Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

WONKY CROSS	By : JanisJ Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 59358 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
A/N: Thanks for all the reads, rates and reviews! And here’s the warning for really bad het sex…. yeah, these two just aren’t meant for each other. Styles and preferences collide! Hope you all enjoy this next part!

~O~

DARK

The wedding and reception passed by in a blur of voices and faces.

Harry just answered the questions put forth to him in the affirmative and dutifully kissed his new bride…. Wife… whatever. They shared an awkward dance (Ginny steering a much as Parvati had his fourth year), ate a few bites (he drank a lot) and then all too soon it was time for them to go to Shell Cottage.

Bill and Fleur had graciously offered their home to them for their week-long honeymoon; it was warded, private, romantic and…. safe. Everyone agreed it was for the best, except Ginny who had had some long-held fantasy of Paris.

He was excited to finally get to have sex for the first time!

But he was nervous.

And they were both awkwardly mute and bashful when they entered the master-suite and were faced with the large bed they would share.

“Get these torture devices off my feet!” Ginny exclaimed, shattering the silence and ripping off her high-heels and chucking them away forcefully. Harry wasn’t quite sure why she had to add extra height that only made him look shorter in all the wedding photos, but he shrugged, figuring it was another of those ‘girl things’— who would ever understand them!-- and took the opportunity to take off his own formal shoes that had been pinching his toes all day.

“Help me get this dress off?” Ginny requested and turned her back to him; he fumbled with the long line of buttons down her back (that could have rivaled the ones on Snape’s waistcoat, except they were white and not black). Jeez, what was he doing thinking about Snape at a time like this?!

Then his anxiety started to spiral out of control when he contemplated the skin being revealed and that he had no clue what he was doing. It was as if the mere thought of Snape filled him with self-doubt and some demeaning inner-monologue questioning his dubious skill (that sounded suspiciously like the silken tones of the fallen Potion Master).

And any confidence he’d gained from the drinks at the reception and the jovial, good-natured ribbing and advice he’d gotten from the Weasley brothers and friends as they departed the party left him completely.

His fingers faltered and fumbled with pushing the beads through their holes as more of her back was bared. Ginny’s shoulders fidgeted and squirmed and finally shifted, “I think I can get it off now.” And with some shuffling she was able to get the gown over her head and off. Harry forgot to breathe for a moment as he watched her in her under- things, step lightly and lay her matrimonial finery over an armchair in the corner.

She turned, smiled and unclasped her bra and let it fall. “I can’t believe I’m FINALLY Mrs. Harry Potter!” Harry just blinked at her, his breath left in a whoosh as he stared at actual boobs for the first time.

They were…. not exactly what he was expecting; he supposed they were nice enough but her nipples looked huge-- puffy and flat at the same time-- rather like a couple of fried eggs jiggling on a plate, except in shades of pink.

She laughed as she watched him ogling her chest; she knew from interrogating Hermione that he’d never seen real live breasts before and it made her proud that she was to be his first. “Like what you see, Husband?” and ran her hands over them, effectively hardening the peachy flesh of her areolas. She smirked as her new spouse nodded wordlessly, unable to gaze elsewhere in his fascination.

Harry couldn’t tell her how much more relieved he was with the view of them tightened into constricted pointy nubs that were made smaller when hard. Now they looked more like nipples he was used to seeing-- on himself, his friends and in the few dirty ‘Wicked Witch’ magazines that Seamus snuck in to the dorm his sixth year.

And they were moving closer-- Ginny was taking his hands and moving them to touch her….

His breath hitched at the first contact of her warm body and hesitantly let the pads of his fingertips trace over the turgid peaks that crowned her jello-like body parts; he barely registered that she was working to divest him of his restrictive formal robes, his tie and vest and half of his shirt was undone before he realized that a girl was going to see him naked for the first time too.

He squeezed a bit hard at the squishy flesh in the thrill of his fright and had his hands batted away.

How would he compare to the guys she’d been with before? She’d seen him without a shirt plenty of times, but what about his lower half? She had so many expectations of him-- some rather unrealistic-- and had been imagining him since she was a little girl.

(What if he didn’t measure up? He hadn’t seen any other bare erect pricks to judge himself against…. but she HAD. What if she was disappointed? What if she laughed? What if she regretted being married to someone inadequate?)

And he was feeling really insecure about his lack of experience in comparison to hers and feared his ignorance would be a turn-off for her.

His diminished confidence must have showed on his face or in his posture because after she pulled his trousers and pants down to pool at his ankles (and he kicked out of them), she cooed, “I know you’re nervous…. But let me take care of everything.”

The hot breath in his ear excited him.

His cock had been vacillating at a half-erection, one part interested and intrigued by having sex and the other fraction scared at the prospect of failing to be good enough. But the whispered sultry words of her taking the lead and moist heat gusting over his earlobe caused a twitch; the brush of crinkly pubic hair against his member that was not his own got him to at least three-quarters hard.

Her little delicate hands smoothed over his collar bone and rested on his shoulders; he willingly went down when she pushed him to sitting on the bed, and then further to lie on his back. She straddled his hips and leaned down for a kiss.

That was nice, he thought, to have her over him, holding him down, taking charge…. taking the mystery off of him to come up with who-knew-what-the-Hell might please her. (His knowledge about copulation and reproduction was limited to-- oddly enough-- what he’d learned in his Care of Magical Creatures classes….)

So he welcomed her initiative.

They kissed for what seemed like a really long time.

He supposed it was enjoyable, her skin was nice, but he really just wanted to get to the sex….

So after one of his many, MANY passes of his hands roaming her naked body, he guided her hips lower to press against his bits. The heat was pleasant, but there wasn’t much in the way of pressure and friction. He pushed harder but she wriggled her pelvis back up into teasing territory and giggled into his mouth.

He allowed it, figuring she knew better than he what to do-- but his boner was fading again. He really didn’t want to be embarrassed whenever she decided she was ready!

He tried to imagine the stronger sensations he used when he masturbated: the exaggerated squeeze…. the rough twist at the head, dragging his foreskin down to the point that it strained, thrusting into that exquisite tightness of his fist…. digging his thumbnail into the slit….

(THERE is was!)

“Ginny! Please!” he groaned, questing upwards with his hips, his now full and aching arousal seeking stimulation and release, poking and prodding, occasionally making contact with heat and wetness.

“Mmmmm!” she purred triumphantly, “So needy! I love it!” She hefted his shaft in her palm and pointed at herself. They both groaned as she sank down-- her impaled on his hard cock and he, enveloped within a slick sleeve far more interesting than any hand-lotioned, self-induced embrace! The slide down was wonderful!

And then that was all she did.

Well, not ALL….

She grinded against him. She swiveled her hips. It was… nice…. But Harry needed more up and down stimulation than he was currently getting. It was driving him mad!

He tried guiding her hips but she peeled his hands off of her, “I said I’d take care of us…. This is how it’s done, Harry.” And she continued her writhing. True, it was keeping him hard, but it wasn’t escalating his pleasure in any way. It just seemed like a big tease.

He hoped she’d change it up soon.

Harry didn’t quite know what to do with his hands.

She didn’t like him trying to direct her motions, didn’t want him fondling her tits (she’d pulled away when he started to squeeze her breasts in desperation to feel anything more). When the redhead sighed and delicately ran her own hands over her own chest, he wasn’t sure if she was demonstrating the correct way to pleasure her or just simply take matters into her own hands.

The brunet’s fingers strayed to his own nipples, pinching and twisting, pulling like he liked…. That was enough sensation for him to maintain his hardness. The more he tugged, the more he could retain interest….

Her face was held in a grimace that could have either signaled pain or rapture and then her eyes closed tight from the sight of him playing with his own chest. Then her hands strayed down her abdomen and Harry watched in rapt attention as her middle and index finger twiddled lightly at the top of her slit, just pressing softly at her mound. (Was that what he’d heard the guys call ‘the clit’?)

He looked to her as her breath hitched and features tightened; there was a slight heightening of feeling around his penis, then it relaxed and a huge sigh escaped her….

And she slumped over him breathing heavily.

She stayed still so long that he began to soften…. and his limp length slipped from her excessively wet snatch.

Eventually, her respiration evened out against his neck and she murmured, “I know, amazing, right?” She rolled off of him and moved to lie boneless, totally sated next to him. “What a monumental day….” She yawned hugely, “I become Harry Potter’s wife— and you have sex for the first time! Awesome!” and then she fell asleep against his shoulder.

As exhausted as he was from all the preparation for the ceremony and stress of the wedding night, he couldn’t find it in himself to drift off to sleep. He just kept blinking, unseeing, up at the ceiling…. Maybe he was just being selfish but he couldn’t help but thinking that he’d wished he’d climaxed during the whole thing, that he could look back on losing his virginity with that ultimate pleasure invading his senses.

(And NOT that unpleasant odor that lingered in the air…. Is that what people meant by ‘the smell of sex’? Was it breath and sweat and vagina juice? Just the regular body smells would have been fine, but he didn’t care for the scent that was coming up from their crotches! And since he hadn’t come….)

~O~

He must have drifted off at some point because he awoke to the pleasurable sensation of a warm body rutting up against his thigh. He smiled sleepily, thinking Charlie forgot who he was in bed with again and was ready with a bawdy barb when he realized the frame encasing his was far smaller than the dragon-handler’s sturdy one and was steadily coating his leg-hair with wetness, rather than a turgid throbbing length.

(Oh yeah, he was married now)

OK…. He figured this wasn’t too horrible of a way to wake up and take care of his morning wood. (And the hot gusty exhalations across his left nipple were really arousing!) He couldn’t tell if Ginny was truly awake but appreciated her hand lightly brushing over to close around his boner.

But the touch was too light, just skimming his skin, so he wrapped his own hand around hers and squeezed it harder.

She rolled against him with a bit more force, and then tensed letting out a few wheezy gasps ending in a whimper— and her digits on his member went loose. He tried keeping up the momentum but she pulled her hand away and it flopped in exhaustion between them.

He sighed. His cock was still hard as a rock.

After a few moments, she roused with tousled hair. “I’m starved! Why is it that no one ever eats much at their own wedding? I’m making breakfast,” she announced, pulling on a dressing gown. “Any requests?”

(Yeah, Harry thought in frustration, “let me come?”)

“Anything is fine…. I’m hungry too.” He remained in bed, contemplating a shower to get that patch of stickiness off his groin and thigh, but his erection surged so he decided to just take care of it before he went to wash up.

He was just getting into it, really tugging at his engorged manhood and getting to the point where he liked to grab and twist his nut-sac as he had done with his nipples in the beginning, when she entered carrying a tray. There was a squeak of shock and the plates and cups rattled dangerously as she struggled to keep it level. “What the Hell are you doing?!” she screeched.

His hands dropped away as his chest continued to heave; Harry’s embarrassment at being caught (white-knuckled and red-cocked) and her horrified reaction caused his arousal to deflate. “Erm….” he started, unsure, “Um, getting off?” (What, she was allowed to help herself, leave him hanging and then got upset if he masturbated?) He covered his lap with the sheet and sat up.

And then he felt his humiliation grow at her next words:

“Not that! You looked like you were trying to pull your bits off! I’ve always been told that balls were super-sensitive and that looked downright painful! Are you some kind of deviant that gets off on pain? Gross!” She flipped her long hair over her shoulder, set the simple spread of tea and toast next to him and muttered, “I’m going to take a shower.”

She’d stayed under the spray long enough that he could have finished (or more correctly, re-started and then completed) his task, but…. the moment was lost. His genitals (and morale) remained as desiccated as a Shrivelfig. He was swirling in a spiral of shame and regret, feeling as low and undesirable as a limp, lifeless Flobberworm, like he’d just been called disgusting for being an unnatural freak yet again.

(What other conclusion could he come to? What got him off was-- what?— ‘Gross’?)

He spent as much of the day as he could sitting by Dobby’s rough-hewn headstone. He actually got a visit from his new wife around mid-day, but waved her off, saying he wasn’t hungry for lunch. It was a lie, (a piece of bland toast wasn’t much in the way of sustenance to start the day) but he couldn’t face her just yet.

She left silently in a way that he couldn’t quite tell what mood she was in. He shrugged to himself and hugged his knees tighter. He made his way back to the cottage when the sun began to set, a little miffed she hadn’t sought him out again, to share in his contemplation graveside and the beautiful scenery. And, well, to just spend time together.

Supper was an awkward affair, mostly silent, neither of them sure what to say. They had spent the first day of their honeymoon apart and they found themselves with nothing to talk about. They read some before going up the stairs to bed, and quietly and separately prepared for sleep.

When Harry went to kiss her goodnight, she deepened it right away and apparently, they were going to communicate physically rather than verbally (and seemed he was forgiven for his odd taste in wanking).

That was fine by him!

He kept his touches light, having at least learned that she didn’t like a rough handling and finally slid atop her, in between her thighs. The almost hard shaft of his cock rubbed against her pubic bone and hair-- and it felt really good!

When his rutting got him to a full throbbing erection he knew he was ready to try penetration. His limited knowledge of female anatomy told him there should be a hole a bit lower and tried to poke his tip around down there and find it.

Ginny laughed and then took pity on him, guiding him in with her hand.

And THAT felt really good!

It was warm and wet. Her heated skin under his chest was wonderful and the humid pants of breath in his ear was really sexy and turning him on. This was more like it! Although it wasn’t as tight as he enjoyed with his own hand, he could still make the movements that stimulated him, mainly pumping up and down, in and out of her slickness.

When the tingles turned to jolts, he instinctually sped up his hips with enunciated thrusts and his pistoning became more forceful. He hooked his arms around her back and latched his hands forward onto her shoulders to gain more leverage. Her once quiet mewls of pleasure turned into whimpers and punctuated their combined heavy breathing; several grunts escaped him as he sucked and nipped at her jaw and neck.

If he could just get a little more, just a little bit further than he’d been before! He could feel his orgasm approaching, building and heading for a crashing crescendo--

And then her little hands were pressing on his chest, pushing him back; through his heady desire he faintly heard her calling his name and saying, “Stop! Stop!”

What?

It took all his control to still his pounding pelvis when he was so desperately close to climax and conjure up enough coherence in his cognition to figure out what was going on. Blinking, he looked down at her frown. “You’re doing it too fast and hard….” she admonished, “Go slower….”

He gulped and tried to lower his heart rate and breathing. “Did I hurt you?” He’d never forgive himself if he had! He sighed (it was only a sigh— not a dry-sob!). Here he had only been interested in his own pleasure and hadn’t been paying enough attention to her reactions to what he was doing…. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s ok. You didn’t hurt me, it’s just…. What you’re doing, it won’t get me there…. Just make love to me, gently…. Like I showed you last night.”

Harry nodded and attempted to copy what she had done, but still maintain a bit of the in and out; she held his hips to keep him buried deep, not letting him pull back enough for his tastes (but on the up side, every time he tried, she grabbed him harder to keep his buttocks more close and he enjoyed the strong grip).

“Oh, yeah….” She moaned breathily, “That’s so much better, right?” And one hand left his clenched cheek to touch herself at that spot in between their bodies.

Again, much like the night before, it was enough to keep him hard until he felt that vague contracting of her muscles before they went completely loose and far too wet to keep enough sensation to his erection to keep it hard. He withdrew when it was clear he wouldn’t be ‘getting there’ again and flopped down next to his wife.

She was close to falling asleep and he was wide awake again. “With a little practice, you’ll just get better and better….” She mumbled, and started in with some light snoring.

He kind of wished she didn’t entwine herself so fully with his limbs— he could have done to sneak off to the loo and have a wank. (Or at least wash off that rank smell he was growing to dislike, associating it with frustration and unfulfillment.)

~O~

Harry awoke to an empty bed.

He used the toilet, showered, shaved, dressed and set off downstairs to make breakfast.

Ginny was sitting at the table in her bath-robe, reading the Prophet. Once he’d cooked the scrambled eggs and bacon and made up a plate for each of them, he kissed her cheek and sat. In between bites, he suggested they go for a run on the beach. Her withering look said it all— she didn’t run. “A walk then?” He was trying to think of things they could do together being stranded out there with not much else to do in the way of entertainment.

“No, you go on. I’m headed up to take a shower.” Harry shrugged and headed out the back door.

It was a gorgeous day….

And he felt a little guilty that he was rather relieved to be on his own; they should’ve been giddy and inseparable, but he was enjoying the solitude away from feeling tense and pressured. Beyond not coming during the sex they’d had so far, he felt like he was failing to live up to expectations and was being criticized for who he was….

It was an all too familiar feeling, one that he hadn’t thought he’d be experiencing within the confines of a marriage.

His footfalls thudded dully on the wet sand and his exertion pumped blood through his veins, bringing him new energy. He hadn’t realized how far he’d gone until he couldn’t see Shell Cottage any longer. He bent double and panted, hands planted on his knees, then wandered up to sit in the dry dunes, finding a relaxed sort-of meditative contemplative state.

It was so peaceful out here, away from everything! He felt so free!

He didn’t know how long he reclined and thought about everything and nothing. His thoughts drifted to how much more fun he’d be having if it were him, Ron and Hermione! Or, maybe not— these days, those two would be shagging non-stop and he’d still be alone…

Hanging out with Charlie would be brilliant though! He broke into a goofy grin. Everything was so easy with him.

They could sit quietly and still be comfortable companions, or talk, or play games, go flying…. (WHY hadn’t he and Ginny brought brooms?! That was something they both enjoyed and could do without making too much conversation. Oh. Right. They were supposed to be spending the whole week in bed, only coming up for air when they needed food or the loo.)

And he knew the dragon-handler wouldn’t have cared if he went off somewhere to masturbate— they would’ve just laughed about it. And they could cook together, and joke and tell stories….

He was a little surprised when he floated back from that fantasy and realized he had a boner…. But considering that he’d been getting them every time his stress level dipped below a certain level, he didn’t think too much of it. He admired the sight with amusement of the tent it made in his blue jogging shorts. Taking a quick look around and seeing no person or house in sight, he cast a few light concealment spells and pulled out his engorged manhood.

He reveled in squeezing it tight, and tried to banish the thought that his spouse thought it was repulsive. It felt too good for him to be too arsed to care if she found it repugnant— and she wasn’t there to render her sanctimonious opinion of what was right and wrong! He figured he could just please himself the way he liked when he had no accusing eyes judging him and do the things she wanted later, when he had to.

Drowning in the thrumming desire, all thought was turned inward as his body responded to every sizzling synapse-fire.

He tugged harder, heels digging into the dunes and twisted his nipples before dragging his fingers lower, plucking at his pubes and pinching his foreskin. He threw his head back, grinding grains of ancient silica into his hair and scalp. Soon he was lost in the sensations of fucking himself through his clenched fist and pulling his hips back to push his balls into his grasping left hand, eagerly awaiting the gruff grip and his harsh handling of his sac.

The light breeze ruffling through the hairs on his body and the scratching of the sand on his bare skin just added to his stimulation.

Oh god, it was sooooo good!

On a strange impulse, driven by unbridled lust and need, a divine inspiration struck him to gouge his thumb into the sensitive spot in between his testicles and asshole and he came with a hoarse shout. The scintillating surge of pleasure was indescribable and he’d never had such a vocal reaction to an orgasm before! God, he’d never felt SO GOOD! (or had such a fast, intense reaction)

He fell back, gasping and gulping for air for quite some time, twitching with tingling aftershocks; he lost concept of time as he lay so completely sated and satisfied in the sand.

The sun was well past its zenith when he came back to his sense of the present; it was with a trudge in his step as he started the long walk back the house. He tried to tell himself that he was worn out from the run and wank, but if he was really honest with himself, he wasn’t looking forward to spending another evening with Ginny and all the obligations that entailed.

When he finally made it to their honeymoon getaway, he called throughout the house, “Honey, I’m home!” He didn’t expect a laugh-- even an indulgent one— so many well-known Muggle phrases confused or flew past Purebloods. But he didn’t expect total silence either.

Was she that angry he’d been gone so long? He meandered into the kitchen after determining the living room was empty. There was a note on the table: “Went out for a bit, be back soon. Love, Gin”

Oooookay….

(Where did she go? Where else could she go BUT The Burrow? That was so embarrassing! He didn’t need the whole family to know that they couldn’t go two days together without other people around for supplemental company! Even if she didn’t tell everyone that he was bad in bed, the fact that she was alone and sought out their companionship would broadcast it just as much. Well, there wasn’t much he could do now that the damage was done.)

He shrugged with a resigned flop to his shoulders— and noticed he’d shook quite a bit of sand onto the flagstone floor. He went and stood under the hot spray of the shower in the master bath, washing away the Earth, sweat of his work-out and dried semen that was flaking on his abdomen. After he was presentable again, he heard movement and activity on the ground floor.

He was greeted by a stack of packages and bags just within the foyer. Had she brought all the wedding gifts they’d left at The Burrow back with her?

“What’s all this?” he gestured behind him as he entered the kitchen. The smells of the supper she was cooking were delicious. She turned from the stove with a wooden spoon in hand and replied, “I went to Diagon to do some shopping….”

“Ginny!” he cried, aghast, filled with horror.

“We’re married now,” she said condescendingly, “I can take a little out of our Vault now and again.”  She turned back to her bubbling pots to stir.

Harry had to shake his head a couple times to clear it. “You didn’t tell anyone where you were going! You went out in public! There are still Death Eaters out there! There are still people who dislike me enough to hurt you to get to me! You— You!” he stammered himself into silence.

“Oh, PLEASE!” she sighed with impatience. “It was FINE! And for your information, I went with my friends, so I wasn’t alone!” She snorted, brushing off his concerns, “And everyone was very interested in being NICE to me, knowing that I am now your wife.”

“But for the same reason people could be jealous and do something horrible!” Harry countered, afraid for her naiveté and disregard for ‘constant vigilance’. This wasn’t like school where petty hexes could be easily traced! “So many terrible things could have happened!”

She turned around in a huff, obviously cross with what she thought he was blowing out of proportion, “And nothing did!” She jabbed her soggy utensil in his direction, “You all are all so paranoid! No one is going to do anything in the main Alley! In the crowds! It’s not like I was alone in a dark corner!”

“But in a crowd, a shot can come from anywhere and no one could pinpoint it!” Harry let out in a screech (rather unbecoming of a war-hardened hero); his fear of another person he cared about being in danger because of him was squeezing a crushing weight on his lungs.

Ginny scoffed in a ‘tch’ noise and muttered, “You sound just like all of them….”

Harry sank weakly into a chair at the table; the panic was leaving him but it left him shaky. “Here, Sweetie,” she slid a glass of red wine under his nose, “This will help you calm down and see that everything is all right.”

He took a deep drink and had to concede that she had returned unharmed…. This time.

Ginny told him all about her outing over their evening meal, animatedly describing the shops that were slowly coming back to life in Diagon, having been closed and stagnant during The War. He was still miffed she had gone with a complete disregard for safety, but was glad the row appeared over and that she was just so happy and rejuvenated by her little shopping adventure.

A cheerful Ginny was better than a sulking one any day.

~O~

Sitting on the bed, rather tipsy from all the wine he’d consumed to calm his nerves— both for his earlier fright over Ginny out there unprotected and the growing panic throughout dinner because she had indicated in a flirty tone she was going to have him do something new tonight— he dutifully watched the fashion show she was putting on with all her new purchases.

It took a while, seeing as she had bought quite a bit; but it didn’t take nearly long enough, Harry thought blearily, when her grand finale consisted of a see-through nightgown and she was slinking over to him with a gleam in her eye. He just wasn’t feeling enough confidence that whatever she was going to have him do that his performance would be up to par. (It hadn’t been so far, and his instincts had failed him up to that point)

She slid the matching knickers down and off and got up on the bed; lying on her back, she parted her legs and whispered seductively, “Eat me.” She languidly traced a finger around her pussy-lips spreading a glinting moisture around on her skin, making it seem as if the offering was a most sumptuous spread or fabulous feast.

And he stared at his first view of a woman’s genitals.

He felt sick.

It looked like the back of a baby’s head-- a round mound with sparse hair covering it-- that someone had taken a meat cleaver to, hacking and butchering in vertical slashes, leaving gashes of pink wet flesh. He guessed he had just expected a slit, like a butt-crack with a hole in the middle— not something wrinkled and torn, looking like a gaping wound that oozed and smelled rotten.

(He quickly tried to mentally calculate how many times she would have used the loo since her shower that morning— had a split second to consider asking her to bathe, then realized he’d end up on the receiving end of a Bat-Bogey hex if he vocalized that request).

But could he really be going to put his mouth on that? If he refused, he’d probably end up with the hex for that as well….

She wore an impatient expression as she watched him surveying her bits. Just to stall a bit, he stammered, “Uh…. Erm…. What should I do?”

“Lick me, suck me, like you are French-kissing my vulva…. Just no teeth,” she purred. Harry cocked his head to line up their lips horizontally and hesitantly went to lower his mouth to it. She laughed as she grabbed his cheeks, “You don’t have to be side-ways,” she chuckled with a hint of condescension; the way she laughed-- it wasn’t sweet, it was more like she thought him an idiot.

He felt his face heat in embarrassment and a bit of tension knotted in his belly.

He really didn’t want to have his tongue on it….

He kissed, close-mouthed first, gently prodding and was rewarded with a twitch of her legs and anticipatory hitch of breath. The hairy loaves were plump but yielding under his touch, but didn’t kiss back. And then he realized he’d have to open his mouth (but it would actually help him not have to inhale the scent through his nose).

He tried, he really did, to just have his mouth work her over and be fine with it. But it was turning his stomach. Sweat beaded on his brow. The longer he did it, the more vaginal lubrication was produced and got on his taste-buds.

The hair surrounding the slime was causing him to wince until he imagined that maybe it would be similar to kissing Charlie with his coarse goatee-- it sure felt like that on his neck that time! That bought him a few more moments of reprieve in completing his task…. (But then he knew the man’s mouth would never taste as foul as that, even on his worst breath day— and his spit would certainly never be that viscous.)

Harry’s saliva was growing thicker in his throat as well as he tried to keep his nausea in check. Finally, it was all he could do just to keep his tongue out and gullet closed to allow her rocking hips to slide herself up and down upon it-- thankfully focused more on the hard nub at the top (that he surmised was the mysterious clit) and less on the gooey hole, squelching sickeningly against his chin.

Suddenly, she tensed and clapped his ears with her thighs in a vice-like grip and he could hear the muffled cries of her spike in arousal; her pelvis jerked a few times and then her legs fell apart, relinquishing his head from their grasp.

He pulled away, and watched in horror as a thick rope of mucous stretched from her body to his lower lip which eventually broke; he could feel it faintly snap against his jaw. The stench was over-powering and assaulting his senses as it was so close to his nostrils and he barely made it to the toilet before he was forcefully expelling out the contents of his stomach.

He miserably retched, tears and snot streaming, until he was dry-heaving and wrenching his esophagus in aching torture. Weak and trembling, he hugged the bowl, grimacing down at the water, stained red from the wine like blood, as if he’d been drinking from the open wound that Ginny’s genitals had reminded him of in the first place.

When he was finally done being sick, he slumped beside the porcelain for quite some time leaning his forehead on its cool surface. He stood on shaky knees as soon as he was able, eager to wash his face and clean his teeth. He spent a few more moments breathing deeply, afraid to face Ginny and her temper (Gryffindor courage, HA!).

She awoke slightly when he returned and mumbled, “Too much alcohol? Didn’t think you had that much but maybe you’re a light-weight…. You should watch that…. Guess your luck as ‘The Chosen One’ doesn’t extend that far,” and snorted at her own caustic comment and fell asleep.

Again, Harry felt the sting of being misunderstood— until he concluded that it really WAS his ‘sheer dumb luck’ that saved him from a worse Fate, her thinking that it was the drinking and NOT his revulsion at having her juices in his mouth! He gave a mirthless snort of his own before he settled on his side, back to her and was able to sleep.

~O~

He awoke with his usual morning erection and decided to rub it on Ginny’s soft skin, much like he’d been roused from sleep the first day. She was kind of grumpy at first, but then interlocked her legs with his and they were both rutting up against each other. It felt good, but he wanted more…. No he needed more.

“Ginny,” he moaned. “Suck me?” he pleaded breathily, pushing down on her shoulders a bit.

She immediately stiffened and stilled, pulling away. “You’re dirty,” she stated simply.

“In the shower then?” he asked, hopeful to experience what Charlie seemed to think was so great; he’d given her head last night, so it was only fair, right?

Apparently, he was wrong.

“Harry,” she sighed impatiently, “We’re married now. I’ve got you. I don’t have to reel you in with little favours like that anymore. Let’s just have sex. That way we both enjoy it.” And she straddled him and rode him, ground to the hilt— and it was a repeat of their first time.

It was a relief when she finally finished and left to make tea. He took his time in the shower, making sure to lock the door against an interruption and helped himself once he’d thoroughly soaped and rinsed and lathered up his groin again.

Ginny didn’t want to walk on the beach with him that day either, she wanted to write to her friends, so he left her to it and enjoyed his time outdoors alone.

He contemplated the fact that he might have to go his entire life without knowing what it was like to get a blow job. It was disappointing, and felt like he’d really missed out on so many normal things teenagers got to experience, but he perked up in a little hope that maybe, just maybe, he could talk her into a bit of oral for a birthday present type of thing. He sighed…. It was still a long year away.

And he worried that there was something wrong with him; why couldn’t he achieve climax during sex? Why didn’t it provide him with enough stimulation— why did he have to handle his own bits so roughly? Did this have anything to do with him having died and come back? No one would ever be able to answer that….

Again, he trudged back to the cottage, feeling weighted down; it wasn’t normal to dread going back to his wife and having sex, was it? He really was a freak! And how strange was it that he was flooded with relief when Ginny came to bed dressed in thick flannel pajamas that signaled her unspoken request for forgoing any intimate relations?

Ginny had been distant since sometime after dinner that night and at Harry’s quirked eyebrow over her unsexy attire, she eventually confessed she’d gotten her period. She apologized for it ruefully (and then had a great laugh at his expense when he needed the biological function explained to him).

Harry vaguely remembered Hermione once talking about feminine fertility cycles, but he and Ron had tuned her out, like they often did when she got into lecture mode over things they didn’t want to know about— though he was pretty sure he would have remembered something about stomach cramps and blood leaking. He wrinkled his nose at the thought, but was grateful for the period of reprieve it gave him from trying to satisfy Ginny physically and his ungratified state when being with her.

~O~

The next— and final— three days of their honeymoon holiday passed sex-free (much to Harry’s relief). He still got horny at random times, but with the shame associated with his masturbatory habits still fresh in his mind (not to mention the horror of his mouth on her crotch-- and his new knowledge about the bodily functions females went through) it effectually killed any impulse in his groin to follow its arousal to completion.

They actually got to have some fun without the pressure of foreplay and intercourse looming over them like a black cloud (and Harry’s fear of being labeled as inadequate and being criticized); they cooked, ate, played Exploding Snap and other games, and Ginny even taught him how to make a sand castle.

All in all, it ended well and it felt more like they were friends again.

~O~

A/N:   So yeah…. told you it was bad! (Poor little un-self-aware gay Harry-- but remember: he’s going to suffer first and then be happy!)

In defense of this chapter: As a flaming-het girl in RL, this is how I would imagine performing cunnilingus would be for me (much like I imagine totally straight guys would be nauseated by having a load of spunk shot on their tongue). Having the bodily fluids of someone you are not attracted to in your mouth is pretty revolting.

On the flip side, I want to give a big shout out of sincere gratitude to every one of those individuals out there who enjoy orally stimulating women because it is such an exquisitely beautiful form of giving someone an ultimate pleasure!! BLESS ALL OF YOU WONDERFUL MUNCHER-LOVERS!!
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WONKY CROSS