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What's Big and Warm and Gives Great Hugs?

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The month after the Battle of Hogwarts is its own ordeal.

They tend to the bodies first. Matching the dead to their devastated families. Tracking down the next of kin for those left behind. By the time the bodies are cleared, most of the living have left too. Some stalwart staff, the hardiest students, stay behind.  They begin the monumental task to rebuild and repair the ruined castle wreckage. Of course, Harry stays to help. Where else would he go?  

The funerals start piling up quickly. Some are harder than others. Harry feels obligated to attend every one. To pay respects to the people who sacrificed themselves for a war he can't help but feel responsible for. He spends a lot of time with Hagrid, honestly. Ron and Hermione have left to recover her parents in Australia, an endeavour that keeps running into increasingly distressing roadblocks.

Hagrid and Harry get in the habit of stopping at The Three Broomsticks when they return from the endless stream of memorials. Some days they sit, maudlin and silent, around a butterbeer. Other times they get wickedly drunk, sharing toasts and memories, laughing loudly at each other's stupid jokes until they remember that nothing is funny anymore in a world with so much loss. 

It is infuriating, to be trapped by grief until the moment you forget about it. And after enjoying a moment's peace, feel it surging back in like the tide, a rip current of guilt pulling you under for having forgotten. As if it were possible to neglect your mourning. 

With Hagrid it was easier. They relied on each other. Hagrid still had his brother, of course, but Grawp had moved back to the mountain cave they'd shared that spring. It was far enough to escape Hagrid's apron strings, and close enough for the frequent visits Hagrid threatened him with. 

One rare weekend they find themselves free of obligations and spend their time isolated in Hagrid's little hut. Fang snores by the fire, and Hagrid weeps his way through recounting his part in the Battle of Hogwarts. Emotions were always close to the surface these days, and Hagrid is blubbering hard as he remembers that awful night last month. His whole great heart had broken as he'd been made to carry Harry's body out of the Forbidden Forest. Harry can hardly stand to see the tears dripping down into his beard. If it doesn't stop soon, he will no doubt be weeping with him. 

Harry pushes back from the table and crawls right into Hagrid's lap. The size difference makes him feel just like a child in comparison, but he does his best to channel his inner adult, kneeling up on Hagrid's legs and cupping his hands to his tear-tracked face. 

"I'm sorry, Hagrid," Harry mumbles helplessly. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." 

Hagrid's great arms wrap close around him, pulling him tight to Hagrid's chest.  Harry doesn't bother trying to fight it, just lets the big man draw what comfort he needs from holding Harry close. Harry does the same, nuzzling into Hagrid's neck. He feels so at ease here, safe and warm in Hagrid's lap. Big hands are stroking down his back, being pet like one of the creatures Hagrid takes such loving care with. 

Sweet Hagrid feels every emotion just as large as his giant body can handle. His hitching, broken sobs shake through both their bodies. Harry pulls back from where he's burrowed himself in the crook of Hagrid's neck and pets Hagrid's weepy face. He is holding him so close it's hardly an effort at all to move in and kiss those tears away. 

Hagrid blubbers a few minutes more but is settling down as Harry continues to pepper Hagrid with tiny kisses, across his cheeks, his nose, his eyebrows, even his beard.  Harry must have lost himself for a second there, when he realizes Hagrid is finally still, staring at him from big watery eyes. His breathing has evened out, and he's looking at him, not with confusion or disgust as Harry feared, but what appears to be simple curiosity.

Harry smiles a bit sheepishly and tries to squirm away, but despite being surprised into stillness, Hagrid is still holding Harry tight. Trying to wiggle away, Harry only succeeds in grinding in place for a moment before giving up, embarrassed. 

Hagrid is quiet, and Harry is torn between wanting to disappear into the floor to pretend nothing happened or leaning right back in to kiss Hagrid square on the lips. His eyes must flicker down to catch on Hagrid's mouth, because Hagrid gives this shocked little inhale, his mouth dropping open in surprise as he realizes he isn't imagining this. There really is a 17-year-old man straddling his lap and kissing him comfort.

Harry drops his hands to Hagrid's chest with a brittle smile. Uh oh. Was that too much? Did he just ruin this? The beautiful platonic friendship they've shared over the past seven years? Maybe he can brush it off as casual friendship kisses. That's a thing, isn't it? Ginny is all about casual friendship kisses. 

Hagrid still hasn't spoken, clearly waiting for Harry to make the first move. 

"Feel better?" he offers lamely. 

Hagrid tilts his head and nods, face still slack in surprise save for his rapid blinks. He licks his lips and works his jaw for a moment, Harry's eyes glued to the action.

"Harry," Hagrid croaks, and Harry's eyes snap away from where they've been tracing the curve of his mouth.  Hagrid clears his throat to try again, his hands flexing against Harry's back. Harry can't help but lean back into them. He so rarely gets affectionate contact from anyone, he can never resist the great padding hands of Hagrid.

"Harry, I-- I love you, Harry, you know I do." Hagrid 

Harry presses his lips together in a quiet smile. 

"I know," Harry answers after a moment, "I've never doubted that. You're probably the only sure thing I've had here at Hogwarts." Of course, Hagrid was his first real family. The unconditional love Hagrid had showered on him over the years was a steady comfort in all the dark dreary days of his life. Just as consistent as the terror and threats and fights is Hagrid— loving, comforting, kind. 

"I just don't know.. what you want," Hagrid manages, haltingly, and Harry thrills to see his eyes dart down to his own mouth. "What you need from me." 

Hagrid really is just the most giving, loving person he knows. Can't he just snuggle into that embrace and never leave? But he needs to be honest. He would hate to take advantage of Hagrid's indulgent kindness — and Hagrid would indulge him. 

"I don't know what I need." He exhales, "But I know what I like. I like being with you. I think that's obvious." He glances down to where he's kneeling in Hagrid's lap. "I think I'd like to kiss you. I-If you're okay with that. We don't have to do anything more if you don't want to. But," He shrugs, looking up at him through his lashes. "I wouldn't be opposed to more either."

"Okay," Hagrid finally says. His hands slide down to Harry's waist with a quirk of his lips.  "Whatever makes you happy, Harry."

Harry's smile cracks. He's not sure what he thinks about that answer, if Hagrid is genuinely interested in this or just pandering to him. Sure, Harry's fantasised about this for the last four years, but he'd hate himself if he ended up forcing sweet Hagrid to do something he wasn't wholly enthusiastic about. 

He pulls back as much as Hagrid's grip will allow and frowns up at him. "If you don't want to—"

"I want to," Hagrid interrupts quickly, and he squeezes his hands around Harry's hips tight enough to be painful. "I'm just… not the greatest... at this sort of… thing," Hagrid trails off, his gaze straying over Harry's face, his lips, across his shoulders. 

"Neither am I," Harry breathes and leans in closer. "But I think we're doing great so far," he whispers, then presses in. Hagrid's lips are big and soft, like the rest of him. Harry eases into the kiss slowly, the scratchy edge of Hagrid's beard tickling at his cheeks and chin.

It is delightful.

Harry relaxes his weight against Hagrid's chest. It takes a few moments before Hagrid seems to accept that this is really happening and return his kisses in earnest. It gradually morphs from a gentle tease of lips to something more biting, heated. Hagrid opens his mouth to suck and nip at Harry's lips, swallowing down Harry's faint moans, building the kiss into a full-on snog. 

Harry's hands scramble over Hagrid, flitting from his collar to his shoulders to his neck, grappling for something sturdy to ground him as he leaves this plane, drifting into nothing but warm, and soft, and good. His eyes are closed, one of Hagrid's large hands palming his hips, squeezing tight and hitching him ever closer. Harry is snug up against Hagrid's stomach, his knees spreading wide to straddle his lap. 

Hagrid's other hand is roaming up Harry's back, swiping up for the slightest tug at his hair then back down. Harry's nearly buzzing at the full-body stimulation, pulling back from their kiss to shudder in a fresh breath of air. His mind is fuzzy, feeling his whole body stroked and pulled and prodded and kissed.

He wheezes in another breath as Hagrid shifts his focus from Harry's lips to his neck, pressing more open-mouthed kisses to the skin there, and Harry can't help but tilt his head back further. His breathy rasps sound loud in the little hut, no longer swallowed up in Hagrid's kisses. 

He knows his prick is getting hard, pressed up tight and rubbing, just this side of painful, against Hagrid's belt. He's holding him tight, his big hands, big arms, big body surrounding him, holding him close, keeping him safe. Harry doesn't have to do anything but be held, safe and secure for Hagrid to take care of. He makes a wordless happy noise, turning his face back for more, and Hagrid is kissing him again. Harry is squirming with delight, grinding down into Hagrid's lap to communicate exactly how much he wants this. When he is finally blessed to feel Hagrid's cock plumping up against his arse, Harry's eyes fly open with a gasp.

Hagrid splutters out an apology at Harry's wide-eyed look, "That thing's got a mind of its own! You don't have to—" 

Harry stops his backtracking with a surging kiss. He reaches for one of the huge hands at his waist and drags it down to his own hard cock. 

Hagrid's eyes widen as he palms Harry's entire groin, and Harry moans outright.  "I'd clearly love to," Harry purrs at him. 

He unbuttons his trousers and tries to shove them down, but straddling Hagrid as he is, there's no way he can get them off without leaving Hagrid's lap—which would be a travesty. Hagrid seems to notice the conundrum and without a second thought lifts Harry directly off his lap and sets him up on the table. Harry can't help but punch out a groan. Clearly, Hagrid manhandling him was going to be a thing. Harry throws his hands to the table behind him and lifts his hips. 

Hagrid wastes no time tugging Harry's trousers off, then pauses, a hand on each of Harry's knees, staring at Harry's groin. He moves his hands up Harry's thighs until he bumps up against his cock, laying stiff against his leg.

Harry can't look away from Hagrid's face. He watches him through half-closed eyes as Hagrid wraps a tentative hand around his cock, then drops his head back as Hagrid gives it a stroke. Well, as much of a stroke as Hagrid can manage. It's not that Harry is small, it's just that everything about Hagrid is so big. Wrapping his hand around Harry's dick, there's hardly any wiggle room left on either side of Hagrid's palm. 

It makes Harry feel tiny in comparison, childish even, having Hagrid's huge hand engulfing his cock. There's hardly any space for pumping at all, but just the feel of being wrapped up in Hagrid's meaty hand is enough to ratchet him ever closer to orgasm. It only takes a minute or more of being groped by those enormous palms, and Harry is coming like the teenager he is, spurting softly over Hagrid's hand and dripping onto the table underneath him. 

Harry's chest is heaving, and he lifts his head to grin at Hagrid, catching him licking his thumb clean. Hagrid blushes and ducks his head, cleaning up the rest of the mess with his tear-damp handkerchief. 

"Your turn." Harry slides off the end of the table and kicks his trousers out of the way. 

Hagrid is doing his best to avoid meeting Harry's eyes but spreads his legs easily when Harry sinks to his knees between them. 

"Oh, don't worry about me, Harry, you don't have to… " he trails off as Harry's hands slide steadily up his thighs. 

Hagrid's erection is obvious, threaded into the right leg of his trousers, and Harry moves up and over it on his way to the laces at Hagrid's waist. He looks up at Hagrid's face with big round eyes and resists the urge to flutter his lashes. 

"Hagrid, I've been daydreaming about your cock for so long. Please? May I?"

Hagrid manages a dazed nod and a 'yesss.' Harry smiles with relief and tugs Hagrid's trousers open, reaching in for Hagrid's thick dick. His mouth waters as he pulls it out, and briefly Harry wonders if he shouldn't have tried to get in more practice sucking cock before tackling Hagrid's enormous penis. Trading sloppy bjs in the Quidditch showers could not have prepared him for this. At least where experience fails him he has heaps of enthusiasm on his side. 

Hagrid's dick is spongy, even erect, and already seeping wet. Harry zeroes in on the sloppy tip and sucks it down, closing his eyes at the distinct taste of precome. Still, this is an all hands on deck situation, and Harry wraps both of his around the rest of Hagrid's substantial length. 

All of his attention now is on worshipping at Hagrid's feet, and he loses himself in the action. Touching, stroking, tasting, feeling; he's revelling in the sensation and probably doing a pretty shitty job of sending Hagrid. He divides his attention between sucking down as much of the head as he can and mouthing along the length of it. He's trying to lube him up as much as possible, getting him sopping wet with his own spit and Hagrid's substantial precome. 

Hagrid appears to be doing his best to just sit there and take it. His big hands flutter from his legs to the air around Harry's head. For all he just palmed Harry through an orgasm, he seems absurdly hesitant now to put his hands on Harry for his own satisfaction. 

After several long minutes of Harry sucking him down Harry seems to catch on to what's missing. He pulls off, a sloppy string of saliva hanging between his lips and Hagrid's red-veined dick. He nuzzles into Hagrid's thigh, pushing his head under his hand like a needy cat. "Touch me. Please," Harry pants out, still jerking Hagrid with both hands. 

Hagrid swallows thickly, and with permission, he threads his thick fingers through Harry's dark curls.  Harry allows himself a delighted moan and returns his mouth to Hagrid's cockhead in appreciation, dropping his jaw and doing his best to gag himself.

Hagrid's chest is heaving with heavy breaths, and Harry thinks he hears him murmuring his name. It's hard to tell when Harry's head is so light and fuzzy, all his senses narrowed down to the points where his body touches Hagrid's: a warm anchor on his head where Hagrid's fist tightens and loosens in turns; his elbows resting on Hagrid's thighs; and of course that gorgeous dick.

Harry tries to focus, he really does. He wasn't lying when he said he'd been dreaming about Hagrid's cock for years. But dreaming about it is different from facing it, and right now, two hands and a mouth full of this warm weight feels euphoric. His whole body is warm, and weightless, and good. 

He has no idea how long Hagrid lets him suckle at him, tunnelling his hands into an extension of his mouth as he bobs on Hagrid's dick. In the morning he'll wonder if it took so long because he's a bad lay or just that Hagrid's impressive stamina matches his impressive member. 

It catches Harry by surprise when Hagrid finishes, lost as he is in the subspace of cockworship. There is fluid everywhere, and he really does choke on the mess, spunk drooling down his chin and chest. Harry blinks dumbly up at Hagrid until he pushes him off, and Harry sits back on his heels, spluttering. 

Hagrid recovers his senses much more quickly, grabbing for a tea towel and wiping up.

"Look at you, Harry. What a mess," Hagrid rumbles fondly. Harry just smiles stupidly up at him, enjoying being tended to.  For some reason, that only seems to make Hagrid blush further, but he doesn't push. Hagrid must recognize that Harry is still well and truly floating. 

Instead of going through the awkward song and dance of parting with a one-night stand, Hagrid makes the executive decision to scoop Harry to his feet and tuck him into his own huge bed, helping him out of his shirt and rolling him into a bundle of blankets. Through it all, Harry is pliant and smiling. He whimpers stupidly when it seems like Hagrid's going to leave him alone. He works his hands free from his makeshift swaddle and reaches out with grabby palms. 

Hagrid shushes him with a chuckle, "Be patient, pet, I don't sleep in my day clothes." Harry tries not to pout as Hagrid undresses, but soon realizes Hagrid has the right of it. He strips off his large tunic, and Harry marvels at the furry coat of hair covering Hagrid's chest and arms. The man is huge. A bear. Harry thinks of the porn he's seen passed around the Gryffindor tower. There's no other way to put it, Hagrid is a Daddy . Harry gazes at him in wonder, blinking slowly against the pull of sleep. Hagrid finishes up and Harry sighs on a smile. He just wants to curl up in his arms and be cradled, and pet, and loved. 

To his delight, Hagrid does just that. Climbing into the other side of the bed, he gathers Harry into his arms and hugs him tight. Harry lets out a happy hum, wriggling his way closer into Hagrid's chest. 

It makes Hagrid laugh, and he teases, "Well aren't you the satisfied little kneazle. All curled up in my arms and already half asleep." 

Harry nods into his chest, nuzzling at the hair there. "I am. Your pet, you said." 

Hagrid doesn't freeze this time, but his caresses up and down Harry's back slow as he thinks it over. A few moments later, he does stop, and Harry fights back the looming unconsciousness to crack open an eye and look up at him. 

Hagrid is chewing his lip, clearly torn about something. Harry stirs, trying to shake himself back awake. The look on Hagrid's face tells him he needs to be fully present for this conversation. Harry bumps his head against Hagrid's chest with a soft frown.  

Hagrid looks down at him, and it spills out, "Harry— I don't— I can't— if you—" the broken sentences seem to be all he can manage and Harry pulls an arm free to rest a hand on Hagrid's cheek. 

"You don't need to say or do anything, Hagrid. If you want this to be a one-off, that's fine." Harry rubs a thumb over his beard, trying his best at soothing. "If you don't mind me crawling into your bed every night that's fine too." He smiles then, and it's easy to let the truth spill out. "Sometimes I just need someone to hold me and tell me it's okay."

Hagrid seems to calm a little at the clear instructions, squeezing Harry close. He lets his eyes close and drifts to sleep to the sound of Hagrid murmuring to himself, "I can do that. I can do that," in his thick brogue.