𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄

Single Chapter

Title: Guilty Pleasure
Author: The Ruby Moth
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sexual slash mature adult content.
Notes: Post-HBP with spoilers. No one but H and D, all the way.
Warnings: Non-con (rape), under-age (chan), anal, rimming, spanking, mild bondage, angst, fluff, smut.
Word count: 15698
Summary: Years after Draco's disappearance at the end of HBP, Harry is suffering strange wet dreams, and worries that his rape fantasies might mean he is gay. But when Draco is found, Harry's entire life is turned upside-down by the discovery that Draco is the hidden source of more than just his obsession with him.
Additional Author's Note - despite the chan content, this isn't designed to squick, so if you can handle Draco forcing Harry at a younger age, without any pain involved, you might be able to handle this fine. It really isn't as though he is not liking it; he's sort of liking it against his will, the whole 'discovery aspect' of omg why am I liking this, kind of thing. I couldn't have Draco do anything to him that they both wouldn't like. because, you know, no pain. I'm not into pain. I'd say it's not about pain or pleasure per se, but emotional discovery, in a psychological sense. It can be uncomfortable, but not if the chan aspect won't squick you. (I didn't want to squick) I hope that helps.
There is a happy ending, because I have to fluffify everything. ;P

He was dreaming again, and it felt so familiar it was overwhelming. He was in his bedroom at the Dursleys, young again, and he was lying on his front, his face crammed into the pillow to muffle his moans while a man touched him.

He was being touched in places that he'd never imagined anyone would want to, let alone touch him there. It was new, and uncomfortably pleasurable, and he didn't want it to stop, but he was afraid that if the man knew it, he'd stop doing it. But he was also afraid to let the man know because he knew he'd laugh at him for wanting it. A shamed part of him suspected the man already knew.

The more he tried to suppress what the touches did to him, the more his cock got hard, until he was nearly bucking into the bed beneath him. He was naked, and his hands were bound at the wrists, above his head. The man was saying something, his voice so familiar it was dark and silky and entirely disturbing, curling into him and making him shiver with fear and need. But he couldn't remember who it was.

And then the man was no longer touching him, but climbing on top of him and sticking his cock into his bum and it hurt a little, and he was being filled, stretched, oh god it was too big, far too big, and it was too much, and he was gasping for breath as he panted for air at the heat that hit him like a wave crashing over his head. He was coming, hard, his trapped prick poking against the bedclothes under him, and he felt ashamed to be making such a wet mess under himself, against his volition. The man's hands gripped him, stroked him, while from behind him, right behind his head, harsh whispers filled his ears with suddenly urgent tenderness, even as the man rode him harder.

Who are you?! he wanted to scream, but he couldn't form the words. He wanted it so much, and was so ashamed to know how much he loved it, how much he'd wanted it. Every time the dream came, it wasn't enough, and yet it was just enough to make him come, and it wasn't like the other wet dreams he had; it was harder, and scarier, and somehow better. He didn't have to ask, the man just knew what to do. He didn't have to voice the need for it, it happened in spite of him, in spite of what he might ask for. He wouldn't have known what to ask for anyway. He didn't know people did this kind of thing. All he knew was that it was dirty, and it was sex, and it was -

Gay. That was the word. Bad, wrong, dirty, naughty and very forbidden. It was thrilling. And the man's cock was still moving in and out of him, until he too came with a cry and a groan and a string of cursing interspersed with speaking his name like it was special.