Fic: 'The Collector' Horace Slughorn NC17
Title - The Collector
Author - softly_sweetly
Beta - luvscharlie
Rating - NC17
Word Count - ~1,300
Characters/Pairings - Slughorn, Harry
Warnings/Kinks - Voyeurism,
Disclaimer - I own nothing but the plot lines. I make no money from this, and mean no offence by any scene depicted within this story. All characters depicted in sexual situations herein are above the age of consent.
Summary - Horace told himself that he was acting in Harry's best interests, by preventing him from getting onto the shelf only to be taken off it should some unfortunate secret come to life. And Horace believed himself as he stroked his hand up and down his shaft, matching his rhythm to Harry's.
Author's Notes - Told using the prompt Voyeurism from my kink_bingo claim card, which can be found here.
This occurs in the winter term at Hogwarts in Harry's sixth year, before Harry has asked Horace about the memory.
Slowly pushing open the bathroom door, Horace cursed his girth as he squeezed into the Prefects' Bathroom. Once upon a time, he'd been able to squeeze through this door without having to fling it wide open. However, his current obsession was that focused on getting the combination of water and bubbles right that Horace was able to close the door behind him without Harry noticing.
Nothing in Hogwarts ever seemed to change, and yet Horace was still surprised by how similar the Prefects' Bathroom was to how it had been the last time he was in it, almost fifteen years ago. The same marble floor, the same golden fixtures and fittings. The same sluttish mermaid on the window. Horace cursed her silently; the number of times he'd almost been caught by her noticing movement, or a sigh, didn't bear thinking about. Although, she wasn't there tonight; clearly visiting one of her other windows. Good; his students were always more natural when she wasn't there giggling and flicking her hair.
Harry was stripping his clothes off now, and Horace put all thoughts of mermaids out of his mind. Sitting down silently - a hard thing to do, now that his joints were getting old, and tried to coax a groan out of him each time they bent - Horace slowly undid the buttons on his trousers. Reaching in and pulling his dick out, Horace just held himself, feeling his dick sluggishly come to life as he watched Harry stand up at the far end of the huge bath. Horace felt like a spectator at one of those Muggle swimming matches, watching the long line of Harry's body from his ankles to his wrists as he stretched his arms up above his head.
Harry was a little on the small side for his age, but Horace liked small. Once a boy could tower over Horace himself, the appeal was lost. But Harry was a few inches shy of that, and even if he did shoot up suddenly, Horace was sure that wouldn't effect this infatuation. This was Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, the Saviour, and whatever else the Prophet was calling him this week. He would truly be the jewel in Horace's crown, if Horace could collect him.
Rising up on his tiptoes, Harry suddenly bent his knees down and then sprang forwards, diving into the bath and disappearing under the bubbles. Horace nearly applauded; it was such a magnificently smooth, natural movement. Clearly Harry was more fluid in the water than in the air, where clumsiness often overcame him. Harry popped up from the water, gasping for breath, and fell into a few laps of the bath. Horace squeezed his shaft tightly, the familiar tendrils of arousal curling around his body.
He'd never, ever touch a student. But to know that they were truly worthy of a place on his shelf, Horace had to know everything about them, had to view them when they thought no one was watching, to ensure they deserved to be part of his elite collection. And he'd never been wrong about a student yet.
Except... but Horace shook that thought away, dispelling Tom Riddle from his mind so that his arousal didn't fade away. He was quite surprised that Dumbledore hadn't cornered him yet and pressed him about that blasted... that incident. Horace wasn't stupid enough to think the point would remain un-raised during his employment at Hogwarts, but he could worry more about it in the morning. Tonight, he had to make a decision on whether Harry Potter belonged on his shelf or not.
Harry had finished swimming, and was sat up on the edge of the bath. The bath wasn't full all the way, so Horace could see Harry's feet rested on one of the steps into the bath. The steps were on the side of the bath directly opposite Horace, giving him a straight on view of Harry's body. Looking Harry up and down, Horace's dick twitched in his hand as he caught sight of Harry's cock, already hard and jutting out of a little bed of tight, black curls. Horace's nose, well-trained from years of potions making, could almost pick out the scent of sex, the smell of the tiny bead of pre-come that was already sitting pretty at the head of Harry's dick. Thank Merlin age had been kind to him, and his eyesight remained good enough to pick out the details of Harry's body, the sparse hairs scattered over his belly and the thick vein running up the underside of his cock.
Horace never came to the bathrooms to watch his prizes masturbate; he came to ensure there was nothing about them than he needed to know, that would affect their eligibility for his shelf. That was why he came, the only reason, and if he undid his trousers when he sat down, it was only to release some of the pressure from his ever-increasing girth. Horace told himself that, told himself that he was acting in Harry's best interests, by preventing him from getting onto the shelf only to be taken off it should some unfortunate secret come to life. And Horace believed himself as he stroked his hand up and down his shaft, matching his rhythm to Harry's. This wasn't really breaking any trust; the students knew that their professors watched over them always. Horace was just taking that literally. Besides, what Harry didn't know couldn't hurt him.
Harry looked delicious, not a flaw on him. The usual childhood scars, of course, but nothing that implied he wasn't what he seemed, wasn't wholly deserving of Horace' special attention. And like this, with his guard down as his hand flew up and down his shaft, cheeks flushed and mouth hanging open, he looked divine, the closest thing to God Horace had seen in a long time.
Horace was nowhere near his own orgasm when Harry curled forwards, his chin pressing into his chest as he came hard, his moans echoing around the wet bathroom. Horace's eyes widened greedily as he watched the white ribbons shooting up from Harry's dick, going over his thighs and his chest and his hand. Horace almost envied Harry; the speed and intensity of his orgasm was one of the few perks of youth, and more hormones crashing through his body than there would ever be again.
With some difficulty, Horace tucked his erect dick back into his trousers and did them up. He'd seen all he needed to see, and stood up to leave. At that moment, Harry opened up out of his foetal position, and Horace paused. Had he been seen, had his Invisibility Potion worn off early? Truthfully, Horace didn't know how long he'd been watching Harry, he'd been that lost in the rhythm that time had ceased to mean anything.
However, Harry didn't look up at him, and Horace let out his pent up breath in a silent whoosh. Harry was instead studying his hand, and the white stains decorating his fingers. Horace backed towards the door silently, reaching his hand out behind him to feel for the handle. His fingers closed around it just in time; Harry's pink tongue poked out from between his lips, licking one of his fingers and pulling an intrigued little face as he swallowed. Horace's knees went weak.
Finally getting the door open and slipping out of it, Horace hoped Harry would put the open and close down to the breeze in the castle corridors, if he even noticed it, that was. Waddling quickly back towards his offices, Horace tried not to think of Harry's tongue, tipped in the white of his own semen; he didn't want to have to duck into a broom cupboard like an over excitable teenager.
As his office door wound into view, Horace smiled to himself. Harry was definitely deserving of a place on his shelf.
Author - softly_sweetly
Beta - luvscharlie
Rating - NC17
Word Count - ~1,300
Characters/Pairings - Slughorn, Harry
Warnings/Kinks - Voyeurism,
Disclaimer - I own nothing but the plot lines. I make no money from this, and mean no offence by any scene depicted within this story. All characters depicted in sexual situations herein are above the age of consent.
Summary - Horace told himself that he was acting in Harry's best interests, by preventing him from getting onto the shelf only to be taken off it should some unfortunate secret come to life. And Horace believed himself as he stroked his hand up and down his shaft, matching his rhythm to Harry's.
Author's Notes - Told using the prompt Voyeurism from my kink_bingo claim card, which can be found here.
This occurs in the winter term at Hogwarts in Harry's sixth year, before Harry has asked Horace about the memory.
Slowly pushing open the bathroom door, Horace cursed his girth as he squeezed into the Prefects' Bathroom. Once upon a time, he'd been able to squeeze through this door without having to fling it wide open. However, his current obsession was that focused on getting the combination of water and bubbles right that Horace was able to close the door behind him without Harry noticing.
Nothing in Hogwarts ever seemed to change, and yet Horace was still surprised by how similar the Prefects' Bathroom was to how it had been the last time he was in it, almost fifteen years ago. The same marble floor, the same golden fixtures and fittings. The same sluttish mermaid on the window. Horace cursed her silently; the number of times he'd almost been caught by her noticing movement, or a sigh, didn't bear thinking about. Although, she wasn't there tonight; clearly visiting one of her other windows. Good; his students were always more natural when she wasn't there giggling and flicking her hair.
Harry was stripping his clothes off now, and Horace put all thoughts of mermaids out of his mind. Sitting down silently - a hard thing to do, now that his joints were getting old, and tried to coax a groan out of him each time they bent - Horace slowly undid the buttons on his trousers. Reaching in and pulling his dick out, Horace just held himself, feeling his dick sluggishly come to life as he watched Harry stand up at the far end of the huge bath. Horace felt like a spectator at one of those Muggle swimming matches, watching the long line of Harry's body from his ankles to his wrists as he stretched his arms up above his head.
Harry was a little on the small side for his age, but Horace liked small. Once a boy could tower over Horace himself, the appeal was lost. But Harry was a few inches shy of that, and even if he did shoot up suddenly, Horace was sure that wouldn't effect this infatuation. This was Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, the Saviour, and whatever else the Prophet was calling him this week. He would truly be the jewel in Horace's crown, if Horace could collect him.
Rising up on his tiptoes, Harry suddenly bent his knees down and then sprang forwards, diving into the bath and disappearing under the bubbles. Horace nearly applauded; it was such a magnificently smooth, natural movement. Clearly Harry was more fluid in the water than in the air, where clumsiness often overcame him. Harry popped up from the water, gasping for breath, and fell into a few laps of the bath. Horace squeezed his shaft tightly, the familiar tendrils of arousal curling around his body.
He'd never, ever touch a student. But to know that they were truly worthy of a place on his shelf, Horace had to know everything about them, had to view them when they thought no one was watching, to ensure they deserved to be part of his elite collection. And he'd never been wrong about a student yet.
Except... but Horace shook that thought away, dispelling Tom Riddle from his mind so that his arousal didn't fade away. He was quite surprised that Dumbledore hadn't cornered him yet and pressed him about that blasted... that incident. Horace wasn't stupid enough to think the point would remain un-raised during his employment at Hogwarts, but he could worry more about it in the morning. Tonight, he had to make a decision on whether Harry Potter belonged on his shelf or not.
Harry had finished swimming, and was sat up on the edge of the bath. The bath wasn't full all the way, so Horace could see Harry's feet rested on one of the steps into the bath. The steps were on the side of the bath directly opposite Horace, giving him a straight on view of Harry's body. Looking Harry up and down, Horace's dick twitched in his hand as he caught sight of Harry's cock, already hard and jutting out of a little bed of tight, black curls. Horace's nose, well-trained from years of potions making, could almost pick out the scent of sex, the smell of the tiny bead of pre-come that was already sitting pretty at the head of Harry's dick. Thank Merlin age had been kind to him, and his eyesight remained good enough to pick out the details of Harry's body, the sparse hairs scattered over his belly and the thick vein running up the underside of his cock.
Horace never came to the bathrooms to watch his prizes masturbate; he came to ensure there was nothing about them than he needed to know, that would affect their eligibility for his shelf. That was why he came, the only reason, and if he undid his trousers when he sat down, it was only to release some of the pressure from his ever-increasing girth. Horace told himself that, told himself that he was acting in Harry's best interests, by preventing him from getting onto the shelf only to be taken off it should some unfortunate secret come to life. And Horace believed himself as he stroked his hand up and down his shaft, matching his rhythm to Harry's. This wasn't really breaking any trust; the students knew that their professors watched over them always. Horace was just taking that literally. Besides, what Harry didn't know couldn't hurt him.
Harry looked delicious, not a flaw on him. The usual childhood scars, of course, but nothing that implied he wasn't what he seemed, wasn't wholly deserving of Horace' special attention. And like this, with his guard down as his hand flew up and down his shaft, cheeks flushed and mouth hanging open, he looked divine, the closest thing to God Horace had seen in a long time.
Horace was nowhere near his own orgasm when Harry curled forwards, his chin pressing into his chest as he came hard, his moans echoing around the wet bathroom. Horace's eyes widened greedily as he watched the white ribbons shooting up from Harry's dick, going over his thighs and his chest and his hand. Horace almost envied Harry; the speed and intensity of his orgasm was one of the few perks of youth, and more hormones crashing through his body than there would ever be again.
With some difficulty, Horace tucked his erect dick back into his trousers and did them up. He'd seen all he needed to see, and stood up to leave. At that moment, Harry opened up out of his foetal position, and Horace paused. Had he been seen, had his Invisibility Potion worn off early? Truthfully, Horace didn't know how long he'd been watching Harry, he'd been that lost in the rhythm that time had ceased to mean anything.
However, Harry didn't look up at him, and Horace let out his pent up breath in a silent whoosh. Harry was instead studying his hand, and the white stains decorating his fingers. Horace backed towards the door silently, reaching his hand out behind him to feel for the handle. His fingers closed around it just in time; Harry's pink tongue poked out from between his lips, licking one of his fingers and pulling an intrigued little face as he swallowed. Horace's knees went weak.
Finally getting the door open and slipping out of it, Horace hoped Harry would put the open and close down to the breeze in the castle corridors, if he even noticed it, that was. Waddling quickly back towards his offices, Horace tried not to think of Harry's tongue, tipped in the white of his own semen; he didn't want to have to duck into a broom cupboard like an over excitable teenager.
As his office door wound into view, Horace smiled to himself. Harry was definitely deserving of a place on his shelf.