Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/773726.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Bartemius_Crouch_Jr./Quirinus_Quirrell
  Character:
      Quirinus_Quirrell, Barty_Crouch_Junior, Bartemius_Crouch_Jr.
  Additional Tags:
      offscreen_abuse, Offscreen_Violence
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-04-25 Words: 1611
****** Interlude, With Asides ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Doomed young lovers meet after a break.
That sweet smile, still a bit shy, as if I might turn him away. Four years
since
since you soiled him since you made him into a filthy thing like you
we got together and there's still that hesitancy when we greet each other after
an absence. When I smile back his eyes light up and he finds the nerve to
speak.
"What did you do over the break?"
committed my first murder. sorry, murders, plural. practiced the Unforgivables
on helpless prisoners. oh, and got passed around like a party favor to reward
the Inner Circle once or twice. You?
I take his hand before answering. It's a little cold. He always seems to be a
little cold, a little too thin. Fragile. I like it. "Studied. Tried not to get
in my father's way. Missed you." He doesn't believe me, of course. He's far too
smart not to be suspicious. But he's never pressed, never questioned me. And
I'm glad. I don't want to lie to him but I'll do whatever I have to to keep him
safe. To keep him mine.
"I m-missed you." When he sounds nervous like that it makes me feel so
protective, so possessive, like I want to keep him locked away so no one else
can touch him. I pull him close and wrap my arms around him, not caring who
sees. "I love you," he murmurs against my neck.
 
His cheek feels cool against my neck, too. He's shaking, just a little. "I love
you. And I want to get you somewhere nice and cozy so I can get some of these
layers off you without you catching your death of cold." I tighten my grip on
him and murmur in his ear, the low growl only he ever hears, "Somewhere where I
can get you down on your knees in front of me."
This time when he shivers, I know it's not from cold.
 
There are lots of out-of-the way nooks and crannies in a place as big as
Hogwarts. Last year I found what must have been a sitting room of some sort.
There was a plush (if dusty and threadbare) sofa, lacquered endtables that must
have been lovely before they were faded and peeling, and an absolutely
marvelous fireplace. Best of all, it doesn't seem to have been used for
decades. I didn't want to attract any attention to the room by fixing it up too
much, but I couldn't resist putting a thick, soft rug in front of the
fireplace.
 
That's where I lead him now. I know he knows where we're headed as well as I
do, but he trails behind me, always a half-step behind. I can feel his narrow
chest brushing against my back. It's all I can do not to ravish him in the
hallway, pressed up against the stone wall.
 
stone wall against my back, that pretty, aristocratic face leering down at me,
spitting defiance up at him even as he's grinding into me, rough, and I'm
laughing even though I'm bleeding because I know something he doesn't,
something he wants so badly, and I'm going to have a little fun with him before
I give it to him even if I have to let him think he's in control first... and
then I can put the fear of the Dark Lord into him before bringing him into the
fold and He'll be pleased with me when I bring him this one...
Our snug little room is just as we've left it. I put a locking charm on the
door while he starts a fire. It's almost domestic. For a moment, just being
there with him seems like all I could want, until he turns from the fireplace,
kneeling on the rug, and turns his dark eyes up to me. He's blushing a little.
Still a little bit shy. I'm hard already. "My Quin," I say softly, watching his
eyes light up. It's my special name for him, from when we first got together
and I told him that Quirinus seemed too formal and he just looked at me with
that breathtaking helpless stare and said no-one had ever called him anything
else. I think if I ever heard anyone else call him Quin, I'd kill them.
I only unbutton my robe far enough to yank it roughly over my head and toss it
onto the old sofa as I cross the room. Finally he's on his knees in front of me
and I stroke his hair, smiling down at him. "I've missed you so much." I trace
the rim of his ear with a fingertip, trailing it down across his jaw, and his
breathing and mine both quicken. "Missed your sweet mouth." His eyes widen at
the implicit command, and he gasps softly, hands fluttering to my belt buckle.
His hands are cool against my skin as he eases my trousers down and again I
want to pull him close and warm every inch of him... but when one of those
chilled hands cups my balls and the other wraps around the base of my cock, I'm
more worried about my knees giving out. At the first touch of his tongue I grab
his shoulders for balance. His mouth is fever-hot and his hands are still cool
and that's enough to set me to whimpering as if I'd never been touched before.
But he knows me so well, knows where to lick and where to nibble and which
moans mean 'slow down' or 'harder, faster, more...' and I don't even try to
hold back, thrusting into his mouth, and I know I'm gripping his shoulders hard
enough to leave bruises. He bruises easily, and they're so vivid on his fair
skin. I'm already imagining what the marks of my fingers will look like, and
that's what pushes me over the edge. I hear a loud moan and realize it's me. I
can feel him gagging a little around me as I spurt into his throat and I'd pull
back, but he's got his arms wrapped tightly around me. Right now that's all
that's holding me up.
I slide down onto the rug, pulling him into an embrace. His eyes reflect the
firelight
 
red eyes, glittering. "What is it you've brought me now?" a sharp-edged laugh.
"Honestly. If you meant him as a virgin sacrifice, you should have made sure he
qualified." those eyes, fixed on me, looking through me, and an even sharper
laugh. "But I think I can use this one, yes..."
and the warm glow makes his pale skin look almost healthy. It's impossible to
be so close to him and not kiss him, and his soft gasp as I press my mouth
firmly against his sends another delighted shudder up my spine. And he's still
dressed, I don't want him to be, but I don't want to pull away from his mouth
either, so I'm fumbling a little awkwardly to try and strip him without giving
up the taste of myself on his lips. His hands fly to my shirt-buttons and I
can't help but laugh; I'd forgotten that I was still mostly dressed.
We're both laughing by the time we've gotten each other completely stripped.
The warm, unguarded expression on his usually anxious face takes my breath
away. I can't get enough of touching him. I can feel his ribs, the knobs of his
spine... his wrists are so thin, his bones seem as delicate as a bird's. He
clings to me as if he thinks I might push him away, even as I'm kissing him
hungrily.
 
"Want you," I murmur. "I want you to fuck me."
 
His eyes flutter wide at that. "But I... we never... I never..."
 
And it's the truth. The passivity in him usually draws out a much more primal,
aggressive instinct in me. But just now I want
 
want someone screwing me because they love me, not for some depraved amusement
or means of manipulation
 
to burn this instant into my mind forever, to have that much more of him. And
from the hardness pressing into my hip I can tell he's not exactly opposed to
the idea. I push him onto his back and he blinks up at me with mild confusion,
but he doesn't question.
 
He never questions me.
 
I retrieve the flask of almond oil from the pocket of my crumpled trousers and,
straddling him, slick us both up, watching his face intently. "I love you," I
breathe softly, before lowering myself onto his length.
 
"I love... oh!" His already-wide eyes open further, and his mouth is a perfect
'o'. Irresistible. I lean in to kiss him hungrily while I rock on top of him.
 
He whimpers into my mouth, but his need is, at the moment, stronger than his
uncertainty. Grabbing my hips, he thrusts up into me, ragged and arrhythmical.
I'm not expecting him to last long, but I'm savoring every part of the moment;
the warmth of the fire, the thick rug under my knees, the familiar taste of his
mouth and the little stifled gasps he's making, and his lovely long cock
sliding up within me.
 
When he stiffens, moans, and shudders, I roll onto my side and pull him close.
He's staring up at me with the same rapt adoration as the first time I'd lured
him into a dusty storeroom for a rushed blowjob.
 
"Oh," he finally whispers. "Oh, Barty... I love you." He buries his face
against my chest.
 
"I love you," I tell him fiercely. "You're mine. Forever."
 
The finger-shaped bruises are already darkening on his shoulders. They look
just as I'd imagined.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!