Every Bad Sex Cliche in the Book | By : meleighme Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2968 -:- 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. |
Rating: Uh…R? Maybe. Well, yes definitely. I think.
Warning: Dubious consent of the nearly non-con variety. Actually, I take that back. It’s totally and completely non-con. Not very graphic non-con, but non-con all the same.
Also beta-ed by Lei. Who for some reason takes offense to “The greatest beta ever OMG” so I’m changing her to “A decidedly mediocre and generally OK beta for the time being.”
The world was shifting around Ron like he was caught in a gigantic toilet that was continually flushing. His eyes were open--that much he could tell--but nothing was in focus. Black blobs surrounded him and he could hear a voice nearby blabbering about scrubbing, but when he turned to look at whoever was talking, the dizzying sensation worsened. He could feel bile rise up in his throat.
Sucking in a deep breath to quell the nausea, Ron pressed the back of his hand against his mouth. Pain flared up as soon as he touched his lips and he jerked his hand away in confusion. He inhaled slowly and tried to block out the voice of whoever it was beside him. Right now, he would just concentrate on not vomiting there in the middle of wherever he was.
Smile and nod, a whispered voice said; startling Ron enough to go completely still and shut his eyes. Relax. Just keep scrubbing. Something pulled at the back of his mind and the spinning sensation increased.
I know this, thought Ron. This is--
“Bloody Weasley’s never paying any attention unless someone has their face smashed up against--why did you stop cleaning? I’m not finishing all these cauldrons by myself, you know.”
Ron opened his mouth but all that came out was a choked sound. Quite suddenly the world stopped spinning, and he could feel every single part of his body tingling from the after-effects of some spell. His right arm was aching and Ron hesitantly opened his eyes, ready to shut them if the dizziness returned.
All that was in front of him, however, was a half-dirty black cauldron surrounded by what looked like hundreds of other fully-dirty black cauldrons and an irritated Draco Malfoy staring back at him. He looked at the scrub brush in his right hand and turned to Malfoy. “Where am I?”
Malfoy snorted. “Where are you? The same place you’ve been for the past two hours; the same place you’ll be for the next four.” At Ron’s blank look, Malfoy continued, “In the dungeons cleaning cauldrons for Snape. Where did you think?”
“I rather thought I’d still be in class.” He looked around in confusion, completely unnerved by the way the day seemed to be jumping around with no warning. Before he could tell Malfoy about the entire thing--because telling someone who was being slightly normal was better than no-one at all--the most comforting feeling of relaxation came over him. It was as if he had been submerged into a vat of calming draught, and he felt his lips twitch into a half-smile. He dropped the scrub brush and reached up to touch his face and words just fell out without Ron having thought them at all. “Why is my mouth sore? Did we fight?”
Silence met him, and after a few minutes Ron glanced up at Malfoy who was looking at him in what might have been concern--that is, if Malfoy was capable of concern.
“I suppose,” Malfoy said right as Ron was starting to shift uncomfortably. “That we might have fought.”
“Well, then,” Ron remarked as though this cleared everything up. “Back to cleaning.”
“Don’t you even want to know--”
“Honestly, Malfoy.” He began to scrub at his cauldron enthusiastically. “Do you expect me to believe that you could win in any type of physical fight?” Ron sat back to admire the newly cleaned handle. Looking up, he almost smirked at Malfoy’s stunned expression. “Besides, you’re lip is bleeding.”
Malfoy’s hand flew up this his face and he drew back his fingers to look at the blood. He smiled a slow and deliberate sort of smile, that was not in any way pleasant and was, in fact, rather frightening. “I’d say,” he brought his fingers up to his lips again, pressing them against the wound and dragging his hand away; leaving a bright red mark smeared across his cheek. “That you’re bluffing. You remember everything.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Malfoy. Let’s just get these cleaned for--”
“I’d say,” Malfoy said as he pushed Ron’s cauldron away. “That selective amnesia doesn’t become you.”
“Selective amnesia?” Perhaps Ron had thought too soon about the acting halfway normal thing. Malfoy was as loony as the rest of them and on top of that, the relaxation was leaving and irritation was fast replacing comfort. He grabbed at the cauldron, but Malfoy, the irritating prat, moved in his way.
“Yeah.” Malfoy lowered his eyebrows and his face looked downright predatory; he leaned in closer, hair falling into his eyes, and Ron flashed back to Harry earlier that day--only Malfoy didn’t stop. His arm snapped out and grabbed Ron by the back of his head, pushing against the wound that was still there and still bloody hurt.
Despite Ron’s struggle to break out of the grip, he was yanked forward and there was a brief flare of pain as his lips were pressed against Malfoy’s. Oh, Ron thought. Sore lips. He didn’t get much further than that because the dizziness had returned and so had the whisper in his ear.
Kiss back.
I bloody well will not. Ron decided he had reached a new low--arguing with voices in his head was a sure sign that maybe it wasn’t everyone else that was mad. Maybe he was stuck in his own head coming up with increasingly wilder situations.
The pressure abruptly disappeared. “Kiss back.” Ron opened his eyes and Malfoy was glaring at him. “I don’t like having to do all the work.”
“I’m not…” Ron’s voice trailed off as white-blonde hair blinded him; there was weight across the middle of his body as Malfoy went completely round the bend and straddled him. The cold stone of the dungeon floor shifted beneath his body and he twisted around to look. “You transfigured a bed?”
But Malfoy looked just as surprised as Ron at the appearance of the wrought-iron monstrosity, and then downright shocked as silver and green scarves flew from out of nowhere and wrapped themselves around Ron’s wrists and ankles, and tied themselves to the bedposts.
Ron’s blood ran cold. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on--” A hand pressed against his lips cutting off his words.
“Shh,” Malfoy’s face was twitching peculiarly--his mouth was curling into a gentle smile but his eyes were widening in alarm. “This is--we’ve waited for so long.” He paused and reached up to caress Ron’s face.
All at once the dizziness was back and the room was cast into darkness; a breeze kicked up and began to ruffle Ron’s hair. Malfoy dipped lower and Ron flinched backwards, trying to push himself deeper into the bed.
Hot breath tickled his ear. “I’m sorry,” Malfoy whispered. “This isn’t--I’m sorry.” The start-stop of the words were starting to scare Ron and then--oh god--and then Malfoy latched onto Ron’s neck and began to suck and Ron was losing focus again.
A distant rumble sounded and light flickered in from the window; briefly illuminating the stone of the ceiling, which was undulating in black and grey waves. The voice in his mind was back and pulsed along with the ceiling; gaining power and, oddly enough, narrating what was going on. As the voice turned the flowery observations to instructions, firmly insisting that he should do what he was told, Ron panicked and bucked; trying all he could to dislodge Malfoy and get loose from his bindings.
He arched into the touch.
“No,” Ron said aloud. Malfoy paused in his nibbling for a moment before shifting towards Ron’s chest and biting along the collar bone.
My clothes, Ron thought dimly. Where did they--
And the red-haired boy moaned, “Draco! Please!”
Caught somewhere between the need to fight and a mindless obedience, Ron groaned in frustration. “Draco.” There was a loud crack of lightning and the window flew open. “Please sto--”
Lips were over his, muffling the words and he could feel the heat from Malfoy’s body warming him despite the wind whipping around the bed.
…The delicious sweat-slick slide of skin.
It was too much. Malfoy was wriggling down again; his mouth dragging a wet line behind, and he stopped just below Ron’s navel as everything around them whirled. The room might as well have been inside a giant quaffle battered in a storm--spiraling around the pitch with them inside. The spinning overtook Ron right as the rain started blowing in from the window and snapping against his skin in small, freezing drops.
And his hips rolled, the hard length jutting out and leaking--
No matter what Ron firmly told his body, his cock was beginning to fill and rise against Malfoy’s chin. Ron could feel him sigh and move further down--kissing the tip before sucking in the head.
He had to detach himself, that was all. Ron had to believe--firmly believe--this wasn’t happening. He squeezed his eyes shut to concentrate on something else, anything else, but he found it impossible as a finger trailed below his balls and pressed between his buttocks. He pulled against the scarves.
Ron arched mindlessly into the air, question for more of the sweet, hot suction that Draco so lovingly provided and the dual pleasure of gentle hands from behind. But the blonde Slytherin…
The mouth was gone, and Ron glanced up in surprise. Malfoy was staring up at him with the same conflicted half-angry, half-resigned expression as before.
“God, Ron,” Malfoy practically growled through clenched teeth. He grimaced like it physically hurt him to say the words. “You look so beautiful like this.” His speech was stuttered and halting, and at every pause Ron could feel the finger pressing against him. “So gorgeous.” And then it was inside him, oh god Malfoy was sticking fingers in his arse and--
“There is so much I want to do to you. That we can do together, forever. And these scarves, holy fuck, these scarves.” He ran one hand up Ron’s chest and lightly brushed his ribs. His voice pitched lower, “You’ve been ready for me, haven’t you? Been holed up in your pithy little common room, glancing around, wondering if they knew. If they knew your fascination with me, that we’ve been secretly….” Ron was shaking his head, trying to block out the words because none of this was making any sense, when the finger disappeared from underneath him. Malfoy sat up and positioned himself between Ron’s legs. His hands were gripping Ron’s hips so hard that there were going to be bruises there and Ron tried glaring at Malfoy only to be startled to find his gaze squarely met.
An unspoken connection was forged as they both looked deep into their lover’s eyes.
The narrator stopped and Malfoy was biting his lip and clenching his eyes shut. His body trembled above Ron’s and he could feel the struggle in the air sparking around them; Malfoy finally gave in and his face went slack for a minute before he a half-hearted leer eclipsed his face, and he thrust slightly forward. The pressure increased and Ron could feel a slight burn but--
And the two together were the greatest contrast: one dark and the other light, one all on fire and the other--
“I’m not…” Ron wasn’t going to give in despite all of the dizziness and he could talk--he could plead and beg if that’s what it took in order to stop this. He gasped and Malfoy slowly pushed forward and there was pain, but not enough to overwhelm the sudden rocking and drop in his stomach.
“Why are you--” The words were abruptly cut off as the waves and pulse of the ceiling were combined with the overwhelming awareness that even though he didn’t want this, Ron was three seconds away from coming. Fighting seemed pointless and he could feel his will to resist drained from him. The need to protest and push away dissolved as Ron mentally retreated.
Malfoy was moaning, and writhing forward and hands were on Ron’s arms, flexing slightly like he was trying to push himself away from the bed entirely but couldn’t quite make his body do what he wanted. He was whispering into the air--too far away for Ron to hear--and Ron turned his head to face the window and went completely still. The wind swelled around them the curtains were flowing in the rain; the heat from their bodies had all but disappeared and been replaced by an awful numbness that masked anything else that he might be feeling.
One hard thrust and Ron knew that Malfoy was buried inside him, and as soon as that knowledge hit Ron like a sledgehammer, he heard the whispered declaration of love that Malfoy had been repeating. Ron clenched his eyes shut and felt liquid heat inside him; the crash of thunder seemed way too loud for it to be a simple storm outside. There was the distinct feeling that there might have been an explosion and Ron was falling back onto the dungeon floor.
TBC.
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