Simulacrum

Betas: LBaum, Mini Mouse, and asm614.
Notes: One-shot. DH compliant except for epilogue. Thanks to corvusdea for help with Latin for spells.


Draco scowled at the headline of the Daily Prophet. In the nine months since the defeat of Voldemort, Potter’s popularity had never waned. For the first six months, Draco didn’t think that more than three consecutive days had gone by without an article in the rag about his famous classmate. Then there was Witch Weekly’s photo spread. (And there was nothing wrong with keeping that under his mattress.) Rita Skeeter was now doing an “unofficial” biography of the still-eighteen-year-old wizard, giving him much the same treatment that she had given Albus Dumbledore. Weekly excerpts from her book were running now. Today's headline read, “Harry Potter – The Chosen One Chooses Men!"

The latest Skeeter article insisted that Potter was actually gay. Potter had broken things off with Ginny Weasley, or at least officially not gotten back with her, the summer before. When he, along with most of their year, had returned to re-take their seventh year, Potter had been single and considered a “very eligible bachelor.” Fan mail poured in, filling the air in the Great Hall with an unusually large flock of owls at every breakfast and Potter had not seemed to be thrilled at all with this turn. His mates had taken to helping him open them and reading them aloud in silly voices.

Now, according to headlines at least, Skeeter claimed that Potter had had a series of what she referred to as “dalliances” with various boys at their school. She even had an interview with an anonymous chap who claimed to have been Potter’s first. Draco suspected the informant was Justin Finch-Fletchly and a liar, but there were enough other “witnesses” that the accusation seemed plausible. And even worse, or better, depending on your perspective, Potter himself had not denied the allegations.

For his part, Draco had thought he was over obsessing about bloody Harry Potter. The old rancor between them seemed to have waned. Draco had done his best to stay away from The Boy Who Lived Twice and his mates, and focused on rebuilding his life. His father had been sentenced to Azkaban, his mother acquitted and Draco had gotten a suspended sentence. He returned to Hogwarts to endure the taunts and suspicions of classmates who blamed Slytherins, and his family in particular, for the events that took place under Death Eater control of the school.

The latest revelations had changed all that and Draco once again found himself unable to think about anything but Potter. Or Potter’s arse, among other parts. It was Potter’s renewed influx of mail that gave him the idea, actually. He sent it anonymously – a gift from an “admirer.”

The magic was a form of the Protean Spell Draco had mastered and adapted in sixth year. He used Simulacrum Verpae to make a replica of his own prick. A dildo that was a perfect copy. What’s more, it was embedded with a very specific magic that allowed the original to feel any organic contact to the simulacrum. Cloth, metal or the like would not trigger it. But when someone touched the dildo, it triggered the sensations in the original.

Draco tried to watch surreptitiously as Potter opened the package at breakfast. The young man’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed, quickly closing the lid on the box before any of his fellow Gryffindors could see what it contained. Draco’s heart sped up and he looked down when Potter glanced around to see if anyone had noticed.

***

Draco cursed himself when nothing happened. With his luck, Potter would never use it, had maybe even destroyed it. It was three days before he felt the first contact with it. Draco was lying in his bed, fretting over a really bad Quidditch practice his team had had earlier, when he felt the soft touch along his shaft. He startled, looking down as if he expected to see a hand. Then he remembered. Potter was touching it.

He felt fingers sliding along the shaft and then over the head, mapping out every curve and ridge. Draco moaned, hips thrusting up even though it would do no good. Luckily, Potter did not stop, continuing to only fondle it. Draco wasn’t sure what he expected the man would do with it. But he wasn’t expecting what happened next. He felt a tongue on the head, licking over and around it. Who fellated a dildo, Draco thought, though thoroughly grateful the answer was obvious. Potter did.

Draco closed his eyes, imagining the other man was here with him now, really sucking him. The man obliged him, lips joining the tongue as he sucked the head of the simulacrum into his mouth. Draco could picture it, picture Potter bent over him, black hair falling into his face as his lips stretched around Draco’s prick. The suction increased, lips moving further down and Draco gripped the bed beneath him as Potter seemed intent on swallowing the dildo. “Fuck, oh, fuck,” he gasped and came, spilling himself inside his silk pyjamas. Potter didn’t stop, though. He kept sucking, lips sliding up and down the shaft as Draco lay there helpless under the assault of it, hardening again. Draco came another time before the man put the dildo away and the connection was broken. The blond passed out, exhausted and sated.

***

Draco could barely look at Potter the next day. Every movement of those lips made him hard as he remembered the sensations. At breakfast, watching Potter’s lips sucking sausage grease off his fingers nearly sent Draco into another orgasm. Blaise gave Draco a suspicious look and the blond tried to keep his eyes anywhere but on Potter. Potter didn’t seem to act any differently than he had before, but every move the young man made seemed different to Draco now.

That night, Draco went to bed early, lying there reading a book and hoping. Hoping that Potter would decide to play with the toy again. Draco had fallen asleep with the book open on his chest when the first touch came. A gentle slide of fingers up the shaft. Draco’s cock twitched, filling immediately in anticipation. He shivered when he realised the fingers were oiled, slicking the dildo.

Draco hoped that meant what he thought it did and laid there, eyes closed, focusing on the phantom sensations on his prick. He imagined Potter was sitting there, beside him, touching him like that. “Yes, yes,” he whispered.

Then he felt it, the head of the simulacrum pushing between oil slicked arse cheeks. Draco moaned, picturing Potter astride his hips, lowering himself down onto his prick. “Fuck, yes,” he gasped as the head began to press inside, tight muscle giving way, stretching around the crown and then the shaft. Potter was fucking himself with the replica of Draco’s cock and even the thought was exciting. The feelings were amazing. Draco lay there thrusting up with his hips, shuddering as Potter fucked himself.

He could tell when Potter came. The man shoved it deep inside and the muscles clenched hard around the toy. Draco came so hard his back arched off the bed, falling back exhausted and shaking as Potter finally pulled the toy out and put it away.

***

Draco was pleased. He was whistling in the shower the next morning – something that definitely drew worried looks from his housemates. This was a brilliant plan, he decided. Sex without the messy relationship part. It was brilliant. He was shampooing his hair when he yelped, feeling a hand on his prick. He got soap in his eyes and, for a moment, thought one of his housemates had groped him. Then he realised Potter was playing with his toy again. Before breakfast!

His own prick was instantly awake to the touch of oiled fingers. All Draco could do was brace himself against the tiles. Potter wasted no time, oiling the toy and pushing it up his arse again. Draco shuddered, knees trembling and hoping no one would notice what was happening to him. He stuck his head under the spray of the water and stood beneath it while Potter fucked himself again. Draco stuck the knuckles of two fingers in his mouth, biting on them to stifle the moans and keep himself from crying out as he came.

Draco learned quickly that Potter was a sex fiend. Several times every day – night and day – the other man would take out the dildo and play with it. Draco was in the library during one episode, right there in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. Draco nearly crashed his broom when Potter decided to suck it again while Slytherin was having Quidditch practice. Draco was losing sleep because, apparently, Potter dealt with his own insomnia by wanking himself with the dildo up his arse.

***

Meals were safe, though, because there was Potter, sitting with his mates at the Gryffindor table. Or so Draco thought. It was Saturday morning. Potter hadn’t played with the toy that morning, which Draco felt was a nice break after more pseudo sex in the last couple weeks than he had ever had in his life. So it was particularly jolting when he felt the caresses of calloused fingers on the head of his prick. Draco squeaked, dropping his fork in surprise and his head snapping up to look for Potter.

Potter was laughing at something Longbottom had said, looking as normal as the boy ever looked. He shovelled some eggs into his mouth. Draco suddenly realised that Potter could have given the toy to someone else, shared it. What if the person he had been feeling wasn’t Potter? Draco shuddered, not liking the idea of some unknown man using his simulacrum that way.

Then he saw that Potter’s left hand was shoved into the pocket of his robes. The fingers touching the dildo were rubbing the head and Draco thought the hand in that pocket was moving too. Potter was playing with the dildo at breakfast? What kind of sick pervert was he?

Draco sat there, clutching the table, erection tight in his trousers and eyes glued to the place where Potter’s hand was hidden in the pocket. Then those fingers wrapped around the shaft and squeezed. Draco bit his lip to stifle the moan. He staggered to his feet and walked stiff-legged from the room, taking refuge in the nearest toilet. He pushed into the last cubicle and locked the door, immediately ripping open his trousers and pulling himself free of his underwear. He sat down on the toilet, ready to ride out what Potter would do next.

Draco didn’t pay much attention when he heard the door open and another person in the next stall. He tried to remain quiet, hoping they would leave before he came. But he nearly shrieked when he felt the mouth on the head. Potter had taken it out of his pocket? At breakfast?

He gripped the toilet seat, eyes closed tight and mouth softly panting as the simulacrum was fellated. Then it stopped. The mouth and fingers released him and Draco whimpered as his own hand reached down to grasp himself. He was so distracted by the disappointment that he hadn't noticed the feet in front of his stall. There was “Alohomora” cast and suddenly the stall was thrown open, Potter standing in the doorway, eyes narrowed as he looked down at Draco.

Draco was so stunned, prick in hand, that he didn’t even reach for his own wand. Eyes wide and mouth open, he stared up at the Gryffindor. “P-potter,” he stammered, “what are you …?”

Potter stepped into the stall and closed the door behind him, relocking it. Draco’s brain started to kick in and he fumbled for his wand. “Don’t touch your wand,” Potter said, voice firm and full of heat. Draco blushed, a double meaning coming unbidden to his mind and he actually let go of his own prick.

Then Potter reached for him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and hauling Draco to his feet. “I don’t know what think you are …” Draco began.

“Don’t even try it,” Potter insisted and turned Draco toward the wall. “Brace yourself,” the dark haired man ordered and Draco did, putting both hands flat against the tiled wall.

Draco trembled in a combination of panic and anticipation as Potter pushed his trousers and shorts down past his knees. This time, when he felt those thick oil slicked fingers, they were pushing between Draco’s arse cheeks and he yelped again. Potter didn’t even hesitate, pushing a finger slowly but firmly into Draco’s hole while the blond stood there, legs spread and shaking.

Well, if Draco had still wondered, it was clear Potter knew what he was doing. He worked that finger in and out, then added another, stretching and twisting in ways that felt just right. All Draco could do was pant into the burn of the stretch. He broke out into a sweat, cheeks flushed, resting his forehead against the cool tiles.

He couldn’t help but whimper when the fingers were pulled out and Potter chuckled. Draco might have been offended, but he was too distracted by the feel of the very thick head of Potter’s prick pushing between his arse cheeks and resting against his oiled and stretched hole. Panic fluttered in Draco’s chest, worried that Potter’s three fingers hadn’t been enough given how big that felt. “Shhh,” Potter soothed, rubbing it in a slow circle and Draco felt himself opening more, quivering with need.

It was embarrassing, but Draco yelped again when he felt fingers on his own prick, looking down quickly and blinking in surprise when he didn’t see a hand. Potter’s prick was still pressed just the other side of his hole and now the man was oiling the simulacrum. Draco’s prick dribbled pre-come onto the tiles, twitching appreciatively.

Draco moaned deeply when he felt Potter actually push the head of the dildo into his own arse again. He barely had time to register that when he felt his own hole stretched as well as Potter pressed into him. Draco’s fingers curled into fists, pressed against the tiles as he struggled to open to the flesh seeking entry inside him. “Oh, fuck,” he gasped.

Potter was panting too and chuckled deeply in response. He had pushed the dildo deep into his own arse and Draco could feel the man’s muscles tightening around it as he pushed his prick into Draco. Potter was thick. Draco’s few times with others hadn’t included anything that size before. He shuddered and widened his stance as far as the trousers around his ankles would allow. “Yes, fuck me,” he pleaded.

Potter had one hand on Draco’s hip, the other working the dildo in his own arse as he began to rock into and then slowly out of Draco. The sensation of being fucked and fucking at the same time was so bloody fantastic, so overwhelming that Draco could barely do anything but rock with him, moaning with each thrust and each squeeze of Potter’s muscles around the simulacrum. The pace was slow, almost tortuously, and Draco felt dizzy.

On the next slide into Draco’s body, Potter paused, balls deep inside of him. His mouth was beside Draco’s ear, breath tickling it as he whispered. “I knew it was yours all along. Recognised your prick and knew what you had done.”

Draco shivered in a combination of shock and pleasure. Potter had fucked himself with it knowing it was Draco’s, knowing he could feel it? How?

Potter licked along the edge of Draco’s ear, blowing on the wet skin and rotating his hips a little so that his prick seemed to work itself deeper, his arse tightening on the dildo. “You wank in the showers after Quidditch practice,” he continued, “and I watch you.”

“Oh, fuck,” Draco gasped, his prick sputtering more pre-come at both the feelings and at the image of Potter’s voyeurism.

Potter nipped at his ear then. “I don’t usually bottom,” he continued, emphasising his point by pulling back and thrusting in deep. Draco moaned. Yes, Potter topping was a good thing. He loved the way the man stretched him and filled him.

“It was a pretty nervy – let alone pervy – thing to do, sending me this simulacrum,” Potter continued, starting to work his hips again, fucking Draco slowly as he spoke. “I could have done anything with it.” He clenched his arse hard around the dildo and Draco cried out with it. “Still could.”

“Yes, yours,” Draco agreed, then moaned again as Potter found that spot and started really working it, cock thrusting faster now.

“Yes, your cock is mine and your arse is mine, Malfoy,” Potter growled, pumping his own cock in and out, while the dildo in his own arse kept in time with it.

“Yes, anything, yours,” Draco promised, head falling back against Potter’s shoulder. The man began licking and sucking Draco’s neck, making growling sounds as he fucked him. Without warning Draco began to come, hot ropes of white fluid painting the tiles in front of him and his body shuddering as Potter pounded into him now. Potter held him up then, pushing Draco against the wall as he continued to thrust into him. Draco would have fallen otherwise and he surrendered to the other man's body, compliant and trembling with pleasure.

“Fucking mine,” Potter groaned, pinning Draco to the wall as he thrust in hard, coming inside of him. He held them there, panting against Draco’s skin. Draco felt him pull the dildo out of his arse, fingers wrapping around the shaft. Draco whimpered as his over-stimulated prick reacted. Potter licked one of the bites he had made on Draco’s neck and then pulled his still half hard cock out of him. Draco could feel the man’s come trickling out of his arse and down the inside of a thigh.

Potter held the simulacrum up in front of Draco’s face. “I’m keeping this,” he said and then pocketed it. Then leaned forward, pressing firmly against Draco again, lips at his ear. “And I’m keeping you.”


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