Despoiling Harry
Home Page Amanuensis's
Fanfiction
Art/Fic Tributes
Fic Recommendations
Amanuensis's
LiveJournal
Other Links
Email Me
The characters and the situations within these fanfiction stories are
not my property. They are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner
Brothers, and others, and are used without permission; challenge to
copyright is not intended and should not be construed. No profit is
being made from the use of these characters and situations; these
written-down imaginings are only presented in an internet forum for the
interest of and consumption by the like-minded individuals who enjoy
them and recognize them as unauthorized fanfiction only, and are not in
any way meant to be confused with the originals NOR presented as
authorized materials of these owners.
Any Excuse for Smut
by Amanuensis
Summary:
A bit of Harry/Padfoot fetish, written for dear switchknife,
who had a specific request on HP_Pervs.
Pairings:
Harry/Padfoot-Sirius
Author's Note: This is a sequel written for the drabble "Any
Excuse to Celebrate," a 100-word drabble written for a challenge on
HPSquick100, for the "Feet" challenge. Then Switchknife requested a
sequel, and that was that. Or rather, this.
(First, here is the original drabble:
Any Excuse To Celebrate)
Padfoot was confused. What were these pawprints? In the house, no less!
He could distinguish a pawprint, certainly, but these belonged to no
familiar smell--not Moony's, no dog nor cat that he knew.
At the top of the stairs they changed. Not pawprints-- human
footprints, made by a human foot, salt-tangy and very, very familiar.
He followed the distinctive odor into the bedroom, right up to the
foot, naked, pink, and very human, that dangled off the side of the
bed. Harry, also naked, pink, and human, grinned at him.
"I found my animagus form today, Padfoot," he said.
*****
(And here is the
sequel, Any Excuse for Smut.)
Padfoot blinked, the information Harry had just told him overriding the
urge to lick that tempting, salty pink foot--but only just, mind
you--and set his forepaws on the side of the bed, to look closely at...
Harry's face. Look at the face. Not at anything else on his
delectable naked godson.
Harry's grin did not diminish. "Nuh-uh."
Padfoot cocked his head.
"'M not showing you."
Speech was needed. Padfoot became Sirius. "The hell."
The lips moved from a grin to a prim little pout. God damn him. "The
other form wouldn't be any fun for this."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"This." And with no further talk, Harry pushed himself forward and set
the sweetest, most stainless kiss possible on Sirius's lips.
Sirius's instinct wasn't to push away. His thought was to push
away. No, his instinct was to wrap his arms around his godson
and ravish the delicious teenaged mouth with his own lips and tongue
like he would eat the boy alive. Sweet Merlin, he was already getting
hard.
Instead, he worked out a compromise between the two. Setting his hands
on Harry's shoulders, so that he could prevent the boy from pressing
closer, he let Harry complete the kiss and fought with every bit of
will he had to keep from kissing back.
Which caused Harry to break the kiss and pull back. Sirius thought he
would have to scourge himself, later, for giving Harry a reason to look
hurt like that. Even if it was for his own good.
"No," said Harry, and there was a firmness about it that he hadn't
expected. "Not this time."
Before Sirius could protest that, for god's sake, there had been no
other times, Harry was against him again, not kissing, but against him
and in his face and fiercely saying, "I'm of age, I want this, and so
do you, and dammit, I won't let you."
And Sirius was having a moment's difficulty processing the negatives in
that statement as well, which, he told himself later, was how Harry got
his lips on his godfather's again. And his tongue in his mouth, too.
Well, what was a man to do? He couldn't very well bite, could he, to
stop him?
But he had clearly lost control of the situation, if he'd ever had it
to begin with, and needed to do something.
He shifted back into Padfoot. It caused Harry to let go, but that was
more the physical details that had caused that than the expected
reaction of "Eww, dog lips," which Harry did not say.
But it was a mistake anyway. As Harry fell back, and so did Padfoot, he
found himself on nose level with those pink bare feet again, and
Padfoot, it seemed, had just as much of a hard-on as Sirius had had, so
that the doggy part of his brain had even less blood going to it, all
of which was making for an extremely instinct-driven set of reactions.
His tongue snaked out and--oh, heaven!--swiped along the sole of one
invitingly odorous foot. The salt taste seemed to shoot straight
through to his brain and his cock at the same time.
Harry yelped and jerked that foot back--but only, Padfoot noticed, that
one. "That tickles!"
Sirius's resolve snapped. The wretched little tease was going to learn,
all right. He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to learn, but he
didn't care.
Padfoot lunged at the other foot and licked its sole from the base of
the heel to just under the toes. Harry tried to draw that one away, but
he followed, giving the toes his attention this time, swiping across
them. That got a squeal out of Harry that made him sound quite a bit
younger than his years, and that incensed Padfoot still further. He'd
show the rotten little...brat!
His nose and tongue burrowed against the arch of Harry's foot, aware
that Harry was laughing now, not quite able to wriggle away completely
without a bit better purchase on the bed, which meant Sirius got in a
rapid series of licks right at the crest of that sensitive arch,
prompting a cross between a yell and a laugh from Harry, who curled his
toes but wasn't-- and it took Padfoot a moment to realize this--pulling
away.
So when Padfoot's tongue inserted itself in the space between two of
Harry's toes, the resulting moan that he got hit him like a direct
caress to his own hard cock. "Oh," Harry sighed, and his toes splayed
this time. "Oh, yes. That's--"
Oh, bloody hell.
The taste alone was too good to resist, but that...if he'd've been
fixed, he'd still have responded to that. Padfoot doubled the pace of
his tongue licking along, and between, Harry's toes, bursts of salt and
musk and sweet-sour boy-flavor in ecstatic overload on his tongue, and
oh, Harry was moaning some more, actually pushing his foot towards
Padfoot's muzzle, sighing, "Oh, oh, yes, that feels--that's so
nice--ah!" That last as Padfoot licked his arch again, but Harry only
jumped, didn't try to get away or pull away this time, and a giggle or
two made its way free, but they were delighted giggles, not of protest
now.
Somewhere in the back of his mind Sirius tried to remember that this
had not been his intention.
Oh, hell, he'd never had an intention. There had only been naked Harry
and tempting, so very willing Harry, and those pawprints and footprints
and tasty, fragrant, dog-lickable feet, and intention had gone right
out the window, or never entered that room to begin with.
Harry was wriggling his toes now, the little...slut. The word was
inspiring. Whether his godson had experience or not, innocent was not a
term Sirius could apply to the boy. Angelic, certainly. The sort of
angel who carried a sword, not some silly harp. Both still had their
halos, but one was much more fun to be around.
Padfoot settled in to some good, thorough licking. Harry writhed and
groaned and sweated, most importantly--sweated so that the smell of him
got stronger and the salty taste of his feet did not diminish no matter
how much Padfoot licked. He explored every crevice between his toes,
pausing only to scrape sock-fluff off his tongue, which actually
smelled and tasted no less wonderful but made the back of his throat
tickle, and the callused skin along the ball of Harry's foot got
another laughing ticklish reaction from him when Padfoot's tongue
worked it over with enthusiasm.
Oh, and suddenly Harry's other foot was in convenient position for
licking as well. He attacked the sole, licked it and the arch for long
moments before drawing the toes into his mouth, biting at them in that
possessive, exploratory way his instincts told him to, making Harry
gasp and sound just a little overwhelmed--ah, there, you beloved little
bastard, maybe you didn't bargain on that today, did you?
Toes. Every toe, drawn into his mouth, sloppily tongued and sucked and
bitten at gently, like little escargot that he'd eat up any minute,
which seemed oddly appropriate, as Harry-taste was as delicious to
Padfoot as garlic butter would have been to Sirius. Harry lay back and
bit his fist and murmured, "Siri--Padf--oh--", and Sirius wanted to tie
the boy in that position and just lick at his feet until he'd worn a
few layers of skin off of them. Imagining the tender pinkness that
would lie under those calluses if he did that, their hypersensitivity,
and Harry's screaming reaction to that, nearly had him going to look
for rope.
The smell of Harry's body, armpits and groin, suddenly became sharply
acute to his nose, stronger even than that of his well-licked feet, and
that, that was the only thing, he was sure, that could have pulled him
away from his blindly arousing task, and he tore his mouth away and
licked Harry's calf, licked his thigh, and there, there was the musky
odor, clinging to the hairs on the boy's groin and carried to him on
infinitesimal droplets of scent, and he attacked the tufts of hair and
the swollen maroon cock, foreskin slicked back from it and the head fat
and bulging, and oh, there, the lovely loose sac of his balls, less
hairy than some but still delightfully furred, and as he dove into it
nose-first, sucking one springy testicle into his mouth and as he
realized how very easy it had been to do that, his nose pressing
against the underside of the cock and the balls falling into his mouth
so very easily, like billiards clicking together, that he realized he
wasn't Padfoot anymore, hadn't been for--well, he had no idea how long,
he was himself and he was sucking his godson's balls like he was
starving and if that was wrong, then he and angel-Harry would bloody
well go down together into Lucifer's kingdom, because he wasn't.
Bloody. Stopping.
Harry had spread his legs and Sirius felt his fingers tangle into his
hair, and if Harry'd been making addictive noises before it was nothing
compared to the cries that stuttered out of him now, as Sirius sucked
and lapped at him and started to move his tongue up the base of the
boy's shaft--and the eager little shite didn't even let him get as far
as tonguing open the eye-slit in that edible-looking morsel of a
cockhead before he screamed and shot, come landing messily in Sirius's
hair, and on his shoulder, and much of the bedclothes besides.
Rude little bugger, Sirius thought with an odd mixture of tenderness
and exasperation.
"Oh," said Harry, and that seemed to be enough. Sirius slithered up the
bed and kissed his godson on the mouth, in precisely the way he had
wanted to before, and this time it was Harry who was slack and moaning
during it.
Well. No point in pretending it hadn't happened now, was there? Might
as well be hung for a sheep, and all that.
"All right," Sirius growled, more fiercely than even Padfoot could
have, even as he tucked the dark head against his shoulder
affectionately, "show me this bloody animagus form of yours, you little
fiend."
"Mmm." Harry's sigh was enough to remind Sirius, forcefully, that
nothing had been done about his own erection yet. "Later."
"Later?! After all, that, 'Later'?"
Harry lifted his head, smiled dreamily, and began to slide down
Sirius's side, aiming for the source of his continued discomfort. "Let
me try to make it worth the wait."
-fin