|Erin Ptah (ptahrrific) wrote,|
@ 2012-04-07 09:41 pm UTC
|Entry tags:||genre: hurt/comfort, pairing: jon/"stephen", series: fake news, series: harry potter|
Fandoms: Fake News/Harry Potter
Cast: Jon/"Stephen" (with a dash of Olivia)
Warnings: Non-con by magic, (skip) or so it seems
Stephen Colbert, Gryffindor fifth-year, sneaks a totally guaranteed black-market love potion into Jon's lunch. Part of its guarantee is that if it's not countered by the antidote potion within under an hour, the effects will be permanent. Oh, and, turns out it's really more of a lust potion. Possibly Stephen should have thought this one through a little more.
For my April mini-challenge card in hc_bingo, prompt "accidental mating for life." Characters' houses and wands are those described in Fake News Quidditch Rumble.
"I don't know what it is," panted Jon, hustling Stephen into an empty classroom so roughly that his bag kept barking his shins. "You look so...so...."
"Handsome?" suggested Stephen hopefully. "Charming? Exactly like the kind of guy you'd want to have a butterbeer with?"
"Edible," said Jon, and crushed his mouth against Stephen's.
Stephen smirked, at least as much as one could when one's tongue was busy dueling with that of the world's most infuriating Ravenclaw. The potion had worked! He couldn't wait to lord it over Olivia, the know-it-all little third-year who had caught him mixing the final step and informed him that love potions never worked, and were all Gryffindors this gullible? And then she suggested that the shop where he bought the ingredients was probably Dark. Shows what she knew. He'd even asked, and the vendor had promised him that the skulls were only there for decoration.
As Jon moved on to make an in-depth study of the properties of Stephen's neck using only his tongue, Stephen recovered himself enough to gasp, "The door. Did you get...?"
"Colloportus," said Jon without looking, flicking his wand at the entrance. His hand was back to eagerly feeling up Stephen's hips before the door even clicked shut. "Mmm. Please say I can get these robes off you."
His robes were starting to feel awfully confining. "Go ahead. Just don't—"
A slash of Jon's wand, and all the fastenings snapped, popped, tore, and generally went flying around the room.
"—rip them," finished Stephen. Oh well.
He wasn't wearing much underneath: a snug laced-up tunic for extra warmth, and a separate piece of muggle-style underwear for keeping one's junk in place, the only muggle fashion he'd ever worn. He didn't see blood purity, of course, but people told him he was from an old and respected wizarding family, and he believed it because he didn't understand the point of trousers.
Jon dragged their hips together, grinding one thigh between Stephen's legs with a sharpness that took his breath away. "Merlin, Stephen...can I blow you? Please? If you say no...I don't know what I'll—"
"Yes!" squeaked Stephen. Jon dropped to his knees right there; Stephen windmilled his arms trying not to crash into the nearest desk. "Wait! Hold on, give me a minute, let me sit down!"
Despairing blue-grey eyes pleaded up at him. Stephen felt like he'd kicked a kitten.
"I'll be quick, okay?" he said, ruffling Jon's hair while pushing him gently back. Had to set his bag down with care: he couldn't risk breaking the bottle with the antidote, which had to be administered within thirty-seven minutes to keep the effects from becoming permanent. Stephen didn't want a devoted love-slave for life, after all. He just wanted Jon to quit being such an elitist and pay attention to him for a while.
The tower room had the usual assortment of student desks, a handful of uncomfortable-looking couches pushed up against the walls under the narrow windows, and a big oak desk up front by the blackboards. After a dubious glance at the stiff cushions, Stephen led Jon to the teacher's desk (and was sort of relieved when Jon got up to follow, instead of crawling after him). This way, if someone did manage to break in, they'd have plausible deniability.
"Okay," he said, settling into the ornately carved chair and throwing back his robes like a museum curator unveiling a priceless sculpture. The gesture was cut somewhat short by the fact that Jon was clinging to one side of them, but he got the picture. "All yours."
Jon was back on his knees and tugging down Stephen's undershorts with almost supernatural speed. "You beautiful thing," he breathed, and ran his tongue wetly up Stephen's—
Sweet and sour Merlin, was that allowed to feel this good?
Not that he was inexperienced, or anything! He'd had girlfriends! Well, girlfriend. And that had ended in tears when she dumped apple juice on him during snack time. But he'd definitely spent a significant amount of time planning to be very experienced at getting blowjobs, and preparation was nine-tenths of something-or-ohhhh—
Jon swallowed him down like he was Honeydukes' most delicious lollipop, and Stephen kept an iron grip on the arms of the chair and made incoherent noises every time Jon's hooded eyes met his in a desperate attempt to telegraph yes, good, more.
He didn't have the spare brain cells to track the movements of Jon's fingers. They seemed to be everywhere: caressing his thighs, coaxing his knees farther apart, stroking and squeezing and tugging on his, well, Bludgers (those balls were dangerous). His skin flushed with the afterimages when Jon's hands were long gone. There might have been three of them at once, or five, or...
...or one, lifting him out of the way while something narrow and stiff probed between his cheeks...
...Jon's wand-tip poked inside him, not painful but weird, and what if he had gotten something wrong? What if the potion hadn't worked at all and this was some kind of devious plot to blow him up from the inside? For a moment his arousal was spiked with blinding terror as Jon's lips moved in a spell while still around him—
—and then he came so hard he nearly cracked the back of his skull on the chair, ear ringing, this utterly welcome explosion sending its shocks all the way down to his fingertips.
Over the bellows of his taxed lungs he heard Jon spit. The wand slipped out of him, and at a murmured Scourgify he felt the worst of the sweat and stickiness wiped from his flesh.
"Jonnnn," moaned Stephen, as much to test that he could still form words as anything.
Jon rose up higher on his knees and nudged Stephen's legs closer together, the better to scoot up outside them and cuddle. His head rested comfortably against Stephen's stomach; his wand-hand slid up between the knit of Stephen's tunic and the warm skin beneath. "Did you like that?"
"Nghyes," grunted Stephen. "Jon. I...good."
"Mmm." Jon's other hand squeezed Stephen's nearer thigh. "I loved it. I loved it. I never even thought of this before, and now I don't know how I did without it."
"Never?" echoed Stephen, stung.
"Does it matter?" shrugged Jon, fingers walking up his leg. "Mmm, Stephen. I'm not gonna be able to get enough of you."
Now that was more like it. "Understandable. And who am I to deny...s-stop that!"
"Hm?" said Jon, as if he hadn't noticed what he was doing.
The fondling was as gentle as Stephen could imagine, but even the most feather-light touch was too much for his sensitive flesh right now. He writhed in his seat, overstimulated and overwhelmed, until he managed to get a flailing grip on Jon's wrist and drag it away from his bits. "Jon, please. I can't. Not yet!"
"Then when?" begged Jon. With a great effort Stephen focused on his face...oh, Merlin, was he about to cry? "How long do I have to wait before you fuck me?"
"I, uh, I," said Stephen eloquently. He had not thought that far ahead. "Have you, um, have you done that a lot?"
"We'll figure it out!" Jon nuzzled his torso. "If it's with you, it'll be fine. I know it will. There's only one charm we need, and I could do that one in my sleep, Lubricem Eruc—"
"Watch it!" cried Stephen, before Jon finish conjuring the jet of whatever-it-was all down the back of his robes. "Look, some other time, okay? How about if we make out some more? You liked that, right?"
A dreamy smile crossed Jon's face. "It was amazing. Come down here?"
Stephen tucked his robes protectively around himself, and let Jon, who was practically holding him already, all but lift him to the floor in the shadow of the desk. After some fumbling of limbs he ended up with one arm around his waist and the other cupping the back of his neck; he looped his own arms around Jon's shoulders and settled in for a good relaxing snog. Well, relaxing for Stephen. He could feel the evidence of Jon's growing excitement stiff against his leg, and was even starting to look forward to dealing with it.
At least, until Jon licked his ear and said brightly, "I've got it! I can fuck you!"
"W-what?" squeaked Stephen. "I mean, um. I'm tired! I have a headache! Can't I just blow you?"
"No, no, this is perfect!" said Jon, beaming, oblivious to the way Stephen's heart had started missing important beats. "You won't have to strain yourself. Just lie down and I'll do all the work while we wait for you to get it up again."
"I'm saving myself for marriage!" wailed Stephen in desperation.
"Aw, babe," crooned Jon, pushing him to the floor, "I thought you'd never ask."
Stephen was struggling in earnest again, for all the good it did him. He had a Beater's strong arms but no leverage to use them, and the rest of him was gangly and uncoordinated and all too aware of the way Jon's sturdy oak wand kept touching bits of his skin. He clawed uselessly at Jon's robes; Jon let up just long enough to shuck them off, throwing them over his head to land in a blue-trimmed black pile on top of Stephen's. By the time Stephen managed to fling them aside, Jon's muggle-style trousers had been undone and were sliding down his narrow hips.
Maybe he should just let Jon go through with it. The idea freaked him out, sure, but it couldn't feel too bad — the potion had made Jon hot for him, not sadistic. And coming should take the edge off Jon's singleminded focus, giving Stephen a better chance of distracting him enough to make a dash for the antidote.
Assuming there was a lull. Assuming the original potion didn't give him the stamina to keep right on going. How long had they been at it so far, anyway?
"Levicorpus Partialis," murmured Jon, and Stephen's whole lower body began to rise gently away from his robes. "Here you go, sweetheart. Bend at the waist. It'll be easier."
"Wait!" Stephen pulled his legs together as best he could, trying to shield his more tender parts without making Jon feel threatened enough to fire off some less pleasant spell. "Jon, it's okay — you can do it, you can do whatever you want — but not yet, okay? A minute. Just give me a minute."
"I dunno." Jon leaned on Stephen's floating knees, one hand twirling his wand, chewing his lower lip in wide-eyed distress. "You look so good. You feel so good. You taste...." He shivered. "I can't even describe...Don't make me stop. Merlin, Stephen, don't...."
"I won't!" said Stephen, half convinced that he meant it. He couldn't have resisted those sad-kneazle eyes otherwise. "I need to get something, that's all. From my bag. It'll keep me from getting hurt. You don't want to hurt me, do you?"
"No," moaned Jon. "No, Stephen, you're so pretty, it should be a crime to hurt you."
"I accept your apology! Now let me down and count slowly to a hundred, and we'll be cool, okay?"
Jon's wand traced loving and ticklish spirals around Stephen's ankle. "Finite," he said at last, letting Stephen's legs tumble gracelessly to the floor. "Stephen, hurry."
He didn't have to say it twice. Stephen grabbed his loose robes and leaped to his feet, knocking over two chairs and someone's abandoned inkwell in his sprint across the classroom. The discarded schoolbag lay near the door where he had left it, waiting for him to drop into a crouch by its side. It was a matter of seconds to dig out his wand, clutching the familiar holly base like a security blanket while he tore open the compartment reinforced with a Cushioning Charm.
It was empty.
Shake it off, Col-bert! Stephen ordered himself, as the bottom dropped out of his stomach. So it got shaken out. Or you stuck it in the wrong pocket. Don't stop and blubber, find the thing!
"Shut up!" yelled Stephen, rummaging frantically through his schoolbooks while frantically wishing he'd put more practice into his Body-Bind Curse. Jon's counter-jinxes were legendary; if it came to a duel, Stephen would probably only get one good shot....
"Are you looking for this?"
Stephen whipped around on his toes so quickly he nearly got tangled in his robes, wand held instinctively at the ready.
Jon was sitting at the teacher's desk, elbows resting casually on the polished surface, holding between thumb and forefinger a tiny stoppered bottle half-full of purple liquid.
A rush of dizziness made Stephen's vision blur. "How...?" He paused to dab sweat from his forehead with the bell of his sleeve. "When did you...?"
"Thought my pumpkin juice tasted kind of funny after you stopped by the Ravenclaw table," said Jon with a shrug. "So I used Scarpin's charm to see if anything new was in it, then Accio'd the nearest antidote."
Stephen sat down with a thump, wand clattering to the stone floor. "Then — you —?"
"—had two choices," Jon filled in. "Let McGonagall know what you almost pulled — and make no mistake, this is an expellable offense — or see if I couldn't make you understand what a bad idea it was." His lips twitched into a smirk. "Scare you straight, as it were."
"I...." There was a lump in Stephen's throat, choking off whatever it was he wanted to say. "I'm glad that I didn't — that you weren't — I never wanted—"
"I kinda thought not." Jon sobered. "So what the fuck did you want, huh, Colbert?"
"I just wanted you to like me for a while!" wailed Stephen, and began sobbing uncontrollably into his sleeves.
The chair creaked. Stephen, curled into a tight little ball of guilt and fear and confusion, didn't move until Jon's voice said from right above him, "Is there any of the lust potion left?"
"Uh-huh," snuffled Stephen. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I'll get rid of —"
The larger bottle swooped out of Stephen's bag and landed in Jon's hand. He vanished both liquids, transfigured the bottles into a royal-blue puffskein, and sat cross-legged in front of Stephen with the little furball eeping in his grip. His trousers, Stephen noticed through tear-blurred eyes, were back to rights, though his robe was slung loosely over the crook of his elbow.
"If you'd really managed to go through with this, I'd have been thrilled to never speak to you again," he said flatly. "But you didn't. And, listen, it's not like I didn't take advantage of you right back. So what do you say we call it even and start over?"
Stephen gulped back another wave of tears. "R-really?"
"Really." Jon poked his wand under the folded robe, tugged out Stephen's undershorts, and flicked them into his lap. "Although you probably shouldn't give me too many chances to change my mind, here. And I'm keeping the puffskein! And, Stephen?"
"If you ever want to have sex with me again..." Jon skritched the puffskein's head, or at least the portion of its fur that was more or less on top. "...for Merlin's sake, just ask."