Title: Want
Pairings: Draco/Albus Severus
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,500
Warnings: Age difference, teacher/student
Disclaimer: The characters depicted herein belong JK Rowling and associated publishers. I make no profit from this endeavour.
Author's notes: Thanks to singlemomsummer for the beta. Written for hp_kinkfest 2012.
Summary: Albus is persistent and Draco is going to hell.

Sometimes it's like he's going round and round in circles, always working hard, always tired, always lonely. Scorpius has been for dinner and returned to his dorm and Draco's by himself – again. He loves his job, walking in the footsteps of Severus Snape, but is this really what he wants to do for the rest of his life? He's forty-four not one-hundred and the future stretches out before him, cold, bleak and empty. Can this really be all there is?

He showers and dries himself slowly, staring at himself in the mirror. It's still his face, he's still blond, and he's still him. He feels every second of his years in that moment. How quickly the time passes, blink and you're no longer eighteen and free with the world at your feet. He's got creases around his eyes and a jaded look in his eye. It's not often that he actually feels his years, but tonight is one of those times.

With a heavy sigh, he pads from the bathroom to his bedroom, rubbing his hair with a towel, and that's when he sees him and stops dead, unable to tear his eyes away.

Albus Potter is lying on his bed, his raven hair blue in the half light, propped up by cushions on top of the duvet, wearing nothing but a devious smirk. "Hello, Professor," Al smirks. "I'd like to talk about my grade now, please."

Draco gapes because it's all he can do. "How did you get past my wards?" he finally manages to say and Al just smiles and shrugs and Draco wonders how on earth this boy escaped being put into Slytherin. He's the spit of his father, no scar and paler skin but in every other way…and that fascinates Draco; but, it wasn't Harry Potter he thought of now when he looked at Al. No, Al is more than a carbon copy of the saviour. Draco never once had the urge to bend Harry Potter over a desk in the way he does his son on a daily basis.

"You-" he starts and the words die in his throat as Al lifts one thigh and the very obvious erection, a mouth-watering purplish red, becomes silhouetted by the expanse of pale toned skin and Merlin, Draco knows he's about to lose the fight with his shame and his conscience. Not that he's trying very hard to battle. It's all he can do not to drool.

"Yes?" Al's misty gaze fixes on him, and the years fall away. When Draco was seventeen he never got to do this with anyone. He's never been with someone who is seventeen. Draco was too caught up in the war to have time for anything other than worry and fear. He's never had a teenage lover; his first had been a woman and then he'd done his duty and married her, Astoria, to please he parents, too grateful they were all alive to care and his marriage had lasted five years before Astoria left him for someone else. He was amazed it lasted as long as it did considering his preference for men.

He'd never had this and maybe he was owed it.

Maybe he was just making excuses, but he wanted Al, wanted him, wanted him, wanted him and- "Um-"

"Are you just going to stand there, Sir, or are you going to come here and let me earn that O?"

"Al, stop this immediately," Draco orders feebly, trying to at least put up some resistance against the direction his thoughts are leading him. He knows that if he was any sort of a decent human being he would have thrown Al out the moment he walked in and found him here, and the fact that he hasn't is very telling.

"I'm just concerned about my grades, Sir I have to get into that program." Al stares at him, all false innocence and bravado. "Don't feel bad that you want to give in to me, and I know you do. I want it. I've wanted you since you started here when I was in fourth year."

"And what does a fourteen year old know about 'wanting' someone?" Draco asks, thinking of himself at fourteen and that ill-advised crush he'd had on Cedric Diggory. Merlin, the things he'd fantasised about doing to that boy…

"I knew plenty," Al says, licking his lips. "I sucked my first cock when I was thirteen." He lifts his hips and slides a hand over the length of his cock.

"Merlin," Draco whimpers as his gaze is drawn to the prize, the paleness of Al's fist against the furious red of his cock is not a vista he can ignore.

Going to hell, going to hell, going to hell.

"I fucked someone for the first time a week after that," Al says, running his thumb over the slit and groaning. "I want to fuck you."

That seals it. Draco moves forward, his legs having developed a will of their own. As he raises one knee to crawl on the bed, he thinks that if he's going to go to hell for this he's going to make it be worth it. He straddles Al and looks down into that striking face, so like his father yet in so many ways, so different. His towel pools around him and his own hard cock pokes free. Al bucks beneath him and Draco runs a reverent hand over the smooth silk of his chest.

"You're a menace, Potter, you know that?" he says as his hand replaces Al's and closes around the younger man's cock and he teases the head with a sharp fingernail. "So persistent, so self-assured and so – fucking – hot." The floodgates have opened and everything Draco's been holding back on for months now is bursting free.

"I'm pleased you think so," is Al's reply. "So, are you going to let me?"

Yes. Draco wants his knees by his ears and Al's cock in him. Now. He's never wanted anything more. "What makes you think I'd like that?" he asks sternly.

Al tilts his head, not fooled by Draco's tone, the smirk melting into something almost like vulnerability, and he says, "If you don't want that thenyou can fuck me, I don't care as long as this finally happens."

It's fucked up, Draco knows he should be fighting this more, but in his head letting Al take him instead of the other way around seems less of an abuse of power – because that is the only issue here, the boy is of age. Draco prefers to bottom anyway. He loves nothing more than being filled, of having thick come running out of his hole and down his thigh. He wants that from Al.

His hands shake in anticipation, one on Al's hip, the moving from his cock to rest flat against his hollow stomach. "That won't be necessary."

He could stop now, he could. Merlin knows he should. Al is the same age as Scorpius. This is wrong. This is-

"I want you to ride me," Al breathes, interrupting Draco's train of thought by closing a calloused palm around Draco's length. "I don't want to wait. I want to be lazy and use the all the charms known to man, I want to be inside you now. I want-"

"Demanding aren't you?" Draco's so turned on he might just come from the Al's words. "I want, I want, I want." He leans forward and brushes his lips over Al's, just a touch across that delicious pink pout.

It's his point of no return. He sits backwards, searching Al's determined eyes for a moment and Al reaches up and pulls Draco back in and when their lips meet for a second time Draco ignites. He opens up for Al, letting the younger man in, letting him seize control, vaguely registering a finger breaching his arse and the most used wandless charm in the Wizarding world allowing the finger to slide deeper.

"I want you," Al hisses, pulling out of the kiss to stare up at Draco, the grey of his eyes barely visible. "I've waited too long to hold back now."

"Impatient brat," Draco says, sitting back onto Al's thighs and forcing him to remove his finger, gliding his hands down his sides and, ignoring the long thick cock that's making his mouth water, he slides a finger beneath Al's legs and traces along the seam there, watching for a reaction. On Draco's own body that is his most sensitive spot. Al writhes. Yes, he likes it too. Draco dips a finger, a whisper of a touch over Al's hole, yes, so responsive.

Draco grins. This is a one-time only occurrence, and yes, he's so far over the mark of decency now, he's here and he's going to make it good. He leans forward, nibbling a path of tiny kisses up Al's flat abdomen, biting at rosy nipples, spreading his own legs so fingers can find their way inside again to stretch him.

"I want inside of you," Al says breathily, one hand in Draco's hair as Draco sucks and bites on his neck and the other three fingers deep inside him. "I want-"

"A good lover listens to what their partner wants as well," Draco chides. "You haven't asked me what I want."

Al's eyes widen like it's never occurred to him to ask. It's likely that it hasn't. "What do you want?" he eventually asks, and even as he's speaking, his fingers are curling inside Draco, brushing over his prostate, making Draco hurt. For someone who wanted now there's certainly a lot of time that has passed since the declaration.

"As it happens, I want what you want," Draco smirks. "I just wanted you to ask."

"Now?"

"Ten minutes ago," Draco replies and raises himself up onto his knees he slowly lowers himself down onto Al's cock. He hears Al's breathing hitch, watches the pleasure chase across his face. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

When he's completely filled Al reaches up and threads the fingers of one of his hands through Draco's. His other hand settles on Draco's hip. "Move," he says, licking his lips. "Move!"

Draco does. He lifts himself up and starts a slow rhythm, his eyes locked with Al's, his cock a burning presence untouched against his stomach. Al groans and bites his lip, his black hair fanning over the pillow like a halo; Draco knows he's anything but an angel, the kid is a demon, tempting him to do things he should never do and now it's too late.

Slow becomes furious and Draco knows he's not going to be able to hold back from coming for long, even like this, untouched. He's leaning forwards now, his hand still in Al's, the angle of the cock inside him is hitting all the right nerves and Al's ability to hold back his moans of pleasure has long since left him.

"I want you to come before me," he instructs boldly. "I want it all over me; want you to scream my name."

Draco grins, leaning in to kiss him, "That shouldn't be a problem," he whispers and takes a taste of Al, swallowing up the delicious sounds he's making, rocking himself down onto his cock. Al responds with vigour, biting back at Draco, bucking his hips to meet Draco's downward thrusts.

Draco starts to feel his orgasm build, curling through his insides and rising up ready to explode out of him. He pulls back, grinding himself down onto Al as he shoots with Al' name on his tongue, his come coating Al's chest, some of it splashing his chin. It's fucking amazing. He's never come like that, not without a hand on his cock or a warm body enveloping it.

He keeps rocking, Al hasn't come yet and Draco wants to see his face when he does. Something to commit to his memory of the one time they're together.

He clenches himself around him, says, "Want you," and waits. And watches.

When it happens, it's beautiful. Al reacts like this is his first time, his face a picture of wonder and amazement, followed by closed eyes and a sharp cry of, "Draco!"

It's the first time he's addressed him by his given name. Draco likes it too much. He leans in for another kiss, best not to think about the effect this is having on him and just savour it.

When Al's cock stops twitching, Draco kisses his forehead and lifts himself off, lying flat on his back next to him; both of them breathing like the Hogwarts Express.

When the silence slips from post-orgasm to uncomfortable Draco says, "You have to go now."

"But-"

"I'll give you the O, just go, please." He lies there listening to the clock ticking on the side, and Al's gasp and then his breathing and when there's neither an argument nor any movement, he turns to look at him. He's lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open and unblinking. "Didn't you hear me?" Draco pushes.

He stares at the ceiling and listens to Al gather his things and go, surprised by the lack of complaint. The door clicks closed behind him and Draco exhales, waiting for the remorse.

It doesn't come.

The loneliness does.

Draco doesn't meet Al's eye for the rest of the week, but he's all he thinks about. He spends Saturday Pansy and Blaise at their house in Devon, trying to feel part of something again and he goes back to Hogwarts on Sunday morning feeling emptier than ever.

Sunday afternoon is usually set aside for taking a walk or reading, but Draco doesn't feel like doing anything that might result in thinking so he starts on his marking instead. There's plenty of that to keep his mind occupied.

It works until he gets to the seventh year's pile. On the top is Albus Potter's. Draco stares at it, the flowery scrawl of his handwriting doing things to his insides.

Still the remorse does not follow.

Draco unfolds the parchment, trying to shelve the curdling in his stomach, as he does so it glows gold and sends what looks like a miniature Patronus into the ether. Draco blinks in surprise and turns his attention to the paper.

The set homework was twelve inches of research on how to make a potion to combat stress and anxiety. Albus Potter has written two inches, messily scratched it all out and scrawled underneath: 'I think that a good shag is the best form of stress relief. This is best practically demonstrated in person.' Draco glares at it, not sure how he's supposed to respond. It was supposed to be just the one time… It'd been how he's justified it to himself. Just once, like it never happened.

Somehow, though, he's not surprised by the knock in the door that follows moments after, and the sounds of someone entering unbidden.

It's wrong, he knows it, but he's been thinking of maybe doing something else, setting up his own Apothecary perhaps- He's not going to hell, just to a new career, and that's infinitely better in his head. Yes, that's the answer-

The curdle turns to butterflies and Draco smiles and says with a flick of his wrist as he locks the door, "Come on in Al. I'll take that practical demonstration now."