Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Rocking Horse	By : ElectricAndroid Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 20800 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Rocking Horse
- 1
Title: Rocking Horse

Author: Electricandroid

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Harry/Dudley

Length: 783

Warnings: M/M slash, Chan (12 years old)

Disclaimer: I own no-one. And nothing. Except a shite car.

A/N: Thank you to the lovely dacro
for the beta - especially since Dudley is one
of her squicks! Mwwwaaaa!
Written for the Porn in Motion Challenge at pornish_pixies

Rocking-horse

It stood neglected at the furthest corner of Dudley's second room. An archaeological site, with the
earliest, most easily relegated toys hidden in its recesses. The gloom only
penetrated by a single beam of light, a lonely ray from a high, barred window.
It refracted off the mane, glistening through the pallor of dust. Harry's heart
caught when he saw it, the easy squeaking of the long rockers, his earliest,
and only, bedtime serenade.

It brought back nights in his cupboard, when he was still small enough to fit
in comfortably, when Dudley was still a
yellow, puling lump of lard, with neither the cunning nor the energy to go
after him, torture him. It brought back the closest memories he had to
happiness, the gentle squeak of the wooden frame as Dudley
mounted it, the half hearted plea in his eyes as Harry begged, just this once,
to be allowed on. The soft-fisted cuffing on his head, as it wouldn't do to
hurt the boy - might turn into more of an imbecile than his damn parents,
before he was locked into his sanctuary. The repetitive creak, fine oiled teak,
interspersed with the dulcet cooing of his aunt to her little Dudders.

Harry reached out a hand, and almost touched the mane. Petunia's voice yanked
him downstairs with a visceral tug. Dinner was served.

Parting from a room so small and sweet, and so completely his, almost broke
him.

After supper he returned to his sanctuary. The fizzing buzz of the wayward
light bulb, unsheathed and dangling too and fro, measured a stultifying
counterpoint to the myriad noises coming up from below. The gentle buzz of a
fly trapped in a window mesh, the short sharp bursts before death, adding a
level of complexity, of focus, to the small boy sitting on the bed, staring at
the horse.

He moved, reached out a hand, and mounted it.

It was as if the horse inspired an unbridled lust in Harry, the ghost of a hand
streaking up a teak neck, caressing the curves and planes of a sculpted head,
oiling their way down the flanks, withers, hoofs. The ability
to grasp the mane, and pull the horse by its hair, into him, rocking backwards
and forwards in a parody of sex and stimulation. The
slow, steady creak of rockers on boards, wood on wood, hand on mane, on flesh,
sneaking under his waistband. There was sufficient room to grasp and
grind, to bite his lip until he bled, and to match the rocking, fucking,
motions to the friction and sway of the horse, the hand so needy and wanting.
The hands he wished were around him, clutching his cock to completion.

Lost in his own world of taste, sense and touch, Harry did not hear the door
open. He was too close to stop, to close to even acknowledge the perversions of
the house around him, of his hand between his legs and covetous way his cousin
looked at his arse chasing him around the garden. He refused to open his eyes
as he heard the treads creak over to him, refused to open them for the beating
that was to come, for the punishment that would mean no Hogwarts, no magic no
life. He refused to open them (clenched tightly shut) the horse slowed down, as
the groan of the wood indicated another body on the rocker, a cushion pillowing
him backwards, and a meaty fist joining around and clutching him, hard cock
pressed into his back and the mumbled wheezings which
could only be his cousin's. He shut his eyes to block out the reality of the
sweaty fisted ham behind him, grinding grasping breaths and pillages. He lost
himself in a nexus of touch, fist on cock and the ever so strange feeling of
not knowing when the next stroke-bump-grind would hit him. He was feeling the
pace increase and the rocking fucking motions of the fists in hair, nails
snaring his delicate skin as his cousin lost all semblance of control, sweaty
palms and sweaty backs, and a rancid mouth dug into his neck all as the horse
tip-tumbled forwards and backwards. The paroxysm of Dudley behind him, and the
acid etching of his come as Dudley yelped in
horror.

His cousin slithered to the floor, helpless and wanting and looking for all the
world like he'd just won the world and lost the universe. Harry collapsed
forward onto the horse, one fist still clutched in the tangled mane. His eyes
eased open, and rested on the puling disaster.

With customary grace, Dudley hefted himself up
and drove his quaking carcass to the door.

"See you round, faggot."
- 1
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Rocking Horse