FIC: "Fresh Start" for r_grayjoy
Recipient: r_grayjoy
Author: florahart
Title: Fresh Start
Rating: NC17
Pairings: Alastor Moody/Viktor Krum
Word Count: 6300
Warnings: I think none.
Summary: All Alastor needs is more eyes and ears on the continent, but if he gets something more in the bargain, he supposes he'll take it.
Author's Notes: r_grayjoy said she had a deep and abiding love for Moody, so I hope this rendition of him appeals to her. She also said she liked awkward romance or sex (but not humiliation), desperation, frottage, and unlikely pairings, as well as hurt/comfort and banter. I think I got much of that in, anyway.
***
The patrons of the bar were inattentive, most of them ignoring him entirely and a handful giving the sort of glance with which one might notice, in a rather vague way, the presence of one's trusted manservant as one passed him in the corridor after he'd completed the task of turning down one's bed.
Alastor snorted at the notion of himself as a manservant or in any way willing to be the person turning down any bed but one into which he was about to climb, and made his way into the dim corner booth, considering it for a moment. He snorted again and gave a bit of a toss of his head as though he'd deemed it barely acceptable after a bit of conversation with himself, then slid into the seat.
None of the other patrons so much as flinched at either snort, nor at the sudden movement. Either stupid or comfortable, then, and in either case unwary as babes secure in the certainty of a constant supply of milk and dry clothes.
One brief moment was all he allowed himself for wondering if he would ever again have a moment in his life with the luxury of utter disregard for personal safety. He couldn't remember the sensation, or whether it was so entirely relaxed that there was none to be recalled. Perhaps it was like soft butter on hot fresh bread, sinking into the flesh of it until it was indistinguishable, and therefore not able to be separately described.
But he was wool-gathering, and the cost of vigilance was the loss of wandering thought--at least in public.
He sat with his back the room, the wild eye which distinguished him (and which had been largely hidden, as he came in, behind unkempt fringe and the brim of his ugly but serviceable hat) closer to the wall and away from any potential takers of interest. Facing the wall as he was had turned out to be his favorite thing about the bloody eye; everyone knew that a man with an interest in the doings of others had better, if he wished to have any hope of clear observation, sit with his back to the wall.
Alastor, however, had the capacity for perfectly clear observations from right where he was, face shadowed and angled down toward the newspaper he pulled out of his inner pocket. He couldn't read the damned thing, of course; as befit the environment, it was Muggle and in Bulgarian. It didn't matter; his natural eye needed something upon which to focus, since sitting here staring at his hands might yet be perceived as odd, and he could always look at the pictures. When the barmaid came along, he didn't bother with more than the quickest of glances at her, enough to see the faint ghost of a stain on the worn fabric of her skirt, before he went back to casting his eye's path about the room. He'd already seen her on the way in, her drawn face and dull eyes a fitting match to the tired uniform and uninspiring table.
His Bulgarian was bad, but his tone--gruff, just short of angry, bored but not so disaffected as to seem unstable--fit in with the snatches of speech he heard all around him. It didn't take a great deal of vocabulary to order a cup of the sour beer and a plate of featureless slop, but it nearly took all of what he had; it was as well she wasn't the type to strike up conversation with a newcomer in hopes of making friends. No, she accepted his order and walked away, nothing about her suggesting she found him anything other than ordinary, typical, an unremarkable example of the gruff, angry, bored men all around him.
That was a relief; if she'd wanted to make friends, or even offer an evening of company of the sort which didn't require additional vocabulary, but generally did, in Alastor's experience, provide at least a handful of opportunities for a person to look him in the eye(s), he'd have had to develop an urgent need to be anywhere else, and try again later to make contact.
He let the relief stand, and didn't spend any time reflecting on the frustrations inherent in the sort of life she must lead as he went back to looking at pictures with his flesh and blood eye, and watching the others with the manufactured one. After a time, the girl--older than a girl, he observed as he watched her approach through the back of his skull; she was probably a good deal nearer thirty-five than sixteen--returned with his supper. It was salty and grayish, like an abandoned newspaper soaked in seawater, but he wasn't here for the cuisine, and he'd made do on worse. He grunted something noncommittal after his first bite, something which a generous watcher might have labeled thanks and a skeptical one labeled dismissal, and sipped at his beer.
It was exactly as sour as he'd expected, though the aftertaste was rather soapier and more leather-like than he'd even thought possible. But again, he'd made do with worse.
He spread out the newspaper, open to page five because one of the front-page articles continued there (at least that much of its organization, he understood) and scooped spoon after spoon slowly into his mouth as he watched the traffic behind him come and go.
Finally, after thirty-nine minutes according to the cracked clock above the door, the accuracy of which Alastor estimated to be dubious but not outrageously so, a newcomer entered with an aura of purpose and interest. Alastor thought probably no one else in the place would notice, but he was clearly looking for someone.
Looking for him, as a matter of fact.
He mentally reviewed the words he was to say, which comprised the rest of his Bulgarian vocabulary, and waited for the clock's hand to reach the bottom of the hour. Then, he shoved up his sleeve as though checking the watch he wasn't wearing, and folded up his newspaper.
Krum responded perfectly, glancing sharply toward him and then moving swiftly across the room, speaking as he drew near. Alastor knew the sense of what the boy was to say--Uncle, I thought I had missed you--and waited until the words stopped to repeat his own line, gesturing as he did.
Krum slid into the seat opposite him, his face stretched into a smile although Alastor thought his eyes held fear in them as well. It probably was no surprise; the impostor who had taken his place for all those months had treated the boy badly, and it had only been a few months since the ruse had been uncovered.
The code phrases and arranged public meeting had probably been unnecessary, if the incredibly vague interest of the others in the bar was anything to go on, but Alastor had always been a cautious man, and the reminder that he'd been captured only a bit more than a year ago had spurred him to be even more so. It never hurt to be more careful than was absolutely necessary, and Alastor's standard for necessity was hardly low. Besides, he had thought the use of the code might provide reassurance that he was, indeed, himself.
He pushed his half-drunk beer across, offering, and was a bit surprised when Krum took it up and drained the glass, but then, he was young and, if the slight flush of his cheeks was any indicator, had probably been running or flying or otherwise training somehow. He was probably thirsty. "You were able to find the place easily?" Alastor asked, a wave of his hand ensuring they wouldn't be overheard as anything other than the ordinary mumbles of mundane conversation.
"I was," Krum responded. He caught the eye of the waitress with some effort and ordered two more beers, which they sipped while Alastor outlined the mission that had brought him here.
When the clock struck eight, they rose from the booth--Krum smoothly and with the lithe muscles of a man just nineteen, Alastor with the greater effort of a man older and heavier, not to mention hampered by some missing flesh--and turned toward the door, Alastor's hat once more firmly pushed down over the disheveled mop of his hair. Alastor tossed a handful of crumpled bank notes, with an architect on some and a revolutionary monk, apparently, on others, onto the bar and grumbled impatiently, as though he'd no time to wait for his change. He'd never been terribly comfortable with the strange and destructible Muggle money, and Bulgarian notes held absurd figures on them--a thousand leva, two thousand--which made them even worse to deal with than anything Britain, or even nations to the north and west like Germany or Spain, required. The woman gave back a smaller note and a couple of coins, the faces on which he didn't know, and then they were away.
When they reached the door, Krum opened it, and Alastor preceded him through and turned to the left in the chilly autumn air. The hotel in which he'd booked a room was older and rather small, but had the advantages of good beds and privacy, with the bath immediately next to the room itself. He did plan to stay a few days rather than travelling back and forth, and he hadn't wanted to find himself wandering the length of the corridor at three o'clock in the morning.
Krum followed him up the stairs and into the room, wordless, and waited quietly while he checked the corners. When Alastor bent to yank up the duvet, he stepped forward and dropped to look under the bed, glancing up with a shrug. "If you will trust my word, no one is here."
Alastor looked through the bed anyway; looking with his physical eye was a matter of habit despite that he could, with some effort, see through at least nearby objects of low complexity, and it wouldn't hurt to let Krum feel trusted even if Alastor did not, in fact, trust anyone with anything of greater import than shining his shoes.
Or, he wouldn't, if he had ever bothered with any such procedure.
He pursed his lips. They should get this bit out of the way. "Should I ask the Ministry for a different contact for you?"
"Why?" Krum was quiet, his voice uninflected and gentle, but it wasn't difficult for Alastor to measure at a glance the tension of his chest and spine. "You do not wish to be reminded?"
Ah, a challenge, then. Alastor glared. "I had thought you might be unable to avoid the comparison."
"I was deceived, which will not happen again. I believe that I will live a long life, and this will mean, sometimes, I must work alongside someone whose aspect or whose manner is not what I would choose. It will also mean, I must learn, when I fail. To remain not learning is to invite disaster."
"And which am I? Unpleasant, or a lesson?"
"I will not mistake your identifying again, and if you are not often soft, I have met this before, among my coach and instructors."
"That's no answer, boy."
Krum said nothing for a moment, then smiled slowly, his eyes dark but not angry. "I will not make this decision, whether you are a face which is pretty enough for an international celebrity such as I, until I can do so without remembering to fear."
Alastor was surprised to find himself with no ready response to such an odd way of putting it. The boy wasn't stupid, which wasn't news; no Tri-Wizard Champion in any year had been dull, and if he was known for his participation in sport, well, it had never followed that physical coordination and intelligence were traits at odds one with the other. After a moment, he nodded. "I like a fair man. Perhaps you'll do."
Krum unbuttoned his coat and sent it toward the door, half a throw and half wandless guidance, to settle on the hook there, then pulled out one of the pair of chairs at the small table and sat down. "We will talk, then, until we conclude our business, or until we find we cannot."
Their business, at this point, consisted mostly of the exchange of information, though their intermediary had suggested Krum would be capable of much more, and Alastor was hoping that was true. Wizarding travel on the continent was relatively unfettered--much more so than Muggles, with their little books and stamps and concerns over the flow of people and products (which, privately, Alastor thought made a great deal of sense and wished wizardkind had been quicker to adopt; certainly the introduction of greater restrictions in travel would be a pain in the arse for those who traveled frequently, and of course every layer of bureaucracy added costs in money as well as personnel, but the compartmentalization of troubled areas would be a boon, and would be worth it), and his office didn't have the manpower to address growing concerns over recruitment in further-flung areas.
Yes, it would be good to have a man he could trust in the area, someone with tolerably quick wits and reflexes and a dislike of Voldemort and his men. Their mutual acquaintance had said Krum could be that man, despite his youth and inexperience, and Alastor's first impression was favorable, if cautiously so.
He explained the manner in which his Aurors had determined the need for additional eyes and ears in the Balkans. The Dark Lord had gone underground again after the events in the maze and graveyard, and while they had every reason to believe he was primarily focused on Britain at this point, no one old enough to remember past conflicts in Europe was foolish enough to think such a man would ever be satisfied with one small island. Recruitment was certainly ongoing on the continent, and enough troubles existed in Bulgaria and her neighbors that there were always those looking for a fast route to glory.
Krum listened closely as Alastor spoke and asked good questions, occasionally dropping in information that was entirely new and frequently offering useful thoughts about the details. Within twenty minutes, they'd determined there was no reason they couldn't work together, and after an hour Alastor had leaned over and retrieved the bag behind the table, with decent Scotch and a couple of clean glasses. As he had suspected might be the case, the boy was comfortable with two fingers of whisky despite his age, and showed no evidence, after their third drink, of particular inebriation. The conversation between them was satisfying, and it didn't take long for both of them to conclude the previous situation with the impostor was no longer an issue.
Alastor saw the boy out shortly after nine with a review of tomorrow's plan, then returned to his chair and capped the bottle. He'd had enough himself, for a man in a strange place and with plenty to do in the morning. Krum had a lot of contacts through sport and a handful through school associations, and he would be in touch with some of them this evening, while Alastor met with one of his own counterparts here. The Bulgarian Ministry was corrupt beyond the telling of it, but without that touch of official interaction, they would be acting without sanction, so it was a meeting that had to happen.
Alastor hated meetings that were designed to meet a ridiculous standard of propriety, rather than to accomplish any actual work, but he wasn't in any position to set the rules, so he would go, and he would say the right vague things about the right vague principles, and he would meet his Minister's needs with diplomatic bullshit.
At least they weren't like the fucking Albanians; those bastards had taken his eye for safekeeping and given him grief over the leg before they'd been willing to meet with him the summer before last, and he'd told the Minister straight away, that wouldn't be tolerated again. He was glad not to have to make a liar of himself, at least not so soon.
He considered scenarios for over an hour, working through directions in which the meeting might go and thinking about how to divert attention from his actual intentions. Sanction to work, he might need, but that didn't mean he needed to be a bloody idiot about it; if he got his way, their blessing wouldn't curtail his work, and they'd have no idea as to his actual intentions in working with the ordinary men and women of the area. Getting to that outcome was the primary goal of the day, followed by a second interaction with Krum if all went well.
When he took himself to bed, sometime near eleven, he found himself tracing figures on the blanket over his chest and thinking drowsily about Krum as he'd entered the bar, alert and eager and not entirely what Alastor had expected despite assurances--because assurances were all very well, but assumptions were not, and taking a promise at face value was just the same as accepting an assumption without due consideration. In any case, his expectations had been exceeded, and the he thought it would be safe, or at least as safe as it ever was to count on anyone, to give him some rope and see where he took it or whether he hung.
But he thought he could be trusted, and actually, he rather liked him, beyond that he found him appealing in a way he certainly wouldn't act on.
Alastor rarely liked, or was attracted to, people he'd only just met. He wasn't sure whether this development pleased him, or frightened him.
Finally, late, he fell asleep, still pondering.
--
He'd slept with the eye in, as he always did when he wasn't at home; the moment of disorientation with its insertion was a moment too long in a strange place. It was just as well. When the door opened, letting in the light from the hall, he saw it in his dream, and when the man closed it quietly and moved toward him, he watched, half-asleep, half waiting in the thin blue light of the moon.
He waited, keeping his breathing as steady as he could, until the hand was just over his mouth, then grabbed the wrist and used the man's own momentum to pull it closer, biting down hard and bringing up his wand left-handed.
The man cursed, harsh whispered Slavic words that certainly didn't evoke bunnies or spun sugar, but he didn't struggle, simply waiting to be let go.
Alastor released his assailant's hand but kept the wand trained on him and sat up, wandlessly and wordlessly pressing the switch to turn on the lamp. He squinted. "Krum."
"I intended only to waken you without sound," the boy said. He kept his voice low, and didn't move to address the broken skin of his hand. "I have stopped at the home of a friend to make our inquiry, which is successful, but when I then have approached my building, I observe that two men, which were earlier at our meeting, are on bench nearby. Perhaps, I know, is coincidence, but--"
"No such thing as coincidence," Alastor said. "Let me see your hand."
"Is nothing," Krum said. "Worse happens often, at Quidditch."
"At Quidditch, you're rarely being followed by people who might use blood to follow you."
Krum blinked. "This, I have not considered." He held out his hand, which was more bruised than sluggishly bleeding, but which had by now gathered enough welling blood to run and eventually drip.
Alastor switched his wand into his right hand to seal the open wounds and dispel some of the gathered blood, then squinted up again. "So, you thought you were being followed, and it seemed like you ought to come here."
"No, that, I have considered." Krum shook his head to confirm his words. "I have been several places in between, with some Apparating and some walking. When I have not seen them three times, then I come here. If it is that I am being followed, I believe you have more situation than you are thinking, and must know, which will then happen very soon."
"I--" Alastor was still holding the boy's wrist in his left hand from the healing work, and had just glanced down at it again to see if there was anything else that needed attending to when the door burst open and two men who had clearly just Apparated into the corridor pushed through.
It was just as well he was still touching him; Krum turned the hand over in a flash, grabbing Alastor's wrist as though it were a sleepy Snitch, and Apparated them both out of the room and into another within the building. Alastor looked around.
"Did you know there would be no one in this room?" he whispered.
"Could not be certain," Krum replied, just as quietly. "But, when I have left earlier, I did see, each room has same arrangement, and usually, I am very good at knowing how many meters I am moving."
"Convenient, that." Alastor rolled his eye about, looking at the shadows of movement through the walls and ceiling. Seeing onto other floors was more than the eye could do for him, but after several seconds, he was reasonably certain the men had assumed their flight to be further than it was, and had gone. "They've left," he said.
"Is it better, to stay in place until morning, or to go another time, if they might not return?" Krum was still gripping his wrist, not tightly, but not so loosely that it would be only a matter of Alastor pulling through his fingers to free himself, and they'd settled in nearly the same place in this room as the former, Alastor seated on the bed and Krum nearly sprawled across him where he'd landed enough further into the room that he'd had effectively tripped on the frame as they'd set down.
"Are you injured?" It occurred to Alastor that given Krum's response to the bite, if he'd managed to impale himself on anything he might well not show it.
"Bruise, I think," Krum said. He rolled off Alastor, lying stretched out on his back beside him, and lifted one leg, flexing and rolling the ankle and foot. "Is well enough. Is mattering, to the answer?"
Alastor paused, staring at the boy lying next to him on the wide bed, suddenly aware he was stripped to his underclothes and missing a leg because he'd been in bed. It didn't matter, of course; he was decades past being shy about his body, and anyone who was disgusted was welcome to fuck right off, but he did find it a bit surprising that Krum was not just showing no sign of disgust, but appeared to be not in the least uncomfortable. "No, it doesn't matter," he said after a moment. "Though of course, once they tumble to the fact I left my leg, they're probably going to come back and try to follow the damned thing if I summon it."
"So you should not summon, then." Krum rolled up onto his side, propping his head on his healed hand. "You are unable to walk, though, unless you have it?"
"Unable, no. Perhaps you noticed I'm a wizard?"
"This is not the new information, yes." Krum grinned. "I was only meaning, is this too uncomfortable that you perhaps are not mobile. If it is, I could go elsewhere, summon, bring back."
"Unnecessary." Alastor shook his head. "I'll make something that'll suit when I'm ready to go somewhere."
"For now, you will stay here?"
"Seems easier than finding somewhere else," Alastor said. "No benefit to doing something the hard way, just to do it. Why, you have somewhere better in mind?"
"No, only I was thinking, if we are staying here, and we are not sleeping anyway--you are not sleeping?"
Alastor gave him a hard look. From both the words and his tone, it sounded like he was suggesting something sexual. "No," he said after a moment. "I think that's unlikely. Where are you going with this?"
"Did we not just say, not going somewhere?" Krum frowned. "Then, I am going nowhere, unless you are wishing I am away. Only, if we are not sleeping, and we are staying in bed, perhaps we must use bed for other good purpose of sex. If this is interesting for you, which I was thinking perhaps, earlier, but I have maybe misunderstood."
"I'm not in favor of being toyed with."
"I… have not brought any toys?"
Alastor huffed, annoyed both with the literal understanding of his words and with his body, which, despite all experience suggesting it was bloody unlikely an internationally-famous Quidditch star with a flock of followers and a young lithe body would truly find anything interesting in him, had gone right ahead and got interested back.
Which, for what it was worth, was relatively novel; Alastor hadn't been young in quite some time, and for several years he hadn't even spared much thought for sex. "I didn't mean toys, I meant, if this is a game you're playing to be funny, I'm not interested in being amusement."
"Ah. No, is not game." Krum leaned closer, palm landing flat, fingers spread wide, on Alastor's ribcage, close enough that Alastor could feel the half-hard bulge in his trousers and certainly Krum could see the same in him even though there was still only bright moonlight. Never the less, he resisted just going for the fast and easy. "Which is not that I am saying, not to be having fun; is only, not to be laughing at you."
"So, you were afraid of me a few hours ago, and now you want to fuck?"
"Perhaps it is that I am aroused by fear?" Krum shrugged. "Is not that, though, if we are truthful."
"Truthful's preferred, when it comes to fucking. Then what?" Alastor was intrigued now, not that this stopped him from making another sweep of the area with his eye. Krum waited until he was finished before answering.
"I have again not understood question."
"Then, if it's not you're aroused by fear, what is it that gets you hot? It can't be old men. As I recall, you've been seen to date women--pretty women, none of whom remind me of me."
"Is important?" Krum's hand had remained on Alastor's chest, and now he pushed off with it a little, moving himself back half an inch and looking Alastor in the good eye in the dim room. "This will sound like I am very bad person, but you have just said truthful is preferred. I am usually not struggling to get sex, and I have not known before, I am very bad at to be patient."
Alastor laughed aloud. "That only makes you a bad person if you get it from people who don't want to give it," he said.
"Which is you?"
"No," Alastor said before he thought. "No, I do want, but I want to know what's in it for you."
"Sex."
"With a man three times your age, whose wooden leg is unavailable, who can see through the back of his head, and who's never been particularly fit."
Krum chuckled now. "If you must use wooden leg for fucking, I have not understood word leg correctly."
"Smartarse. Though I'd certainly want it if we were standing." Alastor felt his face flush warm as he thought about what it would be like, if he were allowed to watch Krum's muscles straining to maintain balance as he reached for orgasm. "And that's still no answer."
"So we are not standing. Eye is also not important. No, I see, is still not answer. Here is important thing: we can have conversation which is interesting. This is more arousing than any shape of body, for me. Pretty women, this is expected, for newspaper. Also, I like them, when they will have conversation. Sometimes, they will only want to be naked and pretend to enjoy so they will say to their friends, I have fucked them. Them, I don't fuck."
"So you want me for my mind."
"And for hands. And mouth. And--"
"Smart. Arse." Alastor rolled in, a little unsteady because the absence of the leg always made for some awkwardness, and pulled Krum close. "Also, I'm not pretending to enjoy myself, so if you want to make me sing your praises, you're going to have to work for it."
"Work, I will not mind." Krum said. "But, I will add, if they return and think of looking for us here, as they have not any magic eye, they maybe will think loud fucking people is not Auror and Quidditch player. This is only extra, you understand, and is not working if you are shouting my name." He pushed his hand up under Alastor's vest.
Alastor groaned as Krum pushed him onto his back and followed, straddling his thighs and mouthing at his bare stomach and chest as he pushed the vest higher before him. "I suppose you think you're in charge, here?" he asked, trying not to rock up too helplessly, which would be both ridiculous and embarrassing.
"Only in case of I must still convince you this is something I am wanting." Krum lifted his head and caught Alastor's eye, then lowered his chin slowly, tongue out, to touch the tip to Alastor's nipple. "We will meet many times for this work, and perhaps also for pleasure; next time, you will be in charge. And then, you will have leg and can stand."
Alastor wasn't sure what to do with that, so he closed his eyes and watched anyway with the magical one as the boy licked his way back down, striving for Alastor's thickened cock and sucking it eagerly into his mouth when he got there. He pressed his own erection, still trapped in his trousers and pants, against Alastor's knee and rocked, his body moving with his mouth as Alastor shuddered and panted.
All right, so he hadn't been joking about wanting this. He'd said so, and Alastor had believed him or they wouldn't be doing this, but still, the reality of it was startling. When he thought he could manage to speak without gasping, Alastor opened his eyes, staring down at the boy until he looked up. "Come here," he said.
Krum let Alastor's cock drop out of his mouth and grinned so his white teeth showed in the moonlight, crawling forward again until Alastor could reach him and drag him even with him. He wrapped his good leg around behind Krum's knees, grabbing his arse and grinding up against him for a moment and then feeling for the wand he'd let go somewhere in the blankets because letting go long enough to strip Krum of his inconvenient clothes seemed like a crime.
As long as there was stripping, he might as well get rid of his pants and vest, as well.
Krum's groan as their bared cocks slid alongside each other nearly finished him, but Alastor gripped tighter and bit down on his lip and then on Krum's throat and jaw. Krum's thrusts rocked the bed against the wall, knocking until the people in the next room thumped back at them and shouted at them to stop--at least, this was what Alastor assumed; Krum chuckled and groaned louder, moving faster and answering in a tone that suggested he was offering an opinion as to their own sex lives, then stilled as he came, thick pulses between them, cock twitching against the side of Alastor's.
Alastor wanted very badly for him to have held out another thirty seconds; he was just on the edge and not quite ready, and Krum was still now, mouth hanging open, face blissful. Then he looked down and said, "I have told them, they wish they are as lucky right now," and shoved Alastor's calf off the back of his legs as he moved back to take his cock in his mouth again.
It turned out thirty seconds was an overestimate; in ten he was done, quivering and grasping the bed-covers with both hands beside his hips.
Krum wiped his chin with the back of his hand. "May I stay?"
He couldn't remember the last time he'd said yes to that, but within seconds, Alastor had cleaned up his belly with a swish of his wand and stood balanced on the one leg long enough to repair the blankets as Krum waited. They crawled in together, warm and tired, and Alastor closed his eyes. Tomorrow still promised to be a long day, but perhaps it would be productive, and if it wasn't, this had been quite a start to his trip.
Maybe it had been the start of something more; he felt settled and surprisingly untroubled.
--
LONDON. The Ministry of Magic reports the death of Auror Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody last evening in an operation the details of which are confidential. Ministry officials who wish to remain unnamed are quoted as saying Auror Moody was a reckless man, known for the sort of impetuous and rash decisions that led to his nick-name, but his colleagues in the Aurors office dispute that, describing him as a man known for vigilance and caution. Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of those with whom he had worked most closely, said that he would be greatly missed.
--
The patrons of the bar looked up as he limped in, the crutch at his side bearing some of the weight where the end of his stump was still badly bruised and probably a little bit infected again, having never quite healed after the mid-flight duel. Well, the leg had fared better than the eyes, anyway. He looked around, and found he wasn't sure whether he wanted people to be frightened by his appearance or to pity him. There were expressions among the patrons that indicated each response, and neither was very satisfying.
He took a seat toward the front, because he was too bloody tired to walk to the back, and at this point if someone recognized and killed him, he rather thought it wouldn't be much loss; his part in the war was over, and with the state of the Ministry and the way his magic had been of late (unpredictable, though it was settling some as he healed), it wasn't even safe to let anyone in Britain know he'd survived the damned fall.
The waitress was new since he'd last visited, her hair golden-red and braided, her eyes bright, and she brought him a hot cup of passable coffee before he asked. He ordered soup and beer once again, although now his Bulgarian would have supported a rather more encompassing conversation, and waited to see if the cooking was equally improved.
She returned a few minutes later with a bowl of stew--something made with a healthy portion of meat and plenty of vegetables--and a cup of tea. "Viktor is wait long for you. He will have very glad." she said carefully. When he opened his mouth to reply, she shook her head and explained in Bulgarian that her English was quite limited.
So, she'd learned to say just those phrases? She was watching for him? It reminded him of learning to greet Viktor nearly two years ago (had it only been two? It felt like twenty, and all of them long but especially the two months since he'd last been here), and he wondered if that was deliberate. The notion drew a smile to his lips, the expression feeling foreign on his face. It had been a long time, and for once, he didn't feel as though he needed to watch every step despite encountering something unexpected. "Thanks, then." He picked up the tea and took a sip, then leaned back to wait. Perhaps his assignment here had been both convenient and kind, after all.
He rubbed at his sore leg for a minute, watching the waitress pick up her telephone twice between customers, then finished both stew and tea, and struggled to his feet again, beckoning her.
"You are going so soon?" Viktor asked. "I think I will be hurt." He'd come from the back of the bar somewhere, and without the eye, Alastor hadn't seen him approaching. He scowled.
"I was going to have her pass you a note," he said.
"She already did."
"Of course." Alastor waved her away and sat back down as Viktor grinned at her and handed over a pair of bank notes, the new ones since the re-issuing. "I don't suppose you know anyone willing to have a look at my leg, do you?"
Viktor looked Alastor up and down, then winked. "Besides me?"
"Pervert. I meant--"
"I know. And I do." Viktor leaned close. "Perhaps first, a cushioning charm, if you will allow me? It is not far to somewhere I can Apparate us and then I can take better care of, but--"
"I think I'd like that. The charm, and the care."
"I always am charming. Is impossible to stop," Viktor said with a smirk. He ran his hand over Alastor's knee briefly, which, alone, felt better than most things Alastor could think of but which also brought with it the relief of more cushioning against the prosthetic.
"For that, I won't kill you in your sleep for bad puns," Alastor said.
"I always am caring, too." Viktor held out his hand to help Alastor up, and walked with him to the door.
***
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Author: florahart
Title: Fresh Start
Rating: NC17
Pairings: Alastor Moody/Viktor Krum
Word Count: 6300
Warnings: I think none.
Summary: All Alastor needs is more eyes and ears on the continent, but if he gets something more in the bargain, he supposes he'll take it.
Author's Notes: r_grayjoy said she had a deep and abiding love for Moody, so I hope this rendition of him appeals to her. She also said she liked awkward romance or sex (but not humiliation), desperation, frottage, and unlikely pairings, as well as hurt/comfort and banter. I think I got much of that in, anyway.
***
The patrons of the bar were inattentive, most of them ignoring him entirely and a handful giving the sort of glance with which one might notice, in a rather vague way, the presence of one's trusted manservant as one passed him in the corridor after he'd completed the task of turning down one's bed.
Alastor snorted at the notion of himself as a manservant or in any way willing to be the person turning down any bed but one into which he was about to climb, and made his way into the dim corner booth, considering it for a moment. He snorted again and gave a bit of a toss of his head as though he'd deemed it barely acceptable after a bit of conversation with himself, then slid into the seat.
None of the other patrons so much as flinched at either snort, nor at the sudden movement. Either stupid or comfortable, then, and in either case unwary as babes secure in the certainty of a constant supply of milk and dry clothes.
One brief moment was all he allowed himself for wondering if he would ever again have a moment in his life with the luxury of utter disregard for personal safety. He couldn't remember the sensation, or whether it was so entirely relaxed that there was none to be recalled. Perhaps it was like soft butter on hot fresh bread, sinking into the flesh of it until it was indistinguishable, and therefore not able to be separately described.
But he was wool-gathering, and the cost of vigilance was the loss of wandering thought--at least in public.
He sat with his back the room, the wild eye which distinguished him (and which had been largely hidden, as he came in, behind unkempt fringe and the brim of his ugly but serviceable hat) closer to the wall and away from any potential takers of interest. Facing the wall as he was had turned out to be his favorite thing about the bloody eye; everyone knew that a man with an interest in the doings of others had better, if he wished to have any hope of clear observation, sit with his back to the wall.
Alastor, however, had the capacity for perfectly clear observations from right where he was, face shadowed and angled down toward the newspaper he pulled out of his inner pocket. He couldn't read the damned thing, of course; as befit the environment, it was Muggle and in Bulgarian. It didn't matter; his natural eye needed something upon which to focus, since sitting here staring at his hands might yet be perceived as odd, and he could always look at the pictures. When the barmaid came along, he didn't bother with more than the quickest of glances at her, enough to see the faint ghost of a stain on the worn fabric of her skirt, before he went back to casting his eye's path about the room. He'd already seen her on the way in, her drawn face and dull eyes a fitting match to the tired uniform and uninspiring table.
His Bulgarian was bad, but his tone--gruff, just short of angry, bored but not so disaffected as to seem unstable--fit in with the snatches of speech he heard all around him. It didn't take a great deal of vocabulary to order a cup of the sour beer and a plate of featureless slop, but it nearly took all of what he had; it was as well she wasn't the type to strike up conversation with a newcomer in hopes of making friends. No, she accepted his order and walked away, nothing about her suggesting she found him anything other than ordinary, typical, an unremarkable example of the gruff, angry, bored men all around him.
That was a relief; if she'd wanted to make friends, or even offer an evening of company of the sort which didn't require additional vocabulary, but generally did, in Alastor's experience, provide at least a handful of opportunities for a person to look him in the eye(s), he'd have had to develop an urgent need to be anywhere else, and try again later to make contact.
He let the relief stand, and didn't spend any time reflecting on the frustrations inherent in the sort of life she must lead as he went back to looking at pictures with his flesh and blood eye, and watching the others with the manufactured one. After a time, the girl--older than a girl, he observed as he watched her approach through the back of his skull; she was probably a good deal nearer thirty-five than sixteen--returned with his supper. It was salty and grayish, like an abandoned newspaper soaked in seawater, but he wasn't here for the cuisine, and he'd made do on worse. He grunted something noncommittal after his first bite, something which a generous watcher might have labeled thanks and a skeptical one labeled dismissal, and sipped at his beer.
It was exactly as sour as he'd expected, though the aftertaste was rather soapier and more leather-like than he'd even thought possible. But again, he'd made do with worse.
He spread out the newspaper, open to page five because one of the front-page articles continued there (at least that much of its organization, he understood) and scooped spoon after spoon slowly into his mouth as he watched the traffic behind him come and go.
Finally, after thirty-nine minutes according to the cracked clock above the door, the accuracy of which Alastor estimated to be dubious but not outrageously so, a newcomer entered with an aura of purpose and interest. Alastor thought probably no one else in the place would notice, but he was clearly looking for someone.
Looking for him, as a matter of fact.
He mentally reviewed the words he was to say, which comprised the rest of his Bulgarian vocabulary, and waited for the clock's hand to reach the bottom of the hour. Then, he shoved up his sleeve as though checking the watch he wasn't wearing, and folded up his newspaper.
Krum responded perfectly, glancing sharply toward him and then moving swiftly across the room, speaking as he drew near. Alastor knew the sense of what the boy was to say--Uncle, I thought I had missed you--and waited until the words stopped to repeat his own line, gesturing as he did.
Krum slid into the seat opposite him, his face stretched into a smile although Alastor thought his eyes held fear in them as well. It probably was no surprise; the impostor who had taken his place for all those months had treated the boy badly, and it had only been a few months since the ruse had been uncovered.
The code phrases and arranged public meeting had probably been unnecessary, if the incredibly vague interest of the others in the bar was anything to go on, but Alastor had always been a cautious man, and the reminder that he'd been captured only a bit more than a year ago had spurred him to be even more so. It never hurt to be more careful than was absolutely necessary, and Alastor's standard for necessity was hardly low. Besides, he had thought the use of the code might provide reassurance that he was, indeed, himself.
He pushed his half-drunk beer across, offering, and was a bit surprised when Krum took it up and drained the glass, but then, he was young and, if the slight flush of his cheeks was any indicator, had probably been running or flying or otherwise training somehow. He was probably thirsty. "You were able to find the place easily?" Alastor asked, a wave of his hand ensuring they wouldn't be overheard as anything other than the ordinary mumbles of mundane conversation.
"I was," Krum responded. He caught the eye of the waitress with some effort and ordered two more beers, which they sipped while Alastor outlined the mission that had brought him here.
When the clock struck eight, they rose from the booth--Krum smoothly and with the lithe muscles of a man just nineteen, Alastor with the greater effort of a man older and heavier, not to mention hampered by some missing flesh--and turned toward the door, Alastor's hat once more firmly pushed down over the disheveled mop of his hair. Alastor tossed a handful of crumpled bank notes, with an architect on some and a revolutionary monk, apparently, on others, onto the bar and grumbled impatiently, as though he'd no time to wait for his change. He'd never been terribly comfortable with the strange and destructible Muggle money, and Bulgarian notes held absurd figures on them--a thousand leva, two thousand--which made them even worse to deal with than anything Britain, or even nations to the north and west like Germany or Spain, required. The woman gave back a smaller note and a couple of coins, the faces on which he didn't know, and then they were away.
When they reached the door, Krum opened it, and Alastor preceded him through and turned to the left in the chilly autumn air. The hotel in which he'd booked a room was older and rather small, but had the advantages of good beds and privacy, with the bath immediately next to the room itself. He did plan to stay a few days rather than travelling back and forth, and he hadn't wanted to find himself wandering the length of the corridor at three o'clock in the morning.
Krum followed him up the stairs and into the room, wordless, and waited quietly while he checked the corners. When Alastor bent to yank up the duvet, he stepped forward and dropped to look under the bed, glancing up with a shrug. "If you will trust my word, no one is here."
Alastor looked through the bed anyway; looking with his physical eye was a matter of habit despite that he could, with some effort, see through at least nearby objects of low complexity, and it wouldn't hurt to let Krum feel trusted even if Alastor did not, in fact, trust anyone with anything of greater import than shining his shoes.
Or, he wouldn't, if he had ever bothered with any such procedure.
He pursed his lips. They should get this bit out of the way. "Should I ask the Ministry for a different contact for you?"
"Why?" Krum was quiet, his voice uninflected and gentle, but it wasn't difficult for Alastor to measure at a glance the tension of his chest and spine. "You do not wish to be reminded?"
Ah, a challenge, then. Alastor glared. "I had thought you might be unable to avoid the comparison."
"I was deceived, which will not happen again. I believe that I will live a long life, and this will mean, sometimes, I must work alongside someone whose aspect or whose manner is not what I would choose. It will also mean, I must learn, when I fail. To remain not learning is to invite disaster."
"And which am I? Unpleasant, or a lesson?"
"I will not mistake your identifying again, and if you are not often soft, I have met this before, among my coach and instructors."
"That's no answer, boy."
Krum said nothing for a moment, then smiled slowly, his eyes dark but not angry. "I will not make this decision, whether you are a face which is pretty enough for an international celebrity such as I, until I can do so without remembering to fear."
Alastor was surprised to find himself with no ready response to such an odd way of putting it. The boy wasn't stupid, which wasn't news; no Tri-Wizard Champion in any year had been dull, and if he was known for his participation in sport, well, it had never followed that physical coordination and intelligence were traits at odds one with the other. After a moment, he nodded. "I like a fair man. Perhaps you'll do."
Krum unbuttoned his coat and sent it toward the door, half a throw and half wandless guidance, to settle on the hook there, then pulled out one of the pair of chairs at the small table and sat down. "We will talk, then, until we conclude our business, or until we find we cannot."
Their business, at this point, consisted mostly of the exchange of information, though their intermediary had suggested Krum would be capable of much more, and Alastor was hoping that was true. Wizarding travel on the continent was relatively unfettered--much more so than Muggles, with their little books and stamps and concerns over the flow of people and products (which, privately, Alastor thought made a great deal of sense and wished wizardkind had been quicker to adopt; certainly the introduction of greater restrictions in travel would be a pain in the arse for those who traveled frequently, and of course every layer of bureaucracy added costs in money as well as personnel, but the compartmentalization of troubled areas would be a boon, and would be worth it), and his office didn't have the manpower to address growing concerns over recruitment in further-flung areas.
Yes, it would be good to have a man he could trust in the area, someone with tolerably quick wits and reflexes and a dislike of Voldemort and his men. Their mutual acquaintance had said Krum could be that man, despite his youth and inexperience, and Alastor's first impression was favorable, if cautiously so.
He explained the manner in which his Aurors had determined the need for additional eyes and ears in the Balkans. The Dark Lord had gone underground again after the events in the maze and graveyard, and while they had every reason to believe he was primarily focused on Britain at this point, no one old enough to remember past conflicts in Europe was foolish enough to think such a man would ever be satisfied with one small island. Recruitment was certainly ongoing on the continent, and enough troubles existed in Bulgaria and her neighbors that there were always those looking for a fast route to glory.
Krum listened closely as Alastor spoke and asked good questions, occasionally dropping in information that was entirely new and frequently offering useful thoughts about the details. Within twenty minutes, they'd determined there was no reason they couldn't work together, and after an hour Alastor had leaned over and retrieved the bag behind the table, with decent Scotch and a couple of clean glasses. As he had suspected might be the case, the boy was comfortable with two fingers of whisky despite his age, and showed no evidence, after their third drink, of particular inebriation. The conversation between them was satisfying, and it didn't take long for both of them to conclude the previous situation with the impostor was no longer an issue.
Alastor saw the boy out shortly after nine with a review of tomorrow's plan, then returned to his chair and capped the bottle. He'd had enough himself, for a man in a strange place and with plenty to do in the morning. Krum had a lot of contacts through sport and a handful through school associations, and he would be in touch with some of them this evening, while Alastor met with one of his own counterparts here. The Bulgarian Ministry was corrupt beyond the telling of it, but without that touch of official interaction, they would be acting without sanction, so it was a meeting that had to happen.
Alastor hated meetings that were designed to meet a ridiculous standard of propriety, rather than to accomplish any actual work, but he wasn't in any position to set the rules, so he would go, and he would say the right vague things about the right vague principles, and he would meet his Minister's needs with diplomatic bullshit.
At least they weren't like the fucking Albanians; those bastards had taken his eye for safekeeping and given him grief over the leg before they'd been willing to meet with him the summer before last, and he'd told the Minister straight away, that wouldn't be tolerated again. He was glad not to have to make a liar of himself, at least not so soon.
He considered scenarios for over an hour, working through directions in which the meeting might go and thinking about how to divert attention from his actual intentions. Sanction to work, he might need, but that didn't mean he needed to be a bloody idiot about it; if he got his way, their blessing wouldn't curtail his work, and they'd have no idea as to his actual intentions in working with the ordinary men and women of the area. Getting to that outcome was the primary goal of the day, followed by a second interaction with Krum if all went well.
When he took himself to bed, sometime near eleven, he found himself tracing figures on the blanket over his chest and thinking drowsily about Krum as he'd entered the bar, alert and eager and not entirely what Alastor had expected despite assurances--because assurances were all very well, but assumptions were not, and taking a promise at face value was just the same as accepting an assumption without due consideration. In any case, his expectations had been exceeded, and the he thought it would be safe, or at least as safe as it ever was to count on anyone, to give him some rope and see where he took it or whether he hung.
But he thought he could be trusted, and actually, he rather liked him, beyond that he found him appealing in a way he certainly wouldn't act on.
Alastor rarely liked, or was attracted to, people he'd only just met. He wasn't sure whether this development pleased him, or frightened him.
Finally, late, he fell asleep, still pondering.
--
He'd slept with the eye in, as he always did when he wasn't at home; the moment of disorientation with its insertion was a moment too long in a strange place. It was just as well. When the door opened, letting in the light from the hall, he saw it in his dream, and when the man closed it quietly and moved toward him, he watched, half-asleep, half waiting in the thin blue light of the moon.
He waited, keeping his breathing as steady as he could, until the hand was just over his mouth, then grabbed the wrist and used the man's own momentum to pull it closer, biting down hard and bringing up his wand left-handed.
The man cursed, harsh whispered Slavic words that certainly didn't evoke bunnies or spun sugar, but he didn't struggle, simply waiting to be let go.
Alastor released his assailant's hand but kept the wand trained on him and sat up, wandlessly and wordlessly pressing the switch to turn on the lamp. He squinted. "Krum."
"I intended only to waken you without sound," the boy said. He kept his voice low, and didn't move to address the broken skin of his hand. "I have stopped at the home of a friend to make our inquiry, which is successful, but when I then have approached my building, I observe that two men, which were earlier at our meeting, are on bench nearby. Perhaps, I know, is coincidence, but--"
"No such thing as coincidence," Alastor said. "Let me see your hand."
"Is nothing," Krum said. "Worse happens often, at Quidditch."
"At Quidditch, you're rarely being followed by people who might use blood to follow you."
Krum blinked. "This, I have not considered." He held out his hand, which was more bruised than sluggishly bleeding, but which had by now gathered enough welling blood to run and eventually drip.
Alastor switched his wand into his right hand to seal the open wounds and dispel some of the gathered blood, then squinted up again. "So, you thought you were being followed, and it seemed like you ought to come here."
"No, that, I have considered." Krum shook his head to confirm his words. "I have been several places in between, with some Apparating and some walking. When I have not seen them three times, then I come here. If it is that I am being followed, I believe you have more situation than you are thinking, and must know, which will then happen very soon."
"I--" Alastor was still holding the boy's wrist in his left hand from the healing work, and had just glanced down at it again to see if there was anything else that needed attending to when the door burst open and two men who had clearly just Apparated into the corridor pushed through.
It was just as well he was still touching him; Krum turned the hand over in a flash, grabbing Alastor's wrist as though it were a sleepy Snitch, and Apparated them both out of the room and into another within the building. Alastor looked around.
"Did you know there would be no one in this room?" he whispered.
"Could not be certain," Krum replied, just as quietly. "But, when I have left earlier, I did see, each room has same arrangement, and usually, I am very good at knowing how many meters I am moving."
"Convenient, that." Alastor rolled his eye about, looking at the shadows of movement through the walls and ceiling. Seeing onto other floors was more than the eye could do for him, but after several seconds, he was reasonably certain the men had assumed their flight to be further than it was, and had gone. "They've left," he said.
"Is it better, to stay in place until morning, or to go another time, if they might not return?" Krum was still gripping his wrist, not tightly, but not so loosely that it would be only a matter of Alastor pulling through his fingers to free himself, and they'd settled in nearly the same place in this room as the former, Alastor seated on the bed and Krum nearly sprawled across him where he'd landed enough further into the room that he'd had effectively tripped on the frame as they'd set down.
"Are you injured?" It occurred to Alastor that given Krum's response to the bite, if he'd managed to impale himself on anything he might well not show it.
"Bruise, I think," Krum said. He rolled off Alastor, lying stretched out on his back beside him, and lifted one leg, flexing and rolling the ankle and foot. "Is well enough. Is mattering, to the answer?"
Alastor paused, staring at the boy lying next to him on the wide bed, suddenly aware he was stripped to his underclothes and missing a leg because he'd been in bed. It didn't matter, of course; he was decades past being shy about his body, and anyone who was disgusted was welcome to fuck right off, but he did find it a bit surprising that Krum was not just showing no sign of disgust, but appeared to be not in the least uncomfortable. "No, it doesn't matter," he said after a moment. "Though of course, once they tumble to the fact I left my leg, they're probably going to come back and try to follow the damned thing if I summon it."
"So you should not summon, then." Krum rolled up onto his side, propping his head on his healed hand. "You are unable to walk, though, unless you have it?"
"Unable, no. Perhaps you noticed I'm a wizard?"
"This is not the new information, yes." Krum grinned. "I was only meaning, is this too uncomfortable that you perhaps are not mobile. If it is, I could go elsewhere, summon, bring back."
"Unnecessary." Alastor shook his head. "I'll make something that'll suit when I'm ready to go somewhere."
"For now, you will stay here?"
"Seems easier than finding somewhere else," Alastor said. "No benefit to doing something the hard way, just to do it. Why, you have somewhere better in mind?"
"No, only I was thinking, if we are staying here, and we are not sleeping anyway--you are not sleeping?"
Alastor gave him a hard look. From both the words and his tone, it sounded like he was suggesting something sexual. "No," he said after a moment. "I think that's unlikely. Where are you going with this?"
"Did we not just say, not going somewhere?" Krum frowned. "Then, I am going nowhere, unless you are wishing I am away. Only, if we are not sleeping, and we are staying in bed, perhaps we must use bed for other good purpose of sex. If this is interesting for you, which I was thinking perhaps, earlier, but I have maybe misunderstood."
"I'm not in favor of being toyed with."
"I… have not brought any toys?"
Alastor huffed, annoyed both with the literal understanding of his words and with his body, which, despite all experience suggesting it was bloody unlikely an internationally-famous Quidditch star with a flock of followers and a young lithe body would truly find anything interesting in him, had gone right ahead and got interested back.
Which, for what it was worth, was relatively novel; Alastor hadn't been young in quite some time, and for several years he hadn't even spared much thought for sex. "I didn't mean toys, I meant, if this is a game you're playing to be funny, I'm not interested in being amusement."
"Ah. No, is not game." Krum leaned closer, palm landing flat, fingers spread wide, on Alastor's ribcage, close enough that Alastor could feel the half-hard bulge in his trousers and certainly Krum could see the same in him even though there was still only bright moonlight. Never the less, he resisted just going for the fast and easy. "Which is not that I am saying, not to be having fun; is only, not to be laughing at you."
"So, you were afraid of me a few hours ago, and now you want to fuck?"
"Perhaps it is that I am aroused by fear?" Krum shrugged. "Is not that, though, if we are truthful."
"Truthful's preferred, when it comes to fucking. Then what?" Alastor was intrigued now, not that this stopped him from making another sweep of the area with his eye. Krum waited until he was finished before answering.
"I have again not understood question."
"Then, if it's not you're aroused by fear, what is it that gets you hot? It can't be old men. As I recall, you've been seen to date women--pretty women, none of whom remind me of me."
"Is important?" Krum's hand had remained on Alastor's chest, and now he pushed off with it a little, moving himself back half an inch and looking Alastor in the good eye in the dim room. "This will sound like I am very bad person, but you have just said truthful is preferred. I am usually not struggling to get sex, and I have not known before, I am very bad at to be patient."
Alastor laughed aloud. "That only makes you a bad person if you get it from people who don't want to give it," he said.
"Which is you?"
"No," Alastor said before he thought. "No, I do want, but I want to know what's in it for you."
"Sex."
"With a man three times your age, whose wooden leg is unavailable, who can see through the back of his head, and who's never been particularly fit."
Krum chuckled now. "If you must use wooden leg for fucking, I have not understood word leg correctly."
"Smartarse. Though I'd certainly want it if we were standing." Alastor felt his face flush warm as he thought about what it would be like, if he were allowed to watch Krum's muscles straining to maintain balance as he reached for orgasm. "And that's still no answer."
"So we are not standing. Eye is also not important. No, I see, is still not answer. Here is important thing: we can have conversation which is interesting. This is more arousing than any shape of body, for me. Pretty women, this is expected, for newspaper. Also, I like them, when they will have conversation. Sometimes, they will only want to be naked and pretend to enjoy so they will say to their friends, I have fucked them. Them, I don't fuck."
"So you want me for my mind."
"And for hands. And mouth. And--"
"Smart. Arse." Alastor rolled in, a little unsteady because the absence of the leg always made for some awkwardness, and pulled Krum close. "Also, I'm not pretending to enjoy myself, so if you want to make me sing your praises, you're going to have to work for it."
"Work, I will not mind." Krum said. "But, I will add, if they return and think of looking for us here, as they have not any magic eye, they maybe will think loud fucking people is not Auror and Quidditch player. This is only extra, you understand, and is not working if you are shouting my name." He pushed his hand up under Alastor's vest.
Alastor groaned as Krum pushed him onto his back and followed, straddling his thighs and mouthing at his bare stomach and chest as he pushed the vest higher before him. "I suppose you think you're in charge, here?" he asked, trying not to rock up too helplessly, which would be both ridiculous and embarrassing.
"Only in case of I must still convince you this is something I am wanting." Krum lifted his head and caught Alastor's eye, then lowered his chin slowly, tongue out, to touch the tip to Alastor's nipple. "We will meet many times for this work, and perhaps also for pleasure; next time, you will be in charge. And then, you will have leg and can stand."
Alastor wasn't sure what to do with that, so he closed his eyes and watched anyway with the magical one as the boy licked his way back down, striving for Alastor's thickened cock and sucking it eagerly into his mouth when he got there. He pressed his own erection, still trapped in his trousers and pants, against Alastor's knee and rocked, his body moving with his mouth as Alastor shuddered and panted.
All right, so he hadn't been joking about wanting this. He'd said so, and Alastor had believed him or they wouldn't be doing this, but still, the reality of it was startling. When he thought he could manage to speak without gasping, Alastor opened his eyes, staring down at the boy until he looked up. "Come here," he said.
Krum let Alastor's cock drop out of his mouth and grinned so his white teeth showed in the moonlight, crawling forward again until Alastor could reach him and drag him even with him. He wrapped his good leg around behind Krum's knees, grabbing his arse and grinding up against him for a moment and then feeling for the wand he'd let go somewhere in the blankets because letting go long enough to strip Krum of his inconvenient clothes seemed like a crime.
As long as there was stripping, he might as well get rid of his pants and vest, as well.
Krum's groan as their bared cocks slid alongside each other nearly finished him, but Alastor gripped tighter and bit down on his lip and then on Krum's throat and jaw. Krum's thrusts rocked the bed against the wall, knocking until the people in the next room thumped back at them and shouted at them to stop--at least, this was what Alastor assumed; Krum chuckled and groaned louder, moving faster and answering in a tone that suggested he was offering an opinion as to their own sex lives, then stilled as he came, thick pulses between them, cock twitching against the side of Alastor's.
Alastor wanted very badly for him to have held out another thirty seconds; he was just on the edge and not quite ready, and Krum was still now, mouth hanging open, face blissful. Then he looked down and said, "I have told them, they wish they are as lucky right now," and shoved Alastor's calf off the back of his legs as he moved back to take his cock in his mouth again.
It turned out thirty seconds was an overestimate; in ten he was done, quivering and grasping the bed-covers with both hands beside his hips.
Krum wiped his chin with the back of his hand. "May I stay?"
He couldn't remember the last time he'd said yes to that, but within seconds, Alastor had cleaned up his belly with a swish of his wand and stood balanced on the one leg long enough to repair the blankets as Krum waited. They crawled in together, warm and tired, and Alastor closed his eyes. Tomorrow still promised to be a long day, but perhaps it would be productive, and if it wasn't, this had been quite a start to his trip.
Maybe it had been the start of something more; he felt settled and surprisingly untroubled.
--
LONDON. The Ministry of Magic reports the death of Auror Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody last evening in an operation the details of which are confidential. Ministry officials who wish to remain unnamed are quoted as saying Auror Moody was a reckless man, known for the sort of impetuous and rash decisions that led to his nick-name, but his colleagues in the Aurors office dispute that, describing him as a man known for vigilance and caution. Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of those with whom he had worked most closely, said that he would be greatly missed.
--
The patrons of the bar looked up as he limped in, the crutch at his side bearing some of the weight where the end of his stump was still badly bruised and probably a little bit infected again, having never quite healed after the mid-flight duel. Well, the leg had fared better than the eyes, anyway. He looked around, and found he wasn't sure whether he wanted people to be frightened by his appearance or to pity him. There were expressions among the patrons that indicated each response, and neither was very satisfying.
He took a seat toward the front, because he was too bloody tired to walk to the back, and at this point if someone recognized and killed him, he rather thought it wouldn't be much loss; his part in the war was over, and with the state of the Ministry and the way his magic had been of late (unpredictable, though it was settling some as he healed), it wasn't even safe to let anyone in Britain know he'd survived the damned fall.
The waitress was new since he'd last visited, her hair golden-red and braided, her eyes bright, and she brought him a hot cup of passable coffee before he asked. He ordered soup and beer once again, although now his Bulgarian would have supported a rather more encompassing conversation, and waited to see if the cooking was equally improved.
She returned a few minutes later with a bowl of stew--something made with a healthy portion of meat and plenty of vegetables--and a cup of tea. "Viktor is wait long for you. He will have very glad." she said carefully. When he opened his mouth to reply, she shook her head and explained in Bulgarian that her English was quite limited.
So, she'd learned to say just those phrases? She was watching for him? It reminded him of learning to greet Viktor nearly two years ago (had it only been two? It felt like twenty, and all of them long but especially the two months since he'd last been here), and he wondered if that was deliberate. The notion drew a smile to his lips, the expression feeling foreign on his face. It had been a long time, and for once, he didn't feel as though he needed to watch every step despite encountering something unexpected. "Thanks, then." He picked up the tea and took a sip, then leaned back to wait. Perhaps his assignment here had been both convenient and kind, after all.
He rubbed at his sore leg for a minute, watching the waitress pick up her telephone twice between customers, then finished both stew and tea, and struggled to his feet again, beckoning her.
"You are going so soon?" Viktor asked. "I think I will be hurt." He'd come from the back of the bar somewhere, and without the eye, Alastor hadn't seen him approaching. He scowled.
"I was going to have her pass you a note," he said.
"She already did."
"Of course." Alastor waved her away and sat back down as Viktor grinned at her and handed over a pair of bank notes, the new ones since the re-issuing. "I don't suppose you know anyone willing to have a look at my leg, do you?"
Viktor looked Alastor up and down, then winked. "Besides me?"
"Pervert. I meant--"
"I know. And I do." Viktor leaned close. "Perhaps first, a cushioning charm, if you will allow me? It is not far to somewhere I can Apparate us and then I can take better care of, but--"
"I think I'd like that. The charm, and the care."
"I always am charming. Is impossible to stop," Viktor said with a smirk. He ran his hand over Alastor's knee briefly, which, alone, felt better than most things Alastor could think of but which also brought with it the relief of more cushioning against the prosthetic.
"For that, I won't kill you in your sleep for bad puns," Alastor said.
"I always am caring, too." Viktor held out his hand to help Alastor up, and walked with him to the door.
***
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