Chapter Text
When Aesop wakes, it is in the same bed, in the same room, in the same part of the castle it has always been. He goes through the same ablutions (quick shower, brushes his hair, viciously stares at his reflection until it warps and twists under his gaze) eats the same meals, teaches the same lessons ― watching helplessly as the cycle repeats before his eyes. It isn’t until Raleigh presses her lips against his that something finally feels different, a deviation in his routine that he hadn’t anticipated. It’s as though some fundamental part of his existence has changed seemingly overnight, feeling as though his molecules and atoms have shifted into something entirely different without him knowing, without his express consent. He is turned into someone he does not recognize. He, with his working knowledge of biology and chemistry, knows enough to understand that this simply does not happen, knows that it is impossible to change the inner workings of a human on a molecular level in the way he feels like he has been changed. Transfiguration is the only thing he can think of, but he doesn't feel like an end table or a finely patterned vase (a chest of drawers maybe, full of half-empty potion bottles and torn sheets of parchment).
He simply feels different. The quiet knowledge of what Raleigh’s lips feel like, what she sounds like when she is being kissed, the warmth of her breath on his face ― he has it tucked inside of his chest, packed away tightly to be opened and remembered at his leisure, letting the goosebumps of memory prickle across his skin when he does. It’s as though his path has split into a fork; before and after Raleigh. Some days he’s close to deciding that the whole thing had been a drunken hallucination, entirely unsure why of all people in the world to press her lips against, it had been him. And some days she stares at him with such affection in her gaze, her hands always finding a way to deliberately brush against him, that he resigns himself to admitting that it did in fact happen. The appeal of a washed up Auror with a bad leg, (an inconvenient scar, a perpetually pissed off demeanour, slight trust issues, a past that keeps him awake at night, the bloody list goes on and on…) is lost on him, but he supposes she sees something he doesn’t.
If Aesop had thought he’d been distracted before; he was simply beyond repair. Every free second was now spent thinking about the way they’d clung to each other, the way her mouth felt pressed against his, until he thought he’d simply lost his mind altogether. The number of exploded cauldrons and detentions had both risen exponentially, and while it was easy to place the lion’s share of the blame on misbehaving students, he knew he was partially responsible. Mid-sentence in a lesson, he’d catch her eye from the back of the class and any thought in his brain evaporates faster than a Diricrawl blinking out of existence. She simply smiled her knowing smile and he was left to collect himself, clear his throat, and try the sentence again. Judging by the faces of his students and the whispers they shared when they thought he couldn’t hear, they were convinced he’d finally lost it.
Lately, he was more than inclined to agree with them.
Papers are shuffled against the desk as Aesop rifles through the pile steadily growing into a genuine mess, parchment covering just about the entire surface. He’s sorting through them like a madman, frustration making his movements erratic and far more forceful than they ought to be, but he doesn’t care, the sheet he needs is here somewhere. A cooling cauldron sits alone in the darkened classroom outside, the smell just beginning to dissipate as the contents sit coagulated into greenish sludge, slightly burnt and more than slightly useless. He can feel the anger beginning to settle in his gut like a rock, the unyielding urge to set fire to every sheet of paper he can see with a wave of his wand ― he sighs loudly, it's of no use either way, he’s failed again. The destruction would be cathartic, watching as the office illuminates from the bonfire he was tempted to turn his desk into, he’d dance around the flames. The tension that creeps up makes him grit his teeth as the telltale signs of a headache begin behind his eyes, his temples throbbing, vision beginning to go fuzzy around the edges. It was supposed to work this time, it was supposed to be perfect, and it sits useless now just outside the door.
He throws the pages he’d collected and sorted with a grunt, watching with satisfaction as they flutter, scattered across the office floor.
To hell with it all.
The wormwood essence was of the highest quality, Pippin ensured it, and Aesop did not doubt his ability to procure quality ingredients; he’d watched as it bubbled as it was supposed to when he’d added it and yet…He glances down at the sheets of parchment still sitting on the desk, recipes and theory and research scrawled across some of them dating back to hundreds of years ago, each and every one touching on pain management in some way, the pain relief he was so desperate to have. The winter weather now in full effect had him in agony from sunrise to sunset, and there were only so many pain potions he could take in a day before the side effects became too significant; his speech becoming slurred, his breathing erratic and shallow, his head swimming so badly he loses his balance more than once.
It was worsening by the day, the creeping sense of time running out that choked him like a noose; each spare moment away from a cauldron or his research was spent with absolute gut-churning anxiety flowing through his veins. He would not lose his ability to walk, it was out of the question, a train of thought he resolutely refused to follow (the night creeps up on him rapidly, he spends most of it staring at the ceiling, eyes refusing to close) and that was that.
Aesop runs a hand through his hair, mussing it from its normally well-groomed state, threading his fingers into it and tugging roughly until the pain makes him grit his teeth against it, the thick dark strands wrapped around his digits. He is suddenly overcome with the desire to simply be be anywhere but where he currently sits, wishing with every fiber of his being that he was back in the dim lighting of the Auror office, feeling as though he had a purpose, that every breath he took was a worthwhile one, that both his legs worked as they should. The doubt in him circles like hawks above a carcass, it fills his throat and his lungs until he drowns in it.
A knock on his office door has him looking up.
He knows his expression is wild, he feels frenzied, his heart threatening to burst forth from beneath his sternum, and yet the words come out of his mouth before he has a chance to stop them.
“Come in.”
He combs at his hair with his fingers, trying his best to straighten it out as the door opens and Raleigh stands there. She’s got a gentle, hopeful smile on her face and Aesop watches in horror as it drops off into uncertainty when she steps further into the room and takes a good look at him, at the pages scattered angrily across the floor. He’d made the mistake of telling her his plans (he is struck by the unfamiliar feeling of openness, he wants to tell her everything, let her into every nook and cranny he had, let her read him and his secrets like a map; he starts by telling her about this) and now he has to look at her and tell her he’s failed yet again. Judging by the look on her face, she’s figured it out without him having to say anything. She stands against the front of his desk, brow furrowed in sympathy.
“I take it you saw the cauldron outside?” He says in greeting, still fussing with his hair, ignoring the way his back begins to scream at him from his hunched posture and he tries to consciously relax his shoulders. Raleigh nods, eyes meeting his. He can feel the anger still flickering inside him and he wills the conversation to be a short one, if he was forced to have it at all; he doesn't want to talk, happy to never say another word again. Aesop wants to clean the mess he’d made and start again, find what went wrong and correct it. He twists his palms together in an effort to tamper his anger, he can feel his hands shake as they wring. He wants her to leave, before he says something stupid.
“I did. The wormwood didn’t work?” She asks quietly. He shakes his head and she sighs, “I thought Pippin said it was supposed to react well with the dittany?”
Aesop sees her eyes fall to the desk, watching as she flicks between reading the multitude of pages in front of her and then back to him. The page he has yet to show her is sitting in front of him, its edges weathered from being folded and stuffed into his pocket repeatedly, scribbles of ideas and notes marking the surface in his neat handwriting.
“The wormwood and dittany behaved as expected, it was the rest of the potion they didn’t work with. I don’t know, Raleigh ―” He says through gritted teeth, trying not to get exasperated with the woman in front of him, trying to tamp down the anger that threatened to burst forth, but he can't help it. “This is the fourth time it’s failed. I don’t know…”
It's all he seems to be able to say as his head falls into his hands, and he counts out ten slow breaths. He can hear her moving the papers against the desk and the telltale scratching of parchment and part of him wants to tell her to destroy them, determined to get rid of them once and for all, the other part of him royally irritated that she was meddling in his business. The irritation of having to explain, having to humour her pitied looks suddenly makes him furious, unable to stop the anger from escaping his lips.
“What do you want, Raleigh? Why are you here?” He asks in a clipped tone, and immediately wants to bite his tongue off. He can feel her bristle, without having a single eye on her he knows her hackles are raised and he wants to sputter out an apology, to stuff the words back into his mouth but he cannot. The sounds of parchment shuffling immediately stop. Seconds of silence pass, and he can hear his own breathing loud against his palms, stuttered and shallow as it may be.
She doesn’t reply, and when he hears the sounds of footsteps, he looks up with a heavy sigh escaping his lips. She’s suddenly standing beside him, leaning over to read the pages in front of him, close enough to his back that he can feel the heat of her body, the brush of her clothing against his as she reads. Willfully ignoring his brutish tone, she’s muttering words under her breath, and he realises all too quickly she’s seen the parchment in front of him. The smell of her perfume fills his senses as she moves to rest a hand against the back of his chair, his space now entirely surrounded by her, and he swallows the desire that threatens to creep up into his throat. The anger that threatened him moments ago is now simmering into vapour, replaced by something warmer that slithers along his marrow, into his bloodstream like a poison.
“Grainian hair, anjelica, wormwood, hmm…” she reads under her breath, “ the plangentine might be worthwhile…”
She turns to look at him, eyes narrowed, and he realises that their faces are suddenly inches apart, eyes darkened from the low light and Aesop swallows. They stare at each other dazedly and Aesop feels like a shark watching its prey, black eyes unblinking in the depths. He searches her face for traces of anger and she doesn’t look offended by his tone, but he’s so tired he’s unsure of just about everything; he simply watches carefully. The tone of the room shifts under his feet, and the tension that filled it like a fog moments ago now feels different, less hostile and tinged with something that makes his blood sing.
“You could really do something with these, have you tried them all yet?” She asks, eyebrows raising, and he shakes his head again.
“I have not. I was going down the list, one by one.” He says, “You’ve seen how the wormwood fared.”
She lets out a laugh. “Well, yes…”
He refuses to break eye contact, Instead, he swallows the rock lodged in his throat and blinks at her.
“You seem…tense, Aesop.” Raleigh all but whispers, eyes narrowing again, her voice low, careful to not break the spell that hangs over them. He wants to laugh out loud at this, but settles for raising an eyebrow instead, trying to keep his breathing steady. His legs, gone numb and cold under the desk, feel like he’d been hit with a jinx, and he’s thankful he’s sitting down.
“You really should take a break, relax. It’s late ― look at it again tomorrow, with fresh eyes.”
He nods unthinkingly, but she doesn’t move from where she’s standing, even closer now than before. Her hand, resting on the back of his chair, moves to drop against his shoulder and she squeezes gently, her thumb rubbing absentminded patterns against the soft skin of his neck. They’re close enough that he wouldn’t even need to shift to kiss her, to press his lips against hers once again and allow himself to fall into the hypnotising softness of her mouth. Aesop licks his lips as his mouth suddenly goes quite dry.
As if she’s read his thoughts, (perhaps he’s not as subtle as he thinks…) she’s the first one to move this time, simply pressing her lips against his for a moment before she pulls back, decides against it, and kisses him again. His eyes slip shut as her mouth opens up under his and he can’t resist sliding his tongue against hers, deepening the kiss as if he was a drowning man and she was the light above the surface. He needs more, wants more, wanting so badly to pull her to him and he lets a hungry sound escape from his throat, raw and needy.
His chest is heaving as Raleigh pulls away, their mouths separating with a wet sound and she laughs, a quiet wispy thing that escapes her as she straightens up, moving her unoccupied hand onto his free shoulder. He wants to keep kissing her, content to sit there for hours with their lips pressed as he tries to work out more of the little noises she made last time that sent his blood pressure skyrocketing but she moves to stand behind him, and he cranes his neck to see what she’s doing.
Raleigh flexes her fingers against his taught, anxiety-stiffened muscles, beginning to work out the knots that plague him. Instantly, he wants to melt under her touch, to sink into the leather of his chair as nothing more than molecules vibrating against one another, and return to his basest atomic form. He instead sits there and lets her continue, her hands shifting from his trapezius to his deltoids, her thumbs pressing into the knots with enough strength to force a moan from his lips, into the warm air of the room. He wants to be embarrassed but it’s been so long since he’s been touched like this that he doesn’t care, shame long forgotten.
So, so fucking long.
This shouldn’t feel as good as it does, as right as it does.
“You don’t have to ―”
“Let me take care of you, let me just…” She murmurs into the warm air of the office.
Raleigh doesn’t stop, instead working at him with renewed vigour, as if his moan was a wordless confirmation for her to keep going, to press into him harder. Her deft fingers trace each muscle, dipping into every sinew until he feels himself relaxing into his chair, head tipped back and eyes slammed shut in bliss. Heat flows through him and Aesop can feel himself quickly beginning to harden in his pants, fighting the urge to buck up into the air, knowing he’d see no relief. He’s thankful that his lower half is hidden by the desk, and he tries to adjust himself through his trousers, trying to get even a modicum of relief.
Never loosening her hold of his shoulders, Raleigh leans forward, her mouth close enough against his ear that he can feel the warm puffs of her breath against his skin. If any critical thought remains in Aesop’s brain, it evaporates the second she begins to murmur hotly against him. He thought he remembered what it felt like to be so hard it hurt, so hot that his fevered brain felt as though it would burn out inside his skull, but this was unlike anything he’d ever felt.
“You should have told me you were so tense, hmm?” She whispers .
He cannot speak, cannot form words, so all that comes out is a nod and a low, growling moan from somewhere in the back of his throat. Aesop feels his hips moving of their own will, shifting up into the air searching for some relief from the hardness that was so dire it was rapidly becoming agonising, wanting desperately to rub against himself against the heel of his hand. He craved more, desperate for her touch, and entirely unsure how to get it.
“I can help, you know. All you need to do is ask, Aesop, and I’ll take that tension away.”
He gasps at this, and the sharp inhalation in turn exits his mouth as another moan, seemingly the only form of communication he’s capable of anymore. He feels as her fingers shift from his shoulders to pull his collar away from his throat, her mouth moving to lick and suck at the skin there with a hot hunger, the sensation of her tongue against his sensitive skin making his flesh prickle. His hands grip the armrests of the chair so desperately he knows there will be crescent shaped indents in the leather, his knuckles going white with restraint as his eyes slam shut. He cannot see her as she’s kissing a trail up his neck to his ear, stopping to worry the tender flesh between her teeth, replacing each hint of pain with a gentle kiss before moving to start the process over again. He’s suddenly not above begging, and when the first desperate, pathetic please escapes his lips, he knows that there will be many more, as long as she doesn’t stop what she’s doing.
Aesop feels her pull away from his skin with a final kiss against his neck, and he’s sure he’s burst through his trousers now, actively ignoring the wet patch that grew steadily the longer she teased him. Eyes still shut, he hears her move so she’s beside him, waiting for him. He takes a few deep, steadying breaths before opening his eyes and looking up at Raleigh, who, with wide hungry eyes, regards him silently. He wants to moan again at the expression on her face, watching as she blinks slowly.
When she eventually speaks, it's so quiet he has to strain his ears to hear.
“ Turn your chair, face me. ”
He does what she asks, sitting up slightly so he can shift the heavy wooden chair away from the desk and towards her. He sits back down and realises that he’s no longer afforded the luxury of being hidden by the desk and feels his face flush with heat as her eyes drop to his crotch, a searing look on her face as she sees what she’d done to him for the first time. Raleigh’s eyes flick up to meet his once more and he feels his stomach clench dangerously as she takes a step forward and leans in, hands coming to rest next to his on the armrests. Her mouth returns to his ear just as his eyes drift shut once again.
“Can I make you feel good, Professor? Please?”
He isn’t able to get a response out before she’s pushing off from the chair and sliding her palms down the front of his chest, down the tops of his tweed covered thighs, stopping when she meets his knees, hands coming to rest on them tightly. When Aesop peels his eyes open, he’s met with the sight of her on her knees before him, staring up at him with undeniable hunger on her face and he is sure he is going to die, right then and there.
There is no hesitation as her fingers move towards the button of his trousers, and he’s watching with wide eyes as she slips it through the loop on the other side, moving to do the same with the remaining buttons until the front of his trousers are wide open in the air of the office, cool on his heated flesh. Aesop can feel her hot breath above his throbbing erection, and he runs a sweaty palm through his hair, pushing it away from his face as he tries to catch his breath.
Raleigh looks up at him with hot, hooded eyes and the sight of her nearly has him weeping.
“Well? Can I?”
His breath stutters and dies in his chest at her words and he can only nod his confirmation. Soft hands move forward and rub against him through his briefs, feeling his hardness through the fabric. He is leaking steadily now, unable to stop the pearly drops that seep from the tip of his cock into the cotton, staining it. Her hands trace the outline of him, her palm rubbing up and down his length as she feels how hard he is for her, the throbbing flesh twitching with every pass of her skin, every time she brushes against the sensitive head. He stays silent however, letting her do what she wants with him, the anticipation of what he was sure was going to happen bubbling up inside him like a flood that threatened to burst forth any second now.
Raleigh grows tired of teasing him through the fabric, and mutters a quiet “ Up.” and tugs at his waistband and he gets the hint, lifting his hips off the chair and tugging his pants down so she can slip a hand into his underwear with ease. The first touch of her hand against him has him bucking up into it, a ragged moan leaving his lips as she squeezes his hot flesh gently before she lets go to tug the rest of the fabric away. He lets his eyes clench shut, unable to look at her as she holds him in the palm of her soft hand. Aesop is trembling, every molecule of his body at the boiling point and he may very well shake out of his skin.
He is suddenly entirely exposed, and he swears she moans before dipping her head down to place a gentle kiss on the tip, licking up the pearly liquid that gathers there. Placing tiny kitten licks on his sensitive head, she curls a free hand firmly around the base, holding him steady as she tastes every inch of him and he forces his eyes open. When he manages to look down, hair hanging around his flushed face, she’s already gazing up at him, the head of his cock resting on her outstretched tongue, unmoving as if waiting for him to see, already working out what he likes best. It isn’t until he lets a wretched moan escape his lips that she moves again, a firm caress with her entire tongue from the base to the tip, and he hisses loudly into the office, his cock jerking in her hand.
She’s massaging the sensitive tip, her tongue swirling around the spit-soaked flesh repeatedly and he can’t stop his hips from jerking up towards her, pushing it deeper into her mouth as sounds of pure arousal spill from his own lips. Raleigh, humming her approval or desire, Aesop can’t tell, sucks at him with renewed fervour with mouth open wide, and he accepts the invitation to plunge deeper into her willing throat.
“Oh God, Raleigh,” He manages, before his low moans echo across the stone walls as his head falls against the back of the chair heavily, one hand gripping the armrest of his chair so tightly the wood screams under the pressure. Aesop lets his free hand find her head and he threads his fingers in her thick, dark hair, flexing them against her scalp. Her hair is softer than silk as he runs his fingers through it, brushing it away from her face so he can see her face, see every flicker of pleasure that interrupts the concentration. She continues to suck at him, letting his now entirely soaked cock slide deeper and deeper into her mouth with every thrust, until he hits the back of her throat.
The groan that escapes him when he realises what’s happened tears out of him, still sliding himself against her tongue, her hollowed cheeks, and into the darkness of her mouth. He’s groaning loudly now, his hips pumping to meet her movements as her free hand twists around his base, pulling him closer and closer to the edge, ( it’s been so long, forgive me, forgive me, Raleigh) Aesop beginning to see stars behind his eyes and he knows it won’t be much longer before he spills and he’s not sure his heart will be able to take it.
Aesop can see the spit dripping from her mouth and down her chin, the lower half of her face glistening in the low candlelight of the office and he’s sure in all of his years he’s never seen a more beautiful sight. She looks debauched, drunk off him as she looks up with pupils blown wide and drool dripping from her lips and he has to look away, has to avert his gaze. (He will never be able to look at her without flushing a deep crimson now, not without remembering the way she looks on her knees before him.) He can’t help but lower a hand to grip her chin roughly, his thumb swiping at the spit that drips from it, smearing it across her flesh.
“ Good girl.” He mutters and it’s Raleigh’s turn to moan ragged and deep around his cock.
He’s gasping now, begging her, pleading with her to please, please don’t stop, oh God Raleigh, please keep going, I’m so close, and he’s sure half of it makes no sense but he cannot stop his mouth from moving, his fingers tugging at her hair with his fist. The words spill from his lips, begging like a man possessed for her to just keep going, feeling the familiar sensation beginning to creep up his spine, glowing like embers in his belly, and he can only think to go deeper, further into that unrelenting heat.
“Raleigh, fuck, fuck…oh I’m, I’m going to ―” He gasps, trying to warn her, tries to pull her head away but she slaps his hands away with a growl and forces herself deeper onto his cock one last time and he cannot stop it, the flood that escapes him as he comes, hot and salty down her throat. Everything suddenly goes white behind his eyes, and he shakes with the force of his orgasm.
When he can breathe once more, even in his haze of desire, Aesop does not miss that she swallows it down without complaint.
Boneless, Aesop gasps in air, still shuddering as Raleigh pulls her mouth off of him. She’s breathing heavier than he is as she sits back on her haunches and wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, the spit slickened skin that he cannot get enough of, the makeup that runs down her cheeks in greyish streaks. Raleigh smiles up at him through watery eyes, her swollen lips reddened and angry but she doesn’t seem to mind, her tongue peeking out to lick at them as if searching for any residual flavours and he runs a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, pushing it away from his face.
“ Oh… ” is all he’s able to manage when he can speak again, and Raleigh laughs from where she’s laying, sprawled across his ancient carpet, looking at him fondly in the low light of the office. He’s sure his expression must match her own, his eyes tracing her form as something in his chest clenches dangerously. Aesop does not want to look away from her, he wants to burn this image into his brain so every time he shuts his eyes, she is all he sees.
“Just ‘oh’?” She says, teasing. Her voice is hoarse and he winces sympathetically.
“No, no, more than just ‘oh’. Significantly more than just ‘oh’.” He says as he tries to move, shifting in the chair with a groan and he slumps back down heavily, his leg locking under him as his eyes close with a grimace. “I think you may have killed me.”
She laughs again, and when he finally manages to peel open his exhausted eyes, she’s no longer in the room. He can hear (vaguely, over the ringing in his ears, the sound of his heartbeat rushing past like waves against the shoreline, and he fiercely misses the ocean) the sound of glass clinking together, and when she returns to the office, she’s holding one of his pain potions . He takes it from her outstretched hand gratefully, drinks it down quickly, and places the empty phial on the desk beside him.
“I meant what I said before, you know.” Raleigh says, and he looks at her blankly, fatigue making his blinks slow and languid. She scoffs, but it’s an affectionate sound. “You really should get some sleep.”
“Mmm, yes. I suppose you’re right.” Aesop agrees, and instantly dreads the walk back to his rooms, the castle cold against his sleep-warmed skin but he remembers the blankets piled on top of his mattress and the comforting weight of them against his tired body and he decides the misery is worth it. Legs still trembling, he hauls himself to his feet with a groan and takes the few unsteady steps to where Raleigh stands, quietly pulling her into his arms. He holds her there, pressed tightly against his chest and hopes that amongst everything, she understands. The words he cannot bring himself to say lay heavily on his tongue, sitting like bricks in his mouth but his lips will not form the shapes and his throat closes in on itself each time he works up the courage to try. Instead, he stays silent, content for now to simply hold her like this.
He hums, a deep satisfied sound coming from his chest and when Raleigh pulls away far enough to look up at him, Aesop unwraps his arms from her body and places a warm palm against her cheek, holding her still so he can lean down and press a tender kiss against her mouth, and the residual taste of him still lingers on her lips. Resigning himself to the fact that the sharp feeling near his heart isn’t going away any time soon, he greedily kisses her once more.
Just once more, and then a hundred, thousand more.