A/N: This story contains boy on boy sex, love, and magic, so if that isn't your cup of tea, why are you searching for Draco and Harry slash?
Warnings: rimming, felching, spanking, slight traces of sarcasm, mpreg, cross-dressing, slave!Draco, owner!Harry, and copious amounts of dirty talking.
Also, this ficlet is unbeta-ed, so try not to be to hard on lil' old me about spelling, grammar, etc.
Kiss me oh please oh please just kiss me please please.
The phrase repeats itself like a mantra in my head as he inches closer. I can feel his warm breath spilling onto my face, though I can't see him; my eyes are closed. A large hesitant hand wraps itself around my left hip. It's warm and just a little calloused from his line of work. Being an Auror is difficult work, or so he tells me. We stay frozen like this for an eternity, my heart near to bursting from my chest. I slit my eyes a bit, peering through my white blonde lashes to see his emerald eyes looking upon me in amusement. His other hand comes up to cup my face, a thumb coming up to brush against my plump lower lip I blink and open my eyes completely.
"There you are." He sounds…relieved, and his chuckle reverberates through my chest.
"Here I am." I agree, the barest of smiles gracing my face. His lips finally meet mine in a teasingly light brush of a kiss. He draws back again and it is then that I see the tears that are clumping his sooty eyelashes together. If my hands weren't cuffed together, I would brush them away. As it is, I raise them together to pat at his solid abdomen in what I hope is a comforting way. His hand leaves my face and joins the other on my hips, only to slide a few inches up to my waist. Oh no.
"I couldn't find you; I looked everywhere and called and called for you, but you didn't answer me." His grip tightens, fingers beginning to dig into my flesh.
"I-"he cuts me off, squeezing me even tighter.
"You what? Decided to ignore me, hm?" I shake my head rapidly, blonde hair whipping about my face. He's frightening when he gets like this.
"What then, sweetheart? Were you contemplating leaving again?" his voice is deceptively calm; I know that on the inside, he's raging at me.
"No, of course I wouldn't. I'd never want to leave you. I love you, Harry" this answer seems to placate him, or close enough, anyway. At least his fingertips aren't digging into my sides anymore. I manage a weak smile, and his puppy grin is back.
"And I love you, Draco Abraxas Potter."
Yes, that's right. Draco Potter. We're married, or as close to it as possible under our laws. In all actuality, I'm closer to a slave than a husband, not that Harry would ever deign to refer to me as such. Husband, that is. I'm his wife. Pretty, slender, blonde, and loyal. Honestly, my label in the Ministry has been changed and everything. It came as a huge shock when he told me, I'm not sure why, though. After all, we're talking about the same Ministry that forced me and all the other children from the losing side of the war into permanent indentured servitude. I'm fairly sure that the layman's term is slave.
O! How the mighty have fallen.
My life isn't terrible, despite that slight misfortune. I have a beautiful home, house elves to clean that home, pretty clothes to wear, my friends can visit and I can leave anytime I want- so long as I return. And, I don't have to wear my cuffs all the time, only when he wants me nearby in case he has an urge. He gives me free run of the place, as in I can decorate however I want, whenever I want. I have access to my family's Gringott's vaults, which aside from the reparations I had to repay the wizarding world, is full to bursting with galleons and other treasures and artifacts. Not to mention the ridiculous allowance he gives me per week, which I typically spend on those pretty clothes that I mentioned before. But, most importantly, I still have my wand. Sure, it's been tagged and I'm not allowed to use certain spells and hexes, but most slaves-er indentured servants, had theirs snapped by their respective masters once they were paid for.
Come to think of it, there are very few drawbacks to my new life, really. Okay, so I'm being screwed by Harry Potter, my ex-nemesis, but I'm a poofter; I was bound to be getting drilled into a bed by some bloke anyway. So, he usually treats me like a delicate flower that'll wilt if you hold it the wrong way, well it sure beats getting knocked into walls and the like. Who cares if he punishes me like a recalcitrant child? At least I know he cares enough to correct me. And what of the fact that everyone in the world acts like I'm a girl now?...alright, I'll admit that one still smarts, but I'm expected to bear his children. One can't very well call a pregnant person a man. It's odd.
Now, I know what you're wondering-"What do you look like now, Draco?" That's a very good question. I've been shortened to a height of only 5'4", while our savior is 6 foot even. Harry prefers my hair longer, so it's grown quite a bit in the three years since my arrival at Potter Manor. It hangs a couple of inches below my arse- pin straight, silken and the majority of it is as white blonde as my lashes without mascara. It's been styled though, so I have side, swooping bangs. Harry also recently scheduled ahead of my appointment, so the stylist put in rich, honey gold highlights and layers. I suppose he didn't want me to look too much like my father. My eyes are still a steely-grey, but the rest of my face has been charmed to look a bit less pointy and a lot more femme. I suppose Potter has a thing for twinky boys, what with these borderline collagen injected lips. As I've mentioned, my body is quite slender, laced with soft muscles and covered in a thin layer of baby fat- Potter's doing again, of course. My waist nips in and my hips flare out, something that had to happen in order for me to have the ability to carry children. Other than that, I'm the same Draco Mal-er Potter. No breasts, no vagina, or any of those other things.
Just me, Draco Potter, slave wife out of necessity to one Harry James Potter.
"Are you happy?" The question comes out of nowhere.
Harry is carding his fingers through my hair as I'm lying on his chest before bed. I stiffen, quite surprised.
"Well?" he asks impatiently, his hand burrowing deeper into my soft locks.
"I…I am content." I finish lamely, bringing my right hand up to brush his fringe away from his eyes. They are boring into mine, an unreadable expression in their depths. I push my lips to his, bestowing a sweet kiss upon them. I move to retreat and find that the hand that was once stroking my tresses has become an anchor, keeping me glued to his lips. His tongue traces the outline of my lower lip and I gasp, allowing him entrance. There is no battle for dominance, only his tongue plundering my submissive mouth, lapping away and mapping out his territory.
He kisses me until we're both breathless, and then drags me away by his anchor. I fight against it to get back to his kiss-swollen lips and he laughs.
"My, we are very eager tonight, aren't we?" I lick my own plumper-than-usual lips, staring at Harry. His hand slips down my hair to my back to rest on my shorts-covered arse. He increases the pressure until I can feel his erection on my own.
I take in a shaky breath, nodding my head. He smirks and scoots back so that his back is propped up against the headboard. His lips capture mine, his hands slip under my waistband, and my eyes fall closed.
Eager isn't the word.
A warm hand splays across the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd of Ministry executives and their arm candy, to a fairly empty wall. The annual Christmas Ball is in full swing and has had a terrific turnout, as well it should. The decorations are tasteful: silver ornaments balance the standard red and green. The 85-foot tall tree has been enchanted to alternate between the traditional evergreen and a sparkling sterling silver every so often. The help, not house elves, (they may be efficient, but my gods, they are ugly beasts) is draped in my original red and silver silken creations: cocktail dresses for the ladies, puffy sleeved dress shirts for the gentlemen. Everyone has approached me with a hand on my arm or a kiss upon my knuckles, spouting complements; as head of the decorating committee, it's only appropriate that they do so.
I find myself with my back pushed up against the cool wall, the skin of my back breaking out in goose bumps due to the nature of my backless princess-style gown. I am now face-to-face with one Harry James Potter, who is looking at me as though he would like nothing more than to eat me alive. One of his hands toys with a ringlet lying over my shoulder. I swat it away.
"I did not spend three hours at a muggle hair salon for you to paw at my hair, you prat." A smirk appears on his lips.
"You actually stepped foot inside of a muggle salon?"
I sniff distastefully, "Only muggle salons know how to properly style my hair."
His smirk turns into a sentimental grin. "You look absolutely stunning, Lady Potter."
I flinch, still unaccustomed to my title. He is right, of course. My makeup is flawless, playing up my features. The eye shadow is a glittery grey, some shades lighter, some darker than my eyes. A thin layer of black liquid liner circles my eyes, and my lashes are fanned out and look almost impossibly long. Soft pink blush is powdered upon my cheeks and my bright red lipstick has a gloss to it, making my lips even more kissable looking than normal. My hair has been pulled back into a loose chignon with several curly tendrils escaping the pins. Some, like the one Harry has gone back to fingering, were purposely left hanging, heavy and sumptuous.
I place a one gloved hand on his shoulder, the other reaching out to grasp his opposite hand. "Thank you, Lord Potter. Now, pray thee, let us dance."
I smile winningly at Harry as he spins us out to the middle of the dance floor.
"Tell me, Draco, do you believe in love?" He throws the question out, the soft violins as our background noise. I glance up at his face; he is very handsome from this angle. I do so admire his strong nose and jaw line; when we do conceive, our children are sure to be gorgeous.
"As a matter of fact, I do, Potter." I whisper my answer; I'm in awe. He looks just…delectable in his grey tuxedo. He nods once, making a little noise in agreement.
"Do you think you could ever love me then, Draco?" Any onlookers would believe we were talking about something trivial, like the weather.
"I do love you, Harry." I reply automatically; I've been impeccably trained. I begin again, shaking myself off, "I am- that is to say- Harry, I.."
He glances down at me, obviously amused by my attempts at a real answer.
"Yes, Harry." I give up trying to be eloquent and just allow myself to be twirled around and around, my lovely silk, lace, and tulle confection swirling about my ankles.
At last, the dreamy, lilting music ends and Harry drags me in for a waltz.
"You look positively mouthwatering in that dress, darling." His lips meet mine in a heartbreaking kiss, neither of us pushing for more; we're simply savoring the closeness of the moment, "Just ravishing, m'lady."
I pull my gloves off and tuck them inside of Harry's tuxedo jacket and resettle my arms across his shoulders. His hands stay resting upon my hips, and we sway to the music. His forehead meets mine and not even his new glasses can keep the intensity of his green-eyed gaze from me. "I'd much rather be ravished." The words tumble from lips unbidden, but by the way that Harry jumps, I know it was just the right thing to say.
One of the hands resting on his shoulder gets a mind of its own and drags my carefully manicured nails down the front of Harry's suit. He glances down then back up at me, fire burning in his eyes. His lips crash into mine with bruising force and he breaks us away from the crowd of officials. He grabs my hand and we practically run from the dance floor, with me laughing the whole way at the aghast faces people are making at us. We duck into an alcove and he pulls me into his arms, a lopsided grin on his face. "Draco," he starts, sobering up, "I love you." And my giggles immediately stop; we may be horny, but this is serious. His hands slide up my body and into my slowly drooping hair, where he begins sliding the pins out of my updo.
"I-"I release a slow lungful of air, "I love you too, Harry." There is silence as he finishes his self-appointed task, fluffing out my loose ringlets once he's done. They tumble down my back, tickling my skin with the slight stiffness from my hairspray. He opens his hands at the same time he opens his eyes, which sparkle in the light, full of emotion. The hairpins' tinkle as they hit the floor is fantastic background noise for the way he's looking at me right now.
"Do you truly? Not just because that's what I desire, but how you feel?" I nod, licking my lips absentmindedly.
He need not know the truth. He needs this lie.
"Take me." I whimper, digging my nails into his biceps.
He scoops me up from the floor and I toe my sparkly pumps off, kicking them in the general direction of the closet. Harry drops me onto our bed, pushing away the gauzy, lavender draping. His hands skim down my body, relishing the silky feel of my silver ball gown. I lean back onto my elbows and spread my legs as far as my mermaid cut gown will allow, shooting a lustful look at Harry. He lets out a heady growl that goes straight to my cock and I think, fuck my dress, and exert a little more force to rip the constraints. The rip doesn't go very far, but Harry seizes the opportunity by grabbing hold of my thighs and spreads them as far as they will go. It goes up my hip, and Harry takes a hold on the rest of the fabric, tearing the bodice apart.
Goose bumps break out across my exposed body as Harry feasts upon the sight of my pale and nearly naked flesh. I watch his expression carefully, and note that his eyebrow quirks up when he sees the navel ring that I chose to wear today. It's platinum, diamond encrusted, and most importantly- is a dangling lightning bolt, not unlike the one on Harry's forehead. After flashing me a quick, knowing smile, he bends over and gives the patch of skin just below my navel a kiss, his tongue poking out for a quick taste. I groan, ready for that tongue to move on to more important things.
After spending a short lifetime bestowing kisses on my belly, he travels south until he gets to my hardly covered erection. As underwear, I chose a barely there, custom made thong, with ties on both hips and a single strip of grey lace running between my cheeks. He moves the fabric aside and wraps a hand around me, causing my back to arch of the bed and a low moan to echo throughout our bedroom. He leans back, slowly and methodically jerking me off at his leisure, a lazy smirk taking up residence on his mouth. "You moan like a slut, Draco. You know that?"
I nod eagerly; it's just part of his game, and most of the time, it turns me on too.
"Yeah, my pretty little fuck-toy likes that, doesn't she?" there is a teasing kind of laughter in his voice, "She likes it when I stroke her, yeah?"
"Yeah, oh gods, yeah." There seems to be a whiny girl in here begging for it like a little whore- no, wait. That would be me.
His other hand comes into play, fondling my balls as the main one continues its agonizing pleasure torture on my cock. I fist the sheets around me, twisting and turning this way and that on the cool silk. The second hand disappears, only to emerge again at my perineum, moistened.
"You know what my personal whore likes the most though?" I shake my head in the negative, forgetting that my hair is trapped under me, and almost rip the strands from my scalp.
"She likes it most," a finger, his index I think, prods at my hole, "when I play with her pretty pussy."
I flush at that, and he laughs, possibly more turned on by my embarrassment than my open position. "Look at her, so pretty and thin, blushing like a little innocent, when everyone knows you're nothing but my little whore."
The words hit a little too close to home and I try to snap my legs back together, the slight flush turning into a full on red blush. I find that his legs are between mine, keeping my legs as open as he wants.
"No, Draco, none of that nonsense." I look up at him to see him shaking his head patronizingly, "You wanted me to take you and that's exactly what I'm gonna do."
He bends down and his breath washes over my neck, "Take you."
A slow lick up the side of my neck, and I'm putty in his hands, ready to do whatever he asks of me. "Now, what do you want me to do, since you're gagging for it so hard, hmm? What do you want me to do, beautiful girl?"
I shiver; the goose bumps are back, "You want me to stroke your little pink cock? Or suck it? Is that what you want?"
It is, actually, but I know the answer he wants, and it hasn't come yet, so I bite my heavy lower lip and shake my head.
"Or do you want me to eat you out, pretty baby? You want me to lick and suck and finger your delicious little tight pussy till you cum, Draco?" I nod vigorously at that, already panting in excitement.
"What was that, honey? I didn't hear you; you've gotta speak up if you want me to hear your begging."
I lick my lips and say in a rush, "Iwantyoutoplaywithmypussy."
He bites down on my earlobe, tugging at it with his sharp, perfect teeth. "I didn't understand that. You know better than to mumble like that; good little sluts speak up loud and clear so that their masters can hear."
"I said, 'I want you to play with my pussy.'" I may have stumbled through it, but it got the correct reaction if the throbbing erection on my hip is anything to go by.
Harry sits up and grabs me roughly by the hips, sitting me up too. He lovingly plucks my hair out from under me and gathers it in a loose ponytail with one of the ever present hair ties that are scattered around the room. He then pokes and moves me into the doggie-style position, my slight weight evenly distributed between my limbs. He runs his hands over my ass cheeks, pausing now and again to give one or the other a firm smack- "I'm giving them a little color." he says. Finally, he stops and spreads the plump globes of my ass, and, moving that scrap of lace out of the way, spies my rosy hole.
"Gods, look at you, baby. Your petal pink hole's already clenching for me, sweetie. It's winking at me like it knows that in just a few minutes, I'm gonna feed it my big cock."
He's not exaggerating; his cock really is huge. The monster clocks in at just less than nine inches and is certainly not lacking in the width category. Harry gives new meaning to the word "mouthful".
His face gets closer and closer to my convulsing hole, his exhales bathing it in warmth, before the flat of his tongue suddenly pushes against it. I cry out, arching my back, a low whine building in the back of my throat. And that's when he begins viciously stabbing at my entrance, zig-zagging his tongue up, down, and around, making me jump and squeal until my arms give out and I'm forced to endure the onslaught with my ass even further in the air. His sexy growls and moans give way to muttered phrases like: "Fucking tasty pussy" and "Can't wait to get inside of this."
His tongue pushes past my slightly loosened sphincter muscles and I let out a high pitched scream of pleasure, gathering enough energy to reach for my cock to finish myself off. Instead of allowing me to jack off, he bats my hands away, and I'm curious as to why, so I shift my body a little and turn around, pushing some escaped strands out of my face.
Harry has one hand wrapped around my hip, while the other is on his weeping cock, moving up and down rapidly as he jerks himself off. He is kneeling behind me, bent over, thanks to our height difference, and his face is buried between my ass cheeks and is moving to and fro as his tongue stabs deeper and deeper into my ass. I am getting closer and closer to achieving my big-O, when the hand on my hip releases me to untie the flimsy strips from my body. Just as the last pieces of my underwear fall away, I cum with a quiet moan, spurting heavily onto the bed and the pretty scrap of fabric.
Harry leans back and wipes the moisture off his face, a smug, self-satisfied grin appearing. "You like that, baby? Huh? Did you cum extra hard, cuz I was lapping at your pretty little pussy?" I nod weakly, too tired to properly answer.
He knocks my legs out from under me and I fall flat, too lazy and lethargic from my recent orgasm to even attempt to fight him away. He gets off the bed for a few moments and brings a tube of something, most likely lubricant with him, then I feel a lubed up finger prod at my entrance. I stiffen up a bit, but he lays his free hand on the small of my back.
"Don't worry, baby doll, you like this too. Just trust me."
And we've done this enough times, so I relax my muscles and the finger slips in with relatively little resistance. A few moments later, he adds another, scissoring and stretching them, preparing my ass to take his massive appendage. When the third finger is fully inside of my ass, Harry starts searching for my prostate, his fingers feeling around until they find that little bundle of nerves right-there! He keeps up the pressure and soon enough, I'm wriggling my ass in a positive way, fucking myself on those magic fingers as much as my position and energy levels will allow. Unfortunately, they don't stay inside me forever and the blunt head of Harry's cock appears at my stretched out hole.
Without any further ado, Harry pushes forward until he is completely seated inside of me and begins fucking me in earnest . And, although he is battering my prostate gland with every stroke in a very pleasurable way, I just can't seem to get it up again. Still feels great, though, him stretching me open like this. Instead of pepping up, it seems as though my body is shutting down and preparing for sleep. I can't keep my eyes open and the last thing that flitters through my mind before my thinking stops is that something very very warm is filling up my arsehole.
Yuck. I need a bath.
I awake to something thick and solid inside of me, too cold to be Harry's cock. After blinking away the sleep and wriggling around, I surmise that it is a butt plug, probably inserted to prevent his cum from leaking out. Our fertility doctor said that the longer the sperm was inside my body, the more chance of it reacting with my magic to create a temporary womb to house our baby. It's a bit longer than strictly necessary and is sorta kinda not really but maybe touching the area around my prostate and, unlike last night, my penis is having a positive reaction.
I can hear Harry downstairs in the kitchen, most likely having his morning coffee and reading the paper, just waiting for me to come down to feed him his breakfast. Sighing, I swing my feet off of our California king, and look down at the mess that now consists of our bed: the tattered remains of last night's ball gown are at the bottom of the bed along with my thong, just waiting to be thrown into the garbage, there are sparkles everywhere, and enough wet spots scattered to bring a faint blush to my cheeks. Grabbing my wand, I rid myself of the mess and transfigure a silver robe from one of the water glasses on my side of the bed. After wrapping it around myself, I tighten my ponytail, resolving to straighten my hair after breakfast, and march downstairs to spend some quality time with my husband.
"Do you think you're knocked up yet, Dray?" Harry is perched behind me on the bed, getting ready to remove my butt plug for perhaps the twelfth time this month.
"I dunno, Harry. I don't feel any different than normal."
He makes a noncommittal noise and grabs hold of the tiny portion of black plastic that is sticking out, twisting it this way and that. "Ready?"
I nod, and he yanks it out, allowing at least six loads of his cum to come rushing from my body. I can feel it dripping from my arse, down my perineum and to my balls, dropping onto the towel spread below me expressly for this reason. And from our countless other past experiences, I know that Harry is just staring as it trickles out, transfixed by the sight.
"Oh, baby, look at that. Your rim is so pretty and puffy from holding my cum in all night. You look like you've been used just right," One of his hands smacks my arse and I feel his lips press to my cum-coated arsehole in a strangely loving kiss.
It sends shivers down my spine, and then his tongue is lapping at the slowly cooling liquid seeping from my body. I never figured him for the cum drinking sort, but then again, I never thought he'd be the kind to talk dirty in bed either. The rimming this morning is so much more intense than the ones he usually gives me before sex; I suppose I'm more sensitive to touch down there after being stretched to the brink of pain.
Aside from punishing me, and even then, they're just a few slight squeezes to my arms or midsection or swats on my bum, Harry's never purposely harmed me. Now, I don't know if that's just because I'm to be the carrier of his spawn and he doesn't want to damage me or because he truly cares about my welfare and wellbeing, but it is what it is.
I guess he has to take care of me; he needs us to be close
Having to sit on the toilet seat holding a piss coated stick across from my lover/former nemesis/husband/master is possibly one of the most humiliating things I've ever had to endure, next only to being brought up onto the auctioning block like nothing more than a piece of furniture and the first time Harry took me. He's reading the instructions on the box to me, and they seem fairly simple: two stripes for pregnant, one stripe for not pregnant. The only thing left to do is to wait for the results, which seem to be taking years. By the way Harry keeps rubbing at his two-day-old stubble, he thinks around the same as me. Despite his haggard appearance, he still looks roguishly handsome, his fuzzy beard scruff adding to his dark appeal. These last few weeks have been hard on us, Harry especially, since he has to get up early each morning in order to get back to work on time and return by six so that he can spend at least three hours fucking me in order to conceive. All I have to do, really, is lie on my back and take it like…like a good girl.
At last the timer goes off, shrilly, breaking Harry and I from our separate reveries. We lock eyes, and at the same time he reaches for the box, I flip the stick over. He reads the last two sentences aloud to me one last time, as if knowing the information backwards and forwards will make the outcome what we want it to be. I hold my breath and scan the little digital read out, tilting the stick so that the answer portion of the pregnancy test is closer to the light. At the last moment I chicken out, passing the stupid thing to Harry to read; I'm far too nervous and with my shaking hands, I'll most likely drop the confounded thing and have to start the process all over.
My eyes are on his face as he scans the test, then the box, then the test again as though he can't believe the results with his own eyes. Oh, I feel disappointment blooming in my chest, I must not be pregnant. Sharp reactionary tears prick my eyes as I realize that I did want this baby, more than anything, even my freedom. Then Harry lets out a whoop of excitement, a triumphant smile on his face. He jumps up, leaping into the air, before pulling me in a little-less-than-bone-crunching hug.
"We did it! Oh, Merlin, baby! We're going to have a baby! A beautiful girl with your eyes and my dark hair or a handsome little boy with my smile and your nose!" He's ecstatic, bouncing us up and down and peppering my face with kisses.
"I sincerely hope that those aren't our only choices." I mutter dryly, biting my lip to keep my own hysterical giggles inside.
I guess I'll be getting my baby after all.
Turns out, I didn't get a girl or a boy. I got both.
James Scorpius Potter and Lillian Narcissa Potter were born on February 1st, three weeks after the fifth anniversary of my ownership to their father. They were healthy, rosy cheeked, chubby babies with only a bit of peach fuzz for hair. Our little Lilly took after her father, with her dark ringlets and intense but cheerful emerald eyes. She has many of my aristocratic features, though: straight-as-an-arrow nose, high brow, slightly pointed but not elven ears. She has a few of Harry's features, too: his almond shaped eyes and easy going nature. Jamie, though, is like a carbon copy of me, right down to the last white blonde eyelash. Aside from his father's stubborn streak and the red tint in his blonde locks, that is. Harry tells me it comes from his mother, who was just as ginger as those Weasleys.
Harry and the Weasel don't speak very often these days. They used to be Auror partners, but once Ron found out exactly what Harry was using me for they had a row. Evidently, Ron thought Harry was using his ownership of me to get back at all of the horrid things I did to the so called Golden Trio when we were still at Hogwarts, and it blew his mind when he realized that I was more of a sex slave than a whipping boy. Normally, I'd be flattered that someone cared enough about my welfare to even bring up my slave status, but the Weasel could obviously give two shits about abolishing my bond; He just wants to see me beaten into a bloody mess. Granger sided with the Weasel, who I've heard is now her husband-excuse me while I go kneel at the porcelain throne-, so we don't see very much of her either. It doesn't bother Harry very much anymore; he's found new friends, friends that don't attempt to abandon him when things start to seem a little suspicious. But, still, he doesn't tell everyone that I'm his property, merely that I am his devoted wife and mother to his twins. That's not too far from the truth, now is it?
He needs me, but l hardly ever need him.
"Mama, me and Scorp go to the pawk?"
I place the dish that I was washing back into the sink and glance down at Lilly, who is tugging on the hem my skirt with a practiced hand. "Yes, Lilly, I will take you and Jamie to the park." She giggles and runs off, her little patent leather shoes clicking against the hardwood floors, ruffles in her dress swishing up.
That's my little Gryffindor-in-training for you; brave, independent, and a natural born leader.
I take my wand out of my pocket and charm the dishes to finish themselves while I go search for my son, who is probably curled up in the library, looking at a picture book. Jamie, who is simply known as "Scorp" to his twin, is much less outgoing but a bit more intelligent than his counterpart. While he does enjoy going outdoors like any other child his age, he'd much rather sit inside and read or solve puzzles than go crashing through our backyard like Lilly; A future Ravenclaw if I ever saw one.
A quick search of both the East and South Wing libraries, and I guess that he's tucked himself away under his father, who I know for sure is inside of the West Wing study, near our bedroom.
"Is Jamie in here?" I poke my head in the door and ask Harry, who has just begun to pack up the last of his work.
"No, no." he shakes his head ruefully, a playful smirk on his face, "There's no Jamie here."
He slides away from his desk to approach me, lust shining in his eyes as he scans my fairly conservative outfit. It's only a knee length skirt and a short sleeved peasant blouse, but Harry has always found me, in any state of pregnancy, alluring. His arms encircle my waist and he pulls me close, hip to hip, chest to abs, nose to neck. His hands slide down my back to cup my bum, and I know that after the twins are in bed, I'm in for a wild night.
"He's not?" I ask, disbelieving. Jamie is almost always near Harry if he isn't in a library.
"Nope." Harry pops the plosive, the gust of air tickling my ear, "There is no Jamie here, only Scorpius the Scorpion!"
And with that magnificent entrance, Jami- I mean Scorpius, pops out from under his father's desk and sprints towards me with a roar.
"Boo, Mommy!" The "Scorpion" attaches himself to my leg, just to the right of his father. "Did I scare, Mommy?"
I disentangle myself from Harry's grasp and reach down to pick up my baby boy, "Yes, sweetheart, you scared Mommy." I tickle his little belly and he wriggles in my arms reaching for Harry. "Daddy, Daddy save Scorp!"
Harry attempts to grab him, but I evade, swinging my little load around in a circle, "Nuh-huh, Daddy's not gonna save my little scorpion."
Scorpius tucks his head into my neck, his little giggles of laughter coming out in puffs. I can see Harry, who is standing with his arms crossed, get a gleam into his eye at the word "Daddy" and I know for sure that I'll only be getting a wink or two of sleep tonight.
Me thinks I need a nap.
And, as always, I am right.
Harry currently has me up on my hands and knees as he kneels behind me, spanking my arse red with his hands. We've been at it for a few hours now.
"What's my name, Dray?" he whispers in my ear before giving me a firm smack on the bum, his tongue tracing the shell of it.
I yelp and mutter under my breath, my cheeks reddening, both on my face and bottom. This earns me another swat, and I surge forward, almost hitting my face on the headboard.
"What did I tell you about the mumbling, darling? I wanna hear you say it. Tell me, baby. Tell me what my name is." As a change of pace, instead of using his hands to temporarily bruise my buttocks, Harry takes a moistened finger and sinks it into my entrance.
"Daddy…" I whimper, humiliated. What would Lucius think if he could hear me now?
"What, honey? I want you to say it louder." The finger curls inside of me, inching closer to prostate gland.
"Daddy." I say plaintively. It would have been defiant had my head not been hanging so low between my shoulders.
"Yeah, baby, now scream it!" Harry's getting excited, and has added another finger to his original questing one inside my arse. It feels so good, but I shake my head, eyes wide in frightened refusal.
And then, then the fingers poke- no, stab my prostate, and I can't hold it back. I want to cum, and the only way to earn it is by complying with everything Harry asks, so I do the unthinkable; I scream the word so loudly that if there weren't silencing charms on our room, our children would hear us clear on the other side of our home.
"Oh, gods and Merlin, Daddy let me cum! Daddy please let your baby girl cum, please!" I can practically hear his smirk, but I could care less. I need it. I need to fuck. I need to cum. I need him.
Oh. My. Wizard. God.
Did I just- did I just say that I need Harry James Potter? Disregard that. I'm obviously just thinking that because it's been drilled into me to think that way, right? Not because I've fallen in love with him or anything. We're just….friends with benefits who are legally obligated to live with one another and have two children with another on the way. And we kiss, sometimes. And hug. And celebrate our anniversary. Oh. My. Wizard. God. Merlin, strike me down where I stand! Oh, gosh, I've contracted Stockholm Syndrome…and…and… I'm in love with Harry Potter.
Excuse me while I take a quick nap.