Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Author’s Notes and Warnings:

Thanks for all the rates and reviews! I appreciate them all!

It especially pleased me and made me laugh that I squicked someone hard enough to make nice comments, yet run away screaming—which has been my point all along, to explore the “last frontier” of squick to those of us that can read all manner of abuse, incest, rape, bestiality, injury and torture without batting an eyelash. (Actually, come to think of it, ‘crime scene/red-wings’ grosses me out too, but obviously that’s not going to happen in this series).

As for the person who responded last time stating that there should be some sort of warning included with the “Showered!” chapter regarding the activities described, I suggest they read the last ‘disclaimer’ paragraph again. I thought I made it quite clear I meant to discourage “copy-cat” behavior and impart a ‘kids, don’t try this at home’ message. For the other reviewer who mentioned the use of alcohol-- yeah, it makes sense that without filtering through the liver first would make a difference. I love to make people think about things they’d never considered and give input I may never have thought of myself… Although for the sake of this fic, Harry’s crappy wand-conjured champagne in the last chapter isn’t all that strong-- and in all honesty, Draco isn’t able hold it long enough for much to get absorbed.

Concerning this next installment (and all others preceding it, and all that follow)—only responsible adults with common sense should ever entertain this/these ideas, and maybe not engage in it at all if they are unable to do so in a completely non-dangerous way:

Volume, shape and size matter. Binding and diapering without consent is cruel. Dosing another with laxatives is not cool and a potential health hazard. Excess is bad. Moderation is key. Think slender and smooth for stuffing (Just remember: hospitals have files of a collection of x-rays that are a sad joke -- patient’s names included-- showing objects stuck internally, somewhat akin to the ‘Darwin Awards’ or ‘World’s Stupidest Criminals’-- A curling iron? A toy fire engine? Light bulbs? C’mon, people, really?!? In what universe does THAT seem like a good idea????)

But I suppose every chapter should carry the same warning, so: Muggles, don’t try this at home! This is the last time I am going to issue an all-encompassing decree; from now on, I absolve myself from cautioning anyone again.

Please be safe and sane and simply squirm at the icky-ness that only exists in fictional form here (and keep in mind, what seems like non-con in this, is actually enjoyed once the initial humiliation wears off). WHEW! Hope that long-winded spiel was clear and PC enough…

Enjoy this next squicktastic part!

)*(

Stuffed! (full to bursting with food)

Draco stretched, popping his stiffened vertebrae after being hunched over the potting table for the last couple hours. His seedlings were coming along nicely. Soon, he could even transplant some of the heartier herbs into the neat rows that fanned out behind his small, rough-hewn stone brewing laboratory that sat at the far corner of their backyard space.

Harry had purchased a large parcel of land to build their house on. They’d only just made it through both their NEWTS, training programs, gotten certified, and thrust into their chosen fields when the contractors first broke ground. With the weight of the Wizarding world pressing heavily on their shoulders-- steeped in the public’s expectations and the mantle of dubious celebrity heaped upon them-- they found some occasional, random times to date discretely. For a long time, they only deepened their dedication to one another while maintaining separate flats (and still keeping their orientation a secret from those around them).

So, even though they’d been living there for only a handful of months, and an official couple to those that counted, it was so wonderful to know and truly feel that they’d finally settled into their lives and routine together. It was a fantastic domestic fantasy for Draco-- but it was true. It seemed almost girly to admit to himself that it was like his own knight in shining armor had whisked him away from the terribleness of the war and bestowed upon him a kingdom fit for a prince. He had everything he ever wanted.

He was proud to be an equal partner with such grand land-holdings but had only ever seen the whole of their property while whizzing past on a broom and he’d always been more interested at the sight of Harry in all his glory-- dodging and weaving, performing aerial acrobatics-- than paying attention to the actual landscape.

The Healer concentrated his outdoor efforts to cultivating the expanse of lawn that ended with the start of the freely-growing forest, the garden and growing his potions ingredients rather than go explore the boundaries. He was more concerned with his immediate surroundings and uses for nature than spare a random thought for the twisted, gnarled, and wild expanse that continued on beyond his realm of comfortable-ness. Sometimes the shadows, the un-tamed unknown and the potential hazards that lay there within sent a shiver up his spine.

But he thought he was ready to have a bit more area carved out for himself. If the brambles and three dead trees along the western perimeter could be hauled out, roots and all-- and the soil tilled-- then perhaps he could nurture a few of the more difficult and… erm… volatile shrubs so useful in archaic brews? If he had the room…

As he envisioned a new section to his living, organic stock-room that would foster exotic and rare specimens, Draco felt content and warm in the hot August rays. The sun was moving right over his head and by the grumble in his stomach he noted Mother Earth was telling him it was time to fix lunch. The blond picked his way carefully across the meticulously spaced trenches and plucked a few stray portions of produce to bring inside.

Shedding his shade-hat, protective gloves and mucky boots on the back porch in their respective cubbies, he entered with his basket full of random food items. He felt Harry’s presence in the cool interior of the house before he actually saw him; he made his way in stocking-feet to the kitchen and felt the sensation grow. He was pleasantly surprised his lover had beaten him to preparing a meal for once. Harry turned and smiled, radiantly, while he held a big knife in his hand—soup was simmering on the stove and sliced bread was ready for toasting, all it needed was for Harry to finish cutting the cheese.

Draco basked in the doting feeling of having his lover to cook and serve him food (although he fully understood that-- given both their backgrounds—meal preparation was a chore for Harry, while it was an enjoyable endeavor for him). He cheerfully engaged in chit-chat during their repast, outlining his plans for the plants in his care. When he skillfully brought the conversation around to needing more of the plot to be razed without using magic, Harry told him he’d to do it (without obvious prompt), just like he knew he would.

Draco’s heart swelled with emotion as he ‘magnanimously’ accepted Harry’s offer of manual labour and the brunet’s beaming lightened up the whole room. It pleased him to no end that this wonderful, kind-hearted man could be made so happy, just by making him happy-- and that he’d chosen him to shower with affection and thoughtful gestures.

In fact, actually, Harry was acting a little too giddy and smug… what was going on? As he watched, with more skepticism now, his lover was grinning goofily—something was definitely up.

The Auror wasn’t aware he was all-of-a-sudden under increased scrutiny… he just felt good. He’d successfully “babied” his boyfriend with the surprise making of a meal. His buoyed mood had nothing to do, of course, with the fact that Draco had vacated the house for the morning and not pursued any retribution for the game he pulled on the blond last weekend. He’d had the privacy of the entire empty place to himself and was able to completely evacuate his bowels without interference or any unwanted audience (not that he didn’t like what they got up to when they played, but it was always nerve-wracking waiting for what the payback would be— and now he was safe for another day). He’d gotten away with it!

Or so he thought… He didn’t notice Draco fingering the fruits and vegetables in his basket in contemplation (as his back was turned, supervising his scrubbing spells over the dishes). “So,” he threw over his shoulder, “you want to go out there and show me what you want chopped down?”

“Yessss,” the blond purred in his ear, startling him by sneaking up on him like that and the seductive tone that accompanied it. He loved the feel of the arms that enveloped him and melted into the embrace, leaning on the pecs pressed up against his back. “But not right now… I have another activity I’d like to indulge in…”

Harry shuddered against the body that was so obviously suggesting some ‘afternoon delight’. He moaned when he felt the moist heat of lips trailing from his ear and down his nape and those delicate, yet deceptively strong digits massaging his skin everywhere he could reach. He always went jelly-kneed at the sharp, little tugs to his fly-away locks, especially when the pulling was interspersed with subtle scratching nails to his scalp and neck.

The pelvis rotating and grinding against his bottom was irresistible.

His cock twitched and swelled with rabid neuron-firings. Draco always did know how to get a rise out of him. Once his boyfriend set his mind on seduction, he never failed to get Harry going from “zero to sixty” in less than a handful of seconds, (like the American movies say about cars’ acceleration); or, more accurately, he never failed to get Harry’s member from hanging slack, pointing at zero to up and raring to go, standing at attention at a proud, jutting sixty-degree angle within mere moments-- And positively begging for touch.

“Do you need to be restrained for this?” the lusty Healer asked while his throbbing manhood brushed the backs of Harry’s thighs as he steered his boyfriend to the kitchen table; curling his lover’s hands firmly on the edges, bending his body, chest practically crushed to the surface, the blond positioned his beau in a beautiful spread-open pose. Harry wasn’t sure how to answer that since he didn’t know what Draco had in mind. He was saved the decision to make as Draco made the off-hand comment that he had been able to successfully remain stationary in the shower last time.

Harry gritted his teeth and vowed to himself that if Draco could do it, so could he-- and shook his head ‘no’.

Draco smirked as the resolute determination set in on Harry’s features and stance; he knew he could count on that Gryffindor stubborn streak and the ever glowing ember of competitiveness that had recently been rekindled between them. He ran his hands reverently over Harry’s knotted muscles in his back and arms.

“I’m going to make you shit,” the blond told him calmly.

Harry had a smirk of his own when he replied, “Too late, Tootsie. I already got rid of everything this morning. We’ll be waiting here a long time. Even if I ate everything in that basket, plus our lunch just now, it’ll still take hours before a purgative spell will work it down to my ass.”

“No, I meant that literally,” Draco clarified. He vanished their clothes and with a wand at Harry’s clenched pucker, cast a cleaning charm, leaving his rectum devoid of all fecal remnants.

“I think that particular spell just accomplished the opposite of making me shit!” the brunet laughed, then gasped when he felt the thumbs spread apart his buttocks and the hint of hot breath ghosting over his crack and scrotum before the most delicious wet heat of slick muscle probing the wrinkles of his ring engulfed him.

The rimming was wet and slobbery—and absolutely divine! Soon, Draco’s oral ministrations turned intense; his tongue poking in and out and stretching the muscle was driving Harry delirious with desire. But he was still confused by the remark. Despite the libidinous haze muddling his brain, his curiosity won out. “Wha-what… did you… mean, ‘literally’?”

“I mean since you don’t have any crap to grace me with, I will manufacture it—it’s the parallel of poo, not the ‘opposite’,” Draco answered enigmatically. Harry was about to scoff at whatever mad thing that meant when the Healer deftly stuffed a small ovoid object up his bum. It was followed by a swirling lick around his surprised, winking hole. And then another joined it, with another swipe of tongue. And then another and another. He was stunned into silence.

What the hell? He turned his head to the other side, the polished wood-grain of the table cooling his other flushed cheek. He saw his boyfriend’s slim wrist fumbling around in his basket of gleaned garden ingredients. Were those… grapes?! (‘Parallel, my ass!’ his conscious mind thundered but was speechless in his shock, finally beginning to cotton on to what was in store for him, but still partly in denial).

It kind-of felt like their anal-bead toy but without the connecting string that would pull them out again; the “jewels” were just jumbled around up there and could only be removed the natural way. His butthole flexed, tensing around the small spheres of foreign organic matter in his rectum. It was an odd sensation, but actually, it did kind-of feel like that was some poo up there.

Interesting…

Next, he saw his lover summon a small bowl and put an over-ripe peach in it. He sliced it into quarters and discarded the stem and pit-- and then squeezed and crushed the soft fruit into a mush with his bare hand.

Draco took his sticky hand and traced a circle around Harry’s pucker, then dipped a digit in, probing at the grapes he’d implanted before he retrieved his wand and stuck it in the peach puree (with withered strips of velvety skin mixed in), siphoning it. When he stuck the business-end in Harry’s orifice and reversed the ‘Tergeo’, effectively pumping the pulpy mass into his colon, the full realization of what he was being subjected to sunk in.

Draco was indeed fabricating the feel of feces within him!

He supposed this new idea had been borne from his plugging his boyfriend last time with paper (and pouring in the piss—and bubbly champagne). He didn’t have to wait too long to find out what was coming next. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco take up the blade of the paring knife again and start peeling a modestly sized zucchini; it was slender-- less than the girth of his lover’s hard cock—and the blond whittled shallow grooves along the sides, with a tapered point on one end while the other was left rounded and rotund.

His devilish life-partner smiled in a self-satisfied sneer as he ran a finger through the dewy ooze of aloe-like moisture rising on the freshly-cut flesh of the squash. “This should provide a nice, thin unguent for you to take this in,” he murmured, almost to himself rather than the man wriggling in anticipation beneath him, rocking up onto tip-toe, waving his hind-end in the air.

The blond teased the more piercing tip against his lover’s ring-- he’d carved the shape to make the penetration easier (and more like the natural shape of a turd). He poked the home-made toy around the clenched pucker then pressed harder into the yielding center of the beautiful whorl. “Why are you so locked up tight, Love?” he inquired, rubbing light circles on his lower back. “Baby, you need to relax and swallow it,” he urged.

“Ungh! I’m trying to keep all the other stuff in!” Harry wheezed. He only had a tenuous grasp on the fruit currently housed in his lower intestines and was already feeling the urge to push. “I assume that’s what you want since I made you do that last time…”

“True,” the Healer conceded, agreeing with that assessment; he was chuffed his boyfriend had caught on to the cumulative effect of their recent spate of creativity with these games. “But this should bung it enough, just bear down enough for it to slip inside,” he encouraged. Harry did as he was bade and the smooth length began to invade him millimeter by millimeter.

The damp slide was sublime, the slick friction fantastic-- It was so wrong to use innocent plants like this-- but it felt so fucking good! At last, the curved bulbous end made its way into his body. The sensation as his sphincter closed around the make-shift log to hold it in was indescribable!

He felt swollen with squidgy sludge, but also firm feces; just like a normal, healthy dump. It was glorious! He also felt secure in the knowledge that no nasty waste would be coming out this time, just neutral, innocuous natural vegetation. That thought made it a lot easier to accept Draco’s mouth’s return to his anus a second later--

But he couldn’t help but yelp.

He’d never felt the exquisite agony of an expert rim-job while feeling full—he was pretty sure in that moment that he’d died and gone to the best concept of Heaven that ever was. The pressure in his bowels, the “safe-ness” of ass-to-mouth when his load was clean and only harmless food items and the heavy weight of the zucchini leaning on his prostate was sending resplendent, coruscating waves of carnal bliss to zap each and every nerve-ending he possessed.

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, it did. Exponentially.

Harry moaned in wanton abandon when the lingual assault turned from furtive swipes to decidedly focused delving. Inside! The ass-spelunking tongue was darting in quick (*breath hitching*), confident (*muscle-quivering*) brushes (*torturing*) against his inner walls (*drowning in bliss*).

His consciousness faded in ecstasy and then sharpened in the acute knowledge that he felt like he was going to poop—a titillating prospect that never ceased to excite him, but now there was a mouth at his entrance/exit!

It was so ingrained in his psyche that it was immoral and debauched! It was the worst of the worst! He needed his life-partner’s face to go away and he needed it to stay and give him more! It was a disgusting oxymoron or a horridly ironic paradox that he was simultaneously repulsed yet uncontrollably, insanely in lust with the sensations coursing through his veins that had to do with oral sex and faux defecation—this was the most contradictory of physical and psychological disparity that he could possibly think of!

He was such a degenerate pervert! But he ceased to care. The tongue’s tantalizing and testing against the circumference of the width invading him had him whimpering and writhing-- his only anchor on reality was his continued grip on the edges of the table.

“Relax it, Baby,” Draco instructed. “I have one more trick up my sleeve.” Harry didn’t know what he was talking about, but felt the keen loss of contact and distantly heard the clattering of rummaging through a drawer behind him. “Since I couldn’t get the hang of a gentle air-blowing spell, I have to improvise.” (The brunet could picture the exact expression on his boyfriend’s face, the way he looked disappointed, ashamed yet defiant when he had to admit a short-coming.)

Harry didn’t have to wonder what he meant for long; a cold, blunt (yet tiny) tip of hard plastic breached his butthole. It wasn’t a wand… it was-- he gasped in shock yet again— their turkey-baster’s pipe!

“Draco!” he squealed, scandalized, “We use that for Christmas dinner!” It was being lodged in just past his pucker-- only about a centimeter or so-- and then the rubber bulb was plunged.

A small whoosh of air forced its way into his innards. The tool was withdrawn with the same care he’d bestowed upon his lover last time, two fingers placed gently over the clench to help keep it closed; the process was repeated a couple more times, then the blond decided that was enough to be going on for Harry’s first time with stuffing.

After Harry was given some moments to adjust, he felt full, but also knew he could sneak out a fart, if he was allowed.

He heard a chuckle behind him. “Yes, I think we shall try to break some wind…” and a pale hand began to palpate his abdomen, pushing him to his limits of holding it in. He really did try to keep it dry, and managed mostly air, but a trickle of peach juice slid along-side the zucchini and escaped him. He moaned as the sweet nectar seeped and dribbled-- And was then licked off his ball sac, his perineum and up to his truant hole!

His eyes rolled up into the back of his head.

“Now relax slightly,” Draco instructed and then warned, “but don’t push.” Harry clenched his fists as he concentrated on loosening his control at his back-door; he felt the length of the summer squash slide forward of its own accord—all ease and no effort. Ohhhhh, bloody hell! That felt good!

Only a tiny bit had escaped when it met the resistance of the blond’s flattened tongue. Draco pushed it back in, tamping it down like ice cream into a cone. Harry’s muscles shivered in arousal, vacillating between holding it in and letting it go. They repeated this several more times until Harry dripped pre-come on the kitchen floor and was panting and mewling constantly.

Draco gave one last slurp at his peachy treat, reveling in the sensation of the hard round end protruding, peeking out from a tube of skin (rather like a tumescent dick-head and foreskin). And he was so turned on by his lover’s responses! Every libidinous and debauched sound blossomed jolts of feral lust down his throbbing erection and raised a dull ache in his balls.

He had to lean back on his haunches and catch his breath.

He watched in fascination as Harry experimented with allowing his toy to slide out only to squeeze his anus and cheeks, wriggling his hips to retract it back in. Draco had never seen anything so sexy! It was such a wonderful, depraved dirtiness to witness his lover mindlessly manipulating his muscles in self-pleasure—it was like he was fucking himself from the inside out!

With this impromptu masturbation, Harry was lost in his own little world of introspective, imploding Nirvana, pushing his dignity and pleasure beyond any personal limits ever found before. Harry almost forgot Draco was watching him (and would have if the blond’s breathing wasn’t so heavy and audible in the room). But he was too swept away by sensation.

While the matter in his rectum and breaching his ring had the texture like actual crap, the firm cohesiveness of the shaft of squash made it so he could let go more length and not have it break off in smaller clumps when he pinched (and he could get the entirety of it safely back inside!!).

He was both drunk on victory for not letting it fall and disappointed when he denied himself the chance of losing control; the dichotomy was delectable! But what he wanted more than anything, was to keep the feeling alive. It was the thrill of the threat of going past the point of no return that really got him going (and kept him tempting fate and the endurance of his physical talents).

It was truly a revelation to know that he could create the perfect shit-toys by utilizing every-day objects they had lying about the house (or, more specifically, yard)! Whenever the mood struck! And it could be entirely clean! He let a loud, rattling fart and whined, “Dracooooooo… “

“Then push, Baby,” Draco breathed, knowing this was IT. Harry bore down with all his might. Several things happened in quick succession:

The organic mélange shot out with force, the majority of it hitting Draco’s chest and running down in sickening streaks; Harry came with a howl that would raise a Werewolf’s hackles—untouched--spraying natural essence out his front as he did his back; and Draco’s climax erupted from him with two well-placed pumps, after smearing the body-warm fruit-goo rolling down his torso and clasping it around his member (and added his own cream to the mix).

As their respirations both came under control once again, the Healer had enough sense to ‘Evanesco’ the remains on themselves and the kitchen tile. If someone witnessed it without proper knowledge of its origin, it could only be construed as a very raunchy parody of a “new age” vegetarian dish of haute cuisine spilled on the lino.

Harry seemed unable to move. Draco gathered him up lovingly and took them upstairs to take a nap.

_)*(_

Draco could watch those burly biceps flex and bunch all day. He was not ogling or leering; no, that was too pedestrian. He was merely sneaking speculative glances (befitting of a Slytherin) in appreciative appraisal out of the corner of his eye. Harry’s physique was magnificent as he beat back the over-growth, wielding the muggle tools of secateurs and hack-saw. The smitten blond would never grow tired of the exquisite specimen that was his special man.

The brunet was glinting with perspiration from all the heavy yard-work, but fell into the menial routine quite easily: Hack, saw, cut, tug, sort, toss—soon he had two separate growing piles of compost and firewood.

The mindless repetition allowed the Auror’s thoughts to wander…

When they’d entered the garden, Harry blushed profusely at the zucchinis and grapes clinging innocently on the vine (not to mention the branches hanging heavy with the weight of the fragrant, fuzzy stone-fruits on the peach tree), but now he looked at their garden with new appreciation. The torpedo-shape of the Roma tomatoes was intriguing, but he disregarded them, thinking that if their skin broke it would probably be too acidic for comfort. Although the figs on the trellis, (de-stemmed of course), seemed to provide his naughty imagination with sweet and endless possibilities.

He was sweaty and dirty but the exertion was invigorating (and he loved to perform random services for his boyfriend). But he was halted in mid-task by having to take a piss. He thought nothing of it as he popped the button on his jeans and eased the zipper down as he headed towards the edge of the forest; he sighed as the first jet of urine struck the closest tree trunk.

His bliss of bladder relief was interrupted by an unholy shriek of what he thought was terror. A quick look at Draco saw him shaking a speechless finger in his general direction and his mouth twisted open in a grimace of shock.

With his Auror instincts kicked into over-drive, he quickly shifted the grasp on his penis (that wouldn’t stop flowing despite a clear signal of danger) to his left hand and drew his wand with his right. He briskly assessed for signs of threat: No bellicose gnomes, no poisonous snakes or spiders, no bowtruckles brandishing angry and spindly (yet pointy-clawed limbs at him), no ill-intentioned and recently disturbed Snargaluffs…

In fact, everything was bucolic and peaceful—he saw nothing out of the ordinary. His revealing spells showed nothing.

Eventually, his stream died down and abated. He shook off the last stray drops and tucked himself away. Harry was still flummoxed and turned to Draco questioningly—the man was standing stock-still, one hand clutching his chest, breaths heaving, and the other poised before his open lips.

“Bloody Hell, Malfoy!” Harry exclaimed as he resumed his work, “What’s got your knickers in a twist? You nearly gave me a heart attack!” He viciously yanked at a most recalcitrant branch. “You had me thinking there was a deadly beast out there—or worse, a reporter-- had somehow, inconceivably got through the wards! There’s absolutely nothing there. What got you so freaked out?”

Draco was still pale (even more than usual) and blurted, “You—you—“ flapping his arms and gesticulating wildly, unable to articulate his distress. Finally, he stammered incoherently, “That!—Out, out, out… SIDE!!”

“What?” Harry half-laughed in disbelief and joked, “You’re appalled that I pissed outdoors on our private property?” The jerking nod and the expression on the blond’s face told him he’d hit the nail on the head.

“Seriously?!” He just had to make sure. Another stiff nod was his answer.

The brunet shook his head; he shrugged and started loading the fire-fuel he’d spent hours on salvaging and sorting. His memory flitted back and flashed on his yard work for the Dursley’s: It was not prudent to take a break to the loo to relieve himself; it wasn’t worth the punishment that resulted from an extraneous trip inside that tracked dirt through the kitchen and hall-- only to have to go back out to resume his chores. No, he’d peed outside, hidden behind the garage and fence to avoid that.

He hadn’t thought much of it beyond not being seen or caught at it, and later found it wasn’t all that uncommon among boys. He thought of times with Ron and the twins at the Burrow: When they went swimming in the pond at the end of summer, if they had to piss, they just ducked into the orchard instead of making the trek all the way back to the house.

Also, the winter holidays found them writing their names in the snow on occasion, after raucous snow-ball fights (with George and Harry lamenting the more letters in their names… and that one time a boasting Ron tried to spell out “Ronald” but ended up with “Rona”-- which provided much fodder for teasing and an inside-joke of a nickname over the years that followed).

His brain snapped back to the present as he stacked the logs and tinder on the back porch with a very subdued Draco quietly watching him. “So,” Harry started, unsure of exactly what to say, but settled on, "Erm… you mind telling me about why you had such a strong reaction to what I did?” he asked, gesturing vaguely towards the tree-line.

“I don’t think you quite understand how I was raised, Potter,” the blond intoned flatly.

(Ok, he’s more rattled and weirded out than I thought, if he’s using my last name, Harry concluded to himself). But he couldn’t wrap his head around what made it so drastic and different—How in the hell was peeing in the backyard worse than what all they’d gotten up to during the messy games they played? It wasn’t as if they had company over, or he’d whipped it out in front of a crowd and painted the cobblestones of Diagon Alley…

“So you and I can piss and shit all over each other and ourselves, in every room of the house—“ He cut himself off as he suddenly realized it was only him that had, Draco was always within easy reach of soap and water when it was his turn! (Well! He was going to rectify THAT!).

Draco was nodding along in confirmation like that statement was the most neutral, normal thing that had ever been said, but still remained silent. Harry continued, “Do you mean to tell me that never—in your whole life—have taken a whiz outside?”

“Yes!” he answered emphatically. Draco’s shoulders un-tensed, thinking that his boyfriend now understood the profound distinction. But he was wrong, as evidenced by his life-mate’s next query; and the peculiar expression on his face.

“Not even in private or among male friends? I mean, obviously not around girls or in public, but…” Harry was still nonplussed at why they could do such extremely personal things together and it was perfectly fine as long as it was indoors—and what seemed so natural, to relieve oneself in nature (with discretion of course) was so taboo that Draco had a major hang-up about it.

Draco was shaking his head, trying to tone down his judgmental side and adamantly maintained, “NO! Never! Of course not!” (All right, maybe he wasn’t that successful at tempering his shock and perceived slight on his character with patience).

Harry was still incredulous, “But you and I can… do what we do… and…”

“Behind closed doors, Potter. Behind closed doors!” Draco pronounced, as if that explained everything. At his boyfriend’s clueless countenance, he sighed, “You really don’t understand Pure Bloods…” He reached a hand to Harry, “Come on, dirty Baby. We’re filthy. Let’s take a shower.”

Harry, in addition to nebulous ideas swirling about how to even the score of Draco’s “virginity” at taking a turn with That somewhere other than the loo, a nefarious plot was congealing in the portion of Harry’s cognition that ran along Slytherin lines. A plot was taking shape, some scenario to do with having a go at the game outside…

But it would have to wait. The aristocratic blond had cupped and latched onto the burly brunet’s crotch and was leading him by his balls and burgeoning boner to the bath. Harry’s blood was pulsing-- solidifying something else-- not leaving enough in his brain to scheme.

He surrendered to the desirable diversion… For now.

)*(

Thanks for reading and sorry for possibly ruining the palatability of zucchinis, peaches and grapes for you all-- I fully accept responsibility for the fact that anyone who made it through this chapter will (most likely) not be able to look at the produce section in quite the same way the next time they go to the market. It’s Ok, I’m ready for the mental curses that will be aimed in my general direction (my happiness in seeing the hit numbers go up and getting nice reviews makes up for it! :)

Hope you tune in next time as Draco releases his inner animal and communes with nature…
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Crap! #2