Summary: Harry didn't know what was wrong with him. It was wrong... just so, wrong. But there was something about her. Something about the way she moved, the way she demanded your attention that called to the primal side of him.
A/N: This story made me laugh so hard. A bit gross in my opinion, but not overly graphic. Written for Wotcher_Tonks' "Never Before Seen Pairing" challenge.
Harry didn't know what was wrong with him. It was wrong... just so, wrong. But there was something about her. Something about the way she moved, the way she demanded your attention that called to the primal side of him. Her yells were piercing, sending shocks spearing through his body and right into his erogenous zones. She was loquacious, vituperative in a way that he just could not ignore. She said all the things he wish he could, expressing herself no matter what others thought about her and he was drawn to her for it.
Every time he stepped into that house he had an immediate hard on, whether or not she was yelling. At nights her words echoed in his mind while he wanked. He'd imagine lifting up the edges of her old-fashioned and constricting clothing, hiding all of her womanly curves and precious treasures, while she screeched at him, fought him while enticing him at the same time. He'd imagine her riding him, her insults pouring from her mouth, washing over him until he came.
The summer before his 7th year he spent in Grimmauld Place with her and his obsession grew to a point that he could no longer ignore. He had taken to wanking every night at the thought of her, pulling himself until he was nearly raw. Despite having gotten off the night before he would wake up every morning with wet sheets. He was grateful that he had his own room lest the other people in the house found out how many times a day he was masturbating.
But it wasn't enough.
He had to have her, and if not directly he would have her in any way he could. He began sneaking around, catching glimpses of her from the corners as he surreptitiously pleasured himself while she slept.
But it still wasn't enough.
One night when he knew no one else was in the house he gathered up his courage and snuck down the stairs. He walked as quietly as he could to prevent her from waking up as he approached. He carefully pulled back the curtain hiding her and saw that she was asleep. He drank in the sight of her, the stoic black dress hugging her ample breasts, curving down to her waist before puffing out. He could imagine what it would feel like to run his hands up under the petticoats, up her supple thighs until he reached her sweet center. Fantasies of him hiding under her skirts and licking her as she screamed at other people ran behind his eyelids, pushing him on.
He couldn't stop himself from pulling his dick out and stroking himself. His eyes ran up and down her tiny form as he imagined her yelling at him. She would hurl out abuse with her hands wrapped around him, squeezing hard with every insult. A moan escaped his mouth and woke up the object of his obsession. Her eyes widened impossibly and he moaned again as she sucked in a breath to begin a tirade.
"YOU DISGUSTING, FILTHY MUDBLOOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?? HOW REVOLTING! YOU FOUL CRETIN!! YOU AREN'T WORTHY OF BEING IN THIS HOUSE, YOU DISGUSTING TROLLOP!!"
Every insult speared through him and before he knew it, he was coming, screaming her name and splattering her from toe to neck. Looking up he saw that she had been stunned silent, his semen spread across her black dress. He smirked and ran a finger through the come before sticking it in his mouth, lewdly sucking the juices off. She gaped at him as he zipped himself back up and spelled away the leftovers of his pleasure.
"Until next time Walburga, my love," he purred, giving her a lascivious wink.
He pulled the curtains shut over her silent painting and made his way back up the stairs, smirking. He couldn't wait until the next time he was home alone.