Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/54219.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/OC
  Character:
      Draco_Malfoy, Blaise_Zabini
  Additional Tags:
      Ancient_Rome, dubcon, Crossgen
  Collections:
      The_Quidditch_Pitch
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-01-22 Words: 2618
****** Peaches ******
by Mad_Maudlin
Summary
     Draco takes a peach from the wrong orchard and has to pay the price.
Draco Malfoy stalked sullenly about the villa grounds, the fierce Mediterranean
sun burning on his face and arms. His mother was inside, talking with the
Zabinis over tea, using veiled metaphors and indirect references to reassure
them about the Dark Lord's intentions. Yes, he was regaining followers every
day; no, he hadn't gone mad; of course one teenaged boy with a horrible haircut
posed no real threat to the greatest sorcerer who ever lived. Draco didn't know
when Narcissa had become the Death Eaters' unofficial goodwill ambassador, but
he was mightily tired of being dragged on her little socials as if he couldn't
take care of himself. He was sixteen, for fuck's sake, he wasn't going to run
amok just because his parents weren't home.
The Zabinis had insisted on them coming to their villa in Romagna, a sort of
implied snub before the meeting even started. Their lineage wasn't quite as
pure as the Malfoys', but went back further; it was a way of reminding their
guests that their ancestors had been running around in woad and skins in the
forest when the wizards in this house ruled the civilized world. Draco hated
it. He also hated Blaise, the furtive little brat who observed everything and
said nothing, like some kind of human Jabberknoll. Their parents had shut them
out of the discussion from the very beginning, and after about six minutes at
staring at the wide, unblinking eyes of his classmate, Draco got bored and
escaped.
The villa was unplottable, and the grounds were quite large. Unlike the manor,
there were few defensive wards or traps for the unwary. He got the impression
that, for a building older than Hogwarts, they were quite unnecessary; it could
probably quit ably defend itself. He walked until the main house dropped out of
sight, past remains of buildings not even magic had been able to save—slave
quarters, maybe, in the long past. He entertained himself briefly with thoughts
of seeing them rebuild and full of Muggles. Just like house-elves, only more
fun. But even that couldn't hold his attention for long, and he kept walking.
He came at length to trees planted in even rows; he realized it was an orchard
when he spotted ripe, swollen peaches peeking through the leaves. The rumbling
in his stomach reminded him of how long it had been since breakfast. A stone
wall ran around the perimeter of the grove, but it wasn't in any state of
repair, and he scrambled over it easily. He found himself face to face with a
small, weathered stone statue on a pedastle. It appeared to depict a nude,
beared man carrying a spear, and—Draco's eyes popped when he figured this
out—an erection almost as big as his forarm. Wishful thinking on the part of
some Zabini forebearer, maybe? The base was carved with the word PRIAPVS,
followed by several smaller lines worn away too badly to read. To Draco's
surprise, a piece of parcement was tacked on underneath this, and looked
relatively new. It read:
                      O thief who tests my orchard wall,
                         beware, for Priapus sees all.
                       If you a tasty gem should pluck,
                      upon my spear-head you shall suck.
                     and should you taste a stolen peach,
                    I'll find you, and your own so breach.
                    I'll stuff your gob, then bend you low
                    and you the price of theft shall know.
                    Your just deserts I shall thus measure
                     from the source of all true pleasure.
Draco blinked, then looked at the statue again. Some kind of idol, a household
god meant to guard the orchard; and here they said the Romans had been
civilized. Just a step away from skins and woad themselves, really. He stuck
his tongue out at the little statue and made his way into the trees.
He found a peach bigger than his fist, a gorgeous golden color and firm to the
touch. It was warm from the sun and came easily off the branch; the damn thing
was practically offering itself to him. He bit into it, feeling the fuzzy
exterior give way to the sweet yellow flesh, so juicy and soft. It was quite
likely the best peach he'd ever tasted, and yet, from the looks of the orchard,
the Zabinis didn't harvest them; quite to the contrary, there ground was thick
with fruit that had fallen and rotted in place. They had to be mad, to not even
take some for themselves. Clearly, age wasn't everything when it came to a
wizard's lineage.
Draco leaned against a tree trunk and savored the fruit, eating slowly until
there was nothing left but the stone, and the strings of flesh that clung to
it. He sucked on this until all the sweet was out of it, then unashamedly
licked his sticky fingers clean. He must've been a mess, but what did it really
matter, since there was nobody around to see...?
As if cued, someone groaned nearby. Draco froze with one finger still sucked
deep into his mouth, and slowly turned his head. A man was standing between two
trees on the opposite row, a gorgeous man with flowing dark hair and a neatly
trimmed goatee. His skin glowed with a golden tan, and Draco could see so
clearly because he was naked, from head to toe; his muscular arms were crossed
over a broad, defined chest, and he carried a spear in one hand. He was staring
at Draco, and he was hard as a rock. "Don't stop now, furula," the man said,
his voice rolling with a strange accent. "This was just getting good."
Draco seize his wand and took a dueling stance, although it felt somehow silly
to be doing so against a naked opponent. "Who are you?" he asked nervously.
The man approached him lazily, fearlessly, until he was an arm's length away.
"Let's think about this for a moment," he said. "You have a little stick—" he
tapped the end of Draco's wand— "and I have a big stick." He lifted his spear.
"Whose stick wins, do you think?"
Despite the surreality of the situation, Draco felt stung to hear his wand
referred to as a "little stick"—it was ten and a quarter inches and that was
average. Further more, the man had to be a Muggle, and he didn't appreciate
being leered at by animals. He could always plead self-defense if the
authorities got involved... "Stupefy!"
The Stunner hit the naked man in the chest. He looked down at it. Then he
looked back at Draco, extending his spear until the cold iron point touched his
nose. "I repeat: whose stick wins?"
When cornered like this, one really has only two options, and Draco chose
flight. He turned and ran down the gap between the rows, electing for the
moment not to think about how a Muggle could be resistant to a Stunner, or a
wizard, for that matter, or wonder what the naked man was if he wasn't one of
those two. He came to the stone wall on the other side and tried to climb up
and over, but a strong hand suddenly closed on the back of his robes and pulled
him away. It was that man again, and he wasn't even breathing heavily. "Not so
fast, furula," he said, and pulled Draco against his chest, hard. "We have some
unfinished business to attend to."
"Who are you?" Draco demanded. He could feel the man's unabated erection
prodding against his ass, and the spear head was inches from his face.
He laughed. "You saw my statue when you entered my orchard. You read my
warning."
Contrary to popular opinion, Draco was not a stupid boy. He was simply highly
selective about the reality he chose to experience. He instantly made the
correct deduction from that statement, and just as quickly rejected it, because
it was absolutely absurd. "You're a looney," he said, trying to fight his way
free of the powerful arms pinning him.
He only laughed again, and reached up slowly to cup Draco's face with strong,
elegant hands. He forced the Slytherin's head to turn, and then bend down and
kissed him. His lips were soft, though the hair on his face prickled, and when
Draco's mouth fell open in shock, a slick tongue immediately snaked inside. He
had never, in his memory, been kissed like this, so completely, so intensely;
it has always been him doing the kissing, to some girl who usually just stayed
still under him and left him to do all the work. This was strange, this was
new, and even in spite of the circumstances this was exciting; he leaned into
it clumsily, seeking more contact, more pressure, more heat under the blazing
sun. But then the man...the god...pulled back, licking the juice of the peach
off Draco's lips before granting him a wicked grin. "A cinaedus. Perfect.
This'll be easier."
The words barely registered with him, dazed by a pleasure he hadn't know
existed. He let Priapus turn him around and kiss him again, oblivious to the
spear he still carried but now hyper-aware of the hard cock pressing into his
belly. He pressed himself against that gorgeous body, but the god caught his
hands and pinned them behind his back. Draco groaned in frustration, but tried
only half-heartedly to free himself; something about the tight grip only goaded
him further, and he had more important things to devote his energy to than a
fruitless struggle. He realized he was rubbing his own erect cock against
Priapus' leg like a rutting dog, and tried to pull back, but the god seized
hold of it and stroked, just once, and Draco came in his pants with a strangled
cry.
"Let's get one thing clear," he whispered to the panting mortal leaning against
his chest. "You are the thief. You are the invader, and I am punishing you. You
are not in control here, furula." He planted a dry kiss on Draco's temple, and
forced him to his knees. "Now suck it."
Afterglow combined with the youth's natural instinct to self-delusion, and he
stared at the dark, throbbing organ bobbing in front of his face. "What?"
"You heard me." Priapus used his fingers to gently tease Draco's mouth open.
"It's not as if you don't know the mechanics...I saw that much..."
The god's penis, though thankfully not as big as his statue depicted, was
enormous; Draco could only get the head into his mouth at first. It tasted
salty and clean, unexepected. He experimented with his lips and tongue, licking
and sucking, and managed to get a satisfied grunt in return. Then Priapus took
the sides of his head firmly and started fucking his mouth, shallowly at first,
but with increasingly deep and powerful strokes. Draco nearly choked on it, but
the hot, hard flesh sliding in and out of his mouth felt good, in a strange
way, as inexplicably exciting as his hands being restrained. He tried to take
more, tried to swallow it, gagged; the god pulled back just a little, and
summarily shot his load into Draco's mouth. The Slytherin toppled forwards on
all fours, coughing and choking, divine cum dribbling out of his mouth. He was
vaguely surprised to find himself aroused again.
Priapus stroked his hair gently, almost lovingly, before kneeling behind him.
He hitched Draco's robes up around his waist and pulled his pants down,
exposing his bare ass to the hot Italian sun. "A peach for a peach, then? That
sound fair to you?" The god kneaded his cheeks for a moment before pulling them
apart and probing the sensitive ring of muscle between. Draco had never been
penetrated anally before—had never thought about it—but if it always felt like
this he was going to have to start doing it regularly. Priapus inserted a
finger (how had it gotten so slippery? who cared?) and stroked the walls,
seeming to reach every inch inside, stretching and sensitizing it. He touched
on some spot in particular that set a jet of pleasure up Draco's spine, and he
cried out and arched his body into the intrusion. The god laughed again, and
replaced his finger with his enormous cock. Thathurt; that left Draco shaking
and whimpering at the invasion, and he tried to pull away before he split in
half. But Priapus seized his hips and thrust all the way in, then held him
completely still. "Can't have it both ways, furula," the god whispered in his
ear. "Tell me what you want."
Draco gasped for breath and wriggled in the iron grip, because his cock was
still aching, and the slow sharp burn inside him was melting into something
decadent, something so intense he could hardly take it in. "F-f-fuck me," he
hissed, barely able to speak.
Priapus slammed in him once, a thrust that rocked him forward on his knees.
"You don't give orders here."
"Oh, Christ..."
"Wrong god."
Another hard thrust, this one drilling directly into that hot spot, so that
Draco's eyes teared and his whole body jerked in pain and pleasure. "Please,"
he gasped, "please, fuck me...do anything, please...just...need to come,
please..."
And the god did. He pounded into Draco, over and over, sending waves of
pleasure coursing through the mortal's body. He tried to touch himself, but
Priapus once again pinned his hands, so Draco was helpless to do anything but
writhe backwards into each sharp stroke. Everything seemed to go blurry and
bright—the grass, the trees, the blazing sun in the shocking blue sky.
Everything unfocused, except for the mounting tension inside him and the
powerful bursts of pleasure coming from the cock in his ass. He screamed, over
and over, and begged, and choked, and just when it felt like he was going to
explode out of his own skin, he shot—
—and collapsed bonelessly onto the leafy-littered ground. It was several
moments before the aftershocks faded, and Draco managed to push himself weakly
to his knees. He was alone, completely alone; there was no sign of the mad god,
except for a dull ache in his guts and his own semen splattered all over the
place. He quickly set his clothes arights and fled the orchard, careful to
avoid the little statue. He was almost afraid of what he might see.
He stagged back towards the villa, but stopped and stooped at an ancient
fountain in the back gardens. His face was pale and sticky, his clothes
rumpled, and he had grass stains on his robes and the heels of his palms. He
splashed some of the cool water on his face, then decided to give propriety the
slip and dunked his head; it didn't wake him and it didn't help him forget. He
sat, head buried in his hands, the warm stone pressing against the most
sensitive reminder of what had just happened. Whatever that was.
A voice made him start embarassingly, groping for his wand yet again. "You met
him, didn't you?" Blaise was standing in the shadow of an olive tree, hands in
his pockets. It was probably the first time Draco had ever heard him initiate a
conversation.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, surprise leaving him less sharp than he
ought to have been.
"Priapus." Blaise smiled at his involuntary twitch. "You ate a peach out of his
orchard."
"You mean he's real?"
"Oh, yes." And then Zabini was sitting next to him by the fountain and
whispering in his ear, and Draco felt the little hairs on his neck stand up
when he spoke. "In fact, he taught me everything I know."
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!