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[personal profile] all_not_well
Title: I Think I Saw A Porno Like This Once
Pairing: Harry/Scorpius
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: object insertion, rimming, cross-gen, almost-chan (Scorpius is seventeen, if only barely)
Summary: It has to be a hallucination, because otherwise Harry is going straight to hell.
Notes: Written for [ profile] hpfangirl71's prompt in the [ profile] hpsmfest. Beta'd by the ever-lovely [ profile] paean_sf. *blows kisses* The title comes from a PoA-movie parody I read a long while back.


He has to be hallucinating. Has to be.

Because there is a boy - a stunningly beautiful boy - sprawled naked on Harry's bathroom floor, just dropped in like a gift from the gods. He was most definitely not there a moment ago. But he's there now, face pressed against the tiles, a tangle of blond hair obscuring his features.

This cannot possibly be real.

Harry shakes his head to clear it, though the gesture doesn't help in the least - the boy is still there. He removes his glasses and gives them a thorough cleaning on the hem of his t-shirt, but that doesn't help either - the boy is still there, narrow chest heaving as he pants for breath, now and then letting out a soft little whimper that goes straight to Harry's cock.

Not that Harry's cock needs much encouragement right now; it's been standing at attention since the boy first appeared.

The long lean line of him, the coltish limbs, Quidditch-toned thighs and a pert round arse - sweet Circe, that biteable, lickable, eminently fuckable arse - the boy's a fantasy come to life. Harry's darkest, sweetest, most impossible fantasy, the one he's been keeping safely locked away in his spank bank ever since he watched a fifteen-year-old Scorpius Malfoy exit the train at King's Cross just two years before, blond hair gleaming around him like a halo, full lips quirked in a devilish grin.

The boy groans and stirs, pushing himself up onto hands and knees, that gorgeous arse presented so prettily to Harry - and fucking hell, but he's plugged, this boy. The strangest plug Harry's ever seen outside a pornographic film, to be sure, but it's unmistakably there, protruding from between those pale, silky-smooth arse cheeks.

Harry can't help but reach down to shift his cock in his trousers, to give it a good hard pull through the fabric. He's harder than he's ever been, a wet patch rapidly spreading across the inside of his y-fronts, and barely a minute has passed since he walked through the door intent on a hot bath and found himself instead in the middle of what has to be the best hallucination of his life.

He'll have to thank George for this, later. There's no doubt in Harry's mind that a Wheeze is to blame, given the clarity and quality of the image. George must have spiked Harry's drink at some point during dinner at the Burrow, and right under Molly's nose too. For once, though, Harry won't complain about playing the guinea pig, not even a tiny bit. He'll have to ask what George used, and get his hands on more of the stuff if he can manage it. Because holy fucking hell, this is pure magic.

The boy pushes himself up onto his knees with a soft groan, shuffling 'round until he's practically face-to-groin with Harry. He pushes his hair back with an unsteady hand - and then goes utterly still, fingers still caught in the fine golden strands, his bleary eyes fixed on the prominent bulge in Harry's trousers.

"Whoopsies," the boy murmurs, with just the faintest hint of a slur in his voice. "Wrong destination. Huh."

He tilts his head back, then, so that his face finally comes into the light. And oh, fuck, Harry's legs nearly buckle beneath him, because it's not just some generic blond boy at his feet. It's the perfect likeness of Scorpius fucking Malfoy himself, right down to the tiny mole by his mouth and the hint of a dimple in his right cheek.

This hallucination just keeps getting better and better.

Scorpius frowns up at Harry, wobbling a bit and blinking repeatedly as he tries to sharpen his gaze.

"Oh," he says, and his whole face lights up in recognition. His teeth flash in a blinding grin. "Hi, Mr. Potter!"

He gives Harry a cheerful wave and immediately begins to list sideways, unbalanced by the gesture.

Harry sees the trajectory the boy's head is taking and forgets, for a heart-stopping moment, that this is all pure fantasy, the combination of some experimental hallucinogenic Wheeze and his own dark and seedy imagination. Instinctively he reaches for the boy with both hands, managing to grab him just in time to keep him from braining himself on the edge of the bathtub.

And then very nearly drops him again, startled by the true flesh-and-blood solidity that really ought to be lacking in a proper hallucination.

Oh. Oh. So it's a dream, then. An extremely lucid, extraordinarily vivid, possibly-Wheeze-induced dream. Because Merlin knows this can't be real.

Harry grips under Scorpius's armpits and lifts him up so that the boy is half-standing, half-leaning against Harry, pointed nose smushed against Harry's chest. Scorpius giggles - a high, childish sound - and Harry has to bite his lip to stifle a moan.

"Sorry, sir." Scorpius's words are muffled into Harry's breastbone, his hot breath dampening the thin, soft fabric of Harry's t-shirt. He twists his fingers into Harry's shirt collar and pulls himself up further, until he can look Harry in the eye. He gives a long, slow blink, and wets his lips with the tip of his pink tongue.

"Hi, Mr. Potter," he says again, this time with perfect solemnity.

"Hi," Harry murmurs dazedly. "Scorpius."

The boy's skin is so smooth and supple in his hands, so soft and young and sweet, so pale and unblemished. Harry wants to mark it with his teeth, his lips, his tongue, to stake his claim in a blue-black bloom of bruises.

"Have you seen my lolly?" Scorpius asks him, lower lip suddenly trembling. "Only I lost it when I app'rated. It was in my mouth," he says, and lets go of Harry's shirt with one hand to point in the general direction of the orifice in question.

Scorpius's lips quirk into a perfect little 'o' as he mimes sucking on the thing, and thank Merlin this is just a dream, is all Harry can think. Because otherwise he'd have to sober the boy up and send him home right about now. And that would be a fucking shame.

Instead he can freely say things like, "Could you describe the lolly in question?" in his best Auror voice, calm and concerned and professional. As if he's not already noticed the lolly stuck up the boy's arse. So perversely innocent. So sweetly debauched.

His subconscious is clearly fucking brilliant.

"Hmmm." Scorpius smiles trustingly up at Harry. "Unicornish. Stripey. Tasty. Biggish - 'bout the size of my cock."

Harry reaches between them to wrap his fingers around the cock in question, which is hard and dripping against the boy's stomach.

"I see," Harry says, as he slowly slides his fist up the length.

Scorpius moans when Harry dips his thumb into the slit, and then again when Harry brings his thumb to his mouth, licking the droplets of pre-come from his skin. "Yes, very tasty," he murmurs.

"C-can you help me?" Scorpius asks in a very small voice. His blue eyes are wide, wet pools, and Harry's drowning in them, utterly lost. "I really need you, Mr. Potter."

"Anything you need," Harry murmurs. "I'll do anything."

"Knew you would." Scorpius lets his head fall against Harry's shoulder, his breathing ragged as he presses himself closer to Harry. Their cocks line up perfectly, rubbing together in a slow, sweet slide through the barrier of Harry's clothing.

"I'll need to - ah - search for - for evidence," Harry manages to gasp out, despite the desire coiling low in his belly, urging him to follow their rhythm through to completion. He will want a happy ending to this dream…but not just yet. It's too soon.

With this in mind he forces himself to step back, ignoring Scorpius's disappointed pout, and puts a little distance between them so that he can catch his breath.

"Hands on the wall, please," Harry says, and puts his own hands on Scorpius's shoulders to turn the boy around. Scorpius complies easily, bracing his hands against the wall and spreading his legs. Harry lets his palms slide down Scorpius's back, savoring the play of taut muscles under warm velvety skin.

Scorpius gives him an arch look over one shoulder. "Am I under arrest, then?"

"Not yet," Harry replies, grinning. "But I certainly haven't ruled you out as a suspect. And I intend to run a very thorough investigation." He rests one hand in the small of Scorpius's back and lets the other drop down, fingertips skimming over the curve of Scorpius's arse. He bypasses the lolly completely in order to cup Scorpius's balls in his hand, rolling them lightly in his fingers. "No stone left unturned, and all that," he adds, pressing a kiss between Scorpius's shoulderblades.

Scorpius's whimper is a lovely, helpless sound. Harry wants to rub against him some more, to let the material of his clothing chafe that tender skin, but there's the lolly in his way. It needs to be dealt with before he can fuck this beautiful boy, drive himself deep inside that tight hole and let himself fall to pieces there.

He licks and nibbles his way down the boy's knobby spine, instead, dropping to his knees so that he's on eye-level with the rainbow-colored candy that has all but disappeared between Scorpius's buttocks.

"Well, well," he drawls, and bites down on one plump arse cheek, drawing a startled cry from Scorpius's throat. "What's all this, then."

He grips the lolly's stick in his fingers and gives it a twist.

Scorpius shrieks. And not in a good way.

"Ow," Scorpius cries out, arching his spine, pushing his hips forward and away. He yelps as the movement pulls on the lolly once more, since Harry's still holding onto it. "Don't," Scorpius says on something very like a sob. "Stop, stop, stop!"

The words pierce through the lust-induced fog in Harry's mind and send a tiny shock of alarm tripping down his spine. He lets go immediately and sits back on his heels, staring in shock at the spiral coil of candy, at the pale smooth skin flushing pink under his gaze.

Because Scorpius's drunken slur is no longer in evidence…and this doesn't really feel like a dream, not anymore. The sheen of perfection has lifted, and he's suddenly very conscious of the ache in his knees and the pinch in his back, of the beads of sweat sliding ticklish through his hair, of the tremble in Scorpius's thighs and the hunch of his narrow shoulders.

"It's stuck," Scorpius moans, and while the breathy quality of his voice makes Harry's cock twitch, his brain processes that it's not lust he's hearing now, but fear. "Get it out! Please, Mr. Potter."


"Scorpius," Harry whispers, too stupid with shock to fully process the shift from dreamlike-fantasy to stark reality. "Why are you - how did you get here?"

"Apparated," Scorpius says. There's a tremor in his voice, and his sultry bravado has completely evaporated. "Was supposed to end up in your bedroom, but I'd never seen it, and I - I missed."

He reaches behind himself to tug sharply at the lolly, whimpering when it won't budge.

"Please get it out!" His voice is thick with panic.

Harry climbs creakily to his feet and wraps his arms around Scorpius's waist. "Shhh," he murmurs. He rests his chin on the boy's shoulder. "Don't fret, it'll be all right. I'll just get you a robe and we'll go to St. Mungo's. I'll bet they see this sort of thing all the time."

"Are you kidding?" Scorpius's voice rises half an octave, more boyish than ever as he pulls free of Harry's hold. He turns to face Harry, his back pressed against the wall, hands splayed protectively over his arse.

"James is on shift tonight - he will laugh at me, he'll laugh his arse off over this. And then he'll fucking kill me."

It's on the tip of Harry's tongue to chasten Scorpius for his language before he realizes that, in a parental sense, he really doesn't have a leg to stand on.

Instead he says, "Why would James want to--"

"Warned me off you, didn't he?" Scorpius says sharply, ducking his head so that his face is half-hidden behind his fringe. "Told me to keep away if I knew what was good for me. But I couldn’t," he says, the picture of abject misery.

The boy's so fucking young, yet. Fantasies are one thing, but this is all so wrong, and Harry's fairly certain he'll be going to hell for this if nothing else.

"It's all right," he says gently, and summons a bathrobe from the hook on the door. Scorpius tenses and casts the robe a baleful look, but Harry's quick to reassure him.

"I promise, I won't take you to Mungo's. We'll just have to get it unstuck ourselves. I know a few spells that might help." He pauses to swallow hard, hating himself for his next words: "And then I'll take you home."

Something breaks in the boy's expression but Harry steels himself against it. He's been a fool, but it's not too late to fix things.

He's very careful not to touch the boy any more than he can help, looking anywhere but at the flushed damp skin disappearing under the terrycloth, trying not to notice the stiff peaks of the boy's nipples or the rosy cock still half-hard despite the boy's panic. Scorpius clutches at Harry's arm, unwilling to let go, and Harry can't find it in himself to pull away just yet. Even if he desperately needs a stiff drink and a moment alone to take care of his aching erection.

"You promised," the boy whispers, eyes downcast as Harry leads him into the bedroom. The broken-glass sound of his voice claws at Harry's resolve. "You said - anything I need."

Harry closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

He is so fucking fucked.

"I really shouldn't have--"

"I need you, H-Harry." Scorpius lifts his head, lower lip trembling as he stares pleadingly up at Harry. "Please. Just - just for tonight."

Harry clears his throat and looks away. "Face down on the bed."

He lifts the hem of the bathrobe and there's no help for it, he's going to have to touch, to part those cheeks with his thumbs so he can peer into the cleft between. Scorpius muffles a moan into Harry's pillow and Harry tries to ignore it but he can't, it's what they both want and it's right there in front of him, this trembling little boy on the cusp of adulthood, and there's so much Harry could teach him. So much.

"I'm going to cast a spell to relax your muscles," Harry says, taking care to speak clearly though his tongue feels thick in his mouth. He casts non-verbally and the boy gasps, his back arching, spreading his legs as the spell works on him, loosening that tight clench around the candy.

Harry grasps the stick and pulls, but the candy is still stuck to the boy's skin - it'll have to get wet if he's going to loosen it without hurting Scorpius.

"How did you get it--" Harry starts to ask, but it's too much like temptation. He swallows the words. Somehow Scorpius hears them anyway.

"I used a plug," Scorpius whispers, "and then I did a switching spell. I thought the candy would be too sticky to work with unless there was some way to keep it wet while I--"

Harry presses the heel of his hand against his erection, willing it to die down, but he knows full well he's asking for the impossible. He can see it all too clearly in his mind - Scorpius fucking himself with his fingers to get loose, and then sliding the plug home.

He ought to get some lube to wet the candy so he can pull it free. But there's so much saliva pooling on his tongue, and a traitorous little thought in his brain is insisting that it can't hurt just this once

So before he can stop himself, he's leaning down to swipe his tongue along the rim of the boy's hole where it's stretched around the ridged spiral of the lolly.

Scorpius cries out in surprise, his legs spreading wider to give Harry better access.

Harry can taste the tart sweetness of the lolly, of course, but beneath that, there's the dark sweaty musk of the boy's own flesh, and it's sweeter than any candy on his tongue. He smacks his lips and dives in again, slurping around the lolly, probing with his tongue to unstick it from the boy's skin. Scorpius arches his back, pushing his arse up into Harry's face, his whole body shaking with dry sobs as he slides a hand inside the robe to pull on his cock.

It takes a few more tries before the candy finally comes unstuck and slips free of Scorpius's hole in one long, slow, bumpy glide. Harry tosses it aside and immediately replaces it with his tongue, sliding it in as far as it will go, his nose buried in the crack of the boy's arse. He can hardly breathe and his face is so wet, but it's worth it when the boy cries out, clenches around Harry's tongue, and comes messily all over the inside of Harry's favorite bathrobe.

God, his scent will be all over it, Harry's never washing that robe again.

He gives the boy's spasming hole one more lick, drawing a last quiver from the pliant boy beneath him, before pulling away to fumble with the placket of his trousers. It's a painful few seconds before he can shove his trousers and pants down in one go and get his aching cock in hand.

It only takes three hard, fast pulls before he's painting Scorpius's arse with his come. The boy gives a sharp, startled cry and follows that up with a delicious moan. Harry's cock valiantly gives one last twitch in response.

He'll be wanking to this night for months.

"I should--"

"Don't," Scorpius says, shaking off some of the post-orgasmic languor that's taken over his limbs. "Just - give me a minute." The words are muffled into Harry's pillow, as though he can't bear to face reality just yet.

Harry steps back, cleaning himself up with a spell and tucking himself back into his trousers.

When he looks up, the boy's breathing has slowed and deepened and his eyes are closed. He's smiling blissfully into Harry's pillow, and Harry doesn't have the heart to make him leave.

He crawls, fully-clothed, into the bed. Scorpius immediately moves closer, burrowing into Harry's embrace. Harry slides his fingers through his come on the boy's arse, rubbing it into Scorpius's skin.

"This isn't over, Mr. Potter," the boy murmurs sleepily against Harry's neck.

And Harry knows, with absolute certainty, that Scorpius is right. Because he'll never be able to say no.
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