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Harry knocked twice on the heavy oak door and took a step back. He hadn’t made an appointment. Muted sounds came from within, then the door swung open to reveal a decidedly casual Theodor Nott, fifteen years older than the boy Harry vaguely remembered from school. If he was surprised to see an Auror on the doorstep of his workspace, he didn’t show it.
“Potter.” Nott greeted him with a short nod, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth and a tumbler of firewhisky in hand.
“Nott,” Harry returned, keeping his reply economical.
“Do come in,” Nott said, as if Harry’s presence were expected after all. He stepped aside and gestured him into the room behind him.
The office occupied the top floor of one of the grand, centuries-old buildings just off Diagon Alley. It was a traditional room, with dark wood panelling, high-barred windows, and an ornate rug soft underfoot, yet it had been tastefully modernised with a curated selection of abstract art and gleaming bits of magical tech Harry didn’t recognise, arranged with almost heedless precision on the shelves. A fire burned low in the grate, casting amber light across the wide mahogany desk and catching in the dark of Nott’s hair.
“Thanks.” Harry tried to keep his voice steady and official. “Sorry to drop by unannounced so late.”
“Not at all. A surprise, but – dare I say – a pleasant one.” Nott rested a hip against the desk, tapping his fingers in a lazy rhythm. His gaze drifted over Harry with easy amusement, a tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t offer a seat, so Harry lingered awkwardly near the door.
“It’s a nice place,” Harry said, his eyes moving from the bookshelves to a rather suggestive bronze sculpture on the mantel. Heat crept up the back of his neck, and he tore his gaze away. “You’ve done all right for yourself since school.”
Nott’s mouth curved into a grin. “I manage.”
He wore dark, tailored trousers made of expensive wool, paired with a soft, white linen shirt, the top buttons undone. His robes were slung carelessly over the back of a chair. He looked comfortable, carrying himself with a lazy, self-satisfied grace Harry had never mastered.
“What is it you actually do?” Harry asked.
“Oh, a bit of this and that. I like to call myself a magical entrepreneur.” Nott waved a hand, dismissive, before taking a sip of his drink.
“I’m an Auror,” Harry said, unnecessarily and stupidly, given the dark blue robes of the force he was wearing.
“I know.” Nott’s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with quiet amusement.
Something about him put Harry off balance. They were the same age, roughly the same height and build, and had shared classrooms for six years. There was no reason for him to feel uneasy. Yet there was a glint of mischief in Nott’s eyes, something that felt both teasing and unpredictable. It wasn’t intimidation Harry felt, exactly, but rather irritation, as though he’d walked into a game without knowing the rules.
“What I mean is,” he said, forcing some authority back into his tone, “I’m here on Auror business.”
“Of course.” Nott tilted his head, the movement lazy but attentive. “What can I do for you, Auror Potter?”
This time, he gestured toward one of the armchairs in front of the desk. Harry sat, and Nott strolled around to the other side, setting down his glass before sinking into his chair, sprawling rather than sitting, the picture of unbothered ease.
“The Department would like to talk to you about Mrs Nott; your mother.”
Nott’s brows rose. “Ah. Mother. That never bodes well. What’s the miserable cow up to now?” He spun the drink absently in his hand, the amber liquid catching the warm light. Then, without looking up, he added, “Want one?”
“No, thanks. Still on duty,” Harry said, not wanting to be side-tracked.
Nott nodded as though that confirmed something about him. “Suit yourself.”
“Are you aware she’s been linked to the PLF?” Harry asked.
“I’m aware she keeps questionable acquaintances.” Nott’s tone was light, but the humour in his face dimmed slightly.
The PLF — the Pureblood Liberation Front — was a loosely connected network of former Death Eaters and hard-line pure-blood loyalists that had plagued the Ministry for years. They re-emerged a decade after the war, responsible for a series of targeted assaults and acts of intimidation against families of mixed heritage and outspoken Ministry officials. The group was elusive, impossible to tie conclusively to any one act. Harry knew their work too well; it was his case.
“Well,” Harry said, “our latest investigation suggests she might be more than just acquainted.”
Nott shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. “I’m the first to admit my mother’s an utter bitch, but blowing up Muggles and poisoning politicians feels a bit extreme, even for her.”
“She hasn’t shared any such thoughts or opinions with you?” Harry asked.
A slow smile tugged at Nott’s mouth. “Which thoughts, exactly? Arson and assassination as wholesome family pastimes?” He arched an eyebrow, as though the very idea were quaint.
Harry gave a wry smile. “Opinions on blood supremacy. Wizards being more worthy than Muggles, that sort of thing.”
“Naturally. That was the lullaby of my childhood,” Nott said dryly. “But hardly news to you or the DML. She was tried after the war and found guilty of all the usual bigotry, though never anything violent. Always more venom than action, my mother. She left the messy bits to my father, may he rot in hell.”
“Do you have much contact with her these days?” Harry asked.
“No.”
“None at all?”
“Some.” Nott paused; for a second something like distaste flickered across his face. “We meet for an obligatory Sunday lunch once a month.”
Harry already knew that, as his team had been tracking both Notts for six months. “And she’s never mentioned the PLF?”
“Never.”
“Any of these names ring a bell?” He slid a parchment across the desk; a dozen names and photographs arranged neat as a line-up.
Nott picked it up with slow, deliberate fingers, studying it beneath the firelight. “I’ve heard of a few in passing,” he said at last, “but not from her.”
Harry held his breath, letting the silence stretch, waiting for more.
“Am I a suspect?” Nott asked, looking up.
“No.” It had been true once, but not anymore.
“Really? Slytherin. Son of a Death Eater. Pure-blood heir. I’d have thought I was precisely your type.” Nott’s smile was bright and teasing, smug rather than cruel.
“Your record’s clean, and we’ve no reason to believe you’re involved. Unless there’s something you’d like to confess?” Harry offered, half in jest, although the weight of the investigation sat between them.
“I’ve nothing to do with the PLF, or any other neo–Death Eater organisation.” Nott’s eyes glinted in the low light. “Do you want me to list all my other sins for you, Potter?”
“No—” Harry started, uncomfortable.
“Then why are you really here?” Nott straightened, hands clasped loosely on the desk. The movement was casual, but the tilt of his head made the question sharp. “You don’t believe I know anything. So what is it?”
Harry hesitated, pulse quickening; this was the moment he’d rehearsed. “We’d like you to keep an eye on your mother for us. Report anything unusual; names, meetings, addresses. If you could, look through her home. Letters, ledgers, anything that might tie her to the PLF.”
Nott was still for a heartbeat, then he chuckled, short and dry. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“I like that in a man,” Nott said, tone half mocking, half approving. His eyes sharpened in a way that made Harry aware of being examined rather than spoken to.
Harry said nothing. The fire popped; a clock in the building marked the minute. He kept still, waiting for Nott to answer.
“What exactly is it you want me to do?” Nott asked finally, conversational, as though they were discussing the weather.
“Talk to your mother,” Harry said. “Without arousing suspicion. See what she knows. Names, places, anything useful. And if you can, look through her home. Letters, ledgers, anything that might tie her to the PLF. Report back to us.”
“That sounds rather dangerous.” Nott’s voice remained untroubled. “Spying on the most ruthless organisation on the British Isles.”
“Only if you get caught.”
“If I get caught,” Nott interjected, “I’m rather dead, aren’t I? The PLF aren’t famous for their mercy.” He eased back in his chair.
“You think your own mother would murder you?” Harry blurted, incredulous at the casualness of it.
Nott’s mouth tightened into something like a smile. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
Harry let out a long, slow breath. “So that’s a no?” He hadn’t expected that Nott would go for it.
Nott regarded him as if he were an interesting puzzle. “What would be in it for me?” he asked.
“Helping to bring down the most dangerous terrorist network in Britain,” Harry said. “Making the wizarding world safer. Doing something decent. Be a hero.”
Nott laughed softly, sceptical. He shifted, crossing one ankle over the other, fingers drumming a casual rhythm on his knee. “Do you enjoy being a hero, Potter?”
Harry thought of the endless Prophet coverage, the headlines, the gawping strangers who still stopped him in the street. “Not particularly,” he admitted.
“Didn’t think so.” Nott’s teasing turned clinical. “And I don’t know many celebrated spies. No glory in that line of work, is there?”
Harry sat forward, elbows on his knees, desperation sharpening his voice. “Nott, do you want me to beg? We’ve been on this case for years. The attacks are getting worse, and we’re no closer to an arrest that will hold in court. We need someone on the inside. You’re our best chance. I’d do anything. Please.”
The plea landed thin in the carpeted room, and Harry regretted it almost immediately. It did not do well to be open like that with Slytherins. He watched as some small pleasure flickered across Nott’s face, a muscle at the corner of his mouth, the slow spread of a smile.
“I’d love to see you beg, Potter,” Nott said, quietly amused. His eyes roved over Harry with an assessing, almost fond attention. “But you might also have something else I want.”
Harry frowned. “What’s that?”
“You said you’d do anything.”
“I meant it,” Harry said, and he did. The case had devoured him for the better part of a year. Every waking moment, some corner of his mind was turning it over, chasing threads that led nowhere, replaying the same names and faces. He wanted it finished, wanted the people behind the terror locked away before things turned worse. So far, no one had died, but that felt more like accident than mercy, luck and timing, nothing more.
“Then let’s make a trade.” Nott’s voice turned serious as he leaned forward, his gaze locking on Harry’s. “I’ll spy for you, pass along whatever I can find. And in return, I get one hour of your time. Right now. To do whatever I want with you.”
The words hung in the air between them. Harry felt the colour drain from his face, the room contracting to the distance between them and that single, impossible demand. Impossible, but still Harry’s mind couldn’t stop from listing the ups and downs of it. Had he sunk this low?
“You actually consider it?” Nott sounded delighted, and faintly surprised.
“No—Yes—I don’t know.” Harry ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get a grip on himself. “I’m desperate.”
“Clearly.” Nott’s smile was unhurried, delighted.
Any day now, someone was bound to die. The pattern of the attacks was escalating, and sooner or later, luck would run out. What he needed were leads, something tangible to build a case on. Hard evidence. He wasn’t convinced Nott could give him that, but there weren’t many options left. And through Nott, he’d have a direct line to Elspeth Nott; a woman believed to sit at the heart of the organisation’s finances and coordination. Perhaps that alone made it worth the risk. Perhaps, he thought grimly, an hour spent indulging Nott’s ridiculous fantasies was a small price to pay if it saved lives.
“What would it involve?” Harry asked, voice tight, bracing himself for the answer. He didn’t know this man, not really. He had read the intelligence his team had gathered on him, but it didn’t say much about what he might be capable of. He knew he ran a successful investment firm that he was the sole owner of. That he was friends and in business with Draco Malfoy, the fucking twat. He knew that he hadn’t had much contact with his family since the war. That he was queer, or at least that he slept with men on occasion, but didn’t have any steady romantic relationship. He knew that this was a bad idea.
“Anything I want,” Nott drawled, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head in an easy stretch.
“Why?” Harry demanded.
“Why?” Nott echoed, brow furrowing as though he couldn’t fathom the question.
“Yes, why! Why would you want that?” Harry snapped, his irritation bubbling through the thin veneer of professionalism.
Nott tilted his head, as if the answer were self-evident. “Yeez, Potter. You’re the Saviour. The famous Harry Potter. Golden Boy. Sexiest Wizard Alive, twice, at least, by popular vote.” He turned in his chair, reaching for a bottle of something amber and expensive on the shelf behind him.
“I’m not—” Harry began, but stopped himself.
“Gay?” Nott supplied, grinning. “Surely it’s not necessary to label everything.” He offered the bottle; Harry shook his head.
“I’m married.”
“Nowadays only on paper, from what I hear,” Nott said lightly, winking as he poured himself a generous measure.
Harry’s jaw tightened. Nott probably was one of the few people outside his immediate circle who actually knew that much about his and Ginny’s current situation. Bloody git.
“I still don’t see why you’d want to fuck me,” Harry said bluntly.
“So you immediately assume buggery’s what’s on my mind?” Nott asked, mock-innocent, sipping his whisky and running his tongue along his lower lip.
“Isn’t it?” Harry shot back, sharper than he meant to, and despite himself, half hoping he’d misread him.
“There’s not a witch or wizard alive who’d turn down sex with you,” Nott said matter-of-factly.
Harry sighed at that. “I promise you, there’s plenty who would.”
Nott’s grin broadened. “Your wife included?” he suggested, half-laughing.
Harry didn’t answer, pressing his lips tight.
“So— do you want my help, or are we just having a chat?” Nott’s tone sharpened; the prospect seemed to amuse him.
“Anything?” Harry asked, the word raw.
“We can set limits,” Nott said, sounding almost thoughtful for the first time.
“No hurting. No maiming. No blood. No unforgivables. No dark magic.” Harry’s words came quick and clipped, each one a condition.
Nott barked a short laugh. “Fuck, Potter, you think that’s where my mind goes? I’m hardly planning a medieval execution.” He lifted one hand, as if to reassure him. “But,” he added, his tone lazy again, “I still can’t promise it’ll be entirely painless. A bit of roughness, maybe. But nothing lasting.”
Harry didn’t know what to make of that, so he decided firmly not to think about it.
“Nothing permanent or serious,” Nott went on, almost offhand. “You’ll walk out of here on your own. I won’t scar you.” There was a flicker of sincerity beneath the mockery.
“No unforgivables. No dark magic,” Harry repeated.
“I’m starting to be offended,” Nott said. “You think I’d cast illegal spells in front of an Auror?”
“One hour,” Harry said, forcing the words out. “In this room. Just you and me. And you never speak of it to anyone.” He grabbed the bottle from the table and drank straight from it, the firewhisky burning its way down like punishment.
Nott’s eyes glittered as if weighing coin. “And you’ll agree to whatever I ask within those bounds?”
“Yes. I mean, yes.” Harry felt ridiculous. What the hell was he agreeing to? Shame, heat, and stubborn resolve twisted together in his chest. “And in return, you’ll work for us on the PLF case. Until they’re dismantled.”
“Deal,” Nott said, delighted and businesslike all at once. “Want it in writing?”
He slid open a drawer, drew out a sheet of parchment and a quill, and set them on the wooden surface with exaggerated ceremony. Harry watched him scratch out the terms, every stroke deliberate, before pushing the page across for him to read. When they both signed, Harry sealed it with a binding charm. The air shimmered faintly, a visible acknowledgement that the bargain was now real.
They both sat back in their chairs. Nott sipped leisurely from his tumbler; Harry drank straight from the bottle. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do now, but figured a bit of liquid courage couldn’t hurt. The whisky burned down his throat, spreading a false steadiness through his chest.
Just then, the clock on the mantel struck eight.
“I suppose that’s my hour starting,” Nott said, eyes gleaming.
Harry swallowed hard. “What do you want me to do?” Why the fuck had he agreed to this?
“Stand up,” Nott ordered, soft but assured.
Harry slowly set the bottle down on the desk and pushed himself up from the armchair, never breaking eye contact.
Nott didn’t move. He lounged back in his chair, watching him like prey. “Come here.”
What could he do but obey? He walked around the wide desk, hands shoved into his pockets to stop himself from fidgeting, advertising his discomfort.
“Take your robes off,” Nott said.
Harry hesitated for a moment, wishing he had drunk even more of the whiskey, before undoing the clasp. He folded the heavy fabric neatly and laid it across the back of a chair, stalling for time more than anything. Beneath, he wore worn jeans and a dark blue cotton shirt, the fabric creased from long hours of wear.
“Don’t you look adorable,” Nott murmured, amusement curling through his voice.
Harry glared at him but said nothing.
Nott rose, closing the distance between them until barely a foot remained. Their eyes met level, Harry’s green to Nott’s dark brown. Up close, Harry was struck by how similar they appeared, even if Nott was a shade more muscular where Harry was lean, neater where Harry was rumpled. He had a broad, angular face, a fashionable two-day stubble darkening his jaw.
Harry held perfectly still as Nott reached out and brushed his fingertips over Harry’s hands, tracing slowly up his arms to his shoulders, then down the line of his chest, intentional and exploratory.
Nott leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted over Harry’s throat. “You smell nice,” he murmured.
Harry huffed, half incredulous. “You trying to seduce me, Nott?”
Nott drew back slightly, smiling. “Maybe. Is it working?”
“No,” Harry said, though the word lacked conviction.
“You should call me Theo while we’re here,” Nott said lightly.
“Okay, Theodore,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes despite himself. Bloody hell, was he flirting?
Nott – Theo – ran his thumb along Harry’s cheekbone, his expression unreadable. “May I kiss you?”
Harry hadn’t expected the question. He hadn’t thought there’d be any kissing. He hadn’t thought there’d be any asking. He could refuse, but Nott would just take what he wanted, and somehow that felt worse. He exhaled slowly and gave the smallest nod.
Theo’s hands rose to cup his face. When he shifted closer, the kiss was light, almost tender, a brush of lips, a scrape of stubble, the faint burn of whisky between them. Harry didn’t move.
“You’re not going to kiss me back?” Theo murmured, voice low and goading against his skin.
Harry, who had never backed down from a challenge in his life, grabbed him by the waist, pulled him closer, and parted his lips. Of course he could kiss; he was actually rather good at it. He’d show this smug bastard he wasn’t afraid.
Their mouths met again, moving together, gently nibbling at each other. Tentative at first, a careful testing of pace and pressure that quickly deepened. It felt strange, having never kissed a man before. Theo’s lips were soft but fuller, firmer than those of the few women Harry had been with, edged by the faint rasp of stubble that made the contact rougher, more tangible. It wasn’t unpleasant. Not at all. Just new.
Theo had his hands tangled in Harry’s hair, carefully tugging, letting low, almost cute moans slip free.
Harry decided to be bold. He caught Theo’s lower lip between his teeth and bit down, not too hard, just enough to taste the tang of blood mingled with firewhisky.
“Oi! That fucking hurt, Potter!” Theo pulled back, eyes flashing, and just like that, the tenderness was gone. The next kiss came rougher, all heat, challenge, and teeth.
Theo’s fingers went to the buttons of Harry’s shirt, working them loose one by one.
Harry tried to keep still, but trembled nonetheless.
“You afraid?” Theo asked, quietly, almost curious.
“No,” Harry said quickly, though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt quite this terrified.
Theo’s smile was faint, knowing. He moved in, backing Harry up until the edge of the desk pressed against the backs of his thighs. With another gentle nudge, Harry found himself half seated, half trapped, Theo standing between his knees.
Theo leaned in, his mouth brushing the side of Harry’s neck, the scrape of stubble and warm breath leaving a trail of heat. His lips kissing their way up to Harry’s ear, sucking the lobe between his teeth before licking along the shell; his tongue slid in just enough to make Harry shudder. It was wet, messy, indecent and far hotter than Harry had prepared for. Merlin help him, but he was getting hard in his trousers.
Theo’s hands roamed with deliberate curiosity across Harry’s bare torso, tracing the old scars as though they were something sacred, each touch somewhere between mockery and reverence. Harry’s breath caught. He’d honestly assumed he’d be required to do more in this arrangement, yet here he was, simply standing there, letting Theo take his time with him.
Harry swallowed, his throat tight. “The door, it’s not locked?”
“No one comes in here,” Theo murmured, distracted, still focused on his slow exploration.
“Still, you should—”
“Stop stalling, Harry.” Theo’s tone softened, coaxing. “I’m gonna blow you now.”
Harry exhaled shakily, his whole body thrumming with nerves and disbelief.
“Why d’you want that?” Harry asked.
Theo looked up at him again, baffled, as though the question made no sense whatsoever.
“I thought—” Harry managed, voice uneven, “I’d be the one expected to—”
“Eager, are we?” Theo smirked, brushing a quick kiss over his cheek. “We’ll do that next time. Today I want a taste of Harry Potter.”
As if there would ever be a next time, Harry thought. Their agreement said absolutely nothing about that, he was certain.
Theo’s fingers drifted lower, to the fastening of Harry’s trousers, working the button open before tugging down the zip. Harry’s hands flew back to grip the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening as he tried to steady himself. Was he really going to let this happen?
Apparently so, because he didn’t move, barely breathed, while Theo’s fingers slipped beneath the waistband and eased both jeans and boxers down over his thighs, leaving them bunched around his knees. Harry’s dick was flagging slightly, the hard-on having gone down since the ear licking.
“You’ve got a lovely cock, Potter,” Theo murmured, sounding far too pleased, as he knelt in front of him.
Harry made a strangled sort of grunt. What was he supposed to say to that? He wasn’t accustomed to men complimenting his bits. He was scared, and irritated with himself for being scared, and nervous to the point of shaking. His heart hammered against his chest.
He let his eyes fall shut, unsure if it made things better or worse, not having to see, or not being able to see, what Theo was doing down there. In the end seeing or not didn’t really matter, he clearly could feel Theo’s hand wrap around the base of his cock, steadying it, before a broad, deliberate lick dragged up the length of him.
Theo licked again, slower this time, and then again, up, down, around, and Harry hardened embarrassingly fast. Was this wrong? he wondered. Shouldn’t he be repulsed by being taken advantage of like this? By a man he wasn’t attracted to, hadn’t really thought about in fifteen years, if he’d ever thought about him at school at all. But his body didn’t seem to particularly mind. Did it matter who was touching him? Maybe not. It had been a long time, far too long, and the combination of nerves, heat, and someone actually paying attention to him was doing dangerous things to his self-control.
Theo reached the tip, circling the slick head with his tongue in a way that made Harry shudder all over. He couldn’t stop himself from cracking his eyes open, glancing down at the dark head bowed between his legs, going at him as he was the best taste he’d ever had. He let one hand slip from the edge of the desk and into Theo’s hair, fingers tangling in its thickness, softness, far too pleasant to grab hold of.
Theo pulled back just enough to settle his palms on Harry’s hips. Then he looked up, eyes dark and hungry, and opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out in invitation. He was offering Harry control, Harry realised. And Godric help him, he wanted it.
With a firm grasp on his hard cock Harry guided it towards Theo’s open mouth and smeared the pre-come accumulated on its tip over Theo’s outstretched tongue, rubbing his glans over the wet muscle. Theo’s moans vibrated against him, the sight of the man below him with his eyes close and open mouth made Harry’s breath hitch.
He pushed deeper, letting his length rest heavy on Theo’s tongue, sliding slowly. Theo closed his lips around him and pulled him in, swallowing him down whole, all the way until his nose brushed against Harry’s lower belly. Harry groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as Theo’s velvety throat tightened around him.
Theo was apparently a fucking expert at sucking cock, working his mouth up and down Harry’s shaft. His fingers dug into Harry’s sides, probably leaving marks for the next day. Harry could feel small spurts of pre-come leaving him, and his balls tightening in anticipation. To not lose it all together, he scraped his nails on Theo’s skull, tugging hard at the hair. But the heat and moist of it, and the humming of Theo’s throat around him was all too much, and he could feel his release building fast and strong. His knees trembled under him and his toes curled within his shoes.
But suddenly Theo pulled off with a pop, squeezing a hand hard around the base of Harry’s cock. “Don’t come yet,” he commanded, looking up at Harry.
Harry’s body was balancing on the brink to his orgasm, tense and trembling, and he had a hard time piecing any coherent thoughts together.
“Breath, Harry,” Theo encouraged him gently.
When Harry finally managed to calm down, Theo helped him out of his jeans, pants, socks and shoes, then eased off his open shirt. Harry stood completely naked in front of him while Theo, still fully dressed, let his gaze travel over him. The scrutiny made Harry’s skin prickle; the anxiety he’d just managed to suppress began creeping back, pulling him out of whatever charged haze he’d been in.
“This doing something for you, Nott?” Harry asked dryly, grasping for any scrap of control. “Me standing here, starkers and apparently at your mercy?”
“Yes,” Theo replied without hesitation, a small appreciative smile tugging at his mouth.
At least he’s honest, Harry thought.
Theo began undoing his own shirt, slower than necessary, revealing himself bit by bit until he stood bare as well. His frame was solid and broad, arms strong and defined, with fine brown curls covering his muscled chest. A trail of darker hair was running from his navel down to a thickening cock pressed against the flat of his stomach.
Harry was not unfamiliar with male bodies; locker rooms at work and post-Quidditch showers made that unavoidable. But he’d never had reason to look at one like this before, to take it in with any care. It felt different, alien in a way that unsettled him: rougher lines, stronger angles, nothing like the soft, curved warmth he was accustomed to admiring.
With Harry still watching, Theo closed his fist around his own shaft and stroked himself with unhurried confidence, never breaking eye contact. Harry had never seen another man touch himself like this before, and the sight did unsettling, strange things to his body.
“I’m gonna fuck you now,” Theo said calmly, leaning in and kissing Harry softly on the mouth. “Turn around and bend over.”
Harry’s stomach churned, his pulse climbing into his throat, but, inexplicable to even himself, he did as he was told. Slowly, he turned toward the wide desk. This is going to hurt, he thought bleakly. Or at the very least be humiliating and uncomfortable. But he’d made a promise, and Harry Potter didn’t break promises. He needed Theo’s cooperation on this case, and that reminder was the only thing keeping his nerves from snapping completely.
Plenty of men do this, he told himself firmly. They manage. Some even enjoy it. If they could do it, he could get through it too.
So he took a long breath, stepped closer, and braced his hands on the desk. The wood was cool under his palms. He shifted forward, settling his weight on his forearms, trying to compose himself. Think of England, he muttered inwardly, squeezing his eyes shut.
He sensed Theo step in behind him, the warmth of his presence closing the space between them. Hands settled on Harry’s naked hips, steady but insistent, guiding him a little farther from the desk and urging his back into a deeper arch. Theo nudged one foot between Harry’s, easing – or rather, forcing – his stance wider.
Theo’s hands moved again, sliding from Harry’s sides down across his lower back, coming to rest with confident weight on his buttocks. His touch was firm, circling, as if trying to soothe muscles that refused to unclench.
“Have you done this before?” Theo asked quietly.
Harry gave a small shake of his head, jaw tight, not trusting his voice to hold.
“That’s all well, pet,” Theo murmured, soft and tender. “I’ll look after you. Make you loose and wet for me, okay?”
All Harry felt was tense and parched, and he wished Theo would quit stalling and get it over with so that he could walk out of this bloody office and breathe again.
The thumbs of Theos hands were at the sides of his crack, gently stroking up and down, slowly spreading him apart. With teasing, small circles Harry felt the fingers approaching his entrance, but never quiet reaching it, just brushing lightly around it. He felt exposed and indecent, utterly embarrassed. Harry’s breathing climbed into quick, shallow bursts, his cock hanging heavy and ignored between his legs.
“You look so bloody tight, Harry,” Theo murmured reverently. He leaned over him, chest to Harry’s back, breath hot against his ear. “You gonna feel so fucking amazing around me when I come in you.”
“Fuck you, Nott,” Harry bit out. He could hear Theo chuckle and whispering a quick lubrication charm. And then a slicked finger was at his sensitive rim, smearing it with lube, rubbing tight, little circles around it.
Harry swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut even harder. He’d never imagined being so sensitive there. So many nerve endings sending electric sparks all through his body. The finger was pressing at his opening and without his consent, Harry could feel his body give way and letting it in. Theo eased it in to the knuckle, carefully wiggling it around inside of him. It burned slightly, but mostly felt filthy and invasive.
“Relax, darling,” Theo coaxed next to his ear. “Remember to breath, and this will be much more pleasant.”
Harry tried to take the advice, forcing air in and out, laying still on the desk. Theo was whispering kind, but filthy, encouragements to him while he worked the digit in and out of his body. Back and forth in a cautious, patient strokes until the resistance eased.
“I’m adding another,” Theo warned, though he didn’t pause before pushing two lube-slick fingers inside him. Harry gasped, the burn sharp and unfamiliar.
“You’re doing so well,” Theo promised him, as he took Harry’s earlobe between his teeth and gently nibbled at it. Harry’s hole was soaked with the lube, and the fingers pushing in and out against his tight rim made wet, sloppy noises. Theo’s tongue was in his ear once more, kissing and licking all over it.
Harry could feel himself getting hard again, which was both mortifying and, if he was honest, unexpectedly fascinating. Apparently, he’d developed a previously undiscovered kink for ear-licking. Theo’s careful thrusts of his fingers were loosening him, coaxing his body into yielding despite his nerves, and Harry felt himself slowly begin to relax into the sensation.
Then Theo’s fingers brushed over something inside him.
Harry gasped loudly, the sound tearing out of him before he could stop it, hips jerking up on instinct as a bolt of sharp, overwhelming pleasure shot through his body.
“What the fuck—” Harry choked.
Theo laughed softly at his ear, the smugness unmistakable even without seeing his face. “Found your prostate, did we?”
Harry knew, in theory, what a prostate was. He just hadn’t known it could feel like that.
Theo kept finding the same spot, deliberately now, and stars burst behind Harry’s closed eyes. He made helpless noises, half gasps, half moans, utterly unable to stop them as his body reacted with traitorous enthusiasm.
Theo straightened behind him, looming tall, his fingers still working inside Harry while his other hand slid around his waist to grasp Harry’s leaking cock. He stroked him in an easy rhythm, matching the movement of his fingers.
Any remaining tension drained from Harry all at once. He found himself shamelessly moaning, shivering against the desk, horrified by his own reactions, and yet utterly incapable of stopping. His release was building once more, fast and insistent.
Theo added a third finger, scissoring them slightly, stretching him wider. Harry whimpered, hips pushing back against Theo’s hand without thought or restraint. When Theo brushed that magic spot again, Harry nearly cried out, his balls drawing tight, pleasure coiling so sharply it bordered on painful.
“Ah-ah,” Theo murmured, suddenly withdrawing his fingers with an obscene, wet sound and letting go of Harry’s cock just as abruptly. “You’re not allowed to come yet.”
Harry groaned, breath ragged, body left aching and empty all at once, suspended on the edge with nowhere to go.
Theo’s hands, wiped clean, moved to Harry’s lower back, warm and sure, rubbing slow circles that coaxed him back from the edge. Harry’s breathing gradually steadied, his pulse easing as the tension drained from his shoulders. Theo’s touch drifted lower, palms sliding over the curve of his bum, kneading the firm flesh with considered appreciation.
“Got to say, you do have a splendid arse,” Theo murmured.
Harry huffed a breath that was almost a laugh, feeling more like himself again, able to think, to breathe, to stay upright.
That was until Theo lifted his hand and brought it down with a load slap on Harry’s right cheek, surely hard enough to leave visible evidence.
Harry jolted in surprise, air tearing from his lungs in a silent rush, his body locking for a heartbeat as the sting bloomed hot and bright across his skin. The sensation rippled through him, sharp and intoxicating, racing straight to his cock.
Oh.
So that was why the insufferable bastard hadn’t wanted any rules about no hurting in the bloody contract.
Harry dragged air back into his lungs in a shaky gasp, still reeling as Theo’s hand immediately returned, gentler now, caressing over the mark, thumb brushing soothing circles as if to apologise.
“You alright, pet?” Theo asked softly.
“Fucking hell,” Harry managed once his voice cooperated again. “Warn a bloke first, would you.”
Theo hummed, amused. “You liked it.”
Harry pointedly did not answer. He’d made a habit of not lying. He had the scars on the back of his hand to serve as a constant reminder.
“Thought so,” Theo said smugly, and then, once again without warning, delivered a series of new sharp spanks to Harry’s other cheek.
This time Harry was more prepared.
Instead of losing his breath, a long, involuntary moan spilled from his mouth, his body arching into the sensation as heat flooded through him all over again. He could feel the pain of it tingle all over, and the blood being forced to the surface where Theo’s palm had hit him.
Apparently, Harry thought dimly, today was a day for discovering entirely new fetishes and deeply inconvenient preferences.
Theo circled a finger around Harry’s opening again; looser now, slick with lube. Harry’s body was oversensitive after everything he’d already been put through, and the lightest touch sent him teetering right back on the edge, nerves buzzing, muscles trembling. He’d been edged too close, too many times, and his body didn’t know what to do with the want anymore.
“I reckon you’re ready now,” Theo said matter-of-factly.
And then everything moved too fast for Harry’s liking.
Theo lined himself up behind him, and Harry felt the broad, slick head of his cock touch him, warm and insistent. His body tensed all over, uncertainty crashing back in with brutal force. Terror and need twisted together in his gut as Theo’s glans pressed and rubbed against his rim, teasing, testing.
“You okay with this?” Theo asked, hands stroking along Harry’s sides, steady and grounding.
“Do I have a choice?” Harry shot back, breathless.
“Course you do,” Theo said immediately, sounding offended. “I’m not going to rape you.”
Harry let out a shaky huff. “That contract pretty much gave you permission to.”
“No, it didn’t.” Theo’s voice was firm now. “A bit of paper doesn’t overrule the law. Merlin, Potter! You’re an Auror. You do know how consent works.”
“Oh.”
Harry swallowed, suddenly very aware of the cock still nudging at him, tracing slow, maddening circles that made clear thought difficult. “So what was all that about, then?” he asked weakly.
Theo went still, as if genuinely considering it.
“Foreplay?”
“Fuck you,” Harry snapped, though there was no real heat in it.
“Later,” Theo said lightly. “Question now is whether you want me to fuck you.”
And Harry supposed that really was the question.
Would he let this bastard, who had more or less blackmailed him into the situation, put his dick in him? The man who’d had him off-balance and flustered from the moment he’d stepped into his office? Apparently, he could just say no and it would all stop.
But would it? Would he still get the intelligence? Did any of that actually matter? Didn’t it really come down to whether Harry Potter, right now, wanted Theodore Nott inside him?
His mind might still be arguing, but his body had already decided; aching, open, vibrating with need. He might be scared and confused, but Harry Potter had never been accused of lacking courage. Or curiosity. Or a certain reckless streak.
He took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, sure. Let’s do this.”
Theo huffed a laugh. “Love the sentiment. Feels like it could use a bit more enthusiasm.”
“What d’you want me to say?” Harry snapped, irritation flaring through the nerves. “Please put your big, fat cock in me, handsome?”
Theo’s mouth curved, satisfied. “That’s more like it.”
And with that, Theo pressed forward. Slowly, but enough for Harry to feel the blunt, insistent weight of him at his entrance, letting the heat and pressure sink in, letting Harry’s body register exactly what was about to happen.
Harry’s breath hitched. His hands clenched on the table edge as the stretch began, steady and undeniable, the tight ring of muscle resisting and then, inch by inch, yielding. It burned. Not sharply, but deep and persistent. A sensation that made his toes curl and his spine arch despite himself.
Theo stayed there, half in, half out, holding still while Harry adjusted around him, his body learning the shape and intrusion in its own time.
“Christ,” Harry breathed, voice rough, somewhere between awe and panic.
Theo’s hands tightened on his hips, firm and sure. “Breathe,” he instructed.
Harry did. Shaky, uneven, but he did.
And only then did Theo push again, slow and relentless. Harry felt the thick cock slide deeper and deeper within him. Filling and stretching him open until Harry gasped and the sensation tipped from sharp to overwhelming, heat and fullness flooding through him.
When Theo finally bottomed out, pressing close, he paused once more, giving Harry no space to forget, no chance to escape the reality of it.
Harry was shaking. Open. Full.
Harry stayed frozen for a breathless moment, body locked around Theo like it didn’t know what to do with him yet. Every nerve felt lit up, stretched too far, buzzing with the shock of being so completely filled. It was too much. Pressure and heat and a fullness that made his head spin.
Then Theo moved.
Just a fraction. A measured pull back, barely an inch, before pressing forward again, calculated and controlled. The movement dragged a rough sound out of Harry’s throat, half-gasp, half-whine, his hips jerking before he could stop them.
“There,” Theo murmured, voice low and approving. “That’s it. Let your body do the work.”
Harry clenched helplessly around him, and Theo made a pleased sound at that, hands tightening on Harry’s hips as he repeated the motion; slow, even thrusts, never quite retreating, always keeping Harry full enough to feel it.
The initial burn dulled into something else. Heat. Friction. A thick, overwhelming pleasure that spread through Harry’s gut and down his spine, making his legs weak. The panic ebbed, replaced by a needy, aching want that surprised him with its intensity.
“Oh fuck,” Harry breathed, forehead dropping to the table as he pushed back instinctively, chasing the sensation.
Theo noticed. Of course he did.
“Good boy,” he said quietly, the praise landing like a physical blow. “Look at you, taking it so well.”
Harry whimpered at that, mortified and undone all at once, his cock throbbing painfully between his legs, leaking steadily onto the surface below him. Every thrust seemed to hit something deeper now, sending sharp bursts of pleasure through him, making it impossible to think.
Theo picked up the pace, still controlled but firmer now, snapping his hips forward with intent. Each stroke pulled a breathless sound from Harry, his body opening willingly, greedily, around him. With every trust, Theo’s soft, wrinkled bollocks slapped against his own, the impact making them contract and sending another surge of sensation rippling through him.
“Bloody hell, Harry,” Theo groaned, losing a bit of that careful restraint. “You feel incredible. So tight. So good.”
That was all it took.
The pressure built too fast, coiling low in Harry’s belly, unbearable and bright. His body tipped over the edge with barely any warning, pleasure crashing through him in a blinding wave. He cried out, coming hard, his cock pulsing helplessly, untouched, as he spilled across his stomach and the table below, vision swimming.
Theo swore sharply behind him, thrusts turning erratic as Harry clenched hard around him, milking him without mercy.
“Fuck—” Theo gasped, hips stuttering as he drove in deep and held there, burying himself as he came. Harry felt it; hot and sudden, spilling inside him in thick pulses that made his knees nearly buckle.
Theo stayed pressed close, breath ragged, hands still firm on Harry’s hips as the aftershocks faded. Harry was trembling, oversensitive, every nerve humming, acutely aware of the warmth inside him and the possessive weight of Theo behind him.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Harry’s mind was blissfully blank, body loose and aching in the best possible way, the panic completely gone, burned away and replaced by something heavy, satisfied, and undeniably pleased.
It took a while for Harry’s body to come back to him.
The tremor in his legs faded first, then the buzzing in his head, leaving him loose and shaky and boneless against the desk. Theo stayed close, hands steady on his hips, not touching where it might overwhelm him again, just enough to keep him upright.
“You alright?” Theo asked quietly. The sharp edge was gone from his voice as he slipped out of him and pulled back.
Harry let out a breath that might have been a laugh. “Define alright.”
Theo’s hands came to his hips once more, firm and grounding, turning him gently until Harry was leaning back on the desk. The wood was cool against his stinging bum.
Theo studied him for a moment, expression unreadable. Then he stepped closer and kissed him.
It was purposeful, but unhurried. Nothing like the hunger from before, just a warm, anchoring press of mouth to mouth that made something in Harry’s chest loosen.
“You did well,” Theo murmured.
Harry snorted softly, still trying to find his bearings, but before he could think of a reply Theo was already lowering himself down on his knees.
His mouth was warm and methodically as he leaned in, tongue dragging a deliberate line up Harry’s stomach, licking away the cooling streaks of his come that had smeared there. The intimacy and filth of it, unnecessary and indulgent, made Harry’s knees threaten to buckle again.
Theo took his slackening cock into his mouth, swallowing him easily. It was slow and careful, meant to clean, not to coax, and still Harry’s body betrayed him, his dick twitching faintly despite himself. Theo moaned around the soft member, letting his tongue twirl around, engulfing him in the wet warm cavern of his mouth.
Harry stared down at the dark crown of his head and couldn’t quite fathom how the night had gone so far off the rails.
An hour ago he’d walked into this office with a simple question. One he’d assumed the answer to would be a hard no. And now here he was, shaking and bare, being licked clean by Theodore Nott on a desk. Definitely not part of any plan. At least, not his.
Theo rose smoothly to his feet, crowding Harry in again, palms braced on either side of him. He kissed him, deep and unapologetic, tongue sliding in and twisting with Harry’s. Harry could taste his own seamen in the kiss: salty and bitter, and the realisation sent a dizzying jolt through him.
When Theo finally pulled back, Harry felt unsteady in a way that had nothing to do with his legs.
Theo straightened and tugged a stray lock of Harry’s hair back from his face with infuriating calm, as if he hadn’t just unravelled Harry Potter on his own office furniture.
“I’ll be your spy,” Theo said lightly, fingers brushing Harry’s sides. “Whenever you need information,” he added, eyes dark and intent, “you know where to find me.”
He pressed a brief kiss to Harry’s cheek, and stepped away to dress as if nothing momentous had just happened.
Harry stayed where he was for a moment after Theo turned his back, pulse still racing, head full of static. Then he forced himself to move, gathering his clothes and pulling them on with clumsy haste, pointedly not looking in Theo’s direction. His body ached in ways that were new and deeply distracting.
By the time he was decent again, Theo was back behind his desk, perfectly composed, pouring himself another drink. The clock on the mantle struck nine.
Harry picked up his Auror robes and crossed the room. With his hand on the doorknob, he paused and glanced back. “I’ll owl you,” he said. “Thank you for this.”
An eyebrow lifted in silent commentary, and a smirk tugged at the corner of Theo’s mouth.
Harry flushed. “For your willingness to cooperate on the case,” he added quickly.
Theo merely raised his tumbler in a lazy salute. “See you around, Harry.”
And with that, Harry left, cursing conniving Slytherins, his own reckless curiosity, and his alarming willingness to do almost anything for his bloody job.