Title: The Lighter Side of Darker Magic
Author: tigersilver
Prompt: 4.5 Riding the Hippogriff
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry and Draco are NEWTS Potions partners in Professor Slughorn's class...and more. That's all well and good, excepting Slug likes to send them chasing after weird Potions and Draco likes to experiment with antique Sex Magic incantations...on Harry.
Contains: Hogwarts, above the age of consent, circa the Era of Slughorn. Numerous sad, bad attempts at backstreet Latin; banter; flying magically-assisted double anal penetration.
Word Count: 5,600
Beta: ladydeth12*

"Harry. What is this, d'you think?"

Draco, Harry's NEWTS Potions lab partner, edged his seat two inches closer to Harry's, shoving aside the volume Harry was examining and replacing it with a dusty maroon-jacketed text from Restricted. Black Magic, the title read, in faded golden lettering, Level Five and Three-Eighths: Advanced Users Only.

"Might it work?"

"What's what?" Harry sighed, peering down at the tiny font on the pages his partner had flipped the book open to. "Hell, Draco, I can't even make it out. Gibberish."

"Not gibberish, Harry—Latin. Take a gander."

There were diagrammes, various lists of this and moving pictures of that; all a visual jumble, though, being so crammed together on two pages it was well nigh incomprehensible. Harry squinted, cocking his chin.

"This spell or that potion? Or the other shit? It's all mixed up. I can't quite…I mean—"

"They're all connected, Harry, that 'other shit', as well—if you actually read the introductory description, you'll see. Do you?" Harry's partner (in many things, really, not just Potions) stuck a poky finger out, pointing, nearly swiping Harry's specs off in the process. "Is it what we're searching for, though? Inducunt libidinem?"

"Oh." Harry jiggled a bit, leaning over the book's fragile pages and nudging Draco's thigh with his own as he moved. "Hmm…'induce lust', eh? I s'pose it could be what Slug wants. I hate these little mysteries of his. Such a bloody manky bugger, sometimes."

"Yes," Draco shrugged his resignation. "Well, what choice do we have? Really? I mean, I'd like my O-level, please and thank you. Don't know about you, of course. If you're so set on your Aurors, then…sort of have to, don't you?"

"Mmm, we'll see…" Harry murmured, busily scanning the crisscrossed script intently, his eyes narrowed behind his new silver-rimmed specs. "Crikey! You know, there's all sorts of poisons in this particular potion, Draco. It really is Dark. 'Specially for a love brew."

"I know—but is it the one he wants us to find, Harry? That'd be the crucial question, least to me. He's not exactly given over enough clues, has he? Barking Toad eggs are used freely, for one. Kneazle fur from a male calico is another—all common as your average armadillo ichor, really. Both have been listed for every damned Potion we've found so far. And—you tit—it's not a love potion, per se, he wants of us specifically; it's one that'll manipulate emotions. This one does that and far more efficaciously than your little Vane bint's bollocks-upped brew ever did. We're talking pure, unalloyed lust here, Harry, when it's been distillated properly—not some simpering hearts-and-flowers eau d'spirit."

"Well..." Harry tapped his chin with a considering forefinger, "maybe. I mean, the mandragora he talked about in Lecture today was helpful—at least we've narrowed it down. Shredded, dried, only use Tibetan pure. That's here, right enough—and so's the bile of an albino grasshopper. On the right track with those, at least—oi! Hey! I know!"

"Hmm?" Draco raised his brows enquiringly. "What?"

"Well, we could just ask Pince. In fact, why don't we? Save heaps of time, asking. She still about, Draco?"

"Hnnhh…umm, well..."

Draco grinned. Slyly, goofily—like the veriest ninny. Instead of answering, he scooted his plain brown study carrel chair over so abruptly that Harry was practically tipped arse over teakettle into his waiting lap, so closely were they aligned down the one side. Harry allowed it, naturally, as the Library was deathly quiet—no Hufflegiggles in sight. Merlin, he even let go of all the residual tension that had lingered long along the line of his shoulders, tucking himself neatly by Draco's ribcage with a tiny sigh.

"Better," he said. Draco simply nodded, smiling, letting his wandering fingers do the talking. They took a little pleasure stroll right into the warm creases of Harry's Muggle denim trousers, and right smart about it.

Draco smirked, pleased as punch. Harry gasped and shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting about suspiciously. Of all things, Harry was squeamish Draco's little gestures of his affections; the one fault he truly possessed, if one were to ask his boyfriend.

"Um, alright," Harry said, waggling his brows and tossing a spare tendril of hair off his forehead. "Be that way, why don't you? Difficult and cryptic. And grabby. Git."

"Huh." Draco shrugged. "I will, thanks. But, it's funny you should ask, Harry," he grinned smarmily, even as his heart leapt into a fast gallop. So loud Harry could likely hear it, actually. But…he certainly wasn't being fended off-far from it. His fingers dug strongly into Harry's available thigh…then stroked a hard path down to his boney kneecap, pressing deep, shifting tendons and stiffened muscles. A hypnotic effect, Draco hoped for—like a massage. "After Pince—and especially now. Bit late in the day for wanting advisement, really. It is well past ten, yes? And ten sharp's when she usually shoos us all right out. Can't wait to dive into her yellow fuzzy slippers and her sherry bottle."

"Doing it up a bit too brown, Draco," Harry glared. "I get the point."

Draco only smiled, tapping his chin with an idle forefinger.

"So, ah…thinking aloud here, Harry…maybe, just perhaps, she's already popped off to her quarters, you think? You know how these older witches are: so rigid and hidebound—and you know what else?"

"Mmm? What else, Draco?"

"I didn't catch hide nor hair of her nor of anyone else when I was poking around." Draco cocked a cheery thumb, gesturing to the special Section-within-a-Section in Restricted that only NEWTS-level 7th and 6th Years had been provided access to. "No on up front either. All that time; must've been a half hour. I'd say you're shit out of luck, asking Pince anything. Missed the boat, Harry. Try tomorrow."

Harry grimaced, darkly, thumping a fist against the sprawled open book. "Bloody hell," he grimaced. "Take a whole five minutes to say so, why don't you? Was just a simple question, Draco. So…she is gone, right? It's too late?"

"Heh," Draco chuckled. "I'm only being repetitive so I'll be sure you'll understand; you know how woozy you are when you are when you're fagged."

"Bugger off. I'm not that bad!"

"Pardon," Draco winked. "Beg to differ."

"Hmph!"

Harry gathered himself back together, jostling Draco's hand right off his crotch in the process. Frowning, he glanced about leisurely, tilting his head inquisitively, sticking the very tip of his pink tongue past his thinned lips.

"Well, fuck that with a swizzle stick. We're running out of time for this blasted assignment, damn it. Needed the old bat around…for once in my life."

"Really," Draco admonished him blandly, observing with his arms crossed languidly before him, "I wouldn't bother myself. She's definitely gone."

Harry shot Draco a look; one that implied any number of emotions, all quite unspeakable; his eyes very green indeed beneath his dark lashes.

"Hmm," he grunted. "Not so sure about that. Though, I don't hear anything," he added in a low mutter. "A'tall."

"No," Draco agreed, equably enough, "you wouldn't. There's no one here, Harry. Nothing to hear. Nada, nyet, non."

"Nor see anyone," Harry continued, undeterred by the continual smartarse interruptions. "And the main library's pretty dimly lit now; all the sconces snuffed. Huh. Hmmm…"

"Yes?" Draco cocked a brow, tapping a toe tip lazily. "Further clues to report, Auror Trainee Potter?"

"Shut it, you. Look, I wonder if she even realized we were still back here? That's not like her."

"Likely not," Draco agreed, nodding. "But she isn't quite what she used to be, is she?"

"…No."

"But?" Draco could tell his partner was still bothered by Pince's desertion of duty. In the olden days Hogwart's Librarian would no more have left a student lingering after close than she'd dance naked on the High Table at supper but…things had changed. She was older, more easily distracted—and damned close to forcible retirement, any road.

"Right, then," Draco allowed. "Try a quaerat aliquis, Harry. Just in case."

"Yeah, alright."

Both students craned their respective necks, staring about them again for any signs of sapient life, the whisper of their nearly inaudible Seek spells falling away into the comfortable silence of a hundred thousand spines and a million plus pages. There was only the hush of books at rest and respiring, musing through their own ToCs and finally at ease after a long day of students manhandling them. Nor were there any muffled squeals or giggles to be discerned from swotting Firsties, nor the shuffle of rapidly riffling leaves turned by speed-reading Ravenclaws—peaceful, it was, in the Hogwarts library…very. Deserted, too.

And private.

The Seek spell returned but a faint eerie glow, settling about the forms of both boys. A little like a halo, quaerat aliquis simply advised each young Wizard the other was actively present, by limning the taller one's fair hair to a shade warmer than white-platinum and lending an inviting gleam to the green eyes blinking steadily behind their lenses. And by chiming, ever so faintly, like fairy wings jingling. A pretty little charm, it was one of Flit's current favourites.

"All clear," Harry muttered. "Not a soul in here. Bollocks."

"Well, there's your answer, Harry," Draco murmured, rolling his head on his shoulders to crack his neck and sprawling all over his chair as it was clear no one was about to reprimand them for proper comportment. "Seemed pretty dead to me, before. And if Pruney Pince has already booked off for the evening, then logically so did all the rest, right? Stands to reason. Likely the entire floor's cleared out."

"You're sure of that?" Harry seemed highly dubious, despite the serene stillness. "She might come back. I've had her sneak up on me before, you know, when I was least expecting it. You mustn't take anything for granted here, Draco—I certainly don't."

"Pfft!" Draco snorted. "Even Pince has to sleep some time, Harry—poor old dragon."

"Hmm," Harry hummed, unconvinced. "Well, then what do we do? I don't want to hand this over to Slug and have it be the wrong one, Draco. We still have tomorrow morning to ask her."

"Right, right," Draco shrugged, "fine. You track her down if you need to. I'm not so sure she'll even be useful."

"She should be, Draco!" his partner protested. "She is the damned Librarian!"

"Right, right—whatever you say, Harry. Well, come on, let's clear up," Draco urged, nodding. "I think we're done here, least for this evening. ake the book along with since we've still time. And we'll nip in first thing in the morning and question Pince, if we absolutely must."

"Huh," Harry crinkled his scarred brow thoughtfully, his chair legs half lifted off the flagstones. "Alright. But, you know, I'm not truly convinced she's really gone off. I tell you, she's a menace. She lurks. Just like Filch."

Draco chortled, a little louder now that he, at least, was positive they were alone. He leered a bit, leaning toward Harry and winking familiarly.

"Filch! Please! Always doubting me, Harry." One corner of his mobile mouth tilted upwards. "I have ears and eyes too, you know? And a working wand besides—thanking you kindly. Can cast quaerat just as well as you can—and see what's in front of my eyes, too. Likely better than you can, speccy boy. We're completely alone here; trust me."

"Fuck off!" Harry scowled. "I can see very well, Draco; never doubt it, dickweed!"

"Touchy." Draco shook his head kindly, calmly reclaiming the ancient Dark Magic book and slamming it shut. "Such a little spitfire, Harry. I wasn't even on your case." A tiny cloud of black noxious powder rose up and both young Wizards leant away from it immediately, ably avoided breathing it in. Methodically, they went about summoning the assorted miscellaneous stacks from the floor surrounding their table, sending them over to a nearby return trolley. "Look, drop it. Let's just get out, shall we?"

"Here, let me help," Harry said, spelling the heaps of other references into a neat pile for Pince's aides to shelve away come morning. There only remained their notebooks when he was finished and an assortment of quills, sticky notes and inkwells. And their bags, slung carelessly on the carpet. "I think that's all of it."

"Thanks."

"You ready, Draco?"

"Not quite." Draco smirked. And didn't budge.

"What else could there be?"

Draco smirked wider and harder than ever, till he was practically all over smirk, tip to toe. Harry scowled in return, purely out of habit.

"Talk, Draco. You're wasting my time, here. I'm bushed even if you're not."

Draco tossed his razored fringe out of his eyelashes nonchalantly.

"Are you, now? Well, Auror Trainee Potter. Let's assemble a few more facts before we go, shall we?"

"Uh?" Harry gave his companion a dubious look. "Wotcher, Draco?"

"Right, first thing," Draco remarked airily, ignoring Harry's question entirely and busily gathering the rest of their scattered notes into a semi-neat stack. "Here we are, then, all on our own. In the Library." He casually unbuttoned his robes and collar buttons with one elegant hand. "The deserted Library. With a clean worktable available and lots of nice thick carpeting to muffle all sound. No Librarian about to consult with, no other students to pop over and gawp at us and—secondly—note the time. Well past curfew, isn't it? Hmm," he purred, and somehow—impossibly, it seemed—eased his length to slink alongside Harry's rapt but puzzled person. "And—thirdly and fourthly, mind—I'm Prefect and you're the resident boy hero. Hmm. Salazar's toenails, Harry. What ever shall we do with this fortunate circumstance, I wonder? As we're all alone."

Harry quirked his eyebrows, a knowing glint gilding the lovely toady-green of his eyes.

"Together," Draco added meaningfully. "Unaccompanied."

"Yes…and?"

Draco laughed, hand rising to his throat to tug off his tie. "Hmm. Y'see, I'm intrigued. There's possibilities to this situation. Excellent, brilliant possibilities, the sort we don't come across nearly often enough."

"Nnh?" Harry's brows climbed higher, a skeptical dark slash above a deeply buried malachite glow. "Intrigued, are you? Hmm." His dust and ink-stained hands echoed the movements of his boyfriend's, but then went a bit further than that, fumbling down to unzip his flies on his entirely unregulation Muggle denims. He squirmed where he sat, hands shoving hastily at his pants and jeans. They inched down his lean hips 'neath Draco's attentive gaze. "By what 'possibilities', exactly?"

Draco winked. Distinctly, decidedly…purposefully.

"The other spell I came across, of course." His expression was a lovely combination of mischievous and winning as he leant closer. "It's whiz-bang, Harry. " He grinned, full out, like a joyful toddler over a brand new toy. "Guaranteed you'll like it, absolutely." Harry smiled too; couldn't seem to help himself…till Draco went and ruined it all by smirking again. "And, hey—was nice save there, Auror Trainee Potter. I was beginning to wonder about you."

"Yeah?" Harry snapped back, a wee bit miffed. The pants and jeans stopped moving downward at knee-level; Draco frowned at them fretfully. "Well, sod the fuck off, rich boy—prat who shall be jobless when we matriculate. I do manage to clue in eventually, you know. Auroring will suit me to a tee, thanks, so bugger off about my career. But…you were saying?"

Draco snorted softly, waving a careless hand; the annoying issue of his boyfriend's likely highly dangerous future occupation could be sorted later. There were more immediate things to deal with.

"The one book calls it 'Sea of Lube,' Harry. Just think what that might mean to us, okay?" He bobbed his chin, indicating the nearly clear surface of the table before them. "Work table. No people—not even a house elf about, cluttering up the scenery. Brand new Sex Magic lube spell, guaranteed to slick us up like never before. What say you?"

"Oh!"

Harry caught his breath sharply; a panging thrill ran straight from brain stem to cock. His bollocks gathered tight, suddenly full and ripe in Pavlovian response to the word 'lube'.

"Oh? That, then—that's what you meant?" He couldn't not gasp, but it wasn't an issue—Draco seemed just as excited as he, really. "Here, though? I mean-huh. That's, er—that's interesting, yes. A very…interesting…idea."

"Very. Exactly what I was thinking, Harry," Draco drawled. "'Interesting', though, is not how I'd put it." He lunged, for evidently events weren't moving along quickly enough for him. "Hah! Gotcha, Harry! Now it gets interesting, prat!"

"Oh! Oi!" Harry yelped as his chair tilted dangerously back, teetering on just two legs. "Oh, bloody—hell, Draco—that smarts!" he complained his lover seized his upper arms in a hard grip and wrestled him directly onto the polished surface of the walnut work table. "Wanker—you're pinching me! Impatient much?"

"Mare Inlitus!" Draco exclaimed, not minding—and there was!

A Sea of Lube.

It was much like, or so Harry observed (he was an Auror Trainee, damn it—or as good as), the Muggle substance they called silicon jelly. K-Y. Love Juice; that slippery, sometimes edible goo Muggles used for their sex acts—or so the references said. The ones to be found in the Muggle adult shops, that was. The same ones he and Draco frequented ever more often when they had a free weekend and the opportunity to pop over to Edinburgh and browse the city for fun. Draco, as it had turned out, was an adventurous git; that old French chevalier blood in his veins must've contained some lowbrow brigand stock as well, as he was damned nigh irrepressible over certain things. Like sex. And Muggle sex shops were just the tip of the exploratory sexual iceberg. Draco had also dragged Harry off to view various homosexual pornos, all of them shown at dark little hole-in-the-wall back alley theatres, just perfect for a spot of one-off fun.

But it hadn't stopped with simple alleyway hand jobs, nor more progressive bar room loo blowjobs, nor even full-on anal penetration up against the rear door of the Gagging Stoat, one of Edinburgh's seamier Wizarding pubs. Oh, no. Draco—being Draco—had to take it all one step further. Prat was on the looksee for every antique sex magic position he could winkle out of the Restricted Section—and with the clear intent of trying them out on Harry.

Ride the Hippogriff—that was Draco's latest craze. Amazing position, that…but it was damned near impossible to accomplish. Certainly couldn't be done in an alley, or a fortuitously empty school corridor, nor even an abandoned classroom. Needed plenty of free space—and heaps of cushioning lube.

There were times when Harry was immeasurably glad he was the most powerful Wizard living; it helped him keep up with his mile-a-friggin'-minute boyfriend, at least. Kept Harry well clear of St. Mungo's 'Spells Encompassing Xystarchian-Related Damage' Department, too, on more than one occasion. Really—his power was a blessing, in disguise.

Draco meanwhile had shoved, nudged and yanked Harry about six ways from Sunday, even going so far as to climb atop him.

"Removere vestem!" Harry whispered helpfully, resigned. He'd learnt that little stripping spell in DADA, strangely enough. As a matter of fact, he learnt a great many new things this year, what with Voldemort gone.

"Gods, Harry! Good boy!"

Draco approved.

Naked skin slid deliciously across skin at every point of contact; they both felt the unusual level of slickness that coated and drenched, concentrated mostly down by their respective bits, but every-bloody-where else as well. Excepting their heads, of course; that would've been awkward…and possibly dangerous. Harry moaned as he slithered a hand up his boyfriend's slinky spinal; Draco exulted.

"Hah!" he panted triumphantly. "There's another one, besides this," he added breathlessly, biting away at Harry's lips as he chatted. "Wanna know what it is, Harry?"

"Ngh?" Harry did, actually. In for a pence, in for a pound, as the saying went. "Ungh," he replied, nodding under Draco's invasive tongue. "Mnnph!"

Draco drew back, grinning like a grig even as he slid a long arm beneath Harry's back, bringing him closer. Their nipples brushed together, each puckered and distended, and it was a heart-stoppingly awesome feeling.

As were their cocks, half-erect and silky smooth with magical emollient. A great deal of it: oceans. Throbbing, they were—slick-sliding against each other with every inhale and exhale, every twitch and wiggle.

Draco blushed scarlet with pleasure; this lube incantation was unlike any they'd ever used before—tasted eons better (strawberry-kiwi! he noted, licking his lips) and was more versatile, too.

"That thing—that position we were talking over the other day, the one that would need a decent levitation spell? And loads of room to maneuver? We go up—right? Up and then turn, like key into lock? Slot together. The Hippogriff."

"Ye-yeah?"

"Well, I found one, just now," he jerked his fair head. "A spell that'll help us do it. Back there in the stacks. Up for it, Harry?"

Harry shivered. That thing they'd been considering would have them both a good yard above the tabletop or more, likely thrashing about in plain view, and it would enable them each to penetrate the other, simultaneously. It was complicated; it was deviant—it was a bloody tremendously exciting prospect, even for the magically athletic.

"Duplam penetrationem anal?" he breathed. "That one, Draco? Oh, Merlin!"

"Uh-huh," Draco nodded. "We can use levitate corporum and then—and then—Salazar, let me finish, Harry!—the duplam. Together—all at once. Ride—the Fucking—Hippogriff!"

"They w-won't cancel out?" Harry grasped Draco's nipples and twisted, fretting. He worried his lower lip. "You're certain?"

Draco's eyes burned. "No! Oh—please! More!"

"Draco? This?"

"No! That, you idiot! What you're doing—keep doing it!"

"And—and the spell? The duplum?"

"Mmm—oh, Harry—no! No, it's a lot of magical draw but we manage, together," Draco assured him, laying out his long arms along his lover's to keep them still. "I...I think." The nipple twisting was wonderful but horridly distracting. Besides, they'd bigger fish to fry. "No, I'm sure of it, actually." Their fingers curled into and through, twining lovingly. Draco dropped a constellation of kisses across Harry's hairline, encouraging him silently. "In fact, I know we could, Harry. It's just a little applied dexterity—and some slick. And we've got both, and—and I do want to try it, at least once. So we can say we did."

"'Kay," Harry blinked long and hard, enjoying all the sensations assailing him, not the least of which was anticipation. "Nitwit daredevil. Yes, then. Let's."

"Good chap," Draco grinned, his lips flushed and unsteady. "Ready? You take the levitate; start with that. I'll follow."

"Do I—do I need my wand?"

"No!" Draco gathered his magical core, concentrating. The duplam penetratum wasn't easy and he'd need all his remaining attention—which wasn't much, given how Harry's skin undulated across his own. It was like holding a Harry-houri, a sensual wisp of liquid quicksilver desire. He clung, gripping harder to spine and to buttocks, changing grasp to upper arm and to nape. "No, it's all wandless. Just say the spell, Harry. And, er...trust me."

"Uh! Right, then—oh! Oi, stop snogging, git—I can't think!"

"Sorry, sorry—say it, please?"

"Lev-levitate, er? Um, levitate corporum!" Harry cried out—and they swooped up, achieving a slow steady spin above the library table.

"Oh-gods!" Draco whispered. "Di-Dizzy!"

"Yes…yes…" Harry moaned his agreement. "But so good, Draco. Can you feel me? All that lube? Brilliant!"

"Ye-yes…ah! Wait—one sec. Gotta say the other—hah!"

"Do it—do it!"

"Duplam penetrationem anal!" Draco roared.

The books shivered in their cases, spines shimmering like watercolours running in a rain squall, such was the magic. It produced an odd effect, almost instantaneously. It was much like being a puppet: a giant invisible hand plucked each of them sideways, shoved them hither, yanked them yon and rearranged them, abruptly. Draco spun catty-corner and came to a floating halt just off Harry's left hip; Harry's legs stopped their swimmy flailing as he rose and were wrenched gently apart. He flapped his hands; he flailed. He shrieked through his nose.

"Friggin' Godric!"

Draco hung on for dear life to the slick sweaty skin under Harry's armpits; they and taut thighs were his anchors.

"Concentrate, Harry!" he ordered, through clenched teeth. "Keep it up!"

"Yessss—yeah!" Harry's eyes were closed, his back arched into a bow. "This—isn't—easy, you know?" he gritted. "Bast—aahhh!"

In a sudden and blindingly fast movement they were ripped apart altogether. Draco's knees opened wide, his feet dangling, blond tresses a'tumble—and then they were slammed against each other's bodies on the very next inhale and their hardened throbbing cocks aligned side-by-side with magical precision. And then each swollen member lengthened, which was the strangest sensation possible; just enough to make the incantation take hold and continue on unabated: one cock, long and pale and rosy-red at the tip, swathed shiny with copious lube, slotted cleanly into one small pink pucker, also dripping. The other prick—shorter, a little thicker, and with a purpling vein beneath flinching as Harry shuddered helplessly—was
tugged upon by an invisible sheath and then twisted next and nigh the base of the t'other. Then angled in at an exact degree between two white firm buttocks, piercing precisely an inflamed indent, sticky-slimy-positively indecent with scented lube.

"Ah!"

"Urk!"

The implosion of mutual feeling was shocking—and they were, both boys, as never had either of them even conceived of such a thing as this! This—this laced together, locked together, planted side-by-side within the other and then shifted minutely feeling, with ribs tight with breaths they dare not breathe. Their fingers curled or flapped helplessly about, Harry's spectacles flying off to land precariously in the Muggle Cookery stacks—and both sets of lips parted on a silent scream of "Oh!"

And also…"FUCK ME!"

…and 'Merlin'—and 'Salazar'…and 'Harry! HARRY, d'you? D'you?"

"Oh-My-Fucking-MERLIN!"

Till the sounds of groaning and moaning, the small incoherent noises of shock and pleasure and amazement—enthrallment—guttered out altogether and there was the hardy, heady slap of flesh on flesh, muffled by stacks of bound references, shelves of magical books listing against scrolls and pamphlets.

"O-la-love! Harry, love!"

"Fuck-fuck-fuckity-fuck me!"

There was no purchase to be had; nothing to thrust against. It was freefall entirely, excepting the perpetual centrifugal spin. And that was harsh and quite sadomasochistic—and alarmingly excellent fun.

"Nrrr-Nrrr-Nrrr!" Draco shrieked, whizzing. "Nrphhhhff!"

"Bwah!" Harry howled, tears of excitement leaking from beneath his tightly closed eyelids. "Hooo-boooy!"

There was heard a high-pitched squeal from Draco as he came, in torrents and torrents, and an answering gurgle-gasp-'GAH!' from Harry as he also ejaculated, his cock shimmying, his leaky arsehole clenching and releasing. Spunk flew, far and wide, in a spray of motile freewheeling tidbits, decorating texts that explained Dragonology and texts that delved into the Mysteries of the Sphynx. Their book bags, their quills, even their abandoned chairs: all were spattered with a fine spray of Wizarding come—which, somewhat extraordinarily, shimmered in a shade of aqua-blue-violet.

Fwwwaaawump! The spell ceased abruptly. Thunk-crash-crackity—boom!

…And finally a last pathetic little 'creak!', as the work table's overstrained legs splintered fractionally about the joints, trickling sawdust.

"Oh—owwww!" Harry groaned woefully. "Fuck—ing—hurt—my—poor—arse—Draaa—cooo! Hate you!"

"Gefizit!"

"…What?" Harry asked, some moments later, when his lungs inflated. He fumbled hopelessly about for his specs, which were absolutely nowhere available, then resigned himself to squinting at the still apparently spinning vaulted ceiling. "Er, Draco?"

"Get—off—me!" Draco growled testily, having been the one who'd taken the brunt of their abrupt expulsion from Sexual Space. "Killing—me—here! Ca-Can't breathe!"

"Oh! Merlin! You alright, mate?"

There was a sudden scrambling…or, rather, a floppy struggle. Harry extricated his tangled legs from Draco's gingerly; Draco managed to remove his manicured talons from Harry's scratched and sluggishly bleeding shoulder blade and waist.

"Mmph!"

"Owwie! Fucking move, Harry!"

"Sorry! Not my fault, is it?"

"My gawd! Shit-fuck-Hades, that smarts! My bollocks'll never be the same, fuck it."

"Oh…oh? Draco—alright?" Harry poked his boyfriend, worried.

"Hmph! I'll be fine in a moment. Give me a tick to recover."

"'Kay, then."

"Hey, hey, Harry…" Draco asked, after a long moment, during which both young men established they still retained all their usual bits, unaltered. "Okay? No—no problems? No, erm…bruising?"

"Mmm…no, don't think so," Harry shrugged philosophically. "I'm alright, but—what a ride, yeah? Fucking intense."

"A little too, if you ask me," Draco shot back, rising to his knees upon the table's slippery surface. He peered about him, then and only then noting what amounted to a proper 'textbook disaster', the sort to induce any Librarian to immediate retirement. "Fuck! Pince'll murder us, Harry! Get up! Get up now, arsehole! You have to help me put it to rights!"

"Wh-what? What now, Draco?"

Harry inched up on his elbows and took in the same sad and sorry sight his boyfriend had just freaked over: books upon texts upon parchments and scrolls, all damp and streaked, oily and sparkling here and there, as if they'd been dipped in lube and dusted with coloured glitter. In heaps and in piles and scattered far and wide, in a great semi-circle about the wobbly worktable's environs.

It was disaster, in textbook format.

"Oh…oh, fuck. Draco!"

"Tell me about it, Harry."

"We're screwed."

"And tattooed."

That earned him a nasty gtare. "Don't joke, Draco," Harry snapped. "This is no laughing matter. We'll likely have the rest of the year in detention for this. S'not funny!"

"I wasn't!"

"Right—whatever," Harry shook his head, letting it go. "So…what'll we do, then? You know any cleaning spells, Mister Sexual Impresario of the Twentieth Century? I sure hope so, because all I know are Muggle ways."

"Er—ah," Draco blanched. "No, um, actually. House elves, you know? Um…let me think."

"Then think. We need a solution and we need it damn quick. It's late!"

Draco's face lit up, like fireworks in Trafalgar.

"Ah! Ah-hah! I have it!"

"Yeah?"

"Where's your Wonder Witch, Granger? Go and roust her out, Harry. Say we've had a little…a little accident, er—with a Potion, that's it. The one for Slug, alright? She'll buy that, I'm sure. She can help us."

Harry was both vaguely taken with the idea and utterly appalled.

"Really? Hermione? That's—look, Draco, I can't ask poor Hermione to come her and deal with our—our—"

"Ejaculate and excess lubricant, Harry? No, you can't. I quite agree. But you can ask her to come here and help sort the remains of a failed…experiment. She'll help, I'm sure of it. After all, you're such a sodding swot now you want to be in Aurors and she loves it; eats it right up. She'll probably leap at the chance, Harry."

"That's…well, that's unconscionable, Draco!" Appalled won out. Harry glared. "I'm not doing it!"

Draco shrugged, sighing, staring about him pointedly. He thrust the flats of his sticky palms up.

"Well, then. I guess we can shag in the Trophy Room instead of Hogsmeade then, if you wish—duing detention. Makes no never mind to me, Harry. 'Course, I'll miss those quick nips in to the Burgh, but—"

"Oh, shut up!" Harry snarled. "Fine! I'll send a Patronus; see what she says, but don't blame me if she doesn't come. This was all your idea, Draco, the Hippogriff position—and why is always me who has to fix it after? I mean, really, enough's en—mmmpffh!"

"Harry," Draco murmured gently. "I love you. You talk too much, but still…I do love you. Now, do it and get it over with, 'cause I'm about knackered and my knees are shot to Hades. Fuck, Harry! I still can't feel my sac! Bed sounds like a very nice place to be right now, alright? And we two should be off there, soon as we can. Just need Granger and we're golden."

Harry's chin wibbled; his eyelids drooped. He, too, was worn to a nub. Bad idea or not—Draco's ideas were often not so hot—the Hippogriff had been undeniably both hazardous and incredible. He felt like he'd been squashed flat, all the cum extracted from him.

"Mnnn, yeah. Okay," he mumbled, deftly avoiding Draco's lazy lips and lax tongue on his earlobe. "You win; I'll call her."

"Hmm. Knew you'd see it my way, Harry."

"Stuff it."

"Still and all…it was super, wasn't it?" Dsraco mused, nestling against his sagging boyfriend. "I mean to say, it was absolutely mind-blowing, completely phenomenal and I never want to do it that way again—ever—but still…it was super. More than that…and you—you're certain you're alright?"

"Hmmm," Harry nodded his buzzing head wearily; likely the counterclockwise spinning had done him in. "Mmm-hmm."

"…Awesome." Draco nipped his boyfriend's swollen lips. "Love you, Harry."

"Love you, too, git."

"Do the expecto, Harry, before you pass out."

"Mmm…"

"Now is good, Harry. Stay awake, mate."

"M'okay. Expecto…erm, patronum. Um."

A silver stag sprung into existence, just on the edge of the circle of mayhem. It pawed the carpet with its spectral hooves, tossing its antlers as Harry's wish to summon Hermione was telegraphed telepathically. Then the deer skittered in a wavery, rather drunken way towards the exit.

"…Harry?"

"Mmph?"

"Your patronus looked to be shagged silly, too; did'ja notice? Was brill, wasn't it? Told you it would be."

"Ummm…Wow."

"…I'll say."

Finite