
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1008785.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Sirius_Black/Harry_Potter
  Character:
      Harry_Potter
  Additional Tags:
      Masturbation, First_Time, Angst, Mindfuck, Manipulation
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-18 Words: 2739
****** Inside My Head ******
by Maeglin_Yedi
Summary
     Harry likes to touch himself at night.
Notes
     Rating: NC-17
     Warning: dubious consent
     Disclaimer: All these men belong to J.K. Rowling.
     Summary: Harry likes to touch himself at night.
     A/N: Big thanks to Gina for the quick beta!
     Word count: 2740
     First published: January 2005
"At least they're letting you play Quidditch again," Ron said hopefully.
"Yeah," Harry said, and pulled his pyjama shirt on. Ron looked at him as if he
were expecting a longer reply, but Harry stayed silent and didn't look at his
best friend.
"And the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor seems all right," Neville
offered from his spot on his bed.
"Yeah," Harry said again. He realized his friends were just trying to cheer him
up. But Harry didn't feel like being cheered up, so he slipped into his bed and
pulled the covers up.
"Good night," he said without much emotion in his voice.
"Night," Ron said, and Harry didn't return his smile as he pulled the curtains
closed around his bed.
He was back at Hogwarts and he still didn't feel happy. He knew why, of course,
but he tried not to think about Sirius. Thinking about Sirius only made Harry
feel worse, so he thought about nothing in particular as he waited for the
lights to go out in their dormitory.
Seamus and Dean exchanged a few words in hushed whispers, Neville padded
towards the bathroom one last time, and then finally the room went dark and
Harry allowed himself to relax under the sheets.
He knew what he should do so he'd be able to sleep peacefully that night. All
throughout the summer nightmares had plagued him. Visions of the Department of
Mysteries, the veil moving slowly in a breeze that no one could feel. Sirius'
wide eyes just before he fell, and Voldemort's cold voice announcing Harry's
own death.
Harry reached under the sheets and pushed his pyjama bottoms down. If he
touched himself, he'd relax. If he brought himself off, his mind would slip
into a sated sleep and those tormenting nightmares would stay away.
Usually.
But it was better than doing nothing at all and throwing himself at those
visions of death and grief.
It had become a routine over the summer. Something that needed to be done, not
because Harry wanted to climax, but because it would fool his mind into a
dreamless state that allowed Harry the rest he needed.
Thumb over slit, fingers around the base. Stroke. Stroke. Squeeze. A sigh
escaped Harry's lips. Stroke. Stroke. Squeeze. Another sigh. Stroke. Stroke.
And then Harry got the distinct feeling he wasn't alone any longer.
He opened his eyes, released his prick and expected Ron or Neville to be
standing on the other side of the curtains. But as he yanked his curtains open
he saw no one. Soft, even breaths rose from Ron's bed, and Neville was tucked
under his own sheets.
Pulling the curtains closed again, Harry relaxed back against his pillow and
resumed his task.
Stroke. Stroke. Squeeze. Stroke. Stroke. Squeeze.
Harry sat up and worried his lip. He still felt as if someone were watching
him, as if someone were silently telling him to spread his legs and stroke
harder and faster.
But no one was there.
Perhaps this was what it usually felt like to touch yourself without the need
to keep nightmares at bay, Harry thought. He couldn't really remember. It
wasn't supposed to feel good, arousing, to wank, was it?
But perhaps his body decided this was the time for Harry to start enjoying his
late-night wank sessions again.
Licking his dry lips, Harry lay back down against the mattress, ran his fingers
up and down his pulsing cock once and allowed his mind to run with those
thoughts, those fantasies.
Spread your legs.
Harry let his legs fall open and drew his knees up, exposing himself to someone
who wasn't there. He kept his eyes closed and concentrated on that silent voice
that wrapped around him like a soft blanket, that gave him commands, not in
words, but in images, in invisible touches to his heated skin.
Touch yourself.
Harry smiled at the person in his fantasies and curled his fingers around his
prick. There wasn't a face. There wasn't even a body, but there was someone who
wanted him to feel good, and that was enough to stroke his cock harder and
harder. There was someone who wanted to watch him like this, who wanted to see
Harry's scrawny form, wanted to see how Harry moved his hand over his cock,
sweat breaking out on his forehead while his nose wrinkled and his cheeks
flushed.
Harder. So hard it hurts.
"God, yes," Harry sighed, because that was exactly what he wanted. It had to
hurt for it to feel good, and he squeezed around his hard flesh and inhaled a
sharp breath through his teeth. His toes curled in the sheets and his thighs
tensed.
It had to hurt, and Harry vaguely wondered why he hadn't thought of that
sooner. He yanked on his prick, the flutters of pleasure a perfect mix with the
surges of pain that shot through his trembling body.
"Oh fuck," Harry breathed. He was close, so close he could feel his climax
crawl up --
Touch your sac. Squeeze it. Hard.
Harry didn't question that voice inside his mind. After all, it was his own
voice, his own fantasy, and he reached down and closed his hand around his
tense sac, squeezing his testicles until his legs jerked and he came, he came
so hard he thought he was floating, and there wasn't a bed or a dormitory or a
Hogwarts.
Just Harry and a climax that ripped through him until he sagged against the
mattress, exhausted.
He didn't open his eyes, nor did he bother to wipe up the sticky mess on his
sweat-slick skin. He didn't even release his prick, but slipped into the
welcome arms of an invisible person who cradled him into a deep, dreamless
sleep.
                                   *~*~*~*~*
"I can't believe that woman," Ron said, throwing his books in his trunk. "Five
feet on the theory of transfiguring magical creatures."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, because he, too, felt outraged at the homework McGonagall
had given them. Except that he didn't feel all that outraged. There was a
little flutter of excitement in his stomach at the thought of slipping into his
fantasy again, as he'd done every night for the past week.
"Good night," Neville said, drawing the curtains closed around his bed.
"Yeah," Harry said, slipping under his covers. "Good night." He closed his
curtains and waited for the noise and light to vanish so he'd be left with his
thoughts and touches, his fantasy about someone watching him.
Over the past week, Harry had developed a theory on the presence of that
mysterious person, but he hadn't been able to share it with his friends, no
matter how much he wanted to tell them what was happening. Somehow, the thought
of having to confess to wanking every night in front of Ron and Hermione wasn't
all that appealing.
And thus Harry kept his theories private, just like his fantasies, and when the
room finally went dark Harry closed his eyes and reached for his already
hardening prick.
"Who are you?" he whispered, squeezing around his cock.
I'm whoever you want me to be.
Harry pursed his lips. Perhaps this person couldn't confess to his true
identity. Perhaps there were rules for that.
"Can I call you Sirius?"
Yes. I want to see you touch your cock, Harry.
Smiling, Harry kicked the sheets off and pushed his pyjama bottoms down so he
lay half-naked on the bed. It had to be Sirius, he thought, because only Sirius
cared enough about him to want him to feel good every night.
"Sirius," Harry moaned softly. "I like it when you see me like this."
Stroke it. Hard, now. So hard it hurts.
"Yeah. It has to hurt." Harry's legs fell open and he tightened one hand around
his cock and the other one around his sac. That had become his new routine. No
more stroke, stroke, squeeze, but heated, excited touches that made Harry feel
things he'd never felt before.
Keep your eyes closed. Just touch your cock. Make yourself come. Do it hard,
Harry.
Harry complied and let Sirius' voice hypnotize his mind and dominate his body.
Furious strokes on his cock and sharp pinches to his sac, and Sirius was there
to guide him and command him and make him feel happy and not alone.
As long as he had Sirius, Harry would never be alone, even if their time
together was limited to shadowed meetings in the dead of night.
Come. Now.
"Yes, yes," Harry breathed, eyes squeezed shut as he pressed his heels to the
mattress. His body did everything Sirius told it to do and his mind was wiped
clean with waves of pleasure that rushed from this sac through his entire body.
Sleep now. Sleep, Harry, and all your troubles will go away.
"Sirius," was the last thing Harry said as an invisible body spooned against
him and a hand that wasn't there stroked his hair in soothing touches.
                                   *~*~*~*~*
Harry was getting impatient. For some reason, Dean had decided to complete his
Herbology homework in bed and his light was still on. Had been on for the last
hour.
Turning on his other side, Harry released a strangled sigh. He needed his time
with Sirius. It was what kept him going these days, what enabled him to smile
at his friends and pay attention in class and stay out of trouble.
He needed Sirius, but he knew Sirius wouldn't come until the lights were out.
For the past three weeks, Sirius had only visited him after dark.
A rustling of sheets, and then at last Dean extinguished his light. Harry let
out a deep breath and rolled on his back.
"Sirius?" he whispered.
Yes.
Harry smiled and pushed the sheets down. He'd already wormed out of his pyjamas
earlier, and he shivered as the chilly air touched his skin.
Eager, aren't we?
"Yeah." Harry grinned up into the darkness and closed his eyes, because if he
closed his eyes he could hear Sirius even better. Except he didn't really hear
Sirius' voice. He felt it, as a tickle over his body, a warm touch to his cock
and assuring thoughts in this mind.
Touch yourself for me, Harry.
Harry fisted his cock, just like he'd done for Sirius before, just like Sirius
wanted him to touch himself. Hard. So hard it hurt.
I want you to touch yourself there.
"Okay," Harry sighed. When Sirius had first ordered him to touch his own arse
Harry had thought it weird, but he hadn't questioned Sirius. He'd never
question Sirius. And after a few tries Harry had learned it felt rather good to
touch himself there.
He sucked a finger into his mouth until it was moist with his saliva, and then
he lowered it between his spread legs. The first slick brush over his pucker
made Harry moan, and as he slid his finger inside his channel he had to bite
his lip to stifle a louder groan. He'd long since learned how to cast a
silencing charm on his curtains, but he didn't want to take any risks. No one
needed to know what Harry did in his bed at night.
Deeper.
"Yeah," Harry said, his voice cracking. He squeezed around his cock, running
his thumb over the head, and thrust his finger inside deeper until he touched
that spot that made him quiver and beg Sirius for more.
In the past weeks, Sirius' presence had become more profound. Harry could
almost feel the weight of Sirius' body on his own and the tension of Sirius'
mind pressed his own head to the pillow.
He loved that feeling and always wanted more of it, always allowed Sirius
access to whatever part of him Sirius wanted to explore.
Now make it hurt, Harry.
And Harry did just that. He knew how to make it hurt just enough that it felt
so good he never wanted it to end. Sirius was all over him, unseen flutters of
his fingers, soft caresses of his voice in Harry's thoughts, everything bearing
down on Harry until he thought he might suffocate, but that aroused him even
more.
Let me in. You need to let me in if you want me to make you feel good.
"I'm already..." Harry gasped, curling his finger inside his body as he pulled
on his cock. He didn't understand what Sirius wanted of him.
No, you're not. Let me in. Now.
Harry tried to relax under the onslaught of pleasure and pain, because he
wanted to do what Sirius told him. He wanted to make Sirius happy, because
Sirius always made him happy.
Sirius was inside him now, so much that Harry felt his eyes roll back. Sirius
was inside his mind and would never leave him again, would always be there for
him and would always make him feel good.
Sirius was tearing at his thoughts, at his memories, as Harry fisted harder and
harder, feeling his climax build in sharp thrusts.
Sirius felt cold, so cold in Harry's mind, and Harry didn't understand why,
because how could something so good feel so cold?
Don't stop, Potter.
Harry froze. He stopped thrusting his finger inside his body and stilled his
hand around his cock.
What had Sirius just called him?
I said, don't stop!
"No," he whispered as something began to dawn on him. "You stop."
I don't think so.
And then pleasure and pain hit Harry while he wasn't even moving, while he
wasn't even touching himself. He tried to stop it, he tried to scream and pull
away from the hands that held him down while something thundered through his
mind.
A searing surge of pain shot through his forehead, his scar, and Harry climaxed
in hot spurts, unable to contain the pleasure even though someone was stealing
his thoughts, his memories.
He panted and trembled and came down from his orgasm and slowly felt the
pressure in his mind ease until the pain in his scar transformed to a faint
throb.
Thank you, Harry. That was most generous of you.
Harry gaped up into the darkness, his finger still buried inside his arse and
his other hand covered in warm, slick semen.
"Sirius?" he tried, even though he knew it wasn't Sirius, had never been
Sirius, but he wanted it to be. God, it had to be Sirius.
Sirius couldn't be gone.
Swallowing back bile Harry slowly pushed himself up, and as his mind cleared he
realized what had happened.
What he had let happen.
Without thinking, Harry jumped out of bed. He reached for his dressing gown and
was already halfway down the stairs by the time he'd put it on.
He ran through the deserted corridors, his steps echoing around him all the way
down to the dungeons.
It had to be Sirius. It had to be.
But it wasn't, and Harry knew. He understood it now.
"Professor!" Harry banged on the wooden door as hard as he could. "Professor,
wake up!"
There was no one there, just darkness and cold, damp stones around him, and
Harry didn't think he'd ever felt this alone before. He slumped to the floor,
his fist still pounding on the door.
"Professor."
Footsteps grew louder and then the door swung open and a very distraught Snape,
wearing a black dressing down, glared down at Harry.
"Have you gone completely insane, Potter?"
"You have to...I have to...I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." Harry couldn't look at
Snape as he tried to forget how good it had felt.
"Potter? What are you doing here?"
"You have to teach me Occlumency. You have to."
Snape's expression changed, though he still seemed less than happy with Harry's
presence. "What happened?"
Finally, Harry glanced up at Snape and tried to tell him. He tried to tell him
that Voldemort had tricked his way into Harry's mind and Harry had let him.
He'd let Voldemort read every last one of his thoughts just because Voldemort
had got him off.
Harry leaned over and heaved, his stomach, thankfully empty, trying to rid
itself of the memories that were lodged in Harry's mind.
"Get inside," Snape snarled, taking a step back.
Reaching for the doorway with a trembling hand, Harry managed to pull himself
up.
"Thank you," he whispered, shuffling inside Snape's office. Snape said nothing
and threw the door shut with a bang.
 
~~fin~~
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