Fic: "Mister Rhymes With" (NC-17)
After a lot of build-up, far too much time, a few WiP readings, multiple demands from wildestranger, and much fear from marilla82; my fisting squick!fic is finally done.
This is written for my lovely marilla82 who I delight in disturbing (and sleeping with). I promised to write something purely for the intention of making her want to spork her eyes out.
Honestly though, this is very playful in its squick-factor.
Title: "Mister Rhymes With"
Author: pre_raphaelite1
Pairing: mostly Remus/Sirius with a side of Minerva
Rating: NC-17 Crack
Warning: Oh god, everything? Fisting, light bondage, foot fetish, Blackcest, house elves, turtle cocks, BPAL, and the kitchen sink!
Summary: Minerva teaches Remus and Sirius a new way to use their fists, and Remus contemplates his schooling.
“What is wrong with you, Black? Always punching people at the slightest provocation.”
“I wouldn't have to use my fists all the time if Remus would use his for once,” Sirius answered with no small amount of sullenness.
“My fists? You want me to start brawling with the Slytherins just because you do?”
“I think fists are a lovely suggestion.”
They both turned to look at her. Surely this couldn’t be the same McGonagall that gave James a week of detention for slapping Regulus’ arse after breakfast.
“Fists?” they echoed together, then looked confusedly from one to the other.
“Yes. Fists. Something to teach a bit of balance to the two of you.” She waved her wand and the door slammed shut, locking with an ominous clank of metal on metal.
McGonagall then turned on them, and Remus took a step closer to Sirius. Another flick of her wand found both boys suddenly quite naked, and one of them quite hard. Remus turned an incredulous glare on Sirius. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
“Language, Mr. Lupin. But you would seem to have discovered why it is that Sirius finds himself in detention so often.”
Sirius took this opportunity to become very interested in the stones under his bare feet, his perfect bare feet that knew just how to curl together so Remus could slide his…
Well, fuck, make that two boys who were hard.
“Found your interest then have you, Lupin? Now, we were talking about fists, weren’t we?”
Remus swallowed and choked, quite convinced that he had just attempted to swallow his tongue or something roughly the size of a hippogriff’s arse.
“Oh aye, I would definitely say you found something that interests at least a part of you.”
Remus finally had the presence of mind to cover his traitorously aroused cock with his hand. Both his hands. Sirius, on the other hand, leaned nonchalantly back against McGonagall’s desk, his erection proud and jutting to her, simply begging for attention.
“Bloody vain Black” Remus muttered.
“No, he’s merely comfortable. But perhaps we should do something about that.” Another flick of her wand lifted Sirius onto her desk, then bound his knees back to his chest so that he resembled nothing as much an upside-down turtle. If that turtle had a hard cock and tightly puckered arsehole.
One of Remus’ hands inched higher as he swore to drop Care of Magical Creatures that afternoon.
Or maybe next week.
He squeaked as McGonagall grabbed up his hand then poured a liberal amount of slick oil over his hand. His whole hand.
And suddenly Remus knew what she meant, the realization crashing through his brain like a herd of Erumpents. A whole herd of desperate, male erumpents during mating season.
Remus’ cock twitched.
“Now, let’s discuss appropriate methods of using your fists, shall we?”
Her hand, pale and slender, massaged his, articulating each slippery joint, making him feel as though there should be a crowd of people around watching him dance about in silk boxers. But he was distracted by the wafting scent of the oil, faintly oranges and cherries and chocolate, and Remus wondered just when they missed that section at Honeydukes.
We? Wait... Sirius was being far too quiet about this and Remus tilted his head to peer between Sirius’ bound legs, to find a wad of fabric protruding from his mouth.
Remus decided he quite needed to learn whatever spell had managed that, until he noticed that the material was tartan... and sheer... and oh god.
You bastard appendage!
“The best technique of course depends on the gender of the person you have before you, but considering what I heard of the box under your bed, I don’t think we shall have to talk about women, will we?”
She curled all but two fingers of his down to his palm then pressed the remaining pair to Sirius’ exposed hole.
“He can take two easily enough, I’m sure.” And she pushed. And he pulled. And Sirius wiggled.
But the werewolf strength was no match for the firm grip of a Transfiguration professor, the former being a myth and the latter a horrifying reality.
And Sirius’s was no match for either, and the ring of muscle opened with a tangible pop. Remus’ fingers were suddenly enveloped in the tight, familiar, oh fucking god heat of Sirius’ arse.
“Very nice. I’m certain that you are more than knowledgeable with the basic idea of fisting. We just have to gradually stretch out his sphincter and rectum out to accept your whole hand. This is something you must do very careful to prevent any anal tearing, which besides being painful, can allow for easy transmission of diseases.”
Sphincter? Rectum? Fuck, she made it sound as she were teaching an anatomy lesson out of a textbook, some horribly perverted sex textbook that no matter how hard Sirius had search the library just did not exist unless McGonagall had taken them all and fuck, he needed to leave Hogwarts all together now…
“How many of your fingers has he taken before?”
He swallowed hard, finding that his arm had already begun a slow pistoning, the muscles working independently of his better sense in order to slide his fingers in and out of Sirius’ arse. “Three.”
“The next now, Mr. Lupin.” This jarred him momentarily, the title echoing in his scrambled brain: mister, mister, mister.
Then Sirius’ voice came from one of the darker corners of his brain, one that smelled of wet dog and strawberry jam, to singsong “Mister rhymes with fister...”
He scowled at the impertinent presence of Sirius’ voice where there should be rationality and lemon curd. So he pressed the third finger in with enough pressure to silence all of it.
Sirius’ arse rose up to meet the push of his fingers, his low moans muffled by the delicate fabric in his mouth so they sounded like the quiet wuffles that Padfoot made as he dreamed, back leg twitching even as Sirius’ toes curled down now.
“Now, rotate your wrist slightly as you move, adding pressure to the sphincter to stretch it open.” Her voice came behind him now, too close, too direct. And he was far too conditioned to respond to the rolling burr of her voice… One two three, fera verto. One two three, stretch his arse out.
Remus’ eyes fixed on the tightening of Sirius’ balls, the way they drew up with his movements. He bent down to lick over the thin bunching flesh covering them and was dually rewarded by the clench of Sirius’ arse around his fingers and a pleased purr that was neither canine nor masculine but still managed to send a shiver through his body and to make a drip of precome well up through his own cock.
He licked again, drawing his tongue up over first one side then the other. He groaned at the familiar musky taste of him, the texture of his skin as it wrinkled against his tongue. Once again he praised Sirius’ recent efficiency with depilatory charms. After the one fiasco with Muggle waxing that had resulted in Sirius spending two days in the hospital wing, Sirius had set out then to learn how to do it magically-
“Number four if you would, Mr. Lupin.”
Rising upright once again, Remus looked down at the pink stretched hole, darkness between his fingers. He drew his fingers far enough out of Sirius’ arse to bring his fourth finger in next to the others.
“Easy now as you push it back in. You’ll probably need to turn your wrist so you can find the best position to-“ she paused as he carefully worked them inside. “Very nice.”
Remus’ fingers were being pressed together with almost painful force. The soft walls around them were shifting constantly, bearing down then relaxing as Sirius writhed on McGonagall’s desk. He could here the sharp crinkle of parchment as he moved, Sirius’ naked body twitching over countless essays on transfiguring minks into mufflers... how to get the fur just right, soft, smooth...
Remus growled low his throat, turning his head to nip sharply at one of Sirius’ feet.
McGonagall stepped in behind Remus, wrapping cool fingers around the flexing muscles of his forearm to encourage the motion of deeper, further, that’s right, you filthy slut.
Breath ghosted over his ear, but warm and moist clings of air rather the chilly mist he remembered from those early mornings with Nearly Headless Nick. He inhaled deeply, pulling in the smell of her clove cigarettes over the clinging smell of chocolate and fruit and sex, and he wondered if the spicy scent clung to the knickers which Sirius was moaning around.
“Excellent. Always the astute student, Mr. Lupin,” she purred before angling his hips with her free hand then slipping down to kneel between his feet and her desk. “A student such as yourself needs to be constantly challenged, don’t you think?”
His eyes widened and he looked down at her, her tongue darting over her lips like a cat about to pounce on a particularly tasty mouse. Surely she wasn’t planning on- Bloody Dumbledore fucking the Giant Squid she was... oh god, he was the mouse! A mouse whose cock was currently all the way down his Head of House’s throat.
Fuck, James hadn’t been lying.
Remus tensed, trying to keep himself from coming straightaway. He thought he could manage it, timing the strokes of his hand with the motion of her mouth, breathing as she pulled back.
But then there was a ripple of magic and the softness of her tongue rippled into feline roughness. He surged forward as fantasy licked into reality, angling his hand up to Sirius’ prostate by what he would claim later was intent, but was far more accidental than even that misfortunate experience with the house elf in the kitchen sink. McGonagall’s near painful tongue curved under his cock, and he came, pouring out his release in hot pulses down his professor’s throat.
A moment later, Sirius’ arse bore down on his hand with its own orgasmic contraction and Remus’ head swiveled drunkenly to look at the suddenly sharp definition of muscles under come-splattered skin. Then his vision drew to a hedgehog prick before going black.
(*)
“Moony? Moony!”
Remus opened his eyes, staring into the flushed face of Sirius and the disapproving glower of McGonagall.
“This serves the two of you right for thinking you can best wand-wielding Slytherins with your fists.”
Remus sat up. “Fists?”
Everything rushed back. Turtle Sirius and cat-tongued McGonagall and oh god, Remus the fist-fucker. He looked down at his hand which lay innocently across his trouser-clad legs. Frowning, he looked from Sirius to McGonagall, both pristinely dressed, showing no sign of having recently been involved in a threesome of epically wrong proportions.
“You alright, Moony? You’ve been out for a bit.”
His head was pounding, filled with the bellowing of a dozen rampaging Prongs. Or was it Prongses.
Right. Clearly he was delusional for contemplating plurality that involved grammar rather than polyjuice or the beautiful dominance of Black genes which allowed Regulus and Sirius to be nearly interchangeable as their naked bodies rocked together in the flickering candlelight of Remus' room.
“Yes!" he blurted as his trousers began to constrict him. "I... I think so. Just... horrible dreams or something. Thank god.”
McGonagall raised her eyebrow, but the way her gaze swept over his body must have been merely cursory. “Dreams? About what?”
His face flared ashwinder hot. “Erm.” He floundered for a moment, trying to think of a believable substitute for the images of anal fisting which resumed flashing through his mind. “Fighting the moon?”
McGonagall rolled her eyes while Remus got to his feet, with no small amount of help from Sirius, though the hand on his arse really wasn’t as helpful as Sirius must have thought it was. “I’ll see the two of you in lessons tomorrow.”
Remus breathed a sigh of relief as she left, her tall form sweeping past them carrying a smell of clove cigarettes and something sweeter, more chocolately. His head snapped up at the slick aroma then turned so he could stare in disbelief at Sirius.
Sirius smirked as he began slowly walking Remus back toward the dormitory, guiding him by the hand on his arse.
“Padfoot?” someone’s voice creaked, small and terrified. Remus thought it sounded familiar but the corridor was empty.
“Yeah, Moony?”
“Erm... what just... did we...” No. It was all too preposterous and far too perverted for even Sirius. By that standard, he probably needed heavy medication. Or a sanitarium. Or at least a good fuck. “Nevermind.”
Sirius chuckled. “Whatever you say, Moony.”
Remus ran a hand through his hair then came to an abrupt stop in the corridor and sniffed again. This was no delusion or dream. His hand, though pristinely clean in appearance, smelled of chocolate and oranges and something deeper, muskier. Once again, he stared at Sirius, who shifted uncomfortably on his feet, despite the pleased smirk on his face.
Sirius leaned forward to whisper into Remus’ ear. “It’s called Vice. And she gave us the bottle.”
Remus’ mouth fell open, gaping nearly as wide as Sirius’ arse had been stretched.
“But,” Sirius continued with a slight frown, “there will be an exam at the end of term. I was wrong when I thought that the career path to porn star wouldn’t involve essays. No matter. The extra lessons are pleasant enough, don’t you think?”
For the first time during his schooling, Remus considered that perhaps Head Archivist of Gringotts’ Loan Documentation Department wasn’t the most exciting career goal he could have.
All who read and comment will be treasured above all chocolate!
This is written for my lovely marilla82 who I delight in disturbing (and sleeping with). I promised to write something purely for the intention of making her want to spork her eyes out.
Honestly though, this is very playful in its squick-factor.
Title: "Mister Rhymes With"
Author: pre_raphaelite1
Pairing: mostly Remus/Sirius with a side of Minerva
Rating: NC-17 Crack
Warning: Oh god, everything? Fisting, light bondage, foot fetish, Blackcest, house elves, turtle cocks, BPAL, and the kitchen sink!
Summary: Minerva teaches Remus and Sirius a new way to use their fists, and Remus contemplates his schooling.
“What is wrong with you, Black? Always punching people at the slightest provocation.”
“I wouldn't have to use my fists all the time if Remus would use his for once,” Sirius answered with no small amount of sullenness.
“My fists? You want me to start brawling with the Slytherins just because you do?”
“I think fists are a lovely suggestion.”
They both turned to look at her. Surely this couldn’t be the same McGonagall that gave James a week of detention for slapping Regulus’ arse after breakfast.
“Fists?” they echoed together, then looked confusedly from one to the other.
“Yes. Fists. Something to teach a bit of balance to the two of you.” She waved her wand and the door slammed shut, locking with an ominous clank of metal on metal.
McGonagall then turned on them, and Remus took a step closer to Sirius. Another flick of her wand found both boys suddenly quite naked, and one of them quite hard. Remus turned an incredulous glare on Sirius. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
“Language, Mr. Lupin. But you would seem to have discovered why it is that Sirius finds himself in detention so often.”
Sirius took this opportunity to become very interested in the stones under his bare feet, his perfect bare feet that knew just how to curl together so Remus could slide his…
Well, fuck, make that two boys who were hard.
“Found your interest then have you, Lupin? Now, we were talking about fists, weren’t we?”
Remus swallowed and choked, quite convinced that he had just attempted to swallow his tongue or something roughly the size of a hippogriff’s arse.
“Oh aye, I would definitely say you found something that interests at least a part of you.”
Remus finally had the presence of mind to cover his traitorously aroused cock with his hand. Both his hands. Sirius, on the other hand, leaned nonchalantly back against McGonagall’s desk, his erection proud and jutting to her, simply begging for attention.
“Bloody vain Black” Remus muttered.
“No, he’s merely comfortable. But perhaps we should do something about that.” Another flick of her wand lifted Sirius onto her desk, then bound his knees back to his chest so that he resembled nothing as much an upside-down turtle. If that turtle had a hard cock and tightly puckered arsehole.
One of Remus’ hands inched higher as he swore to drop Care of Magical Creatures that afternoon.
Or maybe next week.
He squeaked as McGonagall grabbed up his hand then poured a liberal amount of slick oil over his hand. His whole hand.
And suddenly Remus knew what she meant, the realization crashing through his brain like a herd of Erumpents. A whole herd of desperate, male erumpents during mating season.
Remus’ cock twitched.
“Now, let’s discuss appropriate methods of using your fists, shall we?”
Her hand, pale and slender, massaged his, articulating each slippery joint, making him feel as though there should be a crowd of people around watching him dance about in silk boxers. But he was distracted by the wafting scent of the oil, faintly oranges and cherries and chocolate, and Remus wondered just when they missed that section at Honeydukes.
We? Wait... Sirius was being far too quiet about this and Remus tilted his head to peer between Sirius’ bound legs, to find a wad of fabric protruding from his mouth.
Remus decided he quite needed to learn whatever spell had managed that, until he noticed that the material was tartan... and sheer... and oh god.
You bastard appendage!
“The best technique of course depends on the gender of the person you have before you, but considering what I heard of the box under your bed, I don’t think we shall have to talk about women, will we?”
She curled all but two fingers of his down to his palm then pressed the remaining pair to Sirius’ exposed hole.
“He can take two easily enough, I’m sure.” And she pushed. And he pulled. And Sirius wiggled.
But the werewolf strength was no match for the firm grip of a Transfiguration professor, the former being a myth and the latter a horrifying reality.
And Sirius’s was no match for either, and the ring of muscle opened with a tangible pop. Remus’ fingers were suddenly enveloped in the tight, familiar, oh fucking god heat of Sirius’ arse.
“Very nice. I’m certain that you are more than knowledgeable with the basic idea of fisting. We just have to gradually stretch out his sphincter and rectum out to accept your whole hand. This is something you must do very careful to prevent any anal tearing, which besides being painful, can allow for easy transmission of diseases.”
Sphincter? Rectum? Fuck, she made it sound as she were teaching an anatomy lesson out of a textbook, some horribly perverted sex textbook that no matter how hard Sirius had search the library just did not exist unless McGonagall had taken them all and fuck, he needed to leave Hogwarts all together now…
“How many of your fingers has he taken before?”
He swallowed hard, finding that his arm had already begun a slow pistoning, the muscles working independently of his better sense in order to slide his fingers in and out of Sirius’ arse. “Three.”
“The next now, Mr. Lupin.” This jarred him momentarily, the title echoing in his scrambled brain: mister, mister, mister.
Then Sirius’ voice came from one of the darker corners of his brain, one that smelled of wet dog and strawberry jam, to singsong “Mister rhymes with fister...”
He scowled at the impertinent presence of Sirius’ voice where there should be rationality and lemon curd. So he pressed the third finger in with enough pressure to silence all of it.
Sirius’ arse rose up to meet the push of his fingers, his low moans muffled by the delicate fabric in his mouth so they sounded like the quiet wuffles that Padfoot made as he dreamed, back leg twitching even as Sirius’ toes curled down now.
“Now, rotate your wrist slightly as you move, adding pressure to the sphincter to stretch it open.” Her voice came behind him now, too close, too direct. And he was far too conditioned to respond to the rolling burr of her voice… One two three, fera verto. One two three, stretch his arse out.
Remus’ eyes fixed on the tightening of Sirius’ balls, the way they drew up with his movements. He bent down to lick over the thin bunching flesh covering them and was dually rewarded by the clench of Sirius’ arse around his fingers and a pleased purr that was neither canine nor masculine but still managed to send a shiver through his body and to make a drip of precome well up through his own cock.
He licked again, drawing his tongue up over first one side then the other. He groaned at the familiar musky taste of him, the texture of his skin as it wrinkled against his tongue. Once again he praised Sirius’ recent efficiency with depilatory charms. After the one fiasco with Muggle waxing that had resulted in Sirius spending two days in the hospital wing, Sirius had set out then to learn how to do it magically-
“Number four if you would, Mr. Lupin.”
Rising upright once again, Remus looked down at the pink stretched hole, darkness between his fingers. He drew his fingers far enough out of Sirius’ arse to bring his fourth finger in next to the others.
“Easy now as you push it back in. You’ll probably need to turn your wrist so you can find the best position to-“ she paused as he carefully worked them inside. “Very nice.”
Remus’ fingers were being pressed together with almost painful force. The soft walls around them were shifting constantly, bearing down then relaxing as Sirius writhed on McGonagall’s desk. He could here the sharp crinkle of parchment as he moved, Sirius’ naked body twitching over countless essays on transfiguring minks into mufflers... how to get the fur just right, soft, smooth...
Remus growled low his throat, turning his head to nip sharply at one of Sirius’ feet.
McGonagall stepped in behind Remus, wrapping cool fingers around the flexing muscles of his forearm to encourage the motion of deeper, further, that’s right, you filthy slut.
Breath ghosted over his ear, but warm and moist clings of air rather the chilly mist he remembered from those early mornings with Nearly Headless Nick. He inhaled deeply, pulling in the smell of her clove cigarettes over the clinging smell of chocolate and fruit and sex, and he wondered if the spicy scent clung to the knickers which Sirius was moaning around.
“Excellent. Always the astute student, Mr. Lupin,” she purred before angling his hips with her free hand then slipping down to kneel between his feet and her desk. “A student such as yourself needs to be constantly challenged, don’t you think?”
His eyes widened and he looked down at her, her tongue darting over her lips like a cat about to pounce on a particularly tasty mouse. Surely she wasn’t planning on- Bloody Dumbledore fucking the Giant Squid she was... oh god, he was the mouse! A mouse whose cock was currently all the way down his Head of House’s throat.
Fuck, James hadn’t been lying.
Remus tensed, trying to keep himself from coming straightaway. He thought he could manage it, timing the strokes of his hand with the motion of her mouth, breathing as she pulled back.
But then there was a ripple of magic and the softness of her tongue rippled into feline roughness. He surged forward as fantasy licked into reality, angling his hand up to Sirius’ prostate by what he would claim later was intent, but was far more accidental than even that misfortunate experience with the house elf in the kitchen sink. McGonagall’s near painful tongue curved under his cock, and he came, pouring out his release in hot pulses down his professor’s throat.
A moment later, Sirius’ arse bore down on his hand with its own orgasmic contraction and Remus’ head swiveled drunkenly to look at the suddenly sharp definition of muscles under come-splattered skin. Then his vision drew to a hedgehog prick before going black.
(*)
“Moony? Moony!”
Remus opened his eyes, staring into the flushed face of Sirius and the disapproving glower of McGonagall.
“This serves the two of you right for thinking you can best wand-wielding Slytherins with your fists.”
Remus sat up. “Fists?”
Everything rushed back. Turtle Sirius and cat-tongued McGonagall and oh god, Remus the fist-fucker. He looked down at his hand which lay innocently across his trouser-clad legs. Frowning, he looked from Sirius to McGonagall, both pristinely dressed, showing no sign of having recently been involved in a threesome of epically wrong proportions.
“You alright, Moony? You’ve been out for a bit.”
His head was pounding, filled with the bellowing of a dozen rampaging Prongs. Or was it Prongses.
Right. Clearly he was delusional for contemplating plurality that involved grammar rather than polyjuice or the beautiful dominance of Black genes which allowed Regulus and Sirius to be nearly interchangeable as their naked bodies rocked together in the flickering candlelight of Remus' room.
“Yes!" he blurted as his trousers began to constrict him. "I... I think so. Just... horrible dreams or something. Thank god.”
McGonagall raised her eyebrow, but the way her gaze swept over his body must have been merely cursory. “Dreams? About what?”
His face flared ashwinder hot. “Erm.” He floundered for a moment, trying to think of a believable substitute for the images of anal fisting which resumed flashing through his mind. “Fighting the moon?”
McGonagall rolled her eyes while Remus got to his feet, with no small amount of help from Sirius, though the hand on his arse really wasn’t as helpful as Sirius must have thought it was. “I’ll see the two of you in lessons tomorrow.”
Remus breathed a sigh of relief as she left, her tall form sweeping past them carrying a smell of clove cigarettes and something sweeter, more chocolately. His head snapped up at the slick aroma then turned so he could stare in disbelief at Sirius.
Sirius smirked as he began slowly walking Remus back toward the dormitory, guiding him by the hand on his arse.
“Padfoot?” someone’s voice creaked, small and terrified. Remus thought it sounded familiar but the corridor was empty.
“Yeah, Moony?”
“Erm... what just... did we...” No. It was all too preposterous and far too perverted for even Sirius. By that standard, he probably needed heavy medication. Or a sanitarium. Or at least a good fuck. “Nevermind.”
Sirius chuckled. “Whatever you say, Moony.”
Remus ran a hand through his hair then came to an abrupt stop in the corridor and sniffed again. This was no delusion or dream. His hand, though pristinely clean in appearance, smelled of chocolate and oranges and something deeper, muskier. Once again, he stared at Sirius, who shifted uncomfortably on his feet, despite the pleased smirk on his face.
Sirius leaned forward to whisper into Remus’ ear. “It’s called Vice. And she gave us the bottle.”
Remus’ mouth fell open, gaping nearly as wide as Sirius’ arse had been stretched.
“But,” Sirius continued with a slight frown, “there will be an exam at the end of term. I was wrong when I thought that the career path to porn star wouldn’t involve essays. No matter. The extra lessons are pleasant enough, don’t you think?”
For the first time during his schooling, Remus considered that perhaps Head Archivist of Gringotts’ Loan Documentation Department wasn’t the most exciting career goal he could have.
All who read and comment will be treasured above all chocolate!