reenka | ~~ filthy wrong H/D smut, man. that's what I do -every- day.

Ahahaha!!

fandombitches friended me!! EUREKA!!

I am a BNF who writes gross and disgusting stories!! YESSSS!! PH34R M3!!!11!! I will eat ur childrrrreennnnnn. Rrrrrun awaaaayyyyy. No, farther. Farther! BITCH!!

I'm sorry, I was attempting to exorcise the bitch inside. It is not working. She has dug in her pink little claws and she is saying, "Fuck you, write me filthy wrong H/D smut."

And lo, I have!! (With a little help from my friends.)

This goes out to you,

fandombitches. I actually wasn't going to post this story. I wrote it last night at Sara's request, and I'm kind of sick to my stomach about it, and it disturbs me. I dislike -writing- rape & non-con & anger & pain and things, because those things hurt to imagine too vividly.

They're not sparkly or fun or sexy when you actually have to immerse yourself in them to write, but that doesn't mean they're not good and worthwhile things to write about, because if we just wrote about the pretty, we would allow ourselves to forget that the world isn't like that. So yes. I'm pretty disturbed by this story and by myself, when writing it. But then, I'm not 13, and I imagine I wouldn't have wanted to read this then... though I wrote my first rape-fic when I was 15, and was disturbed then too. But something about the subject wouldn't let go, I guess. It's a demon, and even when I think I can ignore it, it doesn't ignore me, so.

Disclaimer: HP universe belongs to JKR, also known as god.

Warning: Non-con, Rape, Violence, disturbing subject matter. Discretion advised. Slash.

- As Good As He Got -

Harry didn't know what started it.

It was just another confrontation, just another stupid time Malfoy got under his skin, just another pointless jibe that Harry knew he didn't care about, because it came from Malfoy, and nothing Malfoy said was worth a second of his time, much less consideration. It was the same arrogant ugly sneer, the same taunting tilt of his head, like he was daring Harry, as if he could take it if Harry showed him even a fraction of what he was capable of. As if Malfoy had already forgotten that Harry gave as good as he got, and better.

"You don't want to do this, Malfoy," he had said, and of course Malfoy hadn't listened. Malfoy never listened.

Harry had felt his left eyelid twitch, and he knew he should just get out of there but Malfoy just wouldn't let him pass and he kept smirking as if he thought Harry wanted this, wanted to stand there and take it from him, as if he was somehow acknowledging Malfoy's twisted victory by remaining in the proximity.

"You have no idea what I want, Potter," Malfoy had drawled, twirling his wand in his fingers gently, lazily, as if he really believed Harry wasn't on the verge of hexing him into some new slug-like life-form.

"How fucking predictable, arsehole. And I don't want to, either."

It was just another stupid waste of time. The only thing that was different was that neither of them were really listening. They were both just waiting for an opportunity. The tiniest little excuse. Come on, Harry thought. Come on, give a little slip, come on. Make this worth my while. He was on the edge; so angry he had to consciously hold himself back, but it wasn't enough. He was always on the brink of slipping, these days, but it just wasn't quite enough. He needed something more, and he was willing to wait a bit. He was seeing Malfoy's pretty little face wasted and that sneer wiped clean off with his own blood and drool without even trying, even as he kept on saying something, thinking he was gauding Harry.

Harry was shaking by then, his fist clenched tightly around his wand, and Malfoy Just. Kept. Talking.

He took a single jerky step forward, and Malfoy kept talking.

He drew his wand out, holding it at the ready, and Malfoy didn't pause.

He didn't even notice the moment Malfoy finally said the wrong thing, because his mind just snapped. Malfoy didn't have a chance to open his mouth to cast the first hex, because Harry's fist had already slammed into it, shattering a tooth and making him howl in pain, dropping heavily to his knees.

Malfoy's face had been covered in blood in moments and Harry just couldn't stop. He thought he might be screaming something and Malfoy wasn't fighting back, the fucker, he just took it and that made Harry more and more enraged until all he could see were painful splotches of red and bruised skin before his eyes; Malfoy's swollen mouth and his ripped-up, dirty robes and the way his stomach felt so soft when his fist sank into it, and it was so easy, so easy to just let go and let his fists do the work for him.

Harry felt his blood pound in his ears louder than a scream, his vision swimming with it. He felt like he was burning up, his skin sizzling, his mouth dry and metallic-tasting and the only thing that helped was to bite harder and punch again and again and again, feeling the pliant flesh of the body beneath him give in so easily. So easy....

It didn't matter when the rage began; nothing mattered besides the awful driving fear of stopping and looking at Malfoy's face and.... No.

He snarled, biting viciously at the juncture of Malfoy's neck, some part of him hearing someone moan brokenly but not registering it, just pushing harder at Harry to inflict pain to get him to shut up, finally, just. Shut. Up.

"I told you. Told. You. Leave me alone. Toldyou," he muttered against Malfoy's neck, catching his breath for a moment. And then he noticed something: Malfoy didn't reply. In fact, Malfoy hadn't replied for awhile now.

He'd kneed him in the groin at some point and his leg was still wedged in between Malfoy's and he was all over him, arching above him and lifting to get another kick in and Malfoy just grunted and squinted his eyes shut, not even struggling a little bit anymore; Harry was beginning to be frightened, so frightened that he felt sick to his stomach. Malfoy just wasn't moving at all, he just laid there with the blood dribbling down his chin and harsh, rattling breaths making their way up his throat.

Harry just stopped, then, staring, and Malfoy didn't move.

The fear was making him break out in cold sweat, and then something just snapped in Harry's head and he screamed, elbowing him viciously just to hear that involuntary grunt of pain that told him Malfoy was still kicking. The bastard wasn't going to die on him. He was going to stay conscious. He was going to take it, and Harry wasn't going to stop until he was satisfied that this was over. That this had never begun. It never had to happen again, but he was going to finish it.

The rage was returning, making Harry's breath increasingly labored as he pushed his whole body like a blunt weapon against the one beneath him, hissing when it felt so good, even though it wasn't supposed to, was it, it wasn't supposed to feel good, but it didn't matter, it did.

He growled, rolling Malfoy's body in the process of trying to pull at it, twist it harder up against him, not even noticing when the need for the other's pain turned into pleasure, nor when he'd bitten through his own lip, his tongue pressed painfully between his teeth as he breathed through his mouth. His breath wheezed from between his lips as he ground Malfoy's unresisting body into the ground, still mindless with too many conflicting emotions to discern, vaguely thinking to rub Malfoy raw against the stones, but then it changed, and he didn't even think before he started pulling at Malfoy's robes in a sudden frenzy.

All he'd managed was to twist his pants down before it hit him that the new stretch of pale, unmarked skin was Malfoy's arse, cool and unbroken and smooth against his palms. Harry's blood was still pounding in his ears and he couldn't seem to hear anything at all, couldn't seem to think, and the sensation of that skin was more maddening than anything else had been before. He bit Malfoy's shoulder, hard, his hand clamping down on one arse-cheek and squeezing, and he couldn't stop now even if all of Gryffindor House were to somehow come out here to spectate just as they did when they played actual Quidditch together.

Harry had just a flash of a vision of all of them-- watching-- before he wailed in a high-pitched voice that couldn't possibly belong to him and his eyes rolled back in his head as he ripped at his own trousers in a fury. His hips were bucking blindly against Malfoy's uncovered skin and distantly, he registered that Malfoy was struggling, because he seemed to be squirming and crying out and twisting against him, trying to throw him off, trying to push him back. It didn't matter. It didn't matter. Harry felt the struggles shoot up his bloodstream, pelting his brain with jolts of pure adrenaline, making him dizzy and yet more delirious, and he just couldn't wait anymore.

He just reached down in between the arse-cheeks beneath him, thrust one, two fingers and then just kept it parted, just a little wider so that he could-- push-- one, two, three and he was in, in-in-in-in-inininin--

YES--

and it was--

Ohfuckohfuckoh--

It was so impossibly tight and hot and awful, so wrong it could've singed his bones, but he was in and it was impossible but he just kept pushing until he was deeper and he didn't know what he was doing but there was wetness, slick and burning down his inner thighs, and he knew it had to be (blood, it was blood, Malfoy's blood coating his dick, it was blood, ohFUCK) but it didn't matter. He felt almost completely disconnected from every other part of him except his cock, which was so fucking hard and leaking and on fire and. Ohgodohgodoh-- he was going to-- blow-- and just one more second, just--

His eyes snapped open but he couldn't see, he was disintegrating, melting down, all consciousness leaking out of his ears, and someone screamed.

::

Harry was still suspended above him, panting, before he rolled off suddenly, flipping Malfoy's body back, and made a move to get up. He wasn't looking at the other and it really seemed like such a good idea right about now.... A very good idea.

Malfoy whimpered softly, and Harry thought "he's really in pain... I really did this... he...." And the thought that maybe Malfoy didn't deserve this (maybe no one deserved this) ripped through him like a bullet, and he just wanted to run, as far as he could, just run--

But just looking at him was still making him want to tear his whispy blond hair out. Harry growled and pulled, wrenching Malfoy's head to the side and watching Malfoy's eyes open a slit, staring back at him through a glittering sort of glaze. Harry scrambled up, now sitting on Malfoy's chest with his knees pressed tight around his sides, putting pressure on his lungs and watching as the boy beneath him opened and closed his mouth in a series of gasps.

"Breathe..." he choked. "Let me... breathe...." Malfoy coughed again, his face screwing up in pain. Harry wished he could claw his eyes out-- Malfoy's or his own, didn't matter-- so as not to have to see, but he couldn't stop looking. Harry sat back without thinking, moving onto Malfoy's hips, his eyes widening as he did so. Malfoy was hard. Even now. Still? How?

His mouth opened, forming the word, but no sound came out.

He didn't move for a second, just sitting motionlessly, feeling stupidly in shock. Here he was, feeling guilty, wishing he was he was blind, and....

And Malfoy was... Malfoy was....

Malfoy's mouth twisted, and he looked paler than before, if that was possible, his bruises bright and purple-crimson on his narrow little face. "So what now, Potter," he somehow spat, his voice hoarse and almost frightening. "Going to hit me again?" He tried to sneer, but it came out as a grimace of pain, and then with what seemed like an effort, he jerked his hips awkwardly against Harry. "Or something else? Going to rape me again?"

Harry's blood felt like it was boiling in his veins; he wasn't himself anymore. This was someone else. This wasn't happening. Not to him; not with Malfoy. No. No. Harry couldn't look at him anymore but he could still feel it even more when he tried closing his eyes. Still, he couldn't seem to move. Distantly, Harry noticed that his hands were shaking, so he put an end to that and dug his fingers as hard as he could into Malfoy's sides, feeling Malfoy's indrawn breath like it was the lightest cut on his own skin. He thought he might bleed himself if he stayed like this; he might cut himself on Malfoy's bony, slight little body, so light and breakable beneath his.

"I--"

But there was nothing to say. He was so numb, so awfully, finally numb.

Looking down on his cock, semi-hard as it stuck out of his barely-open trousers, he flinched. It was covered in blood. Of course. Malfoy's blood.

"You--" he breathed, swallowing hard. He was staring at some point near the ceiling and his hands were shaking again, but this was different. Completely different, and Malfoy was digging into his arse and Harry felt weak and broken into many more pieces than he'd tried breaking Malfoy into. "You--"

"Shit or get off the pot, Potter," Malfoy rasped. "Or haven't you heard of basic courtesy?"

"You wanted... you wanted me to... to...."

Malfoy's stomach shook beneath him and it took Harry a moment to comprehend that Malfoy was trying to laugh. "You complete-- fucker. Can't even finish-- what you started. Should've known. Useless. Fucking. Half-blood."

Harry's eyes narrowed. Was he trying to...?

His face soured in disgust and he buttoned up his trousers, rising off of the other boy, his head swimming with the unexpected movement. He blinked, his surroundings coming back to him at last: Quidditch changing rooms. Evening. His broom propped against the door. The showers next door.

"Aren't you going to at least cast a memory charm, Potter?" Malfoy said, but his voice sounded as hollow and weak as Harry felt. He still couldn't bring himself to look him in the eye; weak. So weak.

Malfoy grunted in what might have been disbelief or even relief for all Harry knew as he bent to pick up his wand where it lay forgotten on the stone floor. His hand shook as he aimed it at the white blur of Malfoy's body and spoke the only healing spell he knew. It should at least stop the bleeding, he thought. Harry's glasses were nowhere to be found; probably broken anyway. Didn't matter, he told himself savagely. Just get out of here. Shower; hot-- scalding-- lock the door. Never come out.

"Going to leave me like this, Potter? Gone, just like that? No goodbye kiss, you utter fucker?!" Malfoy whispered harshly, his head making a dull thudding sound as it dropped back against the ground. "Fucker...."

Harry flinched, his fingers spasming as they did up another button too slowly.

Harry just wanted to collapse. He just wanted to be deep underground, eight thousand miles away, off the continent, somewhere dark and silent where Malfoy wasn't. He leaned against the door, trying to breathe even knowing that he did-- that-- and Malfoy was-- still there-- and tomorrow-- tomorrow he'd have to show his face to him and to everyone and it was just too much, but for now--

"Yes," he hissed from in between his clenched teeth. He had turned away, and was staring outside, letting the brisk evening air bathe his face as his thoughts dissipated in a sick imitation of earlier. "Gone. Just like that."
.....................................................

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

shatterglass.livejournal.com

Disturbing, but in that good way where you feel like you're inside the story and can't tear your eyes from the ~~page~~screen. Very passionate. The only thing is, I keep finding the -'s distracting... for some reason they don't bother me at all in regular posts but I'd rather read it in italics for a story? Dunno why. Suspect I am being unnecessarily picky.

From:

vlamidala.livejournal.com

It just isn't fair.

I'm an elitist, a snob, and a sore loser. Why no troll love for meeeee?

From:

sistermagpie.livejournal.com

Dude!

This was...

Its...

Dude!

Am I a bad person for finding this somehow satisfying to read? Oh wait, of course I am--I'm a fandom bitch! ::preens::