Harry Potter liked caviar. He liked caviar very much. He loved it, in
fact. Adored it, even. He had such a fixation for it, actually, that he
found the thought of it infinitely more appealing than the constant posse
of potential lovers and suitors that was forever queuing up behind him.
This was why he liked Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle was ugly, his assets diminished, if not completely lacking, and, at very least, uninspiring. He had several quirks, among them his dominatrix, sex offender tendencies. But Harry was prepared to overlook these, because Tom Riddle made more money than Harry did, and he thought Harry's ass was very tight. Because he thought Harry's ass was tight, he thought Harry was a good shag. (Which he was. Sirius also thought that Harry was a good shag, but he'd never had him, so he couldn't be sure. Harry didn't know that Sirius thought he was, or would be, a good shag, but he would soon find out.) Because Tom thought Harry was a good shag, he was rather drawn to him. The fact that Harry was by nature timid, submissive, and undemanding (should there be a supply of caviar on hand) made this all the better, for Tom. Tom liked Harry very much, indeed. Harry didn't particularly like Tom, but he liked his paycheck, and the caviar it could buy.
And there was sure to be plenty of caviar at Tom's vacation getaway. Harry hoped Tom's vacation getaway would be someplace sunny, like Florida. But Florida was filled with old people who wanted to retire in Florida because it was warm and sunny and had golf courses. Truth be told, some of them were rather sinister-looking. A bit like Tom, really. Harry couldn't imagine *those* couples had even mildly fulfilling sex. The men looked worse than Tom, because they all walked with canes along the beach with flabby stomachs and….yuck. Even worse were the old men in Speedos. Old men in Speedos. Bleargh. On second thought, Harry didn't hope Tom's vacation getaway would be in Florida, so he wouldn't have to look at flabby old men on the beach and think about what they did at night and whether they were Erective Deficient and on Viagra, like Bob Dole.
Perhaps Tom's vacation getaway could be in California. But no. People were *weird* in California. They lived in Las Vegas in the desert and yet somehow didn't want the government regulating their water supply. They completely overlooked the fact that they would drink all the water if the government didn't and end up dead in the desert of thirst and heat exhaustion if they didn't stop whining about their constitutional rights. Of course, it would've served them right if they had wound up dead in the desert of thirst and heat exhaustion. Harry was quite sure that some people would laugh if they did. Yes, people were weird in California. If they were old they were almost certainly on Viagra, or one of those all- natural, non-prescriptive alternatives that LiveRite is forever crowding people's inboxes with. People in California were weird, they liked that sort of 'natural' stuff. This was why they ate tofu bacon. Harry just couldn't figure out tofu bacon. You either ate bacon or you didn't. It sounded quite disgusting, really. But some people thought caviar was disgusting, the uncultured swine.
The people in California refused to drink iced tea without something weird, like mango slices, in it. Harry didn't like mangoes, but no one in California cared. They claimed it was 'just a little mango', while making little 'huh' noises of disgust with their hands on their hips, and refused to give Harry and the other people who didn't like mangos but liked iced tea iced tea without the 'little mango'. But Harry didn't really care about iced tea. He cared about caviar. Which was why he was over Tom's shoulder, being run through a field that was *definitely* not warm and sunny, but decidedly cold and barren, looking at Sirius, who was in hot pursuit, and wondering why the plant that he and Sirius so frequently performed striptease for under Mushnik's watchful eye was pursuing Sirius.
Looking at Sirius, his well-defined abdominal muscles, and his groin, all highlighted by his tight (if lower-class) attire, Harry decided that anyone who wasn't in pursuit of Sirius was probably mad, straight, or attached to ugly old men with big paychecks who fed them caviar. He wondered if Sirius was after Tom to get caviar too, then panicked, because Sirius was better looking than him by far, and if he put his mind to it he could certainly have the caviar (and the sex that came with it) in Harry's stead). But no- one must have his caviar! He had to kill the competition, even if it meant more work for him in Mushnik's shop otherwise! (Maybe doing more work in Mushnik's shop, and doing it well, would get him a pay raise, but he doubted it very much. No, the only way to get a pay raise from Mushnik was to have sex with him, or so the hot gay men who had held Harry's position before Harry said.)
He began to struggle so that he could break away from Tom and go back to try in vain to beat the crap out of Sirius so that he could simultaneously impress Tom and dissuade Sirius from the caviar prize. Little did he know that *he* was Sirius' intended prize. And so he struggled.
Tom landed a solid slap on Harry's firm, curvaceous, and leather-clad rump. "Shut up or you don't get any sex tonight!"
No sex meant no caviar, and Harry did like his caviar. He stopped struggling and allowed himself to be shuttled across the field. He wished he had a flower to play with. He could pretend he was a Princess and pull off the petals one by one while saying 'Tom loves me, Tom loves me not' and be comforted when the last one was a 'Tom loves me' so that he could be assured of caviar for the rest of his life.
***
1 Meanwhile, in Mushnik's shop…
***
Mr Mushnik had just rid himself of the immediate after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse. (He had rid himself of the 'immediate' effects because the 'delayed' effects included cardiac arrest and chronic heart failure, especially for fat, middle-aged, purple faced gay men like Mr. Mushnik, and even more especially for Mr. Mushnik because Rali had promised Magenta a smutty fic if she killed Mushnik off, and Magenta needed a veritable excuse for doing so).
Having just rid himself of the after-effects, he stood up and leaned heavily on the counter, willing his legs to stop shaking (which meant that he had not entirely ridded himself of the after-effects, after all). He thought back to what had just happened…
He had been trying to stop Harry, that little ingrate, from leaving early for holiday. He hadn't really cared, as Harry often botched his work in the shop and he had Sirius to look at most of the time, but Harry had been wearing the tightest leather pants Mushnik had ever seen. Truth be told, Mushnik was really rather irked that Harry was going anywhere for holiday at all, and even more so that his (rather hideous) lover had carried him off, while casting that very painful curse on Mushnik. Mr. Mushnik had been planning to lock Harry in the basement after work the day before the holiday, with the intention using him to 'relieve tension'. It would have been quite good for the both of them, really. Perhaps it would instil in Harry the respect that had been so lacking of late, towards his employer. Perhaps it would only make the boy resent him more. But Mushnik would have relieved his tensions, and have been very pleasured in doing so, very pleasured indeed.
But that was out of the question, now. Mushnik wasn't an entirely stupid man. He didn't care to fight this 'Tom' character for Harry, especially not when 'Tom' could cast a Cruciatus Curse so likely to cause heart failure for middle-aged gay men. After all, he was quite taken with Sirius. And, speaking of Sirius….
He was no-where to be found! Mushnik gasped. Could Sirius have left, too? But…who would keep him occupied during the holiday?
Fortunately, Mr. Mushnik, not being an entirely stupid man, had placed a certain tracking device in all his employees. He claimed that this was so he could monitor their lunch breaks and make sure they didn't cheat him, but in reality, it was so that he was guaranteed accurate locations of potential shags at all times. The locations of all his employees (which currently numbered two, as all his former ones had had their devices surgically removed after receiving their pay raises post- gratuitous sex) were revealed on a screen in his flashy red Mercedes SLK, a very sexy car which looked much better than its un-sexy driver. He really ought to stop giving pay raises every time he and an employee had sex. Otherwise the employees would remove their tracking devices surgically so as not to be approached for gratuitous sex again. But Mushnik, although not an entirely stupid man, was not entirely bright, either. He'd yet to figure this dilemma out. He assumed that the tracking devices just fizzled out after an employee quit his service, although this had always puzzled him, because machines weren't supposed to know what their surroundings were, unless they were one of those hideous and overpriced (if technologically advanced) Segway things.
And so, Mushnik shakily made his way to his sexy red Mercedes. Climbing shakily in, he shakily removed his keys from his pocket and shakily placed his car keys into the ignition, turning it shakily. Then, having shakily set a world record for using shakily the most times in a quasi-coherent statement, he glanced at his tracking device. What he saw were two rapidly moving dots, navigating across what he knew to be a cold, barren, and empty field. Why Harry and Sirius were in that field, he had no idea, but Sirius' motorcycle was gone, he noted, having glanced at his parking space, which was normally occupied by that wonderful Triumph. But, unless he was imagining it, Sirius' dot was certainly chasing Harry's.
Well! Either Harry had forgotten something, or Sirius was giving the boy his attentions! The latter was simply inexcusable! It was in Sirius' job description to fancy his employer, for fuck's sake! Mushnik would have to set him straight. He was quite angry at even the prospect that Sirius could fancy someone else. After all, he had a sexy car! Cars were an aphrodisiac, weren't they? Or was that chestnut oil? He sniffed. He had been told by the hag at Knockturn Alley that this fragrance was 'in'. It was the most seasonable blend of curdled milk, brine, pig's blood, and dead fish he had been able to find. But surely this couldn't be a turnoff. After all, she had said that women would swoon so wholeheartedly that they would faint. Perhaps this was the problem. He was gay. He had bought a perfume to appeal to women instead of men. Or perhaps hags had a different perception of what was 'in'. Yes, he decided, it must be one of these. The kindly old hag would surely not have cheated him on his fragrance purchase. She would have sought to reward him for his patronage! (He didn't realise how very silly this assumption was, as he had 'rewarded' his patrons on many an occasion with a 'special' plant, usually one that had fangs or venom-coated tentacles. The patrons were always exceptionally pleased, until they discovered these features. Upon their protests and attempted return of the 'reward', they were brushed off, being told that the fangs or venomous tentacles were what made the plant 'special'. After all, who wanted a boring orchid when they could have a sprout for a man- eating plant instead? Surely the latter would more easily impress upon visitors the usefulness of a wide knowledge of horticulture, or, better yet, steal their wallets.) Or perhaps the problem was that it was her job to sell as much perfume as she could, whether it was a seductive make or not. Of course, this couldn't be the problem, as she had been genuinely concerned as Mushnik had unburdened the gruesome details of his love life on the kindly woman as he had been shopping. They had bonded, and she wanted what was best for him! So Mushnik's perfume *must* be sexy – even if it didn't smell of chestnut oil.
And his Mercedes *had* to be an aphrodisiac. After all, it was nearly as sexy as he was! And it was red and shiny and the automotive salesman had assured him that it was a chick magnet. Of course, he had been straight. Mushik sighed. All of these things had been sold to him by straight people. What was wrong with them? They hadn't helped him hook Harry. Or Sirius. Evidently, Harry had hooked Sirius, or Sirius wouldn't be chasing him across that barren field.
Well. If Sirius was chasing Harry, Mushnik could certainly chase Sirius. Shakily, he pressed down the accelerator and sped off towards the barren field to find the two men he wanted to have sex with and get it out of at least one of them.
And if he couldn't get it?
Well, then he'd just have to think of something when he got there.
This was why he liked Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle was ugly, his assets diminished, if not completely lacking, and, at very least, uninspiring. He had several quirks, among them his dominatrix, sex offender tendencies. But Harry was prepared to overlook these, because Tom Riddle made more money than Harry did, and he thought Harry's ass was very tight. Because he thought Harry's ass was tight, he thought Harry was a good shag. (Which he was. Sirius also thought that Harry was a good shag, but he'd never had him, so he couldn't be sure. Harry didn't know that Sirius thought he was, or would be, a good shag, but he would soon find out.) Because Tom thought Harry was a good shag, he was rather drawn to him. The fact that Harry was by nature timid, submissive, and undemanding (should there be a supply of caviar on hand) made this all the better, for Tom. Tom liked Harry very much, indeed. Harry didn't particularly like Tom, but he liked his paycheck, and the caviar it could buy.
And there was sure to be plenty of caviar at Tom's vacation getaway. Harry hoped Tom's vacation getaway would be someplace sunny, like Florida. But Florida was filled with old people who wanted to retire in Florida because it was warm and sunny and had golf courses. Truth be told, some of them were rather sinister-looking. A bit like Tom, really. Harry couldn't imagine *those* couples had even mildly fulfilling sex. The men looked worse than Tom, because they all walked with canes along the beach with flabby stomachs and….yuck. Even worse were the old men in Speedos. Old men in Speedos. Bleargh. On second thought, Harry didn't hope Tom's vacation getaway would be in Florida, so he wouldn't have to look at flabby old men on the beach and think about what they did at night and whether they were Erective Deficient and on Viagra, like Bob Dole.
Perhaps Tom's vacation getaway could be in California. But no. People were *weird* in California. They lived in Las Vegas in the desert and yet somehow didn't want the government regulating their water supply. They completely overlooked the fact that they would drink all the water if the government didn't and end up dead in the desert of thirst and heat exhaustion if they didn't stop whining about their constitutional rights. Of course, it would've served them right if they had wound up dead in the desert of thirst and heat exhaustion. Harry was quite sure that some people would laugh if they did. Yes, people were weird in California. If they were old they were almost certainly on Viagra, or one of those all- natural, non-prescriptive alternatives that LiveRite is forever crowding people's inboxes with. People in California were weird, they liked that sort of 'natural' stuff. This was why they ate tofu bacon. Harry just couldn't figure out tofu bacon. You either ate bacon or you didn't. It sounded quite disgusting, really. But some people thought caviar was disgusting, the uncultured swine.
The people in California refused to drink iced tea without something weird, like mango slices, in it. Harry didn't like mangoes, but no one in California cared. They claimed it was 'just a little mango', while making little 'huh' noises of disgust with their hands on their hips, and refused to give Harry and the other people who didn't like mangos but liked iced tea iced tea without the 'little mango'. But Harry didn't really care about iced tea. He cared about caviar. Which was why he was over Tom's shoulder, being run through a field that was *definitely* not warm and sunny, but decidedly cold and barren, looking at Sirius, who was in hot pursuit, and wondering why the plant that he and Sirius so frequently performed striptease for under Mushnik's watchful eye was pursuing Sirius.
Looking at Sirius, his well-defined abdominal muscles, and his groin, all highlighted by his tight (if lower-class) attire, Harry decided that anyone who wasn't in pursuit of Sirius was probably mad, straight, or attached to ugly old men with big paychecks who fed them caviar. He wondered if Sirius was after Tom to get caviar too, then panicked, because Sirius was better looking than him by far, and if he put his mind to it he could certainly have the caviar (and the sex that came with it) in Harry's stead). But no- one must have his caviar! He had to kill the competition, even if it meant more work for him in Mushnik's shop otherwise! (Maybe doing more work in Mushnik's shop, and doing it well, would get him a pay raise, but he doubted it very much. No, the only way to get a pay raise from Mushnik was to have sex with him, or so the hot gay men who had held Harry's position before Harry said.)
He began to struggle so that he could break away from Tom and go back to try in vain to beat the crap out of Sirius so that he could simultaneously impress Tom and dissuade Sirius from the caviar prize. Little did he know that *he* was Sirius' intended prize. And so he struggled.
Tom landed a solid slap on Harry's firm, curvaceous, and leather-clad rump. "Shut up or you don't get any sex tonight!"
No sex meant no caviar, and Harry did like his caviar. He stopped struggling and allowed himself to be shuttled across the field. He wished he had a flower to play with. He could pretend he was a Princess and pull off the petals one by one while saying 'Tom loves me, Tom loves me not' and be comforted when the last one was a 'Tom loves me' so that he could be assured of caviar for the rest of his life.
***
1 Meanwhile, in Mushnik's shop…
***
Mr Mushnik had just rid himself of the immediate after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse. (He had rid himself of the 'immediate' effects because the 'delayed' effects included cardiac arrest and chronic heart failure, especially for fat, middle-aged, purple faced gay men like Mr. Mushnik, and even more especially for Mr. Mushnik because Rali had promised Magenta a smutty fic if she killed Mushnik off, and Magenta needed a veritable excuse for doing so).
Having just rid himself of the after-effects, he stood up and leaned heavily on the counter, willing his legs to stop shaking (which meant that he had not entirely ridded himself of the after-effects, after all). He thought back to what had just happened…
He had been trying to stop Harry, that little ingrate, from leaving early for holiday. He hadn't really cared, as Harry often botched his work in the shop and he had Sirius to look at most of the time, but Harry had been wearing the tightest leather pants Mushnik had ever seen. Truth be told, Mushnik was really rather irked that Harry was going anywhere for holiday at all, and even more so that his (rather hideous) lover had carried him off, while casting that very painful curse on Mushnik. Mr. Mushnik had been planning to lock Harry in the basement after work the day before the holiday, with the intention using him to 'relieve tension'. It would have been quite good for the both of them, really. Perhaps it would instil in Harry the respect that had been so lacking of late, towards his employer. Perhaps it would only make the boy resent him more. But Mushnik would have relieved his tensions, and have been very pleasured in doing so, very pleasured indeed.
But that was out of the question, now. Mushnik wasn't an entirely stupid man. He didn't care to fight this 'Tom' character for Harry, especially not when 'Tom' could cast a Cruciatus Curse so likely to cause heart failure for middle-aged gay men. After all, he was quite taken with Sirius. And, speaking of Sirius….
He was no-where to be found! Mushnik gasped. Could Sirius have left, too? But…who would keep him occupied during the holiday?
Fortunately, Mr. Mushnik, not being an entirely stupid man, had placed a certain tracking device in all his employees. He claimed that this was so he could monitor their lunch breaks and make sure they didn't cheat him, but in reality, it was so that he was guaranteed accurate locations of potential shags at all times. The locations of all his employees (which currently numbered two, as all his former ones had had their devices surgically removed after receiving their pay raises post- gratuitous sex) were revealed on a screen in his flashy red Mercedes SLK, a very sexy car which looked much better than its un-sexy driver. He really ought to stop giving pay raises every time he and an employee had sex. Otherwise the employees would remove their tracking devices surgically so as not to be approached for gratuitous sex again. But Mushnik, although not an entirely stupid man, was not entirely bright, either. He'd yet to figure this dilemma out. He assumed that the tracking devices just fizzled out after an employee quit his service, although this had always puzzled him, because machines weren't supposed to know what their surroundings were, unless they were one of those hideous and overpriced (if technologically advanced) Segway things.
And so, Mushnik shakily made his way to his sexy red Mercedes. Climbing shakily in, he shakily removed his keys from his pocket and shakily placed his car keys into the ignition, turning it shakily. Then, having shakily set a world record for using shakily the most times in a quasi-coherent statement, he glanced at his tracking device. What he saw were two rapidly moving dots, navigating across what he knew to be a cold, barren, and empty field. Why Harry and Sirius were in that field, he had no idea, but Sirius' motorcycle was gone, he noted, having glanced at his parking space, which was normally occupied by that wonderful Triumph. But, unless he was imagining it, Sirius' dot was certainly chasing Harry's.
Well! Either Harry had forgotten something, or Sirius was giving the boy his attentions! The latter was simply inexcusable! It was in Sirius' job description to fancy his employer, for fuck's sake! Mushnik would have to set him straight. He was quite angry at even the prospect that Sirius could fancy someone else. After all, he had a sexy car! Cars were an aphrodisiac, weren't they? Or was that chestnut oil? He sniffed. He had been told by the hag at Knockturn Alley that this fragrance was 'in'. It was the most seasonable blend of curdled milk, brine, pig's blood, and dead fish he had been able to find. But surely this couldn't be a turnoff. After all, she had said that women would swoon so wholeheartedly that they would faint. Perhaps this was the problem. He was gay. He had bought a perfume to appeal to women instead of men. Or perhaps hags had a different perception of what was 'in'. Yes, he decided, it must be one of these. The kindly old hag would surely not have cheated him on his fragrance purchase. She would have sought to reward him for his patronage! (He didn't realise how very silly this assumption was, as he had 'rewarded' his patrons on many an occasion with a 'special' plant, usually one that had fangs or venom-coated tentacles. The patrons were always exceptionally pleased, until they discovered these features. Upon their protests and attempted return of the 'reward', they were brushed off, being told that the fangs or venomous tentacles were what made the plant 'special'. After all, who wanted a boring orchid when they could have a sprout for a man- eating plant instead? Surely the latter would more easily impress upon visitors the usefulness of a wide knowledge of horticulture, or, better yet, steal their wallets.) Or perhaps the problem was that it was her job to sell as much perfume as she could, whether it was a seductive make or not. Of course, this couldn't be the problem, as she had been genuinely concerned as Mushnik had unburdened the gruesome details of his love life on the kindly woman as he had been shopping. They had bonded, and she wanted what was best for him! So Mushnik's perfume *must* be sexy – even if it didn't smell of chestnut oil.
And his Mercedes *had* to be an aphrodisiac. After all, it was nearly as sexy as he was! And it was red and shiny and the automotive salesman had assured him that it was a chick magnet. Of course, he had been straight. Mushik sighed. All of these things had been sold to him by straight people. What was wrong with them? They hadn't helped him hook Harry. Or Sirius. Evidently, Harry had hooked Sirius, or Sirius wouldn't be chasing him across that barren field.
Well. If Sirius was chasing Harry, Mushnik could certainly chase Sirius. Shakily, he pressed down the accelerator and sped off towards the barren field to find the two men he wanted to have sex with and get it out of at least one of them.
And if he couldn't get it?
Well, then he'd just have to think of something when he got there.