![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
birdsofshoreTitle: Never Enough
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
birdsofshore
Pairing: Harry/various (in fantasy), Harry/socks
Rating: R
Word count: ~500
Warnings: Unbetaed
A/N: Written for Harry's birthday. Oh, Harry. I treat you so badly. I torment you and tease you. I encourage Draco to do the most terrible things to you. Sometimes I even let Scorpius join in with the tormenting, and *hangs head* I spent an awful lot of time this year egging Draco on to molest your dear son, Albus. I'm so sorry, Harry. I love you dearly, and yet I do all that, and then, for your birthday, I write... this. Please forgive me. I'll make it all up to you.
I actually blamewho_la_hoop, who, on reading this week's prompt for the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
slythindor100 LDWS contest, said, 'I hope you're writing Harry/wank sock?” And was dreadfully disappointed when I said that I wasn't.
Harry tightened his grip on his erection and let out a raw moan at the images dancing in his mind: Dean Thomas and his beautiful arse in Quidditch leggings. Harry knew from experience that Dean looked almost criminal in his Chaser's gear, the material clinging to each and every flawless inch. Harry pictured him bending over to lace his boots, his bum high and round, then turning to wink at Harry with a look of unmistakeable intent.
Harry's fingers moved in quick, frantic strokes, his face creasing into a mask of agonised bliss. His cock jerked once, twice, three times and he groaned his release, emptying himself all over the charcoal-grey sock he had draped around his hand. He supposed he should tell Dean sometime that the house-elves had left a pair of Dean's socks in Harry's trunk by mistake, but meanwhile, he was having far too much fun with them.
He waited until the last surges of pleasure faded away, then balled up the damp sock and lobbed it under the bed. It rolled somewhere near the back, no doubt coming to rest in between the discarded sock from this morning ‒ decorated with Snitches, it always made him think of the brooding, gorgeous Viktor Krum ‒ and one of the Chudley Cannons pair Ron had given him. Harry had used that one yesterday after accidentally walking in on Ron in the showers. Harry shifted on the bed, just thinking again about the hard muscle of Ron's thighs and the pale, red-gold hair sprinkled over them.
The breeze from the open window felt wonderful, raising goosebumps across Harry's skin and hardening his nipples. It would be ages till the others were back from Hogsmeade. He ran through various possibilities in his head, then reached for his wand and Summoned a green sock, delicately trimmed with silver, from his trunk. This pair was a particular favourite; they'd reminded him of Malfoy from the moment he'd caught sight of them in Twilfit and Tattings. Malfoy, and his smirky, dirty mouth, and all the things Harry would like to do to shut him up. Harry's prick stirred with renewed interest, and he wrapped the fine, soft wool around it lovingly and began to stroke.
A sigh of happiness rumbled from deep in his chest as his cock filled out, sparks of sensation spreading in waves. His hand moved, firm but unhurried, as he pictured himself ambushing Malfoy between classes to press him up against the cold stone wall, then muffling Malfoy's moan of surprise by sliding his tongue between those sneery lips. Oh, yes. That was a very effective thought. Toe-curlingly so.
Harry slipped into a practised, teasing rhythm, spreading his legs and bringing his other hand down to reach between the cheeks of his arse. He wondered vaguely if it was wrong to wank so often, or with such relish. But surely Harry wasn't to blame for the fact that he was young and... energetic. Nor that there were so many fit blokes at Hogwarts. He was merely following advice given to him long before by a much older and wiser wizard, words which held true after all these years; one really could never have enough socks.
Author:
birdsofshorePairing: Harry/various (in fantasy), Harry/socks
Rating: R
Word count: ~500
Warnings: Unbetaed
A/N: Written for Harry's birthday. Oh, Harry. I treat you so badly. I torment you and tease you. I encourage Draco to do the most terrible things to you. Sometimes I even let Scorpius join in with the tormenting, and *hangs head* I spent an awful lot of time this year egging Draco on to molest your dear son, Albus. I'm so sorry, Harry. I love you dearly, and yet I do all that, and then, for your birthday, I write... this. Please forgive me. I'll make it all up to you.
I actually blame
who_la_hoop, who, on reading this week's prompt for the slythindor100 LDWS contest, said, 'I hope you're writing Harry/wank sock?” And was dreadfully disappointed when I said that I wasn't.**
Harry tightened his grip on his erection and let out a raw moan at the images dancing in his mind: Dean Thomas and his beautiful arse in Quidditch leggings. Harry knew from experience that Dean looked almost criminal in his Chaser's gear, the material clinging to each and every flawless inch. Harry pictured him bending over to lace his boots, his bum high and round, then turning to wink at Harry with a look of unmistakeable intent.
Harry's fingers moved in quick, frantic strokes, his face creasing into a mask of agonised bliss. His cock jerked once, twice, three times and he groaned his release, emptying himself all over the charcoal-grey sock he had draped around his hand. He supposed he should tell Dean sometime that the house-elves had left a pair of Dean's socks in Harry's trunk by mistake, but meanwhile, he was having far too much fun with them.
He waited until the last surges of pleasure faded away, then balled up the damp sock and lobbed it under the bed. It rolled somewhere near the back, no doubt coming to rest in between the discarded sock from this morning ‒ decorated with Snitches, it always made him think of the brooding, gorgeous Viktor Krum ‒ and one of the Chudley Cannons pair Ron had given him. Harry had used that one yesterday after accidentally walking in on Ron in the showers. Harry shifted on the bed, just thinking again about the hard muscle of Ron's thighs and the pale, red-gold hair sprinkled over them.
The breeze from the open window felt wonderful, raising goosebumps across Harry's skin and hardening his nipples. It would be ages till the others were back from Hogsmeade. He ran through various possibilities in his head, then reached for his wand and Summoned a green sock, delicately trimmed with silver, from his trunk. This pair was a particular favourite; they'd reminded him of Malfoy from the moment he'd caught sight of them in Twilfit and Tattings. Malfoy, and his smirky, dirty mouth, and all the things Harry would like to do to shut him up. Harry's prick stirred with renewed interest, and he wrapped the fine, soft wool around it lovingly and began to stroke.
A sigh of happiness rumbled from deep in his chest as his cock filled out, sparks of sensation spreading in waves. His hand moved, firm but unhurried, as he pictured himself ambushing Malfoy between classes to press him up against the cold stone wall, then muffling Malfoy's moan of surprise by sliding his tongue between those sneery lips. Oh, yes. That was a very effective thought. Toe-curlingly so.
Harry slipped into a practised, teasing rhythm, spreading his legs and bringing his other hand down to reach between the cheeks of his arse. He wondered vaguely if it was wrong to wank so often, or with such relish. But surely Harry wasn't to blame for the fact that he was young and... energetic. Nor that there were so many fit blokes at Hogwarts. He was merely following advice given to him long before by a much older and wiser wizard, words which held true after all these years; one really could never have enough socks.
no subject
Date: 2015-08-01 01:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-08-01 06:45 am (UTC)*snort*