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It was Scorpius’ fault. No, Teddy’s; no, James’. It was always James’ fault. One thing was for certain, it wasn’t Albus’ fault. Teddy had brought the weed, James had suggested truth or dare, and Scorp, well, Scorp chose truth and now Al’s here dressed in his dad’s back-up Auror robes, wearing his dad’s face and desperately trying to think about anything other than his dad before he goes into the bedroom to fuck his boyfriend.
He looks himself over in the mirror again, running his hands through his glamoured hair. It's a glamour, not Polyjuice; it was the one thing he insisted on – it's one thing having your dad's face, it's quite another having his cock. He scowls at the face in the mirror and it scowls back, smudgy through the fingerprints on the piano lenses in his 'borrowed' frames. Fuck it, he smooths down the crimson robes, takes a breath and opens the door. He can do this.
Besides, it’s his birthday next month and he’s definitely asking for ‘Draco’ Malfoy to suck his cock.