[FIC] Flash and Circle (2/2)
Title: Flash and Circle (2/2)
Author: Ibycus
Rating: Adult
Pairing or Character(s): Albus Dumbledore, Gellert Grindelwald, Tom Riddle. In various and sundry combinations.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Though the AU is.
Warnings: B/D, D/s, mild S/M. Spanking. Gratuitous nudity.
Author's Note: The first part is here. This part is longer, much kinkier, and contains 1000% more orgasms.

“How shall we take him?” Gellert whispers, and licks a hot curve over the shell of Albus’s ear. “I wonder how many times we can make him come.”

“As many times as you like,” Albus breathes, “so long as it happens soon.” He gathers Gellert into his arms, kissing his shoulders, his cheeks, his lips, and Gellert teases him unmercifully. Gellert knows just what Albus likes, and he does not provide it. His caresses are too light, his fingers too gentle. Albus pushes against him, shudders helplessly – he has been hard since he saw Gellert standing over the boy – and Gellert laughs in his ear.

“We are neglecting our guest,” he purrs, and reluctantly Albus lets him go and watches as Gellert crawls to the head of the bed. He sits cross-legged beside Tom, reaching out to casually pinch one of the boy’s tender nipples. Tom winces and his eyes flicker shut, but when he opens them again they are impossibly bright. He arches his back, rubbing desperately at the empty air, pleading for more without words.

Gellert touches his first two fingers to the boy’s parted lips, then slips them inside as the boy licks and sucks obediently. Albus, watching, finds himself strangely jealous, but he does not know which one he envies more.

Tom’s eyes are closed now, and he is whimpering softly, for all he tries to stifle it, hot wet mouth moving hungrily on Gellert’s fingers. Albus cannot simply watch: he leans in on Tom’s other side and draws his fingers lightly along the cloth over the boy’s swollen prick. A whine escapes around the fingers in his mouth, and his eyes fly open for an instant. Albus meets them, and for a moment he sees Tom’s thoughts: need and hunger and want and his aching, impossibly hard cock; fear that he will disobey and be punished, that they will be angry with him; fear too of the unknown, of someone pushing inside his slick little hole and riding him until, bound and helpless, he breaks. Then the boy’s eyes close again, and he makes filthy little noises as he shudders on the bed.

“You must not be afraid of that,” Albus tells him, resting his hand on the inside of the boy’s thigh. He can feel the pulse racing in the hollow between groin and leg. “I promise you will enjoy it.” He glances up at Gellert, who is watching him with interest. “Let him speak,” he murmurs, halfway between an order and a question. “I want to hear him.”

“Oh, very well,” Gellert grumbles. He does not understand Albus’s interest in their nonsense words, the sounds they make; Gellert much prefers to watch them struggle to obey him, whatever he commands. He likes it, though, when they beg.

Slowly, he slides his wet fingers out of Tom’s mouth, teasing his lips as the boy struggles to continue his slippery devotion. “You may speak,” Gellert tells him, and it is clear from his tone that he thinks it is foolish, though he indulges Albus.

Tom takes a shaky breath and whispers, “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.” He glances from Gellert to Albus. “Please, my lord, I – ” He pauses, looking to Gellert as if for permission.

“Speak up, my boy.” Albus strokes him again, more firmly this time, and Tom gasps and grinds his hips against Albus’s hand.

“Please, my lord,” he murmurs, and his breath is coming hard now. “Please, I want, I need more…”

“What do you need?” Gellert asks, his fingers dancing deftly over the boy’s throat.

“More, please, your fingers, I want…” The boy is writhing now, fighting the restraints – they give not at all – and rubbing against Albus’s still hand. “Please, sir, please?”

“And what will you do for us?” Gellert inquires lightly. He is pinching the boy’s nipples again, harder this time, which makes him squirm and whine delightfully.

“Anything!” Tom moans, shuddering, so very close now. Albus slips his hand away. “Anything, my lord,” Tom repeats, struggling helplessly. “I’ll do anything, please.”

“Silly child,” Gellert says, and there is a note of real affection in his voice. “Of course you will do anything. You will do anything anyway.”

Tears are rising in the boy’s eyes now, frustration and confusion mixing with his fear and that desperate arousal, and Gellert takes pity on him. He leans across Tom – his hip brushing across the boy’s sore nipples makes him groan and twist away – and takes his wand from where it lies beneath their robes. With a murmur and a flick of his wrist, the seams on the boy’s underpants split. Gellert tosses the torn and sticky cloth away from them.

For the first time in the evening, Tom is completely naked. His red, swollen cock juts up from the sparse curls between his legs. The head is shiny and wet, and Albus rubs his thumb across it, comes away slippery. There is high colour in the boy’s cheeks, and he twists as though he means to cover himself, but the bonds hold him stretched across the bed and all his movement only makes him look vulnerable. Albus smears the boy’s lips with his own bitter fluid, and Tom licks at his thumb, sucks hard on it until Albus pulls his hand away.

“Please, my lord,” the boy begs brokenly. His body curves like some great bow as he tries to press against Albus, but it is Gellert who quiets him. He holds Tom’s face firm between his hands and kisses him, forcing his lips apart and tangling their tongues together. Tom groans.

Albus curls his long fingers around the hard length of the boy’s shaft, stroking him once, twice, and Tom makes a noise deep in his throat, breathless and stifled by Gellert’s unforgiving kiss. Albus slips his other hand down between the boy’s thighs, finds that tight little pucker, and slips a finger over and around it. Tom is twisting under them now, frantic and hungry, and Albus strokes him again just as he pushes his finger the tiniest way inside the boy.

It takes no more than that. Tom arches off the bed, moaning into Gellert’s mouth, and comes, warm and wet and sticky, all over his belly and Albus’s hand.

When at last he stills between them, the desperate twitches of his thighs easing into a languid calm, Gellert draws away from him. “Why, Tom,” he says, gazing down at the panting boy, struggling to regain his breath. “You have made quite a mess, and without asking my permission.”

Tom blushes, the shame flooding into his eyes, and looks away. “I’m sorry, sir,” he begins, but Gellert lays a finger across his lips.

“No, Tom. You have no need to talk now. You must make it up to me, I think. You must be very, very good and obedient.” He regards the boy for a moment, measuring spaces with his eyes, then smiles merrily. “You must be quiet, Tom, and take your punishment like a good boy. Yes?”

Silently, his cheeks still flushed pink, Tom nods.

“Good.” Gellert draws his fingers through the mess on Tom’s belly. “Dirty little boy, all covered in your own seed,” he adds disdainfully. “We must clean you up, Tom.” He brings his hand to Tom’s lips and waits as Tom stares forlornly up at him, his big dark eyes wide and beseeching. At last the boy’s mouth opens and his pink little tongue slips out. He touches just the tip of it to Gellert’s finger, then, gathering his courage, begins meekly to lick the Lord Protector’s hand clean.

Gellert does not stop until every drop is gone from the boy’s body, and then he takes Albus’s hand and makes Tom clean it too. It escapes neither of them that the boy is halfway hard again.

At last, when he has finished, Gellert directs his wand once more to the silken cords that bind the boy. With a murmured charm they rearrange themselves: the ropes at his ankles slither back to their place on the bedposts, and the ones that tie his wrists detach from the bed altogether. They pull Tom’s arms behind his back, his wrists still secured to one another, in much the same position that Albus found him. With a little nudge of his wand, Gellert compels the boy to roll onto his front.

The curve of his arse is terribly vulnerable, smooth and pale and unmarked, and Gellert permits himself a caress, fondling the boy until he squirms on the bed. He must, Albus thinks, be quite hard again. He is unashamedly rubbing his prick against the bedclothes.

“No,” Gellert says, and Tom stills instantly. “You must not do that yet, child. You must still be punished.” The boy’s look of dismay and startlement makes Gellert laugh, but Albus, who meets his eyes, understands: Tom thought that was the punishment.

Gellert draws the boy over his lap and tucks his arms up behind him so they will not be in the way. Tom’s cheek is pressed to the coverlet, and Albus can see that where Tom is draped across Gellert’s lap, the boy’s cock rubs against his thigh. Gellert’s erection – Albus knows the touch, the taste, the feel of it better even than his own – is pressed into the boy’s belly.

Gellert’s hand rises and falls, hard, on the boy’s upturned arse. Tom manages to stifle the yelp of shock and pain, biting his lip so hard Albus is momentarily afraid he will draw blood and then be hard to kiss. His eyes squeeze shut. His hands, bound behind him, are clenched into fists. Gellert does not stop: he rains down blows on the boy until he is squirming and mewling despite himself, and then he pauses, spreading his hand across Tom’s reddened arse, too rough to be really soothing. Tom whimpers.

“I would have stopped with that, Tom,” Gellert tells him softly, “but you cannot be quiet. Is it so very difficult to obey me? If you had only been good, we might be kissing you now, or letting you touch yourself.” He pinches one cheek, which makes Tom whine low in his throat, then gives him a last swat.

“I think we must find another use for your mouth.”

They help the boy up – with his arms tied behind him, he cannot lift himself – and arrange him on his knees beside the bed. “You may have his mouth,” Gellert murmurs into Albus’s ear, “but I want his arse.”

Albus twines his fingers through Gellert’s and draws him into a long kiss. Their tongues touch and dance and glide, and Gellert runs his fingers through Albus’s hair. He never tires of it, Albus knows. It has fascinated him from the first.

When they break apart at last, flushed and smiling fondly at one another, Albus adds in a low voice, “The boy is a virgin. Be gentle.”

“How do you – ah.” Gellert grins, his eyes hungry now. “You read him. How interesting.” He has always envied that ability, which permits Albus a unique understanding of whomever they meet. It has proven useful against their enemies, but it is far more entertaining in bed.

“Only a moment,” Albus demurs, unsure whether he is embarrassed for his slip. It is a far more intimate violation than anything they will do to the boy tonight, and Tom is utterly unaware of it.

Tom has sunk gingerly back on his haunches, watching them in some anticipation. He cannot, of course, hear their conversation, but he can see that they are talking, and glancing at him, and when they kissed his prick grew even harder. Oh, Albus thinks, to be young again. There are charms, of course, and potions, and some evenings he and Gellert make liberal use of them, but there is nothing quite so sweet as the insatiability of youth. He and Gellert would lie in the grass, kissing until their lips ached and they could not keep their hands from one another, then make love in the summer sunshine until they were both sore and exhausted. And the nights…

But they have much to attend to, these days. Albus would not take back a moment of his life, even for the freedom of his boyhood. Together, he and Gellert have remade the world. Age is a small price to pay.

“Tom is waiting,” Gellert says, loudly enough that the boy can hear him. “He must be allowed some way to prove himself, I think. He is not very good at obeying, but he does try. I have found him quite eager to please.”

Tom’s eyes brighten. He sits up, watching them, and when Albus perches on the bed just before him he puts his cheek, unbidden, to Albus’s knee. Albus smoothes his dark hair away from his face, strokes his brow, and the boy beams up at him. He might, Albus thinks, stay here for hours, petting Tom, but the ache at his groin is stronger now and he lifts the boy’s head again. Tom watches his face intently, and Albus resists the urge to slip back inside his mind. It is a fascinating exploration, and he might do it without Tom even noticing, but the boy has done nothing wrong. It would be inexcusable to force himself on an innocent. Perhaps, one day, Tom will give his permission, and then Albus will explore.

For now, though, he lifts the boy’s head and directs his attention to his cock. “Your mouth, if you please,” he murmurs, and Tom obliges.

That glimpse of terror Albus saw, the fear of the unknown, had made him quite certain that the boy had never been fucked. His mouth, however, is a delightfully expert surprise. Tom does not have his hands to balance him, and eventually settles himself between Albus’s thighs, the plane of his chest resting against Albus’s knees.

He begins slowly. His tongue flickers across the smooth, slippery head, tasting, and then he smiles and takes it into his mouth. He finds that tiny dip on the underside, presses against it with the flat of his tongue, and sucks. Above him, Albus groans and slides his hands through Tom’s hair. He only touches, does not hold; he does not want gagging and coughs to interrupt this wet, hot pleasure.

The boy’s hands twitch behind him, as if he wants them free to help, but his eyes have closed now. The delicate fan of his lashes brushes his flushed cheeks. Gellert would push himself deeper into Tom’s mouth, to watch him choke and try to breathe and suck at the same time – Albus enjoys that, when he is on his knees – but Albus only touches the boy’s face, brushes his thumb across those stretched lips. Tom rewards him with a low noise – perhaps a groan, muffled by Albus’s cock – and licks his way around the edge of the drawn-back foreskin.

Albus’s hand tightens involuntarily in the boy’s hair, and Tom lets out a little whine before leaning in and taking more of it, much more, into his mouth. It is too deep now for him to be delicate, but he tongues the bottom of the shaft and sucks slavishly and makes sweet little noises that might be moans.

When Albus looks up, Gellert is standing behind the boy, watching not Tom’s face but Albus’s. His eyes hold the same queer, intense look Albus has seen when Gellert leans over battlefield maps, when they hunted the Hallows together across Europe. Albus meets his eyes and his mouth curves of its own accord into a tender smile. He understands Gellert, who is his other half, without slipping inside him. He can see it all in his old friend’s face.

On his knees, Tom is drawing back. He licks his way from the red curls at the thick base of Albus’s cock to the angry, leaking head, takes it in his mouth, and assays – his eyes flick up to Albus’s, uncertain – a tiny graze of his teeth. Albus gasps and twitches, and Gellert gives him a wicked smile and trails the tips of his fingers down the bumps and dips of the boy’s spine to where his hands rest against his tailbone.

Tom’s eyes fly open, but before he can so much as move Gellert is kneeling behind him, fastening his mouth to the side of the boy’s throat. He licks and sucks until he has raised a bite-shaped mark, and then he moves higher, nips at the lobe of the boy’s ear, and slips his hand down to cup and stroke Tom’s cock. Tom gasps and moans around Albus, and his mouth grows hungrier. He uses lips and tongue and teeth, now, pinned between them.

As Albus watches through half-veiled eyes, Gellert presses the front of this body to Tom’s back, winds his arms around the boy’s waist. They are almost of a height, and Gellert’s shaft presses against Tom’s bound hands. The boy is doing his best to suck and rub at the same time, licking and working his fingers, and when he lets out another noise – Gellert’s thumb, Albus will later learn, has traced down the cleft between Tom’s reddened cheeks and rubbed firmly over the little bump just behind his balls – Albus throws his head back and comes.

Tom swallows around him and continues to suck, gently, alternating it with little laps of his tongue on the sensitised and softening flesh, until Albus pushes him away. His lips are swollen, his cheeks rosy. He looks quite delicious.

Gellert must agree, for he pulls the boy’s head to the side and bites at the sensitive line of his throat until Tom is moaning aloud, forgetting even his clumsy strokes at Gellert’s groin. Those clever fingers are stroking and caressing the tight, hot skin of Tom’s cock, pinching at the head, fondling his balls, and then Tom screws his eyes up tight and bursts out, “Please!”

“What?” Gellert’s word is no more than a brush of air across Tom’s cheek, but Albus can see the shape of his lips, and, more, he knows what Gellert will say. “What do you want, Tom? Ask me for it.”

“Please,” Tom pants, writhing like some trapped animal under Gellert’s hand, “please, my lord, please let me, please!”

“Tell me I can take you,” Gellert breathes, “and you may come.”

“Oh, God, yes, please,” Tom gasps, and then, as Gellert bites the curve where his throat meets his shoulder, he spills himself into Gellert’s hands in a series of desperate little thrusts.

When he is finished he collapses back against Gellert, narrow chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. Gellert murmurs a cleaning spell and holds the boy in his arms as he slowly comes back to himself.

“May I speak, my lord?” Tom asks at last, struggling back up to his knees.

Gellert sighs, but Albus sees the glitter of mischief in his eyes. “I suppose you may,” he allows.

Tom half-twists, looking back over his shoulder at Gellert, and whispers, “Thank you.”

Albus helps the boy to his feet and back onto the bed, gently unties his wrists – Tom rubs at them a little, but the cords have left no marks – and settles on the bed beside him. He drapes his arm around Tom’s chest, and sighs contentedly as Tom squirms back against him. There is no coquetry in him: the boy is sated for the moment, and seeks only comfort. Albus is briefly sorry for that, though he too is spent. He would have liked to cradle the boy against him, slide inside, hear him sigh and gasp with heretofore unlooked-for pleasure.

Gellert, who has joined them on the bed, is still hard. Albus resists the urge to pull him close, pressing Tom between them; Gellert is watching them with naked calculation in his face, and it sends a shiver through the boy. He is growing tense again, the lassitude of orgasm fading into anticipation of something still to come.

“You must not be afraid, my boy,” Albus whispers into his ear, glancing up at Gellert with a tiny shake of his head. The message – no, wait – needs no words between them.

“I’m not afraid,” Tom hisses at Albus, twisting in his arms, but he relents and falls back against him, his voice dropping. “Only I’ve never…”

“Shh.” Gellert puts a finger to the boy’s lips, not as a command this time but to calm him. “There is nothing to fear in the unknown, Tom. Do you trust me?” Mutely, the boy nods. “Good,” Gellert murmurs. “I shall not be unduly harsh to you, and if you will oblige me I promise that you shall enjoy it. Can you do that?”

“Yes, my lord,” Tom says, taking a breath. “My lord, I don’t want to be impertinent, but…” He trails off, colour rising in his cheeks, until Gellert gives him an encouraging smile. “May I kiss you?”

Gellert’s smile widens into a wild grin, and he is laughing as he draws Tom out of Albus’s arms and into his own. He does not take the boy’s mouth this time: instead, he lets Tom cup his face between long-fingered hands and press their lips together. Tom kisses him gently, almost chastely. The tip of his tongue just flickers at Gellert’s lips until they part, and then Tom’s hands slide up to run through his hair, cup the back of his head, and he kisses Gellert eagerly, with a breathless eagerness if no real skill.

He is, Albus can see, beginning to stiffen again. Youth is wasted on the young.

Gellert permits the boy to continue for some time, holding him close and submitting his mouth to the fervent kisses, but as Tom begins to arch against him, pushing their hot, sticky erections together, he takes the boy’s thin wrists in his hands and flips them neatly on the bed. Tom gasps as Gellert breaks away, straddling the boy’s narrow hips and pinning him to the bed, and grinds up against him. His lips swollen with kissing, the hard points of his nipples sore and red, his arse still dappled pink from Gellert’s blows, Tom writhes beneath him, desperate panicky breaths as he tries to free himself.

“Hush,” Gellert says. He holds both Tom’s wrists together and gropes for his wand – Albus has it ready to hand, and Gellert takes it with a nod of thanks – and calls up the cords again. Tom squirms and tugs when he feels them wrap around his wrists, drawing his hands above his head again, but Gellert holds him still until the bonds are firm. “You must not fight me, Tom.” He presses a palm to the boy’s flushed cheek. “There is so much you do not understand.”

“I’m sorry,” Tom whispers, blushing, and forces himself still. Albus can see the effort it takes him not to twist away, to go so quickly from power to helplessness, but when Gellert begins to fondle him the boy melts back onto the bed.

“I think,” Gellert says thoughtfully, setting his wand aside, “that I should very much like to fuck you now. You may learn, when you are older, what a great pleasure it is to slip inside a boy when he is hot and tight and panting for it.” Beneath him, Tom is shuddering as Gellert strokes him, whimpering with need.

“Do you want me to take you?” Gellert asks. He considers Tom, stretched out on the bed, and draws his hands away. The boy licks his dry lips, nods. He cannot tear his eyes away from Gellert. “Good,” Gellert says, and nudges the boy’s thighs apart.

Gellert disappears between those white thighs, kissing and, Albus suspects from the way the boy yelps in surprise and twitches in pleasure, doubtless licking as well. Unable to resist, he covers Tom’s mouth with his own. The boy does his best to kiss back, but he is quickly reduced to sweet little gasps and moans as Gellert tongues him.

“My love,” Gellert says, raising his face at last. Below them Tom is murmuring unintelligibly, and Gellert’s cheeks are rosy. He raises his merry eyes to meet Albus’s, and mouths the word watch.

Albus understands. As easily as he might sink into a dark pool, he falls into Gellert’s eyes and loses himself. He can feel the boy’s trembling thighs under his hands, taste the musk of him, feel – yes, the sweet untried hole, spasming under the press of a single slick finger. He feels it open to him, just barely, hot and tight, hears the boy’s incredulous gasp and feels the shudder as his fingertip finds the little bump inside. His mouth curls into a fierce smile as he adds another finger, crooks them, rubs, and feels the boy clench hard around him. This is what he has waited for, since he saw the pretty face that went with that mind and imagined taking the boy until he wanted nothing else. He is too hard, has teased himself too long tonight, for tenderness.

There is the phial of oil, just where he left it after he fucked Albus against the wall, and he pulls his fingers out of the boy’s tight arse and slicks himself. The boy is watching him with wide, hungry eyes, and when he begins to push inside the boy’s head falls back and he whimpers. It hurts the boy; in the morning there will be bruises on his slender hips, but he is hard and leaking, writhing, begging with his mouth and his body.

He goes slowly. The boy is slick and tight and moaning, “Yes, yes,” under him, and when he is as deep as he can go, his cock thrust impossibly far inside the boy, he pauses, lets the boy twitch around him until his moans become pleas and hisses, and then he rides him hard.

The boy takes it. Bound as he is he has no choice, but he raises his hips to each thrust, hungry and needy and impossibly hard.

When he feels sure he cannot bear it any longer, he takes the boy’s cock in his hand and fists it roughly. It takes only a stroke or two before the boy is arching against him, convulsing around his cock, and he fucks the boy through it all until at last he spends himself inside in a burst of desperate satisfaction.

At last, Albus opens his eyes. He is in his own head once more. Gellert lies half across him, spent and exhausted. Tom, still bound, is beside him on the bed. His eyes are shut, and he has a blissful smile on his face.

Albus has come all over his chest.