Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Dirty Diary ❯ Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money, don't sue me.

 

Warnings: Plot? What Plot? Sex. Graphic, male/male sex. Mostly masturbation and oral. That means - if you are homophobic, don't enjoy smut (especially homo!smut), or are under age, shoo!

Also, there are dirty words in this fic. I'm not a huge fan of only using euphemisms for the penis or vagina (not that there are any vaginas in this, but still), so there will be words like “cock,” etc. in this fic. If you didn't already know that, then you haven't read the preceding chapter(s).

 

A/N: It's been forever, hasn't it? I'm a bit sad that HP is now officially over, but I still have fan fiction, right? I still love my whingy, slimy Malfoy and my overzealous and cocky Potter, so I decided to return for a bit to this PWP fun.

I've read over WotB and the first chapter of DD, and I almost want to revamp them (considering I was…quite young when I wrote them); I'm lazy, though, and I thought another new chapter would be a better idea.

As of this chapter, I'm pretending that the last book doesn't exist. I'm really not sure where in the HP universe this takes place; it's just a continuation from the last two stories.

Hope you enjoy!

 

 

January 10

Dear Diary,

Snape is a complete dickhead. Didn't even look at my potions before declaring them “an utter waste of ingredients, Mr. Potter.” The slimy git makes me so angry. Spring term has just barely started, and I already have a detention - make that two, since I have to show up again in a week to make sure it turned out properly - with Snape to completely remake a goo that no person in his right mind would drink. Who uses something called the “Common Cream for Ceasing Cercarial Dermatitis” anyway? What is Cercarial Dermatitis? I've never heard of it.

 

Note to self: must ask Hermione.

 

Oh well. Off to Quidditch practice.

Harry

 

January 11

Dear Diary,

Hermione says that Cercarial Dermatitis is just a complex way of calling “swimmer's itch,” of which I'd also never heard. Apparently, animal crap in water causes irritation. Who would have thought.

 

In any case, my first detention with Snape last night was pretty terrible, save for one thing. I showed up, frown sticking to my face, to find that Malfoy's potion had also been complete and utter slop. Makes me feel a little better to know that the prat had problems in his favorite class.

 

Not that I wanted him there, of course not. We spent most of our time sneaking glares at each other before going back to our thick, slimy concoctions.

 

I can't remember if mine smelled like moldy porridge and an old jam rag last time, but it was absolutely vile this time around. I'm not looking forward to checking up on it, and now I have to do it twice! Snape wasn't happy to let me just come back in later; I have to show up in three days to give it a good whiff and a stir. Disgusting.

 

Still, I've got to admit, I'm not surprised that Malfoy had trouble with his potion before term; I know I spent most of the remainder of my holiday with my hand down my trousers, pounding the pud till I could barely see straight. Just the memory of that hot, tight ass…

 

 

 

The sticky juice of the rowan berries sloshed around in his cauldron as Harry rummaged around the table, looking for the High John. The gnarled, grotesque-looking root had escaped him twice already, and he was beginning to wonder if it really had gotten up and walked away. It would seem appropriate, since he didn't particularly want to deal with it anyway.

 

Standing up and arching his back in a stretch, Harry scuffed the heel of his sneaker on the burgundy sofa. Where could the stupid ingredient be? He was fairly certain that he hadn't moved it anywhere, but magical anything in the castle could have moved it. His face soured at the prospect. The potion required the root to be diced into small cubes by hand, juiced, and mixed in - alternating juice and root. If he put all of the root in at once, the rowan would thicken too much; all of the juice and it wouldn't thicken enough. If he didn't juice it at all, Hermione had warned him that it would blacken and rot when he added the black hellebore. Giving a passing glance at the juice already in the pot, Harry estimated that he had about five minutes before the rowan evaporated completely.

 

Not wanting to repeat the difficult process of obtaining the rowan berries from the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest, Harry frantically began tearing apart the coffee table before him. Nothing. Behind the table and in front of the softly glowing fireplace. Nothing. Underneath the side table holding a rather hideous bronze carving of a lion. Again, nothing. He was just about to tear his hair out when he spied Hedwig in the corner of the room, resting on a wooden coat rack.

 

A relieved sigh escaped him and he stalked over to the snowy owl, pulling a small treat out of the pocket of his jeans as he did so. “Hey, Hedwig. Enjoy giving me a heart attack, do you?” She fondly nipped his finger when he pulled the gnarled root from her claws and beak but forgave him when he presented her his offering. It seemed that she enjoyed picking at it more than at his potions homework. Not that he could blame her, he thought to himself as he sat himself back down in front of his cauldron, rustling through the disorganization that called itself his notes. High John looked absolutely disgusting, and he didn't want to take even a guess at what it might taste like. He'd never seen it before, and he was seriously hoping he'd never have to again.

 

Pulling a silver knife out from under a pile of parchment, Harry sliced through the thick skin and began dicing. Oddly enough, the root gave off a somewhat pleasant odor, almost like nutmeg. He shrugged to himself, wondering how the hell he was going to get any liquid at all from the seemingly dry ingredient. He wasn't supposed to use his wand, but what could it really hurt? He knew for a fact that he would never be able to get anything worth anything out of the ugly piece of rubber that was now haphazardly chopped into almost-squares. Deciding that it didn't really matter, Harry picked up his wand from its discarded position on the table, next to any number of random schoolbooks and projects, and waved it flamboyantly in the air over his ingredient.

 

“Ah, so much easier to do things this way,” he voiced his satisfaction to nobody in particular. Now that he was done with his disgusting-looking potions homework, at least for the time being, Harry sat back on the couch with his eyes closed and feet on the short table.

 

Mind idling, he vaguely wondered if Ron and Hermione were having a good break from Hogwarts. Himself, he didn't mind staying here and getting some time alone. While it was good to have friends that demanded nearly all of his attention, Harry was glad for the peace and quiet of Gryffindor Tower. That, and he was glad that they were getting some time alone. Together.

 

Heaving a sigh, Harry shook his head. Sometimes he wondered just how ridiculous those two could be. They'd been pining after one another practically since they'd hit puberty, and it seemed as though everyone except the two of them had realized it. That was the biggest reason he'd opted out of staying with the Weasleys this Christmas. Ron and Hermione simply needed to shut up and start snogging.

 

A little grin settled onto his face as he let his mind drift again. Unfortunately, the last thought had brought his mind back to the position he'd been in less than a week prior. That smooth, milky white skin, that thick, red cock, and the tight muscles gripping him until he thought he'd scream his pleasure to the world. Peeking open his eyes, Harry glanced around the common room, making sure that he was still, in fact, alone. Only Hedwig caught his eye, sleeping on her rack-turned-perch.

 

There was no one there to catch him fantasizing about the last time he'd fucked the perfect body of someone he wasn't entirely sure was still his archrival. The firelight flickered in his green eyes as they slid down to watch him pop the button on his jeans and unzip his fly. The thin white underwear he sported didn't even try to hide his straining erection; Harry rubbed his palm over himself once before pulling his dick out of them. Feeling himself mostly by memory, he closed his eyes again and pictured slicked back blonde hair.

 

In his fantasy, Malfoy was smirking in his natural way, unbuttoning a silken dark green top with his right hand as his left worked the obvious bulge in his pants. Harry's breath puffed out as he imagined the blonde's eyes close as he rolled his hips out toward his palm, nails scratching slowly down his now-bare chest. The shirt slipped from his shoulders, catching on his elbows as he traced a circle around his naval and scraped his way up to press slightly at his Adam's apple, and finishing between his teeth.

 

Groaning softly, Harry gripped his aching cock tightly, moving from base to tip at an excruciatingly slow pace. His thumb brushed against the precum at his head and he rubbed it around the slit, brows furrowed. The Malfoy in his mind watched all of this, silver eyes darkening. A little pink tongue peeked out between his teeth to brush over his finger before he unzipped his trousers. Harry, don't you dare come until I tell you to. Watch me undress for you. Now, Harry, the drawling voice smirked as his mind's eye focused on those hands pulling at the remainder of his clothing. The shirt fell lower, following his arms as Malfoy turned to the side to slip his pants down his legs. From this vantage point, Harry saw both the proudly standing prick and the firm, rounded ass of his fantasy.

 

The hand running over him twisted as he reached with the other to fondle his balls. He rolled them between his fingers, planting his feet firmly on the ground to lift his hips and reach down to press against the soft spot behind them. Sweat beaded on his brow and he shuddered.

 

Enjoying the show, Harry? He licked his lips as Malfoy kicked off his trousers and dropped his shirt to the carpeted ground. Those hands ran back up his legs, over his thighs, and settled around the length of flesh jutting from his pelvis. If you beg me, I might just bend you over that couch and pound into you. Harry's cock twitched at the thought. Just now, he really, really wanted his imaginary Malfoy to be able to do just that. You know you want me to push myself inside you, stretch you until you can't breathe anymore. You know you want to beg me to come inside of you.

 

A feral grin framed the blonde's jaw as he slowly pumped himself, twisting his fist around the tip every other stroke so his palm dragged across the leaking slit. Being stubborn won't get you very far, Harry, the dangerous tenor purred, echoing back the teasing demand that Harry had used on the blonde during their last encounter. Beg me. The vision stepped forward, removing his hand from his cock. Beg me to fuck you. He kneeled, hands ghosting across Harry's legs, mouth inches from the tip of his erection.

 

Harry swallowed hard, licking his dry lips as he continued fisting his hand over himself. Beg me to suck you off. His chest heaved, sweat making his t-shirt stick to his chilled skin. Too much blood circulated in his pelvis, and there wasn't enough left to keep the rest of him as scorching hot as the flesh in his hand. He bit his lower lip, trying desperately not to give in to the demands of his fantasy, but those silver eyes in his head were all-knowing.

 

Without another word, Malfoy's head dipped down to lap at the precum glistening on Harry's tip as the brunette brushed his thumb over his head. He pictured Malfoy's hands moving from his thighs to grip his dick, pouting lips blowing hot air over the reddened skin.

 

He gripped himself tighter, pulling a little faster now. The image of Malfoy suddenly plunging those lips onto him demanded an increase in tempo.

 

Oh god, just the image of those lips pulling at his cock almost made him come all over his potions notes. Not that he would have minded. He could almost feel Malfoy's slippery tongue pressing against the vein on the underside, dipping into the slit on his head. Silvery eyes gleamed with something akin to malicious pleasure as Harry imagined him simultaneously scrape his teeth over his tip and palm his balls. Harry's skin tingled, making him shiver as he pumped himself faster and faster, rubbing his palm over the tip of his dick with every stroke.

 

Malfoy rubbed the flat of his tongue against Harry, roughly swiping across his head and dipping the very tip of his tongue into the slit. He pulled back, running his hands over the rest of Harry's cock and balls and leaving only the tip in his mouth. Sucking almost violently, the blonde pulled his lips tight and swirled his tongue around the throbbing skin in his mouth.

 

He dragged his right hand up to his mouth, grasping Harry as he did so. When he reached his lips, he sucked three fingers in with the head of Harry's cock, scratching them lightly and rubbing them forcefully against the sensitive flesh. Seemingly satisfied, Harry watched him remove them to move lower, sneak back to press against his ass. The muscles spasmed when he dipped the pad of one finger into the ring and pushed the digit in.

 

Harry squirmed on the couch, feeling the ghostly finger crook inside of him. The image sent thrills straight to his groin. He almost felt another finger inside him, almost felt them flick against that spot inside of him that was so good it was nearly agony.

 

The voice in his mind somehow managed to tell him to let go and come without ever moving from its position. A thick heat spread from his neck down to his stomach, burning through him as he felt his cock throb and his balls tighten. A breathy and choked sound escaped him, his fantasy swallowing around his pulsing flesh.

 

Malfoy removed his lips from Harry with a `pop,' before leaning back on his heels and standing up. Sometime, Harry, you will beg me. And maybe I'll even give you what you want. The last image he noted before his fantasy vanished was the still-thick, red cock in front of him.

 

Shaking himself to clear his head, Harry reached forward to the table and grabbed his wand with an unsteady hand, waving it over himself to clean up. That done, he tucked himself into his pants and leaned forward. Despite the previous evidence that he'd enjoyed himself, he felt wholly unsatisfied and seriously debated making his way to the Slytherin Dungeons in the hopes that a certain deviant would be there.

 

Harry snorted. That was the dumbest idea he'd had lately. Dumber, even, than fucking the prat in the first place. It wasn't even as though Malfoy would know he was waiting and just show up in the hallway. If he did, did Harry really think that Malfoy would jump at the chance for another shag? With him? Not bloody likely.

 

Frowning, Harry tried to bring his mind to a less distressing subject. Failing completely, he knocked his forehead on the hard wood of the table in front of him, barely avoiding breaking his glasses. With a heaving sigh, he somehow managed to bring himself away from his thoughts about the blonde and force himself back to start a 13 inch essay for charms.

 

Needless to say, the essay was a miserable waste of parchment.

 

 

God, just thinking about that fantasy gets me hard. Definitely one of the better ones. Though I'm not so sure I should be putting this on paper.

 

Note to self: visit the library and find some serious lock charms.

Harry

 

 

 

A/N: I know this was short, but I've already got another chapter in the making. I'm seriously considering taking this and turning it into a PWP…with a little plot. (Yes, I know that completely defeats the purpose of making it a PWP. x3)

I'm [again/still/yet] not beta-d, but I don't write fanfiction consistently enough to really look for a beta; no one would have me, I'm sure. If you note any problems here, please let me know!