Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR.
Warnings: Adult themes (SLASH). Underage sex.
AN: My first attempt at writing slash. I wanted to prove myself and my beta reader (Yentschmyen) that I can do it... and it turned out better than I expected.
He would never even think his private lessons with the Headmaster could be THAT interesting... till he tried it the first time, that is. After all, through the years he wasn't the only student to come to Dumbledore's private quarters at such a late time.
Harry Potter told gargoyle the password just when the passage appeared. The door was waiting set ajar; he quietly slipped into the study, only to see the Headmaster sitting at the desk, occupied with paperwork.
"Good evening, Harry."
"Good evening. What are you going to teach me today, Professor?"
Dumbledore looked up, his blue eyes twinkling in the faint light coming from the Pensieve. He stood up and swiped his wand, brushing aside the parchments on his desk.
The boy sank into the warm embrace of his teacher. His fingers wandered the silver beard, his lips were locked on the Headmaster's. Harry slid his hands under Dumbledore's purple dressing gown, pulling it off to the floor. Professor's wrinkled palms struggled against the buttons of Harry's robes.
"Lie down," Dumbledore said softly, and he obeyed, resting himself against the hard surface of polished wood.
He shivered at the cold of lemon ice cream, his professor's favorite lube. Harry felt a violent push into himself, bringing sharp pain along with a strange sense of relief and solace. The heat of Dumbledore's body, the breath smelling of lemon drops, the long hair tickling his bare back.
It should be disgusting, someone would say. Why exactly, I ask? Two people looking for acceptance and a while of oblivion about the war, was there anything wrong with it?
In these dark times, there was nothing he wanted more than to be with him.
Safe in his arms.