Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Being Wanted	By : ChaoticReactions Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 126319 -:- Recommendations : 6 -:- Currently Reading : 11
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. In fact, I'd be very thankful if this never reaches poor Ms Rowling's eyes. Nor do I make money off of this, nice as that would be.

Chapter List
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WARNINGS: This chapter contains solo (M), oral sex and incest

***

When an owl showed up at Harry’s birthday, a scant hour after he had turned 16, it wasn’t really a surprise. He’d just finished unwrapping the rest of the presents he’d received, and that one bird was a little late wasn’t odd enough to draw his notice. It was carrying a thick, rectangular package in brown wrapping paper. A tiny scrap of scroll was caught in the twine holding it together, and Harry assumed that whatever note had come with it had been blown away. Whoever sent this should have put the note inside, but for some reason had failed too. Perhaps they had meant for him to read it before opening the gift, but the point was moot now.

Once he picked it up, the owl turned tail and flew away, not even waiting to get a drink from Hedwig’s bowl. Well, fair enough. Hedwig was generally fairly patient about having other birds drink and eat from her supplies, but the less the better. Already, Pig had put a nice dent in her pellets before he left, which had prompted her to go hunt instead.

Before he so much as tore the paper, Harry knew his present was a book. He’d certainly gotten enough from Hermione over the years to be able to tell from just the feel. She must have forgotten to include this one with the others (one on organization for the NEWTs, and the other a history of Dark Wizard hunters, the latter of which he appreciated much more). But when he opened it, it wasn’t a new one, like he’d been expecting. Instead the cover was tattered and faded, to the point he couldn’t even read the title anymore. Turning it over a few times in his hand, he wished he’d gotten the letter as well, if only so he’d known exactly what it was he’d gotten.

Curiosity peaked, Harry packed away the other gifts in places they wouldn’t be found, both under the loose floorboard and among the detritus of Dudley’s old toys and gadgets. Then he crawled into bed and cracked out the new book, wincing a little at the loud crack the spine made. This hadn’t been opened in ages. How had Hermione known what it was, then?

Speaking of, Harry still didn’t know himself. There wasn’t a title page. Instead, the book opened straight into text, which looked odd. Like the letters were every so slightly different sized, and that the lines weren’t quite straight. Worse, he felt odd opening it. Apprehensive, almost. For a second, Harry thought of Tom Riddle’s diary, but shook his head. This was nothing like that. It was just a book - it didn’t have a brain or an enchantment or anything other than ink. He must just be tired.

Long since practiced in the art of reading by moonlight, Harry tilted the book at the best angle to the window and started to read.

***

It felt like Harry just blinked, and suddenly it was morning. Early enough that even Aunt Petunia wasn’t up and screaming for him to make breakfast. He was arranged a little strangely, arms lined up against his sides and back straight, rather than the normal tangled sprawl he woke up in. Odd. Figuring he’d simply rolled into the position, Harry sat up and looked for the book. For a second he didn’t spot it, and startled panic bubbled in him. He didn’t want to lose it! It was important.

Because it was a birthday gift. Right? Right.

Heaving a sigh of relief when he spotted it neatly placed on the bedside table, Harry snatched it up and ran his fingers over the cover. It was safe. Good. As he gazed down at it, Harry realized he had no memory of what he’d read. Well, that made sense. He didn’t remember anything after settling down. With how tired he must have been, he’d probably dozed off almost right away. It was surprising he’d had the foresight to put the book away safely.

A quick check at the clock confirmed he had at least half an hour before he’d be needed. Deciding a little relief was in order, Harry shoved his pajama bottoms down to his thighs and spit into his hand, before reaching down to grasp himself. He was still hard from just waking up, and the touch set off sparks up his spine. More so than normal, actually. It was a good thing he was taking care of this, then - he must have been more tense than he’d thought.

Usually, Harry disliked thinking of anyone he knew in his fantasies. It felt dishonest, or like he was using them somehow. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t had a few thoughts about Ginny or Hermione (or Ron or Neville), but for the most part it was either an anonymous body, or simply focused on himself, and scenarios he’d like to be in. This time, though, he couldn’t seem to help it. Behind his closed eyes, he could see Ginny on her knees, mouth open and waiting, or Hermione holding herself open, watching him with desperate, dark eyes, or Ron face down, ass up in the air and presented to him, fingers pistoning in and out of himself. A variety of others, mostly featuring his friends or classmates, flashed through his mind. What they were doing or who was involved changed, but one thing was always true. They were desperate for him. Begging and whimpering and sobbing and dripping and achingly hard for him.

It was that relation that finally got him off.

Panting, Harry wiped his hand off on the side of the bed, since it was laundry day anyway and he’d be cleaning later. A little embarrassed and a lot stunned with himself, he bit his lip before shrugging it off. He was a teenager, so he supposed his hormones were getting the best of him.

Frowning down at his still slightly sticky hand, Harry slid out of bed so he could take a shower before anyone else got up. It was going to be a long day.

***

Unfortunately, he was right on the money. It was well past dinner when Harry finally stumbled back into his room, shoving the last of his dinner - two pieces of toast and a cup of cold tea - into his mouth. Really, he should go ahead and work on his thank you letters to his friends, but he was tired and just didn’t feel up to it. Tomorrow. Besides, he should really find out what was with the book Hermione had sent him before thanking her for it. Crawling into bed, he snagged the old thing from the bedside table and opened it. He found his lips curling up in a smile, without real cause. Probably because it was a gift. Any present always meant so much to him, and the fact that this one was a little bit of a mystery just made it better.

Snuggling against the pillows, Harry tried to figure out where he’d left off, but he really didn’t remember any of it. The words still had an odd quality, but it was probably just how they’d been printed. Ah, well. He’d just start over. It wasn’t likely he’d gotten far anyway. Leafing through to the first page, he started to read.

A second later, Harry found himself on his back, legs spread wide and fingers at - no, in - his entrance. The pleasure was overwhelming, and it was only the knowledge of what Uncle Vernon would do if he found Harry like this kept him from letting out loud moans of enjoyment. As he pumped himself, thumb digging into his slit and fingers ghosting over his balls, he wondered how he ended up here. But it didn’t seem as odd as it had this morning. In fact, he found it strange he’d wondered about it at all. This was normal. This was right. This was perfect.

Slipping a third finger into himself, Harry through his head back and pushed down on them, clenching as they searched for better, more pleasurable spots to tease and press. In his mind, he could feel someone else’s hands clenched around his hips, thrusting into him with a thick cock. The pace was stuttering, uncontrolled because the person was so close, so needy, so out of control for Harry. But they weren’t allowed to come - not until he said it was okay - and so the person just kept going, nearly out of their mind for something they couldn’t get.

On the other end, Harry was pressed into someone else, pinning their hips down and letting them writhe around him, needing more and being mercilessly denied. They begged and babbled and sobbed for him to move, please, fuck me, but Harry just watched and enjoyed what he was getting from both of them, not willing to give either of them what they wanted until he was satisfied.

Twisting his head, Harry bit hard into the pillow, nearly enough to split the thin material, and came with a muffled moan. This time there was a bigger mess, both from the higher amounts of come and the lube he’d pulled from... somewhere (it didn’t matter where, so long as he had it, so long as he felt good, if it felt good it was fine, it was normal). But unlike yesterday, he didn’t rush to wipe it off. Instead he spent a little while looking at it, before almost shyly bringing it up to his finger to lick. Not bad. Bitter, sure, but not nearly as much as he’d been expecting, given what he’d heard around Gryffindor Tower.

Right now, it was a little surprising people find come so gross. Until recently, Harry had agreed. But why? It was a sign of his pleasure. His satisfaction. Why should he dislike it? Why should anyone? Wouldn’t someone he was sleeping with want to see and feel it and taste it? It was proof that they’d done a good job. A reward, even.

Reward or no, he had just cleaned the sheets, and he wasn’t going to get clean ones for at least a couple of weeks. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that everyone should be asleep, and so he slipped out of room to grab a washcloth to clean up. Once as it was as good as he could make it, Harry hid the cloth under his bed for later use and grabbed the book again, still curious, not far enough in yet, not sure what it was saying, needing to know-

***

The next day wasn’t quite as heavy chores wise, thankfully, since the big task for the week had been taken care of, and Uncle Vernon’s additions to the chores tended to fall on the weekends. Harry assumed that was so they’d interact as little as possible, which he was thankful for. Today might have been as nice as it got at the Dursley’s, actually, if it hadn’t been for Dudley.

The other boy apparently had nothing better to do today than to make Harry’s life as difficult as possible. He’d tracked in dirty after Harry’d just finished with the kitchen floor, and ate his crisps messily in the living room after he’d just finished vacuuming, and found every opportunity to physically insert himself in Harry’s way. At lunch, he’d graduated to attempting to trip Harry as he carried plates of food from the stove to the table. On the way back to clean up, he actually managed, sticking his foot out at just the right time to catch Harry at the ankle.

Seeker reflexes kicked in, and Harry caught Dudley’s bare forearm in an attempt to catch his balance. He managed, but flinched back, waiting for the inevitable blow or shove. It was rare he touched his cousin, unless it was brief contact from some kind of violence, but it had always been met with some kind of punishment, either from his Aunt and Uncle or Dudley himself.

But that didn’t happen. Instead, Dudley went suddenly, almost worryingly still. Taking advantage of the unexpected break, Harry pulled himself upright and stared at his cousin. The boy was staring at him in the same way he normally looked at a cooking meal - impatient want. As Harry watched, his cousin’s gaze tracked down him, from his eyes down to his pelvis.

Part of him found this strange - it was Dudley who was looking at him with something other than violent, sadistic glee or rage, and if it had been anyone else, Harry might have thought he was being evaluated. Physically. And found satisfactory, even. But another part of him liked this. It was certainly better than being attacked, right? Besides, being looked at that way was good, no matter where it was coming from. It meant he was desirable. That people wanted him. That others could need him the way he wanted to be needed. This felt good. This was good. This was normal.

But Harry wasn’t finished with his chores yet, and so he stepped back, finally removing his hand from Dudley’s arm. His cousin matched the movement, like he was chasing the touch. A shiver went through Harry, both from the oddity of it all and from a vague thrill somewhere at the base of his spine. “Why don’t you go sit down now, Dudley? Lunch is ready, so go eat.”

Nodding, the movement jerky and almost violent with something like eagerness, Dudley cast him a last look before turning his gaze around. “Yeah. Alright.” And he waddled over and sat down at the table, casting looks back at Harry like a puppy expecting praise. As much as part of him didn’t want to admit it, Harry liked the look. It made him powerful. It made him wanted and liked. It was good. It was normal.

Sparing a moment to be thankful his aunt wasn’t around to see that, Harry got started cleaning.

The rest of the day went relatively quickly, now that Dudley had stopped being an active pest. But he didn’t go away. Instead he followed Harry around the house, like a lost puppy, finding some excuse or another to be in the same room. Not that he should have bothered. No matter what he was supposedly doing, Dudley’s eyes tracked Harry’s movements, settling on the bit of shoulder that was exposed from the too large shirt, or where his ass should have been visible in his pants.

At first, Harry wished he would stop, discomforted in the way he normally was when Aunt Petunia would watch over his shoulder, waiting to criticize. But it quickly became clear that Dudley had no intentions of calling out Harry’s mistakes, assuming he knew the chores well enough to identify when he was making one. And so he slowly relaxed, becoming comfortable with the odd sense that someone was staring at him. In fact, he played with it a little, bending over farther than he had to, or moving in ways that exposed more shoulder or bunched the shirt to reveal more flesh. The fandom sense of Dudley’s eyes got stronger, more heated, and Harry found he kind of liked it. It settled in his stomach, liquid and hot, like adrenaline.

By the time dinner had finished and the dishes had been cleaned, Harry had officially finished everything he’d been assigned. Scrambling up the stairs before Aunt Petunia could come up with something else for him to do, Harry started to open his door when he heard the loud, distinctive thumps of Dudley following. Pausing with his hand on the knob, he turned to watch his cousin come forward, stalling at the front of his own room. “You, um...” Dudley swallowed, looking more nervous than Harry had ever seen him, excluding the time with the dementor. “You’ll just be hiding out in there the rest of the night?”

Nodding slowly, not really sure why Dudley would be curious enough to ask, Harry shrugged. “Probably. Best place to be, right?”

“Yeah,” Dudley breathed back, sounding for all the world like there was no place he’d rather be. Harry swallowed at the tone, the liquid heat from before returning, and bringing a sort of electric tension with it. It was like the last few minutes before a Quidditch game, and Harry was just as excited to get this going.

He just didn’t know what ‘this’ was, and how exactly he made it start.

They remained there, silent and staring, with a quiet that should have been awkward but was only tense. Finally, Harry opened his mouth, motivated by a mixture of vague want and the desire to end their stand-still, one way or another. “What do you want, Dudley?”

“Whatever you want,” his cousin replied immediately, simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. The wide face stretched out into a smile that for once wasn’t ferocious.

Guided by some kind of instinct - the kind he’d always relied on to get him out of bad situations, though those were normally over the Voldemort kind - Harry opened the door and stepped in, motioning for Dudley to follow. He did, looking a little happier for the direction, and Harry closed the door behind him. “Is that so?” The other boy nodded, straw blonde hair flying from the frantic jerks. Harry had no idea how to react to that. There was no way he could think of to test that devotion, his imagination stalled by inexperience. And so he fell back on the Gryffindor way and squared his shoulders. “Prove it,” he challenged.

Harry wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been for Dudley to take a step forward and to fall to his knees, with more grace than Harry would have ever given him credit for. He was even less prepared for Dudley to grab hold of his trousers and to tug them and his pants down in one go. The last thing he’d expected was for his cousin to lean forward and swallow his half-hard cock down, making a soft noise like he’d found the thing he loved to do most.

Instinctively, his hands fell to the top of Dudley’s head, clutching too tightly at the hairs. This cousin only moaned louder and opened his mouth wider, trying to take more. Saliva dripped down the shaft to his balls, and a meaty hand wrapped around them, rolling the testicles in his palm and massaging them with his thumb. The noises - moans and slurping and obscene wet noises - were just as hot as they were loud, and Harry opened his mouth to tell Dudley to shut up before someone heard, before he remembered his room was silenced and they could be as loud as they wanted.

Wait, it was wha-

A particularly good swallow dissolved Harry’s train of thought, and he just shrugged. It was good that his room was silenced. It meant he could feel this good - and Merlin, was it good - so it was fine. It was normal. Of course his room was silenced - how else would he be able to masturbate the way he wanted, or do things like this? Silence made perfect sense.

Dudley moved back to focus on the head of Harry’s cock, digging his tongue under the head and lapping at the slit like his precome was the best thing he’d ever tasted. It still felt good, but it wasn’t what Harry wanted - being farther in had been even better - so without thinking his adjusted his grip and started to thrust his hips, fucking Dudley’s mouth. The other boy went crazy for it, moaning like a whore and giving his own bucks. A noticeable bulge had formed in his pants, a dark spot forming from where his precome was leaking through, but Harry ignored that for now. It wasn’t important. Dudley’s mouth around him and the way the tip of his cock scrapped against the back of his throat was.

If Harry had put a time on how long he realistically expected to last his first time, it had long since passed. Really, by all accounts, this amazing blow-job should have had him coming in a matter of seconds, all things considered. But of course he didn’t, because he wanted the chance to really enjoy this, right? And Dudley seemed to love it, judging by how bright his eyes were and how red his cheeks had gotten. By now he was mostly passive, mouth open and saliva running freely down his chin, scrapping Harry as he passed by otherwise happily letting himself be used. Like that’s what he wanted. Like all that mattered was Harry’s pleasure, that being part of that was the best he could be.

That thought ran through his mind, sending off sparks up and down his spine and finally pushing him over. He spilled into Dudley’s mouth, watching with something like amusement as his cousin’s eyes lit up like he’d gotten his favourite treat. He lapped at what dripped out of his mouth, and then at Harry’s softening cock, sucking at the tip to get absolutely everything. As soon as he was sure there was no more, Dudley shoved his trousers down and started to openly pump himself, still staring up at Harry with clear adoration.

Part of Harry suggested that he should help his cousin out now, in the interests of fair play. But wasn’t fair, had never been fair, and so that idea quickly died out. Instead he watched as Dudley furiously wanked, expression not changing except to moan occasionally. For all he pumped, he didn’t seem to be getting anywhere, as though his finish was blocked by some invisible wall.

He couldn’t come until Harry told him to.

The thought was strange, but it wasn’t at all, was it? Dudley wanted to please Harry, and he couldn’t do that if he came before he had permission. That’s how it worked. Maybe the knowledge should have spurred him to help Dudley, but it didn’t. Why should he? Instead he just tilted his head. “Where did you learn to give blowjobs?”

“Hired some hookers.” Dudley replied instantly and openly. Apparently Harry was above secrets. Of course he was. “Did what they did.” It was hard to make out what he was saying, voice distorted by his strong movements and frantic panting.

Nodding in understanding, Harry kneeled down next to him, fighting off a smirk when Dudley perked up at the closer proximity. “You need something?”

Eyes going wide with hope and arousal and something slightly to the left of love, Dudley nodded. “Yes. Please. I want to come. Let me come. I need-” He cut off with a moan, bucking into his hand.

“What do you need?”

Eyes snapping back to Harry, Dudley leaned forward enough to nuzzle at Harry’s thigh, like a kitten. “You,” he said plainly, voice laced with honesty and earnestness. “Anything. Anything you want.”

Narrowing his eyes in thought, Harry shoved him away, and Dudley went easily, even if his eyes darkened slightly with disappointment. “Know what I think, Dudders? I think you’re the real whore here, not those poor ladies who had to service you.” Rather than object, his cousin nodded, like what Harry said was Absolute Truth and should be committed to memory. “And I think you should embrace that. Prove it.” Petting his hand through the dirty blonde hair, he gave a slow, dark smile. “I want you to get yourself off right here on the floor, at my feet, by rutting against the carpet like a bitch in heat. And I want to hear everything.”

It was like Harry had said the magic words, because Dudley kicked off his jeans in one frantic motion and then flipped around. He spread his thick thighs as wide as they would go and braced himself on the palms of his hands, looking like some kind of deranged seal. And then he started to thrust and to moan, mouth open and cheeks flushed, looking more like he belonged in fetish porn than Harry’s bedroom.

After enjoying the show for a few minutes, lounging and enjoying Dudley’s bright eyes watching him with such animalistic heat, Harry finally showed mercy. “Alright, come. And be sure to clean up after.”

His words were the trigger, and Dudley gave one last low groan before spilling into the carpet, coating both the fibers and his stomach. For one second he just sat there, shivering and whimpering, helpless and sated and utterly wrecked. Then he scrambled back, wiping at his stomach to get off the come and shoving his fingers into his mouth, moaning and slurping them as loudly as he had with Harry’s cock. Once his belly was clear, Dudley got on all fours and lapped at the place he’d come, eyes half-lidded in obvious pleasure. Harry was tempted to make a carpet munching joke, but decided against it. After all, Dudley had been good. His pet’s reward could be seeing more kindness.

When Dudley was finished with his task - and Harry was going to have to clean that, no matter what how much his cousin did - he crawled over and nuzzled him again, this time at his feet. The little kisses felt surprisingly good, and Harry decided he’d definitely be exploring that later. “Dudley,” he said, and the blonde’s head snapped up like he’d barked the word. “You need to go back to your room.” Instantly, the happy light in his eyes dimmed, and Dudley pouted. “None of that.” The expression cleared at once. Good. Harry paused, wondering if he should prevent Dudley from masturbaiting, to make him store it up for anything Harry might want later. But he had a better idea. “Tonight, I want you to come as many times as you can, thinking about me. Quietly. Aunt Petunia cannot know.” For now, at least. “Do you understand me.”

“Yeah,” Dudley replied instantly, doing that frantic, eager-to-please nod yet again. “I can do that. Thank you.”

Nodding in acknowledgement, Harry tilted his head toward the door, and Dudley stood up, pulled up his jeans, and then left as quickly as he could.

For a long moment, Harry stared at his door, struck by the odd feel that this wasn’t right. But of course it was, so he stood up and buttoned his own trousers back up, before going ahead and writing thank you notes to his friends, making sure not to mention the odd book specifically, since he still didn’t know what it was about. Afterwards, he’d do some more reading.

***

This fic is written with the express desire to write the absolute dirtiest thing I'm capable of. In the past, I've written a gay fivesome and several dozen specific kinks. This is going to stretch that. You have been warned.

Reviews make the job go faster. Just saying.
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Being Wanted