Fic for hedwigs_bane
For: hedwigs_bane
From: triomakemehot
Title: Happy Christmas, Harry
Rating: Hard R
Summary: An otherwise bleak Christmas becomes joyful because of an unexpected declaration of love.
Disclaimer: Characters/settings contained herein are the property of JK Rowling and those to whom she has given license. I am merely borrowing them (and a phrase or three from Book 6) for the holidays. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.
Warnings: Bit of teenage angst and a very active imagination
Author's Note: Set in sixth year, but all characters are of legal age in the UK. Many thanks to my betas ... they know who they are for now, and I’ll thank them properly in a comment after the reveal.
Harry sat staring blankly out the window. He really should be happy, but for once he was not enjoying that he was spending Christmas at the Burrow. Well, he was ... it was certainly better than being with the Dursleys, but Hermione wasn't there since she and Ron really weren't speaking these days, and Harry wasn't sure just how much more he could endure of a lovesick Ron. He'd honestly been looking forward to having Ron all to himself for the holidays, but that was before he'd witnessed the thoroughly nonverbal good-bye Ron was giving Lavender just behind him while Harry wished Hermione a happy Christmas.
Harry had briefly thought he might fancy Ginny; he had been somewhat outraged when he and Ron caught her snogging Dean Thomas. But apparently that really was just outrage on Ron's behalf, because it was nothing compared to how he'd felt after the Quidditch match when he'd walked into the common room and smacked straight into Ginny, who called Ron a "filthy hypocrite" and pointed into the corner where Ron was wrapped so closely around Lavender Brown it was hard to tell whose hands were whose.
That was when Harry had been forced to admit, to himself at least, that his feelings toward Ron ran just a little deeper than mere friendship. He suddenly understood how Hermione felt, but he didn't have the luxury of a welcoming family to run home to. Harry had d known in that moment that it was going to be pure agony sharing a room with Ron, just the two of them, and listening to Ron prattle on about how he and Lavender don't really talk much. Harry didn't really want to think about what they got up to that kept them from talking. It made his stomach hurt to think about Ron doing those kinds of things with anyone who wasn't him.
Harry jumped when Molly called to him, apparently for a second time. "Harry, dear, are you quite all right? Didn't you hear me?"
"I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley," he lied. "I was just daydreaming."
"Oh, good!" she declared, "then you wouldn't mind helping Ron with these sprouts for dinner, would you, dear?"
Harry looked up, intending to smile at Mrs. Weasley, but he groaned quietly when he felt himself reacting to the sight of Ron coming down the stairs pulling a Cannons t-shirt down over his still-damp chest. Harry's eyes followed a lone drop of water down the center of Ron's chest and he nearly whimpered as it dissolved into the edge of his denims.
"Mum, I just had a shower ..." Ron whinged.
"No arguing, Ron," Molly intercepted. "Now get to it," she said, gesturing toward a large mound of the little green vegetables as two knives floated gently toward them.
Harry approached the table and picked up a knife and a sprout, setting to work without a word. Ron, it seemed was still in a bit of a huff.
"Don't see why she can't get the twins to do this," he pouted. "They can use magic and it wouldn't take them hardly any effort at all."
Ron complained for a full ten minutes before Harry was able to shift the conversation to something else, bringing up again what he'd witnessed after Draco Malfoy crashed Slughorn's Christmas party.
"So Snape was offering to help him? He was definitely offering to help him?"
"If you ask that once more," said Harry, "I'm going to stick this sprout ..." Harry stopped talking quite abruptly, as Ron interrupted to say he was only checking. Harry was suddenly thinking of what else he'd like to stick where he'd been thinking of shoving the sprout. He shook his head to clear the image from his mind. Merlin, this was getting out of hand.
In the four nights they'd been at the Burrow so far, Harry had not had a full night's sleep yet. Night after night, he'd laid in his camp bed, squinting into the darkness as he listened to Ron breathe. Eventually his eyes would adjust to the dark and he'd look at Ron. Harry could make out the shape of his friend sleeping in the next bed ... the tousled red hair, the creamy skin dotted with freckles, the slope of his shoulder and his muscular arms. Harry cursed the fact that Ron's room was always just a little too warm and Ron often slept without a shirt. He could see the contrast of Ron's dark nipples against his pale chest and Harry thought more than once about leaning over for a taste and feeling them pebble against his tongue. And then he'd let his eyes roam lower, following the line of ginger hair that swirled around Ron's belly button and dipped into the waist of his pyjamas.
By that time, Harry's hand would be in his own pants, wrapped around his cock as he admired his mate. He'd have to bite his lip to keep himself quiet as he thought what it would be like if that were Ron's hand around him. It never took long when Harry thought about Ron touching him; just a few firm strokes and he'd have to bite down so hard that he'd drawn blood a couple times as he came in his pants and over his hand. He always felt wretchedly guilty afterward as he reached for his wand to clean up the mess so he could try to sleep.
Harry forced his mind back into the kitchen and onto his conversation with Ron. They were talking about the Unbreakable Vow when Fred and George came in, and George just had to spoil things by taking the mickey about Lavender. More detail about just what Ron got up to with Lavender was the last thing Harry wanted to hear. He tried to tune them out and focus on his sprouts, but when Fred said something about having seen the pair of them slipping up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower the night before they'd left school for the holidays, Harry's mind seemed determined to follow. George asked Ron outright if Lavender’s knickers were the same colour as her name. Ron chucked a sprout at him and Harry was grateful because he really didn't want to know if Ron knew the answer to George's question. Harry tried to think of something else, but his mind supplied a very distinct picture of Ron at the top of the tower, head bent ever so slightly as he was obviously snogging someone. The image began to rotate and Harry gasped when he saw himself in Ron's arms, his mouth being thoroughly ravaged by the taller boy's.
"All right there, mate?" Ron asked.
"Yeah, umm," Harry scrabbled for an answer. "I thought I'd cut myself, but I guess I didn't." It was lame, but it would have to do.
Dinner was an uncomfortable affair for Harry. His trousers were already impossibly tight from the images his mind had continually supplied of him and Ron since it had wandered off during the time the twins were taking the mickey about Lavender ... first he and Ron were just kissing, then Ron was nibbling at his neck while his hands crept up under Harry's shirt to tease his nipples, then ... oh sweet Merlin ... then Harry was on his knees and Ron's trousers and pants were bunched around his ankles.
Harry was having a difficult time following any of the conversation around him, his thoughts punctuated as they were by naughty images of Ron. Fred and George were cheerfully telling their parents how good business had been at Wheezes, and they seemed to think he should be interested since he was something of a silent partner, but he found the best he could do was laugh when the others did and nod supportively. Molly kept trying to force second and third helpings of everything on him, but he really didn't have much appetite. Finally he finished eating and excused himself, claiming a headache and hastily telling Ron he was going to have a shower then go to bed.
Harry took the stairs two at a time and ran into Ron's room to grab some clothes, then headed for the bath. He closed the door behind him and rummaged in the cupboard for a towel and a flannel, then began stripping off his clothes. He turned on the hot water and stepped under the flow, sighing at the soothing feel on his tense muscles. He had been hard as steel all through dinner and he needed a good wank. He squeezed a bit of shampoo into his palm, then closed his eyes and leaned back against the tile wall as he wrapped his hand around his prick. The shampoo was cool and slick, more than adequate to enhance his slow, leisurely strokes.
Harry pictured Ron slipping into the shower with him and pinning him against the wall with his long, muscular body. Their mouths would crash together and their tongues would battle for dominance. Ron's hands would find Harry's nipples and pinch, causing a shock of need to run straight to Harry's cock, which would be rubbing shamelessly against Ron's thigh. Ron would drop one of his hands down to wrap around Harry's length and stroke him slowly from base to tip, and Harry would groan as he sucked on Ron's collar bone, marking him. Ron would spin Harry around and reach between his legs massaging his balls, then trailing a finger along his perineum until he found his prize. He'd circle the puckered rosebud with the tip of his finger then press inward, breeching Harry's body as he softly kissed his neck.
Harry would arch his back, pressing against Ron's probing finger, showing him he wanted more. Ron would pump his finger in and out, brushing against Harry's prostate and making his legs tremble. Ron's fingers would disappear and Harry would feel the blunt head of Ron's cock pushing into him. Harry would bite down on his own forearm to keep from crying out at the burn, but loving every second, knowing the pleasure of being filled by Ron would be worth the momentary pain. Ron would set a torturous rhythm, thrusting slowly inward until his balls brushed against Harry's bum, and pulling out just as slowly until only the tip remained inside. He would reach around Harry and wrap his hand around Harry’s aching erection, matching the rhythm of his hips as he thrust in again.
Harry spread his legs, thrusting against his hand as he imagined Ron fucking him. When he came against the wall, he gasped Ron's name and sagged against the tile, letting the water wash away his spunk. Harry didn't hear Ron close the door as he backed silently out of the room. He didn't know Ron had seen him wanking or that Ron had heard him cry out his name.
Harry finished his shower, then quickly dried and dressed and headed for Ron's room. Ron was nowhere in sight, but it was still a little early. Harry hoped maybe he would get to sleep before Ron came to bed. Apparently he was more tired than he'd realized because he was sound asleep by the time his head hit the pillow.
The next day was Christmas Eve and the Burrow was in utter chaos. All manner of extra people began to arrive for the holiday and Molly was in a right state trying to be sure everyone had a comfortable place to sleep and more than enough to eat. Ron and Harry stayed busy all day helping with last minute decorations and various kitchen chores. Harry, having had a good night's sleep at last, was feeling more cheerful than he had in days. Molly had really outdone herself for dinner and Harry was quite full as he sat in the parlour, laughing as the twins pulled faces at the sound of Celestina Warbeck and her "cauldron full of hot, strong love" coming from the wireless.
Arthur looked at him apologetically, jerking his head toward the wireless and said "Be over soon." Harry grinned and asked if things had been busy at the Ministry. It was the first chance he'd had to talk to Mr. Weasley, and Harry wanted to tell him about Malfoy. He told him everything he'd heard between Malfoy and Snape, and he wasn't surprised when Lupin joined into the conversation. Both men reacted as Harry expected, suggesting that Snape was merely playing his part, trying to convince Malfoy he wanted to help in order to find out what he was up to.
They talked awhile longer, and when Fleur started imitating Celestina's singing, Harry and Ron excused themselves to go up to bed. Ron fell asleep almost immediately, but Harry sat up thinking over his conversation with Mr. Weasley and Lupin, finally falling into an uneasy sleep.
"She's got to be joking ..."
Harry woke with a start and reached for his glasses. Ron was sitting bolt upright in bed examining what appeared to be a thick gold chain. When Harry asked what it was, Ron said "It's from Lavender." He sounded revolted, "She can't honestly think I'd wear ..."
Harry looked more closely at the chain, then began to laugh. Dangling from the chain in large gold letters were the words "My Sweetheart." Harry took the piss for a bit, but realised Ron really wasn't pleased, so he asked Ron if he'd ever said anything to make Lavender think he'd wear something like that in public.
"Well ... we really don't talk much," said Ron. "It's mainly ..."
"Snogging," said Harry, just a hint of the bitterness he felt evident in his voice.
"Yeah, well, if I'd known anyone else was interested, I'd never have hooked up with her," Ron said hesitantly ... hopefully.
Of course, Harry was completely clueless. "Oh," he said dejectedly. "So you've noticed Hermione is interested."
"No, you git!" Ron said softly. "I'm talking about you." He climbed onto Harry's bed, pushing him back into the mattress and causing Harry to squeak. Ron shifted his weight, fitting their bodies together so Harry would be sure to feel how hard Ron was. He whispered "Happy Christmas, Harry," and then he kissed him.
From: triomakemehot
Title: Happy Christmas, Harry
Rating: Hard R
Summary: An otherwise bleak Christmas becomes joyful because of an unexpected declaration of love.
Disclaimer: Characters/settings contained herein are the property of JK Rowling and those to whom she has given license. I am merely borrowing them (and a phrase or three from Book 6) for the holidays. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.
Warnings: Bit of teenage angst and a very active imagination
Author's Note: Set in sixth year, but all characters are of legal age in the UK. Many thanks to my betas ... they know who they are for now, and I’ll thank them properly in a comment after the reveal.
Harry sat staring blankly out the window. He really should be happy, but for once he was not enjoying that he was spending Christmas at the Burrow. Well, he was ... it was certainly better than being with the Dursleys, but Hermione wasn't there since she and Ron really weren't speaking these days, and Harry wasn't sure just how much more he could endure of a lovesick Ron. He'd honestly been looking forward to having Ron all to himself for the holidays, but that was before he'd witnessed the thoroughly nonverbal good-bye Ron was giving Lavender just behind him while Harry wished Hermione a happy Christmas.
Harry had briefly thought he might fancy Ginny; he had been somewhat outraged when he and Ron caught her snogging Dean Thomas. But apparently that really was just outrage on Ron's behalf, because it was nothing compared to how he'd felt after the Quidditch match when he'd walked into the common room and smacked straight into Ginny, who called Ron a "filthy hypocrite" and pointed into the corner where Ron was wrapped so closely around Lavender Brown it was hard to tell whose hands were whose.
That was when Harry had been forced to admit, to himself at least, that his feelings toward Ron ran just a little deeper than mere friendship. He suddenly understood how Hermione felt, but he didn't have the luxury of a welcoming family to run home to. Harry had d known in that moment that it was going to be pure agony sharing a room with Ron, just the two of them, and listening to Ron prattle on about how he and Lavender don't really talk much. Harry didn't really want to think about what they got up to that kept them from talking. It made his stomach hurt to think about Ron doing those kinds of things with anyone who wasn't him.
Harry jumped when Molly called to him, apparently for a second time. "Harry, dear, are you quite all right? Didn't you hear me?"
"I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley," he lied. "I was just daydreaming."
"Oh, good!" she declared, "then you wouldn't mind helping Ron with these sprouts for dinner, would you, dear?"
Harry looked up, intending to smile at Mrs. Weasley, but he groaned quietly when he felt himself reacting to the sight of Ron coming down the stairs pulling a Cannons t-shirt down over his still-damp chest. Harry's eyes followed a lone drop of water down the center of Ron's chest and he nearly whimpered as it dissolved into the edge of his denims.
"Mum, I just had a shower ..." Ron whinged.
"No arguing, Ron," Molly intercepted. "Now get to it," she said, gesturing toward a large mound of the little green vegetables as two knives floated gently toward them.
Harry approached the table and picked up a knife and a sprout, setting to work without a word. Ron, it seemed was still in a bit of a huff.
"Don't see why she can't get the twins to do this," he pouted. "They can use magic and it wouldn't take them hardly any effort at all."
Ron complained for a full ten minutes before Harry was able to shift the conversation to something else, bringing up again what he'd witnessed after Draco Malfoy crashed Slughorn's Christmas party.
"So Snape was offering to help him? He was definitely offering to help him?"
"If you ask that once more," said Harry, "I'm going to stick this sprout ..." Harry stopped talking quite abruptly, as Ron interrupted to say he was only checking. Harry was suddenly thinking of what else he'd like to stick where he'd been thinking of shoving the sprout. He shook his head to clear the image from his mind. Merlin, this was getting out of hand.
In the four nights they'd been at the Burrow so far, Harry had not had a full night's sleep yet. Night after night, he'd laid in his camp bed, squinting into the darkness as he listened to Ron breathe. Eventually his eyes would adjust to the dark and he'd look at Ron. Harry could make out the shape of his friend sleeping in the next bed ... the tousled red hair, the creamy skin dotted with freckles, the slope of his shoulder and his muscular arms. Harry cursed the fact that Ron's room was always just a little too warm and Ron often slept without a shirt. He could see the contrast of Ron's dark nipples against his pale chest and Harry thought more than once about leaning over for a taste and feeling them pebble against his tongue. And then he'd let his eyes roam lower, following the line of ginger hair that swirled around Ron's belly button and dipped into the waist of his pyjamas.
By that time, Harry's hand would be in his own pants, wrapped around his cock as he admired his mate. He'd have to bite his lip to keep himself quiet as he thought what it would be like if that were Ron's hand around him. It never took long when Harry thought about Ron touching him; just a few firm strokes and he'd have to bite down so hard that he'd drawn blood a couple times as he came in his pants and over his hand. He always felt wretchedly guilty afterward as he reached for his wand to clean up the mess so he could try to sleep.
Harry forced his mind back into the kitchen and onto his conversation with Ron. They were talking about the Unbreakable Vow when Fred and George came in, and George just had to spoil things by taking the mickey about Lavender. More detail about just what Ron got up to with Lavender was the last thing Harry wanted to hear. He tried to tune them out and focus on his sprouts, but when Fred said something about having seen the pair of them slipping up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower the night before they'd left school for the holidays, Harry's mind seemed determined to follow. George asked Ron outright if Lavender’s knickers were the same colour as her name. Ron chucked a sprout at him and Harry was grateful because he really didn't want to know if Ron knew the answer to George's question. Harry tried to think of something else, but his mind supplied a very distinct picture of Ron at the top of the tower, head bent ever so slightly as he was obviously snogging someone. The image began to rotate and Harry gasped when he saw himself in Ron's arms, his mouth being thoroughly ravaged by the taller boy's.
"All right there, mate?" Ron asked.
"Yeah, umm," Harry scrabbled for an answer. "I thought I'd cut myself, but I guess I didn't." It was lame, but it would have to do.
Dinner was an uncomfortable affair for Harry. His trousers were already impossibly tight from the images his mind had continually supplied of him and Ron since it had wandered off during the time the twins were taking the mickey about Lavender ... first he and Ron were just kissing, then Ron was nibbling at his neck while his hands crept up under Harry's shirt to tease his nipples, then ... oh sweet Merlin ... then Harry was on his knees and Ron's trousers and pants were bunched around his ankles.
Harry was having a difficult time following any of the conversation around him, his thoughts punctuated as they were by naughty images of Ron. Fred and George were cheerfully telling their parents how good business had been at Wheezes, and they seemed to think he should be interested since he was something of a silent partner, but he found the best he could do was laugh when the others did and nod supportively. Molly kept trying to force second and third helpings of everything on him, but he really didn't have much appetite. Finally he finished eating and excused himself, claiming a headache and hastily telling Ron he was going to have a shower then go to bed.
Harry took the stairs two at a time and ran into Ron's room to grab some clothes, then headed for the bath. He closed the door behind him and rummaged in the cupboard for a towel and a flannel, then began stripping off his clothes. He turned on the hot water and stepped under the flow, sighing at the soothing feel on his tense muscles. He had been hard as steel all through dinner and he needed a good wank. He squeezed a bit of shampoo into his palm, then closed his eyes and leaned back against the tile wall as he wrapped his hand around his prick. The shampoo was cool and slick, more than adequate to enhance his slow, leisurely strokes.
Harry pictured Ron slipping into the shower with him and pinning him against the wall with his long, muscular body. Their mouths would crash together and their tongues would battle for dominance. Ron's hands would find Harry's nipples and pinch, causing a shock of need to run straight to Harry's cock, which would be rubbing shamelessly against Ron's thigh. Ron would drop one of his hands down to wrap around Harry's length and stroke him slowly from base to tip, and Harry would groan as he sucked on Ron's collar bone, marking him. Ron would spin Harry around and reach between his legs massaging his balls, then trailing a finger along his perineum until he found his prize. He'd circle the puckered rosebud with the tip of his finger then press inward, breeching Harry's body as he softly kissed his neck.
Harry would arch his back, pressing against Ron's probing finger, showing him he wanted more. Ron would pump his finger in and out, brushing against Harry's prostate and making his legs tremble. Ron's fingers would disappear and Harry would feel the blunt head of Ron's cock pushing into him. Harry would bite down on his own forearm to keep from crying out at the burn, but loving every second, knowing the pleasure of being filled by Ron would be worth the momentary pain. Ron would set a torturous rhythm, thrusting slowly inward until his balls brushed against Harry's bum, and pulling out just as slowly until only the tip remained inside. He would reach around Harry and wrap his hand around Harry’s aching erection, matching the rhythm of his hips as he thrust in again.
Harry spread his legs, thrusting against his hand as he imagined Ron fucking him. When he came against the wall, he gasped Ron's name and sagged against the tile, letting the water wash away his spunk. Harry didn't hear Ron close the door as he backed silently out of the room. He didn't know Ron had seen him wanking or that Ron had heard him cry out his name.
Harry finished his shower, then quickly dried and dressed and headed for Ron's room. Ron was nowhere in sight, but it was still a little early. Harry hoped maybe he would get to sleep before Ron came to bed. Apparently he was more tired than he'd realized because he was sound asleep by the time his head hit the pillow.
The next day was Christmas Eve and the Burrow was in utter chaos. All manner of extra people began to arrive for the holiday and Molly was in a right state trying to be sure everyone had a comfortable place to sleep and more than enough to eat. Ron and Harry stayed busy all day helping with last minute decorations and various kitchen chores. Harry, having had a good night's sleep at last, was feeling more cheerful than he had in days. Molly had really outdone herself for dinner and Harry was quite full as he sat in the parlour, laughing as the twins pulled faces at the sound of Celestina Warbeck and her "cauldron full of hot, strong love" coming from the wireless.
Arthur looked at him apologetically, jerking his head toward the wireless and said "Be over soon." Harry grinned and asked if things had been busy at the Ministry. It was the first chance he'd had to talk to Mr. Weasley, and Harry wanted to tell him about Malfoy. He told him everything he'd heard between Malfoy and Snape, and he wasn't surprised when Lupin joined into the conversation. Both men reacted as Harry expected, suggesting that Snape was merely playing his part, trying to convince Malfoy he wanted to help in order to find out what he was up to.
They talked awhile longer, and when Fleur started imitating Celestina's singing, Harry and Ron excused themselves to go up to bed. Ron fell asleep almost immediately, but Harry sat up thinking over his conversation with Mr. Weasley and Lupin, finally falling into an uneasy sleep.
"She's got to be joking ..."
Harry woke with a start and reached for his glasses. Ron was sitting bolt upright in bed examining what appeared to be a thick gold chain. When Harry asked what it was, Ron said "It's from Lavender." He sounded revolted, "She can't honestly think I'd wear ..."
Harry looked more closely at the chain, then began to laugh. Dangling from the chain in large gold letters were the words "My Sweetheart." Harry took the piss for a bit, but realised Ron really wasn't pleased, so he asked Ron if he'd ever said anything to make Lavender think he'd wear something like that in public.
"Well ... we really don't talk much," said Ron. "It's mainly ..."
"Snogging," said Harry, just a hint of the bitterness he felt evident in his voice.
"Yeah, well, if I'd known anyone else was interested, I'd never have hooked up with her," Ron said hesitantly ... hopefully.
Of course, Harry was completely clueless. "Oh," he said dejectedly. "So you've noticed Hermione is interested."
"No, you git!" Ron said softly. "I'm talking about you." He climbed onto Harry's bed, pushing him back into the mattress and causing Harry to squeak. Ron shifted his weight, fitting their bodies together so Harry would be sure to feel how hard Ron was. He whispered "Happy Christmas, Harry," and then he kissed him.