Petunia Ann Dursley nee Evans was an ordinary woman. She was happily married, had a darling child and was generous enough to give shelter to that criminal brat of her no-good sister.
She was among one of more elegant and proper ones on her street, if not entire village, she had class and poise and...
Wait. Let's review our fascinating subject of scrutiny once more, shall we?
In a spotless kitchen, white with nary a color mixed in, if we exclude some black and chrome, a woman was fuming while waiting for her husband. Nothing unusual, you say? Well, let's take a closer look at her, shall we?
At first sight, we would notice that the woman was skinny, almost abnormally so. Her brown hair was still thick, and cut fashionably. Her deep brown eyes would be an asset, if her face wasn't so very austere, the lines deepened and marginally concealed with the make-up. Her thin lips thinned even further as she looked at the clock at the wall.
Heaving an impatient sight, she rubbed the bridge of her nose, being careful so as not to smidge her powder. She was clothed in a conservative dress, brown with small pink flowers printed on the chest region, which didn't flatter her complexion as much as she thought it did. It was one of those impulsive purchases - the salesman flattered her, gushing over her, telling her how it enhanced her pale skin and brought out her eyes and really, no woman could wear this particular dress better than one Petunia Dursley.
However, in truth, it made her all the more mousy, ridiculous and pretty average, emphasizing how thin she was, the length of her neck and when the man looked at her face, he would only be turned off further with her penciled on eyebrows and a little bulged-out eyes. If that didn't turn the unfortunate male off, then her thin lips surely would.
It was the eleventh time one Vernon Dursley had failed to come home at the expected hour.
And Petunia Dursley fumed. This - eleventh time was to be the anniversary of their first date, but the big lug said he had to do something at Grunnings - something with new deals to be done, and really, Petunia believed him, but being delegated to second place - no, third, if Dudley was counted in - sorely rankled her. She emitted a low hiss of impotent fury - something she wouldn't have done, as a proper lady, but there was no one to see her, as Dudley was off with his friends, playing, and Vernon was at work, thank you very much - not! – and she was safely ensconced in the only place the neighbors couldn't spy on her.
"Well, enough is enough." She muttered to herself, her fingers clenching into a fist as her eyes darkened with disappointment and anger. Sure, Vernon was a good husband, a normal husband, unlike the freak Lily had married, and Petunia would deny to her dying day that the freak was better than her darling Vernon in anything but….She huffed as she sharply turned to the stove, removing the boiling pot of water and meticulously adding two teaspoons of Earl Grey mix to the liquid. The soothing scent of the tea did little to placate her as she strode to the fridge, impatiently yanking the door open and pulling out the Black Forest cake she had bought for just this occasion, but now it seemed she would be enjoying all by her lonesome.
Carefully cutting herself a piece – one sixth of the entire round confection, how unusual of her - she then placed the piece on the plate before stashing the remaining cake back to the fridge.
The cake was all white and red and deep brown and Petunia usually wouldn't have sinned so much, what with cutting herself such a piece - normally, she would have cut herself a thin slice; only a third of her haul right now, but she was not in a good mood, or even a forgiving one, for that matter. Besides, Black Forest cake was one of her favorite treats and she really had gone too long without it, thanks to the new diet for her darling Vernon.
'Not so darling anymore,' Petunia thought to herself sourly as she poured the tea in her favorite cup, before picking the plate with the slice of cake in one hand, and cup in the other and moved to the living room. Usually, she wouldn't have eaten there - God, what would the neighbors say, if she behaved so uncouthly. But right now, she didn't give a damn.
The walk was short and she arrived into the desired room without any mishaps. Delicately, she sat on the settee, being mindful of her burden, while half-listening to the TV news. She placed the cup on the club table, frowning a bit as she found some smudges on the glass part of it. But soon, her thoughts came back to her current problem.
One Vernon Dursley. He just wasn't….it …anymore. Petunia grimaced as she remembered her attempts to seduce him - that red see-through negligee and sexy underwear did absolutely nothing for her darling…. She made a show, sending him come-hither signals, and like any hot-blooded male, he should have caved in like a butter to hot knife, but instead of that, the berk looked at her and said "You look good, Pet," and then turned back to watching the football match!
Shame filled her like a bucketful of ice thrown directly on her head. She had tried so hard, she even dieted and all what that insensitive arse had to say to her was that she looked good!?
Nothing like 'You look good enough to eat.' Or 'You're beautiful.' Or maybe, and just maybe 'C'mere, sexy.' She only got absentminded smooch on a cheek nowadays and even then only if she reminded the man! Here she was, in her best years, a beautiful, good mother and good wife and what did she have to show for it?
But honestly, sex with Vernon as he was right now…Petunia sniffled as she munched on the second bite of the delicious treat….Well, no offense to Vernon, but it was more like sex with Vernon's stomach than anything else and she had to secretly buy herself some…. intimate lady-friends to alleviate the sexual tension. It was all the better that both her men were so often absent so she could… alleviate her tension.
However, that didn't doone whit. She wanted to be appreciated, worshipped even, to be treated like a queen, and in the bed, she wanted to experience a screaming orgasm like the heroines in her romantic novels often enjoyed. Petunia scowled as she reached for the tea cup –
"- and now, Kronos Heaven company is introducing the new generation of robots, made exclusively for lovely ladies like you…."
Blinking, she zeroed her attention at the screen where announcer was stirring the public in a storm with his words, standing beside the box, covered with deep blue velvet.
"- and I give you the only and one Robot Boyfriend!" The announcer finally finished his rather long monologue and the velvet fell off, only to reveal a beautiful…. Man?
Petunia scoffed. Technology was all good and all, but this was taking it too far! Robot boyfriend?
Bah! Did they think she was so scatterbrained she wouldn't notice the robot in question was a live being? Just… how dare they deceive innocent women so!
She fumed, gulping the tea down her threat in a rather unladylike manner. Sniffling indignantly, she switched the program, as the re-run of her favorite soap opera was just beginning to be aired and resolved to forget the entire episode.
However, somewhere in the back of her brain, the idea lodged itself, waiting for proper time to be thought about.
Three days later, Petunia Dursley was ready to climb the walls, what with how frustrated she was. Her favorite lady friend was destroyed from the overuse, Dudley found and dismantled the second one for… whatever school project he had - Petunia just about died from mortification when she had found out the remains of it in her Diddykins' room, but thankfully, the boy was too obtuse to know the device's true purpose, so she could say it was some new kind of a massage device instead of a true blue vibrator. The Kegel balls were just fine and dandy, but she was fed up with having to change her wet panties and with her shimmying around, the neighbors were already beginning to wonder whether she was having sciatica or some nerve damage of her hips.
Petunia huffed. Enough was enough. She wanted some hard, hot lovin', damn it! However, as a proper, well-bred lady, it was unthinkable for her to cheat on her darling Vernon, no matter how much she wanted to.
Vernon had already left for work, and Dudley was on some kind of a trip with his friends, so she was home alone. Normally, she would have visited one of neighbors, but with how… hot and bothered she was, it was out of the question. Sighing with desperation, she began to gather the dishes to put them into dishwasher. As usual, her two men had a hearty appetite, while she couldn't eat more than a pear and an apple. Today, she was clothed in a green skirt with a pale yellow blouse – comfortable and still elegant enough for any unusual visits.
She cleared the table with efficient motions borne of long practice, absentmindedly reaching for newspaper. Having nothing to work on right now, she sat down on the chair and began to browse the headlines.
Her attention was drawn to the beautiful man - he was really a stud and it made her thighs rub together just imaging what that kind of a stallion would do to her and then she blinked.
"No More Heartache. Want to find a perfect romance? Or the wildest ride of your life? Then don't hesitate, ladies…. Kronos Heaven is just the address to turn to!"
Disbelievingly, Petunia gaped at the article's proclamation. There it was claimed, black on white, that the company in question was producing robots, similar enough to the humans, to pass for one of them, and what was more, they could be programmed to be perfect boyfriends!
She was ready to scoff again… but then, she paused. Her eyes stopped at the man's picture - long, shoulder length shaggy hair, piercing blue eyes, tanned skin and that yummy six pack….Petunia tilted her head, blushing as she daringly looked at the man's - robot's, she sternly reminded herself - crotch.
Wow. Definitely stallion here. She gulped, swallowing the saliva down her throat. Well, that would definitely scratch the itch. And the best of all, it wouldn't be seen as cheating. Besides, it would be definitely a pleasurable step up from the vibrators and her other lady-friends.
Grabbing the newspaper and not caring that she wrinkled it, Petunia stormed into Dudley's room, intent on getting herself a man of her dreams, stubbornly ignoring the sticky wetness between her legs.
If one observed him, he or she would have remarked that the kid with awkward looking glasses and too big clothes was some kind of emo – or even better an emo-ish beggar. But that particular beggar was not a beggar in the slightest - if one observed him for a longer time, that person would notice the kid having an old fashioned trunk and even more odd, a bird cage for a remarkably big avian, not that the avian in question was present at the time.
The thing was, nobody noticed the kid much, and that suited the kid just fine. However, the kid wasn't a kid, but a teenager… and if that wasn't enough, he was a teenager witha rather… unusual set of problems on his shoulders. If you think his troubles consisted of him being smaller than his peers, inferiority complex and being bullied…. Well, you'd be halfway right.
However, that wouldn't be all of it. Add that being obsessively chased by some wannabe 'I-Wanna-Be -A–Wizarding-World's-Pimp-Daddy' with a penchant of murdering his opponents, of which the boy was on the top of the aforementioned psycho's dick - oops, excuse me, list, but not really wanting to be there, he was down because of the old adage that redheads really weren't to be trusted - case in point, his mummy, who had screwed up the plans of the Voldie-psycho with her sacrifice. However, talking about that particular set of redheads which managed to get him to out-emo himself this year…. They were his ex-bestie and ex-bestie's little sister, Mr. Ronald and Ginevra Weasley.
What exactly had happened? Oh, our darling hero just happened to stumble onto a very private and very interesting conversation, courtesy of the aforementioned duo.
Harry Potter was in a shock. In the last two hours, he had escaped the newly mutated snake of the species Voldiepoois Mutatotris cum Mus, or in the other words old Snakeface himself, he got booed out for yowling out the truth in a very naïve belief he would be heeded and thus he would have spared the innocent - yeah right - lives of the esteemed peers, he had been dumpedwith a sack of the thousand galleons as if he were a hooker that performedan especially bad blowjob, and finally the rotten cherry on the top of the proverbial shit pile, he happened to overhear a juicy tidbit of information.
Well, not particularly juicy per se…. more like vinegar jelly with mustard on top, but you get the drift.
He had found out that one Ronald Billius Weasley was an annoying, jealous, pompous git with nary two bits of brain cells rubbing together if it weren't for chess, but for the aforementioned git to plot his demise so casually just after Cedric had died... was just uncouth and barbaric. However, what made Harry's non-existent many ego crumble to smithereens was the addition of one lovely Ginerva Molly Weasley and her very... elaborate plans of snatching his person, helpfully getting it to drink the love-love confection of doubtful origins and then cheerfully proceed with one-sided horizontal tango. And then all the works - white wedding, then the poor hubby will fall ill, and she would playthe devoted little wife, manning their finances and all, along with helping her clever brother with Cannons, of course….
Harry felt sick. His Emo-meter had broken under the massive duress, and for once, his mope-itis made itself useful what with keeping nosy bodies away… marginally, of course. Even Hermione edged away from him, while both Weaslets tried to ingratiate themselves to him, but with no apparent success…. Harry at least had some presence to explain it as a deep and profound sadness with Diggory's unnecessary death, and the pathetically sad truth was, it was even true.
The return back was mildly normal - mildly because Malfoy just couldn't shut his gob up, and ended being hexed rather extensively - and painfully, with Harry using some very… interesting curses. The Malfoy line would just have to deal with any of the blonde ferret's offspring having very hairy posteriors, females having six nipples and with males having a triple amount of cocks than usual. And the best thing was, the charms were not able to be traced back to Harry…. Because semi- accidental magic was just awesome like that and if worse came to worst, Harry could just argue it was a very unfortunate improvement of the Malfoy line, courtesy of a few hexes and curses blending together very unbeautifully.
So one H.J. Potter trudged back to the Dursley residence properly cowed in, not caring a whit about what the world thought about his woes and intent on polishing his levels of emoness to the scarily high heights over the summer. He didn't have anything else to do, anyway.
The neighborhood was still cookie-cutterish like usual, even the plants were the same, and the sun had the gall to shine cheerfully while it should just go and die already.
Disinterestedly, he looked at the men delivering the big crate, with Aunt Petunia fluttering around and ordering them where to go and all of this. He blinked. Wasn't Aunt Petunia unusually… springy?
And in a pink dress with big white hearts… something that looked like something a demented zombie would wear on a romantic date?
Finally the men managed to get the parcel in, and to Harry's disinterested surprise, they left it in the living room. One of the men looked at him pityingly and shook his head, making him tilt his head with confusion.
"What?" He asked the man - Jack was written on his name tag and he seemed like an irritatingly cheerful fellow, although with dealing with Aunt Petunia, a great part of his cheerfulness plummeted down. "I pity ya, lad." Jack looked over him, cool gray eyes under the messy shoulder length light brown hair that was partially gathered in a ponytail as he minutely moved the cap on his head. "I recommend ya to buy some earplugs. Yer mom seems kinda…. Frisky." Harry blinked. "She is not my mother." He automatically responded, making the man - Jack - look at him with even more pity." And why would I need the earplugs? Aunt Petunia is not very loud – "
Jack lifted his hand, forestalling any other explanations. " You don't want to know. Really, you don't." He shook his head emphatically. "Just trust me, okay?" Harry gulped at the foreboding words. Huh. It seemed he wouldn't be able to polish his emoness to awesome levels after all.
Mike - the other guy and a very nondescript one - helped him to get the trunk in his room, while Jack took care of the few left formalities with Aunt Petunia.
Half an hour later, Harry was cordially invited to the grand unveiling of Aunt Petunia's recent and very magnificent purchase, if she said so.
"Well? Open the crate, boy!" Petunia barked up impatiently, as she nervously patted her hair to ensure herself it was indeed in perfect condition.
Not even sparing her a glance, Harry woodenly complied. The crate was big, almost as tall as a freezer and a mite bit smaller in width and length. The entire thing looked ridiculously out of place in an otherwise immaculate living room, but who was Harry to comment on this?
An emo little orphan, that's who.
The afternoon sun shone cheerfully as he set on dismantling the ropes, duct tape and all other paraphernalia that kept the crate closed. For something so very… bound, it was disturbingly easy to remove and Harry began to wonder just what were they thinking, packing something fragile in a so very loosely sealed crate.
He opened the crate, only to hold back a grimace as he saw a bunch of scrunched up paper.
Well, won't that be a bitch to clean afterwards…
His aunt managed a small squeal, that made him pause, but a quick glare from her made him begin removing the papery annoyances. And even if he were under torture, Harry wouldn't admit he was also curious just what had Aunt Petunia in such a tizzy. But from what Jake had told him… Harry gulped… It was something that didn't bode too well with for him.
He blinked as he removed a ball of paper and something vaguely… hairy poked out.
Wait, hairy? Harry blinked. Did Marge finally snap and murder someone then send the corpse to Aunt Petunia?
He really hoped not.
And then, he uncovered a foot.
'Oh, great. I am living with a secret necrophiliac.' Harry thought to himself glumly. Was it too late to claim no relations to the basket case that was wiggling on a settee and hungrily watching the… unveiling, so to say?
'It was,' Harry concluded sourly. 'Damn.'
When he finally cleared up the annoying things… and stashed them away in a litter bag, as dear Auntie didn't want mess around - he was required to get the … corpse out of the crate and place it on the couch… and that was not a small feat, as the man weighed at least 12 stones and with him-corpse-whatever - being naked… oh, boy. Harry himself weighed seven and a half stones in wet clothing, so it was understandable.
Not that it helped his mortification any. Come on, you try to deal with apparently dead to the world person that is the same gender and completely naked all under your aunt's watchful eyes, and then let's see if you will feel just dandy!
Besides the man was… hung. Like, hung. Like, Hippogriff hung -
Ahem. Let's not even get here.
Harry shuddered as he noticed Petunia's moony eyes at the hunk on the couch. Suddenly, Jake's warnings made awful sense.
"Um, Aunt Petunia?" he asked, carefully inching away - or trying to. Whatever illicit necrophiliac affairs she wanted to have with her new… partner, Harry didn't want to be part of it… in any way, shape or form.
"Clean up, boy," Petunia ordered him sharply, her eyes still on the love hook - ahem, member of the corpse. Harry gladly complied - because it was only cardboard and a light, but sturdy palette, the clearing of the remaining wrappings went quickly. Harry picked up a small book that looked like a manual. It was certainly colorful enough, and on the front it had a printed logo of some company named Kronos Heaven.
"Aunt Petunia, do you want the instruction –"
"Throw it away and burn it!" Petunia interrupted him impatiently as she licked her lips, reminding Harry of a particularly starved feline, namely one Mrs. Norris. Actually, Mrs. Norris would be offended, so let's just go with a starved feline.
Shuddering, he threw the manual in the litter bag which he dragged to the cupboard under the stairs and stashed it inside. Waste not, want not, and all that shit.
He returned to the living room with a great reluctance, not wanting to be a witness of the horny female horse mauling the poor corpse - surely there was a law against such things? If there wasn't there should have been.
Petunia was practically purring as she was eyeing her newest toy. It was so worth filching away almost ten grand pounds from Vernon's secret stash… the hunk was gorgeous. And hung. And did she mention he was hung?
The hunk in question was a male, six point one inches tall with lightly tanned golden skin that stretched over the firm muscles - not too big or bulky, but just right, with eight pack and firm hairless chest. The man's face was angular, with shaggy mahogany colored hair with faint auburn highlights and slightly darker eyebrows. The only hair the man had besides hair and lashes and a small bush on his crotch was a smattering of beard on his sculpted chin , making him look like some kind of a very sexy pirate. Petunia suppressed a shudder when she imagined what his eyes would look like…. Ooh! They cost quite a lot, them being specially customized and all, but they were worth it. More than worth it, in fact...
She hummed cheerfully, but then frowned. She was really not clothed in her sexiest getup… and she wanted the man - Jones - to see her in all her splendor before he began to worship her…
Scratch that, she was just plain horny. And she would be getting some!
"Aunt Petunia?" The boy's voice shook her from her little fantasies.
"Right." She collected herself, discreetly checking of there was any drool dribbling down on her chin. "I am going to change clothes. Turn him on and go to your room."
Green eyes behind those dreadful bottle gasses widened to saucer proportions. "Er…I have to turn him on?" The boy practically squeaked out.
Petunia stood up and strode to the door. "Yes." She bit out, inhaling a shaky breath. It was a privilege she was granting to the little urchin and he was daring to question her!
"But he doesn't have any switch–" She chose not to listen to his wailings.
"Turn him on or no supper for you." She growled out, before storming away, anxious to get on the little red lacy number she had been saving – in vain - for her darling Vernon. Served him right, ha.
Harry stared after Petunia's retreating back.
"She really didn't mean that I have to wank him awake, did she?" He muttered, his eyes still wide with mortification.
Now, dear readers, as you know, procreation is one of the favorite topics of the humanity, be it for loving or recreational purposes. So it is safe to say most of the teenagers became intimately acquainted with the knowledge of the S-E-X word and all that it pertains to fairly early, however our darling Harry was fairly sheltered and it didn't help that he was a mini celebrity and expected to already know about such things, despite of the proofs of contrary - his date-non-date at Yule notwithstanding.
"So… Turning on." Harry mumbled to himself, feeling a blush suffuse his face until he was sure he was as red as a lobster. He knew what that entailed but while they all talked about it and occasionally saw a boner or two in the showers, there was no manual turning on their knobs between them.
And darling Harry was now in an unenviable position to … turn the bloke on to wake him up… by wanking the said bloke. The problem was, he didn't know how to wank. The unfortunate perk of being a hero and all that.
"It shouldn't be so hard… should it?" He muttered to himself as he cautiously dared to look at the man's meat stick.
Biting his lip, he hesitantly reached for the …stick.
But… He hesitated. What if the man wakes up? How would he… explain what was he doing?
Something like: "Excuse me, sir, but my Aunt told me to wake you and I wanked you up."
He winced at the imaginary situation.
"Ew. Bad images." He muttered to himself. But a man's gotta eat so a man's gotta do whatever he has to get a grub, and Harry Potter would earn his grub… even if that meant wanking some poor sod awake. He could at least do that for the man, before Petunia scared his babymakers into the next great adventure.
He cautiously looked at the man's face and then, gathering his relatively small bit of Gryffindor courage, he seized the thing.
The first thought that ran through his brain?
'Man, I am holding a sausage. A warm sausage at that.'
Harry gulped. He knew he wouldn't ever look at sausages without remembering the… sausage… in his hand. Strike that, sausages just found themselves on the first place in his Least Favorite Things to Eat. And considering that he didn't have many exceptions of what he actually chowed down, this was a new kind of record. Really, Voldemort would only have to offer him a sausage, and he would have folded like a wet sheet of paper, the Wizarding Cowards be damned.
So he swallowed down bile and began to move his hand.
The… sausage in his hand was very familiar to the one hiding in his trousers…. albeit his was way smaller. He would have felt sausage envy…. If he weren't stuck with the chore of getting the sausage to life.
It was big. It was heavy. It was…. human-like. And it was damned hard to get hard. The thing just…. Flopped. Harry growled with frustration. He clenched the hand the hardest he could, almost to the point he was strangling the dick - pun intended - and still the damned thing was like a wet noodle.
Rubba dubba. Rubba dubba. Time trickled away and still nothing.
'Maybe rubbing it harder would be the key. ' Harry thought to himself miserably and a little bit viciously. He had heard some blokes liked some pain with a pleasure so… he would oblige.
Ten minutes passed and Harry was no closer to his grub than he was at the beginning. He was panting with exertion his fingers hurt and would the damned thing just get hard already!
He heard Aunt Petunia coming down and he panicked. "Will you just wake up already!" He hissed at the man, who, for all purposes and appearances still snoozed away –
"What the hell are you doing!?" Aunt Petunia shrieked at him, making Harry jump into the air with a frightened yelp.
"I - Well, I, I am turning him on!" Harry spluttered up as Petunia marched to him, thankfully clothed in a red silk robe. He gulped, totally forgetting he still had hands on the … meat stick.
"You idiot!" She hissed, her darkened eyes sparkling with fury. "You just have to kiss him!"
Harry gawped. Had he really spent fifteen minutes wanking the berk while he could just smooch him and hightail out of here?
Yes, he did.
And now he was mentally scarred for life.
"You said I had to turn him on - you never told me how!" He hissed back, his hands inadvertently clenching his… prize.
Petunia flushed. "Well, yes." She coughed delicately. "It was in the manual–"
'And when, pray tell, have I had the time to read on it?' Harry thought back at her viciously but he held his mouth shut.
"I'll leave it to you." He interrupted her with a tired sigh as he unclenched his hands from the man's member. "May I go to my room now, please?"
Petunia sniffled primly. "Well–"
And then, there was a familiar sound of a car coming–
Petunia's eyes widened. "Oh, shit." She swore, not heeding Harry's eyes widening with surprise.
Well, Petunia Dursley never swore and that meant like never ever.
"Get him into the cupboard," she snapped at Harry, who eyed her incredulously.
"Are you bloody mad? He weighs at least twice as much as I do and he is not… turned on, whatever that means!" Harry blurted out incredulously. He would have enjoyed Petunia's mortified blush, but right now, there was an issue with Vernon coming home and if he finds a corpse, there would be a hell to pay.
Especially if it was a corpse of a hunk-waiting-to-be-turned-on-but-not-by-wanking.
"Fine, I will help you." Petunia hissed as she quickly neared the man, grabbing him under the armpits while Harry hurried and grabbed his ankles.
Both Harry and Petunia simultaneously blessed Vernon's gut girth as it gave them an added time to get the man somewhere where Vernon wouldn't have seen it. Ergo, cupboard.
Harry found out that Petunia was surprisingly strong for such a rail thin woman. It made the process all the easier, and he would be soon free to continue advancing his emo force, meaning going on an extended guilt trip. And of course, burying the first - and probably last - wank session into the deepest recesses of his mind.
Quickly shuffling to the cupboard, Petunia managed to open the door and stuff her part of a man in - not very carefully, but well, who cared about that. Harry also helped –
"Pet, I'm home!" Vernon's not-so-lovely bas echoed through the house and Harry yelped as he was harshly pushed into the cupboard, landing on the man and then, the door was slammed behind him, and to Harry's great horror, he heard the click a of key, signaling he was well and truly caught in the mess.
"Well, damn." Harry muttered to himself and tried to straighten up.
Could the day go any worse?
He heard Petunia greet Vernon, her voice high and tittering with nervousness. Harry grimaced. Petunia's voice was never one of her better qualities, but with her being nervous, it just grated on his nerves.
Although… his lips slowly curled into a smirk. He now had a great blackmail on her…. Even if it threatened to bleach his brain with the horror of it all.
But then, his head bumped up and his lips brushed against the lips of the… living statue.
Sighing with annoyance, he thunked his head against the strong shoulder, never noticing the previously still arm twitching and slowly snaking around his waist.
"Well hello, lover." An unknown whiskey voice purred against Harry's ear, making the poor boy confused. There was no one here was there?
"Huh?" he asked dumbly, as he squinted to see better in the darkness.
The body beneath his moved, and suddenly, there was something very warm, and solid moving in his pants, grabbing his sausage.
Dear readers, we can forgive Harry's sudden…. explosion of emotions. He had been forced to come out of his corner of woe, unpack Aunt Petunia's newest toy, then he was forced to turn on the said toy - although he had done so unsuccessfully in the first attempt, and then, he was a co-conspirator when they needed to hide Petunia's… toy and well, the poor guy just wanted to make himself a little bit comfier.
And in process, he nearly got a heart attack when he was groped without the tiniest bit of shame or mercy.
Well, at least his imitation of a high soprano was faultless.
"What was that?" Vernon grunted out as he looked up from his lovely wife who was feeling especially amorous today.
"Vernon?" Petunia blinked, frowning in a fake confusion – well, not so fake anymore. "Oh, you mean the boy. I sent him to get the cupboard in order. Maybe he was bitten by a spider…nasty little things." She shuddered in revulsion. Immediately, Vernon grunted protectively. "Don't worry, Pet. Just leave the boy to deal with them." He smirked maliciously, totally disregarding that the scream was not a scream of pain but a scream of fear.
Meanwhile, Petunia had her hunch about what had happened but with her having to distract Vernon, she couldn't do anything. Swallowing down the irritation, she smiled at her walrus of a husband sweetly, inviting him to a glass of finest whiskey to celebrate his pay raise.
While Petunia was busy with praising her husband, Harry was dealing with one particular 'spider'. Or was the 'spider' dealing with him? Let's see.
After nearly getting a heart attack - or two - or three - Harry attempted to struggle out of the… zombie's embrace. He gasped for air, huffing frantically, as his heart was beating erratically, his blood spreading like a sheet of quicksilver ice through his veins. The first shock of the corpse being suddenly revived was overrode by having his junk fondled by a very…. fond and grabby hand, while he was pressed against the firm living, breathing body with Hippogriff-like sausage between his legs.
Shock was intermingled with pleasure and terror and Harry wasn't sure he would like to get off on that kind of a cocktail of feelings, because that would mean he was a masochist and Voldemort's yearly little visits were really welcomed when they were really not – and give him a break, he was still kind of a virgin although on the verge of being very de-virginized by that creepo of a zombie in here - was the thing a Vampire or what to …be, euh, turned on in darkness? Harry didn't know many things about Vampires, but well, it would be a plausible theory –
"You are a very strange kind of a girl, wanting to do it in here." The same voice purred out and
Harry's scatterbrained mind was grappling with the surreal reality of it all, finally cobbling a response.
"I-ah - am a boy, you dumbass!" He managed to gasp out as he tried to wiggle away from his captor.
"…. Ah." The fondling ceased, much to Harry's relief and embarrassment. There was only the sound of Harry's harsh breathing echoing in the small, dusty place. He relaxed a bit, shuffling with embarrassment as he felt the stickiness in his boxers.
"Uh, yeah." He mumbled out, not wanting to look at the man, even If there was a total darkness between them.
"I apologize." The same velvety voice sounded out, making Harry slump his shoulders with relief.
"Okay… you didn't know…" he managed to get out, with a small, uncomfortable smile."S- Sorry for wanking you, though."
"Oh, don't be sorry. I enjoyed it thoroughly." The man answered, a smile in his voice, making Harry gape with mortification. "W – Wha? Then – then why didn't you-?" Harry fumbled for words as he pressed his hands on the man's wide chest unconsciously as to make a distance between them.
"I wasn't turned on." The man replied matter-of-factly, making Harry fume with frustration.
Green eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, you weren't turned on?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous as he shifted closer, his face in the face of the man, as his eyes tried to bore through the darkness. "Well… I wasn't kissed yet."
The short, candid explanation left our hero gawping and bereft. "K-Kissed? You mean, all I had to do to…. turn you on was to kiss you?" he asked, flabbergasted.
The man cocked his head. "Yeah. Didn't you read the manual?" His voice was pure curiosity, making Harry splutter with confused agitation… " No I didn't!" Harry shot back, irritated. " Aunt Petunia ordered me to turn you on, but not how!" He growled out, mortified, feeling his cheeks blazing with heat of the blush. "What in the blazes are you?"
"I am Robot Boyfriend number 023." The man informed him calmly.
Harry stared. "I wanked off a robot." He said numbly. "Yes." The man agreed pleasantly. "The… wank was also very pleasurable."He added helpfully.
Harry growled. "No, you don't understand. I wanked off a robot that is a sex toy of my Aunt." He choked out, feeling green around the proverbial gills. "Urgh. Imma think I'm going to be sick." Immediately he was nestled in a more comfortable position, with one large hand soothingly rubbing his back.
"You don't need to worry about that anymore." The voice rumbled in his ear, relaxing him further.
"So, may I know your name?" Harry nodded weakly. "I am Harry. Harry Potter. And your name is…?" Harry prodded back, disregarding a tiny voice in his head screaming at him that it wasn't wise to blab out his real name to a total stranger that just molested him. No matter how pleasurable the… ehem, molestation part was.
"I don't have one." The man answered back, making Harry blink with confusion. "What do you mean, you don't have one?" Harry asked frowning as he shifted again.
The man hummed thoughtfully. "Well, usually it takes an owner to name a Robot Boyfriend however and wherever she wishes."
"I am not a girl." Harry grumbled out petulantly. "So what were you called then?"
The man cringed. "Er well… She wanted to name me Jones." Harry winced at the name. Well, nobody said Petunia was particularly brilliant at choosing names – Dudley was a case in point.
"Yikes. I feel sorry for you." Harry mumbled out, not noticing the man slowly drawing him closer.
"Thank you. So hypothetically, if you had to name me, what would you call me?" The man asked casually, making Harry blink with confusion.
"Why me?" Harry asked, honestly baffled. "You are Aunt Petunia's… er, toy and she should name you." He felt the man shudder with revulsion and instantly felt sorry for the poor chap. "I'd rather have something other to be called than this…. Jones thing." The man admitted uncomfortably, making Harry wince in sympathy.
"Uhm, well… What about Orion?" Harry inquired, making the man jerk under him.
["Acknowledged. My name from henceforth will be Orion White… Entering the necessary data into the database….. number 023 changing identity , call name: Orion, surname: White. Changing identity confirmed, please enjoy your purchase."] Harry gawped at the nonsensical words – "Euh - what? Hey you, what the heck are you talking about?" He leaned forward as to shake the man out of his …stupidity, only for the back of his head to be grabbed in a firm grip and his mouth was plundered with a very human-like tongue.
"-Mrph!" He managed to get out, his eyes the size of a saucers. 'What the fuck just happened?' But that though was swiftly wiped out of his brain as his mouth was tongue-raped for the first time in the time since they were unceremoniously punted into the Luv Shack - oh, excuse the pun, the cupboard.
He flailed helplessly, even trying to bite the smug son of a bitch's tongue, but the man – Orion now - was just too clever and besides the kiss wasn't half bad either.
"Mh-Mmmh!" Harry whined into the man's mouth in protest and finally, he could gulp some precious air in his lungs. Wiggling a little, he felt something definitely lumpy under his behind. At first, he was confused, but then, he remembered one particular sausage and…
Bingo. Let's give our Wonder Boy a reward, shall we?
"What the fuck?" Harry hissed at the man, sorely tempted to box in his ears. "Why the hell did you–"
He flushed, unable to finish the sentence. "Snog you?" Orion finished dryly. "Well, isn't that what good boyfriends do to their significant others?"
Harry didn't feel his jaw slacken with disbelief.
Boyfriend? As in Boy with a Friend, instead of Girl plus a Friend, meaning he was now in some kind of a Significant Relationship which he had managed to enter without any previous knowledge on his part, meaning with all the perks and pitfalls it entailed and…. Was that a boner under his rump?
Cautiously, Harry tested his theory with groping under the man's proverbial belt.
Apparently it was.
Here he was, in a cupboard, holding a part of the man's - robot's - junk In his hand, which was, by the way, standing at attention, he had been snogged out of his wits and informed he was to be the lover of the owner of the junk in his hand and wasn't that just grand –
The cupboard crashed open and Harry instinctually snapped his head toward the noise, blinking painfully as the light pierced his retinas.
Half the second later he had wished he never looked at the opened door…. Or precisely, whatever was between them.
His mouth worked before his brain caught with them, much to Harry's belated horror.
Wide green eyes looked at the rail thin woman, clothed in the most revealing red lingerie ever standing in front of the cupboard, her smile frozen in a parody of sexy expression.
"Ew. I so didn't want to see the horse in lingerie."
"Ditto." Orion's faint reply wasn't very encouraging either, with how pissed Aunt Petunia seemed to be at his casual remark.
'That horrible, no good freak of a boy!' Petunia fumed. She was not a horse in lingerie, thank you very much! She was skinny, but with curves and Jones should have worshipped her, but apparently, the brat somehow managed to poison him against her –
Well, no matter. Vernon would be sleeping like a log, what with all of the sleeping pills she mixed in his favorite sauce, so she had enough time to teach the brat some manners and still enjoy Jones'…. Ehem, underbelt gifts.
"Boy! Get out and leave us alone!" She snapped at the freak who was still in daze. She watched with satisfaction how he snapped at attention and made to leave Jones but frowned, as Jones tugged the freak back, tucking his hand under his manly chin.
"He won't be getting anywhere without me." Jones' velvety voice sounded out, making her almost swoon, before she caught the word's meaning.
Immediately, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What do you mean? I am your lover, Jones!" She snapped out. "Now, be a dear and leave the freak…we have some unfinished business," She purred at the hunk, but the hunk only frowned at her.
"Excuse me, Ma'am, but you are not my anything. The instruction manual explicitly says whoever kisses the Robot Boyfriend first, this person would be keyed in the Robot Boyfriend's database as its lover." The man explained, as he stared at her, his unusual eyes cool and collected, and not a speck of warmth in them.
"B – But –" Petunia stuttered, flabbergasted.
Harry's head snapped back at the man. "What the fuck! Just because of one accidental smooch I am not your… whatever you may wish me to be!" He snapped at the man, his emerald green eyes boring into those unique colored ones of his latest…. acquisition.
The man blinked. "Harry darling, there is nothing that can be done about it right now." He smiled at the fiery teen in his lap, inwardly cataloguing his lover's …. characteristics for later perusal and personal memory databanks.
The teen which awkwardly sat in his lap was like an unruly, scruffy kitten. Orion mused to himself. Black, messy hair, still had scrapes from the whatever tumble he was in, and he had minor muscle tremors - Orion inwardly frowned, his lover really was a hapless one, not taking care of himself – he was clothed in some oversized clothes that furthered the impression of him being some rumpled kitten playing in a bunch of castaway clothes.
The boy's face was characterized with high cheekbones and mildly squared jaw, but not too much, it was still inthe soft transition to its more adult shape. He had on awkward bottle gasses behind which he hid green eyes. On his forehead, there was an intriguing bolt-shaped cut and he had chapped pink lips that were still a little bit moistened from the latest kiss. He was still flushed a bit, but now more from anger and confusion than anything else.
From what he could feel in the cupboard, the boy was small and thin, but he still felt some scabbed-over wounds - one particularly alarming one was on the lad's forearm, and there were some bandages wrapped around the other one. The lad's legs were thin and packed with wiry muscles, so he at least did some exercise, but whatever he was doing, he had been overexerting himself.
"Orion! Back to Planet Earth, will ya!" The boy's impatient voice snapped him out of his observations, making him smile apologetically.
"Of course." He replied amiably. "Now, if we could get out of the cupboard, I would be much obliged…it does get awfully cramped in here." He offered smoothly, and immediately the boy disentangled from his form, making him frown in confused disappointment as Harry disregarded him in his attempt to get out as fast as possible.
Harry wasn't one for Slytherin tendencies much, but right now, he felt it was safe to employ all his wits in order to flee the wacko Aunt Petunia wanted for her lover, but somehow, Harry's bad luck just had to kick in as he - Orion - seemed not to regard him as a … gulp… lover.
Not that he came far, or course. Even if he managed to get to the door, he was snagged by the waist courtesy of one armed hug of the... zombie gigolo, or whatever that thing was.
He struggled, even growling and trying to kick the man, but the bastard was apparently either immune to pain or just plain made from steel to disregard his…little offensive on his person.
"Calm down, darling." Orion squeezed the youth to him as if he were some kind of a teddy bear.
"I am not your darling!" Harry snarled back, incensed, as he struggled anew, only to cease after a warning squeeze. The man's strength was ridiculous, and Harry didn't relish having a wasp-like waist. No, thank you very much!
"So what should I call you then?" Orion asked his captive, as he ducked out of the smallish place elegantly. A small grumble and obvious internal debate later, Harry sighed. "Harry. Just Harry."
"Noted." Orion blinked as he straightened out, utterly unashamed of his buff state, but still not willing to let go of his little lover.
"Uh, Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked his only ally, trying to turn around, only to be halted by means of a hand gently grabbing his chin and nudging his head up to look in those eyes.
They always told him what unusual eyes he had, Harry thought dazedly, but against those, his emerald green orbs completely paled in comparison.
The man's eyes were ice blue with dark blue corona and small gold and brown flecks around the iris, and two or three deep blue shades on that ice blue.
"No, you can't!" Petunia's outburst jerked both of them out of whatever trance they managed to get themselves into.
Orion's head jerked away, as he snarled at the snoopy woman. "I've told you already that you don't have any say in who my lover is as you clearly didn't read the instructions." His voice was now on the verge of very polite dislike instead of disinterest.
"Neither did I." Harry spat out, glowering at the smug bastard.
"Ah, ah, ah… your case is different, Harry," Orion purred as he smirked mischievously at his prey.
"You kissed me, thus activating my processor, which fine-tuned my person to you, so in essence, you just made me your lover." Orion smiled a small, gentle smile at his fuming charge, enjoying the dash of red on those pale cheeks.
"So what?" Petunia quite rudely interrupted the duo. "I will kiss him and then Jones will be mine."
She smiled what she thought was a sultry smile, but instead it only made her look half smug and half constipated.
"Put me down." Harry demanded, glaring at the man. All of this nonsense was beginning to make his head ache something terrible, and he really wished for a bed and some quiet to curl into a small ball and sleep…. If he ever could. Nightmares were always an option.
Reluctantly, the man put him down, but to Harry's dismay, he still held his wrist, so escape was out of the question. Drat.
"Listen. I am not, and I will be never your lover." He sighed, massaging his temple wearily. "I am only a kid, I have a mass-murderer on my heels and for the last time, I. Am. Not. Gay. The one who ordered your sorry arse was her," He pointed at the fuming Aunt Petunia, who smiled smugly, "And I would appreciate if you would undo any mumbo-jumbo I accidentally managed to turn on and be her … whatever she wanted you for. Now excuse me, I want to retire to my room. Aunt Petunia, if you would?" He asked his aunt, who distractedly nodded as she shamelessly perused the man's body. Harry shivered. Poor sod. Normally he wouldn't have subjected anyone to Aunt Petunia's tender mercies, but right now, his Slytherin mindset was prevalent over his Gryffindor one, and he just wanted his peace. Raising emo mushrooms was important business and he had already lost precious time what with … the latest heist.
Orion's shoulders dropped as he listened to the boy's tirade. It simply didn't compute. "Why did you kiss me then?" He asked, his voice lost.
Green eyes blinked at him. "It was an accident." He murmured, blushing as he ducked his head. "I didn't see anything in the cupboard, and I didn't know that it would… turn you on." He shrugged helplessly. "I just wanted to be more comfortable in case Aunt Petunia was late in getting us out."
Slowly, Orion nodded. "It's… plausible." He murmured unhappily. "And what is with you having a mass-murderer on your heels?" He asked, his voice regaining its previous steel.
Harry cringed. "None of your business," he retorted sharply. "Just get through your thick skull I don't want you, and go back to Aunt Petunia!" He managed to yank his wrist out of the man's hold and bolted for the safety of his bedroom.
Orion looked at the retreating youth forlornly. "He really doesn't want me, does he?" He muttered, his broad shoulders slumping in defeat.
He flinched as that detestable human horse in lingerie touched him. "Forget him. I want you, darling," The woman purred, making him cringe inwardly at her breathy innuendo. "So come with me, Jones–"
She pressed her non-existent breasts against his arm.
That clinched it for him.
"It doesn't matter." He answered as he looked into her eyes. "I will make him mine. And for future reference, I am Orion White." He gently pried the woman off of his arm and headed after his soon-to-be-lover.
"But I paid for you!" Petunia hissed, dismayed. The hunk was gorgeous, but that Potter brat just had to ruin it all, didn't he?
Orion looked at the red-clad woman unimpressed. "He turned me on. By the way, thanks for not telling him how to turn me on, I enjoyed the… 'human' method very much." He purred out, his eyes glinting wickedly in the afternoon, making the woman splutter with embarrassment and anger.
"I - I will call for the dismantling squad!" Petunia threatened him, her voice trembling with fury.
Orion cocked his head. "Go ahead. I will just show them conversation before my activation." He told her dismissively, making her squeak with indignant embarrassment.
"You- you-!" She spluttered out, shocked at his audacity.
"Play dirty, my dear, and I will play even dirtier." He purred into her ear, making her involuntary shudder with pleasure. "Now, where do you have clothes? I am in dire need of some."
"This isn't over yet." She snapped back, but her cheeks were suspiciously warm.
An arched dark eyebrow lifted at her bold declaration. "I don't expect it to be." Orion rumbled, his lips stretching in a dangerous, albeit sensual smirk.
Shivering again, Petunia whirled around, sharply motioning him to follow her.
Harry tried to mope. Really, he did. He tried to recall that last year an all of its misery and angst, but somehow, his thought always circled back to that … person. True, Orion was a robot, but
Harry couldn't think of him in a context of being a machine - Orion was too… life-like for it to work. And… it was… flattering to have someone to concentrate on his person like this - not because he had survived the Killing Curse, not because he was a Parseltongue or anything else, but simply because he was Harry.
Harry shifted uncomfortably, curling deeper under the threadbare blanket. With all the adoration and dissing the Wizarding World was heaping upon him, he still didn't have time to think about romantic… matters as it were, even if he did have a brief crush on Cho. However, having a crush and being crushed on were two different things. And being so blatantly pursued made him equally excited as he was mortified and uneasy. The sum of his experiences with his male admirers were the Creevy siblings, and they weren't good examples of pursuers, what with them being too star - struck with the legend that made itself around him, and not knowing just Harry.
And besides… the kiss was, as far as the kisses went very…. nice. It was something unusual, something new and Harry really had to wonder just how people even breathed through that kind of thing, but otherwise, the experience was brilliant, and he would have something to gush about to his friends…. Or not. He deflated at the thought of his two sidekicks. He didn't know about Hermione, but two men kissing in the Muggle world was still a no-no topic of conversation. And Ron… Let's not even get there. Ron would probably murder him on spot for daring to sully himself with another bloke. Harry's face darkened at the thought of his…ex-friend. Not that Ron knew about it, but with what Harry had overheard when the idiotic redhead talked to his harpy of a sister, one Ron Weasley was as good as deadto Harry.
Harry hunched into himself even more, trying to ignore the pangs of sadness, loneliness and resentment that echoed in his heart. What he wouldn't give for a kind hand and a soft, friendly word right now…
Slowly, he closed his eyes and relaxed as the darkness crept across his eyelids, and Harry fell into the well-deserved dreamless sleep.
/To Be Continued/