Imaginectarine

By My Cat Frank

Summary: On a lonely summer evening Harry samples an imaginectarine created by the Weasley twins. The mind-altering fruit enhances his imagination and blurs the boundaries between reality and fantasy, and soon Harry can't tell which is which.

Do I want some feedback? Yes, please!

Warnings: Slash, scenes for a mature audience. All right, so it's smut, okay? Yesss, some of you are nodding. You are my target audience.

Disclaimer: Harry and Draco aren't mine. I keep asking J. K. Rowling for permission to use her characters, but she never returns my messages. I'm starting to worry that she's lying in a ditch somewhere, unable to reach her computer. I hope she's all right…

It was during that time of evening after the sun had set, when the twilight cast odd shadows in Harry's bedroom and blurred his vision with tints of gray and blue. It was light enough to see without a lamp, but the light was hazy and had the tendency to trick the eye with images that wouldn't be seen in broad daylight.

On such a summer evening Harry had excused himself from doing the dishes after dinner by telling his aunt that he had a stomachache, and escaped up to the quiet hermitage of his room. This time of day was the only time he had to himself when he spent his summers with the Dursleys, and he welcomed the loneliness—at least, he was happy to be away from his family, but he was still lonely. It wasn't just that he missed his friends, which he did. He felt that there was something else missing, and he couldn't put his finger on it.

Brushing aside this thought, he kneeled down on the floor and pulled up the trick floorboard, revealing the care package Hermione and the Weasleys had sent him. Mrs. Weasley had sent some cake; Hermione had given him a few muggle magazines; Ron had given him some magical contraption he had yet to find a use for; and even the twins had added something to the package. He reread the postscript in the letter from Ron:

P.S. Fred and George are sending you something they call "imaginectarines". They say you should try one sometime when you're alone and bored. I haven't had one and I don't know what it does, but they assure me that it won't turn you into a newt or anything.

Harry examined one of the imaginectarines. It was a round, smooth-skinned orange fruit with a blush of redness on one side. In any other situation he would have naturally taken it as an ordinary nectarine, but knowing Fred and George there had to be some kind of trick involved. Well, at least if something did happen to him, it couldn't hurt, and this was the best time of day for him to experiment without calling up the attention of the Dursleys. He picked up a magazine, sat on his bed, and ate the fruit while flipping through the pages. It wasn't light enough for him to read any articles, but he could still see the pictures by what little light was still coming in from out his window. He could hear a whistling in the wind outside, like the sound it makes before a storm, beating warm but persistent breezes into the room and whirling wild whispering noises past his ears.

He threw away the imaginectarine pit and when he turned his attention back to the magazine, his eyes fell on an ad for men's briefs and he stopped. The model reminded him of a certain blond Slytherin he knew only too well. He stared at the photograph for a long time, taking in the young man's aloof expression, lips parted slightly and eyes looking at something over Harry's shoulder. Harry's gaze trailed down to the wide shoulders, bare chest dripping with small rivulets of water that ran down his arms and torso and soaked into the waistband of his briefs.

Suddenly he heard an all-too-familiar drawl whisper in his ear from behind. "Does that attract you, Potter?" Harry closed his eyes, leaning back toward the sound of the voice. "Is this what you do over your summer—look through muggle magazines for muggle photographs and think about naked muggle men?" He could feel the breath tickling his ear and exhaled slowly. "I think you like this." He felt a hand fall lightly on his shoulder and slide down the front of his chest. He gasped softly.

The hand drifted lower, sliding down his stomach, over his belt, and down further until it cupped his groin. He arched his back and moaned. "Oh, what's this? You're hard, Potter," the voice continued, lips brushing his earlobe. "The famous Harry Potter likes boys."

"Draco," Harry breathed, as the hand slowly unbuttoned his fly and slid into his pants. He felt Draco's hand gently squeeze his tip, then grasp him firmly and stroke up and down. Harry was breathing in short gasps, his neck thrown backwards and his eyes shut firmly. He felt a tongue slide across the tender skin beneath his ear and move lower, where lips nibbled on his exposed throat. Draco wrapped his other arm around him, embracing him from behind and continuing that wonderful attention to his manhood.

"Do you want to fuck boys? Or do you want them to fuck you, Harry?" Harry bit his lip. "Are you a top or a bottom? Do you wonder what it would feel like to have your rock-hard cock inside him? Do you want it inside you? Do you want to fuck me, Harry Potter? Do you wonder how it would feel to have my cock rubbing against yours? You're so horny," he whispered, every consonant sending a wave of breath hot and heavy in Harry's ear, "Do you want me to suck your cock? Do you want to touch my body? Do you want to feel me hot on your lips and taste me when I come? Do you want your cock inside me? Do you want to fuck me, Harry Potter?"

Harry growled and spun around, pinning Draco to the bed beneath him and sealing his mouth with a hot, wet kiss. Their tongues wrestled and Harry felt Draco's hands tangle in his hair and slide down his back, digging fingernails into his shirt when Harry thrust his hips against him. Draco cried out loud. "Shh," Harry whispered, and bit his neck with a feral impulse. Draco bit his bottom lip and tore at Harry's shirt, pulling it over his head and Harry had Draco's shirt off soon after. They rubbed their hands over each other's torsos, then Harry moved down and sucked on Draco's nipple, teasing it with his tongue and nipping it with his teeth. Draco squirmed beneath him, stifling a moan. Harry tugged at Draco's pants and pulled them down to his knees, pulling down his underwear with them. Draco gasped as Harry's hand encircled his cock and pressed his thumb into the tip, sending a jolt of pleasure all through Draco's body.

Then Harry's pants came down, and they rubbed against each other, hips thrusting, holding on tightly to each other as they raced to feel that great sense of wonderful heat and pleasure that was quickly escalating higher and higher and threatening to overcome them both. Draco bit into Harry's shoulder and Harry knew that he wasn't going to last much longer. He felt himself coming closer and closer to the edge until finally something exploded inside of him and he jerked forward with a last powerful thrust just as Draco came, gasping and whimpering his name.

Harry collapsed on top of Draco and buried his head in the curve between his neck and shoulder, his tongue caressing the red bite marks he had left earlier. He kissed his way up Draco's throat and met his lips in a searing kiss that was both fierce and loving at the same time. Harry felt an overwhelming sense of passion and happiness

crushing inside of him, tugging at the back of his throat and the corners of his eyes.

As his lips finally pulled away he sighed happily. "Draco," he whispered, and opened his eyes to look at his lover.

That's when reality kicked back in, and he realized that he was alone, like he always had been, lying on his stomach on his bed at the Dursley's and dreaming of someone who was not there and who probably never would be.

Later that night Harry was dreaming, and in his dream he was flying on the back of an owl and towards a large mansion he had never seen before. The owl flew into a large bedroom, and Harry saw Draco—and somehow he knew that Draco could not see or hear him. In this dream state he saw Draco's eyes widen as he stared at something invisible and a book fell out of his hand where he was standing. Harry had the impression that Draco was experiencing a vision—the blond closed his eyes and bit his lip, seeming to react to something Harry couldn't see. Draco's breath became ragged and he fell back on his bed, writhing and moaning under his breath. As he watched, Harry found himself imagining that Draco must somehow be experiencing a vision of the dream that Harry had had back on Privet Drive. He didn't know how it was possible, and at the moment he didn't care—the sight of Draco undergoing such an orgasmic extrasensory experience was too much of a distraction.

He watched as Draco leaned back and closed his eyes, arching his back and sliding a hand down the front of his pants, stroking himself with a desperate need. Harry was unable to tear himself away, mesmerized by the sight of Draco pleasing himself, tossing his white-blond hair from side to side on the pillow. Harry wished he could jump on the bed and join him but he was there in spirit only. With a shout Draco came, arching his back and then collapsing on the bed in a satisfied heap. He moaned and seemed to be pulling an invisible person down for a deep, passionate kiss, and Harry suddenly felt himself being jerked away from the room and back to his own bedroom on Privet Drive.

His eyes flew open. He was convinced that he had just had a vision where he saw Draco have a vision of Harry's dream encounter with Draco. Just thinking about it was confusing. He struggled until he could make it make sense in his head. Was it possible that the imaginectarine he'd eaten earlier made his fantasy so potent that he could somehow project it through space and share it with Draco? He believed that's what it had to mean.

He felt feverish. Was it excitement, or was he still under the fruit's influences? In either case, if Draco had felt it and enjoyed it, Harry decided that if they both ate an imaginectarine at the same time, they could share another mutual fantasy that would be even more erotic.

He leaped out of bed and pulled an imaginectarine out of the package from the Weasleys. He found a small box and put the fruit inside, then wrote a hasty note on a piece of parchment:

Draco,

Remember the vision you had last night? Eat this imaginectarine and we can experience another one together. I'm looking forward to it.

Love, Harry

He sealed the note inside the package and tied it to Hedwig's leg, instructing her to go to Draco at Malfoy Manor. All he would have to do would be wait until the next evening...

Somehow the time flew by faster than he expected, and it was already evening of the following day. The twilight cast dim and undecipherable shadows in his bedroom as Harry selected another inaginectarine and ate it, reclining on his bed. He threw away the pit, took off his clothes, and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was stretched out on a large, soft bed. He recognized it immediately as the bed in Draco's enormous room from his vision the night before.

"Are you really here?"

Harry turned his head and saw Draco lying next to him, obviously shocked to see the Boy Who Lived lying naked on his bed. Harry nodded.

Draco slowly extended a tentative hand and touched Harry's chest with his fingertips. "You're real," he whispered, and Harry shivered at the delicate touch.

Their hands roamed experimentally over each other. Their first experience had been fast and hard; this time they both moved slowly, savoring each sensation. Their lips met in a warm, thirsty, needful kiss, then parted and their tongues met. They tasted each other lightly at first, playfully licking each other's lips, then caressing and gliding in and out, each exploring the other's mouth. Draco's hands tangled in Harry's hair, holding his head close. Harry held one hand supporting Draco's neck and the other moving lower, sliding down Draco's soft, pale skin to massage his hip. Draco whimpered into the kiss, and Harry slid on top of him to press their skin together more completely. Draco's hands moved down to Harry's back, fingertips caressing the taut muscles there, incensing Harry and driving him mad with the need to possess Draco more fully.

"I want you," Harry whispered throatily, and moved down until his head was above Draco's hardness. He raised his eyes to look up at Draco's face, pleased to see the other boy's eyes glazed over with lust, his breathing erratic. Without losing eye contact, he lowered his lips and gently kissed the tip of Draco's member, watching his blond eyelashes flutter shut over those brilliant silver eyes. Draco gasped softly, clutching fistfuls of expensive silk sheets, and Harry lowered his lips further, taking in more and more of Draco until the blond threw his head backwards onto the pillow and arched his back, screaming for more. His tongue twirled around the organ, teasing and nipping at it, moving up and down and sucking harder while a hand reached up to fondle Draco's balls, the other one rubbing up and down his smooth creamy thigh. Draco was panting, his body coated in a thin sheen of sweat, as he wove a hand into Harry's hair and tugged, pulling his face up.

"I need you, Harry," Draco moaned. "Please—I want you inside me," he begged, and took Harry's lips in a desperate kiss.

Harry found a bottle of massage oil on Draco's nightstand and poured a little onto his fingers. He reached down and gently began to caress Draco's entrance, his eyes following the Slytherin's expression to know when to push further, when Draco was ready. Draco's eyes closed tightly shut and he held his breath, clutching desperately to Harry's arm, but as he adjusted to the feel of Harry's fingers he began to relax, and moaned softly when Harry found a spot that felt particularly good.

Harry removed his fingers and rubbed some more oil on himself, then positioned himself above Draco, lifting Draco's legs on either side of his shoulders and raising himself to Draco's entrance. He slowly eased himself inside, Draco grasping at Harry's back and holding his mouth open in a breathless "O" until Harry had imbedded himself completely.

"Wow," was all Harry could say, and Draco nodded breathlessly, the feel of joining different than anything either had ever experienced. Harry rocked forward, Draco's legs kicking up into the air, pressing down on him until he could plant a kiss on his lips. The movement altered their position on the inside, and Draco thrust against Harry's hips, causing Harry to thrust back.

They rocked together, slowly at first, finding their rhythm and then building speed, thrusting against each other and going mad with the sensations this brought on. Each time Harry pounded into the blond, he hit a soft, spongy center that Draco apparently didn't know he had, and Harry sensed it was about to send him over the edge. Draco's hands grasped the bedsheets, and then he was reaching over his head to push against the headboard, sending Harry deeper and deeper into him, his toes curling in ecstasy. Harry had never felt any pressure so tight as Draco. His breath was coming in more ragged gasps as he thrust faster and faster, building towards a climax, until finally he felt Draco squeeze hard around him as he came, arching his back and screaming, hot wetness shooting onto Harry's stomach. The pressure was too much, and with a final groan he buried himself one last time inside Draco's tight passage, feeling his own release sending him off somewhere above the stars into another universe.

When he came back down, he was lying on his side, Draco kissing his shoulders and tracing his fingertips up and down the flank of Harry's stomach. Harry grinned at him, a silly little smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. "I liked this," he said.

Draco grinned back at him. "Me too," he answered, and claimed Harry's lips in a soft, sweet kiss. "Where did you get that fruit, anyway? We should do this more often." Draco snuggled up against him, and Harry wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close.

"Fred and George," he answered sleepily, "and we should." Anything more that he would have said was lost, as sleep came to carry him off to a faraway realm.

Harry woke up the next morning to a patch of sunlight dancing across his face. He blinked and sat up in his bed. It was his old bed in his old bedroom on Privet Drive. He searched around for his glasses and found them on the floor by the bed, lying on top of the magazine, which looked like it had been tossed to the floor carelessly.

Something about this didn't sit right in his brain. Hadn't the incident with the magazine been the night before last, not the night before? The clothes lying in a heap on the floor were the clothes he had worn the night before last, too. He tried to remember every single detail since he ate the imaginectarine the first time—it worked—well, it sort of worked.

He could remember every vivid detail of Draco looking over his shoulder at the magazine, their rough-and-tumble sex, his vision of Draco in Draco's bedroom, the letter and the fruit he sent to Draco by owl, then eating another fruit and taking his clothes off to meet Draco for the best sex of his life.

Funnily, he couldn't remember a single detail of the day before—as if the time in between sending the letter and meeting Draco that evening hadn't existed.

Something in his stomach dropped about twenty feet. How much of that had actually happened? He looked towards the window to see if Hedwig was there, but she wasn't. Had he really sent Draco Malfoy an imaginectarine—with a note that said, well, he shuddered to think what he could have written in that note.

Harry sat down on the edge of the bed as his mind reeled. Did he really have sex with Draco? Or was it all his imagination brought on by eating the imaginectarine? He kneeled on the floor and pulled out the package from the Weasleys and counted the number of imaginectarines. There were two left. Unfortunately, had had no memory of how many Fred and George had initially given him. Had it been five, or only three?

He realized that he had no idea. And without knowing this, how could he know whether or not he had really had sex with Draco?

He pulled out a piece of parchment from a drawer and set out to write a letter that he was certain would bring on a good laugh from the Weasley twins—which was probably their intention in the first place.

Fred and George,

Thanks for the imaginectarines. The experience was incredible. This may sound strange, but do you remember how many you sent me? How long are the effects supposed to last?

The End
Author's Note:

This fic is a repost. I am currently in the process of writing a second part to this, which will be added in about a week. So...what do you think should happen next? Shall Draco learn about imaginectarines, or will Harry keep them all to himself (and do a fair amount of "imagining")??? Please leave a review!

--My Cat Frank