Fic: The Not So Perfect Plan (Harry/Ron)
Title: The Not So Perfect Plan
Summary: Ron’s Perfect Plan to get Harry’s attention just doesn’t seem to be working.
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Harry/Ron. Reference to off-screen Hermione/Blaise and past Harry/Ginny & Ron/Hermione
Rating: Adult
Word Count 4835
Author Notes: Written for prompt #12 at hrholidays. Thanks to Heather for the beta and Tamlane for the cheerleading.
Ron has great hands. His fingers are long, the tips just rough enough to notice without being too coarse. His knuckles aren’t hairy or overly large. His palms are large enough to make a lot of people feel small, which seems to turn some of them on. There are even freckles on the back of his hands that he thinks make him unique now that he’s twenty-four and over the insecurities said freckles might have caused during one particularly bad summer when he’d been six and convinced (by Bill and Charlie, the evil wankers) that he was going to actually turn into a huge walking freckle one day.
So, yeah, he’s rather proud of his hands, and he’s had a few (well, more like three out of the five people he’s shagged) compliments on them. It’s only logical to start there when Harry confides to him and Hermione that he’s gay, and Ron finally sees an opportunity to go after the man he really wants. Well, it didn’t actually happen that easily, the decision to go for it. It was more like he got pissed and whinged at Hermione and Zabini about it for three nights straight.
Chances are he’d have kept getting pissed and whinging if said Evil Slytherin hadn’t finally threatened to do permanent damage to his nether regions right before Hermione started lecturing him with detailed notes about the chance of Harry feeling the same blah blah intellectual dragonshite. There had been arithmancy involved with percentages and a bunch of shite that just made his head hurt even more than listening to her. That just proved he’d been smart to get out of that particular relationship before they damaged their friendship because his eyes get dazed with boredom when she gets that way but her Evil Slytherin just gets turned on.
It’s weird but it works for them. Different strokes and all that. Ron’s an accepting bloke. He’s even been to Muggle places where people dress up in costumes and do odd reenactments like they’re barnyard animals. That’s not something Harry’s into, though, since he’s convinced cows are plotting to take over the world and that chickens are really demons trapped in feather form. Ron can’t really dispute either of those things, though he’s more suspicious of birds, especially canaries.
Which brings him back to being pissed at Hermione’s flat with her lecturing about just telling Harry how he feels. Like Ron’s bloody stupid enough to do something that ridiculous. Ha! He knows it’s going to take a subtle touch to get Harry to want him, so he devised his Perfect Plan. The Evil Slytherin had even agreed with him, which, in retrospect, might have been his first clue that his Perfect Plan isn’t so perfect at all. It had sounded perfect when Ron had been drinking too much firewhiskey, and it had even sounded good the next morning after he’d taken a sobering potion. It had seemed foolproof, but Ron hadn’t counted on Harry being so Harry about it all.
It had started with his hands. Like moving a pawn in a chess match, really. Begin with something you know you’ve got and then strategize once your opponent makes a move. In this particular case, his hands weren’t even given a second glance when he’d made sure to touch Harry more than necessary, finding reasons to draw attention to his hands, even making a mess when they had spaghetti one night so he could suck marinara sauce from his fingers. Harry had watched him, but it had been more a look of vague disgust than arousal. Unless Harry’s aroused face looks like he smelled hippogriff dung, in which case Ron’s not sure his feelings for Harry are that accepting, no matter how much he wants to shag him.
Once he determined Harry wasn’t into his hands at all, he decided to move higher. Ron’s got a thing about forearms, so he thought maybe Harry shared that kink. After all, there’s not much that’s better than a well-shaped wrist that leads to a developed forearm. Ron’s forearms are pretty bloody good, if he does say so himself. There’s ginger hair covering one side and more freckles, and his wrists aren’t dainty or delicate at all. They’re strong and masculine, much like the rest of him. His plan had involved wearing a lot of long sleeve shirts so he could deliberately roll them up while Harry was watching, drawing attention to his wrists and forearms while doing so.
It’s not a shared kink, obviously, because Harry just mentioned that he should buy some short sleeve business shirts for under his robes since he always seems warm in the long sleeve ones.
Not to be deterred, even when Hermione had given him an eyeroll and Evil Slytherin had snorted in amusement, Ron had just considered it another pawn sacrificed to the overall game. His next effort was focused on his biceps. All of his past lovers (five for five) had commented on his muscular biceps, and two of the five had loved rubbing his arms and squeezing them while getting fucked into the mattress. Ron’s pretty confident about his biceps, needless to say, and he knows he’s got a nice set of muscles because Charlie even praised him during Christmas two years ago when they discussed exercising and staying fit.
All Harry had said when Ron changed from long sleeve shirts to sleeveless shirts was that he shouldn’t be too warm now, so wasn’t that nice?
With three pawns gone, it had been time to make a better move. Ron took an informal survey of Ginny’s teammates on the Harpies to find out what body part they all found sexy. After discarding the numerous ‘big tits’ and ‘pouty lips’ answers, he’d been left with a few options. The one most likely not to get him arrested for displaying in public had been his chest, which benefited from his working out routines. The boxing he did every couple of weeks with Harry’s odd Muggle cousin in an effort to help Harry welcome the daft bloke into his life probably helped, too.
Ron supported the concept of strong family, of course, and he could make an effort if it made Harry happy, so he met with Muggle Cousin every little bit for a few rounds in the boxing ring. That probably helped his biceps more than the little bit of training he did with the auror fitness trainer, now that he thinks about it, but he won’t tell Charlie because his brother is already too big and brawny from working with dragons. Besides, Ron likes having the boxing thing to himself. He’s not even sure if Harry realizes he still meets Muggle Cousin every little bit because it’s never come up. Muggle Aunt and Muggle Uncle are lost causes, pretty much, but Harry’s happiness at developing a relationship with Muggle Cousin despite their past is commendable.
Ron snorts and takes another drink of firewhiskey when he realizes he’s mentally drifted again. He’s supposed to be thinking about his past actions and trying to figure out where to go next, after all. Evil Slytherin had barged into his office earlier and told him he needed to get his shite together because apparently there’s some kind of kinky bet between him and Hermione regarding Ron’s pathetic love life, and Evil Slytherin had actually stupidly chosen to back him. He’d been given a bottle of extremely expensive firewhiskey and strict instructions to figure out how to fix this before Hermione got to gloat about being right in the first place.
Since he’s been on the receiving end of Hermione Gloat more times than he cares to admit and Evil Slytherin isn’t actually that evil (how could he be if he tolerates Hermione at her worst?) well, Ron’s decided to take the advice even though it came from a Slytherin. He’s just glad she’s shagging someone who makes her happy, even if her Slytherin is a stuck up prat with excellent cheekbones and forearms that Ron’s got to admit (only to himself because he’d let a centaur shag him before he’d ever tell Hermione or, Merlin forbid, Zabini!) are wank-worthy. Harry’s got great forearms, too. His wrists are strong but more delicate than not, and there’s just enough dark hair on his arms that Ron has to resist the urge to reach over and stroke them sometimes. And that brings him back to Harry and his Perfect Plan.
Harry hadn’t cared about his chest, either.
His first move outside of his pawns had been arranging to ‘accidentally’ rip his shirt at work, so he’d be able to take it off and flex some. He’d stopped wearing a shirt at home, showing off his developed pectoral muscles and fit abdomen until there were was no way Harry hadn’t noticed. He’d even shown off his back, just in case that’s what did it for his best mate, but still nothing. Harry just told Kreacher to make sure the heat was working properly because Ron was uncomfortable and too hot. Another win for Harry, and Ron lost his bishop with that move.
It had also led to Hermione again telling him to just tell Harry and starting another lecture before Ron cut her off and said it just meant Harry was obviously into the lower half of a body and not the top half.
It definitely isn’t easy figuring out casual ways to walk around showing off legs.
Ron’s rather proud of himself for figuring out that the best way to make his next move would be to just not put on pajama pants in the morning. He’d gone to breakfast wearing a pair of boxers, making sure to arrive at the table before Harry for once so he could have his legs propped up on another chair so they could be shown off. His legs aren’t as interesting as his arms, but they’re muscular enough to interest anyone who has a thing for legs. Maybe a little too hairy?
Ron scowls down at them as if he can see them through the thin cotton of his ratty pajama bottoms and he scratches his calf. He easily remembers the way Harry’d just blinked before making a joke about taking him to St. Mungos because he must be running fever or maybe developing an allergy to fabric. When Ron’d just glared at him, unable to not react when the man he’s trying to seduce is laughing at him, Harry’d looked guilty then asked him if he needed a blanket because he was worried about him catching a chill.
It had been an off morning, so Ron considered it a bad move but not necessarily a loss of his rook, so he’d tried again. Maybe not legs so much as a nice arse, and Ron had a really fit one to show off.
It had been a fight with Kreacher in order to do his own laundry, but he’d managed to win that battle with a promised batch of extra dirty auror robes for the blasted house elf to fawn over (Kreacher liked getting the gunk out of those from messier days at work for some unknown and mental reason that Ron felt was probably due to house elf craziness). Harry had been fascinated when he saw Ron with his basket of clothes, and it had been easy enough to spout off some nonsense about sharing the workload that Harry had assumed with a laugh was due to a lost wager with Hermione. Ron let him think that as he sorted his clothes and tried to remember how to actually do laundry charms while he ‘accidentally’ spilled pumpkin juice on his denims.
Since he just happened to be doing laundry anyway, Ron had pushed his denims off, showing off his new tight briefs that left little to the imagination. He’d probably blushed because the blasted things were ridiculously tight, but Ginny had chosen them when he’d mentioned trying to seduce someone. He hadn’t even needed to have the embarrassing conversation regarding his efforts to get her ex-boyfriend to become his now-boyfriend because she’d just smiled coyly and said Harry’s name in a teasing way that let him know she was okay with it. Of course, the briefs she’d chosen might have been her way of getting revenge because they weren’t at all comfortable and they made his cock look bloody huge because it was all squashed up to avoid it sneaking out the leg hole.
The underpants did make his arse look amazing, though, so he figured it was worth the sacrifice of comfort.
Of course, Harry had noticed the briefs because Ron’s never worn underpants like that before. Instead of being aroused by his tight arse or large cock, Harry had just frowned and asked him when he’d bought new underpants. Without giving Ron a chance to answer, he’d then said they must have been chosen by some woman because they were too tight and couldn’t be comfortable at all with his bits being smooshed. Ron had wanted Harry in awe of his cock size, if that’s what got him off, and instead he’d had to listen to Harry rant about underpants that smooshed bits. Then he’d had to try to get Harry to stop believing Ron’s got some new bird he doesn’t know about who is picking out underpants for him. Ron had finally managed to admit that Ginny had given them to him as a gift, which stopped Harry’s rant, and they’d had a laugh about it.
Needless to say, he’d lost his rook and a knight with that failed effort.
Last night had been his big move. His king had been put into play, and he’d set it up so beautifully. Harry wasn’t into arms, chests, legs, arses, cocks, or any other body part Ron’s tried showing off, so he’d given it a lot of thought and come up with the best final play strategy. Harry liked wet blokes. Ron knew this because he’d caught Harry watching some Muggle film about men showering together that had given him a stiffy, so it was obviously one of his kinks. That meant Ron had to shower and let Harry watch so maybe he’d associate Ron showering with those kinky thoughts about the Muggle blokes. Then he could realize Ron was ready, willing, and able to do whatever he wanted for a chance at making him his. Sex would be a priority, of course, because Ron’s spent the last month on this chess game with Harry, but he wanted so much more than sex.
It had been going perfect until the shower messed up, and Ron had ended up having to run a bath instead. And he couldn’t take a bath without using the bubbles because, well, he might be twenty-four but a part of him was still a five year old who liked bubbles in the bath, damn it. So when Harry came in to what he thought was an empty bathroom, he found Ron in the tub with bubbles instead of showering in a sexy way that made him think about sex. Harry had laughed at the bubbles, gone over to the toilet and pissed, washed his hands then ruffled Ron’s hair like he was a five year old before leaving the room.
That had been the loss of his king, and it’s why he’d sent Hermione an owl this morning saying he was through with it. It’s obvious Harry doesn’t think of him that way, so Ron needs to get over it before he does something stupid that really fucks with their friendship. She’d obviously shared his note with Evil Slytherin, which is why Ron’s got the expensive firewhiskey now. It’s good, too. Posher than any he’s ever had, and old in the way that supposedly makes alcohol taste better. He’s only had one glass because it’s too high quality to waste. Besides, he’s been given the task of fixing things, so he needs a clear head. He’s thought back over the past month, relived every humiliating experience, and he’s come to the same conclusion that he had this morning: Harry isn’t interested in him that way.
It’s time to call it checkmate and be done with it.
In the grand scheme of things, it’s worth losing his queen and keeping his best friend. Sure, it’s utter bollocks to have feelings for someone who doesn’t return them, but he isn’t the first and he won’t be the last miserable bastard in the world to have to deal with it. He’s just glad he didn’t listen to Hermione and her foolish talk about being honest and admitting how he feels because that would have definitely buggered everything up between him and Harry. It’s going to be wretched having to deal with her and Ginny’s pity and Evil Slytherin’s sneaky revenge for the lost wager, but it won’t be as bad as other things he’s dealt with, so there’s that, at least.
“Is that my shirt?”
Ron stops scowling at his glass of firewhiskey and looks up to see Harry standing in the doorway. He’s wearing his work robes, hair disheveled, spectacles hanging off the tip of his nose. He looks bloody exhausted but Ron still feels his heart flip flop and his guts twist as he looks at him. Glancing down, he tugs on the sleeve of the shirt he’d pulled on after work. It’s some Muggle football team on the front, which means it’s definitely not his shirt. Muggle Cousin has forced him to go to the pub for a pint a few times after a boxing match, and he’s seen them play on the telly and finds it so boring. Maybe if they could fly and had to use broomsticks it would be more interesting.
“Looks like it, mate,” he says, shrugging a shoulder. No wonder it had been tight when he’d pulled it on. “Must have got mixed up with my laundry.”
“You’re going to stretch it out,” Harry mutters, pushing his spectacles up and staring at Ron’s shoulders. “The fabric’s already damaged. Look at that. Your arms are bloody huge now.” Harry’s poking at his biceps, scowling as he rubs his fingers against his shirt.
“Stop your whinging, Harry. I’ll buy you another one. Merlin, it’s just a shirt.” Ron is annoyed that he’s sitting here having a pity party of one to mourn his broken heart yet Harry’s so focused on his stupid shirt that he doesn’t even realize what he’s done to Ron.
“It’s my shirt,” Harry snaps, squeezing Ron’s shoulder tightly. His eyes are beautiful, and Ron’s momentarily distracted by just how green they are as he stares up at him. “And those pajamas are bloody ancient. You can practically see through them, they’ve been washed so many times. You should have told Ginny to buy you a new pair of those instead of those tight underpants.”
“I don’t know what crawled up your arse and died, but you don’t need to take it out on me.” Ron decides fuck it and reaches for the bottle, ready for a second glass because he’s not in the mood for Harry’s shite right now.
“Where’d you get that?” Harry reaches for the bottle before Ron can get it. “This is from 1898, Ron. I know you wouldn’t waste that many galleons on it. Where’d you get it? Did someone give it to you?”
“Evil Slytherin gave it to me,” Ron says, reaching up to snatch it away. When he sees Harry’s suspicious look, he smirks. “He’s trying to convince me to join him and Hermione, obviously, and he figures this is a surefire way to get a chance at fucking my arse.”
Harry narrows his eyes. “Hermione knows you’re only into birds, and Zabini’s not stupid enough to think he could seduce you into trying a bloke with a bottle of firewhiskey, no matter how expensive.”
“What?” Ron stops smirking and blinks at Harry. “Did something happen today in Brighton? Are you alright? Did Morrow curse you or something?”
“Nothing happened. We caught Morrow easily enough once we located him.” Harry drops his gaze and stares at Ron’s arms. “My shirt’s going to be ruined,” he mutters, watching the way the fabric stretches around Ron’s bicep when he raises his arm.
“Then why are you talking nonsense about me only being into birds?” Ron runs his fingers through his hair. “You know I’m into blokes, too. I told you that after Hermione and I broke up. Remember? I said I’d figured out I liked an open buffet instead of just one course.”
“You were talking about sex?” Harry gapes at him. “I thought you were just hungry!”
“Bloody hell. You’re in charge of the aurors, Harry. You can’t be that sodding stupid.”
“You should have just told me instead of using some comparison that doesn’t even make sense,” Harry tells him. “You could have mentioned it last month when I told you and Hermione that I’m gay, in fact. It would have been really easy to mention it then.”
“Well, I was a bit surprised, wasn’t I? You’d only been dating my sister for a billion years, or so we all thought since neither of you bothered to mention that it wasn’t dating for the past two years.” Ron scowls. “You didn’t trust us enough to be honest with us when you first realized, so excuse the fuck out of me for taking time to absorb it all and get over the fact that my best mate was lying to me for years.”
“You’ve been wanting to tell me that all month, haven’t you?” Harry glares. “I knew it! I knew you were angry, but you just shrugged and laughed and said something about…oh. That’s what you meant about welcome to the club, wasn’t it?”
“I wasn’t upset about you liking blokes, Harry. I was upset that you didn’t trust me enough to let me help you during all that identity crisis shite,” Ron mutters. “I’d been through my own bout of it, without sharing, so I know what it’s like. Didn’t like thinking about you dealing with that on your own without me.”
Harry sits on the table, his arse knocking the latest issue of Quidditch Monthly to the floor. He stares at Ron without blinking, just quiet and intense. “I think I need to go to the ophthalmologist and get a new prescription for my spectacles because I’m bloody well blind.”
“Yeah? Well, you can get some of those frames like Boot’s got because they’re sexy as---“ The rest of his comment is muffled by Harry’s mouth which is suddenly pressing against his. Ron is too surprised to do anything, and he knows his eyes must be huge when Harry pulls back. Not checkmate after all but only check, and it’s Ron’s move now. Before Harry can say anything, Ron leans in and kisses him, licking at his lips and gripping the back of his neck as he deepens the kiss.
Harry makes a noise that causes Ron’s cock to twitch, and he does that thing with his tongue again to get another noise. Harry’s not much shorter than Ron, but it’s still easy to reach over and pick him up, pulling him onto Ron’s lap as they keep kissing. Normally, kissing isn’t something he does much, not since his relationship with Hermione ended years ago, but he loves kissing Harry. It’s so good, the licking and nipping and sucking, lips and tongues stroking and sliding across each other. He’s getting hard from it, or maybe it’s because it’s Harry he’s kissing, finally, after so many years of wanting someone he didn’t think he could ever have.
When Harry shifts on his lap, pressing more intently into him, Ron realizes he’s not the only one getting hard from this. He sucks on Harry’s tongue as he moves his hands off his hips and fumbles with opening the auror robes Harry’s wearing. Once they’re finally out of the way, he changes position slightly, both of them moving until they’re able to grind against each other as they kiss. The friction is nice, as is the feel of Harry’s hands shoving his shirt up and stroking his chest, the thumb rubbing against his nipples turning him on more than he expects. Not to be outdone, Ron shoves Harry’s shirt up. They stop kissing long enough to get their shirts off, staring at each other as they pant, lips swollen and eyes dazed, then they’re kissing again, hands stroking and touching everywhere they can reach.
He isn’t sure which of them moves their hands lower first. Doesn’t really matter. Not when he’s got Harry’s fingers wrapped around his cock, and he’s got a thick shaft pulsing against his own palm. It’s awkward, requires a bit of movement and angling, but they’re soon stroking each other’s cocks as they kiss. He’s moving his hips, bucking up slightly, making appreciative noises against Harry’s mouth when the grip and speed are what he likes most. He’s wanking Harry the way he likes to be wanked, having to slow down slightly when Harry bites at his lips in warning, rubbing his thumb over the wet head, getting the right hold and adjusting his strokes until Harry’s bucking up against him.
Neither of them lasts very long. Harry comes first, warm come spurting out onto Ron’s hand and their stomachs. When he feels a spurt hit his cock, that’s all it takes before he’s grunting and coming, too. They finally stop kissing, both of them breathing hard, Harry resting his damp forehead against Ron’s shoulder as Ron nuzzles his neck. He feels so good right now, not even caring that he’s sweaty and got come on his abdomen and chest even if it’s sticky and kind of gross when it’s dry. He moves his hands down Harry’s arms, lightly holding his wrists as they try to catch their breath.
Unfortunately, they do manage to stop panting soon enough. That’s when Harry tugs his arm out of Ron’s grip and punches his shoulder hard.
“You’re an arsehole,” Harry says firmly, leaning back to look at him. “Do you have any idea the hell you’ve put me through the last few weeks? Parading around half naked, showing off your body, giving me these looks that have had me wanking so much that I’ve probably sprained my wrist, and the guilt. Merlin. The guilt because I knew I shouldn’t but I couldn’t help it and all this time you’ve known I was gay and were doing it deliberately. Weren’t you? Was all this just a game or do you mean it?”
“I certainly wasn’t trying to get Kreacher turned on enough to shag me, now was I?” Ron snorts, licking his lips and staring at Harry. He can see vulnerability there, and he knows he has to be serious right now or risk ruining it all. “Of course I mean it, you daft wanker.” He licks his lips before he slowly smiles. “So, wait, you actually noticed? Because, mate, if you did, let me just write a note to Shacklebolt praising your acting skills because I had no idea. I was starting to wonder if I was really as fit as I thought.”
“You are,” Harry admits. “You’re fucking amazing, Ron, and you’re also a damn fool. Why didn’t you just tell me? How did you think I was supposed to know that you prancing around naked meant you wanted me to notice you in a shagging and boyfriend kind of way? You know I’m not good at noticing that shite.”
Ron groans. “Do not ever tell Hermione that I should have just told you because she’ll gloat for ages. If she asks, you have to tell her I seduced you with my amazing biceps and tight arse. It is a boyfriend kind of way, you know? Not just a one off.” He figures it’s better to be blunt about that since his sneaky scheming didn’t work too well, and he doesn’t want another month of hell because Harry’s too blood oblivious to figure out what he wants when he doesn’t say it. His strategy might not have won him the game, but he got Harry in the end, so it doesn’t really matter anyway.
“I know. Same here. Even if you’re an arsehole who obviously discussed all this with Hermione and didn’t even listen to her despite the fact she’s a bloody genius.” Harry shakes his head, kissing Ron lightly. “Actually, if we’re being totally honest, it’s seeing you in my shirt that did it.” Harry shrugs a shoulder and smiles wryly. “I just couldn’t control it anymore when I saw you wearing it. Felt possessive and desperate to have you, angry that you weren’t mine.”
“Sounds like you’re the bloody fool, Harry. Not me.” Ron smiles sheepishly as he pulls him closer, ghosting his lips over Harry’s. “I reckon I’ve always been yours.”
End
Summary: Ron’s Perfect Plan to get Harry’s attention just doesn’t seem to be working.
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Harry/Ron. Reference to off-screen Hermione/Blaise and past Harry/Ginny & Ron/Hermione
Rating: Adult
Word Count 4835
Author Notes: Written for prompt #12 at hrholidays. Thanks to Heather for the beta and Tamlane for the cheerleading.
Ron has great hands. His fingers are long, the tips just rough enough to notice without being too coarse. His knuckles aren’t hairy or overly large. His palms are large enough to make a lot of people feel small, which seems to turn some of them on. There are even freckles on the back of his hands that he thinks make him unique now that he’s twenty-four and over the insecurities said freckles might have caused during one particularly bad summer when he’d been six and convinced (by Bill and Charlie, the evil wankers) that he was going to actually turn into a huge walking freckle one day.
So, yeah, he’s rather proud of his hands, and he’s had a few (well, more like three out of the five people he’s shagged) compliments on them. It’s only logical to start there when Harry confides to him and Hermione that he’s gay, and Ron finally sees an opportunity to go after the man he really wants. Well, it didn’t actually happen that easily, the decision to go for it. It was more like he got pissed and whinged at Hermione and Zabini about it for three nights straight.
Chances are he’d have kept getting pissed and whinging if said Evil Slytherin hadn’t finally threatened to do permanent damage to his nether regions right before Hermione started lecturing him with detailed notes about the chance of Harry feeling the same blah blah intellectual dragonshite. There had been arithmancy involved with percentages and a bunch of shite that just made his head hurt even more than listening to her. That just proved he’d been smart to get out of that particular relationship before they damaged their friendship because his eyes get dazed with boredom when she gets that way but her Evil Slytherin just gets turned on.
It’s weird but it works for them. Different strokes and all that. Ron’s an accepting bloke. He’s even been to Muggle places where people dress up in costumes and do odd reenactments like they’re barnyard animals. That’s not something Harry’s into, though, since he’s convinced cows are plotting to take over the world and that chickens are really demons trapped in feather form. Ron can’t really dispute either of those things, though he’s more suspicious of birds, especially canaries.
Which brings him back to being pissed at Hermione’s flat with her lecturing about just telling Harry how he feels. Like Ron’s bloody stupid enough to do something that ridiculous. Ha! He knows it’s going to take a subtle touch to get Harry to want him, so he devised his Perfect Plan. The Evil Slytherin had even agreed with him, which, in retrospect, might have been his first clue that his Perfect Plan isn’t so perfect at all. It had sounded perfect when Ron had been drinking too much firewhiskey, and it had even sounded good the next morning after he’d taken a sobering potion. It had seemed foolproof, but Ron hadn’t counted on Harry being so Harry about it all.
It had started with his hands. Like moving a pawn in a chess match, really. Begin with something you know you’ve got and then strategize once your opponent makes a move. In this particular case, his hands weren’t even given a second glance when he’d made sure to touch Harry more than necessary, finding reasons to draw attention to his hands, even making a mess when they had spaghetti one night so he could suck marinara sauce from his fingers. Harry had watched him, but it had been more a look of vague disgust than arousal. Unless Harry’s aroused face looks like he smelled hippogriff dung, in which case Ron’s not sure his feelings for Harry are that accepting, no matter how much he wants to shag him.
Once he determined Harry wasn’t into his hands at all, he decided to move higher. Ron’s got a thing about forearms, so he thought maybe Harry shared that kink. After all, there’s not much that’s better than a well-shaped wrist that leads to a developed forearm. Ron’s forearms are pretty bloody good, if he does say so himself. There’s ginger hair covering one side and more freckles, and his wrists aren’t dainty or delicate at all. They’re strong and masculine, much like the rest of him. His plan had involved wearing a lot of long sleeve shirts so he could deliberately roll them up while Harry was watching, drawing attention to his wrists and forearms while doing so.
It’s not a shared kink, obviously, because Harry just mentioned that he should buy some short sleeve business shirts for under his robes since he always seems warm in the long sleeve ones.
Not to be deterred, even when Hermione had given him an eyeroll and Evil Slytherin had snorted in amusement, Ron had just considered it another pawn sacrificed to the overall game. His next effort was focused on his biceps. All of his past lovers (five for five) had commented on his muscular biceps, and two of the five had loved rubbing his arms and squeezing them while getting fucked into the mattress. Ron’s pretty confident about his biceps, needless to say, and he knows he’s got a nice set of muscles because Charlie even praised him during Christmas two years ago when they discussed exercising and staying fit.
All Harry had said when Ron changed from long sleeve shirts to sleeveless shirts was that he shouldn’t be too warm now, so wasn’t that nice?
With three pawns gone, it had been time to make a better move. Ron took an informal survey of Ginny’s teammates on the Harpies to find out what body part they all found sexy. After discarding the numerous ‘big tits’ and ‘pouty lips’ answers, he’d been left with a few options. The one most likely not to get him arrested for displaying in public had been his chest, which benefited from his working out routines. The boxing he did every couple of weeks with Harry’s odd Muggle cousin in an effort to help Harry welcome the daft bloke into his life probably helped, too.
Ron supported the concept of strong family, of course, and he could make an effort if it made Harry happy, so he met with Muggle Cousin every little bit for a few rounds in the boxing ring. That probably helped his biceps more than the little bit of training he did with the auror fitness trainer, now that he thinks about it, but he won’t tell Charlie because his brother is already too big and brawny from working with dragons. Besides, Ron likes having the boxing thing to himself. He’s not even sure if Harry realizes he still meets Muggle Cousin every little bit because it’s never come up. Muggle Aunt and Muggle Uncle are lost causes, pretty much, but Harry’s happiness at developing a relationship with Muggle Cousin despite their past is commendable.
Ron snorts and takes another drink of firewhiskey when he realizes he’s mentally drifted again. He’s supposed to be thinking about his past actions and trying to figure out where to go next, after all. Evil Slytherin had barged into his office earlier and told him he needed to get his shite together because apparently there’s some kind of kinky bet between him and Hermione regarding Ron’s pathetic love life, and Evil Slytherin had actually stupidly chosen to back him. He’d been given a bottle of extremely expensive firewhiskey and strict instructions to figure out how to fix this before Hermione got to gloat about being right in the first place.
Since he’s been on the receiving end of Hermione Gloat more times than he cares to admit and Evil Slytherin isn’t actually that evil (how could he be if he tolerates Hermione at her worst?) well, Ron’s decided to take the advice even though it came from a Slytherin. He’s just glad she’s shagging someone who makes her happy, even if her Slytherin is a stuck up prat with excellent cheekbones and forearms that Ron’s got to admit (only to himself because he’d let a centaur shag him before he’d ever tell Hermione or, Merlin forbid, Zabini!) are wank-worthy. Harry’s got great forearms, too. His wrists are strong but more delicate than not, and there’s just enough dark hair on his arms that Ron has to resist the urge to reach over and stroke them sometimes. And that brings him back to Harry and his Perfect Plan.
Harry hadn’t cared about his chest, either.
His first move outside of his pawns had been arranging to ‘accidentally’ rip his shirt at work, so he’d be able to take it off and flex some. He’d stopped wearing a shirt at home, showing off his developed pectoral muscles and fit abdomen until there were was no way Harry hadn’t noticed. He’d even shown off his back, just in case that’s what did it for his best mate, but still nothing. Harry just told Kreacher to make sure the heat was working properly because Ron was uncomfortable and too hot. Another win for Harry, and Ron lost his bishop with that move.
It had also led to Hermione again telling him to just tell Harry and starting another lecture before Ron cut her off and said it just meant Harry was obviously into the lower half of a body and not the top half.
It definitely isn’t easy figuring out casual ways to walk around showing off legs.
Ron’s rather proud of himself for figuring out that the best way to make his next move would be to just not put on pajama pants in the morning. He’d gone to breakfast wearing a pair of boxers, making sure to arrive at the table before Harry for once so he could have his legs propped up on another chair so they could be shown off. His legs aren’t as interesting as his arms, but they’re muscular enough to interest anyone who has a thing for legs. Maybe a little too hairy?
Ron scowls down at them as if he can see them through the thin cotton of his ratty pajama bottoms and he scratches his calf. He easily remembers the way Harry’d just blinked before making a joke about taking him to St. Mungos because he must be running fever or maybe developing an allergy to fabric. When Ron’d just glared at him, unable to not react when the man he’s trying to seduce is laughing at him, Harry’d looked guilty then asked him if he needed a blanket because he was worried about him catching a chill.
It had been an off morning, so Ron considered it a bad move but not necessarily a loss of his rook, so he’d tried again. Maybe not legs so much as a nice arse, and Ron had a really fit one to show off.
It had been a fight with Kreacher in order to do his own laundry, but he’d managed to win that battle with a promised batch of extra dirty auror robes for the blasted house elf to fawn over (Kreacher liked getting the gunk out of those from messier days at work for some unknown and mental reason that Ron felt was probably due to house elf craziness). Harry had been fascinated when he saw Ron with his basket of clothes, and it had been easy enough to spout off some nonsense about sharing the workload that Harry had assumed with a laugh was due to a lost wager with Hermione. Ron let him think that as he sorted his clothes and tried to remember how to actually do laundry charms while he ‘accidentally’ spilled pumpkin juice on his denims.
Since he just happened to be doing laundry anyway, Ron had pushed his denims off, showing off his new tight briefs that left little to the imagination. He’d probably blushed because the blasted things were ridiculously tight, but Ginny had chosen them when he’d mentioned trying to seduce someone. He hadn’t even needed to have the embarrassing conversation regarding his efforts to get her ex-boyfriend to become his now-boyfriend because she’d just smiled coyly and said Harry’s name in a teasing way that let him know she was okay with it. Of course, the briefs she’d chosen might have been her way of getting revenge because they weren’t at all comfortable and they made his cock look bloody huge because it was all squashed up to avoid it sneaking out the leg hole.
The underpants did make his arse look amazing, though, so he figured it was worth the sacrifice of comfort.
Of course, Harry had noticed the briefs because Ron’s never worn underpants like that before. Instead of being aroused by his tight arse or large cock, Harry had just frowned and asked him when he’d bought new underpants. Without giving Ron a chance to answer, he’d then said they must have been chosen by some woman because they were too tight and couldn’t be comfortable at all with his bits being smooshed. Ron had wanted Harry in awe of his cock size, if that’s what got him off, and instead he’d had to listen to Harry rant about underpants that smooshed bits. Then he’d had to try to get Harry to stop believing Ron’s got some new bird he doesn’t know about who is picking out underpants for him. Ron had finally managed to admit that Ginny had given them to him as a gift, which stopped Harry’s rant, and they’d had a laugh about it.
Needless to say, he’d lost his rook and a knight with that failed effort.
Last night had been his big move. His king had been put into play, and he’d set it up so beautifully. Harry wasn’t into arms, chests, legs, arses, cocks, or any other body part Ron’s tried showing off, so he’d given it a lot of thought and come up with the best final play strategy. Harry liked wet blokes. Ron knew this because he’d caught Harry watching some Muggle film about men showering together that had given him a stiffy, so it was obviously one of his kinks. That meant Ron had to shower and let Harry watch so maybe he’d associate Ron showering with those kinky thoughts about the Muggle blokes. Then he could realize Ron was ready, willing, and able to do whatever he wanted for a chance at making him his. Sex would be a priority, of course, because Ron’s spent the last month on this chess game with Harry, but he wanted so much more than sex.
It had been going perfect until the shower messed up, and Ron had ended up having to run a bath instead. And he couldn’t take a bath without using the bubbles because, well, he might be twenty-four but a part of him was still a five year old who liked bubbles in the bath, damn it. So when Harry came in to what he thought was an empty bathroom, he found Ron in the tub with bubbles instead of showering in a sexy way that made him think about sex. Harry had laughed at the bubbles, gone over to the toilet and pissed, washed his hands then ruffled Ron’s hair like he was a five year old before leaving the room.
That had been the loss of his king, and it’s why he’d sent Hermione an owl this morning saying he was through with it. It’s obvious Harry doesn’t think of him that way, so Ron needs to get over it before he does something stupid that really fucks with their friendship. She’d obviously shared his note with Evil Slytherin, which is why Ron’s got the expensive firewhiskey now. It’s good, too. Posher than any he’s ever had, and old in the way that supposedly makes alcohol taste better. He’s only had one glass because it’s too high quality to waste. Besides, he’s been given the task of fixing things, so he needs a clear head. He’s thought back over the past month, relived every humiliating experience, and he’s come to the same conclusion that he had this morning: Harry isn’t interested in him that way.
It’s time to call it checkmate and be done with it.
In the grand scheme of things, it’s worth losing his queen and keeping his best friend. Sure, it’s utter bollocks to have feelings for someone who doesn’t return them, but he isn’t the first and he won’t be the last miserable bastard in the world to have to deal with it. He’s just glad he didn’t listen to Hermione and her foolish talk about being honest and admitting how he feels because that would have definitely buggered everything up between him and Harry. It’s going to be wretched having to deal with her and Ginny’s pity and Evil Slytherin’s sneaky revenge for the lost wager, but it won’t be as bad as other things he’s dealt with, so there’s that, at least.
“Is that my shirt?”
Ron stops scowling at his glass of firewhiskey and looks up to see Harry standing in the doorway. He’s wearing his work robes, hair disheveled, spectacles hanging off the tip of his nose. He looks bloody exhausted but Ron still feels his heart flip flop and his guts twist as he looks at him. Glancing down, he tugs on the sleeve of the shirt he’d pulled on after work. It’s some Muggle football team on the front, which means it’s definitely not his shirt. Muggle Cousin has forced him to go to the pub for a pint a few times after a boxing match, and he’s seen them play on the telly and finds it so boring. Maybe if they could fly and had to use broomsticks it would be more interesting.
“Looks like it, mate,” he says, shrugging a shoulder. No wonder it had been tight when he’d pulled it on. “Must have got mixed up with my laundry.”
“You’re going to stretch it out,” Harry mutters, pushing his spectacles up and staring at Ron’s shoulders. “The fabric’s already damaged. Look at that. Your arms are bloody huge now.” Harry’s poking at his biceps, scowling as he rubs his fingers against his shirt.
“Stop your whinging, Harry. I’ll buy you another one. Merlin, it’s just a shirt.” Ron is annoyed that he’s sitting here having a pity party of one to mourn his broken heart yet Harry’s so focused on his stupid shirt that he doesn’t even realize what he’s done to Ron.
“It’s my shirt,” Harry snaps, squeezing Ron’s shoulder tightly. His eyes are beautiful, and Ron’s momentarily distracted by just how green they are as he stares up at him. “And those pajamas are bloody ancient. You can practically see through them, they’ve been washed so many times. You should have told Ginny to buy you a new pair of those instead of those tight underpants.”
“I don’t know what crawled up your arse and died, but you don’t need to take it out on me.” Ron decides fuck it and reaches for the bottle, ready for a second glass because he’s not in the mood for Harry’s shite right now.
“Where’d you get that?” Harry reaches for the bottle before Ron can get it. “This is from 1898, Ron. I know you wouldn’t waste that many galleons on it. Where’d you get it? Did someone give it to you?”
“Evil Slytherin gave it to me,” Ron says, reaching up to snatch it away. When he sees Harry’s suspicious look, he smirks. “He’s trying to convince me to join him and Hermione, obviously, and he figures this is a surefire way to get a chance at fucking my arse.”
Harry narrows his eyes. “Hermione knows you’re only into birds, and Zabini’s not stupid enough to think he could seduce you into trying a bloke with a bottle of firewhiskey, no matter how expensive.”
“What?” Ron stops smirking and blinks at Harry. “Did something happen today in Brighton? Are you alright? Did Morrow curse you or something?”
“Nothing happened. We caught Morrow easily enough once we located him.” Harry drops his gaze and stares at Ron’s arms. “My shirt’s going to be ruined,” he mutters, watching the way the fabric stretches around Ron’s bicep when he raises his arm.
“Then why are you talking nonsense about me only being into birds?” Ron runs his fingers through his hair. “You know I’m into blokes, too. I told you that after Hermione and I broke up. Remember? I said I’d figured out I liked an open buffet instead of just one course.”
“You were talking about sex?” Harry gapes at him. “I thought you were just hungry!”
“Bloody hell. You’re in charge of the aurors, Harry. You can’t be that sodding stupid.”
“You should have just told me instead of using some comparison that doesn’t even make sense,” Harry tells him. “You could have mentioned it last month when I told you and Hermione that I’m gay, in fact. It would have been really easy to mention it then.”
“Well, I was a bit surprised, wasn’t I? You’d only been dating my sister for a billion years, or so we all thought since neither of you bothered to mention that it wasn’t dating for the past two years.” Ron scowls. “You didn’t trust us enough to be honest with us when you first realized, so excuse the fuck out of me for taking time to absorb it all and get over the fact that my best mate was lying to me for years.”
“You’ve been wanting to tell me that all month, haven’t you?” Harry glares. “I knew it! I knew you were angry, but you just shrugged and laughed and said something about…oh. That’s what you meant about welcome to the club, wasn’t it?”
“I wasn’t upset about you liking blokes, Harry. I was upset that you didn’t trust me enough to let me help you during all that identity crisis shite,” Ron mutters. “I’d been through my own bout of it, without sharing, so I know what it’s like. Didn’t like thinking about you dealing with that on your own without me.”
Harry sits on the table, his arse knocking the latest issue of Quidditch Monthly to the floor. He stares at Ron without blinking, just quiet and intense. “I think I need to go to the ophthalmologist and get a new prescription for my spectacles because I’m bloody well blind.”
“Yeah? Well, you can get some of those frames like Boot’s got because they’re sexy as---“ The rest of his comment is muffled by Harry’s mouth which is suddenly pressing against his. Ron is too surprised to do anything, and he knows his eyes must be huge when Harry pulls back. Not checkmate after all but only check, and it’s Ron’s move now. Before Harry can say anything, Ron leans in and kisses him, licking at his lips and gripping the back of his neck as he deepens the kiss.
Harry makes a noise that causes Ron’s cock to twitch, and he does that thing with his tongue again to get another noise. Harry’s not much shorter than Ron, but it’s still easy to reach over and pick him up, pulling him onto Ron’s lap as they keep kissing. Normally, kissing isn’t something he does much, not since his relationship with Hermione ended years ago, but he loves kissing Harry. It’s so good, the licking and nipping and sucking, lips and tongues stroking and sliding across each other. He’s getting hard from it, or maybe it’s because it’s Harry he’s kissing, finally, after so many years of wanting someone he didn’t think he could ever have.
When Harry shifts on his lap, pressing more intently into him, Ron realizes he’s not the only one getting hard from this. He sucks on Harry’s tongue as he moves his hands off his hips and fumbles with opening the auror robes Harry’s wearing. Once they’re finally out of the way, he changes position slightly, both of them moving until they’re able to grind against each other as they kiss. The friction is nice, as is the feel of Harry’s hands shoving his shirt up and stroking his chest, the thumb rubbing against his nipples turning him on more than he expects. Not to be outdone, Ron shoves Harry’s shirt up. They stop kissing long enough to get their shirts off, staring at each other as they pant, lips swollen and eyes dazed, then they’re kissing again, hands stroking and touching everywhere they can reach.
He isn’t sure which of them moves their hands lower first. Doesn’t really matter. Not when he’s got Harry’s fingers wrapped around his cock, and he’s got a thick shaft pulsing against his own palm. It’s awkward, requires a bit of movement and angling, but they’re soon stroking each other’s cocks as they kiss. He’s moving his hips, bucking up slightly, making appreciative noises against Harry’s mouth when the grip and speed are what he likes most. He’s wanking Harry the way he likes to be wanked, having to slow down slightly when Harry bites at his lips in warning, rubbing his thumb over the wet head, getting the right hold and adjusting his strokes until Harry’s bucking up against him.
Neither of them lasts very long. Harry comes first, warm come spurting out onto Ron’s hand and their stomachs. When he feels a spurt hit his cock, that’s all it takes before he’s grunting and coming, too. They finally stop kissing, both of them breathing hard, Harry resting his damp forehead against Ron’s shoulder as Ron nuzzles his neck. He feels so good right now, not even caring that he’s sweaty and got come on his abdomen and chest even if it’s sticky and kind of gross when it’s dry. He moves his hands down Harry’s arms, lightly holding his wrists as they try to catch their breath.
Unfortunately, they do manage to stop panting soon enough. That’s when Harry tugs his arm out of Ron’s grip and punches his shoulder hard.
“You’re an arsehole,” Harry says firmly, leaning back to look at him. “Do you have any idea the hell you’ve put me through the last few weeks? Parading around half naked, showing off your body, giving me these looks that have had me wanking so much that I’ve probably sprained my wrist, and the guilt. Merlin. The guilt because I knew I shouldn’t but I couldn’t help it and all this time you’ve known I was gay and were doing it deliberately. Weren’t you? Was all this just a game or do you mean it?”
“I certainly wasn’t trying to get Kreacher turned on enough to shag me, now was I?” Ron snorts, licking his lips and staring at Harry. He can see vulnerability there, and he knows he has to be serious right now or risk ruining it all. “Of course I mean it, you daft wanker.” He licks his lips before he slowly smiles. “So, wait, you actually noticed? Because, mate, if you did, let me just write a note to Shacklebolt praising your acting skills because I had no idea. I was starting to wonder if I was really as fit as I thought.”
“You are,” Harry admits. “You’re fucking amazing, Ron, and you’re also a damn fool. Why didn’t you just tell me? How did you think I was supposed to know that you prancing around naked meant you wanted me to notice you in a shagging and boyfriend kind of way? You know I’m not good at noticing that shite.”
Ron groans. “Do not ever tell Hermione that I should have just told you because she’ll gloat for ages. If she asks, you have to tell her I seduced you with my amazing biceps and tight arse. It is a boyfriend kind of way, you know? Not just a one off.” He figures it’s better to be blunt about that since his sneaky scheming didn’t work too well, and he doesn’t want another month of hell because Harry’s too blood oblivious to figure out what he wants when he doesn’t say it. His strategy might not have won him the game, but he got Harry in the end, so it doesn’t really matter anyway.
“I know. Same here. Even if you’re an arsehole who obviously discussed all this with Hermione and didn’t even listen to her despite the fact she’s a bloody genius.” Harry shakes his head, kissing Ron lightly. “Actually, if we’re being totally honest, it’s seeing you in my shirt that did it.” Harry shrugs a shoulder and smiles wryly. “I just couldn’t control it anymore when I saw you wearing it. Felt possessive and desperate to have you, angry that you weren’t mine.”
“Sounds like you’re the bloody fool, Harry. Not me.” Ron smiles sheepishly as he pulls him closer, ghosting his lips over Harry’s. “I reckon I’ve always been yours.”
End