Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

I Don't Think You're a Waste of Space	By : SparklySprinkles Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Dudley/Harry Views: 10089 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Fictional story based on fictional characters. I own nothing of Harry Potter, and make no money.

Chapter List
- 1-chapter one
- 2-Chapter Two
- 3-Chapter Three
- 4-four
- 5-five
- 6-six
- 7-seven
- 8-Eight
- 9-nine
- 10-ten
- 11-eleven
- 12-twelve
- 13-thirteen
- 14-fourteen
- 15-fifteen
- 16-sixteen
- 17-seventeen
- 18-eighteen
- 19-nineteen
- 20-twenty
- 21-twenny one
- 22-twenny two
- 23-twenty three
- 24-twenty four
- 25-one more to go!
- 26-the end (26)
- 14
- 15
- 16
   "Harry. Harry, I found you." The words were like lightening and thunder, when they happen in the same moment because fate has chosen some poor bastard to become that one in a million to make it to the evening news.
   "Yes, you. Well done, Dursley. And we can leave now?" A droll voice that was much dimmer, not really inside the pain, but out there, where things weren't real.
   "Open your eyes." Again the crash of sound and then the head splitting shock of sight.
   "Yes, Master." There was a mouth. He had a mouth. And he could still speak with it. Not really, but he could try. Those sounds hadn't been words. Perhaps his body moved. It must have, since the Voice had told it to. Was he in arms? He could feel his Master, very close. And perhaps warmth? That was a sign of his Master, as well. Always so hot.
   He tried to decipher the blurs. Where were his glasses? Where was he? He reached out to his side for them, arms humming and screaming from the effort of moving. Moving just weakened his muscles under the onslaught of pounding excruciating pain. He'd said Master. His Master was here. Where ever here was.
   That dimmer voice, "well, Potter. Ever the dramatics." He knew that low voice. But he supposed he knew many things that weren't a part of him right then. He was only pain. An inferno.
   "You think you're clever, don't you?" He shook his head, because this wouldn't be a circumstance for a clever person to find themselves in, a clever person would have killed themselves before now, and he tried to go back to huddling in. It was all he could do. Nothing else but never ending pain, everywhere. "You know what I should do?" He was amazed he could hear the man at all, but the words were crashing against him at decibels that his ears surely couldn't take. "I should just have you suck my dick, get my little discomfort out of the way, and let you sit in this. I can feel it, you know? I can feel what pain you're in. And you'd rather have that than me?"
   Harry nodded. Every word his master said was pounding into his brain as though they were the real reality here. The only things that had any substance to them. Harry could also feel the displeasure, the rage, the happiness and hurt, even. It was all there. And it warred with his own pain, like it had equal place in his soul.
   "Be a good chap and help me clean him off, yeah?
   "I believe the task would be above my pay grade," in that muffled, less real voice.
   "I haven't paid you. And I'm not."
   "Yes. I know. Feed him better, Dursley. This was never supposed to be something he could die of." A loud crack resounded in the room, but it was nothing on the assault of his Master's voice against him. It was the rushing of the river; it was inside the walls of pain, and bounced off them louder for it.
   "Well, how do you like that, eh? Rude if you ask me. That man is just plain rude. I spent more time with him than anyone could hope for in a lifetime, and he's the worst sort, Harry." Hands touched him, in that outer world, on the other side of the screaming wall, but Harry knew they were his Master, knew they were real.
   Then water, and that might not have been real, he didn't know anymore, and he wasn't trying to, but the hands came with purpose, working his flesh everywhere, reminding him cruelly that he existed on a physical plane. He could have done without that. Then the arms were replaced with something else. Something cold. He curled in tight, and every move brought to him that part of him, the curled shaking legs, the arms holding parts and screaming against the contact with his own self, everything was a loud cacophonous mess of tearing agony.
   "Easy, Harry. Just lay back, now."
   "Yes, Master." It was a breathy thing, hard to hear. Not like his Master's voice, strong and full of the promise of a life time of imprisonment. This man would make sure it never happened again. And he was still very angry. Harry could feel that, warring to get back in the driver seat now that the relief had enjoyed some time there.
   "Look at me."
   "Yes, Master." He opened his eyes, and directed them towards the voice, but focusing was hard. His very eyeballs were shaking, vibrating in pain, connected to strings of nerves behind that hurt even more.
   "Yeah. You need it, don't you? You need me, Harry?"
   "No. Just let me go. Leave me alone." Those were the words he'd intended, but they were a slur, and babble. It didn't seem like his Master understood them.
   "There, there, Harry. Just waiting for me this whole time, yeah?"
   Harry slowly became aware of his body being shoved against something soft, rhythmically, and he knew he was getting reamed, it was the only thing that could cause the slow retreat of the pain in his everything. He couldn't be aware of much, though. Just that it was happening. It had gone from a torrential onslaught to something just slightly less, but it was enough of a difference for Harry to hide his sanity in.
   Some time after that he opened his eyes, and knew the man was behind him, arms around him. He was still furious. And happy and content. And resentful and just a little worried. Harry tried to focus on the blurs in front of him until he realized he was in a bedroom. But it was different. He didn't think he'd seen it before. But he'd been somewhere else. He was still shaking, as though he would just always shake for the rest of his life. It was all his body had known for so long. Everything hurt, still, or maybe it was just the ghost of all that agony. Maybe it had overwritten what his nerves could know, and it would be there forever. But it was lessening. That was real.
   Also real was the prick in his arse, still hard, but coated in its own still warm, slick offering. After an eternity of staring at the wall his behind was vacated and he was pulled onto his back. He looked up and his glasses were placed on his face. He blinked and adjusted himself to returning to the world, until he realized he was staring into his uncle's face, full of angry marks everywhere from his fingers. He wanted to turn away but his muscles had quit, and he was a puddle. He closed his eyes, instead.
   "You need me, don't you? Need me for everything?"
   "No. Just let me go. Leave me alone." Words that were a little more like words finally. Sounded like he'd intended them, but with a lot more desperation to them than he'd wanted.
   "Stop that! Don't you say that!"
   "Yes, Master."
   "Mmm. Mine. So much mine, that if I tell you to open your eyes, you will." Harry tried to clench them, but there seemed to be a lack of communication between intent and the things his body was capable of, and it was too much of a challenge. Hands stroked his face, and he was aware of a prick, somehow still hard, jutting into his hips. But he wasn't overheating like he normally was in these moments. He was a little chilled, and his hair was wet. These things revealed themselves like scenery on the other side, until he knew it was reality, and he let it become a truth for him. The pain had to be leaving if he could know outer things like that.
   Like his uncle getting between his legs and reentering him. Sighing loudly, it was still so loud in his head. Like a gale. A whiskered jaw nuzzling his neck and face, and thrusting almost lazily through his own slightly chilled mess of cum. He stroked Harry's face slowly, craning up to nuzzle him as he moved, and he was the personification of happiness. It was bleeding out of him, like the mess leaking out of Harry's back entrance with every slow thrust. "Nice and slow for you this time, Harry?"
   "I don't want this you fucking pervert."
   "Me? You're the one with a dick in your arse and all hard about it. What does that make you?" The mouth at his ear, speaking softly as he was gently rocked by the body the mouth owned. "The last few times you've been hard for me. You think I don't notice these things? Don't know what that means?" That was true enough. What did it mean? He didn't like this. He couldn't, but his prick, deciding it was the only working part if his body, was defiantly showing itself to the world.
   "See, I know you're trying to make me mad." That had a ring of truth to it. The ring of warning bells that it might not be a good idea to do so. He might have been. "God, Harry. I'm sodomizing you and you love it. How could I be mad at you?" He stroked his face more to back up his words. "And I know I should be. I kind of am, still. But you shat yourself without me, Harry. To have you like this," he paused, as though unsure finally. "Don't you ever tell anyone anything I say to you ever."
   "Yes, Master."
   He nodded into Harry's neck, still pounding him slowly, "yeah. Good boy. To have you like this, so dependent on me. So needing me. You're mine. I own you like no one's ever owned anything before. I've never been hard like this before, not when I was a kid. Never. It's all for you."
   "Oh god. Please shut up! SHUT UP!!"
   "Tell me I own you."
   "Yes, Master! You own me!"
   "Beg me to make you cum."
   "Yes, Master!" He told his hands to cover his mouth before the words came out, but they only moved in their places beside him, and stilled. "Please, make me cum."
   His uncle spat on his hateful hand and gripped Harry, stroking in time with his thrusts. Harry felt muscles rippling weakly, returning to life at the worst possible time, but they were feeble things, maybe small enough to escape notice.
   "Please, stop touching me. I hate it. I hate you so much." He was crying. Crying, like a pussy. So weak. "Please."
   "You don't mean that."
   "I do." Sobbing. Like his puppy died.
   "You told me you loved me."
   "I didn't! I don't, I was lying. I hate you more than anything! Stop touching me! Stop touching me!" He was screaming. His uncle clamped a hand over his mouth, leaning far too much weight into it. He kept screaming through his nose, and managed to move his head a little under the hold, but he had no where near the strength to move anything more.
   "Harry! Only say things you know I want to hear when I'm inside you."
   "Yes, Master," but it was said into his uncle's massive hot palm, and Harry went mute after, shutting his eyes and pushing out more water. He could say nothing before saying something this man would want to hear.
   The arm lifted off him, and crooked under his shoulders, pulled him up. "There, there you are. Easy, boy. It's alright. It never needs to be ugly, alright?" The dick in him, and the hand resumed their assault, and now the mouth entered it, swallowing Harry's face. He clamped everything shut and cried more.
   His uncle kept talking, as he moved in him and stroked his dick slow and steady, kissing his neck and face between words and through them. He was a flood of his usual self but magnified. More. And stronger. His words had the same intense loudness, and pounded through Harry as he just kept rambling.
   "It's real hard to be angry at you. You make me so happy. How can you even cum from me screwing you like this? How can that happen? Yet here you are, hard as a rock in my hand, because I'm in your arse. I love you, Harry. I really do. I thought - I thought you were going to kill me, that last night. I thought that was my last moment, and then you came, and I thought that's fine. I can go, now. If that's it? I accept that. That's how happy you make me."
   Harry came, hard, crying out despite willing himself not to, and clenched about his uncle's prick, and the man whimpered and moaned into his face as he pounded through it to his own orgasm. He stilled as he twitched himself out inside.
   "Harry. I love it. I love the feeling of you cuming. Cuming on my cock. Oh god. I never want this any other way. You cum from me fucking your arse. How's that even possible? God, I love you."
   He was still inside him, so Harry could say nothing. It would have been a blubbering mess anyways, so it was just as well.
   "I feel like it means you were made for me. That's how it feels. You were made for me to be inside you. I don't know why I'm still hard. But it's not so bad now. Inside you, it's nice to be hard. I don't even know if it'll stop. I've been hard for days. I even came at Petunia yesterday. Woke her up proper. And it felt like I was cheating on you. I don't know why." He laughed. "I just, in all the years with her, she hardly ever came. She didn't even enjoy it, you know? Women can be like that I guess. She always just laid there and took it. Like a good wife, I suppose. Like you tried to for so long. But you can't fool me. Not when you're sticking into me. Looking up at me, like you're begging for it. And then when you did beg for it, Harry. That was the best moment of my life. I'll never want anyone else ever again. You think you can walk home yet?" Harry held still and stayed quiet. He just wanted him to shut up, and felt his words would only give him more fuel to work with.
   "We can stay here the night, then. That's fine." He pulled out, and rolled off, then turned Harry on his side.
   His uncle was behind him and he braved opening his eyes. He had a wall to look at again. "I hate you."
   "You don't mean it. You're just all emotional. You had a rough few days."
   His uncle grabbed his arse again and pushed his prick at him again. "No!"
   Then he shut his eyes again quick when the man slid slickly back inside, shoving even more fluids out on his way in. He swallowed a whimper. When would it end? "I don't mind being hard forever if I'm inside you. Feels right." He pulled him in tight and wrapped a leg about him. "Hurts less this way. Don't you pull away from me when I'm sleeping. If I don't go soft over night I want to wake up inside you."
   "Yes, Master." His limbs were returning to him, slowly. He could curl toes and tense some muscles between here and there.
   He woke to the man thrusting at him, rutting in his sleep; there was that safe void that told him the man was out cold. And moving against him. It was sickening. And jarring. And his own prick was getting hard again. What was that about? He needed that to stop happening. It was giving his uncle far too much to work with.
   His arse was sore, and that only showed him how much the other pain had left, that he could even feel this new one. But it wasn't that bad. Nothing ever would be again. He'd lost his self in all that, the days of being a nothing in It. But now he knew who he was, and what he was, and even where he was. He was still in Number Eight. The master bedroom. And he strongly suspected the other bedroom, the one he'd been taken from, reeked of shit and piss and pain.
    An arm moved on him, and Harry tensed, but the man stayed asleep and stilled his movements. How was he still hard? What kind of a bond did that to someone?

   He woke again, and a leg over him, curling in tight. He was pulled into the the body as it stretched languorously against him, invaded deep, and a groan sounded out. Thick satisfaction told him it was awake. Arms wrapped about him and pulled him as it rolled on its back, and Harry was gasping as he came to fully, lying back on the man's gut, arched unfortunately on top of him.
   "Please!" But that was all he could say. He couldn't say anything the man wouldn't want to hear while he was inside.
   "Please, more?" And he stretched up against him again, hitting places he shouldn't be. Harry's dick twitched in interest again, and he hated himself more than ever. He shook his head, since that was all he could do, but his muscles were there, finally, a part of him, rejoined to his body, his brain, and he could move. He reached behind with claws, and looked for the man's eyes. "The hell?" His legs were inside the man's, and he kicked at the bed, raising up, pressing against the arms that were always there. He clawed at them, and he was just held tighter.
   "You're trying to make me mad again, aren't you?"
   Harry shook his head. He wasn't; he was just trying to get away. He lifted his head and crashed it back down, getting his uncle in the jaw and hurting himself more from the impact. "Christ, Harry! What the hell?" A hand lowered over Harry's face and held his head down, and they were rolled over so Harry could bury his face in the blankets. He clutched them about himself and stayed still. "Settle down, now. I don't want to get angry. Alright? I just want this to be nice."
   "Yes, Master," he mumbled despondently into the nest of blankets, and hoped they muffled all of it. He felt a little safer this way, and tried to remain agreeable enough to be allowed to stay on his stomach.
   He had to lift his hips, just to keep the friction of the bed away from his prick, and his uncle grunted like he was doing a good job. It was disgusting, but far less than receiving pleasure, and he had to let his uncle think what he wanted.
   And just like that, he was back to what? Lying quietly and waiting for it to end? He didn't have very many options. And what new orders would his uncle use to cage him this time?
   Finally the sound and feel of his uncle finishing, and even better, the dick in his arse softened. His uncle released all his muscles with it, and rolled off him, laid back, fully satisfied with himself. Harry gripped the blankets for traction, and threw himself off and to the floor, and bounded to the door. "Stop right there!"
   "Yes, Master! God, where do you think I'll go?" But he would have run so far for so long that he would have died at the end of it. Released.
   "You're joking! You just ran away, Harry. Granted you didn't run very far. Clever little shit. I was all over England looking, you know? With that unsociable prick the whole way?"
   "You deserve each other."
   His uncle smiled at that, enjoying it for some reason. "You think so? Christ, I feel like I can think for the first time in days. Come back here."
   "Yes, Master." He got back up and returned, sitting on the edge of the bed. He was pulled in by tentacles, and he turned away, avoiding a face that wanted more and more from him. "Where's Dudley?"
   "What? Dudley? What did you two do here? Alone for days?"
   "Where is he? What did you do to him?"
   "Here I am, trying to get close to you and you want to talk about my boy? He's safe. I sent him to LeStrange's for a few days, to keep him out of your hair. What's going on there?"
   "What do you mean?" Harry felt rage at that, even though he knew Dudley was a little strange over him. It would still do this man some good to hear something else. Something normal. "He's my bloody cousin. My family, Uncle Vernon! Shouldn't he care about me? I care about him. Isn't that right? Isn't that what people do? Or do you just understand what your dick goes in? God, you're so stupid. So empty."
   "You're still trying to make me angry." But it was working a little. Finally. Maybe it just hadn't been possible when all his blood had been kept between his legs. But the spell was gone now.
   "I'm not trying to make you angry. I'm trying to make you understand how deeply I hate you. I hate you so much that when you touch me I want to die."
   "Stop that! Stop saying that!"
   "Yes, Master. I'll just think it, along with everything else I think about you. And don't delude yourself. It's all horrible."
   "You're no walk in the park either. You know I had to get my wife to untie me? You know what she said to me?"
   "Maybe she called you stupid? A pervert?" A grunt confirmed the easy guesses.
   "You think that?"
   "I know that."
   "Well, maybe I have something for you." Harry tensed up, knowing he'd never learned what his uncle had bought in town that day. "But I don't want to hurt you, Harry. I just want to have some nice quiet calm time with you."
   "When are you bringing Dudley home?"
   "As soon as I get you back."
   "You left him alone with LeStrange? What do you think he's doing to him?"
   "To my son? Nothing. We have an understanding, Harry. He won't do anything. That's my boy. He'll treat him like a prince, and send him home as soon as I send for him." He sounded more than confident.
   "You have an understanding with a death eater. Perfect. You and this world were meant for each other."
   "I know what you think you're saying, but I agree. I've never been happier." This man couldn't be shaken. He was the strongest oak this day, rooted to the core of the earth. Harry didn't know what else to say, what else he could try. He would never have the option again, he knew, when he got inside this man's home. He would lose everything then. New orders. New everything. "I think it's time to go home, then. I'm starving."
   "I need my clothes."
   "Oh, those are gone, boy. Ruined. You can wear my jacket. It's just a few houses down we're going."
   "You ruined my clothes? The ones Dudley gave me?"
   "No. You did. All helpless without me, aren't you?" God, he was loving this too much. Harry would take the jacket just to not talk about it anymore. It was hanging on the door. Uncle Vernon went about putting his own clothes back on and Harry stared at the floor, trying to think of a way to not go back in that house. He felt the closing of the front door would be some Final thing.
   They went out the room to the hall, and then the stairs, and Harry didn't think, he buckled a knee and toppled down the stairs. His uncle rumbled down the steps after him like a panicking avalanche and hovered over him as he blinked at the ceiling, feeling he'd done a lot of that in his life. Funny how most of them looked the same. People should put more effort into them, for moments like these.
   "You did that on purpose!?" He was disbelieving as he said it. "Are you serious?" Hands felt everywhere, Harry supposed he was looking for injuries, but how could someone so stupid know what to look for? Harry laughed.
   "What are you doing? Something you saw on the telly one time?"
   "I don't know how much I like this, boy."
   "Oh no. Better order me to think differently."
   His uncle nodded and paused his search to look at him. "Don't think I wouldn't."
   "Is there anything about me you won't overwrite? Is that how much you hate me? Fucking brainwashing bastard."
   "It would be to keep you safe."
   "Yeah. Right. An undamaged hole for you. That's it. That's all this is." All it had ever been. Harry understood now. It was bleak, but honest.
   "Oh. Harry." He picked him up and held him. Harry didn't feel like anything was broken, but it was hard to tell after the hell he'd been in. It hurt to breathe, but what even was hurt anymore? Mild discomfort. "It's not like that at all." He held him tighter, and it hurt more, but it was still nothing. Harry had passed through the fire to the other side. This was a tickle.
   He was carried to his uncle's home like that, arsehole leaking in the cold fall air, bare to the world from the way he was held, but hardly caring. He hid his face in his hands, not wanting to even know when they were past the doorway. But it was hard not to know it. Not to hear the door, the arms that curled him in to keep him from being knocked into the doorway.
   "Home." As though he needed the announcement.
   His uncle set him down in the hall and opened the cupboard door. "You get in there."
   "Yes, Master."
   "Stay in here. Never leave for any reason. Don't make any noises. Don't talk to anyone, don't make any noises, any nods or shakes of your head, nothing."
   "Yes, Master," a whisper of a breath, soundless. The door was shut, and a lock placed. A familiar sound. Like childhood, and it filled him with nostalgia for such simple times. And to think he'd wished for more. The stupidity of children. To think, he'd wished for this man to love him then. He laughed at that, silently. Then he sat on the bed and stared at his old friend, the bucket.
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I Don't Think You're a Waste of Space