Title: Pretty and Witty and Gay!, or, Squicking Fandom
Author: eeyore9990
Characters: Rubeus Hagrid/The Giant Squid
Rating: R?
Warnings: Crossdressing!Hagrid, tentacle!porn, dub/noncon, tentacle!bondage. Also, the pairing itself.
Themes/kinks chosen: I'm thinking this qualifies as "hand job", but really, there aren't any hands involved. Just tentacles.
Word Count: 2175
Summary: Hagrid has always longed for the freedom to roam out of doors while indulging his love of satins and lace. When Madame Maxime arrives from France, he finally has his chance.
Author's notes: Okay, so. I had completely intended to have the Giant Squid pleasuring itself while watching the children frolic on a hot summer day (because for all the taboos I've written, I've never written tentacle!porn, and that's just WRONG), but then accioslash suggested that she'd like to see some crossdressing!Hagrid and my brain merged the two ideas together. I would say I'm sorry, but I'm totally not. I was so gleefully inspired that I wrote this whole fic in just under two hours.

A very huge and special thank you to summerborn and kathrynthegreat for being brave enough to beta this for me.

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Hagrid stepped into his hut and closed the door with a bang, not out of any sense of ire, but because his mind was focused away from the everyday matters that normally filled his head—Ye don' need ta be usin' more'n a tiny flick ta close th' door, or Be gen'le wi' Fang...stout he may be, but a strong pat will still put 'im down. It was Halloween and though normally he'd still be up at the school celebrating until the wee hours, he'd left as soon as he could rightly get away.

His breath had left him in a rush when she'd stepped out of the carriage. Oh, she was a picture of walking beauty. The rings on her hands had caught the sunlight, dazzling in their brilliance. The sheen of her satin cloak had made him hunger to feel the soft cool slide of the fabric over his own skin. And when she'd removed it to show the gown she wore, he'd wanted to fall to his knees in worship. It was, again, satin, though touched here and there with lace so that the overall effect was one of subtle beauty and elegance.

Hagrid wanted that gown.

He paced the confines of the small room, eyes flickering every few moments to the wardrobe in the corner. The one with the false back. He swallowed roughly and rubbed his hands over the coarse fabric of his coat, then down to his corduroy-covered thighs. He groaned, shaking his head. He didn't know what he was thinking. It wouldn't do him any good to stay in here, longing for something he couldn't have. The few items in his collection weren't what he wanted; they were mostly cotton, the print far too lurid as he'd had to make do with ready-made and when a man was his size... He sighed again, rubbing a hand over his face and grimacing at the feel of his wiry beard under his hand.

And there was that.

Even if he did have a bit of something lovely, he'd just ruin the look of it with his face and manner. He'd never be able to get away with doing what he wanted. He'd never feel the freedom of a stroll around the lake, the wind flirting with the hem of his skirt as he stepped lightly along in boots with a dainty heel, his parasol shielding him from the bright sun.

He looked out the window at the sky, gut clenching as he watched thick clouds roll slowly across it, dimming the bright light of the near-full moon by degrees. Restless, he started to turn away... then stopped, eyes locked on something fluttering just within view.

Clothes. Stretched out on a line. Tiny little dresses that must belong to the Beauxbatons girls and one that billowed like the sails of the Durmstrang ship. Hagrid tugged at his beard, his eyes wide with longing as he watched the dress twist and turn in the breezy night. He glanced back up at the moon, shivering as the clouds obscured it even more.

"Ah, wha' are ye thinkin', ye old fool?" he muttered to himself, even as his feet carried him back to his door. He stared down at the latch, heart racing as he fought with himself. He couldn't do it. He really couldn't... oh. The wind must have pushed open his door because suddenly it was standing open, the night beyond beckoning to him.

Even as Hagrid stepped off his porch, he was still assuring himself that he was not about to go take that dress down off of that line. No, of course not. He was merely going to check and ensure that Madame Maxime's horses were bedded down properly, that's all. And if the route he took to where the horses were led him within touching distance of the gown? Well, it was the most direct route, wasn't it?

And if the dress happened to fall off the line, surely she would thank him for catching it before it could touch the ground and become soiled? Surely?

Hagrid groaned quietly as the cool material slithered over the skin of his arms. One brief glance told him that the horses were sleeping soundly, their heads lowered to the ground, one hoof hitched up, ears twitching as their barrel chests expanded and contracted. A snapping twig sent Hagrid hurrying back to his hut and this time he did slam the door on purpose. Racing to the window, he watched through it for what seemed to be hours, looking for the one who had been watching him.

Finally, a large black dog stepped gingerly from the Forest, its muzzle raised, nose quivering as it scented for food. Hagrid released a sigh of relief before the siren song of the dress in his arms called to him again. He looked down at it guiltily, then closed his eyes as the inevitable overwhelmed him.

He'd already taken the dress. May as well be hanged for a sinner as for a saint, as his da had always said. He ignored the voice in his head that told him he was far from a saint.

He laid the gown out on his bed reverently, staring at it as his fingers mindlessly worked the buttons of his coat, then his shirt. Before he was fully aware of it, he was completely nude, his privates dangling against his thigh as he considered undergarments. Cotton knickers under such a gorgeous confection of satin and lace seemed... wrong, somehow. Hagrid shivered with expectation as he reached down and stroked one roughened fingertip over the delicate pattern of the lace.

Throwing propriety to the dogs, he gently lifted the gown and turned it, bringing it over his head. His breath caught in his throat as the satin slid down over his body. Unexpected tears burned his eyes for a moment as the longing he'd buried deep inside suddenly found itself fulfilled. He shuddered, luxuriating in the feeling of the dress settling against his body, its fibres slowly absorbing his body heat.

As if in a dream, he floated across the room to the small sliver of mirror he kept. Pulling it out, he directed it over his body, trying to put all the pieces together. His large ankles poked from the hem of the gown, but even that was less awkward than he'd have thought. Nothing could possibly look foolish in a gown this beautiful.

He gently set the mirror on the table and began pulling and tugging at his hair until he'd managed to bunch it into two uneven lumps at the back of his head. His beard he knotted with a string, making a mental note to pick up a bit of ribbon for next time. Foregoing the only boots he owned, he plucked up his umbrella and set it against his shoulder as he stood again at the window.

When the lights on the Durmstrang ship had been extinguished for an hour, Hagrid finally decided it was safe for him to venture out. Opening his umbrella, he twirled the handle with one hand while holding the hem of his skirt with the other.

A stroll around the lake, then, he decided. He didn't have the boots with the dainty heels, but they really weren't practical around the Black Lake, anyway. The shore was strewn with pebbles that would turn a heel in moments, and along the one side was a grouping of boulders that jutted out over the deepest parts of the lake, perfect for the students on hot summer days.

It was onto these same rocks that Hagrid climbed, pirouetting on their flat surface until he was giddy with the freedom the darkest part of night afforded him. He could be pretty out here, now, with no one to see. He could wear beautiful clothes and dance gracefully under the discreet cover of the clouds.

Breathless and winded, Hagrid settled his bulk gingerly on the rocks, carefully hiking the hem of the gown's skirt to his waist so as not to get anything on it or catch it against an uneven place on the rocks. The cold stone beneath his bare arse made him gasp and curse softly beneath his breath, but even that was nothing to the fine feelings washing through him. He leaned back on his hands, his umbrella lying closed at his side as he watched the clouds and listened to the gentle slap of the water against the rocks.

A small stone landed beside him and Hagrid glanced down, frowning. A sprinkle of water over his feet and he grinned, peering into the blackness below as he softly called, "No fetch t'night, ye great beastie. 'M havin' a bit o' a rest."

With no further interruptions, Hagrid went back to his perusal of the sky, his eyelids eventually sliding closed as the sounds of nature lulled him into a light sleep.

Something slithering against his leg woke him. Adrenaline rushed through him dizzily as, frozen to the spot, he realised he'd fallen asleep in full view of anyone and everyone who cared to look. He nearly collapsed onto the rocks as his brain caught up with him. It was still night; the ship still bobbed gently on top of the water, all her lights still dark as those on board slept. Lightheaded with relief, it took him several long moments to realise that something was not quite right.

The slithering sensation that had woken him was still present, though it had moved up from his calf and was now winding up his thigh. Reaching down to swat whatever it was, Hagrid found his hand encased in the tight grip of...something wet with suckers attached. The Giant Squid!

"'Ere now," he called softly. "Let go o' me."

Instead of heeding his command, the Squid simply extended another tentacle and took up where it had left off on its exploration of his thigh. Before Hagrid could even think to bring his other hand down to shield his privates from the tentacle snaking ever-closer to them, his other hand was captured as well and secured behind his back with the other one, the grip of the tentacle that surrounded his wrists gentle, but undeniably too strong for him to break.

It was a unique sensation for him, to be sure.

Not quite so unique as the feeling of a tentacle nudging curiously at his bollocks, of course. Hagrids thighs closed together with a slap of flesh, but that did nothing to deter the Squid. It merely allowed the tentacle to rest in the shallow divot between Hagrid's thighs as it explored at its leisure.

Hagrid's breathing went shallow and his mouth dry when the tentacle wrapped around his prick, the suckers on the underside of it latching onto him as the muscular limb squeezed and relaxed. Arms bent behind him at an awkward angle, legs pressed closed, it was all he could do to remain in a sitting position, especially when the sensations around his cock drew forth the inevitable response.

He groaned, his head falling back on his shoulders, the twin lumps of his hair digging into his neck and shoulders as his beard pointed up into the night sky. His thigh muscles twitched from the strain of holding them so tightly together and the clouds swirled before his crossing eyes as the Squid continued to lavish attention on him. His hands flexed in their hold as a sucker latched directly to the head of his cock, sucking gently. The sensation was... overwhelming.

The tentacle worked over his girth, contracting and moving and sliding over and around him. Hagrid bit his tongue to prevent himself from... from... well. He certainly wasn't going to get that friendly with one of the magical creatures!

He stayed strong and held out, reduced even as he was to whimpers, until a strong breeze blew up, causing the hem of his gown to shift against him and then fall, the folds spilling over the place where the Squid was quite literally wanking him to land in a puddle against his bollocks. The movement of the tentacle made the satin slide and shift over them and that was Hagrid's undoing.

With a great roar—loud enough, surely, to wake the dead all the way down in Hogsmeade—Hagrid tipped his head back and allowed his hips to rock forward as come bubbled up from the head of his cock and bathed the underside of the Squid's tentacles.

It was only then that the Squid left off. Maybe it had completed its task, maybe Hagrid's yell had frightened it away. Maybe his come, with its high quantity of saltiness, had harmed the fresh-water creature. Whatever it was, the Squid slithered out of sight and then retreated into the depths of the lake.

Hagrid rarely wished for magic any more; to do so was futile and guaranteed to leave him feeling morose. But that night, he wished for it doubly. Once to remove the memory of releasing his load over the Squid.

And once to remove the come stain from his pretty satin gown.