Author: John Sexton
Genre: Harry Potter Slash
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Chapter Six ... Harry's Ascent into Heaven

The train to Brixton was surprisingly crowded, and the three lads kept their conversation very superficial.

When they arrived at the station, Jerry immediately led them around the corner to the Brixton Market, where he scored a pack of fags and, to Harry's confusion, a pack of candles.

Clearly reading Harry's facial expression, Jerry whispered.

"No electric, it's a squat, luv."

"Oh, right!"

Harry nodded. He hadn't thought of this, as the implications of squatting were way beyond his ken. He felt like a gormless twit.

"You really are a newbie to this caper, aren't you, Draco?" asked Jerry rhetorically.

Harry's faced dropped in embarrassment... and his guilt over Carl. He flushed, then shrugged his shoulders.

"You're the second person to point that out in the last day," he replied dismally. "Is it that obvious?"

Jerry hugged him affectionately.

"Don't worry, Draco, luv, we've all been down that road. Stick with us and we'll see you right."

Harry wondered when he'd gone from lad to luv; but he decided he didn't mind.

"Shit!" he spat with contempt in his head. "Who cares what either of them call me? I'm Gay, and I'm not ashamed of the fact."

If the lads wanted to call him luv, then let them. He wanted desperately to be loved; and these were the first people who had ever known him, but not known a thing about Harry Potter! It was so refreshing, liberating and exciting; things really were looking up!

Tommy bought three bags of crisps, a large packet of biscuits and a couple of bottles of soft drink.

"Munchies," Tommy grinned as he handed over the drinks for Harry to carry.

"We having a party?" Harry asked naively.

"Into the night," was Tommy's reply, which he laced with a wicked grin.

They paid for their purchases, then continued around the block, down into a narrow lane, and up some rickety stairs to the back of one of the shops in the next block.

The door at which they stopped was heavy, with several locks on it. Jerry knocked with a loud rat, tatty-te-tat-tat, then Tommy added a solid tat-tat with flair; he grinned at Harry.

"Our code," he whispered in a conspiratorial tone.

A considerable amount of noise from the other side, mostly heavy foot shuffling and lock turning, preceded the opening of the door, which Harry noticed had a peep hole.

The occupant was a huge man, who reminded Harry of an American wrestler that Dudders greatly admired...

"Hulk Hogan?" Harry thought that was his name.

On reflection this fellow looked far more intimidating, and Harry could easily envision the brute picking him up and snapping him in two.

Harry moved behind Jerry on instinct.

"Ah, my favourite lads," the man quipped at the boys.

Then he focused on Harry.

"And whose this?" he asked, leering at the boy suggestively.

The young, black wizard would have felt more comfortable had Snape answered the door.

"This is Draco," was Jerry's cold response, "Draco, this is Max."

"That figures," thought Harry.

He tried to manufacture a smile but failed miserably; he said nothing, which only seemed to peak Max's interest.

"Well don't catch cold," Max grinned evilly.

He stepped back from the threshold and ushered them inside.

"Well what'll it be, lads," Max asked brusquely, as he lead them along a bleak passageway into a large, dark room, "the usual?"

The room had a dank, heavy odour, which reminded Harry, oddly enough, of both the Potions classroom and the Herbology greenhouses.

"Nah," was Jerry's curt reply.

He pulled three fifty Pound notes from his pocket.

Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Just an oz of skunk will do, Max, we've gotta shake a leg. Mate's?"

"For my best lads, of course," Max grinned.

Jerry slipped a fifty back into his pocket.

Harry was totally lost: it felt just like his first day at Hogwarts. But, unfamiliar as he was with the scenario, he still knew instinctively, well it was bleeding obvious, even to a newbie like him, that Max wasn't even remotely sincere.

"Tell you what," Max added with a sinister grin, "I'll throw in a gram of Charlie, and a Stiffy for one-thirty... just for you, mind... mate's an' all."

Max had leered at Harry while he addressed Jerry.

"No thanks, Max," Tommy cut in rather forcefully, as he pulled a fiver from his pocket and handed it to Jerry, "but we'll take the popper."

"You know me, lads," oozed Max, and Harry shivered, "the client is always right. Back in a jiff."

The great brute disappeared into another room, and emerged in a matter of seconds with a plastic bag that Harry assumed contained marijuana, and a small brown glass bottle with a black plastic cap.

Jerry motioned to hand over the one-hundred and five Quid, but Max held onto his wares.

"Sure you don't want to try before you buy, lads?" Max offered, "you can all do a line, and if young Draco, here, likes it, the rest of the g is yours, one-twenty all up, final offer."

"No thanks, Max," snapped Jerry.

He held out the cash in his left hand; his right hand demanded the drugs.

"Fine, fine," Max oozed again. "Tell you what," he added with another leer at Harry, as they made the exchange, "bring young Draco round to the club, at say eleven tonight, and I'll let you all in through here, gratis, no questions asked."

"Draco's a newbie, Max," snapped Jerry impatiently, "and he's not putting out for you... not now... not tonight either!"

"Fine, fine!" Max repeated cheerfully, with all the charm of a used car salesman, "just let me know when you're ready. The offer stands. In fact," Max added, with a particularly disturbing glint in his eye, "make it Tuesday, and I'll sling the lad an extra hundred."

"Your generosity knows no bounds, Max," spat Tommy.

"Now don't be like that, lad," Max sneered nastily, as he led the boys towards the door, "your meter's running a tad low. Mustn't bite the hand that feeds you."

"Thanks, Max, we'll be sure to keep that in mind!" snapped Jerry, as Max closed the heavy door behind them.

"What charming friends you have!" chirped Harry, as they made their way back into the lane.

"Yeah... Max is a KFC man, Draco," snapped Tommy bitterly.

"And a slime-ball to boot," added Jerry, mirroring his mate's sentiments.

"KFC?" asked Harry.

"He likes chicken, Draco," explained Tommy, but the allusion went right over Harry's head.

"He's a chicken-hawk," Jerry clarified, reading Harry's confusion, "and you are prime chicken, luv."

"A young Gay lad," Tommy clarified.

"And Max wants a piece of your arse," Jerry took up from his mate again.

"Yeah, I didn't miss that bit," Harry quipped, "but it was about the only thing I did catch."

"Yeah, well he'll do anything to crack on to you," Tommy chimed in.

Harry shook his head and grinned.

"We're not pulling your plonker here, Draco," warned Tommy.

"We're serious," added Jerry.

"Oh, no!" Harry apologised, "I realise that! It's just... you remind me so much of friends of mine. They're twins, and they're always finishing one another's sentences... pretty much like you two. No offence!" Harry added with a note of panic.

"None taken, luv," Jerry assured him with a ruffle of his curly black hair.

"Just be careful around him, Draco," Tommy added, "he doesn't give up easily, and he tends not to take no for an answer."

"Yeah," spat Jerry nastily, "and he not only likes chicken, but he has a taste for chocolate over vanilla, no offence lad."

Harry was nonplussed for a minute before he realised the implications of his recent metamorphosis, "none taken," he replied.

"And he's a size queen," added Tommy.

"You mean he likes lads with big cocks?" Harry asked.

He'd never heard the term before, but it didn't require much imagination to guess.

"Exactly!," grinned Tommy, "and you more than fit the bill on all three counts, so you can bet your bollocks he'll be gunning for you, lad. You're in his sights, so to speak."

"Yeah I get it, thanks," Harry assured the lads, "so... what was all that about a club?"

Harry's head was reeling and he barely knew where to start with the questions.

They had just turned a corner, and Jerry tossed his head in the direction of the shop front that they were approaching.

"Passing it as we speak," he explained.

"We were just upstairs," Tommy elucidated.

There were no windows, and the recessed door was even heavier than the entrance to Max's upstairs flat. The premises took up several shop-fronts, and the entire edifice was painted black. It had only one entrance, and the sign on the door read: "Puffin' Billy's Steam and Sauna," in large red letters. Below it, in small block letters, it read: "PRIVATE MEN'S CLUB."

"It's a Gay bath house, Draco," Jerry explained, "chaps come here for sex."

"Oh," Harry replied, but his head was merely reeling with even more questions.

"So why did he keep calling you his mates?" Harry asked incredulously, as they walked up towards the railway underpass.

"Crikey, Draco!" Tommy laughed, "you really are a newbie, aren't you?"

Harry looked crestfallen, he felt totally naff.

"Hey!" Jerry consoled him with a reassuring hug, "pay him no heed, luv," he glared at Tommy, "Tom is just being a tosser!"

"Give over, Jer," Tommy retorted with a roll of his eyes, "Draco knows I was only having a lend of him," he swung his arm around Harry from the other side and over Jerry's arm.

Harry reciprocated and swung his arms around the fit lads' waists.

They continued to walk like that until they reached Atlantic Road.

"He's not our mate, Draco," Tommy snorted, "we were on about `mate's rates.'"

"This shit," Jerry patted his trackie-dak's pocket, "would set us back another fifty Quid on the street."

"Oh," Harry sighed, even more confused, "so why..."

"We have an agreement of sorts," Tommy explained.

They broke ranks to cross Atlantic Road.

"Tuesday nights at the club used to be pretty quiet," Tommy continued, once they'd crossed the road and walked through the railway underpass.

"So," Jerry took over, "Max has what he calls Chicken Night. He lets anyone under twenty-one in for free, but charges all the other clients an extra ten Quid."

"The place is always chock-a-block on Tuesdays, now," Tommy added, "which is the whole idea, of course."

"Mainly older geezers," Jerry turned up his nose, "looking for some fit young lad to suck on, or even get their end away... if they're lucky."

Harry was beginning to get the picture.

"So he lets you in for free, and you're the bait."

Jerry ruffled Harry's hair again.

"Not just a pretty face, are you Draco," he teased.

Harry grinned.

"And that's why he sells you the drugs at `mate's rates?'" he asked.

"Spot on, mate," quipped Jerry playfully.

Harry looked suddenly horrified.

"So that's why he wants you to bring me there on Tuesday! He wants me as bait too!"

"You catch on fast, Draco," said Tommy.

He put his arm around Harry and led him along a narrow lane-way, under the railway.

"But that's not the half of it, you'd be jail bait!"

After a short walk they entered an abandoned warehouse that was wedged between a fork in the eastern and southern rail lines.

"Jail bait?" Harry asked.

"You're illegal, Draco," scowled Tommy incredulously, as they made their way up a rickety set of steps, "surely you realise that!"

Harry didn't need to answer, his look of bewilderment spoke volumes.

A train rattled past on the eastern line, as they walked along a dilapidated corridor that looked out over the tracks. The glass in the broken windows shook violently, and the noise was deafening. It reminded Harry of the rooms in the Leaky Cauldron.

No one spoke until the train had passed, by which time they were standing in front of an equally dilapidated door that had a padlock affixed roughly to the outside. The door and most of the wall, along the entire length of the corridor, was covered in graffiti of varying styles and artistic merit, mostly very little of the latter.

Before Harry could ask another question, two more trains passed the building, both heading for London from the south and the east. The entire building shook, and Harry rolled his eyes, as Tommy yelled.

"You get used to it."

Harry doubted it.

Jerry pulled a key from his daks and opened the lock, then he secured the padlock on the open staple and ushered Harry inside as the last train passed by.

Tommy closed the door, bolted it from the inside, then turned to Harry with a smile.

"Well this is it," he said proudly, "not much, but it keeps us dry and it's a roof over our heads. There's an old loo downstairs that still works."

"Yeah," added Jerry, "nothin' fancy, but we call it home. Better than living on the street."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "anything's better than that," he spat bitterly, as he took in the surroundings.

However, there wasn't much to take in. It was fairly dark, with only one small window on the opposite side of the room. It had lost every pane of glass, which the lads seemed to have replaced with a large sheet of thick, industrial, clear plastic.

The window faced towards the west, and the late evening sunset was their only source of light.

A large dilapidated lounge sat against the wall at one end, with a packing crate acting as a coffee table. While at the other end, in one corner, stood a rickety table; an assortment of packing crates and chairs, all the worse for wear, were strewn around it.

In the other corner a rather large double mattress...slightly less dilapidated than the lounge...lay on the floor, with a couple of rather good quality pillows, blankets and sleeping bags lying haphazardly on it.

A small wooden box stood next to the mattress; on it was a candle affixed to a tin can. Another packing crate stood upended against the wall, under the window, and on it stood a hurricane lantern, and two more candles on empty tin cans. Two other candles were on the table. And that was it!

"Just pop the goodies on the table, Draco, and park your arse down here," said Tommy, who flopped down onto the lounge gracefully, and patted the cushion next to him.

Jerry secreted the drugs in the box under the candle near the bed, threw the bikkies to Tommy, then dropped onto the other end of the lounge.

"So what did you mean, illegal?" Harry asked timidly as he dropped down between the very sexy lads.

"Well, you're under the legal age to have sex, for starters," said Tommy, "not that we give a fuck," he grinned wickedly and gave Harry's thigh a reassuring squeeze, then let his hand rest there.

"They call it the `Age of Consent,'" spat Jerry bitterly, "but all it really means is that the pigs, and other pig-ignorant arseholes like our olds and your rellies can abuse us legally until we're eighteen."

"Eighteen?" cried Harry in dismay. He almost blurted out: "where I come from it's seventeen!" But he bit his tongue in the nick of time.

"Yeah," spat Tommy with equal disgust, "Gays have been trying to get it down to the same age as it is for breeders for years," he spat the epithet with utter contempt, "that's sixteen, by the way, but the fucking Tories won't budge, the arseholes."

"So that's why you said I was jail bait!" Harry sneered. He thought for a minute, "and that's why Max said he'd slip me a hundred if you took me to the club on Tuesday."

"An extra hundred," Tommy corrected.

Harry's confused look prompted Jerry to further clarify, "he lets anyone under twenty-one in for free on Chicken Night, Draco, but he actually pays Tommy and me a hundred Quid a piece for turning up."

"That's why he charges all the old farts an extra ten Quid on Chicken Night," explained Tommy.

"Why you two?" Harry asked, "I mean..." he baulked... he was tempted to add, "no offence," but he didn't want to embarrass himself further.

"You should know that already, Draco," Jerry feigned being offended, but it was clear that he wasn't.

He slid his hand onto Harry's other thigh and rubbed it gently.

"We're so fucking good!" Tommy cooed then slid his hand up to Harry's groin as he leaned forward and placed his mouth over Harry's.

Jerry leaned in at the same time, slid his hand to Harry's groin as well, and probed Harry's ear with his tongue, as Tommy deepened the kiss.

Harry was already hard and Jerry began to undo Harry's belt.

Tommy broke off the kiss, reached down to the side of the lounge and brought a dirty old plastic drink bottle up from the floor and sat it on the coffee table crate. It had a metal tube sticking out of its side and was half full of dirty brown water; at least that's what Harry guessed was in it.

"Is that what I think it is?" he asked cautiously.

"What do you think it is?" Jerry teased him.

"A bong?" Harry replied with some trepidation, not wanting to seem a total prat, yet again.

"So I'd be right in guessing that you've never had a smoke before?" Jerry asked.

"No, I haven't," replied Harry, "but I'll give anything a go, at least once," he gave a wicked grin.

"Why am I not surprised," teased Jerry again.

"Don't expect too much," Tommy warned him, "most lads don't get a hit the first time they try it."

"Yeah," agreed Jerry, "and sometimes not even for the first couple."

"Anyhow, I definitely think we should pull a few before we get too serious," Tommy suggested.

"Good idea," Jerry agreed.

He retrieved the dope and a small pair of scissors from the box by the bed.

"So," Harry asked, as Tommy took one of the fags out of the pack that he'd just bought and prepared the dope, "what did Max mean by `your meter running low?'"

Jerry's look was foul, "it was just one of his subtle reminders that we're not exactly `chicken' anymore," he spat.

"Oh," Harry nodded sagely, "it was a threat, that he'd stop paying you to turn up on Tuesday."

Tommy looked up from his bong preparation, with a broad grin.

"You may be a newbie, Draco, luv," he leaned in and sucked Harry's face, but kept his own tongue in his mouth.

Harry was nevertheless breathless when the fit blond lad pulled back.

"But you catch on quick enough," Jerry finished with a smile that almost lit up the room.

Harry baulked for a moment before he broached his next question.

"I hope you don't think me rude," he cautiously waded in.

"Go ahead, luv," cooed Jerry, as he resumed licking deep into the shell of Harry's ear, and unzipped his jeans, "we've got no secrets from you."

"Well what do you live on?" he blurted out.

"Oh, nice one, Harry, really subtle!" He thought, then cringed, "I mean... you get a hundred Quid each from Max, every Tuesday, right? But you gave over half that back to him just now for the dope, right?" they both nodded.

From the smile on each of their faces, which wasn't quite condescension, he could tell that they knew where he was going with this.

"So what do you live on? ... I mean..."

"We know what you mean, Draco," Tommy smiled.

"We go to the club most other nights," Jerry answered calmly, "but his smile disappeared as soon as he mentioned the brute, "Max only charges us seven, instead of fifteen, to get in, but we make up to a hundred each, some nights, so it's worth our while."

"Of course," added Tommy, "some nights we make nothing."

"Yeah," grinned Jerry, "if we find something we like... some hot young lad like yourself," he reached into Harry's pants and squeezed his already hard cock, "we just get it on, right there in the club."

"But if it's some Sloane Ranger pretty-boy," Tommy put on a slightly toffy accent for the epithet, "down slumming it for some action, then we bring him back here, break out the posh, and let him pay for the privilege, if you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, a little stunned, "I think I get the picture." Then he asked tentatively, "what's posh?"

"Charlie... coke... crack cocaine ... sorry, luv, keep forgetting," Tommy explained. "We call it posh because it's expensive; it's what all the toffs get off on."

"That's what Max tried to get you to buy earlier," Harry suddenly realised.

"Yeah, but most of the time," Jerry chipped in, "we just get wasted on this shit," he gestured towards Tommy's preparation, "and sleep most of the day."

"But," Harry returned to their original conversation, "doesn't Max get shirty if you take his clients away?"

"Nah," Jerry shook his head and grimaced, "he doesn't give a fuck, as long as we put in an appearance, for a few hours at least."

"We attract more clients just by being there," explained Tommy.

"Besides," added Jerry, "even when we're not there, Max's still raking it in with blokes who turn up on the likelihood that we will be."

"It's safer than cruising the streets or cottages for trade," Tommy shrugged philosophically, "plus we get to have a decent shower every night, as well."

"Plus the occasional shave," Jerry grinned, "I'm up to twice a week now, but baby face here," he gestured at Tommy dismissively, "is still only scraping his bum fluff once a week."

"On top of that," Tommy added, ignoring his mate's jibe, "we don't have to worry about the pigs giving us any trouble."

"You see," Jerry purred sarcastically, "Max may be an arse, but he's got the local bill in his pocket."

"It's how he can get away with having someone like you in the club," Tommy sneered, "and how he can get away with Chicken Night."

Harry lay back, deep in thought, while Jerry gently massaged his bollocks with his hand down the front of his pants. Harry's cock was pressed hard across his waist, straining under the thin material of his boxer-short pants and his jeans.

"So you expect me to go to the club on Tuesday night?" he finally asked apprehensively, wondering if they were doing this on Max's bidding.

"No!" cried Jerry indignantly, pulling his hand out of Harry's boxer shorts and suddenly sitting up straight. He turned to face Harry and stroked the young wizard's cheek gently with his other hand.

"Didn't you hear what I told that tosser?"

"Yeah," Harry replied sheepishly, as he dropped his eyes to his own hands, "but..."

"But, nothing!" cried Tommy indignantly, "Jerry told that arse you weren't putting out for him, and we intend to look out for you, okay?"

"But I've got to earn my keep somehow, and if Max is prepared to pay me two-hundred Quid..."

"No!" said Jerry firmly, "you don't understand, luv!"

Harry looked confused, his eyes darting from one to the other, until Tommy took up the explanation.

"Look, Draco, luv," he cooed at Harry, "Jerry and I, we go to the club, cruise the sauna, the steam room, the orgy room and the stalls for sex most nights, okay?"

Harry nodded, as Jerry took over.

"But we pick and choose when and if, and who we get off with, okay?"

Harry nodded again.

"But you're jail bait," reiterated Tommy, "so you can't cruise the club out in the open like we do. Max would be taking too much of a risk letting you do that. Max has a special section out the back of the club, that's connected to the upstairs, where we were earlier.

"The door to that section of the club is locked, and marked "Members Only," and the only ones who get in there are friends of Max, who pay a hundred Quid each, sometimes more, just for a piece of the action with a chicken like you... whenever he can get hold of one."

"Do you understand what we're saying, luv?" asked Jerry sternly, "you don't get to choose who you have sex with in the Chicken Coop! You'd be just a piece of tender fillet to them. Most of them are just like Max, some even worse, and there can be as many as ten or fifteen at any one time!"

Harry looked at them a little nonplussed, but nodded his head nonetheless.

"We've been there and done that, okay, and it's not for the faint-hearted," Tommy smiled and patted Harry's cheek playfully.

"But until we're sure you can handle it, and then only if you want to, okay?" Harry nodded, as Tommy continued, "but until then it's out of the question."

"But I want to pay my way!" Harry protested.

"Hey," Tommy kissed him again, and this time it was deep and passionate. "You let us suck that monster cock of yours, from time to time, and sit on it, and you'll be more than paying your way."

"And if you want to earn a few Quid," Jerry kissed him lightly as he added, "then we'll bring some trade back here, and if you like them you can join in and we'll split the takings between us, okay."

Harry smiled and nodded enthusiastically. Then Jerry deepened the kiss until Harry came up gasping for air and slightly dizzy.

"Okay!" declared Tommy enthusiastically, "time to pull a few cones, I think!"

Tommy handed the bong to Jerry, and Harry watched closely as he lit the cone and inhaled. Tommy explaining what Jerry was doing and why.

"Just take it easy on the first toke, okay?" warned Jerry as he exhaled and passed the bong to Harry, "you shouldn't need to light it," he explained, but handed Harry the cigarette-lighter anyway.

Harry was pleasantly surprised by the sweet aroma that filled the room. He put the bong to his mouth, his finger over the air hole as instructed. The bowl of the cone was still glowing, so Harry just sucked on the bong.

He didn't really know what to expect, and he was stunned by the burning sensation as the smoke first hit his throat and lungs. He had intended to hold his breath like Jerry, but he was coughing and gasping uncontrollably before he even knew what hit him.

Tommy took the bong from Harry in case he dropped it, then both lads were smacking him on the back, as he hacked, coughed and wheezed his lungs up through his least that's what it felt like.

"Oh fuck!" Harry gasped, "bloody! fucking! hell!" he flopped back onto the lounge, as the hacking subsided. "That was..." he hacked again, "fucking terrible."

Jerry and Tommy were both in hysterics.

"Glad you're amused," Harry groused.

"Sorry," Tommy laughed, then he took his turn, but gasped and hacked himself, as another laugh defeated his own attempt to show Harry how it should be done.

"Ha!" Harry laughed vindictively, before collapsing into another coughing fit of his own. "That will teach you to laugh at my misfortune!" he turned up his nose, mocking as he recovered.

"Sorry," said Tommy after a quick recovery, "it's just that we'd forgotten what it was like the first time."

"Give it back here," said Harry with determination.

"NO!" cried Jerry and Tommy in unison, "must follow protocol, lad!" Jerry explained.

"Yeah man," Tommy laughed at his own faux-Jamaican accent, then broke into song, "pass the dutchie pon the left hand side, pass the dutchie pon the left hand side."

While Jerry joined in for the next reiteration of the lyric...

"Pass the dutchie pon the left hand side, pass the dutchie pon the left hand side."

Harry laughed.

"Is that what that song's really all about?" he asked in near disbelief.

"Sure is," Jerry explained, "dutchie is code for kouchie, and that's what Jamaicans call a bong."

"And that, lad, is the code of etiquette, always pass the bong to the left," Tommy quipped, "besides," he laughed, "I need to pack another cone."

Tommy immediately held the lighter up to the cone, and finished it off, before proceeding to pack another and hand it to Jerry.

"Now that is not proper etiquette!" Jerry laughed, "but we have our own rule that says the packer gets to round off," he giggled, as he lit the cone and took a huge hit, before handing it on to Harry.

This time Harry managed a decent toke without too much coughing and gasping. He never attempted to hold it in before exhaling, like the lads, but he was happy with his effort. He dutifully passed the water-pipe to Tommy.

Harry lay back against the lounge, as Jerry slid his fingers back down under the elastic of his Muggle boxer shorts. He squeezed Harry's soft cock, which sprang back to life almost immediately.

"How will I know?... you know..." Harry asked tentatively, "if it has..."

"You'll know," both boys answered in unison, and immediately began to giggle.

"For starters," Tommy added, "you'll probably start giggling like a school-girl."

Both lads started giggling again.

"Yeah," giggled Jerry, "but it doesn't have that effect on us anymore," and both boys burst into another fit of hysterics.

Harry was bemused, but just lay back and relaxed as Jerry began to play with his bollocks again, while Tommy moved the coffee table out of the way, before he put the bong back on it.

Tommy waddled back to Harry on his knees. He positioned himself between Harry's legs and proceeded to pull on his jeans.

Harry raised his hips obligingly as Tommy whipped them off in one swift motion. Jerry released Harry's balls, and ran his hand back over Harry's cock, which was now free of the confines of the denim. It was poking out from under the pant's elastic by a good six inches, almost reaching the tip of his breast bone.

"Fuck me!" cried Tommy in awe.

"Fuck both of us!" Jerry agreed, "it's even bigger than I thought!"

He leaned over and took the head of Harry's cock straight into his mouth, and sucked madly on the bulbous knob, as if it was a Chuppa-Chup.

"Oh, Merlin that's beautiful," cried Harry in ecstasy.

Jerry looked up at Harry, then across at Tommy with a startled expression on his beautiful face. The two older lads exchanged a quizzical look, but Harry never noticed.

"Don't stop, Jerry, please don't stop," Harry cried.

He then went totally boneless, as the beautiful dark-haired lad went to work in earnest on his bulbous cock.

Harry didn't even try to raise his hips as Tommy dragged his pants off him, before he too attacked Harry's groin with his mouth, licking and sucking at his pendulous, hairless balls, alternately sucking the ripe plums into his mouth with gusto.

Eventually the lads broke off their ministrations and met at the tip of Harry's cock, where they exchanged a passionate kiss. They moved straight up to Harry's mouth and began a tongue wrestle with the young black lad. When they finally collapsed back onto the lounge, Harry gasped.

"What was in the little bottle from Max?" Harry eventually enquired.

"We were saving that for later," answered Jerry, "but since you asked..."

He got up off the lounge and retrieved the bottle from the box by the bed,  then handed it to Harry.

"Mr Stiffy?" Harry laughed incredulously as he read the label.

"Yeah," Tommy grinned, "it's called a popper; I'll show you why."

Tommy removed the cap and waved the bottle under Harry's nose a few times.

Harry felt the rush almost immediately, and when Jerry began to slowly masturbate Harry's massive cock, the young wizard slumped back onto the lounge in utter bliss.

"Holy fuck!" Harry moaned as the sensation grew in his groin. "Now I know why they call it Mr Stiffy!"

"If you think that's good," Tommy purred...

He handed the bottle and its cap to Harry, then crossed the room to their mattress and rummaged through the blankets until he found what he was looking for, two rubber cocks, one much larger than the other.

Harry said nothing, but the widening of his eyes spoke volumes. He waved the open bottle under his nose, while he watched the sexy lads. Harry inhaled more deeply, and grinned stupidly at Jerry, as the rush took effect.

The dark-haired lad simply smiled and slowed down his stroking of Harry's pulsating cock, further enhancing the effect of the rush.

Tommy retrieved a large tube from inside the box by the mattress, which Harry assumed contained some sort of lubricant; he was, after all, not totally inexperienced: even wizards used lube.

Tommy laid the rubber cocks and lube on the lounge next to Harry, then knelt back down between Harry's legs, and took the popper from him. From there Tommy held the bottle right up to his own nostril, blocking the other with the index finger of his other hand, and took a long slow snort of the vapours. He swapped hands and repeated the process with his other nostril.

Tommy handed the bottle to Jerry, then blinked a few times, sat back on his haunches and sighed as the rush took effect.

Harry was disappointed when Jerry stopped the slow stroking of his cock. But almost immediately Tommy took the lube and squeezed a liberal dollop onto Harry's massive stand of black flesh, and began to slowly smear it along the entire length of the shaft.

"Oooh, faarrk!" Harry cried, "that's..." but he never finished... words couldn't have described it in any case. He merely closed his eyes, but only for the briefest moment, torn between locking his gaze with the blond god kneeling before him, and watching his mate.

Jerry repeated the procedure that Tommy had just demonstrated, then he handed the bottle back to Harry.

As Harry copied the lads' actions with the popper, Jerry reached over and began to lift Harry's shirt and T-shirt up towards his armpits. The rush really took hold, as Harry handed the bottle back to Jerry, who stopped removing the shirt, quickly capped the bottle, then pulled the shirt over Harry's head in one swift movement.

Harry's entire body, not just his head, was spinning and swooning now, and his cock felt like it was... it was amazing!

Jerry took over from Tommy on Harry's cock, and began to really work on it, but ever so slowly and sensually. He twisted his wrists and fingers, generating sensations that went way beyond his efforts in the cottage, just a few hours ago. But, for some reason, he refrained from rubbing the palm of his hand over the glans like before.

Tommy, meanwhile, had begun applying lube to his fingers. Then he spread Harry's legs and smeared a large glob onto the smooth hairless opening of Harry's black arse.

Harry moaned as the first finger breached his hole, and the coolness of the silky-smooth lube was smeared around the inner warmth of his soft, pliable flesh.

A second finger widened the breach, and Harry was amazed at how his sphincter reacted. Rather than the automatic clenching of the muscles that usually accompanied the first attempt at penetration of his inner sanctum, the effect of the popper was that his arse was completely relaxed.

Harry's hungry arse surrendered to Tommy's long slender fingers, like a flower opening to the first light of a warm spring day.

"Faarrk!" Harry moaned again, "now I know why you use this shit!"

"Have another hit," was Tommy's response, as the angelic blond worked another finger into the welcoming warmth of Harry's enveloping flesh.

Just as Harry took an even longer snort to his left nostril, Tommy slipped all four fingers into his arse, then rotated his wrist slowly, widening the breach until they were buried up to the knuckles of his hand.

Then as Harry hit his right nostril, Tommy curved his fingers, slowly stroking the inside of Harry's rectum, and rotating his wrist until he found his target.

Harry almost dropped the bottle, and Jerry had to stop him spilling the precious liquid, as he began to literally see stars, and he slumped back against the lounge in utter delirium.

"That's your prostate, luv!" Tommy cooed, as he stroked the spongy tissue of the ultra-sensitive organ with the tip of his middle finger.

"That's what makes all the creamy juices of your spunk, luv," crooned Jerry, "Tommy knows what he's doing in there, I know from personal experience."

He leered at Harry lustfully.

"You are gunna blow like Mount Saint Helens, by the time we're finished with you."

"Oh, fuck, don't stop, either of you, for fuck sake don't stop," Harry begged.

Then he jammed his sphincter down onto Tommy's hand, and pushed his arse forward, to the very edge of the lounge.

Tommy leaned over and took the plump head of Harry's cock in his mouth, while he slowly forced his hand further into Harry's totally relaxed anus. Jerry kept stroking the cock slowly as he leaned up and took Harry's mouth in his, and immediately plunged his tongue as far as he could into the hungry orifice.

Both lads hands were covered in lube now, so when Harry broke off the kiss, he reached for the popper, opened it, then offered it to Jerry, who allowed Harry to block off his nostril with one hand, while holding the popper up to the other.

When both lads had their two hits, Harry took his own, then sealed the bottle and dropped it back by his side, and gave himself over to the wildest sensations he had ever experienced.

This hit was enough to relax his arse even further,  and all Harry could do was scream, not from pain but from delight, as he pushed down on Tommy's slender hand, and it slid into his arse all the way to the fit blond lad's wrist.

Both boys worked furiously on his throbbing cock now, sharing their turns sucking on his bulbous knob, while Jerry tweaked his erect nipples and Tommy fondled his bollocks with their free hands. All the while stroking his cock and teasing his prostate with their others.

Harry lost track of all time, and the sensations kept coming, in wave after wave of mind-numbing, mind-blowing euphoria. Until, before he knew what hit him...

"Oh, shit! I'm gunna cum!" Harry cried desperately, as the orgasm was on him from out of nowhere. Surprisingly both boys took their mouths off his cock at that instant, keen to see the evidence of their hard work for themselves.

"Fuck!" Harry cried as a massive rope of pearly white spunk shot out of his cock, over his head and hit the wall behind him with a large splat.

They all gasped in amazement, then the lads swooped on the head of Harry's pulsating cock, sucking the rest of his gusher eagerly, taking turns to swallow every drop, and voraciously licking up every last skerrick that was unforgivably spilt.

"Well," cried Jerry in admiration, after he'd managed to stop laughing.

"You've left your mark, luv," he laughed again and dabbed at the cum, as it dribbled down the wall and behind the lounge.

"Oh, fuck," Harry cried, "I've died and gone to Heaven!"

Then he grunted as Tommy slid his hand out of his arse with a loud plop.

"And I never even got to the dildo's, and we're both still fully clothed!" cried Tommy in amazement.

"And I don't think the lad even got a hit from the dope yet, either," said Jerry equally stunned.

"Hey, that's right," sighed Harry in ecstatic exhaustion, "I didn't... did I?"

All three lads just shook their heads in amazement.

"That was fucking wild, even for us!" cried Tommy, "what do you reckon, luv?" he asked Jerry.

"Too bloody right!" was the dark haired boy's adamant reply, "and neither of us even got our pricks out, let alone our rocks off. That's a first!"

"Fuck, I'm a mess," cried Harry.

He screwed up his nose, as he looked down at his flaccid cock, which was still slick with lube, and his arse squelched as it slowly reverted to its relaxed state.

Jerry retrieved some tissues from the box by the bed, and proceeded to clean him up.


If you are enjoying reading this story, you might also like my other two Nifty stories...
This is a two-chapter Potterverse short story [complete].
This is on-going and I'm updating it chapter-for-chapter with this story.