traintracks (train_tracks) wrote in adventdrabbles, @ 2012-12-04 11:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | contributor: train_tracks, dec04, fandom: harry potter, prompt04, year: 2012 |
Dec04, Harry Potter, Harry/?, "The Spellproof Kink"
Title: The Spellproof Kink
Author: train_tracks
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/? (Hermione/Ron)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 525
Disclaimer: I don't own much of anything, least of all anything having to do with Harry Potter.
A/N: This is for adventdrabbles and prompt #4: baby and puppy (although I nixed the puppy, and this is really all I could think to do today that had ANYTHING to do with babies), plus sdk's prompt, "I actually suck at this". I think this applies to my own (in)abilities to succeed at the baby prompt. ;-)
"I know we're best friends and all, and this probably isn't what you want to hear, but I'm sure I could do this better the old-fashioned way, if Ron would consent."
"Harry," Hermione said in that unutterably definitive way she had. "I'm not letting you near my vagina. Now, take your cup, go into that room, and *do* it!"
Harry sighed. "You're sure."
"Yes, for Merlin's sake. I mean, I'm flattered, Harry, but… Well, no." She gave him a shove in the right direction.
It had pretty much been bollocks anyway. Harry doubted, though she was beautiful and he'd once considered it, that he could shag Hermione any more than he could shag Draco Malfoy. Although, that was, perhaps, a bad comparison.
Harry shook himself, grasped his little white plastic measured (If he wanted he could *measure* his stuff!) cup, and shut the door behind him in the weirdest room he'd ever seen. It was a cross between a waiting room (for one) and a dressing room, so neat and clean and happy. Completely wrong.
But it was time to do his friend duty. Ron was shooting blanks and Hermione's clock was ticking. Neither of these facts was conducive to…The Act.
For the thousandth time Harry wondered why they couldn't just magic his splooge into her…lady bits. But Hermione had been insistent that science was the way to go on this one (and she didn't care to make eye contact with his splooge, thank you very much).
Harry sighed, sat in a poofy chair under too-bright lights, and got his thing out.
He was limp as the fries at Ralph's Diner.
He tried magazines to no avail. Most of them weren't to his taste – the women's boobs were too fake, the lipstick too glossy.
He tried telling himself he was doing a noble thing. That was worse. Nobility never got anybody hard.
So Harry shut his eyes and went for the spellproof kink, the one that always disgusted him as much as it turned him on. The one he said he'd never use again after last time. Not ever. Yet here he was, pud in hand, going there.
Harry leaned his head back, his prick stiffening up nicely, his hand moving faster, and his mind going places he'd promised himself he'd never visit again.
There had been instructions to leave the 'specimen' in the room when he left. Harry washed his hands like he was supposed to but couldn't seem to wash the taint off his soul.
He stalked out of the room, still shuddering. To his dismay Hermione and now Ron, too, were both waiting in chairs in the lobby, just fifty short feet from where he'd done…God, unspeakable things to…bloody hell…*someone*. Harry swallowed. He walked up to them, and, staring resolutely at the floor, muttered, "There's your damned baby," and then stalked out of the clinic.
Then Harry Disapparated home, took a long shower, and contemplated the merits of self-Obliviation. He hoped the Granger-Weasleys would be very happy indeed. Harry was pretty sure he'd never be free of the images plaguing his brain now. Not on the spawn's twenty-first birthday. Not ever.