#mmom

Harry shifted in his seat, tried to return his attention to his now gurgling cauldron—well past a low simmer, that would cost him—to focus his eyes on the next step in his Potions book. The letters seemed blurry. He blamed the hot fumes that were raising a sweat on his forehead. He wiped at it with the back of his hand, pushing Malfoy's thin, nimble fingers from his mind.

Twenty minutes later, it was over. They transferred a ladle-full of their Solutions to phials and deposited their samples at Slughorn's desk. Harry approached the desk as Malfoy was handing over his sample. Slughorn took it from him, holding it up to catch the wan light filtering through the tiny dungeon windows.

"Excellent work, Mr. Malfoy," Slughorn said. "A perfect emerald green hue. I have no doubt this could shrink a hippogriff to the size of a newborn kneazle."

Instinctively, Harry waited for the haughty remark. For Malfoy to turn around and deplore Harry's own muddy green sample, clearly burned and useless. No forthcoming comment came. Harry stared at the back of Malfoy's neck and saw a faint blush creeping up toward his hairline. Malfoy's hair was so blonde, Harry imagined it turning pink when Malfoy became fully flushed, from embarrassment or anger or —

"Thank you, professor." Malfoy inclined his head toward Slughorn, then excused himself and returned to his desk, where he quickly packed up his bag and departed. Harry ignored a restlessness in his feet that compelled him to follow. Those days were behind him.

Harry crossed paths with Hermione and Ron outside the Great Hall.

"We thought we'd go down to the lake," Hermione greeted him. "Enjoy the weather while it lasts."

"Seamus brought a football from home," said Ron excitedly. "He's going to teach us how to play."

"Um," stalled Harry, who was still feeling fidgety after his time in the dungeons. "I'm feeling a bit tired. Think I'll just run upstairs for a quick nap before dinner."

Hermione's brows knit, but she nodded. "See you later, then."

As they walked away, Ron swung an arm around her shoulders and tugged her into his side.

On his way back to the eighth year tower, Harry stopped in the bathroom to splash his face with cold water. He closed his eyes and leaned over the sink. He saw a flush fanning over a pale chest, up a long, elegant neck toward — he shook his head to dispel the image before it could go any further. It was replaced by thin fingers, curling around —

Harry groaned, frustrated. The semi he'd been ignoring since Potions was swelling with the force of the blood pumping through his body. Harry turned and entered a stall, closing the door roughly behind him and tossing a locking charm toward the door to the bathroom. He propped one hand against the wall, standing over the toilet, and used the other hand to push his robes open and tug his zipper down. His fingers brushed against his cock, stiff against the seam of his boxers, and he exhaled sharply, "Fuck."

He gave in, pulled his cock out and gave it couple quick strokes. He rubbed the pad of his thumb across the head, gathering the pre-cum there and slicking it down the shaft. Letting go briefly, he raised his hand to his mouth and gave it a few licks. His lube was by his bedside (where normal sexual activity belonged) so spit would have to do. He gripped himself at the base and gave a firm squeeze before sliding up to the tip and settling into a rhythm.

As he stroked himself, he kept his mind carefully blank, thinking of nothing but the chafe of his calloused palm against the sensitive skin of his cock, of the pleasure spreading beneath his skin, tingling and pulling his muscles taught, his heart beating hard and fast in his chest. After all, it was only a physical urge, a necessary release after a too-long afternoon cooped up in the dungeons. It didn't mean anything about anything.

His hand was moving faster now, his balls tightening on the precipice of his orgasm. An image flashed behind his eyes of sharp cheekbones blotched pink, soft lips gaping open, eyes closed —

Clint looked at the scene before him and wondered how he could escape unnoticed. A glance over to Nat showed that she would be of no help. If anything she seemed all too happy to watch this unfold.

He scowls at her over his coffee. She could actually fix this real fast, but she won’t, Clint knows that. The least she could do was direct them out of the kitchen. …it’s not like anyone eats here or anything. No, everyone loves having their breakfast ruined by this nonsense. It was way too early for this. He hadn’t even finished his first cup of coffee yet. Clint sighs and receives a kick to the shin for his troubles.

Steve and Tony were arguing again. Something happened between last night and this morning, what it was he wouldn’t be able to guess. Steve had been aloof and grumpy even after his morning run. And when Tony had entered the kitchen all hell broke loose.

She leans in closer to him, not taking her eyes off the scene before them. Clint moves in closer out of habit. “You keep saying you wish they just get there shit together. This might be it” She whispers to him.

Clint scoffs. He was beginning to doubt that Steve and Tony would ever work things out between them. With how they seem to deal with things, they would all be retired by the time they workout their personal relationship. On the field Captain America and Iron Man worked seamlessly, off duty it was as much a gamble as the weather.

“You know you could help them out. All your training... This would be a walk in the park.” He argued. He knew Nat wouldn’t intervene. She could sort those two idiots out in no time at all, but no, she’d rather watch this mess.

“This is far more satisfying.” She says, smirking at him.

“In what way is this satisfying?” he says, his voice raising in frustration. Nat gives him a look. “This is what TV is for anyway”

“Your TV programs are repetitive and dull” Nat says.

Clint stifles his groan. “I know its crap. TV is crap! That’s what TV is for. No one wants this bull in their kitchen” he says, gesturing to their ‘Leaders’.

She rolls her eyes at him. “You could leave.” She says “I’d doubt they would care… or notice”

“It’s the same old stick, Nat. Every time it is the same. What makes you think this time would be any different? What makes you think this would be ‘it’?”

Nat sends him a look, judging him. “If you would listen…”

He runs his free hand over his face. “Would rather not have to bleach my brains, thanks” he says. This was the stuff he tried to avoid getting involved in.

She shakes her head at him. “Tony walked in on Steve waxing his gun” she explains.

Clint looks over to the two men arguing just outside of the kitchen. “Shit. No way”

Her lips curl up in a smile. “Yeah.” She says, “And Tony is try-…”

He cuts in eagerly, “-trying to figure out who Steve was saluting to? And without-” This was unbelievable… and something he could see happening between the two guys.

She cuts back in over him, just as eager “-Without letting Steve know he has a huge thing for him, and appearing as if he doesn’t care either way”

“And Steve is embarrassed of course.” He adds, unable to keep his own smile off his face now. "And not happy about Tony getting further into his business"

“Of course.” She says.

Clint sets his coffee cup onto the counter, continuing “… and so he is shutting himself off emotionally”

Nat hums in agreement.

“And Tony…” He says.

She gives a quiet laugh. “…Trying to act like it doesn’t affect him, Steve closing himself off, but it does”

“Okay. I’ll pay that this is better than my shows” he says.

They watch their leaders argue back and forth in silence.

Clint turns to Nat. “How did you know Tony caught Steve rubbing one out?” he asks.

“It was quite a scene. I don’t know how you missed it” Nat says.