off in his bed.

“I hate you,” Al said defiantly, as Scorpius entered first the bath, then him, in quick succession.

“No you don’t,” Scorpius said, giving Al’s shoulder a kiss.

“Yeah,” Al murmured. And then, even more defiantly, “Rather the opposite, I think.”

Scorpius came so hard he couldn’t see straight. “You mean it?” he asked, when he regained control of his brain.

“No,” Al smirked. “Idiot.” But he kissed Scorpius so thoroughly that Scorpius didn’t feel inclined to believe him.

It was an interesting, but not unwelcome, development.

“What do you want for Christmas?” Scorpius asked. He was sitting with Al in the library. They were side by side, but surrounded by their fans. There were a lot of them. Scorpius usually found his constant fangirls – and fanboys – amusing, but lately he’d found them more and more of a pain. He focused on Al’s mind.

To have you for my own, Al thought. On the outside, though, he shrugged. “Not sure. I think my dad’s getting me a new broom, and mum’s probably getting me some dress robes. You?”

Scorpius tried not to show his surprise. “I’d like my boyfriend and his father to come and spend the day with me,” he said, deciding to take full advantage of this surprise turn of events.

Al smiled – a smile so wide and so dazzling that Scorpius felt quite amazed. Al really was nice to have around. Then his smile fell. “Is your granddad going to be around?”

“Lucius? No. He and Narcissa are spending the holiday season with my mother this year. It will just be me and my father.”

“I’ll have to ask,” Al said. “I’m not sure…”

“Don’t you want to?”

Al turned a face full of agony upon Scorpius. “I do!”

Scorpius smiled, very gently. “Then ask him. Both my father and I would love to have you both.”

Al coloured, but made an obvious attempt to pull himself together. “I’ll do my best.”

“You’ll ask him?”

“This weekend. It’s the last chance before Christmas. I promise.”

“So,” Harry said, setting a drink on the table opposite Scorpius. “Scorpius.” He gave Scorpius a very meaningful look.

“Yes, Mr Potter?” Scorpius said. He smiled encouragingly and took a sip of his drink. It wasn’t the cocktail he’d ordered. He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m Head Auror and you’re in school uniform, Scorpius,” Harry said, evidently noticing his expression. “Have a heart. It’s juice.” He took a sip of his own drink. “And call me Harry, please.”

There was a silence. It wasn’t an uncomfortable one, as such, but it was loaded. When Scorpius had received the owl from Al’s dad, he’d been intrigued. Harry Potter was the whole reason he’d started things with Al, after all. He was glad he had, but he hadn’t lost sight of his goal – his father’s Christmas present. Time was running out, and Mr Potter himself was the one unknown variable in his plan. Scorpius welcomed this opportunity to speak to him on his own – despite Al’s obvious discomfort. Scorpius had almost had to tie Al down so that he could leave to make his appointment on time. It had taken more hugs and reassuring words than Scorpius usually had time for, to calm him down.

“So, will you accept my invitation?” Scorpius asked, deciding to take control of the situation.

Harry looked at him, his expression calm and cold, taking another sip of his drink. He ran a hand through his hair, and Scorpius was very much reminded of Al.

“It is sincerely meant,” Scorpius continued, very carefully. “My father and I would be very glad to have you. I understand that Lily and James will be spending the season with their mother.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. He seemed less naïve than Scorpius had expected – much less naïve. “What are you up to?” he asked.

Scorpius swallowed his mouthful of drink but it went the wrong way, and for a while he couldn’t do anything else but cough. “What do you mean?” he asked when he’d recovered enough.

“I’m not a fool, Scorpius,” Harry said. He said it quietly and Scorpius felt rather uncomfortable. He didn’t like feeling uncomfortable.

“I’m screwing your son, you know,” he said.

Harry said nothing, but a muscle in his jaw twitched.

“I rather like him though, so I hope you don’t mind,” Scorpius continued. He was watching Harry’s expression carefully. Harry looked less sure of himself now. His brow was creased and he shifted in his seat.

“I think I could like you as well,” Scorpius said, as blandly as he could. “I know my father does.” He beckoned the barmaid over and ordered an alcoholic cocktail. She giggled and dashed off, returning with the drink at top speed. Scorpius nodded at Harry. “Cheers,” he said, as he took a long draught. “I booked a room upstairs, by the way,” he said. “So we can be private.”

Harry’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “What are you up to?” he asked again, although this time he sounded a lot more uncertain.

Scorpius smiled. “I think the Malfoy family should be closer to the Potter family, don’t you? Al already knows my father well. Shall we get further acquainted, Harry?”

Harry brought one hand up to his throat. His cheeks flamed. “I thought Al had only met Malf—Drac—your dad the once.”

Scorpius nodded. “True. But we all got along very well.” He stood up. He was pleased to see that Harry’s eyes followed him, rather helplessly. “Shall we go upstairs?”

When Harry rose to follow him, Scorpius knew that everything would go according to his plan. It was most pleasing indeed.

“This is wrong,” Harry gasped. He was red-faced and his hair wild, but when Scorpius shifted he clutched at him as if unwilling to let him go.

“Mmm,” Scorpius said, lowering himself onto Harry’s cock. “Wrong can be good, don’t you think?” He rocked his hips, taking in Harry inch by inch. A thought occurred to him. “You have done this before, right?”

“Of course,” Harry said – a little too quickly, Scorpius thought.

“With who?”

“None of your—“ Harry began, but his mouth fell open when Scorpius began to move a little faster. “Oh,” he said, very softly. “God.”

“Nice?” Scorpius asked, looking down at the man under him. He looked a lot like Al, but his forehead bore the infamous scar, as well as few deep-set lines.

Harry nodded, his hands tightening around Scorpius’ hips. He shut his eyes.

“My father would like you to do this to him, by the way,” Scorpius said, changing his rhythm.

Harry’s body stiffened and his eyes snapped open. “What?” he managed. His face was red and sweaty.

Scorpius rolled off, turning around and positioning himself on all fours. He looked over his shoulder. “Come on. Fuck me, Potter,” he said. He suppressed a grin at the look on Harry’s face. It was a gorgeous mixture of lust and dread.

Harry scrambled up and, after a few false starts, managed to get a good rhythm going. Although he was evidently trying to be gentle, he was holding onto Scorpius’ sides so hard that Scorpius expected he’d have impressive bruises. He winced a bit at that. Al was going to kill him.

It didn’t take long for Harry to come. Afterwards Scorpius wondered, for a minute, if Harry would remember that there were two of them in the bed. But, after he’d taken a very deep breath, Harry kissed Scorpius. He was soft and skilled with his tongue, and the hand that worked its way between Scorpius’ legs equally so. Scorpius came, some time later, with a most satisfactory orgasm.

“What did you mean, earlier?” Harry asked, as they lay curled around each other.

“Hmm?”

“About Draco.”

“That he wants you to fuck him?” Scorpius said, stifling a satisfied yawn. “He always has. You’ve never been particularly quick on the uptake though, have you?”

Harry snorted. “Not only are you talking nonsense, but you’re also not very respectful of your elders, are you?”

“No,” Scorpius agreed. “Then again, you probably shouldn’t be fucking your son’s boyfriend, whilst thinking about his father.”

Harry made a startled noise and then began to laugh.

Scorpius peered at him. “Are you having hysterics?”

Harry shook his head, the laughter fading from manic into something a little more normal sounding. “You’re really quite terrifying, you know that?” he managed. “Fucking hell.”

Scorpius considered that. It didn’t sound like an insult. “I’m unusual, I suppose,” he said, pursing his lips. “Although I’ve never had any complaints.” He laughed. “Not from anyone I cared about, I mean.”

Harry let out a soft breath. “Do you care about Al?”

“Of course,” Scorpius said, frowning at that. “Don’t you?”

“Of course I do! What… I mean, why—“ Harry groaned. “Shit. Don’t say anything.”

“Calm down, Harry,” Scorpius said, placing a hand lightly on Harry’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”

Harry stared at him. “It’ll be all right?”

“Mm-hm,” Scorpius said. He was getting bored of this. Harry wasn’t nearly as much fun as his son. Still, for his father’s sake, he’d persevere. “One happy Malfoy-Potter family.” He tugged Harry towards him. “Remember, if we’re hyphenating names, the Malfoy must come first.”

Harry’s face was a picture. Of what, Scorpius couldn’t quite tell, but he could feel Harry’s cock, stiff against him. “Now, are you going to fuck me again, or shall I get back to school? It’s getting late.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Harry muttered.

Scorpius was going to double-check that he meant that in a good way, but Harry’s mouth was suddenly hard on his and he couldn’t manage more than a ‘mmph’. He was late back to school.

When he got back, Al was waiting for him. Scorpius knew that it would be even later before he could get some sleep. Al’s reaction to the obvious bruises on Scorpius’ hips was to add a few more to the collection. He was rough and demanding – but he seemed on the verge of tears, so Scorpius didn’t feel that it was necessary to object. Besides, it was intriguing to see a new side to his usually submissive boyfriend.

When they were done, Al was quiet for some time. Then he made an unhappy noise. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”

“Oh,” Scorpius said, surprised by this line of questioning. “No. I wouldn’t say that.”

Al trailed a finger over Scorpius’ hip. He bit his lip.

“Not all pain is bad,” Scorpius said. “Besides, it didn’t really hurt.”

Al shook his head. “And then I–“

“Al,” Scorpius said, rather exasperated. “Do you really think anyone could make me do anything I didn’t want to do?”

Al’s hair was in his eyes. He reached forward and pulled Scorpius into a hug so tight that Scorpius could hardly breathe. “Don’t do it again,” Al said, very quietly. “Please?”

Scorpius thought about that. “Okay,” he said. “Not without your permission.” He ran a hand along Al’s back. “I do like you, you know.”

Al asked something, but he spoke so low that Scorpius couldn’t hear.

Scorpius nudged him. “What was that?”

“Best?” Al muttered, sounding very embarrassed. “Do you like me best?”

“Oh, of course,” Scorpius said. He blinked. What a strange question. Wasn’t it obvious? “You wouldn’t be my boyfriend if I didn’t, would you?” He felt Al’s body relax against his, and his breathing start to slow. It wasn’t long before Al fell asleep, and Scorpius closed his eyes, dropping off shortly after.

Harry Potter was drunk. The saviour of the wizarding world – the boy who fucking lived – was pissed, in the heart of Malfoy territory. Draco, on the other hand, was decidedly not drunk. He recalled, with disturbing clarity, exactly what had transpired the last time he’d drunk alcohol in the presence of his evil, smiling offspring. His devil child was relaxed and acting like a normal, regular son – but Draco was determined not to drop his guard. Not with Potter in his house.

Then there was the awful fact that it was only Christmas Eve. Probably, Draco thought with some gloom, as soon as the clock struck midnight his son would shed his clothes and copulate with Potter – which one he wasn’t sure, but there was only a choice of two – right in front of him. Still, it was only ten, and at this rate Potter – the elder variety – would pass out from alcohol poisoning before the grandfather clock rang out eleven, let alone twelve.

The atmosphere was interesting, he had to admit. Al flushed every time anyone looked at him, and he stuck so close by Scorpius’ side that he could have been glued there. Potter flushed equally as red every time he caught the eye of anyone in the room, and the way he kept stealing glances at Scorpius was seriously making Draco grind his teeth. Had his son really slept with everyone in the room, or was Draco just paranoid? It didn’t help that every time Scorpius moved, his Muggle t-shirt slid up to reveal several sets of yellowing bruises on his sides. God, Draco wanted a drink.

The only one who seemed entirely at ease was Scorpius himself. He kept the conversation going, he passed out nibbles, he topped up drinks. He was the ideal son. It was far, far too good to be true.

And then, quite suddenly, it was.

“Let’s play a game,” Scorpius said. He leaned over and tugged a box out of the cupboard next to him. “It’s a Muggle one, but it’s fun.”

Everyone looked at him.

“Oh, come on,” Scorpius said, putting his hands on his hips and pouting. “It’s Christmas Eve. Where’s your festive spirit?”

The foul elder Potter smiled and took a sip of his red wine, sliding down to join Scorpius on the floor. “If we must.”

Al nodded, joining his father and the devil child on the floor.

“Father?” Scorpius said pointedly. “Don’t be a party pooper.”

Draco pulled a face and sat down, peering down at the box.

“Okay,” Scorpius said, pulling out some cards and shuffling. “It’s easy. Everyone takes a card. On each card is a task. You can either do the task, or refuse. If you refuse, you must do a task that one of the other players assigns you.”

“How do you win?” Draco asked. This game sounded like nothing more than a cheap excuse to humiliate them all.

Scorpius smiled at him. He looked disgustingly innocent. “You don’t. It’s just for fun.” His smile grew even more innocent. He tapped his wand to the pile of cards.

“What did you do?” Harry said. “Are you cheating already?”

Scorpius laughed. “You have a low opinion of me, don’t you? I just personalised the game a little. It’s more fun if the cards think for themselves.”

Think for themselves? Draco did not like the sound of that. From the looks on the faces of Potter and his son, they didn’t much like the idea either. Still, he wasn’t going to decline to take part in something that a Potter was also doing. He wasn’t a coward.

They all took a card. For the first few rounds, Draco almost relaxed. They were stupid, childish tasks, easily accomplished and only mildly embarrassing. After he’d seen Potter cluck like a chicken, and Scorpius attempt to stand on his head for ten seconds, he was almost glad he was taking part. It was fun, though he refused to admit it.

Then it got worse.

Each card demanded, in a less than subtle manner, the removal of an item of clothing. Soon all were sans shoes, sans socks and sans outer robes. Next came orders to drink alcohol. Draco didn’t dare refuse to drink, for fear of what other task he’d be compelled to carry out.

Soon the cards were asking questions. The sort of questions that a twelve-year-old girl would ask, Draco thought with some distaste. Nonsense about first kisses and boys fancied. Draco lied with skill, and he expected the others were equally dishonest.

It was Al’s turn. He picked up a card and, almost instantly, placed it on the ground, face down. “No way I’m answering that,” he said. He looked up at Scorpius with pleading eyes. “No way!”

“You’ll have to do a task I say, then,” Scorpius said. “Rules are rules. Which do you choose?”

Al picked up the card and looked at it again. He shook his head. “Absolutely not! Whatever you ask can’t possibly be worse.”

Scorpius leaped up and grabbed a package from under the enormous Christmas tree. “I have a present for you,” he said, smiling very sweetly. “Open it, and use it now.”

Al felt the package gingerly. “Feels soft,” he said. “Clothes?”

Draco felt himself relax. It couldn’t be anything bad in there. Not if Scorpius had put it under the tree, to be opened in public.

Al peered into the hole he’d carefully torn in the wrapping. His mouth dropped. “No way. No way! I’m not wearing that, you bastard!”

Scorpius smirked. “You are and you will. Go on. Go and put it on, there’s a good boy.”

Al got up and left the room. He re-entered a few minutes later, his head held very high.

Draco tried very, very hard not to – well – go hard. It was more than a body could stand though. Al was wearing a dress. And not only that, stockings. The dress was red and white and mostly frills. His face was the perfect red colour to match.

Draco suddenly became aware of a choking noise. He looked over at Potter. He appeared to be having a fit – although whether he was laughing or crying, it was difficult to tell.

Al slumped down next to Scorpius. His skirt was too short, and Draco got far too good a look at the white, lacy women’s knickers he was wearing.

Scorpius picked up a card, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. “Kiss the person you fancy most in the room,” he read out. He smiled and turned to Al. “That would be you.”

Draco watched, in silence, as Scorpius kissed a boy in a dress. And not just kissed. One hand was sliding up Al’s thigh, and the front of Al’s skirt was bunched out more than it should have been. Draco couldn’t tell if Scorpius was pushing Al’s legs apart on purpose or not, but he had a sudden view of Al’s eager erection, straining at the too-small knickers surrounding it.

And if he could see it, Draco reasoned, then Al’s father could also see it. He snuck a look at his childhood rival. Harry’s face was horrified. Draco snuck a look at another part of Potter. His face may have been horrified, but the tent in his trousers said something quite different.

“Your turn, Harry,” Scorpius suddenly said, breaking off. “What does yours say?”

Harry blushed, right to the tips of his ears, and looked at the card in his hand. “I think there’s a mistake,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s a repeat of the last card. Perhaps I should shuffle and take another.”

“No,” Scorpius said, “that’s cheating. Either take the card, or take a dare. Al will give you a task, I think.”

“I’ll take Al’s task,” Harry said, very quickly. He smiled, rather awkwardly. “Don’t forget I’m your dad and I can still give you a good spanking.”

Al – still erect, still in a dress – looked a bit startled. He fiddled with the hem of his skirt. Then Scorpius – devil child – whispered something in his ear. Al frowned, “isn’t that cheating, as well?”

“’Course not,” Scorpius said. “But pick something else if you want.”

Al looked over at his father. Draco was amused to see that Harry was staring with great determination at the floor, rather than look at his son. “Er. I want to see you do the task on the card,” Al said.

Harry looked up at him then. “You – pardon?” he said. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “What?”

“You heard,” Al said.

Draco felt his heart begin to beat triple time.

“I don’t think I want to play any more,” Harry said, very quietly.

“Mr Potter?” Scorpius said. “You’ll insult my father if you don’t.”

Draco felt a sudden, strong desire to leap up and murder his son. Surely he wouldn’t be sent to Azkaban for it? There was provocation enough, he thought. No-one could say otherwise.

Harry turned towards him. “Draco?” he said. He sounded terrified.

Draco wished the floor would swallow him up. Was that really the first time that Potter had ever called him by his first name?

And now Potter was leaning over. “You aren’t going to hex me, are you?” Potter said.

“Would you like me to?” Draco said, trying to stop himself from fleeing.

“Er, no,” Potter replied. Then his mouth was on Draco’s, and then it wasn’t, and it was over before Draco had even taken a breath.

“Not good enough,” Al said. “Pathetic, really, after waiting all your life for it.”

“Albus Severus!” Harry said. “That’s enough!”

Draco thought it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough by far. He wanted… Oh God.

“Kiss him back, father,” Scorpius said, rather severely. “You want to, don’t you?”

“What is this?” Harry said. He was trembling. “Are you all mad? He doesn’t— We shouldn’t—“

“My father’s Christmas present,” Scorpius said, smiling over at Harry.

“What? You don’t make any sense.”

“It’s you,” Scorpius said. “In a way.” He crawled over to Harry and whispered in his ear.

Draco tried to stop him, he really did. He seemed, however, to be paralysed by a combination of rage and terror. Once he regained control of his limbs he was going to kill his son – in a variety of terrible, lengthy and painful ways. Who cared about the Malfoy line? It would be worth it.

Harry drew in a shaky breath. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “What?” he said again, staring at Scorpius.

“You heard,” Scorpius said. “Can I kiss Al now?”

“What?” Harry said. “Oh. Yes. Of course. You don’t need my permission.”

Scorpius grinned, before pushing Al down to the floor. He slipped between Al’s legs, nuzzling his face up against Al’s crotch, before tugging aside his flimsy underwear. Al made a token attempt to push him off, before screwing his eyes tight shut and lying back.

“What?” Harry said again. His eyes were fixed on Scorpius, like he was mesmerised. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Kissing Al,” Scorpius said, looking up at Harry for a moment, before turning back and taking a long lick of Al’s cock. Al bucked and made a hissing sound. “Obviously. You should kiss my father now.”

“Scorpius, stop that,” Draco said.

“Why?” Scorpius said. He took another lick. “He likes it. You like it. Harry likes it. I’m just the only one admitting it.”

Draco took a very quick look at Harry. Harry looked back. “This can’t be happening,” Harry said. “Draco—“

“I apologise for my son,” Draco said, feeling very weary. “But there’s nothing I can do about him. He’s a law unto himself.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I meant… Fuck it.”

Draco found himself kissing Harry Potter. Or rather, he found himself being kissed by Harry Potter. Harry Potter was kissing him. Kissing him, whilst their sons did unspeakable things right next to them. Harry was warm and soft and gentle, and Draco wanted him more than anything in the whole world. “I want,“ he said against Potter – Harry’s – mouth. “I want…”

“This is my present,” Scorpius said, interrupting Draco’s – albeit tenuous – train of thought. “Really, you should do what I say, Harry. You’re my gift to my father.”

“Life doesn’t work like that,” Harry said.

Draco looked over. Scorpius and Al were sitting up, leaning against each other. Scorpius had his hand between Al’s legs, and Al was red-faced and panting.

Scorpius took a lick along the line of Al’s throat, and Al moaned and writhed against him.

“Should do,” Scorpius said. “One day it will.” He smiled, and Draco thought that if Harry didn’t touch him soon then he might expire from need. The look on Al’s face… it was very motivating.

“Or you could order us about,” Scorpius said, putting his head on one side. “As long as my father is happy, I’m happy.” He looked over at Draco. Draco tried not to flinch. “Are you happy?”

Draco moistened his lips. “Well…”

Scorpius nodded sharply at Harry. “Go on. I know you want to.”

Draco stared helplessly at Harry. His clothes were crumpled, his cock straining against his trousers, and his face wasn’t exactly unwilling. He moved over to him and put his hands to Harry’s belt. There was no resistance, so he took that as consent, pulling Harry’s cock out of his pants.

Harry made a noise then, but it wasn’t one of complaint. Draco looked up, feeling more terrified than he had in a long time, and was encouraged. Harry’s eyes were screwed tight shut, his face already flushed and beaded with sweat. One hand reached out and clutched at Draco.

Draco swiped his tongue across Harry’s lips and Harry opened up obligingly, his tongue melting against Draco’s own as Draco took hold of his cock. Draco felt so turned on he was in danger of coming in his trousers. It was both welcome and unwelcome, therefore, when a body pressed up against him from behind, reaching round to undo his trousers and take hold of him. He didn’t know which of the evil devil children it was, but he almost didn’t care. Harry was moaning, and it was he who was the cause of it. Then he felt another body behind him – and another hand, clasping with the other to stroke up and down his cock. Draco gasped and pulled away. He’d waited for this moment for years – he wasn’t going to spoil it by coming in under ten minutes, because two children were determined to be his undoing.

Harry’s eyes were very wide.

“Bed,” Scorpius said, from close behind Draco. Draco tried not to flinch.

“Mmm,” Al said in Draco’s ear. “Yeah.”

Draco found himself holding out a hand to Harry. “Coming?”

Harry swallowed. “They’re both… Draco, they’re… We can’t…”

“Can,” Scorpius said. “It is a special occasion. Please?”

Harry nodded, and Draco felt his insides flip. This was really going to happen. It was really going to happen. Fucking, fucking hell.

“Father’s bed,” Scorpius said, flicking his wand. It increased in size. “Welcome, all. Clothes off, I think.” He flicked his wand again, and Draco didn’t need to look down to know that he was as naked as the other three had suddenly become.

They were all too close – too close and too sober by far. Two fathers and two sons should not be so close, Draco thought. He shouldn’t want to be so close. Right now, however, he couldn’t tell which body he wanted to be closest to. Potter’s, he suspected. Although right now he felt so needy that even his own son’s right hand would have been a welcome relief.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, seeing a pot appear in Scorpius’ hand.

“Lube,” Scorpius said. He smeared the oily liquid over two of Al’s fingers and whispered in his ear, before slicking up his own hand. “Bend over, father mine.”

“Why?” Draco asked, rather dumbly.

“So Al can stick his fingers up your arse,” Scorpius said. He pushed at Harry, positioning him in front of Draco, before sliding his hand over Harry’s cock, and bending down over Draco’s lap.

Harry bit his lip, then leaned forward, kissing Draco. He was breathing hard.

It was an interesting feeling, Draco thought – or tried to think. His brain was turning into liquid goo. There was a mouth surrounding his cock. There was a tongue against his. There was a finger fucking his arse.

He was pushed around, and then there was something bigger against his arsehole. Harry Potter was panting and moaning, swearing in his ear. He sat back and Harry’s self-control evidently snapped. He started fucking Draco at speed. When Draco looked down, Scorpius and Al were kissing his cock – taking turns to bend down and lick and nibble at it.

Draco came – so drawn out that it felt like it lasted for minutes, rather than the usual seconds. Two tongues came out to lap his come up, and he felt like he was coming again, but they wouldn’t stop. He struggled, but Harry had the tightest grip on his hips and he couldn’t move. Every muscle in his body tightened. Then Harry slammed into him.

“Draco,” Harry said, very softly, then shuddered and shuddered and bit down on his shoulder so hard that Draco knew there would be teeth marks.

In front of him, Scorpius and Al leaned over his cock and wanked each other off, shooting strings of come over each other’s stomachs. They collapsed against each other, kissing and kissing and kissing.

“Mmm,” Scorpius said finally, pulling away. “I think I’ll leave you to enjoy your Christmas present in peace, father.” He tugged Al up with him. “But this one’s just mine from now on, I think. I hope you don’t mind.”

Al smiled as if all his dreams had come true and followed him out of the room.

Draco wondered what you said to your former arch-enemy when his cock was still up your arse, and his teeth-marks on your shoulder.

The clock struck twelve.

“Happy Christmas?” Draco said, rather stiffly.

There was a soft laugh from behind him. “You’re mad. Your son is mad. My son is mad. I’m mad. But yes, Happy Christmas, Draco.”

Harry shifted, sliding out of him and pulling him round into a hug. “Now let’s fuck some more,” Harry suggested, a wicked glint in his eye. “There’s a dinner table with our names on it.”

Draco laughed, rather weakly, and led the way. He was still going to kill his son. But he’d save it for later – much later. Right now he had much better things to do.