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“That’s it darling, keep those legs open for me.”
Harry Potter had spent the majority of his life in mortal danger. He had been tortured, belittled, killed - twice, even - and yet he had never felt as vulnerable as he did in this very moment.
Strung up, wrists wrapped tenderly in silks softer than unicorn hair, he stood, on display in an increasingly familiar greenhouse. The air was humid, sweat sticking his hair to the nape of his neck as he let his head fall backwards with a soft, desperate sigh. His hands grasped at the strands keeping him upright, looped across a sturdy beam that held twin panels of the glass roof in place. He shuddered, helpless to the way his body responded as the vines holding his ankles spread and in place writhed.
“Can I see those lovely eyes, sweetheart?”
The sweet, tender timbre of his partner's voice broke through his temporary overwhelm, and Harry obeyed. His lashes fluttered, tears clouding his vision as Neville’s face swam into view. Harry felt his heart stutter contentedly in his chest.
“That’s it, Harry. There’s my little love.”
Harry smiled - a trembling, devoted thing. Neville was the most beautiful person he’d ever known, all grown into his broad frame, with large, tender hands that could span Harry’s slender waist with ease. His eyes, as green as the plants he so favoured, held nothing but adoration.
Neville trailed one glove-adorned hand down Harry’s heaving chest, flushed with heat and gentle exertion.
“You’re so beautiful like this, darling.” Neville murmured, and Harry groaned brokenly, shuddering at the sensation of cool dragonhide against feverish flesh.
“Sir, please .”
Neville tutted, lips quirking in a fond smile. His hand trailed lower and Harry jerked in response, hips rocking forward and meeting only empty air. Neville let out a soft laugh and pulled back entirely.
“Patience, love. You’re doing so well for me.”
Harry whimpered, face screwing up in frustration. He blinked through the tears that spilled down his cheeks and inhaled a trembling breath. He glanced up at his partner, at the amusement glimmering in his eyes, and then down at his own body.
His dark skin was dewy with sweat, his cock flushed crimson and dripping helplessly onto the dirt below. The vines holding his ankles in place writhed in a facsimile of sympathy and Harry couldn’t help his panting.
“Please, please , Nev, I can’t. I-... Need more, please!”
A glove-clad hand struck his inner thigh and Harry keened, trying to flinch away from the impact but finding his bindings didn’t quite have enough leeway. A second hit struck his other thigh and he turned teary eyes back up to Neville.
“I think-” smack “- that somebody-” smack “-is forgetting his manners.”
Harry gasped, shaking his head helplessly as he choked on a sob. Neville just kept going, striking at sensitive skin again and again as Harry’s weeping cock dribbled pathetically between them.
“Sir! S-Sorry, sir! Please, -ah! Sir, I’m sorry!” Harry wailed, thighs trembling and chest heaving. The hits slowed to a stop and tender hands slid outwards until Neville was holding him just under the swell of his ass.
“That’s my good boy. You’re doing so well for me, Harry.”
Neville’s voice was low, hoarse with barely concealed arousal. Unlike Harry who was strung up as naked as the day he was born, Neville was still fully dressed. His tight fitting cotton shirt was damp from the humidity of the greenhouse, his tight trousers darkened with dirt and tenting rather obviously at the crotch.
Ever since the war, since they’d fallen into one another's arms as if they’d always belonged there, they’d been gradually exploring just what they liked from their intimacy. Harry - who’s life had always been so far out of his control - jumped at the opportunity to just hand himself over for Neville’s pleasure. Neville - who had always been looked over, undermined and underestimated - adored taking Harry’s control and driving him mad with it. He liked the way Harry would beg for him, sweet as treacle, the way he would practically fall over himself just to hear Neville’s praise. And Neville was liberal with it - confident in the face of Harry’s devotion.
There had been much trial and error in those initial days; Harry’s opinion of himself too low to take well to Neville’s particular kinds of kindness; Neville’s fear of pushing Harry in any way leaving him uncertain and unsteady. They persevered, and learned, and experimented until they were sure of each others’ limits, and now Neville had the pleasure of taking his devoted little love apart and putting him back together again, and Harry could hand over control to the only person he had ever fully trusted and know without a fraction of a doubt that he was in safe hands.
Eventually, Harry’s gasping breaths softened, soothed by the familiar motion of Neville’s thumbs stroking the junction of his hips. His tears slowed and he blinked to clear his vision, gazing down at his partner with his lips parted and his mouth wet.
“Can I get your colour, little love?” Neville asked sweetly.
“Gree-... Green, sir,” Harry replied, just a little breathless. Neville’s answering smile made arousal curl in his gut, his cock twitching as if to remind him of its desperation. Wicked - that’s what Neville was. Wicked and adoring and all too fond of making Harry desperate.
A gloved hand slid back between his smarting thighs, taking a moment to cradle Harry’s aching balls. He rolled them in his hand, massaging softly between his fingers and his palm as Harry shuddered and sighed, before slipping his hand just a little further back. Deliberately taking a long, slow breath, Harry let his head fall forward. The position tugged at his shoulders a little, but he was a professional athlete - a little muscle strain had never stopped him before. It gave him a better view of his partner, eyes fixated on Harry’s leaking cock as his talented fingers prodded the skin around his hole.
“You’re always so tight back here.” Neville murmured. Harry breathed out a sigh.
Watching as Neville pulled back, Harry let his tongue dart out to wet his lips. His partner stood to his full height once more, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth before turning away and towards a plant growing in a terracotta planter. With practiced ease, he grabbed a knife sitting on the low wall of the pot, leaning in close to sever a leaf at its base. Almost absent-mindedly, he hooked his foot around the leg of a stool and dragged it in front of where Harry stood suspended. Harry watched as he sat, eyes tracking the way his glove-clad hands grasped the carved wooden handle of the knife as it slid through the flesh of the leaf, cutting it neatly through the middle. Neville set one half down on the dirt beside him and brought the knife back to the other.
It only took him a moment to sever the gel from the plant, cupping the gelatinous substance in one hand as he set his knife back down. Harry swallowed thickly.
“I know you’re very familiar with what this is by now, darling, but I’ll give you a choice. I can either use this first lot to wank you off - you know the tentacula always appreciates your… contributions to its fertiliser - and use the second half to fuck you stupid… Or I can use the lot to work you up to taking my fist and then maybe we can finally see if you can take the ‘snare?”
His free hand kneaded gently at Harry’s thigh, close enough to his neglected cock that it was practically torture, as Harry’s mouth went dry with desire. The rush of arousal at his partner's words was dizzying and Harry struggled to focus, to make some kind of decision amidst the heady sensation.
“A-Ah… Sir, please. I don't… I want-”
“The second option? What a good choice, sweetheart.” Neville crooned, eyes crinkling with amusement as Harry stuttered out a protest. His head shook slightly in denial, even as Neville shifted and reached between his spread legs and towards his hole.
“Colour, Harry. We both know that sometimes a no isn’t really a no - not with you.” Neville murmured. He pressed his lips against the jutting line of Harry’s hip, humming softly at the salty taste of his sweat.
“G-Green, sir. Fuck… I think… I don’t know if I can…”
Harry's thighs trembled beneath him, still stinging slightly from before. Neville grinned - a crooked, amused thing - and liberally coated his glove-clad fingers with the aloe he still held before running one tenderly around the rim of Harry’s hole. He spread the gel around, chin resting on Harry’s hip, and watched his flushed face intently as he slid a finger into the familiar tight heat of his love.
Harry bit out a whine, puffing out an exhale through his nose as his eyes fluttered close. Neville tutted - a warning - and he scowled as he forced his eyes open once again.
“Oh come on, sweetheart. You know how to be good for me,” he murmured, finger crooking inside of Harry before shifting to pump gently in and out. Harry twitched with the movement, lips curling into a pout.
“I didn’t- ah! Agree to this…” Harry whined, breathy and flustered as his body slowly relaxed into Neville’s ministrations. In response, his partner drew back and nudged another finger alongside the first, pressing them firmly inside and crooking them just enough to draw a strangled groan from Harry.
“It’s alright, darling. You’re taking me so well.”
It took everything Harry had to keep his eyes open, even as tears welled up and spilled over and dripped down his cheeks. His cock was leaking a steady stream onto the dirt, and his toes curled helplessly as thick fingers pushed in and dragged out torturously slowly. Neville’s gaze never left Harry’s face as he worked him open on two fingers, occasionally pressing fluttering kisses against his hip and catching droplets of sweat as they trailed down his torso.
Spreading his fingers slightly, Neville withdrew. He scooped up another thick glob of aloe and pressed them back up and inside, letting the gel smooth the glide and soothe the slight burn of the stretch. He glanced down as Harry’s slender stomach clenched and then back up to his partner’s glassy eyes. Smiling fondly, he fucked his fingers into Harry just a little faster, just a little harsher. He was rewarded with a low groan and a dramatic twitch of his cock.
Neville was aching within the confines of his trousers - hard and hot and heavy - but he’d always been good at putting Harry’s pleasure before his. His reward would come, he knew, he just had to be patient.
“Think you’re ready for a third?” Neville asked, voice muffled against Harry’s skin. Harry responded with a frantic nod, mouth open and panting now. Tears still dripped slowly down his face, joining the rivulets of sweat beading across his lithe torso. His nipples were pebbled, tight and dark with his flush - he was the most beautiful thing Neville had ever seen.
Carefully, Neville curled a third finger against the tight rim of Harry’s hole. Stretched as he was already around two fingers, it took a little coaxing to slide another in alongside them, but Harry had taken more with less preparation before. It wasn't something they did often - most of the time Neville liked to take his time, and Harry liked to be taken apart slowly and completely - but on the odd occasion when their respective frustrations built, Harry wanted to be forced to take it, and Neville was only too happy to oblige.
With three fingers stretching him out, Harry shuddered where he stood. The vines around his ankles tightened before stretching out, sliding up to coil around his shins and wrapping around his knees. They stopped just below his thighs, tugging his legs just a little further apart as he bucked helplessly back against Neville’s hand. He moaned, high and needy, and shuddered as the slick, gloved fingers inside of him brushed against his prostate. A bolt of heat shot through him, a direct line to his cock, and Harry half-sobbed as his dripping erection throbbed.
“S-Sir!” He gasped wetly. “Too much!”
Neville simply crooked his fingers more, rubbing relentlessly against the same spot as Harry tried to writhe away. It was a futile endeavour, as bound as he was. The vines around his legs were unyielding; the silk binding his wrists pulled taut.
“You can take it, sweet thing,” Neville hummed, turning his face towards the meat of Harry’s thigh before digging his teeth into the tender flesh.
Harry’s voice cracked on a shout, but Neville just bit down harder, letting his fingers still. Sucking softly at salty skin, he waited patiently for his partner to calm down. The pain had taken a little of the edge off - Harry never had enjoyed much in the way of punishment - and after a few long moments, his love’s breathing steadied once again, his body going lax in his restraints, relaxing the vice-grip around his fingers. Neville soothed the rapidly reddening bite-mark with his tongue before sitting back, scooting his stool closer so that he was well and truly between Harry’s thighs with just enough space left so that Harry’s weeping cock wouldn’t be able to rut against his chest.
“There we go. That’s my good boy.”
Stretching his fingers as much as he could within Harry’s tight heat, he resumed his task of getting his lover open enough to take another finger. Harry had taken his fist only once before, but the memory of it would be seared into Neville’s brain forever. He’d been waiting to repeat it for weeks now, but they simply hadn't had the time. In between Harry’s rather brutal quidditch training schedule and Neville’s apprenticeship, they were often either too busy or too tired to do anything quite so taxing. Now, though? Now they had a whole three days with each other - no other commitments to attend to. Neville intended to make the most of it, and Harry had been practically begging to be put through his paces.
Neville crooned up at his dazed lover as he worked a fourth finger inside, pushing the remaining aloe in his other hand up and inside Harry to suitably slick him up. He worked him up to take the widest part of his hand, leaving just his thumb outside to rub at his perineum as Harry mewled and gasped above him. With one hand now free, Neville fumbled for his wand. It was tucked in his pocket, and he couldn't resist the temptation to press the heel of his hand into his aching erection, hissing into Harry’s heated skin at the burst of arousal. Reluctantly, he moved to grab his wand, murmuring a soft spell under his breath.
Harry audibly growled, wet eyes narrowing at the sudden tightness around the base of his cock.
“You’re evil ,” he spat, half-hearted and unconvincing. Neville smiled innocently up at him, drinking in the sight of Harry looking so undone. His hair was a mess, sticking to his skull with sweat. His lashes were heavy with tears, lips reddened where he’d been trying - and failing - to keep himself quiet. The notorious scar that forked through his eyebrow was even more pronounced, surrounded as it was by his flushed skin. It made Neville feel practically feral in his desire. Nobody else had ever seen Harry like this, and nobody ever would. Only Neville could break him down so thoroughly.
“You love me,” Neville replied.
Harry groaned, letting his head fall backwards and his back arch temptingly. Neville curled his fingers in retribution, grinning at Harry’s answering cry.
He dropped his wand to the ground, reaching for one of the vines crawling up Harry’s thigh. He coaxed it with gentle sparks of his magic, luring it up and around his love’s hip and towards where his hand was working in and out of Harry’s hole.
“I’m just going to let this little guy hold you open while I grab the rest of the aloe, alright darling?” Neville breathed, not waiting for a response before withdrawing his hand with a lewd squelch. The vine moved quickly to take his place, curling up and inside of the wet warmth of Harry’s hole as Neville sat back on his stool. He watched for a moment, admiring the way Harry’s eyes went wide at the sudden switch. The plant pushed its way deeper, Harry whimpering as his abdomen flexed at the sensation.
Neville’s fingers were one thing - familiar and thick and unyielding - but the vines were another entirely. The feeling of the slick plant writhing its way inside made him squirm, the pressure increasing with each inch that forced its way through his loosened entrance. It pressed deeper than Neville’s hand had been, filling every inch of him until Harry was sure he could see it protruding through his stomach. His breath stuttered on a sob, eyes screwing closed as it curled and flexed and explored his insides.
“S-Sir!” Harry cried, trying to pull himself away from the unyielding vine even as it tugged him closer.
Neville watched him intently, even as he picked up his knife and the discarded aloe from earlier, breath catching in his throat as he watched the way Harry’s stomach distended ever so slightly. He carved the gel free with practiced ease, cradling it in one hand as his other - the one that had been inside of Harry just moments earlier, moved to press against the soft curve of his belly.
Harry jerked as if he’d been hit, soft cries crescendoing until he was sobbing aloud, fat tears dribbling from his closed eyes. Neville quietly reminded himself to make sure he fed his lover about a gallon of water after they were finished for how much he had been crying.
“And that’s only a baby vine, Harry-love. The fully matured plant is about twice as thick.” Neville croaked, feeling his own cock twitch within the confines of his trousers. Harry’s only response was a hoarse shout as his hips bucked futilely.
Eager to continue, Neville slid his gloved hand from Harry’s abdomen around to where the vine was twisting itself into him, tapping it with a single finger and leaning in close to watch as it drew back. There must have been at least fifteen inches of the finger-width plant inside of him, and Harry shook as it withdrew. He was still gasping wetly, hips jerking aimlessly as if he couldn't decide whether to try and pull away or push back against it.
Neville did not give Harry a moment to recover. Just as the final few inches of the vine slipped out, falling back down to secure Harry’s thigh once more, Neville slicked his hand and pushed four fingers back into the slick heat of his partner. Harry yelled - hoarse and so, so sweet - and fixed his glassy gaze down on Neville. His answering smirk was devilish.
Twisting his hand, Neville worked his fingers in and out Harry’s tight hole, the stretch eased by the slick of aloe. Slowly but determinedly, he coaxed the widest part of his hand inside, leaning forward once more to lap at Harry’s stomach, soothing the feverish flush of his skin. Harry’s tears showed no sign of stopping - dripping down from his chin and onto the fabric of Neville’s shirt, some droplets missing him entirely and hitting the dirt underneath with inaudible thuds. It made the possessive part of him preen with satisfaction.
“So good for me, darling. You’re so good. My perfect, sweet little love.” Neville crooned, voice dripping with adoration.
“I know this is a lot, but can you give me a colour, sweet thing?”
Harry’s eyes fluttered, chest heaving desperately, but he choked out a quiet ‘green’, amidst his hitching sobs. Neville cooed sweetly in response.
“Alright, little love. I think you’re loose enough for me to fit my whole fist in now. Just relax, darling. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”
Continuing to murmur soft praises into Harry’s sweat-slicked skin, Neville pulled his hand back just enough to slather it in the remaining aloe. He took a moment to gaze upwards at his partner and committed the image of Harry as he was now to memory; cock flushed and leaking, face wet with tears and sweat and more debauched than Neville could ever remember seeing him. He pressed a gentle kiss to the crook of Harry’s thigh, and then pressed his gloved fingers as close together as he could.
Slowly, steadily, he pressed back inside of Harry. He kept his eyes on his partner’s face as he pushed deeper and deeper still, until he finally met resistance just above his knuckles.
“Bear down for me, darling. I know you can, you’re so good for me, Harry. Almost there…” Neville breathed. He brought a hand up to grasp at Harry’s hip, thumbing over the jutting vee, and then used his grip to push his love back and onto his hand. Harry’s breath caught, his hands grasping uselessly at the air above him, and with one more firm tug on his hip, the widest part of Neville’s hand sunk inside with a lewd squelch. Harry didn’t scream but it was a near thing. His eyes went wide, heart stuttering in his chest, before he exhaled a desperate little sob.
“O-Oh, sir. So full, a-ah! C-Can't!”
He could hardly think for how full he was, clenching and shuddering around Neville’s fist. The thought alone was so dizzying that Harry felt near-faint. Carefully, Neville’s hand shifted, curling into a fist inside of him, and Harry keened so loudly it sounded almost inhuman. His heartbeat was thudding in his ears - and this wasn’t even the end goal. Neville felt so big inside of him, so unyielding. Harry was drunk on the sensation.
Neville tugged slightly and Harry clamped down on instinct, tightening around his wrist like a vice.
“Fuck, Harry, darling. You have to relax a little, sweet thing. You’re so tight like this.”
Harry shook his head helplessly. How could he possibly relax like this - stuffed full of his partner's fist, surrounded by his scent and his plants and strung up like a prize in his personal greenhouse. He shuddered, rocking his hips as much as he could within his restraints.
Neville tugged again, holding Harry’s hip just a little firmer, and groaned quietly as the thickest part of his fist stretched Harry open. He held it there for a moment, relishing in the way the quiet, hiccupping sobs tipping from Harry’s mouth increased in volume before letting his hole suck his hand back in up to the wrist.
Harry’s legs gave out from underneath him with a long, drawn out whine. The silk straps around his wrists tightened - a result of the spell Neville had cast to bring them into existence in the first place - and extended down to wrap around his upper torso, supporting his weight now that his legs had decided they couldn’t anymore. Harry was too far gone to care, his eyes glassy and his lips parted, a thin line of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth and falling towards his chest.
“Oh, sweetheart. You’re taking me so well,” Neville whispered, voice reverent as he slowly worked his fist in and out of Harry’s hole. With each gentle thrust, the glide became easier, the constricting heat lessening incrementally. He clutched onto Harry’s hip with a steadying hand, eyes flickering between his fucked-out face and his gloved hand pushing in and out of his reddened entrance. With each push, he could see his partner’s stomach bulge slightly. It sent a rush of heat through him and Neville breathed out a desperate groan.
“I think you’re ready for the ‘snare, little love. I don’t know that I have the patience to wait any longer.”
Harry nodded dumbly, hazy green eyes fluttering. Neville pressed a soft kiss to the tip of Harry’s dripping cock just to watch him writhe, and then slowly worked his hand back out of his hole. The sound it made was practically sinful - a slick squelch that made Neville’s stomach curl with arousal. Harry whimpered at the loss and Neville ducked between his thighs to stare, mesmerised, at the way his hole fluttered and gaped, too stretched out from his fist to fully close. His inner thighs were slick with aloe, and Neville pressed desperate little kisses to the dewy skin before drawing back to stare up in awe at his little love.
“I love you so much, sweetheart. Fuck, I wanna see you stretched out on my plants, wanna see them ruin you.” Neville huffed, voice so low it was practically a growl.
“P-Please, puh-lease, sir, need it!” Harry whined, his pupils blown and his eyes wet and so damn gorgeous it made Neville want to weep. He stood abruptly, kicking his stool halfway across the dirt floor of the greenhouse. Shedding his slick-soaked gloves, he half-ran across to where one of his only mature devil’s snare plants writhed. The vines holding Harry’s legs in place were of a juvenile plant - tamed and trained by Neville’s skilled hands yet still just a little unwieldy. The plant he hefted up into his arms had been years in the making. It had been but a seedling when he’d purchased it, and nurtured it into maturity as he coaxed it into doing his bidding. Today, that would involve stuffing his love so full that he forgot his own name.
Neville shuffled it across the greenhouse, watching Harry watch his movements, bright eyes finally focusing in on the thick vines twisting and coiling in his grasp. At its thinnest, it was about the width of two of his fingers. At its thickest, it was wider than his fist.
He set the planter down a little behind Harry with a breathless huff, shifting until he was standing chest to chest with his partner.
“Gimme a colour, sweetheart. If you don’t think you can handle it, I’ll let you come now and we can finish up here. But I really, really, want to see you take it,” Neville whispered, leaning in to lick a long stripe up from Harry’s delicate collarbone to his ear. He tasted of salty-sweet sweat and the tang of tears, and Neville could not imagine just how he’d gotten so lucky as to have this angel at his mercy, to adore as he pleased.
Harry took a moment to catch his breath, tongue darting out to wet parched lips.
“A-Amber… Need water, sir. Please. A-And a different position, pl-ease.” Harry replied, voice soft and breaking. He had been crying himself hoarse for the last century, it felt like. His throat hurt, and his legs still wouldn't take his weight, but without Neville’s fingers inside of him he felt almost incomplete.
Neville nodded firmly, glancing down to locate his wand before bending down to grab it. Holding it to Harry’s lips with one hand and cupping his jaw in the other, he murmured a soft ‘aguamenti’ and let a slow stream of water trickle into Harry’s open mouth. Harry swallowed obediently, panting contentedly between gulps. His vision swam back into focus and his head cleared just enough for him to be reminded of his aching erection. It had been dripping steadily for what could have been hours, but he knew Neville wouldn’t let him come until he wanted him to. Harry was grateful for it now - there was no way in hell he’d have made it this far without finishing, and even less of a chance he’d still be up for continuing if he had.
“Good boy… That’s my good boy. So sweet for me, little love. Are you feeling a little better?”
Harry nodded and the stream of water slowed to a stop. Neville brushed a tender hand through his damp hair, brushing the sweat-soaked strands away from his face so he could press an affectionate kiss to his scar-split forehead.
“Let’s make you a little more comfortable, then.”
Neville stepped backwards, motioning towards the stool he had kicked across the greenhouse. With a flick of his wand, it slid towards them, transfiguring neatly into a padded bench. It settled to a stop just beside the pair. Without hesitation, he turned his wand on the silk strands criss-crossing Harry’s arms and torso. They unravelled slowly, lowering his arms tenderly before drifting to tug Harry down until he was bent over the newly-transfigured bench. His legs were still held in place by unyielding vines - from his bare feet to his upper thighs - and as the silks rewound themselves around Harry’s upper arms and secured themselves to the legs of the bench, he was left bent in half, chest pressed to cool leather padding.
Neville stepped around him, running one adoring hand across Harry’s flank and down across the swell of his ass. He stopped once he was behind him, using both hands to spread his lover’s cheeks as he gazed breathlessly at his gaping, dripping hole.
“Are you ready, sweet thing?” Neville murmured, and Harry pushed his ass back into his hands in lieu of a verbal response. Swatting fondly at the tender skin at the back of his thigh, Neville turned to the plant writhing placidly in its pot. With confident hands, he coaxed the vines forward, twining his magic around the plants own will as he urged it towards his partner. It took very little convincing.
The moment the vines made contact with Harry’s upper thighs, Neville shifted his hands to spread Harry wide once again. His entrance fluttered and Harry whimpered as a tendril poked its tip around his rim curiously. Neville could only watch, entranced, as it seemed to tease its way around the edge, dipping just slightly into the slick heat before dancing back once again. Harry jerked backwards against his bindings and Neville tutted, digging his nails into the skin of Harry’s ass in warning. Almost immediately, Harry settled.
As if it had been waiting, the vine took advantage of the moment to finally press itself against Harry’s entrance, as thick as two of Neville’s fingers and slick with the aloe that was coating his entire lower half. A long, high whine tore itself from Harry’s throat as it slipped inside, growing thicker with every inch until he was gasping and clawing at the dirt beneath his bound hands.
“Fuck, Harry, darling, I want to see you. Let me just…”
With little preamble, Neville scrabbled for his wand and murmured a quiet spell. Harry’s hands were lifted and the vines restraining his legs retreated just long enough for Neville to flip him onto his back. The tendril of devils snare inside of him twisted as he moved, and Harry choked out a whimper as it flexed and curled inside of him. He settled back onto the bench - on his back this time - with his feet planted firmly on the ground on one side, the juvenile tendrils of ‘snare regaining their previous position holding his legs firmly apart, and his arms by his ears, bound to the legs of the bench once more by the damned enchanted silks.
He had maybe a second to breathe before the vine inside of him rapidly withdrew, and then practically punched back into him. Harry’s voice broke on a scream, back arching with the force of it, and he shuddered helplessly. Neville shifted towards where his head hung over the edge of the bench and crouched down by his face, pressing desperate kisses to his face and neck and forehead and anywhere he could reach, really, and they both watched as the vines - thicker than Harry’s broom handle - curled in and out of his slick hole.
Each thrust made Harry cry out, his stomach shifting visibly as the plant carved out a space for itself in his guts. His cock was so hard it could probably cut diamonds, leaking a puddle onto his sweat-soaked abdomen, shifting with each distending push of the ‘snare.
One of Neville’s hands shifted to finally - finally - unzip the fly of his trousers. He tugged his aching cock free, wrapping his hand around the base and squeezing tightly. He was so close to the edge already, just from watching Harry come apart. Harry would have come multiple times over already if it weren’t for Neville and his love of driving Harry insane with need. Neville stood, lifting one leg so he was standing just in front of Harry’s head where it hung back off of the bench. Without a word of instruction, he let his head fall back, mouth falling open in wait.
“So good for me, sweetheart. You’re taking it so well… Merlin, it’s practically splitting you in half. C’mon, I wanna be in your throat. Want you to feel so full that you’re bursting with it.”
Harry moaned - a reedy, broken thing - and let Neville feed his cock into his waiting mouth. Like this, with Harry’s head hanging backwards as it was, Neville could watch himself fucking Harry’s throat with the most beautiful view of his beloved ‘snare wrecking his sweet little love’s hole. It was hypnotising, and he moved a hand to press against his length on the outside of Harry’s throat as he rocked into the tight, wet, heat at the same pace as the vine fucked into Harry from the other end. Neville leaned forward, feeling Harry’s throat constricting around him as he peered past Harry’s twitching little cock to watch his rim stretch obscenely around the invading tendril.
Neville breathed out a groan, his gut clenching as arousal washed over him, sweat dripping from his temples as he bucked his hips against his lover's face. As he grew close to his release, he forced himself to pull back, gently inching his cock out of Harry’s mouth. A string of saliva connected his tip to Harry’s lips, and Neville wasted no time in crouching down and kissing it away with a deft swipe of his tongue. He licked into Harry’s mouth, tasting himself and Harry and the lingering hint of the strawberries he’d fed his partner after lunch, and let himself swallow each and every punched out little sound that was forced from Harry’s lips.
When he pulled back, Harry looked half-drunk - cheeks pink with exertion and eyes glazed and unfocused. Neville swore softly under his breath, heat sparking its way down his spine as he carded one large hand through Harry’s sweat-soaked curls. As carefully as he could manage, he cradled Harry’s head and lifted it to watch the way his stomach bulged with every thrust of the ‘snare. It was obscene - Harry had always been short and slender, but with Neville’s large hands cradling his head and neck, and his abdomen distending around the heavy vine, he looked like he was being split in half. He groaned helplessly, stuffed so full he could hardly form a coherent thought around it. It was simultaneously torture and the best he’d ever felt, held together only by Neville’s firm grasp, by his whispered words of amazement. Each thrust of the ‘snare rubbed his prostate raw, twisted so deep he felt it in his throat. Harry had no idea how long it had been fucking him for - a minute or an hour or a lifetime.
He was weeping openly now, gasping for breath as Neville ran his hands across his chest, propped Harry’s head on his shoulder and made him watch his body make space for the plant he’d grown from a seedling. It was dizzying, disorienting, it was everything he’d never known he wanted. And Neville was giving it to him. Harry loved him more than life itself.
“You’re doing so good, Harry. You’re so perfect. I think that’s enough, don’t you, little love? I’m going to fuck your throat until I finish, and then we’ll both watch you finish, alright? Does that sound good to you, sweet thing?”
Harry had no idea if what Neville was saying was even in English anymore, so far gone as he was, but it didn’t really matter. When he stood, Harry tipped his head back dutifully and opened his mouth for his partner’s thick cock. Harry let his eyes flutter closed as Neville slipped into his throat once again, let his brain fall to the wayside as he was filled in both ends.
Neville rocked his hips slowly, grinding deep in Harry’s throat with short little thrusts. Harry whined and gurgled around him, his own hips jerking helplessly as his weeping cock dribbled onto his stomach. There was a small puddle pooling in his navel, dripping down and across its ribs as it was displaced by the movement inside of him. It was this that Neville watched as he felt his release build - the rhythmic bulging of Harry’s stomach, his cock, an angry red from being denied so long. As he fucked his darling’s throat, he watched him falling apart on his monster of a plant. With a stuttering thrust and a low, growling groan, Neville shuddered his way through his release, spilling his seed deep down Harry’s throat as he swallowed reflexively around his cock. He slid out slowly, breath coming in trembling little pants. He was dripping with sweat, his heart thundering with aftershocks as he dropped to his knees beside Harry’s head.
He took a moment to drink in the sight - Harry, face drool-slick and dazed, a drop of spend at the corner of his mouth, whimpering with each forceful thrust of the ‘snare into his guts. Neville knew he’d never forget this moment, regardless of whether they ever recreated it. All that was left was to see Harry come undone.
With a whispered word, the pressure at the base of Harry’s cock disappeared. He inhaled sharply, breath catching on a scream before his back arched so hard it looked painful. Neville cradled his head as he sobbed, and finally, finally , his cock spurted thick ropes of spend across his torso. It felt like he was coming forever, the tendril making its home in his guts pressing in and in and in and just staying there as Harry writhed and cried and came so hard his vision went white and he slumped back onto the transfigured bench with a breathless mewl.
When Harry came to, he was warm. A strong pair of arms were wrapped around him from behind, supporting his torso and pouring cups of warm water over his overheated skin. A bath, his mind supplied, his eyes struggling to focus on the room in front of him. He let his eyes close.
The next time he woke, it was to a hand cupping his jaw and a steady trickle of cool water dripping into his mouth. He swallowed, over and over until his thirst was quenched, and then was swiftly wrapped up in a blanket that smelled of cedar and mulch and fresh grass and cradled against a firm chest.
“You back with me, little love?” A sweet, familiar voice murmured. Harry hummed, feeling floaty and happy and safe and warm and pleasantly sore.
“Yeah, Nev. Love you,” he slurred in reply. A soft laugh echoed against his ears and he nuzzled into soft, sun-warmed skin.
“Sleep some more, darling. I’ll take care of you.”