Chapter Text
Draco didn’t speak once in class the following Monday or Tuesday. On Wednesday, he skipped class, making Theo hand-deliver a clearly forged note from Madam Pomfrey. Thursday also came and went with a note about some sort of cold. When Draco came to class on Friday, Tom knew he had to say something.
“Mr. Malfoy,” Tom said in his usual professor voice as the students packed their bags. “Would you mind staying for a moment?”
It felt as if a decade had passed between Draco dropping back into his seat with a huff and the classroom emptying out completely, even though the clock told him it had only taken a mere two minutes. The door swung shut once the last student left, and Tom was entirely too aware of the distance separating their respective desks. He drummed his fingers on the desktop as he struggled to say the words he’d practiced all week in the shower.
“Should we go into my office?”
At no point had he said that in the shower. Not without his monologue falling away to choked-back moans and his cock in his hand. Tom was off to an excellent start. Draco gave him little more than an eye roll as he stood up and crossed the room as if there weren’t a million and one unspoken words and unanswered questions floating in the air between them, making it difficult to breathe.
Tom didn’t mean to close the door to his office. Two sealed barriers cutting him and Draco off from the world could only end poorly. Especially with Draco looking at him like that .
“I think we need to–”
“My father found out about the Potions Mastery.” Draco crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against Tom’s desk. “He says he’ll disown me if I go.”
Tom’s hands flexed at his sides, an ungodly mix of anger and anticipation swirling in his stomach. There were a few times in his youth when Tom had imagined punching Lucius Malfoy in the face. Now, he thought of other things – crueler things. Draco deserved much more than the chance to pursue his dreams. He deserved someone who would help him realize them.
“He also said he’d disown me if anyone discovered I’d rather die than stick my head beneath Pansy’s skirt.” The ice caps in Draco’s eyes had melted, giving way to a stormy arctic sea that promised to swallow anything that came too close. “If you won’t tell me you want me, then tell me what the bloody fuck I’m supposed to do, Professor.”
The words slipped from Tom’s lips before he could stop them.
“Don’t call me that.”
Gone were the days when Tom loved his job. The title of Professor had once been a point of pride for him, a marker that he’d done something with his life when most had counted him out. Now, the sound of that word made his blood boil. Draco had been right, as always. There was more to him, more to them, than such a superficial relationship.
Draco scoffed as he pushed away from the desk, dropping his hands to his sides.
“What about Father, then, since the two of you–”
One moment, Tom was composed and standing as far away from Draco as was physically possible in his office. Then, he blinked, and he’d not only crossed the room but managed to pin Draco between himself and the desk.
“Don’t.” The word came out quiet, resigned, like Tom had already accepted the things that hadn’t happened yet.
Draco fit perfectly between his arms, half-sitting on top of the ancient mahogany with his hands on either side of Tom’s. In this position, he had to tilt his head back to look Tom in the eyes, and it would be oh-so fucking easy to close the distance between them and chase after the things that had been haunting him all week. The arctic storm had passed, giving way to something much more dangerous: simmering, melted mercury, promising to drive Tom mad.
Mad with frustration. Mad with desire. Mad with an all-consuming need to kiss and lick away the pain etched into the corners of Draco’s mouth and eyes. Other places, too, though Tom tried to keep those thoughts shoved as far down as possible.
When he swallowed, he found it difficult – found that that urge had climbed to the back of his throat where it waited for his self-control to snap.
“What can I call you, then?” Draco’s eyelashes were wonderful this close, casting long shadows along his cheeks in the sunlight pouring in through the window. How had Tom never noticed them before? “Not professor, not the man I want, not dad–”
Tom felt his body tense as his mind exploded, a kaleidoscope of color and want so vibrant that it nearly made him go blind. Draco noticed, his eyes blowing wide for a moment before the corner of his lips tilted up in the kind of smile that told Tom he’d never be able to walk them back from this, even if he wanted to.
“Draco.”
It was a warning. The last one he’d be able to give before crumbling like the fool that he was. Two weeks had been enough to undo seven years of carefully crafted mentorship and propriety.
Rather than back away from the danger etched into those two syllables, Draco had the nerve to shift ever so slightly closer, tilting his chin back the way he did when he wanted something and was debating how to ask for it; how to bat his eyes or wring his fingers until Tom was writing a letter personally informing the Potions Master that he was going to give Draco a spot in the program or the Ministry would pull their collaborative funding and give it to someone else.
“Daddy.”
Somehow, Tom’s forehead found itself pressed against Draco’s, heat and magic swirling between them in an oakmoss and vetiver mix overlaid with every bad decision Tom wanted to make.
“It suits you.”
Draco licked his bottom lip, and Tom pulled back just enough to track the movement, the proof of how much he liked those two syllables slipping off Draco’s tongue hard in between them.
“Does it?” Tom asked instead of begging for Draco to say it again.
They studied each other for several moments, unmoving and holding their breath as time and space stretched out around them, endless and finite at the same time. That was the trouble with wanting something so badly you’d be willing to chase it. Once you’ve caught it, you have to keep it, or let it go, and, in the thick of it all, both options scare you shitless.
“Please, Daddy.” Draco inched closer, their noses bumping as he tilted his chin up, his lips tantalizingly within Tom’s grasp. “I want you so badly it hurts.”
Tom’s body burned. It burned with the want to press their lips together and consume Draco from the inside out, gathering up as much of the boy’s pain and fear of the future as he could and leaving nothing but a smiling, happy man in its place. He also needed to mark every inch of this boy, his boy, with his teeth, his hands, his cock – he needed the world to know that it would have to go through him to get to Draco. That Draco belonged to him completely.
He was, above everything else, possessive of the things he liked. And he very much liked the way Draco was looking at him right then, with stars in his eyes and parted lips that were begging to be kissed.
“Fuck, baby.” The word slipped out on its own accord, and the whine that left Draco’s mouth went straight down Tom’s spine. He shot a quick glance at the clock, heart racing. “I– Can you do something for me?”
Draco nodded in earnest, the movement pressing them closer together until Draco had to grab onto Tom’s shirt to keep himself upright. It would take no effort at all to press him all the way down onto the desk, tilt his head to the side, and leave the first of many marks on his neck.
His collarbones.
Everywhere Tom’s lips could reach.
“Yes,” Draco answered without hesitation. Tom didn’t just like Draco’s willingness to please him; he lived for it if he was being honest. And he loved rewarding his good behavior.
“Go and get ready for dinner.” Draco opened his mouth to protest, and Tom’s finger once again found his lips to silence him, the heat in the room now an inferno. “Come back tonight. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
“Which one?” The movement allowed for Tom’s finger to slip into Draco’s mouth, and both of them moaned at the feeling of it.
“To my room.” His finger slid out of Draco’s mouth, and he forced his hand to move to the back of Draco’s neck, a safer place given the fact that they’d be late for dinner if Tom didn’t sort them out soon. “If anyone asks, tell them I have you helping me get ready for my trip.”
“When Professor Snape asks, you mean?”
“Leave Snape to me.” Goosebumps appeared on Draco’s skin at Tom’s words, and he wanted to figure out what else would earn him that same reaction. “Now, hurry up before I make us both–”
He was cut off by Draco yanking him down by his shirt, their lips meeting in a chaste sort of kiss that had Tom seeing stars. It was delicate, cautious, and over almost as quickly as it began.
“– late,” Tom finished in a whisper. He watched, dumbfounded, as Draco gingerly pushed him backward so that he could slide from the desk and slip out from between Tom’s arms.
“I’ll see you later,” Draco said, walking backward to the door as he ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Daddy.”
Much like that afternoon a few weeks prior, Draco turned and slipped from the room before Tom could do more than blink. He stood there for a few more moments, running an idle finger over his lips and staring at the threshold, knowing that he wouldn’t have a moment of peace until Draco came walking back across it.