Got Squick? | By : Mimine Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 86471 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
The following is an answer to a challenge set by the wonderful Slash Muse and will be MSTed in her excellent yahoo club: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Slash_Grievances/
TITLE: Love Cats
AUTHOR: Mimine
PAIRINGS: AF/MMcG, AF/Mrs Norris, MMcG/Mrs Norris
FEEDBACK: I'm a total feedback whore!!! Feed me! Feed me!
ARCHIVING: Poor souls - well if you're sure you want it I won't say no.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them. JKR thought them up first, that's life for you. I just play with them from time to time. I'm poor and not making any money out of this so I don't see any point in suing me.
Notes: Contrary to appearances I don't condone bestiality.
Filch was a miserable bastard. Everyone who knew him would say that but it was not far from the truth. There were days when he seriously thought about drinking a bucket of bleach to end it all. He didn't know what kept him going. It felt as though his life was nothing but a big joke. Born a squib in an old pureblood family, forced to change his name not to disgrace it, accepting charity from Dumbledore when he found himself on the streets. He'd tried selling his body before accepting Dumbledore's offer but he'd been a singularly unattractive youth with raging acne and bad breath.
Argus Filch had never heard the words "˜I love you' directed to him. Perhaps when he was a very small child, before his family found out he was a squib his mother may have said it but he wouldn't remember.
*He* had loved. Twice. Both at Hogwarts which had been his home since he was fifteen years old. Both times he had dared and had ended up with a broken heart.
She'd caught his eye from the first time she set foot at Hogwarts. Barely older than the children shs sus supposed to teach, hair constantly pulled back in a tight bun and shrewd blue eyes. Minerva! She'd let him call her that but he'd declined to drop the respectful "Mrs McGonagall" twirling his hat in his hands.
They were both well into their forties before Filch made a move. Peeves had succeeded in spiking the punch that Christmas. The Transfiguration Professor had let her hair down, provided an inspired rendition of "Fever" on the staff table and then followed the caretaker to his rooms. She was an animal in bed, scratching and biting and licking Filch all over. The details of that night remained sketchy in Filch's mind. At some point he was sure he had sucked the heel of Minnie's red stiletto heels for some obscure reason. At some other point, Minnie had sat on his face and he'd nearly choked under the red curls. He'd licked the warm pink flesh with broad wet swipes, enjoying the way the woman screamed and told him she loved him, loved his tongue and that gorgeous nose of his rubbing at her clit, she LOVED him! And she came. And then Filch fucked her, nice and slow. She'd been so dirty in bed. She'd been perfect.
The next day the tight bun was in place, the eyes shone coldly and she was once more Professor McGonagall, not Minnie, would never be Minnie again.
Filch did not want to accept this at first. He pursued his Ice Queen but she ignored him. The flowers he left in her room were thrown in the trash, his attempts to talk to her alone failed miserably, the longing looks he gave her were met with nothing but indifference. In his desperation he'd turned to one of the students. A small Slytherin third year with greasy black hair and beady eyes. A little monster, no stranger to detentions with Filch and completely unimpressed by his punishments. A boy that Filch secretly admired, source of countless contraband potions and slippery as an eel. Several of his customers had been caught and punished, even expelled, but little Severus Snape, though suspected, had never been proven guilty. Hallucinogenic potions, contraceptives, lubricants, love potions"¦ any sort of potion could be provided at a reasonable price.
Filch was desperate by the time he turned to Snape. He whispered his request for a love potion, avoiding the black eyes that shone maliciously under the curtain of greasy black hair. The boy had asked him for some of his "juices". Filch retired to the closest bathroom to provide the ingredient. The boy got impatient after a while and yelled at him to hurry up because he didn't have all day. Filch thought he would die of embarrassment but eventually managed to produce a vial of his "juices" that the boy stuffed in his knapsack and ran off to class.
The well-paid for potion did not get to its intended victim, leaving Filch fending off an enamoured Flitwick for a week before he paid the little greasy bastard another exorbitant amount for an antidote. The squib vowed to gut the house elf that had messed up but part of him was grateful that McGonagal hadn't taken it. If she was to come back to him, he wanted her back for real and not because of something that had been slipped in her drink.
The little Slytherin brat blackmailed Filch, threatening to go to Dumbledore and tell him exactly what sort of potion Filch had requested. Filch threatened to hang him upside down and cane him but the boy laughed. In the end, they reached a compromise. The boy didn't want money, just a choice of punishments to be inflicted whenever a Gryffindor, in particular a quartet of very naughty Gryffindors, had detention with Filch. Filch had to admit, after he'd relented to the boy's demands that the boy had had some truly brilliant ideas and the arrangement held and was renewed when the nasty little boy came back to teach at Hogwarts.
Eventually, running into Minerva stopped feeling as though someone had driven a stake through Filch's heart.
He found the kitten at Hogsmeade. A miserable emaciated creature that had not approached him when he beckoned it, staring at him with unimpressed green eyes. A few slices of ham later the kitten had agreed to go with Filch.
She ate a lot and only the best. Soon the miserable excuse for a cat turned into a glorious feline with a thick fur and a lean body full of muscle. A faithful companion to Filch, someone to talk to and stroke and have in his bed.
Mrs Norris, as a Hufflepuff first year had inexplicably named the cat, was beautiful, inside and out. Filch's perfect soulmate in a four-legged package. Fate was being a bitch again to Argus Filch.
One night he dreamt that she was a girl. Green eyes with long lashes, auburn hair and a svelte body, holding him and rubbing against his hard cock. A very vivid dream. In fact, when he opened his eyes he realised that he was hard and rubbing against someone. The furry little creature he loved had gotten inside his night dress.
"I -Mrs Norris -oh fuck, that feels good!" he murmured. The cat rubbed her nose against the hard organ, her whiskers tickling Filch's balls, making the Squib moan with the sensation. She raised herself on her front legs to reach the leaking crown. Filch nearly jumped off the bed as her nose pressed against the sensitive red flesh. Filch moaned loudly, arching towards the furry little face.
Then Mrs Norris took a lick. Filch nearly jumped off the bed again, this time howling in pain. Mrs. Norris licked again, one of her paws on Filch's scrotum as she tried again to reach the swollen head.
"Aargh! Don't! " Filch ground out. Sandpaper on one's cock was not a pleasant sensation. The caretaker had a high pain threshold but he'd have to be a total masochist to enjoy Mrs Norris' current attentions, especially when the cat got another paw on his balls and started to knead slowly, her claws prickling the wrinkled skin.
Argus felt himself shrink and gently got the purring feline away from his privates.
Since then he discouraged Mrs Norris from giving him that sort of attentions again. He turned to her only for his necessary intake of tenderness. He stroked the luxurious fur and nothing mattered, not that he had been born without an ounce of magic in him, not what the brats had been up to lately, not that he hadn't seen his cock get hard in over a month.
Wizagra, the magical equivalent of a Muggle developed drug could help in that direction but it wasn't like Filch would have anyone on whom to use that erection.
Lately, Mrs Norris wouldn't provide even that small comfort of a compact furry body in Filch's arms. Quite often, when Filch got back in bed after one of his rounds, the cat would leave him alone. Sometimes she wouldn't even bother to go on the rounds with him.
And that had hurt. Filch needed to know who had taken his love from him. He suspected that she may be screwing that flat-faced orange monstrosity that that annoying Gryffindor library-dweller called a cat.
He decided to follow Mrs. Norris one night. It was not easy. It wasn't long before he lost her. He got a little further before he lost her the second night. The third night he hid in the place where he'd lost her the previous night and followed her from there. He gave a start when he recognised his surroundings. Up on Gryffindor tower -Minnie's rooms?
Mrs Norris mewled softly. Filch hid behind a suit of armour as the door opened. McGonagal's form shrunk until a tabby cat stood where the Professor had been. Mrs Norris pressed her nose against the grey face then gave McGonagal's furry cheek a lick.
Filch was so still he wasn't even breathing. He hadn't been expecting this.
McGonagal was licking Mrs Norris' throat now, both cats' purrs echoing in the corridor.
Filch felt something stir in his crotch and inwardly laughed at the thought of finding lesbian cat sex arousing. The cats retired to McGonagal's rooms without closing the door.
Filch recognised a low "˜mrao' from Mrs Norris that he'd thought was reserved only for the sight of liver pate. Cautiously, he walked to the half-open door and peered inside.
Mrs Norris was on her back on the hearth rug that adorned McGonagal's living room. A grey head was busy between Mrs Norris' hind legs.
Filch's hand went to his crotch as the unusual lesbian peep show had brought him to painful hardness. It was good to see that he could still achieve that without chemical assistance.
The cats manoeuvred themselves into a 69 position, both purring so loudly the walls were trembling.
Filch fisted his cock quickly staring at the trembling backs and interlocked legs of the two felines that were bringing each other closer and closer to completion with their rough tongues.
He bit his lip so hard it bled as he arched into his fist and came, his come hitting McGonagal's thick front door. When he could breathe again he buttoned up, cleaned his squib seed from the door with a checked handkerchief that he stuffed back into his pocket and slowly walked back to his humble rooms where he took his weekly shower two days earlier and went to bed trying not to think much about what he had seen and done that night.
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