Work Text:
At about two in the morning in Grimmauld Place, Harry Potter was molesting a sock.
It wasn't just any sock. It was clearly enchanted somehow.
He'd found it in the bottom of his trunk, wrapped up with the sock the Dursleys had given him in his first year, while sorting through his meager possessions -- anything to distract him from the frustration that was keeping him from sleeping.
For a slightly-worn, beige, woolen sock, it was remarkably clean. That had been Harry's first hint as to it being somehow magical. He hadn't noticed that at the time, of course, being preoccupied with the matter of where he'd gotten it from. The Dursleys hadn't sent him two socks, after all.
Like its dustier counterpart, the sock was much too large for Harry's feet, and probably always would be. He'd used the other one to hold a malfunctioning Pocket Sneakoscope in fourth-year, but the newer (?) sock remained as neat as if it had never been worn.
Harry picked it up, trying to remember where he'd gotten it. Oh! Now he remembered -- Hermione had shown up in the Common Room one night with a basket full of mismatched socks, back in second year, and Harry had nabbed this one from the pile.
He vaguely remembered hoping it would eventually fit him, seeing as it matched the other close enough to be wearable. But he was sixteen, and had had no such luck.
So Harry gave it up for the second use to which all teenage boys put socks.
Which is to say, he put his cock in it.
It was a cock sock.
Which brought him to two in the morning, wanking himself furiously in an attempt to tire himself out enough to sleep. Tonight's subject matter of choice? The Tom Riddle he'd seen in the Diary.
Harry hadn't had enough time to get that out of his system, in his opinion. Riddle was just. So. Hot.
"Tom," he muttered under his breath. "Oh, Tom, yes --"
The sock contracted around him. Harry felt it all the way down to his toes, and moaned louder. (Thank Merlin he was the only one in the house at the moment.)
From the nightstand, he grabbed more of the lotion he was using to lubricate the inside of the sock.
He didn't care if he had to clean it up later; magic existed for a reason.
Just imagining Riddle's perfect mouth drinking him down was --
"Nnh." Harry came, hard, and fell back on the sheets, waiting for his vision to stop swimming.
When he woke up in the morning, the sock was mysteriously clean.
Naturally, Harry used it several more times before he wondered why.
It seemed like it could...absorb liquids, somehow? It was certainly getting smoother on the inside, day by day. Warmer, too. Harry was having trouble restraining himself.
Then he discovered it could secrete fluids, too. And that was when Harry's adventure really began.
The discovery was serendipitous in the way sexual awakenings tend to be. Harry had just bathed, and planned on going to bed naked for once. He sat down on the end of the bed, right on top of the sock -- and abruptly felt a hot splatter against his arse, pouring over and almost into his hole.
"O- oh ," he gasped. "Fuck, that's -- ohhhh ." He stood up on quavering legs and looked at the sock, now drenched in fresh (?) semen. In a blink, it was back to normal -- entirely dry.
He sniffed it. It smelled like sex, but Harry almost liked it.
He glanced around, wary of Kreacher watching from the shadows, and lay the toe end of it in his mouth.
Almost the second Harry had fit it in there, he felt a hot gush of bitter, salty, sticky fluid over his tongue and down his throat. He moaned, swallowing as much as he could.
The sock seemed to move , wriggling its way deeper into his mouth. It was..swelling, like a small balloon. "Mmph," Harry moaned through the fabric. "Mmmph, mmmh " -- Tom, please --
The sock just kept coming, twitching in his mouth and over his tongue, and Harry swallowed and swallowed, barely able to breathe.
He couldn't believe this was getting him hard.
Eventually, the sock went limp. It was dry by the time Harry took it out of his mouth.
He had the most alarming thought, then.
The Diary absorbed ink and could pour ink out. The sock absorbed...well. And it could...*well*. And Harry's thoughts of Tom Riddle during these fantasies weren't usually this prominent.
He looked down at the sock in his hand. "...Riddle?"
It leaked a little precum onto his palm.
"Oh, Merlin, yes."
He put his head in his hands, one hand still clutching the Sock. Sock-crux? Horsock? Hock?
...one hand still clutching The Sock . "Is there some way I can talk to the Riddle inside of you? Like with the Diary showing me memories?"
The Sock squirmed around, slapping him wetly on the cheek.
"...do I put you back in my mouth?"
A small spurt of precome. That was probably a 'yes'.
Harry put it back in his mouth, of course. What he got out of that was, unfortunately, not the communication he was hoping for, but rather, another several mouthfuls of cum.
But fuck. In the moment, he didn't mind.
Come on, Tom, talk to me, he thought to himself, groaning out loud as the milky fluid dripped down his chin.
"Keep swallowing," murmured a voice in his ear. A very familiar -- if husky -- voice. Harry's eyes rolled back in his head just at the sound of it, and he did his best to obey.
The Sock-crux continued speaking, becoming more and more distinct as he continued. "...decades of waiting, should have known it would leave me blue-balled, oh yes fuck that's it right there --" Harry rubbed the fabric sticking out of his mouth between two fingers --
Harry had closed his eyes for a time, ignoring his aching erection in favor of pleasuring the Sock-crux just the way it -- he -- seemed to like. The longer it went on, the clearer and more 'present' Riddle seemed to be getting, and the louder his vocalizations were. Harry wanted to pin Riddle down and wring that pleasure from him down to the last drop…
A hand settled on the side of Harry's head, then, thumb stroking down his cheek. "Yeah...one last one, Harry, that's right..."
Harry could have come just from the sound of that voice. He moaned against the Sock in his mouth, swallowing, drinking it in, and shuddered when he heard Riddle's breath hitch and a last flow of semen spill in thick ropes down his throat. The Sock pulled itself out of him; Harry was left sputtering on the last drops of it. He opened his eyes.
Riddle was there, grinning down at him like the cat that caught the canary. "Oh, yes," the Dark wizard breathed, "finally..." his half-lidded gaze was burning with lust. Harry had still not gotten to come -- he wanted to, though. And Riddle's ghostly form was solidifying by the second.
"Don't worry, Harry," he laughed. "You'll be all spent, soon enough."
And then hands were pushing him down onto the bed by his shoulders, running down his chest, tweaking and pulling his nipples when he discovered Harry liked that, and moving down -- down to his dripping, swollen cock, and down again to the wet, tight pucker of his arse. Harry watched Riddle unzip his trousers and pull out his own erection, as red and eager as Harry's felt.
Riddle gripped Harry's thighs, adjusting their positions so Harry's knees were bent over his shoulders. Harry moaned, feeling the blunt end of the other man's erection pressing up against him determinedly. "You have to -- prepare me first," he protested, grabbing for the lotion he'd used earlier. "Don't just put it in --"
The bottle was promptly torn from his grip and its contents slathered liberally over both Riddle's cock and the outside of Harry's arse; Riddle wasted little time in preparing him just enough to take it, stretching him open with obvious experience. It left Harry squirming, needy, and all too eager to be plundered.
Harry didn't protest this time as he was slowly, steadily speared open. "Aah, yes," he breathed, "Tom --"
A hand reached up to squeeze his throat, so suddenly it took Harry out of the moment -- he clenched around Tom's cock and winced at the fullness of it. "I don't use that name in bed," the other boy hissed. "Understood?"
Harry attempted to nod. When Tom let go, he gasped for air, and managed to moan, "Vol...demort," between harsh pants. It would have killed the mood for him, except, Riddle's -- Voldemort's, fine -- cock throbbed eagerly inside him, and the boy began to really fuck him into the mattress.
It wasn't long before he couldn't take it anymore, and came great white stripes across his stomach and chest. But Voldemort kept fucking him through it -- ramming right up against his prostate on every thrust, sustaining Harry's pleasure until it was pain. "Please," Harry begged, "Voldemort, it hurts --"
The boy fucked in one more time and came, deep inside him. "Very good, Harry," he panted. "Begging for me...crying...it's just what I wanted. You know me too well."
I don't really know you at all, Harry thought to himself. He was far too sweaty and exhausted to protest.
That was, naturally, the minute Hermione and Ron burst in the door, brandishing their wands.
"Harry! We heard shouting and ran..upstairs...oh." Hermione stopped talking and blushed beet red, or at least Harry assumed she did; he couldn't see anything from his position.
Tom (Voldemort, whatever) did himself no favors by turning to look. "You must be Harry's friends," he said, probably managing to look charming above the waist while he said it, too, the bastard. "We're a little busy at the moment. Another hour, perhaps?"
Harry's only two potential rescuers backed out of the doorway, slamming it loudly behind them. Harry heard their footsteps down the hall.
"What was that about an hour?" He groaned out.
Voldemort sighed, leaning down to plant a kiss on Harry's cheek. "Seeing as I'll need about five minutes in between, and I want to fill you with my seed at least five more times..."
Harry threw an arm over his face. "Oh, no ," he moaned.
The other boy chuckled. "That's more like it. Keep begging me to stop." He started thrusting again, slowly but surely. "I'll wring you dry and then some."
To think , Harry mused, dizzy and dehydrated, I could've just left the damn sock alone.
...He was probably better off this way.
EPILOGUE:
a meeting between Harry Potter and the portrait of Albus Dumbledore
"I've been to see the Mirror of Erised just today, sir."
"Really? What did you see?"
"Just as you saw," the boy smiled, sly. "A pair of socks."
Or perhaps, just one sock.