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The book, titled Seven Uses for Unicorn Blood, fell to the floor with a loud thud. Albus stood very, very still, although every fiber of his body felt electrified with the urge to move. Muscles stiff, he concentrated on breathing—in and out, very slowly, counting each measured inhale and exhale.
"Now, do you have anything to say for yourself, Potter?"
Professor Malfoy's voice grated on Albus' nerves as he carefully shifted his weight from one leg to the other, almost undetectable in the slow movement. There was something offputting about Malfoy's voice, like nails across a chalkboard, and yet there Albus stood, dick hard and pants around his ankles in the middle of Malfoy's office. Some part of Albus realized this was insane; it was wrong on so many levels that it ceased to amaze him how far Malfoy would go to humiliate him, how far he'd let Malfoy do it too. But the rest of his body screamed for the attention and the satisfaction that came after all the roughness. There was nothing like the release Malfoy gave him—it was addictive.
"I asked you a question, Potter."
Albus shifted again, just a hair, and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, sir," he whispered.
Malfoy chuckled warmly before he lifted the cane. Albus felt it come down hard across his arse, and he fell forward, hands spread on Malfoy's desk to brace himself. His knees quaked, his ass burned, and between his legs, his rigid dick twitched.
"I couldn't quite hear you," Malfoy said.
"That sounds like a personal problem," Albus spat, though there were tears in his eyes from the pain.
Suddenly, Malfoy's fingers caught his hair. Malfoy tugged a handful sharply, pulling Albus' head so far back that Albus swore his neck might snap in two if his back didn't first.
"Care to repeat that, Mr. Potter?"
Albus swallowed. Out of his periphery, he could see Malfoy staring at him, those cold eyes patronizing and somehow also honestly sincere. "I said I'm sorry, sir," Albus shouted, voice cracking. "Better?"
"Much." Malfoy shoved Albus face-first into the desk, until his nose smashed into the wood. The jolt of pain made him wince, but he did not dare move another muscle. "You would think, after all this time, that you would have learned how to address your superiors. But your father was a particularly smart-arsed little git as well, so I shouldn't expect you'd be any different."
Those words set Albus off like nothing else. He gritted his teeth and craned his head to snarl, "Don't talk about my father like that!"
The cane came down again. And again. The smack of it against his arse nearly made his legs buckle. Only when he screamed and gripped the edges of the desk to remain upright did Malfoy pause. Slowly, Malfoy drew the head of the cane across Albus' abused arse, down between his cheeks to spread them, and under to knead his balls into the hard wood of the desk. Albus grunted quietly, holding his breath for another blow that did not come, and finally exhaled when he heard the rustle of noise to suggest Malfoy was on the other side of the office. The clank of wood in metal suggested the cane had been stowed away, and Albus hoped his sense of hearing didn't betray him.
"Well?" Malfoy asked, his voice close behind Albus.
"Well, what?"
Malfoy's fingers cupped Albus' balls, and he turned them in his grip gingerly. Albus could feel Malfoy's breath against the small of his back. "Don't you have something to say to me?"
Albus stilled himself, but his legs wouldn't stop trembling. He arched a bit and positively groaned as Malfoy's fingers continued their ministrations. "I said it already," Albus whispered pathetically. "I said I was sorry, sir, and I meant it. I'm sorry I stole the book from the Restricted Section, I'm sorry I talked back during class, I'm sorry I look just like my father and you get off on that, and I'm sorry you are a pervert who likes fondling small children in your office and call it punishment. I'm sorry it is punishment, because I can't stand the sight of you." Albus was panting, but he managed to add, "Sir," to the end, sharply punctuating his ramblings.
For a moment, Albus wondered if maybe Malfoy just needed to hear all that. Maybe that was what would get all of this to end, and they could both just forget. But then, Malfoy's fist tightened around his sac, gripping until Albus thought he'd lose consciousness from the pain of it.
"Don't you remember our little discussion last time?" Malfoy snarled, still gripping.
"I won't say it," Albus coughed, bowing his head until he could press his cheek to the cold wood to cool it down. "Don't make me say it—I just won't!" He buried his face in the desk, the rims of his glasses digging into his skin.
"It's called a safeword for a reason, little boy," Malfoy continued. "You say it, we end this now. You don't say it, and I will go on until you come like a sick dog in my grip, piss yourself in pain, and pass out like you did last time. Say it, and this game that you loathe so much is done."
Albus gripped the desk again, whimpering. "Sir," he gasped. "Professor Malfoy—I can't—you're—it's—"
"Of course, if you don't want to say it, I very well can't force you."
Beside himself, Albus writhed. He could feel his prick rubbing up against the desk, could feel his balls burning from the pressure of Malfoy's twisting grip, and he sobbed wordlessly, mouthing at the fine wood as his legs finally buckled. Behind him, Malfoy slid close, bracing Albus against the desk, not allowing him to fall.
"Please sir, please!" Albus begged, drooling and thrashing and coming undone as Malfoy's free hand prodded a spit-slick thumb into his hole.
No preparation necessary, no warning to precede the motion, Malfoy pressed his thumb in to the hilt, every knuckle dragging against the oversensitive walls inside Albus' tight hole. Albus could feel the rest of Malfoy's fingers curling around his right arse cheek, and when Malfoy squeezed, his thumb shifted and Albus thrashed again, this time in overwhelming pleasure.
Babbling incoherently, Albus shouted obscenities and bit down on his own muscled forearm to keep himself from going on. Even that didn't help—it was only moments before he was coming, prick spurting white-hot stripes of come against Malfoy's desk. Albus had no idea what happened between the moment he came and the moment the euphoria of it all dispersed to the ragged breaths he drew in and out with shuddering sincerity. Somewhere in between, Malfoy moved out from behind him and let Albus fall to his knees. Somehow, Albus was licking his own come off the side of the desk, Malfoy's fingers tight in his hair to force his lips against his release.
"Good boy, Potter," Malfoy said sweetly, combing through his hair. "You won't ever steal from the Restricted Section again, will you?"
Albus shook his head, his entire body sagging listlessly into Malfoy's grip. "No, sir."
"And you won't talk back in my classroom, will you?"
"No, sir," Albus said, louder this time.
"And you will not disobey my orders when I tell you to disrobe in my private chambers, will you?"
Albus choked. Anger flooded through his body like wildfire. Suddenly, he felt strong enough to run a marathon, and he knew he had no use for crawling on his hands and knees and leaning into Malfoy's domination. So he jerked free, stood up, and turned to face Malfoy.
Without warning, Albus charged at Malfoy and lashed like an animal, with fists and knees and teeth, bringing Malfoy to the floor almost immediately and reducing him to little more than a sniveling, cowering fool. The sight of it made Albus' stomach churn, so he lifted his fists and looked down at Malfoy with a sneer.
"There's your safeword," he hissed.
Dressing quietly, it was impossible not to feel guilty for his physical assault. Every time he glanced over at Malfoy, he felt the pit of his stomach doing flip-flops. Swallowing the discomfort once he was finally dressed, he hesitated at the door as Malfoy rose to set himself right.
"Should I…um, come back tomorrow?" Albus asked quietly.
Malfoy's brows rose, both at once, almost comically high. "For what, wrestling?" Malfoy asked with a sneer. "No, you've done quite enough, Mr. Potter, and as you so eloquently put it, you cannot stand the sight of me. There's no reason to draw this out any longer if you aren't interested."
Albus frowned and shifted his weight cautiously. "And…if I am? Interested, I mean."
"You have a very stupid way of showing it."
With a laugh that flew out before he could stop it, Albus fixed his glasses on the bridge of his nose and shrugged. "I don't exactly…like blokes is all."
"You mean you've never liked blokes before tonight," Malfoy corrected stiffly. "You seemed to quite enjoy my thumb up your arse and my hands on your balls, didn't you?"
Heat flushed Albus' body. He looked down at the floor between his feet and concentrated on breathing again—in and out, calmly. Except it was hard when his body was already reacting to Malfoy's grating tone of voice. When he looked up again, Malfoy was there in front of him, grinning toothily.
"Like I said before, Potter—this game has rules. Let's follow them next time, shall we?"