Magnificatus Cockalorum 2

MAGNIFICATUS COCKALORUM

by Marc Tremaine

(marctremaineATmindspring.com)

DISCLAIMER: These characters don't belong to me. The copyrights belong to J.K. Rowling, and the movie folks, and the book publisher folks, and the DVD folks, and the CD soundtrack folks, and whatever other folks out there have a legal and financial finger or three in the pie(s). This is just for fun. Mine, definitely, yours hopefully.

TRADITIONAL WARNING: This story is a product of imagination; it is not a depiction of real life. It involves sexual acts between two or more males of the human species. If you are offended by that idea or its explicit description, regardless of whether it's the act that offends you, or the age or relationship of the participants, don't read this story. If writing about any type of sex between males is illegal in your nation, or in your particular municipality, county, state, province, or other political subdivision, don't read this story. If your age makes it illegal to read this story, don't read this story.

MAGNIFICATUS COCKALORUM

2. The First

Bloody hell.

Bloody, bloody hell!

Everyone was supposed to be at lunch, the boys' toilet was supposed to be empty, and all he wanted was to go to his favorite stall and wank a time or two. Apparently that, too, was too effing (he couldn't quite bring himself to say the actual word out loud, for fear his mother might know and send him another howler in front of Dumbledore and everyone) much, just like...all the rest.

Malfoy was at the far urinal, pissing up a storm. Which meant he couldn't walk by, head to a stall and start wanking, since there'd be none of the usual noises and Malfoy was nothing if not a suspicious prick. Okay. So he'd pee and leave. He picked the nearest one, which left, what, a dozen or so between them. He started to unbutton.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't wittle Weasel." Malfoy's voice was soft, but loud enough to carry down the row of urinals.

Ron blushed and continued dealing with the buttons, fumbling now as he couldn't help from turning his head just a little, really, only the tiniest little, so that the corner of his eye was poised just right to see if Malfoy was doing what Ron was suddenly afraid he was doing. He was.

Malfoy was wanking. He'd moved back from the urinal his own just a little, turned to his right another just a little, and stroked his hard, cut cock with his left hand. It looked somewhat awkward, and it actually was, since Malfoy was right handed, but he needed his right hand for his wand. Malfoy smirked, and flicked, and snapped, "Magnificare!"

A magnifying glass appeared in the air in front of Ron, hovering at belt level. A large magnifying glass. A very large magnifying glass. Big enough to make Ron jump back a little. Thankfully he wasn't peeing so there was no mess. Malfoy just laughed. "What's the matter, wittle Weasel? I'm just trying to help you find it. Just like the first time."

Ron blushed even more, remembering that "first time," his body somehow automatically turning to face Malfoy full on. Malfoy waved the wand and the glass disappeared; he tucked the wand back inside his robe, and gave more of his attention to his six inch cut cock (only Muggles and lesser breeds of wizards retained that useless extra skin, mostly likely to hide ugly dicks, or so his father had sometimes said when Malfoy was on his knees, servicing him). He jacked with his right, watching as Ron struggled not to look at the stroking hand, and almost immediately lost the battle.

"You're a cocksucker, Weasel," Malfoy said.

Ron might have blushed even more at those words, but a boy's body can do only what a boy's body can do, and Ron's was already pumping out a ten on a scale of ten full body blush. Those were the same words as that "first time." Before the debacle with the Magnificatus spell. Ron would have used that word if he'd known what it meant, but as it was, in his mind it was "that eff-up." He had been in the library stacks. Modern books (within the last two hundred years) and not restricted, which meant it was unlikely Hermione would happen across him. And no one else would believe Ron was voluntarily in the library, so he was safe. Every time he'd been to the toilet it had been busy and his dick was now not only hard but hurting, so he figured a quick wank, a very quick wank, cum into his handkerchief, lick up as much as possible, a clean up spell, tuck, button and on his way. He had the quick wank down to a science. When you were, at least in one respect, a typical Weasley and in a perpetual state of horniness, you had to.

He hadn't counted on Malfoy showing up. Luckily without Butthead and Butthole. Equally lucky, or so he'd thought for a whole moment or two, that his dick wasn't out, though his pants were unbuttoned. Perhaps he could just say he, uh, forgot after pissing. If Malfoy said anything. Which he probably would. Malfoy always said something. Usually unpleasant. Sometimes downright mean. That day was no different.

Ron was seated on a window ledge, the brilliant colors of the stained glass draping all over him, his legs spread a bit, his hand just about to reach in to pull his hardon out and start. He'd picked the place so he could keep watch down the long row of tall, tall bookshelves leading toward the entrance door a seemingly vast distance away. Plenty of time if he saw the door opening to hop down, duck to the right or left along the wall so he was hidden by the shelves, get his act together, and be nonchalant if the door-opener actually walked in his direction.

Except, well, except between the time he looked down at his gaping fly and the time he started to move his hand to get his dick out, he noticed feet between his legs. Feet at the bottom of crisply-creased non-hand-me-down black trousers; feet clad in Ł1200 Norvirgin or something loafers from A. Testosterone, or Tortellini or something from Italy, as Malfoy had been sure to inform them. "Muggles are good for a few things," he acknowledged. "When you can afford them. As my father can. What can your father afford, Weasel? The Pay-Even-Less outlet store?" He'd snickered.

And here the shoes were again. Ron lifted his head to look at Malfoy's sleek, cold, blond, slender beauty. Not that he'd ever admit anything like that out loud, much less to himself. Much less admit he'd wondered what the Slytherin boy would look liked stripped for a shower. But that was wrong. Even a thought like that was a betrayal of Harry. At that moment, he had no idea how far he was going to go in the betrayal business.

When their eyes met that day, Malfoy's eyes were chips of blue glacial ice, colder than his voice. "You're a cocksucker, Weasel."

Malfoy had intended on a slight but dramatic pause, before finishing with "aren't you?" Intended just to annoy and shock and embarrass the Gryffindor, although he wasn't quite certain why he'd dropped a tiny follow-me bug on Ron's atrociously worn robe (had his father worn it when he was at Hogwarts?), and decided to play this game out privately, not even dragging along Crabbe and Goyle. Intended to get the low-class Muggle lover humiliated and stuttering.

Malfoy hadn't intended on Ron sucking his dick.

Ron hadn't intended on blurting out "How did you find out?"

Both happened.

There was a blurt-filled silence as two boys considered the awful, outed truth.

Malfoy finished his considerings first. He considered telling the truth, i.e., he'd only meant to hurt, so he hadn't known until Ron had admitted it. But as his father had so often pointed out, truth is a last resort. Artifice is more often successful, or at least faster, in getting what you wanted. At that moment, suddenly hard in his expensive trousers, Malfoy wanted his cock sucked.

Oh, sure, both Crabbe and Goyle would do it if coerced, but never with enthusiasm or the slightest degree of skill. And Malfoy knew what expert sucking was like. Not, however, from having it done, but from having done it so many times for so many years for his father. And his father's friends, on occasion. Though that had stopped some years ago. And wanking was always available. There was even wanking on occasion in the Slytherin showers though everyone seemed embarrassed by it and tried to avoid looking like they were doing precisely what they were in fact doing, ogling other boys' cocks and balls and hardons and asses and tits while they wanked and let their seed spurt and wash down the drains. But an actual, honest-to-God, deep throating superb blowjob? Those were rare. None at Hogwarts, and the last he could remember was, oh yes, about three years ago. The Minister's assistant.

He looked at Ron's lush, plump lips, the wide mouth, a natural born cocksucker's mouth and wondered how he'd never noticed it before. "Suck my dick, Weasel."

Ron's considerings had been far less logical and far more frantic. Panicked, even. No one knew about him at school. Well, of course, Fred and George did. And true, he'd been sucking them off and getting fucked fairly often his first year, but now they were so busy they hardly ever dicked him any more. Besides, he'd overheard George say once that a twin gave better head and had a tighter arse than anyone, which kind of hurt his feelings, since he was proud of his blowjobs and how talented and tight his arse was. But still, George hadn't meant to hurt him, and didn't even know he'd heard. So Ron pretty much confined himself to wanking himself at school. A lot. It wasn't as good as sucking, or feeling cock pound his hole, but he'd be damned if he'd beg his brothers for sex, no matter how much he missed the taste of their cum.

And now he was doomed. No way was Malfoy going to keep that blurt a secret. And even if he denied it, called Malfoy a liar, one sip of Snape's veritas serum and he'd be proudly babbling about how much of a cock slut he was. He'd be an outcast. Hell, he'd probably be an expelled outcast once the headmaster found out the full extent of his, his, queerosity. He was opening his mouth to beg, when he heard the words. The Fatal Four.

But while he was stammering "Wh...wh...wh...what?" in response, his mind was racing again. Maybe, just maybe, he might survive after all, just, just.... Part of a song ran through his mind, from one of those Muggle musicals his dad and mum liked. Yes. Just doin' a what comes natcherly. And Ron was nothing if he was not a natural cock swallower. Well, that, and a well-trained one, too. And an experienced one. Lots of experience. Years, in fact.

"Suck my dick, Weasel," Malfoy repeated. There was a gleam in his eyes. A stray ray of sunlight had bounced off the glacier; it wasn't any less cold, just brighter for the moment. The weak were designed by nature to serve the strong, the powerful, his father had told him one night when he'd dared to question why he was being fucked. His father was strong, the young Draco was weak, and Lucius Malfoy wanted a long, rough, satisfying fuck. Something he knew he would not get from his wife. His gorgeous little boy would provide.

And now here Malfoy was. The one in the position of strength. He'd always known how weak Ron was, indeed, how weak the whole Weasley family was, but now he had the power. To command. To promise not to destroy. To destroy anyway, if he chose to.

Ron stopped the stammer, and started a new one. "Y...y...you won't tell?"

"If you're good enough. Are you?"

Ron paused. No one had ever asked him that before. He thought he was. Good, that is. His father and brothers had always told him he was, but none of them had ever asked his opinion. Well, he was. Good, that is. He said so.

"So, you're a cocksucker who wants to suck my cock, right?" Ron nodded. "Ask me. Nicely." A nicely humiliating touch he thought.

Except Ron wasn't all that humiliated. He didn't mind asking for sex occasionally, although for most of his sex life he was more used to just being told to get ready and then doing it. Or more rather, having it done to him.

"Please, may I suck your cock, Draco?" Ron even remembered the nicety of the difference between "can" and "may."

"Yeah." Malfoy tried to sound casual, but couldn't quite manage it. He was leaking so much precum he was sure his slacks would have looked like he peed them if they hadn't been black. "Down on your knees."

Ron was so hot over seeing and slurping down the Slytherin meat that he completely forgot where they were, and the risks. He wiggled forward on the window ledge enough to tilt forward and plant his feet on the floor. Stood up as Malfoy backed up enough to give him room. Started to drop to his knees when Malfoy said, "Stop."

"Huh?"

Malfoy had remembered the many, many times his father had remained fully dressed before him, sometimes in full evening wear, his black cloak swirling about him, his long platinum blond hair falling past his shoulders, onto his back and chest, his thick cock and large hairy balls out of his trousers, while Draco had been commanded to get naked from the waist down, his pants and briefs (until he was no longer allowed to wear briefs) around his ankles while he bent over or knelt and sucked his father off. How humiliating being partially dressed had felt; how vulnerable it had made him feel. How...used. Precisely as father intended.

"Drop your pants and play with yourself while you suck me. Just don't cum."

"Uh, well, gee, I'd really rather...."

"That's okay, Weasel. I know where Dumbledore's office is. It's not all that far."

"Huh?"

"Well, Dumbledore really ought to know there's a full-fledged Muggle-loving queer running around his school, don't you? Probably won't be too happy about that." Malfoy, however, didn't actually move. He just turned his shoulders a little as if he was about to move.

Ron was too distraught by the words to notice the lack of action. Since his fly buttons were undone already, he fumbled with the belt, unbuckled it, unbuttoned the top button, and shoved his tighty-whiteys, which were still fairly white, but not quite so tight any more considering how many brothers had worn them before him, and his trousers down almost to his knees. Then he did the little dance men and boys do to get clothes down around their ankles.

He was hard, of course, since sucking a dick, hell, even thinking about sucking a dick, gave him a stiffie. Passing wind gave him a stiffie. All three boy dick inches of him. But as his clothes hit the floor he started again for his knees, hoping the movement would prevent Malfoy from seeing the boy bits he definitely didn't want seen, especially not by an enemy from Slytherin. Bad luck with that, too.

Malfoy saw. Malfoy laughed. Laughed even harder at the devastation on Ron's face. Didn't care much, either, as he recalled yet another of his father's life lessons. Or rather, a variation on a theme. Younger boys, littler boys, are put on earth so that they can be used, or abused, as needed, by older and stronger boys. "Oh, look at my ickle boy, wittle Weasel, with his peepee all stiff `cause he's gonna suck a big fat dick. And he's going to do a really, really good suck job, too, or there are two things everyone's gonna know about soon."

Malfoy unzipped his trousers and hauled his stiff, leaking six inches out, along with his lightly furred balls. Easy to do since he went commando at his father's orders. "Suck, little boy!"

Ron did. He was as expert as he claimed, Malfoy realized, maybe even better. Not that he'd ever say such a thing to the little Weasel. Ron indeed had the perfect cocksucking mouth as he, well, inhaled the proud standing product of Lucius Malfoy's loins. Ron whimpered as he inhaled through his nose and sniffed the crotch odors of boy and sweat and left-over piss and the faint smell of precum, the latter being Ron's second favorite smell. Mum's cooking, great as it was, was a distant hundred and third.

Ron started doing, well, things, with his lips and tongue and cheeks as he slid back, just to Malfoy's knob end, working the piss slit and the underside of the knob with his pointy, talented tongue, and then he was inhaling the now spit slimy cock again. Malfoy bit back the "Oh, fuck! Yeah!" he was about to blurt. Bad form to verbally praise the boy sucking you off. But a gasp. Yes, a gasp was permissible. He briefly thought how honored he'd felt when he made his father gasp. Ron should know that honor, cocksucking slut that he so obviously was.

Malfoy gasped.

And gasped again. Oh, yes, Ron was definitely a two-gasp mouth whore.

Ron was also disobeying him. He wasn't sucking and wanking. Instead, he had both hands clamped tight on Malfoy's small, muscular buns, as if by pulling he could get Malfoy's meat even deeper into his mouth and throat. Malfoy didn't care. Ron began moving his head faster and faster, a thick mixture of spit and precum slobbering onto Malfoy's balls, somehow tightening his mouth and throat so it was as if a hot, wet sheath were wrapped around Malfoy's aching, tingling cock. Malfoy lost it.

He grabbed the thick red hair in both hands when Ron's nose was buried in the even more sweaty and hot-smelling blond pubes, and began a rough face fuck, holding his cocksucker's head still. Ruthless, almost, if not actually so. Like his father's face fucks. "Oh, yeah, you cocksucking fuck hole slut. All you Weasleys are good for, to be used by Malfoys, yeah, suck me down you cum dump bitch, swallow it, swall...." And then he was gasping and grunting, the number of each lost in a haze of lust, as he spewed his boy seed down Ron's throat.

They were both panting, Ron with some difficulty since Malfoy's meat was still down his throat, although it was softening somewhat. Malfoy had bent forward over Ron's head to give his hips even greater leverage for the skull fuck. He slowly straightened up, slowly slid his dick out of Ron's throat and mouth, though he held it there long enough for Ron to get the hint (actually, Ron needed no hints, since he considered it a proud cocksucker's duty to clean the dick that had just gifted him with cum, regardless of the hole in which the cum had been gifted).

Ron didn't dare look up as the Slytherin dick finally left his lips. Bloody hell! That was soooo fucking hot. (He could use the word inside his head; he didn't think mum could hear that.) He felt so, so, so wonderfully used. And Malfoy's cum was brilliant. Though he hadn't got much to taste since the first and best spurts went directly down his throat. But the next time.... Whoa. Hold it. Next time? No, er, effing way.

There was, however, to be an effing way.

"I want to see you cum, wittle Weasel." Malfoy's cold voice, albeit not quite as cold as before and a bit hesitant as he tried to recover from one of the best cums he'd ever had, cut through Ron's ruminations. Not, of course, that Ron would have called them that, not, at least, unless Hermione had first explained the word to death.

"That's okay. I'm, er, fine." Ron was still down on his naked knees, still not looking up.

"I don't really care if you're fine or not. That was, ah, that was fairly good for a first time, so I'm going to let you cum."

The "first time" rang in the silence. Both knew then that this wasn't a one-off thing. The "off" had been far too spectacular, though at least one participant would have vehemently denied the description, even if he'd been shown a magical instant replay of the library blowjob. An off that spectacular required, no, demanded a repeat. Several repeats, actually. Later, when he'd recuperated. But for now, Malfoy wanted to humiliate Ron as he had been humiliated when he was young, and far less hung.

"Do it, wittle Weasel. Lean back, spread your legs, get your hand on your little stiffie and wank."

Ron did what he was told. His shoulders resting against the window ledge, his head back, eyes shut, biting into his freshly fucked plump lower lip, Ron gently took hold of his three inches and began a rapid wank. He was so turned on that it only took a few moments before he was breathing more heavily, then gasping and finally grunting as his oh-so-un-Weasley little dick spewed an amazingly thick fountain of seed. And went on spewing. And on. And finally came to a breathless stop.

Malfoy was grateful Ron's eyes were shut, and that he didn't look up when he was done spraying his shirt, his belly, his thighs, his hand, and a surprising amount of the wooden floor. Malfoy was just as happy Ron had not seen how impressed he was. Who would have thought a Weasley boy would have so much spunk in him.

One last humiliation, though. To remind him who was in charge.

"Clean it all up."

Ron did what he was told, and kept the grin of enjoyment a very much inner grin. He liked licking up spilled spooge, wherever it had been spilled, and whoever by.

When they were both cleaned and tucked and buttoned/zipped, there was a not quite the usual post-sex moment of silence and awkwardness. A Gryffindor had just sucked a Slytherin. If the world hadn't been shaken to its foundations, parts of their worlds had. Especially since they'd both enjoyed it, though neither was at all likely to do much in the way of admitting it.

"You're going to suck me again." Malfoy made the statement as cold and commanding as he could, but there was the faintest tremor of uncertainty running through it. The moment his dick had entered Ron's mouth he'd actually lost power. Who could he tell now? The veritas serum would just verify that they'd both done really queer things, although in his mind, getting a blowjob wasn't quite as queer as giving one. And there was the risk that the serum might make him disclose all the things his father had done to him.

"O...okay, er, Draco."

Ron's analysis had been much the same, though his mind wasn't really set up for analyzing. He simply leapt from "bloody hell but that was a fine suck" to "I want to do it again" to "and that bloody serum won't have me spilling me guts about me dad and me brothers." (When really nervous, Ron tended to lose his grammar and accent somewhere along the way.)

"Right, uh, Ron."

That silence had been different. It was more of a "Two wizard houses, both alike in dignity, in Hogwarts where the sex did `tween them start" silence. They couldn't exactly leave lunch together and head somewhere for a quickie. They couldn't be seen together in any setting that would imply friendship, much less the intimacy of a Gryffindor cheerfully on his knees, humming and moaning as he drained blond-furred Slytherin balls. Especially not these two. They weren't lovers, of course, so there was no star-cross'd nonsense going on, but still, it wouldn't be easy to get what they both wanted, but wouldn't discuss.

It had been difficult. Post-blowjob, Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual when he saw Ron, delighting in tormenting him, perfectly aware that that was getting both of them hard, while their friends respectively urged them on or raged at the injustice. But still, Malfoy had gotten his cock sucked three more times before the Room of Requirement disaster.

And here he was again, an unexpected meeting in the toilet, obviously wanting another suck. If he'd been asked, Ron would have objected, claimed not to be interested. Unfortunately for Ron, when presented with a stiff dick, he was always interested. Immediately. In fact, if he'd been in a ruminative (check with Hermione) mood, he'd have acknowledged that most likely when he was ninety-five and on his death bed, if a hot young boy cock, or, hell, any cock, hot or not, was presented, he'd hit the pause button on dying, his wrinkled, gnarly wank stick would rise to the occasion and his talented mouth would remember past glories, and suck the dick down.

Ron knew that as much as Draco liked Ron sucking him, he'd never make the first move, such as walking from his end of the urinal row to Ron's end. So Ron made the walk. And bent over, swallowing all of the Slytherin prick. He felt Draco's hand on his head for a moment. A slight stroke. Almost a benediction (see above). His dad did that from time to time. Not a lot. Just often enough to make Ron feel all warm and happy and proud inside. His brothers did it, too. Less often, of course. Bill never that Ron could really recall, although he had a vague feeling that maybe it had happened once when he was really, really young. Fred and George, well, less than Dad, but a lot more than Bill. But that wasn't something Draco would ever do, so it must have been his imagination. Ron liked his imagination.

Ah. Back to usual. Malfoy was holding his head and fucking his face. Okay, he could live with that. Except he didn't live with it very long. Malfoy stopped. Lifted Ron's head away from the now slimy dick, tilted it so Malfoy could look into those large eyes, watch them wince as he said, "I'm going to fuck you."

No wince. Not even a little. Just a sort of grin. Damn, but this Weasley was a slut bottom. "C'mon."

His cock leading the way, Malfoy moved to the nearest stall, held the door open, almost shoving Ron in first, coming in behind, shutting and locking it. Then he realized the obvious. Two sets of feet in the same stall, one behind the other.

Since his back was to Malfoy, Ron's smug little smile wasn't visible. So the great Malfoy didn't know effing everything. He pulled his shabby wand out of his robe, held it upright, moved the tip quickly in a small rectangular shape and whispered, "Privatorius!" He tucked the wand back in his robe, and whispered again, "Anyone looking will just see an empty stall, but they could still hear us."

"Not a problem," Malfoy whispered back. Though he had a momentary twinge of uncertainty. Despite his best efforts, he did tend to get a bit, well, loud when he was fucking Weasley's face. Too bad the rumored Room of Requirement was just that. As much as he wanted the cums Weasley was providing him, the Room would surely have opened up for him and given them privacy whenever he was horny for Ron's luscious mouth.

With (Malfoy-surprising) efficiency, Ron removed his robe and draped it on the hook all stalls were provided with on the back wall, did the unbuckle, unbutton bit, shove and wiggle dance bit, and then Ron's nicely rounded, white smooth butt was all beautifully bare as he bent over the bog.

"Eat me first?" Ron whispered. Ron really, really, really liked being licked and eaten before getting fucked. Dad didn't do it that much, but Fred and George did. George, well, at least he thought it was George, but he couldn't really be sure since all the licking was being done at his back door and his mouth was usually occupied with dick, had a wonderfully long tongue.

"I don't think so," Malfoy whispered harshly back. Although he did think so. Or think about it. Just briefly. Wondering what a boy's hole would taste like, licking and slurping on it to get it wet and loosened a little before shoving his dick inside it. He knew his father's hole well, and the taste, but of course that had never been a prelude to fucking his father. He almost winced at that image. Then concentrated on the matter, or rather the hole, at hand, or at cock.

He dropped some spit on the pride of Malfoy, slimed it around, rested his left hand lightly on Ron's left side, got his knob end centered, and then shoved his hips forward, hard. And lost his virginity, as his cock punched all the way into Ron's bowels. Ron's grunt was barely heard. Malfoy's inadvertent (no need to check with Hermione, even if he would ever stoop so low) gasp was even louder than the first gasp at his first Weasley blowjob. He bent forward over Ron's impaled arse, barely breathing out the "Damn, but your cunt is tight. I like a boy's tight cunt."

His father's words. He'd never had a chance to use them before, and found he definitely agreed with the sentiment expressed. Although he did realize his tone had been somewhat reverential (so there! Hermione), while his father's was more a matter of fact statement leading into a hard arse pounding. Draco's, of course.

While Ron appreciated the sentiment, he also hoped, as the Slytherin dick began to slide even more rapidly in and out of his eagerly accepting Weasley hole, that Malfoy remembered the need for speed and silence. As much as he loved sucking, getting fucked was better. The best. Bloody hell but he missed the regular fucks he got before he started Hogwarts. Rarely did a day go by when he wasn't yanked somewhere, bent over, pants yanked down and a cock plowed into him, pumping him fast and hard until the spunk let go, and then the cock was removed, his arse would be patted if he was lucky, even luckier if there was a whispered compliment, like the occasional "Fine fuck," or "Tight cunt, son," and he'd be left to clean up his own mess.

Sometimes, even, his fucker would reach around and wank him to a dry cum. Brilliant. After he'd found that stupid damn spell, he'd had a little dream of asking Dad to fuck him, or maybe Fred and George, and maybe beg for a bit of a wank whilst being a good pussy son or pussy brother. How shocked they would have been to reach around and get a feel of a Weasley cock. Hell, maybe even a better than Weasley cock. But the balls up with the bloody spell had put paid to all that. "Magnificatus Cockalorum! Yeah, right," he muttered.

Malfoy's cock paused halfway in (out?). "What?" he whispered back.

"Magnificatus Cockalorum. C'mon mate, get on with it." Mate? He'd actually called Malfoy "mate?"

Malfoy moved his dick so it was all the way in Ron's hole, hard and pulsing, enjoying the feel of Ron's cunt walls squeezing and releasing him. But he was puzzled. "Magnificent what?"

"You're a right git, y'know?" He pronounced the words carefully, for the idiot child with the very unchild-like prick in his pussy. "Mag-niff-ee-KAH-tuss COCK-uh-lore-um. Now bloody finish me bloody fuck so's we don't get done up like a kipper!"

"Oh."

Malfoy began fucking again, enjoying the wet warmth of his very first boy pussy, and he was sure it wouldn't be his last, either. He wondered if he might persuade, or coerce, or just plain magic Crabbe or Goyle into putting out by letting him in. Not that they would be as hot as Ron's hole, but he could certainly get it a lot more often.

Ron was squeezing and releasing his arse muscles again, in time to Draco's strokes. Fucking brilliant. Ron deserved a reward. A wank. Yes. He wanted to wank Ron whilst fucking him.

It was the least he could do. Well, no, the least he could do was nothing at all, so the next to the least he could do is give Ron's little boy dick a wank. Yes. He really wanted to wank Ron whilst fucking him.

A thought tried to surface in Malfoy's mind. A thought that wondered why it was suddenly so important to wank Ron. He'd never been wanked whilst being fucked as best he could recall. Screw Ron. Well, actually, that was what he was doing, but that wasn't what the thought meant. Malfoy ruthlessly thrust the thought below the surface. Drowned it, actually.

He realized he didn't so much want to wank Ron. He needed to wank Ron. He reached around and under and was moving toward Ron's groin when his hand bumped into Ron's cock.

Bumped into?

BUMPED?

INTO?

He turned his hand palm up, somehow still continuing to fuck, and curled his fingers.

On something long (it was longer than the width of his hand) and round and firm (hard, even) and fully packed.

Ron's surprised grunt, and Draco's full-throated "Ho-leeee shit, Ron!" would have made mincemeat of the privacy spell if anyone else had been in the toilet just then. But their luck still held, despite the noise. For a moment, Ron's luck started to worsen, as Draco stopped fucking and started to slide his cock out, but Ron clamped his arse as tight as he could, balanced himself with his left hand on the bog seat, and clamped his right hand over Draco's hand, which was wrapped around an impressive length and breadth of Weasley meat.

"I don't think so," he quoted back, grateful that Draco couldn't see his shit-eating grin. The fucking spell had worked and so what if mum knew he was saying or thinking the word! "Yer gonna finish screwing me arse off until you spunk me, whilst yer wank me `til I spunk up. `n then we'll figure this out. Got it?"

"Yes. Uh, sure. Of course." If Ron wanted to be screwed and wanked, Ron would be screwed and wanked. No problem.

Another thought barely broke the surface, loudly demanding "What the fuck!" But Malfoy held that one under, too, struggling and gurgling, until it, too, was silent and gone.

Draco did what he was told. Surprisingly well, considering it was his virgin fuck, and he'd never fucked and wanked, and he'd never had that much dick in his hand, either.

Ron shivered as Draco's dick started to repeatedly run over his slut button. Sure, he knew what it really was, but that's what his Dad had called it the first time he'd run a thick forefinger up inside Ron's tiny bum, found it and fingered him to a dry cum. Draco wasn't wanking so well, but hell, with a bit of train.... What? He couldn't fucking "train" Malfoy, or bloody fucking hell, anyone else. Nor would Malfoy let him. The idea was absurd.

Ron gave himself a loud mental "Stupefy!" and the idea was knocked out. Of his head, actually. Of course he could. If he wanted to. Not that he did, want to, that is, but if he did, he could.

Except he probably couldn't. He was a slut bottom cum boy. He couldn't....

Stupefy!

Knock out.

Keeping his mental wand ever vigilant for intrusive, defeatist ideas, Ron gave himself over to the fuck and the wank. Draco's balls were loudly slap-slap-slapping against Ron's arse cheeks, and even Ron's equally impressive balls, as cock in cunt and hand on prick moved faster.

"C'mon, you motherless shite, root me arse hard, not like some brill little pansy boy. Fuck me cunt, arsehole! Spunk me up so's I can spunk yer `and!"

Draco did and Ron did. Not in spades. Buckets. And buckets and buckets. Both of them spewed jism like they hadn't juiced off in a year. When they were done, Draco eased his dick out of Ron's well-filled hole, and with years of background, training and experience, plus innate skill, he didn't lose a drop of cum. He had plans for that. Other than that, Ron was, well, a mess. The cum that had sprayed in long, long strands from his large piss slit was up inside his shirt (he had, after all, been bent over), and on his shirt, there was even a drop on his chin, and on the bog seat, and in the water, and frigging pretty much everywhere. That was okay, too. He had plans for most of it.

Draco sagged back against the stall door, his soft cock drooping. Ron straightened up, cunt closed tightly, turned around. He wasn't soft at all. Just hard. Hugely hard. It was amazing he could stand upright; he should have been excessively dizzy from the amount of blood being used in his cock. It was indeed long and fat and fully packed, with a long foreskin pulled back into a large ridge behind his deep red, steadily leaking, knob.

Draco's mouth dropped open. "H...how did you do an Enlargio without your wand? Your wand is in your robe. Uh. Isn't it?"

Ron smirked. "Not an Enlargio, Ron."

Draco's face showed his patent disbelief.

"Go ahead, try."

As Draco grabbed for his wand, Ron belatedly wondered when he was going to think before a blurt, opened his mouth to tell Draco to forget it, and clamped his lips together when Draco flicked his wand at Ron's cock and hairy hangers and snapped, "Reducio!"

Ron had shut his eyes, and was waiting for the laughter. It didn't come. The spell hadn't worked, so his Weasley meat wasn't a temporary Enlargio-style cock.

Wait, wait, wait.

Hairy hangers? Ron didn't...but now he did. Thick orange-red-brown-flame colored pubes, a fucking riot of hair, and long silky hair over his newly-enhanced balls. Ron could get to like this. Fuck, he already did.

Draco nervously began to put his dick back in, avoiding looking at the hardon a few inches away. He was not jealous. Just because it was larger than his father's didn't mean a damned thing.

He stopped moving at the five words he'd said earlier. Not as a replay in his mind, but hearing them aloud, addressed to him.

"I'm going to fuck you."

"I...I...." He tried to say he couldn't, or wouldn't. He tried to speak the angry thought that splashed upward, that a Malfoy was never fucked by anyone other than someone older and more powerful. But he didn't. Couldn't. He pushed that thought down and drowned it, but couldn't quite manage with the thought that wondered, "Had Voldemort? With his father?"

"I want you naked, Draco. I want you naked, now."

It was what Draco wanted, too. He toed off the expensive loafers, kicking them aside, uncaring if they got scuffed. Struggled out of the robe and mutely put it in Ron's outstretched hand. Paid no attention as Ron carefully hung it atop his own on the back wall hook. Shrugged out of his coat, popped a button getting his shirt off, yanked the tee over his head, undid his pants, bent and shoved them down, stepped out, stood in the messy mound of his clothes.

Draco was beautiful. Slender, not thin. Surprisingly muscled, but then that shouldn't have been a surprise, it took muscles to stay aboard a broom and play Quidditch. No hair on his chest or belly, fine blond pit hair, thicker slightly browner blond pubes. And a nice hardon. Apparently Draco got hard from being naked and admired. But then, so did Ron.

"Turn around. Bend over. Brace yourself against the door."

"Please, Ron, I've never...."

"Just do it. Maybe you never have, but you are now."

Draco had, of course, intended to say he'd never been fucked by a dick that big so please go easy. Ron clearly had no intent of doing that. The fuck part, yes. The go easy part, no way.

Draco did what he was told. Ron moved in close, his leaking knob leaving a streak as it brushed Draco's left hip. He put two fingers in his mouth, got them wet, moved them down and began stroking Draco's clamped tight hole. He leaned forward and whispered, "You like me playing with your pussy, don't you, Draco?"

"I, uh, no, uh, oh!" Ron had shoved the tips of both fingers inside. Draco inhaled sharply and then forced his cunt walls to relax around the invaders. "Yes, please."

"Ask me to fuck you, Draco."

"Puh...please, Wea....ah, ah, ah!" The "ahs" sharply increased in pitch and volume with each addition of pressure as Ron squeezed Draco's left tit. Hard.

"Try again, arsehole."

"S...sorry, please, oh please, stop, I...I wasn't going to say that, just your last name."

"But we're so intimate now. You've had your cock in mouth and my arse. I'm about to get the same from you. Isn't it time for first names?"

"Oh yes, please, yes, I'm sorry! Ron. Ron, puh...please fuck me."

Ron released the swollen and lightly bruised left nip, gently caressed it, reached across and caressed the equally hard little tit on the other side.

"Since you ask so nicely, I will. But first things first. Sit on the floor, lean back and lay your head back against the seat."

While Draco did what he was told, Ron got naked himself, partially, okay, okay, okay! mostly to enjoy looking down at the magnificent meat of a Weasley male sticking so far out from his body, and those thick, bushy hairy pubes. The rest of the reason for naked is that what he had planned...Ron Weasley, with an actual plan instead of a blurt and an action, an effing miracle of miracles...would be easier naked. His clothes, however, were neatly folded and set against the back wall where they were unlikely to get stepped on or otherwise damaged. He didn't want mum guilting him with almost teary eyes because she had to repair or replace something that shouldn't need repairing or replacing if he'd only been careful. Walking on Draco's clothes didn't bother him. The git could afford new.

He straddled Draco and slowly squatted, resting his hands on his thighs. "Eat my arse out, Draco," he said as his hole almost touched Draco's face. "Lick my cunt, pig, fuck it with your tongue, get all your cum out and swallow it down."

He pushed his butt down as Draco's hands came up to mold his cheeks, using his thumbs to spread them, and his fingers to help guide that definitely slimy hole to the right place. Draco's mouth. Draco's fucking talented mouth? Bloody hell. The smarmy prick had been eating out someone else already?

Ron could never decide whether he liked eating freshly fucked ass more than getting his own freshly fucked ass eaten. Draco tipped the balance toward getting eaten. He licked and slurped and slobbered and grunted and moaned as Ron relaxed his pussy and let the cum and ass juices work with gravity to get down onto Draco's face, into his mouth. God, he was a pig. And God would he be embarrassed when he remembered all this later.

But all good things must end, especially when something better is coming next. Ron stood up, stepped to Draco's right side, turned and looked down at the sprawling Draco, all long legged naked on the tiles, his almost invisibly furred legs straight out, toes almost brushing the door, his hair no longer perfect but disheveled, his mouth gaping open, his face shiny with slime from Ron's hole, his eyes glazed. Neither of them noticed that Draco had pushed his trousers under the stall door when he stretched out his legs to get as comfortable as he could before he started on eating his first boy ass.

"Stand up, Draco. It's time for your fuck."

Draco turned on his side, drew his legs up, twisted, and with a little wobble and a little support from the bog seat, though he almost slipped and shoved his hand in, Draco managed to stand. Since history was clearly quite intent on repeating itself, albeit not quite literally, Draco turned, got in front of the pan, bent, braced himself on it.

Ron chuckled. "Good boy, Draco." He slapped his rump lightly. The tiniest of sounds escaped Draco's lips. Ron couldn't decide what the sound meant, so he decided to think about it tomorrow.

"This is going to hurt, Draco. No way it's not. But at least I can get you a little wet."

Draco refrained from smugly bragging about the size of the cocks he'd had in his cunt, starting with his father's, certain that he could handle the Weasley hardon behind him. But then he stopped thinking about much of anything except the exquisite pleasure of having his own pussy eaten out for the very first time. By a tongue and lips and mouth as good at this as he was. Damn, but a lot of his virginities were falling by the wayside today.

Ron worked that hole for a while, wetting up first two, then three fingers, getting them inside, rotating and spreading them, and then he stood up. He dropped as much spit as he could on his dick, and smeared it around. He got the wide, wide knob end resting against Draco's pucker, and then put both hands firmly on Draco's waist.

"Remember, Draco...." He paused, and in the pause he remembered bits and pieces of all the pranks and cruelties and hurting, somehow knowing Draco was remembering as well.

"Wh...what?"

"Payback is a real prick." And he shoved the Weasley cock that wasn't inherited but was nevertheless now his very own, balls (big hairy balls) deep into the Malfoy cunt.

The howling "oooowwwwww!" that erupted from Draco's lips was rapidly gaining in pitch and volume, heading for the dog's-ears-only range, and the Jericho effect, when Ron clamped his hand over Draco's mouth and cut him off.

"Naffing hell, you bloody idjit. Wind me up about keepin' me mouth shut and then you scream like an ickle nancy boy, just `cause you got your wittle Weasel stuck up your arse. Now, you gonna keep your poof lips shut?"

Draco managed a nod and Ron let him go.

Just mouth-wise, though. He wasn't finished with his very first boy pussy. "Gonna fuck you, pussy Malfoy. Gonna fuck you rough and deep. God, I'd love to see your father's face if he found out his precious boy, his heir, was giving up his cunt to a damned Weasley. And enjoying it. You are enjoying being used as a cum dump by wittle fucking Weasley, aren't you?"

The pain was still agonizing, though a little less now, but Draco knew he wanted this. He wanted Ron's cock, any fucking way he could get it, and if that meant this way, then so the fuck be it. "Y...yeah, I am. C'mon, Ron, fuck me harder."

One of those quickly drowned thoughts wanted to scream at him about being a fucking masochist or something and was he ought of what little mind he had functioning to be begging for more pain. But it didn't. And he did. Whatever Ron wanted, Ron would get. Draco would see to it.

And then they both lost it. They lost all sense of time. Or place. Or space. Their surroundings. They only knew what they wanted, what they desperately needed. Only knew the sensations of an incredibly long and thick boy cock pounding mercilessly in and out of boy pussy stretched wider, pushed deeper than any cock or dildo ever inside before. Ron fucked on and on and on, the bunny long since having dropped out, his mouth spewing obscenities that tiny parts of both of them were shocked to know he knew, the same parts that were shocked to know how much those words turned Draco on, until they were both on fire, bonfire hot, steel smelter hot, shuttle liftoff hot, fucking sun hot as Draco's fuckmefuckmefuckme babbling built until he was crying and writhing in Ron's arms as his cock spewed spooge everywhere and the clamping and release made Ron join Draco in the nova.

Spent, in more ways than just their cum tubes, they collapsed to the floor, still connected.

"Bloody fucking hell, I'm knackered."

Draco looked over his shoulder at Ron's sweat-dripping face, his hair plastered to his skull. He was certain he looked no different. He almost didn't, but then, he did. It was awkward, but he twisted round and stretched, and Ron stretched to meet him, and they kissed. Not a lot of tongue, but enough for the passion that put a seal of something more than revenge, something far less than love, on what had just happened. Draco lifted his head away, smiled. "Me, too."

They shifted and wriggled and Draco moaned with a combination of relief and don't-go until they separated with a plop! Draco moved onto his knees to start collecting his clothes, glanced at the thick tube laying on Ron's thigh. "What happened there?"

"Just a, ah, wittle spell I happen to know." Ron smiled, more than a bit smugly.

Draco smiled back again. Any more and he might find himself making a habit of it. A consummation devoutly not to be wished by their families. "You mean that magnif...." Draco paused. He was certain he knew the spell, or at least the name, but then it faded away. Oh, well, it would come to him. Or not. He shrugged.

"Have you seen my trousers?" he whispered.

Ron was standing by the bog, managing to get dressed and leaving the open space between bog and door for Draco. Except Draco had all his clothes in his hands (except for the draped cape on the hook). Just no trousers. And the floor was bare. He leaned forward and bent his knees, but that just put his delectable ass closer to Ron. Who couldn't resist. Yes, they'd been in here far too long. Yes, they'd been far too loud. Yes, there might be someone outside of the boundaries of the privatorius spell waiting to catch them. But he needed one more thing.

He stuck two fingers up inside Draco's wet slippery hole, pulled them out, sniffed them, sucked them clean. Draco glared at him over his shoulder, swatted a hand back at him. "I think my trousers are out there!" he pointed toward the door in near horror.

Ron shrugged, made Draco stagger a little toward the door, dropped to his knees (he was one of those who could win awards in the drops-to-knees categories), used one hand to pointedly push Draco forward, used the other to grip a hip and then buried his tongue in hot, dripping boy pussy. Draco sighed. Trousers? What trousers? Fuck the trousers while his cunt was being tongue fucked. He returned the favor and relaxed his ass lips so that the enormous amount of seed Ron had left way up there began sliding back down. A cum refund.

It took a while, a time that was far too short and far too long, and Draco was empty. Empty of cock, empty of cum. At least for the moment. Ron grabbed a couple of squares of bog roll and wiped his face clean. Draco did the same with his crack. Which left two boys holding used bog paper, one of them holding clothes, and both of them wondering about the missing trousers.

Draco looked at Ron with a what-next expression. Ron returned a not-my-problem-mate shrug, leaned back against the side wall, crossed his arms.

"Well, fucking shit," Draco muttered under his breath. He swiveled, held out the clothes, daring Ron to refuse to take them. Ron smiled, and did. Draco gave him a touch my ass and you're dead glare, then knelt down on all fours and peered under the door. His trousers were, indeed, out there. And much too far for a subtle finger to reach under the door, snag them, haul them back.

He looked up and over his shoulder and glared again at Ron, who was looking at his ass, and licking those plump lips with a very ass-predatory expression in his eyes. Draco had two choices. He could ask Ron to cancel the spell, then boldly go where no bare-arsed Hogwarts boy had gone before (maybe so, maybe not), get back in the stall, redo the spell, get dressed...too bloody much trouble. He sighed. Looked over his shoulder again. Whispered, "Can you hold the damned spell if I break it just a little?"

This was one spell Ron was very confident about. He nodded.

Draco got down on his belly, reaching under to push his cock and balls back so they didn't get so squished, knowing, just knowing that Ron was looking lewdly at his now unseen pussy and more than half wishing that Ron could do something other than look, and right then, too. He started wiggling under the door.

Anyone watching would have seen a sweaty, tousled, blond Slytherin head, followed by neck and part of a shoulder and one reaching arm, appearing suddenly directly below the closed door of an empty toilet stall. Yet the toilet stall was definitely empty, as shown by the lack of boy body, or any other body, and the clear space between the crisp white of the bog base and the toilet door and stall walls. Since there were no shocks or gasps or outraged cries, apparently no one was there. Draco grabbed his trousers and wiggled back, his body disappearing by inches into the empty stall.

Draco got dressed. They put on their robes. Stood briefly, facing each other, Draco's back to the stall door. They both said "uh" at the same time, and shut up at the same time. Ron finally said, "Oh, bollocks!", grabbed Draco's lapels, yanked him close and kissed him fiercely.

When he ended the kiss he put his lips next to Draco's ear. "I'm going to fuck you again," he whispered as fiercely as he had kissed. "I'm gonna train your cunt so I'm the only cock that feels right inside you. I'm gonna fuck your holes whenever, wherever I fucking want. I'm gonna teach you how to deep throat my meat so that I can shoot my seed directly into your belly, or if I'm in the mood, let you taste me. Yeah, yeah, I know how we have to be out there, but between you and me, I fucking own your holes. And that's how you want it, too, Draco." Only the veriest sliver of uncertainty showed in the final, "Isn't it?"

Draco's pause was an aeon long, but then he whispered back, "Yeah."

They both grinned. Ron sat on the bog, tucked his feet up, and canceled the privacy spell. Anyone watching would think he'd just not been observant when he thought the stall was empty, because plainly there was a boy in there. Draco waved his wand at himself, muttered "Clearisilium," and he was once more the impeccably and expensively dressed arrogant blond Malfoy heir.

Ron waited until he heard the outer door creak before putting his feet on the floor and standing up. An also-muttered "Clearisilium," and Ron was once more the hand-me-down dressed youngest cum dump Weasley. He enjoyed the feeling of the bulge in his trousers, the Weasley cock made manifest at last. Maybe he should have read the directions on using the spell first, but hey, it had all worked out. Third time was clearly, indeed, the charm.

He, too, left the boys' toilet.

Draco had missed just one thing on his way out. He hadn't noticed the person wrapped in spell-shadows who stood at the far end of the room, where he could see the urinals and see the stall.

Ron missed two things. The spell-shadowed watcher. And the fact that his cock and balls gradually went back to their usual size as soon as Malfoy was far enough away. He didn't notice the second thing until much later.