Lust Potion (Patreon)

I tried some new things! I used the new line art style on this. What do you think? It's a little more gestural, less detailed, and I'm still getting used to that. I don't know if I'll stick with it, really just depends on the reception. This was a fun piece to make. I've been trying to make pink look sexy for years now and I think this one succeeds.

And yes, that is Hermione's finger in his ass, thanks for noticing.

I stole the idea of Form 83C from this hilarious Star Trek: Lower Decks, Mariner/Random fic. You know the auror department has to have a form for "whoops, magic made us fuck."

Read the tags on this one for some necessary context.

--------------------------

Tags: Auror Harry | Auror Draco | Auror Hermione | Married Harry/ Draco | Muck or die | Lust potion | Dom Harry | Hermione is high af

“No no no no,” Hermione chanted to herself as the fumes engulfed them. Trapped. Anti-apparition wards set. No way of calling for backup. She knew their intelligence was spotty but Harry said “Go” and she followed, yet again. 

“It’s not poison,” Draco said, puzzled. “It’s…”

“Is anyone feeling…er…” Harry looked sheepish. They had expected any number of poisons, caustic potions, an anesthetic at the least. This was…

Oh. This felt…nice. Quite nice. Her thoughts grew hazy as the pink smoke danced between them. 

“It’s—” Draco started. 

“Yeah.” Harry finished, forcefully dragging him in for a kiss. 

“We can’t—”

Harry silenced him with his tongue. “We can, but…”

“I can take care of myself,” Hermione clung to her rationality. Lust potion. These wankers just had to be trafficking in sodding lust potion, and now she had to find a corner to take care of herself, while on the sodding job.

Or she could kiss them. She wanted to kiss them, but then she’d have to fill out Form 83C, and she absolutely refused to fill out Form 83C. Ten years as an auror and she never had cause to fill out Form 83C.

“You can’t. You read the brief.” 

Paragraph four of the potion master’s report: “This altered formula resists individual relief.” What a lovely way to phrase “Will kill you unless you shag the nearest person, ta, have fun.” 

“Come here,” Harry commanded in a voice she’d never heard. He cupped her face and oh, strong hands. She liked strong hands, and he had such lovely hands. What could he do with those —

“It’s just an 83C,” he said. 

Oh. Right. An 83C. 83-buggering-fucking-C. 

Heh. Buggering. 

She blinked hard, trying her best to focus, “But…But you’re married. And he’s so pretty.” 

She thought she heard Draco laugh. 

“I can share.” Harry’s hands went to the nape of her neck and he pulled her closer, “Do you like to share, Hermione?”

There was that voice again. 

“No,” she heard herself say. 

He smirked, “Thought not. But do you like to be shared?” 

She groaned. She felt hands in her hair, caressing her face, and on her waist, pulling off her uniform. Strong hands, so many strong hands.

Maybe an 83C wouldn’t be too terrible…