Tricked.

Beyond that moment of ultimate invasion, Harry could only bring forth brief flashes of memory of that first time. He'd probably passed out, or simply retreated deep within himself where the pain and humiliation couldn't reach him. He knew, though, that he'd been healed and returned to his dorm room still coated with blood and semen. No amount of spells could scrub away the knowledge that he'd been used in every way imaginable.

A warm body pressed to his back and he loosed a whine at the thick length that nestled between his cheeks, as if it were coming home. The sweat-dampened skin burned against his wounds and he writhed, trying to pull away, only to be confronted by the smaller form that trapped him between them. His breath flew from his lungs and he moaned weakly, silently begging for it to be over. "Please..."

This word brought a wary stiffness to his tormentors, a breathless anticipation, the sort of waiting expectation that made Harry's heart clench and his mouth turn sour. They wanted him to beg. Why they should desire this more than the cruel abuse they brought to his body was beyond him, but he knew it to be true. He also knew they would honor his pleading words. It was like knowing the sun would rise. However, he couldn't force the words past the lump of feirce pride and bitterness in his throat.

Instead, he turned on them the way he had so many other times, lashing them with their own lusts. "Please...Fuck me. Hurt me, you sick, twisted freaks. Come on, do your worse. So far, I feel like I'm on a fucking vacation!" He was rewarded by their hisses, their hands grabbing him and bending him painfully, nails biting into his flesh. He was gifted with pain, legs drawn up and held in large hands beside his face, awakening an ache in the muscles at the back of his thighs and in the small of his back.

His head fell back, torqued at an awkward angle that forced him to stare at the side of Snape's neck, where the pulse pounded with a lascitude that fed his rage. The fact that neither seemed to enjoy what they were doing always made him feel murderous. If you're raping someone and torturing them, you should at least like it, shouldn't you? Else, what is the motherfucking point!? He jerked his head, teeth snapping, trying to tear into the vulnerable throat like a mad dog. He wasn't at the proper angle, though, and all his struggle did was wrench the muscles in his own neck.

"Say the words, Harry. Just a few simple, effortless words and you will be free." Snape's tone mocked him, but there was sincerity woven through it, igniting his anger anew. Often, he wondered if he could be consumed by his own rage until he spontaneously combusted. Sometimes it felt very possible. "Eat shit and die, Snape. I wouldn't beg you for a glass of water if I were burning alive. Now, either put your goddamned cock in me, or get the fuck away from me!"

His order was obeyed, as they generally were, and he was suddenly full. A throbbing, thick, white-hot lance drove into his ass and seemed as if it would keep pressing deeper until it burst from between his lips. He choked on his own imagination, swearing that he could taste Snape's cock in the back of his throat. Before he could catch his breath, a smaller, but no less invasive, length joined the first. He was stretched to the point of splitting wide, and he shuddered hard, a ragged cry rising from his throat.

Breath stirred the hair across his brow, even as more caressed the side of his neck, Snape and Malfoy waited, savoring the feel of being buried in his heat. He whined in his chest and wriggled, stopping abruptly when the movement caused his flesh to twist around their cocks. As they crushed him between them and began to move, he felt as if he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He was suffocating, their mouths biting and tugging at his skin, leaving deep marks that would linger for days, if not weeks. He sobbed wordlessly as they fucked him brutally with a hypnotic rhythm that they just somehow always found together without words.

"Fuck...Bastards." He mumbled mindless curses at them both, but the anger had been drained from his voice and he knew they could hear it. The pain of their scratching nails, their sweat in his stinging burns, their teeth in his flesh combined with the building feeling that always came during these sessions. Harry gritted his teeth, hissing between them as the rising tide lapped higher and higher, dousing his rage and swirling with the under-current of agony.

Pistoning, they grunted and sighed, but it wasn't enough for him. He wanted them crying out, wanted their moans and whimpers as they truly enjoyed him. He wanted proof that these weekly meetings, hours spent being tortured and raped, meant something to them. Merlin knew, they meant something to him, even if he could never admit it until they were joined like this. The pull of ecstasy that came from their thrusting lengths threatened to overwhelm him, but he forced it far back in his mind so he could speak. "Now. Fucking now, you cocksuckers!"

At his command, they cried out, moaned and favored him with their pleasure, the rhythm turning frantic and wild. He snapped taut, squeezing them within him as he came explosively, lights bursting within his mind and electricity crackling through his veins. He shook and screamed out his bliss, crushed beneath the tsunami that had been growing within him since he'd stepped meekly into the room. It broke him apart and bore him under, allowing him only dim awareness of the pair of climaxes that went off deep within him. Just before he blacked out, he took a moment to savor the flood of heat as the Slytherins emptied themselves within his ass.

------

Harry came to slowly, blinking and rolling onto his side, wincing at the lingering ache in his ass. He glanced down at his chest and noted the lack of burns, noting he'd been healed just as he had every other time. He sat up, knowing he'd have to shower before the others in his dorm woke up, not wanting to have to answer questions regarding the blood and other fluids coating his skin. His eyes fell on the sheet of parchment beside him, stark against the dark ruby of his blanket.

Come find me, if you think you can handle what I have for you.

Harry smirked, knowing he could, and would, handle anything his twisted tormentors had for him. After all, he had been doing so for almost a year.