all_not_well: (hiding)
[personal profile] all_not_well
Title: The Perfect Wife (part 12 of 12, COMPLETE, ~8000 words)
Pairing: H/D
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bottom!Draco. Slash. Pseudo-heterosexuality. Mindfuck. Consent of the most dubious sort, edging into non-con, or possibly doing a cannonball straight into the middle of that particular dark pool. Identity confusion of all sorts. Boys with breasts (1); boys who like boys with breasts (1). Did I mention breasts? Don't let them scare you. Daddy kink. OOC-ness and deliberately fluffy cutesy feminine name changes. Some sadistic tendencies. Object insertion - cos I like plugs, seemingly. Comeplay, I think, or something very like it. Anorexia and forced feeding, or close enough as makes no nevermind. Forced feminization, for sure. Intimations of mpreg and forced breeding. Excessive use of endearments. Wait, where are you going...?

Summary: He can't remember what he was like before he lost his memory, but the person in the mirror doesn't really feel like him.

Author's Note: I've wised up, a little: I finally learned to complete a thing before I post it. Many, many thanks to [ profile] paean_sf for beta-reading, ego-stroking, holding my hand, and suffering through about a zillion mood swings draft changes over the course of four days. (And then some!)

I added a lil moar sexytiems. And now we're done. :)


The irritating voice has finally taken itself off. Draco is left to drift in his pleasant haze, the dream already slipping from his mind. There are no pointed sticks. No confusing conversations. Just Harry's hands, plucking and kneading and stroking, and the high, breathy sounds that Draco's making in response.

"Such a sweet babygirl," Harry sighs. He shifts under Draco, his hard, denim-trapped cock rubbing against Draco's plugged arse.

"Are you awake, love?"

Draco tries to nod. His head lolls against Harry's chest, heavy and useless; his thoughts are treacle-thick. When he tries to open his eyes, his eyelids are heavy as lead, and it's more than he can manage to lift them.

"Daddy wants to fuck you just like this, babygirl. All soft and relaxed and helpless."

"Nngh," Draco says in agreement.

Harry slips his right hand beneath the damp and scratchy lace of Draco's knickers, stretching them until the lace gives way with a soft rip. His fingers curl loosely around the shaft of Draco's cock, while his thumb presses into the slit; he spreads Draco's pre-come all around the head with the pad of his thumb.

Draco rocks his hips, squirming in Harry's lap, trying to coordinate his limbs well enough to push up into Harry's hand.

"Your knickers are so wet for me already," Harry says with a chuckle. "Just from playing with your tits. I bet I could get you to come just from that if I wanted to. Couldn't I, pretty."

Draco can only moan in reply. His toes curl inside his too-tight shoes; the sharp, spiky heels gouge into the sides of the armchair.

"And you didn't even want them," Harry murmurs. "But it's like I always tell you, sweetheart: Daddy really does know best." He laughs softly. "Maybe this time you'll remember that, yeah?"

He gives Draco's cock one slow, languid pull, chuckling as Draco whines and pants and tries to follow Harry's hand with his hips.

"Shh, baby," Harry whispers, withdrawing his hand from Draco's knickers. "It's Daddy's turn now."

Draco's world abruptly tilts on his axis. He's lifted up, his head flopping back over the flexing muscles in Harry's arm; then he's flying, falling, coming to rest in Harry's chair, curling into the warmth that still lingers in the fabric.

His knickers are yanked abruptly downwards, and he cries out as the rough lace catches on his cock. The knickers are shoved down past his knees, tangling around his ankles - and then they're gone, much to his relief. Harry drags Draco's arse to the edge of the chair, and his shoulders force Draco's knees to spread wide. Draco gasps as Harry's fingers delve into the cleft of his arse, grasping the base of the plug and slowly, oh so slowly dragging the hard length free.

The plug drops to the carpet with a thud, and Harry stills.

Draco keens at the hollow, aching emptiness between his legs. He can feel his hole gaping wide. Warm, wet liquid trickles into his crack - Harry's come, seeping slickly out of him.

"D-daddy," he says thickly, forcing his wayward tongue to bend around the syllables. "Daddy. P-please."

He needs, sweet Circe, he needs Harry's cock so much he can't bear it, and he can't make his mouth fit around the words to beg for what he needs.

"Daddy," he moans. He opens his eyes, tries to lift his head to look down, but all he can see is a dazzle of light and color. Harry's little more than a dark, dark shadow between his legs.

"Such a pretty pink cunt," Harry whispers. He slides a fingertip around the swollen, sensitive rim of Draco's hole, drawing a hoarse cry from Draco's throat. "Just look at you, baby." Harry traces his fingertip through the thick dribble of his come dripping out of Draco's arse. "Look how wet your pussy is for me."

"Daddy, please," Draco whispers.

"My little slut," Harry says fondly as he shoves three fingers into Draco's hole. "You're already so hot and loose, ready for Daddy's cock to fill you up."

"Pleaseā€¦" Draco tries to push back against the fingers fucking his arse. They're making such filthy wet sounds, and Draco can feel his skin turning red with his humiliation, but the need overwhelms all else. He'll go mad if he doesn't have Harry's cock soon. He needs it. Needs Harry's cock, needs Harry's come to fill him up.

Harry scoots Draco back, spreading his legs wide to hook them over the arms of the chair.

"You told me once," Harry says breathlessly as he lifts Draco up, "that I couldn't have everything I wanted. That I couldn't have you."

Draco's back is braced against the chair, his head hanging back over the edge. The chair teeters, wobbling backwards, until Harry kneels on the edge of the seat. He positions his cock, lets Draco slide down, Harry's cock slipping slick and easy into Draco's well-stretched hole. Harry grunts and holds him still for a moment, nuzzling at his hair.

Draco sags in Harry's hold, limp as a ragdoll.

"Well, I've got you," Harry whispers. "And I've got it all. Almost everything I ever wanted, baby."

"Please," Draco whispers. He wriggles feebly, but he's pinned in place, by Harry's hands and his own heavy limbs. "Please," he says with a whimper.

"The perfect slut," Harry murmurs, as he begins to move. "The perfect wife," he gasps. "And soon we'll be a perfect family."

Draco wails as Harry's cock drags repeatedly over his prostate, hitting the little bundle of nerves with every other thrust. His back is rubbing raw against the chair but he can barely feel it, focused as he is on the pleasure, on the feel of Harry's cock driving into him. His own cock leaks untouched against his belly, his balls drawn up high and tight. He doesn't need any more than this. He could come like this. If only Harry would say the words.

"I can't believe how responsive you've been," Harry says. "How easy. I never knew that you could be so--"

He breaks off, leaning back to slide a hand between their bellies. His fingers close around Draco's cock, squeezing tight.

"Come for me, baby," Harry whispers.

"Daddy!" Draco screams, his back arching, his heels kicking as his cock spurts, his hot come spilling over Harry's clenched fist.

"Perfect," Harry whispers.
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