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Crap! #2	By : blastendedskrewt Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 32233 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in Harry Potter's universe and make no money from writing this story.

Chapter List
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Author’s Note (and same warnings apply):

Thanks for the kind reviews! I saw the hit mark go up, but didn’t know if anyone actually read through the stories before they ran away screaming… It’s nice to know someone DID and of course, it was great to get responses :) And that you had the guts to write! Thanks, you’re awesome! That always makes my day :)

OK, this is another installment in the same squicky vein, so again, warnings go out to those who should steer clear and ‘cheers’ to those who have the intestinal fortitude to withstand it and go forward anyway.

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Bound! (but not gagging)

Draco immediately knew something was terribly amiss. He felt groggy from awakening so abruptly, but that wasn’t what was the matter. The problem he found himself in was that he was bound to a high-backed wooden chair, his ankles shackled to the front legs and his wrists tied down by his sides on the tops of the back legs. He also had a thin strip of medi-gauze around his eyes, so he could see a little bit, but everything was hazy and in monochrome shades of black, grey and white.

How in the hell did this happen? He quickly mentally tabulated what he remembered last:

He was lounging on the bed waiting for Harry to get home from work. Check. He’d been nude except for the baby-blue boxer-briefs his boyfriend had bought for him; much like a wife might await her husband’s return in the boudoir wearing some frilly, lacey lingerie. Despite the Muggleness of the garment, they were very comfortable and he liked wearing them since they turned the green-eyed brunet into a wanton, drooling perv at the sight of the way they hugged his ass and package. They were still clinging to his body, (thank any and all deities). Check.

He’d had a couple beers. Check. That was another Mugglism that Harry had introduced to him (and took him a full year to admit he liked the fermented brew)—but that was confusing—two beers wouldn’t make him completely pass out would it? He couldn’t have just dozed off. He was a light sleeper and would have noticed being moved and restrained.

Well, that’s about all he could recall about his evening prior to regaining consciousness. He took quick stock of his surroundings:

His feet were resting on smooth tiles, about 2 x 2 centimeter squares, if the tactile sense of his toes were any where near accurate. He couldn’t really discern the exact color through his partial blindfold. He could, however, make out the outline of a toilet in front of him, a blank wall to his left and the edge of a counter and cabinet to his right, so obviously he was in a loo somewhere. It vaguely resembled their downstairs WC but was so generic that it could be anywhere in the country.

Ok… weird. An odd place to be held for sure.

“Hey!” he yelled, the fear of being mysteriously abducted starting to seep into his psyche, “What the fuck?!” His voice, thankfully strong and forceful to his own ears, echoed in the small room he was being held in; yes, he thought, it definitely had the acoustics of a bathroom. “I demand you let me go!”

There was no answer. He struggled against what felt like soft, silken ropes. He supposed it could have been worse, a rougher weave or courser material would have chafed his delicate skin horribly. He tried again to appeal to his captors, “Let me go. I have money. Anything you want, it’s yours. Undo me and let me leave, no questions asked, no retribution!” Still no answer broke in the over-bearing silence as his shouts died down.

He yanked his wrists and ankles, testing the resolve of his bindings but they would not yield.

“Do you know who I am?” he tried a different tack. “I’m the Malfoy heir. My father was a Death Eater. He knows and will employ the darkest of spells on you when he learns what you’ve done!” (the bastards that did this didn’t need to know Lucius had already passed away, as it had not been publicized) His declarations remained unanswered.

Draco came to the conclusion he was alone, but attempted his last, best bargaining chip. “My boyfriend is a top Auror in the department—he’ll hunt you down and kill you and make it look like an accident!” Again, nothing.

Then he thought of something that might make them respond, if his kidnapper was even there, and improvised wildly (he didn’t know for sure but it could be true). “My partner has put tracking and monitoring charms on me! He’ll know exactly where I am and how to get to me! You’re looking at a one-way ticket to Azkaban!” he tugged fruitlessly on the ropes in his frustration and then sat still, resigned to the fact he was well and truly confined, waiting for anything to happen.

Many minutes ticked by. Draco began to fidget. He wasn’t really panicked yet since he’d come to no injury or true harm (and he knew Harry would save him before anything terrible could happen), but the two pints he’d drunk were making themselves known to his bladder.

Finally, when the need became severe, he called out again, “I demand you free me! If you don’t unbind me I’ll make a mess of your house! I need to pass water—although it would serve you right, to dirty your space…”

The continued silence was really beginning to grate on his nerves. He resorted to taunting, “How uncivilized you are. Even my time amongst the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord was more sophisticated. They would never let a victim befoul themselves and surroundings with excrement. At least, not on purpose…” Still, his pleas went unanswered. “You’re disgusting…”

He held onto his pride as long as he could. The toilet before him, directly in his line-of-blurred-sight, seemed to mock him and his need with its bowl curved in pristine, porcelain perfection only two steps away. He tried a couple of full-bodied jumps with the chair to get him closer, but realized it would do him no good if he couldn’t free his manhood and aim.

When the liquid pressure became too much to bear, he spat out in his annoyance, “Is this your game? You know who I am and want to take down the Malfoy scion into the deepest depths of humiliation by soiling himself?” A low, raspy chuckle sounded from behind him. Draco physically startled as far as the constraints would allow—so there was someone there! And This was the point of his incarceration?

“Really, this is ridiculous!” he barked out to cover his twitchiness. “Name your price, I’ll meet it and then you can let me go.” The same rusty laugh wheezed from behind him, but the noise was moving around his right side and ended somewhere in front of him. Draco worked hard to see through the sheer bandage covering his eyes and thought he saw the shimmer of Disillusionment before it stopped next to the counter; his pupils strained to make out anything—an outline, a distinguishing feature. Alas, as soon as the person was immobile it was impossible to see.

Draco was about to open his mouth and issue more directives or requests--or anything that would get him closer to his goal of the using the commode when he heard the unmistakable sound of peeing; the tell-tale hose-like sound and the tinkling of a stream hitting toilet water. Damn!

A couple seconds later-- to his utter mortification-- he felt his bladder let go without his permission; at that primal auditory trigger of listening to someone taking a piss, his waste let itself go in his underpants! The dam on his willpower and bodily control had crumbled in an instant.

He felt the hot liquid spurt and then gain momentum, first soaking the crotch of his undies and coursing mostly down his left leg (as his limp penis tended to hang that way), then, running in rivulets and tracing the grooves of his calf muscles, parting ways until it met up again courtesy of gravity. He shuddered as he felt it pool around his feet. He attempted to quell it, but once his urethra got going, he could not stop.

The relief was immediate. The full extent of his embarrassment came after the torrent was abating; as the last trickles subsided, slowing to a drippy stop, he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“Fuck you!” Draco spat, utterly incensed about being subjected to such a degrading experience. “Are you happy now, you asshole?!” He kicked the puddle in anger as much as he could with his bound feet, aiming to splash the urine around as much as he could. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Yesssss,” the voice hissed in satisfaction. It sounded obscene, breathy, like the psycho was getting off on it—and not just in reveling in a Malfoy’s humiliation, but in a sexual way. In the silence of the bathroom, the tied-up Healer could hear the unknown person’s respirations hitch and grow heavy. “And I’m willing to wait as long as it takes for phase number two.”

The bound blond shuddered. He knew what that meant (Well he should-- it was the same cutesy Muggle term for pooping that he’d heard many times from his precious Harry disappearing into the loo all bashful, and his lover’s best friend when she conversed in that sickening baby-talk with her infant Hugo, discussing the “presents” left for her in his diaper). He really, really didn’t want to shit his pants in front of… hang on…

Harry! It all made sense now!

Harry, after a week and a half of topping because he was ‘still too torn up and sore’ from the impacted bowel incident, had said he wanted to do something special tonight! Well, he mused wryly, this was something “special” all right.

It all fit—The tying him up in retaliation for the way he’d bound Harry to the bed and made him void his excrement in a highly unusual and taboo way, the bathroom and chair that were so similar to the ones they owned, the fact that they were playing around with loss of control of bodily functions, the way he’d been made to be as comfortable as possible with the silky ropes and only a partial blindfold! (Not to mention, it was fairly impossible for anyone to break through the wards on their house.)

Draco was quite certain that if some ne’er do well had taken the trouble to kidnap him, This would not be the goal of such a difficult exercise-- A dungeon chamber, chains, extortion, blackmail, painful spells, yes… not This!

So, This was the game Harry wanted to play? To get back at him for making him crap himself on the bed? Well, he wouldn’t do That, but he would play along with this little captive-scenario for awhile, just to see how far his lover would take it.

“You are a sick and twisted pervert, you know that right?” Draco swung his head around, hoping to catch a glimmer of the Dissolusioned body so he could yell in the right direction. No such luck, so he continued to face the direction of the toilet, figuring Harry was watching his front, taking in the state of his soggy pants. “My boyfriend is on his way here right now to get me out of this mess,” he threatened, and emphasized the word ‘mess’ by shoving his left foot through his cooling pee to spread it further.

“I don’t think so, little man,” the voice wheezed. Now that Draco was sure (well, 99% sure) that it was Harry, he could tell it was him by his inflection, but he’d altered his vocal cords in some way, making it sound deeper and more gravely (Draco mentally snorted—he probably learned it in the Concealment and Disguise portion of his Auror training). “You’ll be stuck there until I get what I’m after.”

“And that would be--?” Draco asked, wondering if he’d get a straight forward reply.

There was that creepy chuckle again! “I think you know, Blondie.”

Draco bristled at the cheesy name he’d been called, and at the act that he knew his devious lover was waiting for, but remained silent, vowing he’d hold it until Harry grew bored of waiting and ended this silly farce. He was still pretending he hadn’t cottoned on so he gave some obligatory tugs at his bindings again and huffed in indignation.

He couldn’t take the suspense or stalemate anymore. “Look, I don’t know what you want, but it’s over. It’s time for you to untie me. Let me go now and I won’t retaliate.” Draco could hear some rustling and then felt a wand-tip on his abdomen.

“No. You remain here until I decide you’re done,” the sinister wheeze tickled his ears and made him cringe. He sensed the motions and patterns the wand started to make and his stomach plummeted; Harry was administering his own freakin’ healing-charm against him! What a dirty, underhanded trick!

He held his breath as the intestinal purging spell seeped under his skin and into his guts. Why did he ever explain it to his lover while he was treating him over the past week and a half? (Talk about the old proverb, ‘turn around to bite you on the ass!’)

Once the incantation was done, there was no stopping it. He couldn’t fight the strength of the medicinal magic; he was doomed to empty his bowels in his shorts if he wasn’t untied. And it was painfully obvious he would most certainly not be granted that honor.

The effects were almost instantaneous, but Draco was determined to delay the inevitable; he didn’t want to give his “captor” the satisfaction of what he wanted so easily. He grit his teeth against the onslaught he could feel rumbling in his tummy and a churning settling lower and lower. His skin raised in goose-bumps as he felt a wave of waste enter and fill his rectum.

“Fuck you!” he ground out, all his concentration on keeping his pucker tightly shut.

“Maybe later,” the voice panted out, even more husky than before. Draco, despite his scattered thoughts, heard a faint skin-on-skin sound of wanking.

“You sick prick! You’re getting off on this!” The Healer’s agitated accusations were met with a guttural grunt of affirmation. “This isn’t funny anymore! Let me up to use the toilet!”

“This isn’t meant to be ‘funny’. It is meant to be highly erotic…” the voice trailed off in a breathy moan as Draco squirmed in his bonds, trying his damnedest not to give in to his body’s urges to defecate. The antsy blond held his breath as he felt a finger trace his jaw and then trail down the center of his chest to pluck lightly at the waistband of his underwear. “You’ll be releasing in these sexy little shorts of yours. Very soon.”

Draco was just about to utter an adamant denial when those fingers started poking and prodding into his abdomen, gently at first and then rougher and more insistent; he could sense a solid mass pressed right up against his sphincter-- and then the end of it breached his hole without his consent!

Oh, that was mortifying! But it stopped after the first bit popped out. It had hit the unyielding surface of the wooden chair. Ha! Draco thought triumphantly, this pinned down position wouldn’t allow it to come out! Breathing hard but buoyed by his seeming victory, his lips spread into a smirk. Harry wouldn’t win!

But he winced in the next moment when he felt a few drops of liquefied shit slide around his cork of crap and escape his clenched anus. No doubt there would be a stain on his once-pretty blue skivvies. He groaned. It was an odd sensation; there was a piece of firmly formed feces somewhat clogging his hole but providing an opening for the spell that had loosened what had been further up his alimentary canal.

It was steadily seeping due to the force of gravity. “Noooo,” he whined pitifully.

Distantly through his distracted mind, he realized there was no smell; in fact, he’d never caught a whiff of his piss either, so Harry must have done the all-important “Rhinal Anasenthsia” pretty early on. He was grateful to Harry for remembering such an important component to this “game” (and he’d never forgive him if he hadn’t!).

But that wasn’t helping the tactile reality of feeling squidgy under his bottom, the sensitive skin detecting the slightly more viscous texture than simply pee or water.

He wriggled a bit in discomfort, but only succeeded in smearing the poo around between his cheeks and eliciting the tortured hiss of sexual yearning, “Yessssss,” from the man who was watching and had put him in this desperate shituation to begin with.

Next, an evil bubble of gas made its way south and put an unbearable pressure on the fecal fury that was demanding freedom. It was becoming impossible to hold off despite the chair’s block to its path.

Draco jumped back in his seat when he felt a hand on his groin (he was half hard! When had that happened?!). This jostle did him no favours in the ‘holding it’ department-- and indeed, was the wrong move to make as it curved his pelvis forward and gave his butt-hole a clear shot outward.

And everything gushed, powered by the fart that was pushing behind all the stiffer poop-lumps in its way; with a whoosh and sputtering, the gas powered, watery feces exploded forth, expelling the firmer log which slithered along his perineum and lodged itself up against the back of his sac. “Oh fuck!” Draco screamed.

It happened. There was no more withholding or believing it wouldn’t occur. It had. Spectacularly. The release was fantastic! Horrible but wonderful. He tried to ignore-- but couldn’t-- the way his shit was creeping down the legs of his underpants. It was disgusting, but at the same time making him undeniably horny.

The palm on his fully- aroused member sped up and he was now inexplicably and dangerously close to orgasm!; his engorged shaft was delicately pulled as the elastic was delicately peeled down and hooked under his soiled balls. He shifted again, the combination of his movement and the tightened underwear squished his shit more, sliding up his crack and oozing into the creases between his legs and his testicles.

It was sickening but somehow very sensual—and he was soooo turned on!

He felt a similarly turgid length brush his thigh as his (99% sure) lover moved to straddle him. “Harry, please…” he wasn’t sure what he was begging for—to clean him up? To untie him? To finish the hand job? To fuck him?

Suddenly, there was a hand in his hair, fumbling for the knot that held his flimsy blindfold on and removed it. Now he knew what he wanted. “Love, please, I need to see you for this… And hear your real voice!” He didn’t spare any emotion on how needy he sounded-- all he cared about was knowing it was really his beloved there with him and share with him this strangely compelling and oddly sexy moment.

The shimmer dissolved before him and there was his boyfriend, in all his naked glory, panting, practically whining with each breath, slack-jawed with uncontrollable desire and a hand on his straining, purpled cock.

Oh, but he was beautiful! This was why he could get away with such depraved and deplorable behaviour. The green-eyed man was gorgeous and that he became so undone at the sight of his life-partner, Draco couldn’t help but want him equally, desperately.

They stared into each other’s dilated pupils for several stretched moments, each assessing and evaluating the other’s reactions and non-verbally communicating lust and unconditional love.

Then, Harry lifted up and impaled himself (obviously he’d prepped beforehand—or during the time he was monitoring Draco’s captivity—and that was hot in and of itself!) in one smooth slide.When he’d seated himself, Draco howled and his pulses of come bombarded the tight heat he was encased in.

Harry tugged his own erection once, twice and then sprayed his jizz all over his lover’s chest until the last twitching dribbles subsided. Their combined harsh breaths resounded in the tiled room, Draco’s head thrown back against the chair and Harry slumped into his shoulder.

Finally, as they came back to themselves, Harry released the bonds and “Evanesco’d” the mess. He held Draco in a profound embrace, rubbing his shoulders where they had been strained. Draco was just wallowing in his physical and emotional satisfaction, musing at how this kind of play was like super-powered foreplay and had them firing with the slightest of friction to their penises. Just the play… and then one brief touch to their genitalia… It was amazing!

That, and Harry was picking up characteristics of his personality—that Slytherin deviousness with this whole ruse he cooked up, kept up with the ruthlessness of the charade (even though it was tempered with gentleness) and how he was proud of that. Draco also pondered on how he was absorbing traits of Harry—such as finding he enjoyed Muggle things, like their underwear and beer, and cussing, and eating take-away pizza in front of the tele after a tough day at the office. It was quite comfortable and relaxing from all the rigid rules of conduct and decorum his upbringing forced on him…

They really did blend together well… He loved their life together so much… He squeezed his soul-mate harder in an unspoken display of affection that was threatening to overwhelm him.

Harry inexplicably stiffened in his arms and the blond looked up quizzically. The recently sated brunet looked worried and his concern shone through as he asked, “When did you know it was me? You knew it was me, right?” He brushed a lock of sweaty hair out of Draco’s eyes as his own searched for forgiveness. “I didn’t really scare you, did I?”

“I knew the whole time. I merely played along,” Draco replied tiredly, regaining some of his haughty dignity and not admitting his ignorance at the start-- And smirking at how Harry would never stray too far away from being the noble, heroic Golden One.

Harry gave him a skeptical look, and then said, “Yes, we both know that no one can get through my wards…” Draco couldn’t help a sleepy smile.

That was another way Harry was assimilating parts of Draco’s perceptions and attitude; he used to be so hesitant and self-deprecating about his talents, but over time-- with Draco’s praise and exposure to his confident self-esteem-- Harry could now acknowledge and declare his own cleverness. Whether or not Harry believed he was aware from the beginning or he’d caught on somewhere in the middle, he didn’t say, and that subtlety was very exquisitely Slytherin of him.

It was a beautiful thing.

So was the shower they shared when their legs stopped wobbling and they could both stand. Sensual satisfaction is incredibly enhanced and extended by hot water, heavenly scented soap and a loving touch, Draco decided. And he had to admit, the genuine loving care he bestowed on his lover—without guile, without motive, without underlying scheme—brought out traits in him that were quite the quintessential Gryffindor.

It felt good to be so open and honest.

And that was a beautiful thing too.

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Thanks for reading! There are a couple more scenarios in the works. For some reason, this idea won’t let me go (or is making me go—OK, bad puns abound!) But there are a couple more places this has to progress yet. Again, if it squicks you out-- too bad, no one’s forcing you to read. For all the rest, it should be… interesting… different… not your usual Potterotica. It’s certainly keeping me amused! And still, any and all responses are welcome…

And don’t worry: I’ll never do any over-the-top play and ESPECIALLY no ingesting!!!! I just can’t deal with that! I totally get the holding and releasing and doing the odd stuff with That, but NO—nothing, NOTHING with ass to mouth (unless it’s a-- for the most part-- CLEAN rimming)!!!! Sorry for anyone who wanted that, but really, that’s where I draw the line… (just can’t deal, *shudder*. Bet you thought I didn’t have a line, but I do and that’s it).

Hope some of you come back for more when you see the updates… And really, I appreciate those who’ve read this far :)
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Crap! #2