Secrets of the Lust Potion

The Potion

Of course, it's Hermione who fixes his problems with self-esteem.

He's not the hottest guy around, he knows that much, but he's definitely not ugly either. Slim figure, great hair, and the barest definitions of muscles – damn straight, he's not unattractive, but his issue stems from the fact that he's just too shy to make a move on anybody.

It stinks, because right now, he's having to contend himself with fantasies rather than actually letting himself have some hot and kinky sex with the objects of his dreams.

So, he can't thank Hermione enough when she rolls her eyes and dribbles a few drops of the bright red liquid into his pumpkin juice that morning, and damn, it's about time. The entire Quidditch World Cup has been torture and his hormones are about to tear him apart.

The potion is like fire down his throat, but the effect is almost instantaneous. He feels giddy, as if all the adrenaline in his body is rushing to his brain, and he claps Hermione on the back.

This is going to be a lot of fun.

~HP~

He takes his first opportunity to test his new limits as soon as it arrives, but he decides to start small rather than cock it all up by trying too hard and making a fool of himself. Gryffindor tower is still and quiet. It's the dead of night, after all.

Flicking his wand to silence the other boy's bed, he slips through the curtains, taking care to pull them shut behind him. He drools at the sight before him – and even as he contemplates what he's about to do, he doesn't feel the usual panic welling in his throat.

Hermione should sell that potion to the entire damn world. She'll make a fortune.

Asleep before him, the red sheets bundled up at the base of the bed, is Ron. The ginger boy is naked save for a pair of bright orange boxer briefs, and Harry licks his lips at the evident bulge. It seems his best friend is having quite an interesting dream, judging by the damp spot near the top of the tent.

Without another moment of hesitation, he slips his hand up Ron's leg, and lets his fingers close around the other boy's semi-hard dick. It's warm and throbbing, thicker than his and yet just a bit shorter, and he lets out a low moan at the feeling. It's so new to him – and he already loves it.

He begins stroking, moving his hand up and down in long, languid movements, taking his time to soak it all in. Ron's still asleep, shifting slightly, and Harry takes the opportunity to reach out with his other hand and trace his friend's chest.

He feels bolder than usual, and though he thinks he can probably get Ron to cum without waking him, heavy sleeper that the ginger is, he lets himself be a little more brash. He pinches Ron's nipple, grinning as his friend's eyes flutter open, and instantly widen in shock. He keeps stroking though, teasing the nipple between his fingers as Ron stares, to stunned to say a thing.

Somehow, Harry gets the impression that the other boy is enjoying himself.

A grunt escapes Ron's lips, confirming Harry's suspicions, and his grin widens as he releases the nipple and slips the hand up Ron's other leg, fondling the heavy balls in his hand. Ron moans, raising himself up on his elbows and spreading his legs for Harry to have better access, and a smirk spreads across his lips.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" teases Harry, straddling Ron's thigh and rubbing his own boxer clad erection against it. The ginger just grunts his approval, before one large hand comes forward and yanks up Harry's boxers till the cotton is firmly wedged up his crack. He lets out a soft cry, his cock straining at the fabric – it hurts, and he can feel his balls chafe under the constriction.

"Always knew you were a little slut," says Ron, smirking, "Staring at us changing all the time."

Harry whimpers again as he feels his boxers yanked up again, this time causing the cotton to scrape against his virgin hole, but keeps stroking his friend. The damp spot's grown across Ron's orange underwear, and Harry can feel the excess pre-cum leaking about his fingers. Despite the constriction, his own dick seems to just grow harder, till he's uncomfortably humping Ron's leg in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure.

Eventually, he feels Ron's balls tighten in his grasp and before he can react, strings of cum are gushing forth from his friend's cock, soaking through the underwear and leaving thick, white globules splotching about the fabric. The sight is too much for him, and he shudders, crying out as he blows his own load over Ron's thigh, similarly soaking his boxers and smearing the excess across his best friend's leg.

He halts, panting, as his friend smirks and pats him on the cheek. The adrenaline is dying down now, but he can still feel it burning in his gut, a subtle indication that the potion is still very much present. Grinning to himself, he thinks about cleaning up the mess with his tongue, but thinks better of it – he doesn't want his first taste of cum to be from a handjob, thank you very much.

Leaving Ron to clean up the mess, he slips outside the curtains, and looks around the room. Well, he thinks, one down . . . three more to go. A quick glance at the nearest bed and the sleeping Irishman in it is all it takes for him to choose his next target.

Who knows, maybe this time he'll do more than just play around with his fingers.