A Case of the Vapours - Harry Potter - Harry/Ron
Title: A Case of the Vapours
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Word Count: 905
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-con by way of sex potions.
A/N: Written for setos_puppy for the Five Acts Meme.
Summary: Ron spills a potion. The fumes go to their heads.
Ron's hands push past Harry's robes, up his jumper and onto his bare skin, with a scrape of fingernails as he passes over his navel. They groan, both of them, as if they've been waiting for this all of their lives.
"Ron," Harry pants, trying to think through the cloud. Ron is on top of him, pinning him down against the stone floor. His mouth moves as if he is trying to devour Harry without stopping for air, and his hands scramble against Harry's skin, touching everything that he can. "Ron, something's gone wrong. I think there's been a mistake."
But his brain feels clouded, and he can still smell the vapours of the spilt potion hanging in the air. With each breath, his skin burns more - his mind fogs, until all that he can think of is the need for Ron's touch, his hands, his mouth. Every movement makes small whimpers break from the back of his mouth. His glasses are knocked askew by Ron's harsh kiss, and when they get in the way too much Ron whips them away. They skid along the ground and out of sight; the world blurs before Harry's eyes.
Yet it doesn't matter, not one bit. Sight isn't important.
All that is important right now is the way that Ron has started to grind his hips. There are too many layers of clothes between them, separating them where it matters most, but Harry can't make them stop to undress. All he needs is for Ron to keep moving like that, their panting breath mingling together. Harry closes his eyes and blocks the blurry world out. He has Ron, his best friend, with him. The rest doesn't matter. The outside world can fade away.
He jerks and cries out when Ron's tongue presses against his forehead, a quick lick against his scar. "Wanted to do that for ages," Ron says, grinning in a way that blocks out the rest of the world. He does it again, his lips lingering this time, and if Harry was thinking more clearly he thinks that he would shove Ron off and tell him to knock it off. It's his scar, that lightning bolt of life-ruining destiny branded into his skin - but under Ron's attention, with Ron's wicked tongue, it's something more than that, something so much better. It makes him feel like he's on fire, burning in the best possible way.
Overcome, he grips hold of Ron and flips them over, wrestling in the way they had done when they were kids, when that was the only way to settle petty arguments. He pushes Ron onto his back and rests between his legs, getting leverage with his feet on the floor so that he can push upwards, clothed cock rubbing against Ron's groin. Ron makes a sound like a wounded lion and his nails dig into the nape of Harry's neck. He swears, over and over and over, as if Harry is causing him pain, as if he's ripping him apart inside and out, but when Harry tries to back off Ron threatens him with every spell he can think of. It makes Harry smile, buried against the pale skin of Ron's neck.
Ron's hands smooth across his shoulders and back as Harry grinds against him, but it isn't enough. There isn't enough contact for him, not with the spreading vapours sliding deep inside their lungs. He needs to feel Ron; he needs bare flesh and he needs Ron's hands on him.
Together, they manage to fight their way past oppressive trousers, their hands pushing downwards to wrap around each other's member's. Ron's tight grip is nearly enough to make Harry come on the spot - but not quite, damn it. Harry's eyes screw shut and the thumping of his heart plays loudly in his ears, overpowering everything else. "Harry, Harry, please," Ron pants, as their hands move frantically, jerking each other off through the thin slit in their trousers, moving at a speed that cramps his wrist and makes their blood flow hot.
Ron says his name, over and over, as if he doesn't believe that this is happening - Harry can't blame him. He doesn't believe it either. Yet the need in his chest is more than he can take, more than he could ever handle, and he wants to stay like this forever, always poised on the abyss, always at Ron's eager mercy. His breath shivers and Ron's hand tightens and the blackness takes over him, slamming the breath from his chest as he finally flies over the edge, his hips pushing forward as he spills over Ron's robes, white shoots of come splashing over them both. His hand moves on Ron for another few seconds, but it isn't long before he finishes too, rearing up with a cry as his orgasm hits.
Struggling to catch his breath, Harry squints in confusion, unable to see a thing without his lost glasses. "What just happened?" he asks Ron, rolling off of his body and onto his back.
At his side, Ron flusters a noise but doesn't give much of an answer. "A bit weird, wasn't it?" he says.
'Weird' doesn't cover it. Harry can still feel the ghost of Ron's tongue against his forehead.
They flop against the floor and the sweat begins to cool as they take deep, calming breaths - the vapour in the air soaking into their lungs once more, ready to start everything from the top.
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Word Count: 905
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-con by way of sex potions.
A/N: Written for setos_puppy for the Five Acts Meme.
Summary: Ron spills a potion. The fumes go to their heads.
Ron's hands push past Harry's robes, up his jumper and onto his bare skin, with a scrape of fingernails as he passes over his navel. They groan, both of them, as if they've been waiting for this all of their lives.
"Ron," Harry pants, trying to think through the cloud. Ron is on top of him, pinning him down against the stone floor. His mouth moves as if he is trying to devour Harry without stopping for air, and his hands scramble against Harry's skin, touching everything that he can. "Ron, something's gone wrong. I think there's been a mistake."
But his brain feels clouded, and he can still smell the vapours of the spilt potion hanging in the air. With each breath, his skin burns more - his mind fogs, until all that he can think of is the need for Ron's touch, his hands, his mouth. Every movement makes small whimpers break from the back of his mouth. His glasses are knocked askew by Ron's harsh kiss, and when they get in the way too much Ron whips them away. They skid along the ground and out of sight; the world blurs before Harry's eyes.
Yet it doesn't matter, not one bit. Sight isn't important.
All that is important right now is the way that Ron has started to grind his hips. There are too many layers of clothes between them, separating them where it matters most, but Harry can't make them stop to undress. All he needs is for Ron to keep moving like that, their panting breath mingling together. Harry closes his eyes and blocks the blurry world out. He has Ron, his best friend, with him. The rest doesn't matter. The outside world can fade away.
He jerks and cries out when Ron's tongue presses against his forehead, a quick lick against his scar. "Wanted to do that for ages," Ron says, grinning in a way that blocks out the rest of the world. He does it again, his lips lingering this time, and if Harry was thinking more clearly he thinks that he would shove Ron off and tell him to knock it off. It's his scar, that lightning bolt of life-ruining destiny branded into his skin - but under Ron's attention, with Ron's wicked tongue, it's something more than that, something so much better. It makes him feel like he's on fire, burning in the best possible way.
Overcome, he grips hold of Ron and flips them over, wrestling in the way they had done when they were kids, when that was the only way to settle petty arguments. He pushes Ron onto his back and rests between his legs, getting leverage with his feet on the floor so that he can push upwards, clothed cock rubbing against Ron's groin. Ron makes a sound like a wounded lion and his nails dig into the nape of Harry's neck. He swears, over and over and over, as if Harry is causing him pain, as if he's ripping him apart inside and out, but when Harry tries to back off Ron threatens him with every spell he can think of. It makes Harry smile, buried against the pale skin of Ron's neck.
Ron's hands smooth across his shoulders and back as Harry grinds against him, but it isn't enough. There isn't enough contact for him, not with the spreading vapours sliding deep inside their lungs. He needs to feel Ron; he needs bare flesh and he needs Ron's hands on him.
Together, they manage to fight their way past oppressive trousers, their hands pushing downwards to wrap around each other's member's. Ron's tight grip is nearly enough to make Harry come on the spot - but not quite, damn it. Harry's eyes screw shut and the thumping of his heart plays loudly in his ears, overpowering everything else. "Harry, Harry, please," Ron pants, as their hands move frantically, jerking each other off through the thin slit in their trousers, moving at a speed that cramps his wrist and makes their blood flow hot.
Ron says his name, over and over, as if he doesn't believe that this is happening - Harry can't blame him. He doesn't believe it either. Yet the need in his chest is more than he can take, more than he could ever handle, and he wants to stay like this forever, always poised on the abyss, always at Ron's eager mercy. His breath shivers and Ron's hand tightens and the blackness takes over him, slamming the breath from his chest as he finally flies over the edge, his hips pushing forward as he spills over Ron's robes, white shoots of come splashing over them both. His hand moves on Ron for another few seconds, but it isn't long before he finishes too, rearing up with a cry as his orgasm hits.
Struggling to catch his breath, Harry squints in confusion, unable to see a thing without his lost glasses. "What just happened?" he asks Ron, rolling off of his body and onto his back.
At his side, Ron flusters a noise but doesn't give much of an answer. "A bit weird, wasn't it?" he says.
'Weird' doesn't cover it. Harry can still feel the ghost of Ron's tongue against his forehead.
They flop against the floor and the sweat begins to cool as they take deep, calming breaths - the vapour in the air soaking into their lungs once more, ready to start everything from the top.