
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7868902.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J.K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Other(s)
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Other_-_Character
  Additional Tags:
      Drama, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot
  Collections:
      Ink_Stained_Fingers
  Stats:
      Published: 2004-04-18 Words: 2964
****** Closer Than You Think ******
by dayse [archived by ISF_Archivist]
Summary
     Harry receives an unwelcome late night visitor as he lies awake in
     bed, but his would be attacker turns out to be the last person he
     expects.
Notes
     This story was originally archived at Ink_Stained_Fingers, which was
     created in 2002 as a home for Harry Potter slash fiction. To preserve
     the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an
     Open Doors-approved project in January 2015. We e-mailed all authors
     about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached
     everyone. If you are (or know) this author or artist, please contact
     me using the e-mail address at the Ink_Stained_Fingers_collection
     profile.
     Author's notes: The pairing will be revealed at the end, and it walks
     several lines. It could be considered non-consensual, but maybe not.
     It’s a weird one :
Closer Than You Think




  Harry lay awake in his bed, the curtains drawn around him, his hands folded
  loosely on his stomach. He had been up for some time, turning the events of
  the previous night over and over in his head, his mind buzzing dully from
  Sirius's near escape. It had been ... different, that was for sure. In the
  three years he had been attending Hogwarts something life altering had
  managed to happen every year, but even to Harry Potter learning that your
  godfather was an escaped felon convicted of mass murder was rather a lot to
  take in.

  But he had gotten away, and that was good. Perhaps someday Harry would even
  get to live with him, it was a nice thought. Escape from the Dursleys was
  always a nice thought.

  Another reason Harry couldn't sleep was because he was not the only person
  awake, although he was the only one aware of the fact. In the next bed over
  Ron was awake, too. And wanking off. It wasn't anything Harry hadn't heard
  before but tonight it seemed particularly loud and obscene, the slap of skin
  on skin, Ron's short, panting breaths. Harry felt his skin itch all over and
  no matter how much he swallowed his mouth remained dry.

  Harry didn't even like Ron, in that way. But ... well. He was right there,
  wasn't he? Sex was slowly becoming a new discovery for Harry, something
  exotic and alluring. He knew it felt nice to touch himself (and he had, many
  times, in places where other boys probably hadn't thought to yet) and he
  guessed that having someone ELSE touch you was probably loads better. Harry
  liked to think about snogging in particular, he thought that would be nice:
  messy mouths and tongues and lips and doing what Fred and George called
  `sucking face'. It was all very appealing to Harry.

  Of course, Harry hadn't exactly done any of those things yet, and he was
  afraid that when he did it would probably not be as great as he had built it
  up to be in his own head. Harry had read some books though, to research the
  subject, both the technical and the romantic aspects of it - and they had
  actually done more to confuse then enlighten.

  What Harry supposed he wanted, really, was someone to just ... experiment
  with. Someone he could practice on without having to worry about not doing it
  right, or mussing up in some embarrassing way. Just ... a friend, maybe.

  Harry glanced in the direction of Ron's bed (although he couldn't see him due
  to the closed curtains) where the noises seemed to be speeding up, Ron's
  breath getting louder and faster and then ... yes. Finished then. Ron sighed
  and his mattress gave a springy little squeak. He could never ask Ron for
  such a thing though, the other boy was very much into girls and Harry didn't
  want to picture Ron's face if he ever DID ask.

  Well, maybe he did, Ron made some pretty funny faces.

  He'd want someone a little more experienced then him, too. Someone who could
  perhaps guide him or at least show him how it was to be done. That way they
  BOTH wouldn't be fumbling around, embarrassed and self-conscious. And it
  shouldn't be any sort of regular thing, for fear of it turning into some sort
  of relationship.

  Harry didn't want any sort of commitments; he just wanted a good shag.

  Although he'd be the first to admit he wasn't really sure what a good shag
  entailed.

  Sighing softly to himself, Harry rolled onto his stomach and realized he was
  hard, his prick pressing into the mattress. Sodding Ron and his wanking,
  everyone else had learned to do it quietly by this point.

  He squirmed his hips down a little, feeling a jolt of pleasure. Maybe he
  would ...

  He was just reaching down for himself when he heard the bed curtains quickly
  open and close, pale moonlight briefly flooding in before it went pitch dark
  again. There was a rustle of movement, things happening too fast for Harry to
  really register, and then someone was straddling his back: a slight, thin
  body with knobby knees that brushed either side of his hips.

  "Ron?" he hissed, trying to squirm away, twisting his head this way and that
  to get a look at the other boy. "What are you doing? Are you bonkers?"

  But his visitor didn't say a word, merely laid hands down on the backs of his
  shoulders, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of Harry's pajamas.

  "I don't know what you're playing at, Ron, but I'm tired ... " Harry
  muttered, just praying that Ron didn't wrestle him or flip him over, he was
  still very aroused. "Stop."

  But he didn't stop, in fact he was doing the very opposite of what stop
  implied, he was starting to remove clothing.

  Harry held his breath as he heard the unmistakable rustle of fabric, the
  slight, off-centre rocking of a body that was struggling to pull a shirt over
  one's head, and then the weight lifted off him briefly as pants disappeared
  as well. But Harry was too distracted to take this momentary chance of
  escape, his blood pounding in his ears. When Ron settled back down on top of
  him, it was obvious that he was aroused as well.

  "Ron ... " Harry choked and tried to scuttle away, moving upwards on the bed,
  but the hands returned, pinning him firmly down and even applying pressure
  with hips and legs, effectively trapping him. "Ron, what are you - "

  The hands started to travel, moving with purpose and determination down
  Harry's sides, along his back, feeling the skin and body through the thin
  pajamas and finally just reaching under the fabric completely to touch -

  "Oh fuck," Harry gasped and thrashed in earnest but he was pushed hard, his
  chest heaving with the sudden constriction.

  Harry was hit with the sudden, cold thought - maybe this wasn't Ron at all.

  But the smell of sex was thick in the curtained off bed now, it filled
  Harry's nostrils. The smell of sweat and come, the smell of someone who had
  just gotten off. Harry whimpered softly and the touches on his back became
  almost soothing, rubbing up and down in a firm but gentle caress.

  "Don't, don't do this - you're, why ... "

  A hand came down and cupped Harry's arse, squeezing experimentally and the
  words got choked off in his throat, his entire body freezing up in shock.

  The person on top of him mumbled something, too soft for Harry to hear, and
  the curtains around them drew taught and stiff - a silencing charm and a ward
  to keep anyone from coming in. Another mumble of words and Harry's hands were
  suddenly tangled and wrapped up in the bed sheets, bound tightly to the
  headboard.

  He was trapped.

  Then the hands returned, moving faster now, moving to Harry's hips and
  grasping the waistband of Harry's pajamas. A quick yank and they were down
  with Harry's underpants, and as the air hit the cold sweat that had broken
  out all across his skin - Harry shivered. Oh God, what was happening?

  Things were very still for a moment, the person on top of him - who Harry now
  refused to call or acknowledge as his friend - observing him in an almost
  thoughtful silence. Harry could feel the eyes on him, staring at his bare
  arse and he coloured horribly, turning his face to bury it in the pillow. His
  tremors were rocking the bed slightly but he finally felt his anger rise up
  as well. He welcomed it gratefully - if he was angry, then he couldn't be
  frightened.

  "Get off me, you sodding prick. GET OFF ME RIGHT NOW!" A new round of
  thrashing just seemed to amuse his attacker and he felt the weight on top of
  him increase as whoever it was just sat full on his thighs, his prick nudging
  Harry's arse. That stilled him.

  "D - "

  Then a kiss, soft and wet, fell on the back of his neck. Harry froze. The
  mouth moved downwards slightly, then to the side, lips parted and damp as
  they kissed and nibbled at his skin, tasting him, enjoying him. A sharp nip
  of teeth on his jugular made Harry yelp and hold his breath, eyes fluttering
  slightly when a tongue licked, almost skittishly, at his ear.

  The mattress squeaked underneath the person's knees as he shifted position,
  as he pushed Harry's top up further to expose his back, and then the tongue
  returned, licking a wet, damp trail all over.

  Harry felt his prick twitch against the mattress, his arse clench at what the
  mouth was doing. And wasn't this what he had been thinking about just moments
  before? But not like this, he was fairly certain he didn't want it like this.

  When the mouth had gotten its full of him, it drew away and Harry released
 the breath he had been holding, his hands slowly unclenched. His face felt
  damp with tears or sweat, he wasn't sure, but his whole body had a very
  peculiar feeling, as if it were tingling - from the inside and out.

  The hands were on his arse again and Harry swallowed, his eyes wide open but
  not seeing anything but the vaguest of shadows, and there was a sound of a
  jar opening - something being unscrewed.

  "NO!" Harry's voice seemed to startle them both, it was loud and resounding
  but no one else would hear, Harry knew. He started to thrash again, kicking
  his feet, yanking desperately at the binds on his hands but all too no avail.
  His captor merely waited him out, as if knowing he would stop eventually, and
  he did - collapsing back limply as he panted.

  The smell that invaded Harry's nostrils next was a familiar one, vanilla and
  orange - like the hand cream he used to avoid blisters and calluses before
  and after Quidditch, but Harry took no comfort in this familiar smell. He
  knew what was coming next.

  A finger, damp and oddly small feeling, touched him. Right there. Harry's
  shoulders tensed even more and his arse clenched in anticipation of the
  invasion. But it worked at him, rubbing and probing gently until it pushed in
  slowly, inch by inch until Harry felt it stop at the knuckle.

  He let out a shaky breath that could have been a sob and the person stopped
  for a moment, his own breath not sounding steady at all - the other hand that
  held his hip shook just slightly.

  There was a moment when no one moved, then the finger moved back slowly,
  withdrawing, before thrusting in again quick and abrupt. Harry cried out but
  not because it hurt, more ... shock, cold and daunting. He held his breath as
  the finger started to thrust, rocking against him, pushing in and pulling out
  and it went on and on until Harry felt to his utter shame and horror his
  arousal slowly come back to him, his prick growing hard against the mattress.

  Then, another finger was added, this one slick as well, stretching him apart,
  making him moan despite himself and Harry felt sure he would burst from the
  confliction he was feeling. He should be fighting, shouldn't he? But if this
  was Ron then - then he would have said yes, if Ron had just asked.

  He would have said yes.

  The thought was enough to bring Harry back to reality, this wasn't right - he
  didn't want this, he couldn't - no matter what he had been thinking about
  before. He didn't want -

  The fingers withdrew and Harry felt his hips twist slightly, dropping into
  the mattress. There was more rustling behind him and a familiar sound of skin
  on skin, the smell of lotion, and a new pressure returned: something bigger,
  thicker than a finger, and Harry's eyes were wide and blind in the dark.

  "No," he choked. "No."

  But the person didn't listen or care, the hand on his side tightened its
  grip, keeping a firm hold, and the other guided himself into the tight,
  waiting hole.

  Harry saw his own pain flashing behind his tightly closed eyes, he couldn't
  seem to breathe, to move, everything narrowed down to what was being done to
  him and he whimpered softly unable now to even struggle. It felt like the
  person was sticking an entire broom up there and it hurt and he wanted it to
  stop but there wasn't anything he could do.

  His attacker also seemed to be holding his breath for he hardly made a sound,
  he just kept pushing and pushing, his cock slowly filling Harry up and not
  stopping until he was completely inside, buried completely in Harry's arse.

  Harry moaned but not from pleasure, he just wanted it to be over.

  The thrusting started, but it was slow and almost unsure. The hips that had
  been pressed to his drew back, taking some of the pain with it, until they
  eased back down again and Harry felt as if he would burst. He couldn't
  breathe, he could hardly make a sound but his knees were being spread apart
  and he had no choice but to let himself be limply moved.

  Another thrust. Then another. Then slowly they picked up speed until Harry
  was gasping, his breath coming back and hot and damp to his own face as he
  panted into his pillow. He heard low, restrained moaning and the teeth
  returned to the back of his neck, biting down and licking, then biting again.
  It was all frantic and quick and Harry put up as much of a struggle as he
  could but stopped when one thrust hit something inside him that made him
  freeze and moan loudly.

  Then it did it again and again and Harry couldn't stop moaning, he found his
  hips moving back to meet the thrusts and now both hands were on his hips,
  grasping him tight and holding his wriggling in his place as the person
  fucked him hard and mercilessly, their moans mingling in the air and Harry
  hardly noticed when something hit the back of his neck and bounced off onto
  the mattress by his face.

  A few thrusts more and it was over, Harry felt the odd sensation of someone
  coming inside him, flooding him, and he held his breath, as all movement
  seemed to stop. He was still hard, unsatisfied, but the person was moving
  already, drawing out and reaching for clothes.

  "Wait," Harry said weakly, dazed, unsure what had happened. "What ... " His
  legs didn't seem to want to move.

  But clothes were already being yanked on, the barriers around the bed
  dropped, then finally - Harry's own bonds. His arms fell limply to his sides
  and they ached so Harry didn't try to move them. A hand swam into his vision
  and snatched up whatever object had fallen by his head; Harry registered
  vaguely that they resembled glasses.

  The bed curtains opened and Harry couldn't help but wince as the light hit
  his eyes, everything felt so sensitive and sore right then, and he felt a
  trickle down his thigh and hoped it wasn't blood. Just before the curtains
  closed again Harry made out a dim, dark silhouette.

  Not Ron. Too short to be Ron. Which left, well ... everyone else.

  Harry lay in bed for a long time afterwards, his pajamas rumpled around his
  ankles, his prick still hard and painful against the mattress. His stomach
  swam with nausea and Harry wondered if he should see Pomfrey, but he didn't
  want to have to explain this.

  He wasn't going to tell anyone, not ever.

  He smelt of sex now, it was everywhere, Harry was sure it even stained the
  curtains and he made a mental note to perform a cleaning spell before anyone
  woke up in the morning. But he would have to shower, too.

  Getting up, his movements slow and unsteady, Harry sat up, pulling his pajama
  bottoms on with him. Taking a deep breath and getting out of bed, he felt a
  little bit better, so he did it again - breathing in and out slowly.

  He picked his glasses off the nightstand and put them on his face and the
  room sharpened into focus. Instinctively his eyes flicked over to the
  surrounding beds, but they were all still and quiet. A low murmur from some
  pleasant dream drifted from Ron's direction but his curtains looked drawn and
  undisturbed.

  Frowning, Harry picked up his wand, just in case his attacker found him on
  the way to the showers, and headed for the door.

  He stopped, wincing; he had stepped on something - something hard and cold on
  the ground.

  Bending down he picked it up and carried it over to the window to study in
  the light. It was a chain, but the clasp was broken, and hanging on the end
  of it was the Time Turner. Hermione must have dropped it when she had been in
  here earlier that day, walking him and Ron back after the three of them had
  stayed in the Infirmary.

  Harry stared at it for a very long time, watching the hourglass rotate
  slowly, catching moonlight.

  His drawer was slightly open and inside he could clearly make out the
  container of lotion and he picked it up, in his other hand he clasped his
  wand.

  He looked in the direction of his own bed, the sheets rumpled and in
  disarray.

  He looked at the small clock by his bed and held his breath, staring for a
  very, very long time.

  He was still hard.

  It was what he had wanted after all, he told himself, and he deserved to get
  something out of this too.

  Two and a half turns, he decided, should do it.

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