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Crap! #2	By : blastendedskrewt Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 32239 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in Harry Potter's universe and make no money from writing this story.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Thanks to all for reading, reviewing and rating! You make me feel so good! :)

All the same warnings apply (except, if you’re hung-over right now you might want to wait—butt please come back when your stomach feels stronger). To all, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! Here’s the next nugget, hope you enjoy:

Discovered! (exploratory emissions)

~~ A collection of vignettes concerning some solitary experiments of coming and going (or going then coming ;), a series of short companion pieces to the long, strange trip of Harry and Draco’s experiences with exploring That. ~~

)*(

Part 2: “Research Design & Collecting Data”

It was the night before New Year’s Eve and Harry couldn’t sleep.

That in itself wasn’t unusual—he often had nightmares and/or insomnia (plus, his body was on a schedule to defecate in the middle of the night, sneaking secretly to the single bathroom at the top-most tip of Gryffindor Tower under his Invisibility Cloak while his classmates were snoozing and would be none-the-wiser or witness his smelly, natural need).

But now, just to shut his sexy Slytherin up, he’d impetuously made a date with Malfoy for the next day during the annual party the older students had at ‘The Three Broomsticks’ before the Hogwarts’ feast.

Ever since the arrival of Draco’s Christmas gift of a purgative potion—and the debacle of their trip to the prefect’s bathroom-- his insides had been curling in on themselves at the thought of himself doing That. In fact, he’d been downright constipated. It was all well and good to think about abstractly, but that act was so… private! (It was almost as if his subconscious was preventing anything to come out of his butt-- whether alone or with an audience.)

It was weird. Disturbing. Downright baffling… and had him too rightly vexed. It was just so naughty… and depraved… and taboo… and exciting (when it was someone else!)…

But he still wondered what it would be like… And then stopped that thought; he couldn’t wander down that path (could he?).

At first he’d been twistedly excited at the prospect because it had been so perversely hot when it had happened to Draco in the corridor-- and they hadn’t had a decent rendezvous since-- but he was steadily becoming riddled with anxiety (and the source of his nerves had begun to unravel). He’d been having odd dreams that had the tinge of reality that only actual memories contained.

How could he bring himself to willingly and knowingly shit himself? (Let alone in front of the bloke he’d bickered with for several years before they began to get their rocks off together?) And it wouldn’t truly be an accident since it had been planned out in advance… that made it so much worse!

At times, he couldn’t even fathom surrendering to that moment of complete loss of control on purpose! He was pretty sure the Slytherin just wanted them to be even, so Harry wouldn’t have anything to hold over his head. But it was the ruminating thoughts that were plaguing him, vacillating between feeling like a freak about getting so horny remembering Draco in the hall and feeling so dirty and wrong for liking it.

*Sigh* He figured that while he couldn’t sleep anyway, he might as well try to poop while Ron was still asleep so he didn’t have to go during the day when others were around. He sat on the toilet for forty-five minutes-- and for all his pushing and effort, only managed a couple of weak farts and a tiny pebble (that splashed a bulls-eye of cold water on his over-wrought, winking ring).

He failed to properly move his bowels. Again. And now, after manipulating and opening his lower muscles and thinking so much about That, he had a boner! (Why-That?!) He refused to touch himself-- he just couldn’t! It would only provide proof that he was indeed, a perverted freak.

He was about to go back to bed when he heard hushed voices and urgent footfalls coming closer. He was almost to the door, hidden beneath his dad’s Cloak when the Weasley twins stumbled into the upper-classmen’s boy’s bathroom. (Fuck! He’d forgotten they’d snuck into the school to celebrate the New Year with him and Ron and Lee!).

And now he was squeezed up against the wall and locked in with them. From what he had heard so far, he gathered they were talking about testing new, improved versions of their prank laxative “pootion”, arguing about the altered ratios of Doxy droppings and Violent-Violet pollen.

Trapped behind the door with an insistent erection and holding his breath, Harry’s jaw dropped in awe as Fred ripped down his boxers and cupped his scrotum, lifting his package out of the way, propping the bunch of bits up on his lap as he landed with a thunk on the toilet; he began farting so loudly and for so many consecutive seconds that the identical red-heads started laughing (with George wheezing through his giggles, “You sound like dad’s motorboat!”).

Harry marveled at how casual and relaxed they were with each other while using the bathroom—hell, he couldn’t even stomach going when other people were anywhere near the loo, let alone have a face-to-face conversation with someone!

When the noises evolved into obviously wet, thick splashes of spewing shit, Fred ordered George to mark down the time in their notes. “Ok, it’s tapering off… ‘First assplosion at 20 minute mark from ingestion. Results off and on for roughly 5 minutes.’ Now take yours and reset the watch.”

George dumped a vial into a tumbler of pumpkin juice and tossed it back, writing and remarking aloud, “’Concentration 5:12, DD and VVP respectively.’ Uh, Fred? Get off the pot.”

Fred stretched his torso and dug his fingers into his abdomen, “Just a moment, you’ve got time, and I –uh, ungh—got a little more to clear out.” As he hunched back down, some more fizzling flatulence sputtered and a couple of plops punctuated his point.

“No, really, I need the commode—NOW!” Harry could see that George was bouncing on the balls of his feet in frantic urgency (even if his brother was oblivious to his discomfort); Fred’s mind and mouth were still racing, babbling about documenting their research data. But neither George nor Harry was paying his words any attention.

It wasn’t the strong scent filling the small enclosed space that was tightening the brunet’s stomach into a knot—it was desire! Harry’s blood both boiled and froze at the same time (an odd contradictory mix of emotions that further solidified something very hot between his legs); he was becoming so aroused he was afraid he might jizz in his pants from the sights and sounds alone. George growled warningly, “You—“, then whined pleadingly… “Freddy…”

“Hold your hippogryphs! I gotta wipe my arse at least,” Fred rebutted. Time seemed to go in slow motion as the young man seated on the ‘throne’ unrolled some tissue and his twin moaned, doubling over, hand stilling on his zip.

Harry watched with a thrill of horror and fascination; a dark stain of completely watery feces burst from between the desperate red-head’s buns (deliciously snug in well-fitting faded jeans). It easily soaked along his inner thighs and ran the length of George’s lanky legs, a few fluid drips falling from the soggy hems around his ankles. He thrust the stopwatch, quill and parchment at Fred (still cluelessly and leisurely mopping his butthole).

“What are you—?“ George silently turned and showed him his ruined denims, “Oh…” Fred blinked. “That wasn’t even a full minute! Ok, too violent… ‘Need less VVP grains’”, he narrated as he jotted down the data. “Fuck,” he remarked as George peeled off his pants, “That’s totally liquid, no lumps. It’s like you pissed out your arse,” and scribbled some more on the parchment. “Mine was mostly loose, but thicker and had some chunks.”

“Don’t forget the gas,” George muttered dryly as he chucked his wet, soiled pants into the bathtub, the brown smears on his pale skin and orange leg-hairs sickly glinting in the candlelight. If he hadn’t been able to feel his pulse throbbing in his prick, Harry would have thought his heart may have stopped beating as the alluring, messy nude form revealed itself and stepped behind the shower curtain.

Fred continued to sit on the toilet and issue random spurts of flatulence and fecal matter. He mused aloud (voice slightly raised over the white-noise of the shower), “I suppose we could market different versions with varying strengths and blast-off times, according to what effect our young prankster is after... there’s something to be said for a delayed reaction—but instantaneous combustion could be cool too…”

Harry didn’t stay to listen anymore (although Fred’s continued intestinal noises were making precum leak in his pajamas and he was oddly interested). While the twins were still distracted, he made his escape; the slight opening of the door and the brunet’s retreating footsteps (uncomfortably hobbling under the grip of the heavy hard-on rubbing tantalizingly against his pajamas) were muffled by the sound of running water.

_)*(_

Tightening his fists under his pillow, weighted down by his skull, he made sure his hands remained inert. He would not touch himself—he would NOT (and he made sure he didn’t!!!!)

Sure, he’d always harboured an attraction to the ginger twins-- but This?! And having had witnessed them both doing That?! At a time like this?! (Fate must really be a foul, cruel, temptress bitch!)

There was an overall amazement about how they were so comfortable with each other, and could poo (in the worst possible ways) in each other’s company. And talk about it like it was everyday conversation, like they were discussing the weather?! He thought he knew what Gryffindor courage meant, but this topped it all in Harry’s mind.

And that level of intimateness with another human being was unfathomable… (But soooooo desirable!). Could he ever have that unconditional closeness and acceptance with someone? Could he have that with Draco? He wasn’t sure. (And didn’t know how he could possibly figure it out)

His arousal hadn’t abated, but he was able to succumb into an uneasy sleep; he fell into a fevered dream:

…He existed as a creepy voyeur in the shower; he could clearly see the fiery twins there—just as they had been releasing their waste in front of him tonight-- the vibrant images playing out in all their blazing glory, in frightening, beautiful clarity. But somehow they couldn’t see him and were completely uninhibited, just like he’d witnessed earlier…

…Pictures of the night’s encounter flickered and licked around him like flames…

…Then the twins joined him in the shower like it was the most natural thing in the world-- and he was engulfed in ecstatic sexual energy. A pair of hard-muscled, shit-covered bodies with two sets of roving hands caressed him, and then slid soap and slick suds over every inch of his frenzied skin… and clean, creamy freckled limbs were entwining around him, ensnaring his senses—all tongues and lust and hot breath consuming his soul…

…Harry knew it was time; he was ready to unload his bowels and his balls…

…He held a hand under his ass, testicles resting on the back of his thumb, the heel pressing against his perineum. He pushed. With a guttural exclamation, “Huh-uh-unk!” the firm poop was forced into his fingers. He felt the natural clay, stiff and warm; the second the turd was past the point of no return so was his impending orgasm…

…As soon as everything that was pent up in his body gushed out, his mind’s eye was saturated by images of platinum blond hair and molten silver eyes…

He awoke with a shout, sitting up suddenly in his bed, heart racing and breathing ragged.

The split-second he held between dream and completion was a visage of Draco-- a singular beacon, a focal point more poignant than Heaven and Earth. It was as if he felt the most comfortable chains settle around his heart; the sensation of it was both foreign and lovely.

He heard a snigger coming from Ron’s bed and saw his best mate smirking at him. Blinking in confusion, he looked down and noticed his blanket had been kicked off and there was a large, spreading splotch of semen wetting the front of his pajama pants.

“Wow, musta been a good one… who was she? Big tits and tight pussy?” Laughing his way to the loo, Ron teased over his shoulder, “Who knew you were such a grunter?”

Harry was left humiliated. And reeling (and reminded that he still needed to come out to Ron, but that seemed to be the least of his worries right now).

He was grateful to find the crapping part of his dream did not come true, but he could tell he was on the brink of being able to defecate now. The festering weight of his several days’ worth of shit pressing on his prostate and hole was all he could think about. He clenched his cheeks, clamped his sphincter and pressed his ass into the mattress.

When Ron returned, the green-eyed Gryffindor bade him leave for breakfast without him and entered the bathroom red-faced and turned on the taps for the shower to cover the noise of his dump.

The hard bulb-end of his turd passed, stretching out his ring-- and it felt really good. His recently spent cock twitched in interest. Finishing rather quickly once it got started (and feeling like he’d just lost about five kilos) the size of his load shocked him and he worried he might clog the commode. As it was, he didn’t—although he’d had to flush twice to annihilate all the evidence.

On his way to breakfast, he came to the conclusion (as he desperately tried to convince himself) that he just needed to get Draco to ram him hard up the ass and fuck these thoughts right out of his head.

_)*(_

Harry and his housemates that stayed at school over the winter break (or came back early—or snuck in!) went to the party at Rosmerta’s before the late feast Hogwarts held for New Year’s Eve.

Harry first drank to calm his nerves, appreciating something quite strong that Seamus had brought and used to spike the student’s Butterbeers with. (Many people suspiciously asked the Irishman if he’d transfigured it himself—with his notoriously dubious skills fresh in mind-- but he assured them, “Aye, ye of little faith… It’s a popular muggle spirit me cousin gave me! Really packs a punch. Getcha’ fightin’ or feckin’ in no time!”).

The second mixed drink had him relaxed and laughing at the others’ jokes and antics. He’d been rather uptight recently and this party was pretty brilliant… It was really nice to be so carefree around his friends… “Harr, it’s nice to see you smiling again,” Ron commented, “the liquor loosening you up?”

“Liquor… yeah… Liiiiiiiquor… Liiiiiiiiquorrrrrr….” It really was a funny-sounding word.

Ron nudged shoulders with his best mate, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, gesturing and leering at the comely proprietress leaning her ample cleavage over the bar as she wiped it down, “I wouldn’t mind ‘licking her’, if you know what I mean. Heh-heh.”

Harry just chuckled and rolled his eyes. He enthusiastically accepted another beer and shot. The third round had him feeling the courage and intrigue to go through with his date with Draco later (really, what was the big deal anyway?).

He’d made up his mind to show the snobby blond the Room of Requirement and was contemplating what the magic of the space would provide—a room full of chamber pots like that had appeared for Dumbledore? A bed fitted with rubber sheets, a shower and stacks of bog-roll as far as the eye could see?

As he was giggling to himself at his thoughts, Fred snapped his focus back to the present, “Oi, Harry! What are you thinking about that’s so amusing?”

“Yeah,” George chimed in, pressing his face closer next to his twin, creating the illusion of seeing double, “you’ve been screwing your speccy face up in concentration for the past five minutes and then started tittering like a girl.”

The brunet blushed bright red at having the attention of the pair on him, unable to shake the images that flashed through his brain (real and imagined) from the previous night. He managed to mumble and stutter, slurring a bit, “Uh… erm… just wond’ring how th’ Room of Requirement knows what you want…”

Hermione seized upon the quasi-intellectual topic that surfaced, undoubtedly bored by the empty, raucous partiers and took her chance at educating her peers. “No one knows for sure and it’s only listed in ‘Hogwarts, A History’ as myth or legend, just like the Chamber of Secrets. Always equipped with whatever the seeker needs, the ‘Come and Go’ room—“

“BAH—HA! *hic* HA-HA-HAAAAAH!” Harry exploded in laughter and fell forwards off his chair. His friends exchanged quizzical looks at him flopping about on the floor, holding his sides, wheezing and spluttering nonsensically, “A Seeker’s needs! Ha-ha-ha! Come and Go, Come and Go!”

While the boys were thoroughly entertained by his uncharacteristic outburst of mirth, Hermione scowled, pursing her lips in an entirely McGonagall-esque manner. “I think you’ve had enough, Harry,” and tried to take away his glass.

Ron stopped her though, pulling her hand back. “Oh lighten up, he’s just having fun. Finally! He’s been in a snit since Christmas and completely annoying to be around this break! (“Well, you HAVE!” The youngest male Weasley interjected into his own speech in response to the Golden Boy’s brief, suddenly somewhat sobered expression of betrayal) Then Ron continued, “This is a major personality improvement, Hermione.”

After Harry’s goofy guffaws died down, he had a fourth drink (with the out-voted frizzy-haired girl huffing indignantly and giving her enabling classmates a most powerful stink-eye). This one had him fuzzy, trying to keep tabs on the time but unable to focus his eyes. All he knew was that when he drank he felt great and could bravely confront and experience anything—no matter how Draco decided to use that information on him later.

The fifth time his cup was filled, his vision tunneled and the world tilted on its axis—and slanted sideways. It tasted OK, just… everything was far away… His ears and eyes and brain… were detached... And he thought he was supposed to be doing something… Something extraordinary, monumental...? Doing something about Draco… Doing Draco maybe?

There was a lot of laughter and the room was spinning… and then concerned faces… Minutes later he couldn’t remember anything at all and slipped into darkness, everything in the external world forgotten.

)*(

Author’s Note:

Hope you liked that one, borne from a couple offhand lines in the original Crap #2—it’s one of my favorites! (Not sure WHY, but it may have something to do with picturing the Phelps twins with long hair like in the GOF movie… ;P)

Also, sorry for the bad error about the time-line (when these two made ‘the date’, it was said they were ‘studying for NEWTS’):

When Stray and I originally wrote the sequel we knew through Book 5 (I let this story sit almost done for 2 years, so when I finally polished that turd and posted it, it was still before anybody knew yet how The Series ended. (But maybe they have pNEWT’s? Like pSAT’s?) Anyway, I’ve tried to keep it close to “somehow, could-be” canon since then (yet obviously disregarding the EpiLOG)… So, please try and just “go” with it… (Seriously, all these later chapters are only meant to be a semi-plausible vehicle for scat/smut, not a true documentation of an AU).

If you made it through that chapter, I dare anyone to NOT think of drunk!Harry rolling around on the floor laughing when you next hear of “The Come and Go Room”. Hope you come back for the next go… gotta love an experimenting, solo-pleasuring gorgeous blond!
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Crap! #2