Teddy/Albus fic, continued

[hollycomb]

Albus wakes up freezing cold and tries to remember why he's naked. When his nude campaign and the reason for it come back to him, he sits up with an irritable groan and looks around for Teddy. The bedroom is full of filtered sunlight, which Albus finds insulting. He was on board for an entire summer of rain and fog.

Again, Teddy has put out clothes for him. He stands in his blanket and regards them for a few minutes, then dresses as quickly as he can, cursing the chill in the bedroom. He takes his wand from the bedside table and performs a spiteful warming charm on the room before leaving.

He skips breakfast and walks out to the field where Teddy was working the day before. It's empty, humming with insects and just beginning to warm under the sun. Albus hugs his arms and wanders the adjoining property until he finds Teddy waist deep in the marsh, holding a test tube up into the light to observe some slime he's captured.

“Hey,” Albus shouts, and Teddy flinches. He almost drops the test tube, but recovers it at the last moment, tucking it to his chest. Albus stands at the edge of the marsh and scowls at him, but can't come up with anything to complain about, outside of the fact that Teddy is getting on with his life rather than doting over him the way he did the night before. Albus half-remembers a dream that Teddy undressed him and gave him a sponge bath in his claw-footed tub, and he shudders the thought away.

“How are you feeling?” Teddy asks, as if Albus is ill. Pleased by this treatment, he shrugs petulantly.

“Do you need any help?” he hears himself say. Teddy stares back at him with surprise.

“Sure, mate.”

Albus goes back to the house to put on a pair of Teddy's wading boots, too big and almost impossible to move in, and joins him in the sucking mud of the marsh. He's not sure why he's doing this, and doesn't want to consider the possibility that it might be because he doesn't want to be alone. Teddy gives him complete lectures on every specimen he collects, and Albus pretends to listen. Birds call through the high trees that surround the marsh, and the day finally heats up, but Albus still catches hints of the cold air from the coast.

“Can we go to the beach?” he asks when they're back at the house for lunch.

“Tomorrow,” Teddy says. “Or - you could go today. I've got work to do, but I could tell you how to get there.”

Albus shrugs, then spends the rest of the afternoon taking a long bath and a nap while Teddy works in the next room. When he wakes up, the light has just begun to darken to orange. He goes out to the living area and looks at the kitchen table, where an envelope is resting near the seat he's taken at dinner for the past two nights.

“What's that?” he asks.

“Letter from your father,” Teddy says without looking up from his desk.

“Fuck.” Albus doesn't move from the bedroom doorway.

“Yeah.” Teddy turns to him, but Albus doesn't look back, won't receive his sympathy. The letter seems to grow monstrous and deafening on the table, and panic swells through Albus at the thought of facing even his father's handwriting.

“I'll make dinner tonight,” Albus says. He goes to the table and quickly deposits the letter into the bin. Teddy watches him and stands.

“Albus.” His chair slides from his desk, but Albus only opens the ice box, doesn't turn to see him approach. He roots through various vegetables, unable to determine if they are specimens or ingredients.

“Don't,” he says to Teddy. “Don't tell me I should read it and for the love of fuck, don't try to defend him.”

“I'm not.”

Teddy is standing behind him, close enough to touch. Albus isn't sure why he's concerned with where he's standing. He isn't sure what the fuck's going on generally, and he can hardly be blamed for this. He lingers in the cold air of the ice box's chilling charm, letting it cool his cheeks and bring his pulse back down to a normal speed.

“You don't have to cook,” Teddy says, and Albus scoffs as if he's missed the point.

“I want to.”

“Do you even know how? What are you looking for?”

Albus wants to scream, I don't know, but his voice wouldn't come up angry, just terrified, so he says nothing. He grabs a bundle of carrots and stands up straight. Teddy has him cornered, like he's going to make him talk about it.

“I'll make carrot soup,” Albus blurts. Teddy offers a semi-encouraging expression and goes back to his desk.

Albus doesn't know how to make carrot soup, but how hard could it be? There's a cold line of sweat along his upper lip and at the back of his neck, and he needs to think about something other than the letter that seems to be glowing and screeching from the bin he threw it into. He finds a large sauce pan with copper bottom and uses his wand to light the stove, then to shred the carrots. They go into the pot, followed by some type of broth from a jar in the ice box, and some water for - extra liquid? - and then he begins on the fun part: the spices. Teddy has quite a collection of them, overflowing in the cabinets and lined up on the counter. Albus sniffs each of them before adding them to the pot, and after ten or so have been incorporated, he finishes with salt and pepper.

“Smells good,” Teddy calls from his desk, and, actually, he isn't lying. Proud of himself, Albus walks to his desk to hover. He peers at Teddy's sketches and barely legible notes. They're stacked all over the desk, some spilling over onto the floor.

“What's your, like, goal in life?” he asks, and Teddy laughs. “I mean, do you want to be a professor, or the foremost expert in this rubbish - er, subject, or what?”

“Honestly?” Teddy says. “I'm pretty happy the way things are.”

“Living alone on Foulness in a drippy cottage?”

“Drippy, is it? Is that why -“ He stops himself before trying to articulate what Albus is doing here.

“It's a fine cottage,” Albus admits. It has it's problems, but in contrast to the atmosphere outside it is rather cozy. “But, you're. I mean. What are you working toward?”

“I told you,” Teddy says. “I'm putting together an encyclopedia. What exactly do you plan to do with your life, while we're on the subject?”

“I thought I'd linger over your shoulder and harass you, mostly.”

Teddy grins and shakes his head.

Albus serves his carrot soup with trepidation, and is enormously relieved when it somehow tastes incredible. He and Teddy look at each other over their bowls, stunned.

“Is this a recipe of your mother's?” Teddy asks. Half his soup is already gone.

“No, it's one of my own invention,” Albus says. “I guess I have a talent for it - maybe I'll become a chef, eh?”

“You could be my personal chef,” Teddy says with a laugh. He turns red and goes to the stove for a second helping. Albus beams when his back is turned. He feels strangely uplifted by this accomplishment, like he's downed firewhiskey and fizzing whizbees at the same time and it has miraculously turned out to be a good combination.

Albus has a second bowl as well, and then he eats some straight from the pot. Teddy comes to his side to join him, and they both lick their spoons and grin stupidly. Teddy tries to start the dishes, but his spell misfires and cracks the windowpane. Albus tries not to laugh, but Teddy is already bent over with hilarity, and Albus lets himself fall onto his arse with laughter, until he's laid out on the floor, shaking and crying with it.

“Oh, fuck,” Teddy says. Something falls over on the counter, and Albus finds this hilarious, too. “Albus - Albus - you didn't put this in the soup, did you?” Teddy holds up one of the spice containers that Albus left sitting on the counter. It's labeled with some indecipherable code, a reddish-brown, flaky spice.

“Yeah,” Albus says. He grins. “It smelled really good.”

“Fucking hell,” Teddy says, but he's still laughing. “These are shavings from gadolinium tree bark, Albus. Of course it fucking smells good.” He sets the stuff on the counter and wipes at his eyes, convulsing with laughter.

“What the fuck is gado - gado -“

“Oh, nothing, it's just a powerful hallucinogen that's illegal to ingest.”

They both laugh pretty hard at this, Teddy joining Albus on the floor.

“But I'm not hallucinating,” Albus says when he's regained his breath. Teddy is leaning over him with a wet-lipped smile. His glasses have fallen off.

“I've no idea what the stuff does when mixed with carrots and whatever the hell else you put in there,” Teddy says. “Some wizards smoke the shavings in pipes so they'll have 'visions.' It's used in small amounts in some mood-lifting potions that require prescriptions.” Teddy wipes his mouth. “We've got to keep our wits,” he says. “This could be bad.” He smiles as if it's all a great joke.

“Yeah,” Albus says dreamily. He reaches up to touch Teddy's cheek. It's warm and soft, like any cheek he's ever touched, but for some reason the feel of it under his hand shoots a hard tremble down through his legs. It's probably just the tree bark flakes. Definitely. Teddy's mouth has fallen open, gone wet again.

“We should get up,” he says. “And have some - some - uh, dried yorkberry bush leaves. That might lessen the effect.”

“But I like the effect.”

“Albus!” Teddy bites down on his smile and pulls himself up with great effort, then reaches for Albus. “It's dangerous. This stuff is like truth serum. It makes you - irresponsible.”

“I'm okay with that,” Albus says as Teddy drags him over to the couch and dumps him there. Albus holds out his arms and smiles, like a kid asking for another piggy back ride. Teddy blinks heavily and shakes his head.

“Bugger, bugger - shit,” he mutters. He stumbles over to a cabinet near his desk and begins rifling through bottles. “Yorkberries - yorkberry root - ah, here they are, the leaves. I've only got a few.”

“You can have them,” Albus says, waving his hand in Teddy's direction. He spreads himself out on the sofa and moans happily, a warm, tingling sensation rolling from his shoulders down past his lap. “I like it,” he says in a sigh.

“God, if your parents knew I was getting you high.”

“Fuck them,” Albus says airily. “I'd have them become drug fiends ten thousand times before what they actually did.”

“Albus.” Teddy is chewing something crunchy. He comes over to the sofa and sits down, leans over to poke a minty-smelling leaf near Albus' lips. He spits and pushes it away.

“I know it's hard to have perspective,” Teddy says. He eats the leaf himself, makes a face. He's put his glasses back on, and they're horribly crooked. “But you'll have to forgive your father eventually.”

“Like bloody hell I will.”

“People can't help who they fall in love with.”

“Terrific! Then he should have married Hermione from the offset and left my mother out of it. Bloody fucking liar. All he cares about is appearing like someone who does the right thing and getting away with whatever he wants.”

Albus still feels blissed out, and even saying all of this out loud is like relief burning warm in his chest. Teddy is watching him as if he's doing some fascinating acrobatic trick, and that's kind of nice, too. Albus reaches for him, but can't quite grip the sleeve of his shirt. Teddy swallows so hard Albus can hear it.

“We should stop talking,” he says. Albus grins and lets his leg slide off the sofa, shifts to open up his hips.

“Okay.”

“Stop.” Teddy pinches his eyes shut like he's willing his yorkberry leaves to work. “Don't be insane.”

“I didn't do anything,” Albus says. “You want to stop talking, we'll stop talking.”

Teddy puts a hand over his mouth, moans. The sound hits Albus deep in the pit of his stomach, and his cock twitches inside his trousers. Just this is enough to tell him that sex with the gadolinium bark in his system would blow the top of his head off. He sits up and stares at Teddy until he looks back.

“You don't understand, Albus,” he says. “You're brave. It's hard for most people. Your father - after the war. And my father - he was - do you know Sirius Black?”

“I've heard of him.”

Teddy's hands are shaking, and Albus wants hold them still between his, but he waits to hear what he's trying to say.

“Yes, well. Some people feel they must - do right by others instead of themselves. But you and I are only alive because of that social pressure, so I suppose it's not all bad. I always admired you, though. I don't suppose I've ever told you. You came out when you were fifteen like it was nothing. It'd be a completely different world, Albus, if more people were that brave, that self-assured. But like I said. You and I might not be alive.”

Albus tries to parse this, and when he can't, he only scoots forward. Just the act of doing so makes his erection swell to the point of no return.

“Teddy,” he says thickly, his cheeks hot and his eyelids heavy.

“It's okay.” Teddy pushes his lips together. “It's just the bark. That's why your soup tasted so good. God, we both ate a lot of it.”

This sounds absolutely filthy for reasons Albus couldn't name, and he climbs onto his knees. Teddy tips his head back onto the sofa cushions and seems to surrender. Albus takes his glasses off, folds them up and leans across him to set them on a rickety table beside the sofa. Teddy leans forward to push his face into Albus' hair, and his eyes are shut when Albus sits back to look at him.

“The truth is.” Teddy licks his lips. “Ever since I heard you like boys, I've had such a fucked up crush on you. You're such a fucking brat, Albus, and everyone just took it in stride like the world would rearrange itself for whatever you wanted. I've wanted - wanted -“

“What?” Albus throws a leg across his lap and sits on his knees, straddling him. He pushes Teddy's shoulders back against the sofa, listens to him gulp back a whine. “What'd you want? Say it.”

“I wanted to hammer your arse until you screamed my name.” Teddy says so like every word hurts. Albus slams a kiss onto him, his head swimming, and he thinks that perhaps he is hallucinating, because purplish bursts of light explode behind his eyelids when Teddy moans into his mouth, so loud that it shakes through both of them.

“You want this?” Albus asks breathlessly. Teddy's legs spread beneath him, pulling him apart. He grabs Teddy's hand and brings it back to his arse. Teddy is trembling and uncertain, but he rubs his hand up along Albus' crack and nods languidly. Albus isn't going to last long, but he doesn't give a fuck. He can't think of anything he's ever wanted as much as Teddy's cock rock hard and slamming into him, and even yesterday he wouldn't have believed this, but here he is. He doesn't care that they'll regret this and that neither of them are in their right minds and especially couldn't give a shit that it's all his fault. He feels insanely proud of himself as he gropes Teddy's erection through his trousers and watches him curse and struggle to buck harder against his hand. There is something awfully like the 1812 Overture playing in his head, and every nerve in his body is cheering this on.

Fabric rips as they take each other's clothes off, and they leave their wands in the back pockets of their discarded trousers, because this has a momentum all its own and there is no magical accompaniment required. Albus falls back onto the sofa, lit up by his own nakedness, and he grins wickedly at Teddy as he watches Albus touch himself absently, just a quick brush of his hand over his balls and then a light run of his fingers up the length of his cock, enough to make his own breath catch but not to bring him off.

“God,” Teddy chokes out, almost a sob. Albus folds his hands behind his head and tips his knees as far apart as he can. Teddy doesn't look half bad without his clothes, milk-white except for his cock, which is red and full and leaking.

“Suck me off,” Albus says, calm and clear, as if he's in complete control. “I want to come in your mouth. You're gonna swallow my come and fucking love it, understand?”

Teddy nods in agreement, but only after giving him a dark look of understanding that tells Albus this won't go quite the way it has with the tremblingly agreeable poufs at Hogwarts. He shivers happily at the realization, and watches Teddy bend down to breathe hotly onto the head of his cock. Albus strains upward until he's pushed it against Teddy's wet lips. Teddy licks around the head obediently, and Albus moans loud enough to wake the nonexistent neighbors. He's so hot, not only on his face but all through his chest and between his thighs, and he's a bit afraid that it's a dangerous effect of the bark, but he's not concerned enough to push away from Teddy's mouth, which sends another white-hot flush roiling through him when it's fully encircled his cock. Teddy's lips slide down, almost to this base, and then up again, his tongue working along the underside. Albus' hands scratch feebly at the sofa, looking for something to hold onto. If he pushes them into Teddy's hair he's afraid he'll rip two handfuls out when he comes.

“You're good at this,” Albus huffs, trying to focus his eyes on the cobweb-laced ceiling, to concentrate on something other than Teddy's tongue, which is flicking through the slit of his cockhead. “Oh, you, you. Must do a lot of cocksucking - ah, fuck, fuck yeah, like that.”

Teddy is ominously quiet, as if he'll have his turn to talk later. Albus grins at the idea and squirms as Teddy licks his balls, which have grown so heavy they hurt. Every movement of Teddy's tongue is like a needle prick that fades to a glorious slow burn.

“Please,” Albus allows himself to whisper, his desperate hands digging hard into the sofa cushions, his chest and shoulders so tight he's afraid they'll be sore, but by tomorrow, what part of him won't be?

“Please?” Teddy returns softly. He strokes the trembling insides of Albus' thighs, reveling in the soft, hairless skin there.

“Fuck!” Albus cries. His eyes are actually wet, and it feels disturbingly good to blink hot tears down his cheeks. “Just - please - I'll - please -“

“You want to come right down my throat?” Teddy asks. He runs one careful finger up the length of Albus' prick, and Albus bucks against it pathetically. “That was the plan, eh?”

“Please,” is all Albus can manage, the word cracked in two places.

“And in exchange? You'll let me take what I want, will you?”

“You know I will. Please, Teddy, Teddy - ah! yeaaah.”

Albus melts back into the sofa when Teddy's mouth slides over his cock then back up, until his lips are just circling the head. Teddy holds his balls firmly, running his thumb across the soft skin where they meet the base of Albus' cock. Albus goes tense again quickly, his orgasm building just under Teddy's thumb, and when his cock is encased again in Teddy's mouth, pressed almost to the back of his throat, he lets it go, crying out some combination of Teddy's name and several apt curse words, his cock pumping hard into Teddy's mouth, spilling out two days worth of unwanked come. His eyes are still leaking when Teddy pulls back slowly, swallowing the last of it.

“Fucking fuck,” is all he can think to say, shaking and sweating, no part of him dry. Teddy wipes his mouth and takes a deep breath. He quirks a smile that makes Albus nervous.

“That was the best I've ever had,” Albus gushes, hoping this flattery will make Teddy go easy on him. Albus has only ever fucked only one bloke, and has never had the favor returned, though he's had enough fingers up his arse to know that he'd like it.

“Liked that, did you?” Teddy says. He leans over Albus and kisses him, and it's such a comfort that Albus pulls him down fully, so that they're pressed together, so much skin and warmth and sweat. Teddy's cock is pressed between them, hard and hot like a branding iron. Albus gulps air gracelessly when Teddy leans back.

“Let's go into the bedroom,” Teddy says. Albus nods, and Teddy gets off the couch with some effort, as if the weight of his cock has thrown him off balance. Albus stares at it with mouthwatering curiosity. It's bigger than any he's seen outside of filthy magazines, not longer but thicker, and, what? Needier? He sits up and licks the head before he can stop himself, and Teddy laughs deep in his throat, like this is a childish whim. He rubs his hand through Albus' hair while he licks eagerly over the head and shaft, savoring the taste of the gadolinium bark that has bled into his skin.

“Come on,” Teddy says. He touches Albus' jaw and draws his face up until their eyes meet. “Now you're going to give me what I want.”

Albus' legs are shaking too hard to get him to the bedroom, so Teddy picks him up and kisses him hungrily on the way there, one arse cheek in each squeezing hand. Albus has his legs wrapped tight around Teddy's waist, and he's already hard again against his stomach. Teddy dumps him on the bed and disappears. Albus is panicked for a moment, first because he's afraid he'll die without Teddy's skin pressed to his for a second longer, then because it occurs to him that Teddy, semi-frightening hermit that he is, could be off fetching some horrifying sex toy. But he returns quickly, and only with one of his little glass bottles, this one full of a pale purple, gooey-looking substance. Albus grins in huge relief. He may be relatively inexperienced, but he knows lube when he sees it.

“Bartleman's Blossom nectar mixed with aloe and essence of twisting sherbet flower,” Teddy explains. “It glides wonderfully.”

“Hallelujah,” Albus says, reaching for him. Teddy grins and falls into his arms. He sets the bottle aside and kisses Albus' neck as if he's become momentarily distracted, lingering for a long time at the hollow of his throat. Albus flails happily under the teasing strokes of his tongue, fully hard again. He gasps when their erections brush together, and squirms about trying to make it happen as often as possible.

“Scoot back,” Teddy finally says, nodding toward the pillows. Albus does as he asked, his heart jackhammering between his ribs. Teddy kneels before him and takes hold of his knees, one in each hand. He pushes them apart with care, opening Albus like he's one of his flowers. Albus looks down his chest at himself, his skin splotched with a flush he doesn't recognize.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Teddy asks. “You're under the influence of a powerful drug.”

“It doesn't take a drug to make me want a cock up my arse, but thanks for thinking so.”

“But it's me,” Teddy says. He picks up the bottle of lube and holds it apprehensively.

“You're not so bad,” Albus says quietly. Teddy smiles down at the bottle as he pulls off the stopper. Albus puts his hands under his knees and pulls his legs back to give Teddy a full view of his virgin arsehole, and that more or less puts a stop to his qualms, or anyway seems to. Teddy scoops up a too-big glob of the lube without taking his eyes off of Albus, and slicks himself like he's got a time limit.

“Go on,” Albus says, his voice barely functioning. “I'm really tight. Go ahead, feel for yourself.”

“Albus,” Teddy says, pleading for something, but Albus can't think it would be, outside of the permission he's already given. His hands tighten on the backs of his knees, and he pulls himself apart further. Teddy exhales and steadies himself on the bed, his eyes locked on Albus' entrance. He reaches up and inserts a shaking finger into Albus' mouth. Albus sucks it hard, licks all the way down to the web. Teddy watches the spit trail from his finger to Albus mouth when he removes it, and he brings his slick finger down to Albus' arse, rubs him in three slow circles before pushing the tip inside. Albus gasps and strains for more, sighs in broken relief when Teddy pushes in deeper.

“Yeah,” Albus moans. He's going to start sobbing again, what the hell? He's never done it during sex before, never done it as much as he has in the past three days. Maybe it's everything that happened, fluttering always just under his chest, or maybe it's Teddy, whose old sweaters he grew up wearing, who was a brother but not really, an interloper, someone close but mysterious and unreachable.

“You want a real pounding, do you?” Teddy asks, fucking Albus slow with just one finger, watching his chest jitter crazily and his hands rip at the bedsheets. He leans down to whisper it in Albus' ear, his lips wet and breath hot. “You want this big cock deep up your arse, Albus? Is that what you came here for?”

“Yes,” Albus is suddenly so certain that he screams it loud enough to rattle the windows. “Yes, Teddy, God, want you bad, please please, fuck me, please.”

“You gonna take it all?” Teddy asks. His finger curls inside Albus, making him shout again, wordless this time. “Everything I've got, as hard as I want?”

“Yeah, please, Teddy, please!”

“Okay,” Teddy says, and Albus is almost afraid to look at him, but he does, sees his pale eyes lit from behind, like there's a fire in there, burning everything down. Albus sobs once when he pulls his finger out, and cooperates happily when Teddy turns him onto his hands and knees.

“Grab the headboard,” Teddy instructs, and Albus paws at it clumsily like he's gone blind. He likes the way it feels under his hands, hard and unforgiving. The word wood bounces through his fucked up brain until his cock is dribbling precome helplessly onto the sheets. Teddy wraps his arms around his chest and leans up to growl in his ear:

“You'd better hold on tight.”

Albus swallows a whine, doesn't want to beg not to be hurt. If Teddy's going to hurt him, he's going to open up and take it. If he's going to be careful and sweet, well. Albus would be surprised but not disappointed. He wants Teddy's arms to wind around his chest again, but his hands are gripping Albus' hips, steadying him while his slippery cockhead comes to rest against the waiting pucker of Albus' arsehole.

“I always thought -- ahh -- you needed a good fucking, Albus Potter.” Teddy slides in slow, more to enjoy the feeling than to spare Albus, he'd guess. Anyway it doesn't hurt, feels fucking fantastic, like being ripped in half and surviving, glued back together with a painful new awareness of his body. So maybe it does hurt a little, but he can feel Teddy throbbing inside him, and he could swear it's shaking the whole bed. His nails bite into the headboard and his jaw clenches when Teddy slides backward, then pushes back inside.

“Oh, yeah,” Teddy's voice is different, and Albus is startled by the change. “God, that's - that's good. Albus, you're, you're so tight. So, ahhh, fucking tight.” He's moving at a regular rhythm now, and Albus' mouth is hanging open around silent screams. He's straining to keep his moans back, and to come up with some better response to the nerve-shattering sensations that are breaking through him.

“God, yeah.” Teddy is getting less creative as he picks up speed, sticking to two or three basic exclamations. He leans forward and puts one hand on the headboard, the other curling tighter around Albus' side, and the altered position seems to somehow push his cock in deeper, which Albus hadn't thought possible. He yelps in distress but doesn't stop moving back against Teddy, who is rocking in hard now, grunting and surely bruising Albus' side with that grip.

“Tell me how you like that,” Teddy growls, and Albus can hear it in his voice, how close he is. He reaches down and begins rubbing his thumb in circles over his own cockhead, knowing that what he's about to say will be enough to finish him off.

“So good,” Albus gushes, moving his thumb faster, rocking his hips back harder, imagining what this must look like from the foot of the bed, Teddy's balls full and slamming against him. “Drive it in deeper, Teddy, God, yeah, make that tight arsehole sore.”

Teddy comes with a strangled scream, arching backward as he shoves his cock farther into Albus, who has already covered his own hand with come. Good thing, too, because he sees red when Teddy finishes, and for a moment thinks he's going to throw up. Teddy falls forward again, his cock sliding out, and Albus weeps against the headboard with relief as he pulls himself out entirely. They both sink to the mattress, and Teddy gets his breath before rolling against Albus' back. Albus is lying on his side, crying like a maniac, and this was not part of the plan. The pain is already gone, the aftereffects of his orgasm soothing his rattled nerves, but he feels broken open, and not just physically.

“Oh, Albus.” Teddy caresses the side of his face, kisses his ear. “Did I - fuck, I knew it -“

“It's okay,” Albus sobs. He rolls toward Teddy to prove it, grasps him needfully. “It's okay. It's just, I've never. You know.”

“Shit,” Teddy whispers, as if he's speaking to someone else in the room, someone who is watching reproachfully. Albus presses his wet face against Teddy's neck and listens to his wild heartbeat. The sweat on his skin cools him down rapidly, and he gropes for the blankets. Teddy pulls them up when he can't reach, and wraps him fully into his arms.

“It was good,” Albus says, kissing his collarbone lightly, his lips still shaking. “I'm just. I'm a fucking mess, I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry,” Teddy says. He pets Albus' damp hair, kisses along the line of sweat at his forehead. “I like that you're a fucking mess. We have that in common, you know.”

“Mmm.” Albus doesn't think that's true. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, curls an arm around Teddy's back and squirms closer.

“Are you sure you're alright?” Teddy asks as Albus starts to drift to sleep.

“Just stay with me.” Albus pushes a leg through Teddy's, knows he'll never be able to get close enough, not until he's inside him again. “Stay with me and I'll be alright.”

*
Albus wakes up alone the next morning. The clothes on the chair at the end of the bed are the ones he arrived in, laundered and folded. He sits for a long time, afraid to move, waiting for Teddy to emerge from the bathroom or appear at the door with a stack of pumpkin pancakes. The house is silent. He starts to climb out of bed and cries out when a piercing pain rips through him. He remembers everything that happened the night before, but it feels blurry and far away already, like a dream. As if to account for how good he felt last night, there seems to be a deficit of joy in his bones, and he only feels dread, shame, and hopelessness now.

He takes a bath, and the hot water stings his new soreness terribly, but he needs to wash the warm nutmeg smell of Teddy away. Last night, in his delirium, he'd thought they might be beginning something worthwhile, but now reality illuminates his fantasy. They were high, they fucked, Teddy disappeared. It's all disgustingly common.

He dresses and walks into the kitchen, reaches into the bin without pausing to think about it. He tears his father's letter open and holds it with both hands, straining each side like he's daring it to tell him something that will warrant its destruction.

Al,

I have no words to express my regret and sorrow over what happened, and I never expect you to forgive me for what I've done. I've been a tremendous coward. That was the true secret I wanted to keep hidden from you, in order to protect you, but also to protect my own ego. Hermione and I had planned to be together after Lily finished at Hogwarts, but that plan has only hurt the ones we love all the more. I have moved out of your mother's house. I don't expect you'll want to see me for a long time, but I hope you can find it in your heart to speak to me when you feel ready. Please return to your mother and sister and do not be afraid to live in your childhood home. I won't be back.

I'm so sorry, Al, and I'll be sorry for the rest of my life. I would never ask you to understand, but the facts are these: I married young and loved your mother very much for a very long time. When that love left me, I was extremely distraught. I tried for years to ignore my feelings. I wanted to be a good father for you and your siblings, and to create a loving home. That was the only impetus for the secret Hermione and I kept. I feel no relief now that I have finally spoken about it out loud with your mother, only shame that I did not have the courage to do so sooner.

Al, you've always been much braver than I am where it matters. Never change, and know that I'll always love you and your brother and sister more than anything in this world.

--Dad

Albus crumples the letter and puts it back in the bin, wipes his face. He refuses to start blubbering again. It's too fucking much, all of this. He walks around Teddy's cottage with his hands in his hair, telling himself to stop it, to grow a fucking backbone and accept the cards he's been dealt. He doesn't know where he'll go now, certainly not back home. If his father thinks it will be a relief to return to the house without him there, he's a bigger fool than Albus ever realized. He feels sympathy for him well up for a moment, and he batters it back down. Fuck him. He's ruined everything. Poor Lily. Albus is grown, couldn't give a shit what his parents get up to, but poor Lily.

He walks outside blindly, hating the sunshine. Foulness is chillier than the rest of the country, even in summer, and he hugs his arms around himself, wearing only the t-shirt that he left the house in on the day the world ended. He follows an aimless trail, hoping that he'll come to the dock and figure out some way to get off this godforsaken island. Maybe he'll go to London, sit in Muggle museums and wander penniless and hungry through the streets, sinking deeper into whatever's taken hold of him. Ruin, desolation, fate. James and Lily are so capable and impressive, and Albus was always going to be the screw-up. He thinks of James' first-year at school, when he was made Keeper for Gryffindor and the whole family went to see his first game. Albus sulked the entire time, jealous, and noticed, once or twice out of the corner of his eye, that Teddy, a fourth-year who had by then given up ever making the team, was doing the same thing.

“Albus!” Teddy's voice cuts through the thicket Albus has wandered into, and he keeps walking, ignores the footsteps jogging up behind him. “Wait!”

“I'm off,” Albus says, proud of the regularity of his voice. “My father's moved out, so. I guess I'm going home.”

Teddy catches his arm and spins him around. He's wearing a terrible expression behind his glasses, some combination of mortification and guilt. Albus shakes his arm free.

“What?” he says, as if he can't imagine why Teddy's making a fuss.

“You can't just leave.” Teddy is wearing overalls. He looks ridiculous, mud smeared on his left cheek.

“Why can't I? Look, thanks for having me, but I've got to get back to my mum and Lily, they'll be worried.”

“They think you're on holiday.”

“Yes, but you see, it's all out now, my father's left. So they'll need my support. Thanks again.”

“Albus, dammit.” Teddy grabs his arm again, and this time Albus rears back back to slug him. It feels good, and he puts all of his weight into it, but Teddy catches his hand.

“Get off me!” Albus says, the tearing feeling growing in his chest, and goddammit, he will not cry, not ever again, least of all in front of Teddy.

“Stop!” Teddy wrestles him to the ground easily, and Albus fights him without any real conviction. Teddy pins his arms to his sides and puts his sad, terrified face in front of Albus'.

“I was so disgusted with myself this morning,” Teddy says. Albus looks away, holds his mouth in a tight line. “I took advantage - and you with all of this going on - taking the gadolinium bark is no excuse -“

“It's fine,” Albus bites out. “It was just a fuck, don't make it into a big deal.”

“It was a big deal,” Teddy says. “For me. I wasn't lying when I said - since you were fifteen - I always felt horrible about it, but as soon as your voice changed I wanted you, Albus. You never paid me a second glance until you showed up here -“

“Regardless, I've got to go.” Albus dares a look at him and immediately regrets it. Teddy's eyes are red-rimmed, his pale face glowing with sincerity. Albus digs his teeth into his bottom lip when it begins to shake.

“Don't go,” Teddy begs, and then he's pushing Albus down onto the moist earth, leaning over him, his knees pinned down around Albus' legs. “Don't go.”

Albus finally breaks down, and he kisses Teddy hard to hide it. Teddy strokes his face, his hair, and keeps saying soft, down into his mouth, don't go, don't go.

“Fuck, if I could just stop this nonsense,” Albus says, meaning the tears. He wipes his eyes, then lets Teddy take over. “You'll get dirt on my face,” he complains, but he just shuts his eyes and sighs when Teddy can't seem to stop stroking his cheeks, forehead, and then his bottom lip.

“You're so beautiful,” Teddy says, dropping his full weight onto Albus, their laps crushed together. “You're perfect.”

“Don't tell me things like that.” Albus sniffles. “I'm very impressionable right now, and you're some kind of sexual predator, remember?”

“I'm so sorry -“

“Stop that. I told you, I read my father's letter. I've been apologized to enough for one day.”

Teddy brings him back to the cottage and takes him into the bathroom, touching only his hand. He turns the tub on and lets it fill with steaming hot water while he slowly pulls Albus' clothes off, pausing here and there to kiss his mouth, timid and sweet like this is all they've done so far. Albus is shaking with anticipation, doesn't know what to expect from anyone anymore.

Albus climbs in first, and Teddy follows. He sits behind Albus and pulls him back against his chest, hugs him tight and breathes onto his shoulder.

“I thought it would be easier if I didn't have anyone,” Teddy says. “I thought it was a sign, my parents dying before I even really knew them, I thought I was meant to be self-sufficient. It worked, for awhile. But you've spoiled that, Albus. I don't want you to go.”

“Shut up,” Albus says. He reaches back and pulls Teddy forward, kisses him. “Just shut up.” It's scary to realize that he doesn't want to leave. Not ever. Teddy washes his back and hair, and though it's the second bath Albus has had all day, it feels like the first one that counts. He's hard under the water, and he guides Teddy's hand down to wrap around his cock, sucks his breath in fast when Teddy strokes him with the perfect amount of pressure, just the right tempo. Albus says Teddy's name when he comes, and Teddy exhales gratefully, sucks on his ear.

They stay in bed for the rest of the day, mostly sleeping, Teddy occasionally taking breaks to catch up on some herbology reading. Albus pulls himself up to his shoulder once or twice and looks at the pictures, lacy flowers and delicate vines, roots spreading out secret and dark below them.

“What's your favorite plant?” Albus mutters sleepily.

“Are you joking?” Teddy grins at him. “Gadolinium, of course.”

“So that's going to be a regular thing? You and I mixing that into soup and fucking until we lose consciousness?”

“I don't think it was the bark that made it so - good, actually,” Teddy says. “It doesn't increase sensation, just makes you more reckless than you'd normally be.”

“We'll just live by a policy of recklessness, then.”

“Precisely.”

They eat leftover ravioli for dinner and suck each other off before bed. Albus loves the taste of Teddy's cock, and the way Teddy curses when he hums around it. He's already looking forward to being fucked against the headboard again, though he's got some healing to do before that happens. He falls back onto the pillows and licks the last of Teddy's come from his lips, lets him crawl onto him and collapse. Teddy settles in contentedly, and Albus watches the shadows on the ceiling, a complicated net of leaves and branches.

“You haven't got any plans for the summer, have you?” Teddy asks. Albus feels Teddy's heartbeat speed up, and he smiles.

“Do I look like I have?”

“Well, good, because, if you're interested, I have actually been needing a research assistant. I mean. It would give you something to do.”

Albus' first inclination is to snort and tell him that he's not about to give up his life to hang around here and fetch petals between fucks. But, really, what life, Albus? He's hard pressed to think of anything he'd rather do with his summer than stay in the company of Teddy, interrupting his lichen-gathering sessions to palm his cock through his trousers until he forgets what he came to collect. And he does do a bit of drawing himself, simple techniques that Rose taught him. It has occurred to him that he might do the coloring for Teddy's illustrations in the encyclopedia.

He's only eighteen. He shouldn't be thinking about this on a permanent basis, should be running around with his schoolmates on raucous gap year binges, getting it all out of his system so that he doesn't make the mistake of settling down young the way his parents did.

Of course, if his father had settled down even younger, he might have picked the right girl from the start. But then Albus wouldn't even exist, wouldn't be here in Teddy Lupin's arms, contemplating his future, so what's the use in even trying to work it all out?

“I think I might be able to clear my schedule,” Albus says. He feels Teddy smile against his skin, and he rolls over to draw his fingers through Teddy's thick, sandy hair. “I always envied this hair,” he says. Growing up, he thought his own jet black hair was so dull. Teddy was exotic, a war relic, a stranger.

“It's yours now,” Teddy says. “Do with it what you will.” Albus sits up to kiss his way through it, until Teddy is laughing and squirming and they're both up again, ready for the next round.

*