Don\'t Say Those Words
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
15,585
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
15,585
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Don't Say Those Words
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters within this story. It belongs to JK Rowling and various other companies. I\'m making no profit on this story.
Don’t Say Those Words
By Alison Leigh
Harry was five when he first heard the word “shit.” He was sitting on his
uncle’s lap while Uncle Vernon thrust up into him and grunted. His uncle’s thick fingers gripped his hips cruelly, preventing him from getting off, groaning at the way Harry wriggled and whined, while Uncle Vernon poked something hard against his bottom.
“That’s it. Good, good boy. Yes, shit!” His uncle mumbled, pushing him down more firmly, twisting up into his bottom until a wet spot was spreading under him.
Uncle Vernon lifted him off, still holding his hip with one hand, rubbing his hamlike hand on the wet spot on his grey trousers, absentmindedly. He wondered if Aunt Petunia would scream at Uncle Vernon like she screamed at Harry when he wet his pants, then wondered what to do about the wet spot on his own jeans. He looked up as his uncle stood, looming over him.
“You’ll keep your mouth shut about this if you know what’s good for you, boy. You’ll be out on the street in a heartbeat if you say even one word,” he reached out and grabbed Harry’s throat, squeezing harshly until he saw stars burst behind his eyes. “I don’t need to tell you what people do to little perverts like you out there, do I?”
Uncle Vernon leered down at him, then put his hand on Harry’s bottom in a way that made him want to squirm away. He went back to his cupboard and played with his toy soldiers until dinner, feeling sick to his stomach, and very confused. He forgot about it.
Harry was seven when he first heard the word “cock.” It was late at night, and he’d been dreaming of the flying motorcycle again, when he was thrown from sleep by a harsh hand grabbing his shoulder and yanking him out of his cupboard. He saw the huge figure of his uncle through blurry eyes as he was pushed onto his knees in the dark. He heard a clink then a zip, and felt his uncle’s heavy hand on his neck, tangling in his hair and shoving his head forward until a hard wet piece of flesh bumped his cheek.
“Put it in your mouth, you little cocksucker,” his voice was a harsh whisper in the darkness, more animal than human and Harry was afraid, his heart beating wildly. Then his uncle grabbed his jaw with his other hand, squeezing so hard Harry though it might crack and he opened his mouth, his uncle’s penis forcing him to open further. He couldn’t breath, his jaw hurt, and his uncle pulled his hair while he thrust his cock into the back of his throat, making him gag.
“Shit! Yeah, suck it, suck harder,” his uncle rasped, punctuating the orders with sharp yanks of his hair and hard thrusts into his mouth. “You like it don’t you, little cocksucker.”
He lost track of how long he’d been on his knees, mind empty of everything as Uncle Vernon fucked his mouth until he came, panting and groaning. The grip on his hair never ceased until he swallowed the fluid in his mouth.
When Uncle Vernon pulled him up off his knees he told him, in a growl that if he ever told anyone he’d be beaten to within an inch of his life. Harry went into his cupboard and lay down on his cot, watching the spiders crawl over his chest. The next morning at breakfast he threw up over his runny eggs. This time he didn’t forget.
He was nine when he first heard the word “fuck.” The kitchen clock read 2:03 and the dining room clock read 2:06 and the broken clock in Harry’s cupboard read 11:23 but that didn’t matter as much as the five points of pain on his shoulder and the knowledge that it was happening again. Uncle Vernon dragged him past them on his way to the couch, Harry’s arm held by a bruising hand. He didn’t know exactly what was going to happen but he remembered the taste of hard flesh in his mouth, the feel of a wet patch under his bottom and he didn’t want to go, he didn’t want it, he didn’t.
“Keep quiet, you little cocksucker,” his uncle hissed in his ear as he pushed Harry down over the side of the couch, pushing his face into the embroidered cushion that smelled of sweat and Aunt Petunia’s perfume and that scraped his cheek as he struggled. There was the clink, and the zip, but he did not expect the cruel hands to pull down his pajamas, he did not expect the finger, the thick, dry finger forcing into him. Uncle Vernon shoved a pillow onto his face in time to muffle his scream, and the next as another finger shoved into him with the first still scraping, burning him, hurting him. It wasn’t like what Dudley did, where he could struggle and kick and run away knowing he’d won because they hadn’t made him cry. It was too painful, too inevitable to struggle against. There was no escape and there never had been.
“That’s right, boy. I’m going to fuck you, and you’ll like it. Just like you liked sucking my cock,” his voice was choked with something frightening and gutteral, and Harry whimpered as the fingers were roughly removed, only to be replaced by his uncle’s huge cock, spearing into him. The pillow was almost not enough to keep in his scream of agony, hurt, hurting me, stop.
“Stop,” he screamed into the pillow, unheard. “Hurting me.”
He screamed into the pillow and struggled to breath while his uncle pushed his pain into Harry’s body again and again.
“Fuck! Yeah. Little cocksucker. Little whore. So tight, yeah.” Harry could barely hear the whispered words over his own sounds of harsh breathing and hoarse cries, but the words continued like they always did until Uncle Vernon came into him, an uncomfortable flow that leaked as he pulled himself out again.
Harry lay still over the arm of the couch, tears leaking out of unseeing
eyes, arms too weak to bother lifting himself up. He heard footsteps disappear into the kitchen and the sound of running water and cloth on skin. Then the sound of footsteps returning from the kitchen, and the feeling of being grasped again, painful on bruised hips.
When Uncle Vernon dragged him back into his cupboard he just locked the door. He knew Harry would never tell.
***
The first time Ron said “shit” Harry paled and dropped his bag, quills and ink, and books spilling across the hallway.
“Don’t-don’t say that word,” he said. Ron stared at him in confusion, deciding not to ask, but the next time it was on the tip of his tongue he remembered the pale face and stricken eyes and said “stuff” instead.
The first time Ron said “cocksucker” Harry choked on his chocolate frog then ran into the loo and threw up. When he came back, wiping his mouth, Ron mutely held out some pumpkin juice but Harry shook his head and refused to eat anything else.
He never said it in front of Harry again, remembering his reaction and wondering.
The first time Ron said “fuck” Harry fell silent abruptly, went up to the dorm room and stared at the ceiling for the rest of the night, his eyes blank and haunted. Ron knew enough then not to say those words again.
Don’t Say Those Words
By Alison Leigh
Harry was five when he first heard the word “shit.” He was sitting on his
uncle’s lap while Uncle Vernon thrust up into him and grunted. His uncle’s thick fingers gripped his hips cruelly, preventing him from getting off, groaning at the way Harry wriggled and whined, while Uncle Vernon poked something hard against his bottom.
“That’s it. Good, good boy. Yes, shit!” His uncle mumbled, pushing him down more firmly, twisting up into his bottom until a wet spot was spreading under him.
Uncle Vernon lifted him off, still holding his hip with one hand, rubbing his hamlike hand on the wet spot on his grey trousers, absentmindedly. He wondered if Aunt Petunia would scream at Uncle Vernon like she screamed at Harry when he wet his pants, then wondered what to do about the wet spot on his own jeans. He looked up as his uncle stood, looming over him.
“You’ll keep your mouth shut about this if you know what’s good for you, boy. You’ll be out on the street in a heartbeat if you say even one word,” he reached out and grabbed Harry’s throat, squeezing harshly until he saw stars burst behind his eyes. “I don’t need to tell you what people do to little perverts like you out there, do I?”
Uncle Vernon leered down at him, then put his hand on Harry’s bottom in a way that made him want to squirm away. He went back to his cupboard and played with his toy soldiers until dinner, feeling sick to his stomach, and very confused. He forgot about it.
Harry was seven when he first heard the word “cock.” It was late at night, and he’d been dreaming of the flying motorcycle again, when he was thrown from sleep by a harsh hand grabbing his shoulder and yanking him out of his cupboard. He saw the huge figure of his uncle through blurry eyes as he was pushed onto his knees in the dark. He heard a clink then a zip, and felt his uncle’s heavy hand on his neck, tangling in his hair and shoving his head forward until a hard wet piece of flesh bumped his cheek.
“Put it in your mouth, you little cocksucker,” his voice was a harsh whisper in the darkness, more animal than human and Harry was afraid, his heart beating wildly. Then his uncle grabbed his jaw with his other hand, squeezing so hard Harry though it might crack and he opened his mouth, his uncle’s penis forcing him to open further. He couldn’t breath, his jaw hurt, and his uncle pulled his hair while he thrust his cock into the back of his throat, making him gag.
“Shit! Yeah, suck it, suck harder,” his uncle rasped, punctuating the orders with sharp yanks of his hair and hard thrusts into his mouth. “You like it don’t you, little cocksucker.”
He lost track of how long he’d been on his knees, mind empty of everything as Uncle Vernon fucked his mouth until he came, panting and groaning. The grip on his hair never ceased until he swallowed the fluid in his mouth.
When Uncle Vernon pulled him up off his knees he told him, in a growl that if he ever told anyone he’d be beaten to within an inch of his life. Harry went into his cupboard and lay down on his cot, watching the spiders crawl over his chest. The next morning at breakfast he threw up over his runny eggs. This time he didn’t forget.
He was nine when he first heard the word “fuck.” The kitchen clock read 2:03 and the dining room clock read 2:06 and the broken clock in Harry’s cupboard read 11:23 but that didn’t matter as much as the five points of pain on his shoulder and the knowledge that it was happening again. Uncle Vernon dragged him past them on his way to the couch, Harry’s arm held by a bruising hand. He didn’t know exactly what was going to happen but he remembered the taste of hard flesh in his mouth, the feel of a wet patch under his bottom and he didn’t want to go, he didn’t want it, he didn’t.
“Keep quiet, you little cocksucker,” his uncle hissed in his ear as he pushed Harry down over the side of the couch, pushing his face into the embroidered cushion that smelled of sweat and Aunt Petunia’s perfume and that scraped his cheek as he struggled. There was the clink, and the zip, but he did not expect the cruel hands to pull down his pajamas, he did not expect the finger, the thick, dry finger forcing into him. Uncle Vernon shoved a pillow onto his face in time to muffle his scream, and the next as another finger shoved into him with the first still scraping, burning him, hurting him. It wasn’t like what Dudley did, where he could struggle and kick and run away knowing he’d won because they hadn’t made him cry. It was too painful, too inevitable to struggle against. There was no escape and there never had been.
“That’s right, boy. I’m going to fuck you, and you’ll like it. Just like you liked sucking my cock,” his voice was choked with something frightening and gutteral, and Harry whimpered as the fingers were roughly removed, only to be replaced by his uncle’s huge cock, spearing into him. The pillow was almost not enough to keep in his scream of agony, hurt, hurting me, stop.
“Stop,” he screamed into the pillow, unheard. “Hurting me.”
He screamed into the pillow and struggled to breath while his uncle pushed his pain into Harry’s body again and again.
“Fuck! Yeah. Little cocksucker. Little whore. So tight, yeah.” Harry could barely hear the whispered words over his own sounds of harsh breathing and hoarse cries, but the words continued like they always did until Uncle Vernon came into him, an uncomfortable flow that leaked as he pulled himself out again.
Harry lay still over the arm of the couch, tears leaking out of unseeing
eyes, arms too weak to bother lifting himself up. He heard footsteps disappear into the kitchen and the sound of running water and cloth on skin. Then the sound of footsteps returning from the kitchen, and the feeling of being grasped again, painful on bruised hips.
When Uncle Vernon dragged him back into his cupboard he just locked the door. He knew Harry would never tell.
***
The first time Ron said “shit” Harry paled and dropped his bag, quills and ink, and books spilling across the hallway.
“Don’t-don’t say that word,” he said. Ron stared at him in confusion, deciding not to ask, but the next time it was on the tip of his tongue he remembered the pale face and stricken eyes and said “stuff” instead.
The first time Ron said “cocksucker” Harry choked on his chocolate frog then ran into the loo and threw up. When he came back, wiping his mouth, Ron mutely held out some pumpkin juice but Harry shook his head and refused to eat anything else.
He never said it in front of Harry again, remembering his reaction and wondering.
The first time Ron said “fuck” Harry fell silent abruptly, went up to the dorm room and stared at the ceiling for the rest of the night, his eyes blank and haunted. Ron knew enough then not to say those words again.