Peace
Title: Peace
Pairing(s): Harry/Ron/Seamus, and uh… Seamus/Fat Lady?
Word Count: ~2500
Rating: NC17
Summary: Seamus makes peace with Ron & Harry.
Warnings: Chan (15ish - takes place during OOTP), drug use, lack of any sort of plot whatsoever.
A/N: This was written for this round of hp_porninthesun for the fabulous gala_apples. Thank you to my beta, Bethie ♥
Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future.
- Paul Boese
The smoke curls out of Seamus's mouth in a slow, languorous S, dipping down and wrapping around itself like a bow around a gift. He's on the floor with his wand pointing up from between his knees, and his eyes are crossing strangely, their pupils almost mismatched in size, as he focuses on the silent magic he is using.
Seamus is rubbish at the wordless and the (mostly) wandless, Ron knows, so this - this, of all spells - must be something on which he has spent a lot of time. Of course it is. Impractical, largely useless, good only for its show-off factor. That's Seamus, though. That's Seamus to a t.
Ron doesn't mind; he just grins lazily around the joint between his own teeth and leans sideways, jabbing his sharp, adolescent elbow into Harry's skinny thigh and resting all of his weight there. Harry doesn't notice. He's watching the smoke, serpentine and oddly pretty, leave Seamus's lips, too; he's gazing through his half-closed eyes, legs tucked into themselves, chin cocked sideways, hair all mussed like he's run clear across the castle grounds.
Then, that's Harry. Intent. All mussed and tousled. All… Harry.
Ron blinks, heavy, and almost doesn't come back.
______________
Sorry, lads Seamus had said. Peace offering?
Oi, Finnigan; you'll use anything as an excuse! That was Harry then, rolling his eyes up at Seamus's sweaty, freckled, enthusiastic face from his position in the grass. He had argued at first, said that Seamus had already apologized for being an arsehole, that it wasn't necessary, and so on and so forth, the way he always did. But, in the end, he gave in, which is also what he always did.
No matter how often he said he didn't fancy the stuff, that it reminded him of his ogre of a Muggle cousin (who had, apparently, taken up selling the shite during the summer before at the ripe old age of fourteen), Harry still never managed to quite say no.
Not that Ron minded. He was, of course, a bit distrustful at first (I'm supposed to suck that shite into my lungs?! Looks like that bloody stuff Hermione gives her cat!), but between Seamus's excitement and Harry's casual - if a little wishy-washy - reassurance, he got over it. Quickly.
After all, it's Saturday. And it's warm. And Harry feels solid underneath Ron's arm, and Seamus looks like he's swirling around inside of Professor Trelawney's hazy crystal ball, mysterious and blurry and as distorted as a dream, and everything is just good.
_______________
Good.
Good is Harry's breath, syrupy and delicious against the back of Ron's ear when Ron shifts to lean against him. Good is Harry's chest, in-and-out breathing against Ron's shoulders, and Harry's taut belly, in-and-out laughing against Ron's back, and Harry's smell, sweet from the weed and sweaty from the weather and something that's just his own: a little anise-y, or sawdust-y or… whatever.
It's just good, and that's why Ron doesn't mind - doesn't even think much about it, actually - when Harry's smiling-laughing-happy-dopey mouth brushes up against his neck, wet with lips and tongue. It feels like something between a sloppy kiss and a tickle; some weird thing Fred or George might do to him, just to cheese him off. Blowing raspberries. Ron squirms, and across the Common Room from him and Harry, Seamus quirks his eyebrows and grins an up-to-something grin that makes Ron think, again, of his twin brothers.
The cogs are working behind Seamus's eyes. Ron can practically see them; they're turning over themselves and each other, and they're inching all three of them closer and closer and closer to….
______________
…. this.
Harry keeps laughing, and it sounds giggly and girly and sort of… Lavender-y, which makes Ron snort and call him a prat.
Harry's laughing at Seamus, who keeps using that same bit of magic to change the shape of his smoke: first it's a cock - a rather large one that makes Ron briefly self-conscious until he remembers that he's wearing his trousers - then it's a pair of tits with legs, doing some ridiculous Irish footwork in midair, and then it's both, and the cock is fucking the tits-with-legs, sliding all up between them, and yeah, it's funny, but Harry's just lost his mind. He keeps laughing into Ron's skin, over and over and over, and it's making all of Ron's nerves jittery and full of lightning, and he wants to yell at Harry to stop, and he wants to wriggle himself back until he's all the way in Harry's lap, and he wants to open up his mouth for Seamus's stupid smoke-cock, and he wants to do it all at once.
Which, of course, is stupid.
All of this is stupid.
_______________
In the Common Room? he'd asked Seamus. You're mad!
Nah. The Fat Lady and I have an arrangement. Seamus had waggled his pale-blond eyebrows in a suggestive manner, which, of course, had made Ron and Harry both desperately need to know the details of said arrangement.
I let her watch me wank, Seamus had snorted, and she keeps people out for a bit if I want. Quid pro quo and all that shite..
Then he'd winked salaciously, and they'd all hooted, and then Harry and Ron had demanded the real explanation.
Seriously, mates. I pull one off for her, and I've got her right in my pocket all term. Been doing it for years.
Harry and Ron had been incredulous, but Seamus had insisted he was telling the truth. When the three of them had climbed through the portrait a few minutes later, Seamus had reached up to tweak one of the Fat Lady's painted-over nipples, and she'd winked at him rather than shrieking in that shrill sort of way she had.
That was all the proof they'd needed.
Seamus, you dirty bastard, Ron had said.
Sod off, Weasley. You love it.
_______________
Harry's hand snakes around Ron's stomach, and Ron jerks his head sideways to avoid the ash at the end of Harrys's joint. Seamus thinks he's jerking away from the touch, though, and scoffs. You love it, Weasley.
Ron does, sort of. And Harry seems to, as well, because his hand keeps moving down, down, down, down… and when it reaches the waist of Ron's trousers, it slips inside. Just the fingertips, just slightly, like he doesn't notice, but of course he does. He's doing it on purpose.
Ron gulps at the realization, and Harry's still laughing, but there's his hand, pressing flat into the bare skin of Ron's belly, underneath his shirt and trousers, like it belongs there. Ron's heart starts to race, and between the pot and the wet laughing lips on his neck and the hand in his pants - yep, it's in his pants now, dipping down lower - he can't quite process all of it as quickly as he'd like. Process it, or make it stop, or at least make Seamus stop staring.
Ron narrows his eyes at Seamus's smug-looking face, and Seamus responds with a wink and blows more smoke out from between his lips. His eyes cross again as he stares down at his wand, which - why hadn't Ron noticed this before? - is decidedly phallic-looking, jutting up from his closed knees. The smoke takes the shape of a cock again and glides through the air to brush against Ron's cheek.
Seamus guffaws; Harry snickers hotly against Ron's ear, and Ron blushes an unflattering shade of scarlet but says nothing. He narrows his eyes further as the smoke dissipates into the air.
Seamus stubs his joint out into the carpet - which is, Ron thinks, phenomenally stupid - and rubs at it with the hard palm of his hand. Then he leans forward onto his hands and starts crawling across the Common Room towards Harry and Ron, eyes all mischief and mayhem and… sex, and that's when Ron gets hard.
Well. Harder.
Harry's knuckles are brushing against the head of his cock, after all, and that sort of started the whole thing.
_______________
Ron starts to think that maybe Harry and Seamus are in league here, because as soon as Seamus gets close enough that Ron can smell his sweet-ish, smoky breath, Harry's got his hand closed around Ron's cock. Tight. He's just holding it, which is sort of maddening, considering he's also breathing (heavy, too, and hard) against the place where Ron's neck meets his shoulder. He's just holding it, and Ron can feel it getting bigger, filling up in Harry's grip, starting to throb with a pulse he knows Harry can feel, and he wants Harry to do something with it.
Before Ron can complain too much, however, Seamus plucks the joint from between his lips and butts it out against the table, and Seamus's mouth lands square on his and starts sucking. There's no lead-up, no gentle tongue stuff, no tentative prodding. Seamus just closes his teeth on Ron's bottom lip, pulls it into his mouth, and that's that. And then Harry squeezes.
At first Ron thinks that Harry's surprised, and that he closed his hand in a startled sort of way, but he quickly figures out that that isn't the case. Or, if it is, it turns into something else almost immediately, because Harry's hand closes and then starts moving. The back-and-forth doesn't have a lot of rhythm - probably because Harry is still sniggering, though at what, Ron no longer has any idea - but it doesn't need it, because the friction itself is perfect.
Seamus's mouth is hot, and Harry's palm is sweaty and slick, and in under a minute, they're all sort of moving in sync. Ron has found Seamus's tongue and is poking at it with his own, and Seamus's hands are yanking apart his zip so that Harry has room to move even faster, and Harry's cock - hard, and much bigger than Ron imagined it might be, really - is pressing into Ron's arse through his trousers.
Ron presses back against it because it just feels good, and then Harry starts rocking forward in the same rhythm as his hand, rubbing himself up and down against Ron's arse as he jerks him off. Ron vaguely senses Harry reaching sideways to kill his own joint against the table, and then Harry's hips start wriggling like he can't get enough, and that's when Seamus helps.
He reaches behind Ron, insinuating himself between Ron's now wide-open knees, and reaches for Harry's zip. Ron can feel him fumbling around back there and tries to lean forward against Seamus's body to give him room, but Harry follows Ron up like he doesn't want to back off, even for a second. Ron laughs a little into Seamus's mouth, because Harry's ridiculous and desperate and funny, and Seamus shoves at Harry's hips trying to help. Finally, after what feels like forever but is probably only a few seconds, Ron feels Seamus's hands yank in opposite directions and feels the wet tip of Harry's cock slip against his back, brushing the exposed spot where Ron's shirt has ridden up.
Harry makes a throaty noise against Ron's neck, where he's been jamming his face, biting and licking like some mad little puppy. Ron arches back into it because it's tickling again, and Seamus moves off of Ron's mouth and down to his jaw, then his neck. Seamus's face meets Harry's somewhere over Ron's right shoulder, and Ron can feel them snogging each other against his skin, two sloppy, heavy-feeling tongues.
For a second, Ron feels a little lost, like he doesn't know what to do with his mouth now that he doesn't have Seamus showing him, but he busies himself instead with Seamus's zip, which seems to know what's going on, as it's already worked itself halfway down. Ron pulls it the rest of the way and then opens the button, and he isn't surprised at all to discover that Seamus doesn't have anything on underneath. He's all hard-on and pre-come and hot, hot skin.
Immediately, Seamus nudges himself forward and presses his cock into Ron's splayed palm. Ron rubs it a little and laughs into Seamus's sweaty neck when it jerks against his hand.
Seamus pulls his mouth off of Harry's long enough to mumble Shut up, Weasley, but Ron doesn’t shut up. He starts laughing then, in earnest; laughing and closing his fist around Seamus's prick and stroking it, first one way and then the other, with varying pressure, just to feel it move all twitchy-like. Seamus twists his hips and pushes against Ron, trying to get him to do what he wants, and finally Ron gives in.
He mouths Seamus's shoulder through the starchy fabric of his dress shirt, and he jerks him off fast.
They're a messy tangle then, Seamus holding Harry's cock against Ron's back as Harry frots himself frantically against the bare skin beneath Ron's shirt; Harry stroking Ron's cock in short, random bursts before getting distracted, stopping, then starting again; Ron biting into Seamus to anchor himself and jerking Seamus off double-fisted, all of them panting and sweaty and halfway between coming and bursting out laughing at any given second.
______________
The whole thing doesn't last long. Of course it doesn't, Ron thinks. It's too good.
Harry comes first, and he makes a noise like he's surprised by it, rising up onto his knees and getting his spunk all across Ron's shoulder blades, hot and sticky. Ron arches back, pulling his shoulders together, and wriggles his hips because he doesn't want Harry to stop. Harry does stop; he stops for too long, lost in his own up-high-then-back-down, and Ron takes one hand off of Seamus's cock to work on himself. After a second, Harry realizes what's happening, and he slumps forward against Ron to take over. Ron lets him, and just as he adds his second hand again, Seamus shouts and comes all over them both.
Seamus leans forward and grabs Ron's face, mashing their mouths together to muffle the sound inside of him that just won't stop - he's still coming, short little pulses, and every time he does, he makes a shuddery noise - and at the same time, Harry grabs hard, slides his hand down Ron's cock and twists, and that's the end of that. Ron yelps into Seamus's mouth, and it sounds like it echoes off of his teeth, and then they're all just a sticky, nasty pile of limbs and breath and come and sweaty hair and messed-up uniforms.
______________
The quiet hums around them for a few moments, pulses inside of their ears like a heartbeat.
It's Harry who breaks it finally, muttering Seamus? against the line of Ron's jaw.
Seamus yawns, his not-awfully-nice breath in Ron's face, and says Mmmm?
Harry starts laughing again before he can start to speak, and his breath isn't terribly pleasant, either, Ron thinks. After a couple of seconds, he manages to choke out an I forgive you, to which Seamus response with a shake of his head, tickling Ron's chin with his blond hair.
What about you, Weasley?
Dunno, Ron mumbles. Still think you were bang out of order, but… The sentences dies against Seamus's sharp cheekbone, and Ron starts laughing, too.
Peace, then?
Peace, Ron agrees sleepily. Yep.
Pairing(s): Harry/Ron/Seamus, and uh… Seamus/Fat Lady?
Word Count: ~2500
Rating: NC17
Summary: Seamus makes peace with Ron & Harry.
Warnings: Chan (15ish - takes place during OOTP), drug use, lack of any sort of plot whatsoever.
A/N: This was written for this round of hp_porninthesun for the fabulous gala_apples. Thank you to my beta, Bethie ♥
Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future.
- Paul Boese
The smoke curls out of Seamus's mouth in a slow, languorous S, dipping down and wrapping around itself like a bow around a gift. He's on the floor with his wand pointing up from between his knees, and his eyes are crossing strangely, their pupils almost mismatched in size, as he focuses on the silent magic he is using.
Seamus is rubbish at the wordless and the (mostly) wandless, Ron knows, so this - this, of all spells - must be something on which he has spent a lot of time. Of course it is. Impractical, largely useless, good only for its show-off factor. That's Seamus, though. That's Seamus to a t.
Ron doesn't mind; he just grins lazily around the joint between his own teeth and leans sideways, jabbing his sharp, adolescent elbow into Harry's skinny thigh and resting all of his weight there. Harry doesn't notice. He's watching the smoke, serpentine and oddly pretty, leave Seamus's lips, too; he's gazing through his half-closed eyes, legs tucked into themselves, chin cocked sideways, hair all mussed like he's run clear across the castle grounds.
Then, that's Harry. Intent. All mussed and tousled. All… Harry.
Ron blinks, heavy, and almost doesn't come back.
______________
Sorry, lads Seamus had said. Peace offering?
Oi, Finnigan; you'll use anything as an excuse! That was Harry then, rolling his eyes up at Seamus's sweaty, freckled, enthusiastic face from his position in the grass. He had argued at first, said that Seamus had already apologized for being an arsehole, that it wasn't necessary, and so on and so forth, the way he always did. But, in the end, he gave in, which is also what he always did.
No matter how often he said he didn't fancy the stuff, that it reminded him of his ogre of a Muggle cousin (who had, apparently, taken up selling the shite during the summer before at the ripe old age of fourteen), Harry still never managed to quite say no.
Not that Ron minded. He was, of course, a bit distrustful at first (I'm supposed to suck that shite into my lungs?! Looks like that bloody stuff Hermione gives her cat!), but between Seamus's excitement and Harry's casual - if a little wishy-washy - reassurance, he got over it. Quickly.
After all, it's Saturday. And it's warm. And Harry feels solid underneath Ron's arm, and Seamus looks like he's swirling around inside of Professor Trelawney's hazy crystal ball, mysterious and blurry and as distorted as a dream, and everything is just good.
_______________
Good.
Good is Harry's breath, syrupy and delicious against the back of Ron's ear when Ron shifts to lean against him. Good is Harry's chest, in-and-out breathing against Ron's shoulders, and Harry's taut belly, in-and-out laughing against Ron's back, and Harry's smell, sweet from the weed and sweaty from the weather and something that's just his own: a little anise-y, or sawdust-y or… whatever.
It's just good, and that's why Ron doesn't mind - doesn't even think much about it, actually - when Harry's smiling-laughing-happy-dopey mouth brushes up against his neck, wet with lips and tongue. It feels like something between a sloppy kiss and a tickle; some weird thing Fred or George might do to him, just to cheese him off. Blowing raspberries. Ron squirms, and across the Common Room from him and Harry, Seamus quirks his eyebrows and grins an up-to-something grin that makes Ron think, again, of his twin brothers.
The cogs are working behind Seamus's eyes. Ron can practically see them; they're turning over themselves and each other, and they're inching all three of them closer and closer and closer to….
______________
…. this.
Harry keeps laughing, and it sounds giggly and girly and sort of… Lavender-y, which makes Ron snort and call him a prat.
Harry's laughing at Seamus, who keeps using that same bit of magic to change the shape of his smoke: first it's a cock - a rather large one that makes Ron briefly self-conscious until he remembers that he's wearing his trousers - then it's a pair of tits with legs, doing some ridiculous Irish footwork in midair, and then it's both, and the cock is fucking the tits-with-legs, sliding all up between them, and yeah, it's funny, but Harry's just lost his mind. He keeps laughing into Ron's skin, over and over and over, and it's making all of Ron's nerves jittery and full of lightning, and he wants to yell at Harry to stop, and he wants to wriggle himself back until he's all the way in Harry's lap, and he wants to open up his mouth for Seamus's stupid smoke-cock, and he wants to do it all at once.
Which, of course, is stupid.
All of this is stupid.
_______________
In the Common Room? he'd asked Seamus. You're mad!
Nah. The Fat Lady and I have an arrangement. Seamus had waggled his pale-blond eyebrows in a suggestive manner, which, of course, had made Ron and Harry both desperately need to know the details of said arrangement.
I let her watch me wank, Seamus had snorted, and she keeps people out for a bit if I want. Quid pro quo and all that shite..
Then he'd winked salaciously, and they'd all hooted, and then Harry and Ron had demanded the real explanation.
Seriously, mates. I pull one off for her, and I've got her right in my pocket all term. Been doing it for years.
Harry and Ron had been incredulous, but Seamus had insisted he was telling the truth. When the three of them had climbed through the portrait a few minutes later, Seamus had reached up to tweak one of the Fat Lady's painted-over nipples, and she'd winked at him rather than shrieking in that shrill sort of way she had.
That was all the proof they'd needed.
Seamus, you dirty bastard, Ron had said.
Sod off, Weasley. You love it.
_______________
Harry's hand snakes around Ron's stomach, and Ron jerks his head sideways to avoid the ash at the end of Harrys's joint. Seamus thinks he's jerking away from the touch, though, and scoffs. You love it, Weasley.
Ron does, sort of. And Harry seems to, as well, because his hand keeps moving down, down, down, down… and when it reaches the waist of Ron's trousers, it slips inside. Just the fingertips, just slightly, like he doesn't notice, but of course he does. He's doing it on purpose.
Ron gulps at the realization, and Harry's still laughing, but there's his hand, pressing flat into the bare skin of Ron's belly, underneath his shirt and trousers, like it belongs there. Ron's heart starts to race, and between the pot and the wet laughing lips on his neck and the hand in his pants - yep, it's in his pants now, dipping down lower - he can't quite process all of it as quickly as he'd like. Process it, or make it stop, or at least make Seamus stop staring.
Ron narrows his eyes at Seamus's smug-looking face, and Seamus responds with a wink and blows more smoke out from between his lips. His eyes cross again as he stares down at his wand, which - why hadn't Ron noticed this before? - is decidedly phallic-looking, jutting up from his closed knees. The smoke takes the shape of a cock again and glides through the air to brush against Ron's cheek.
Seamus guffaws; Harry snickers hotly against Ron's ear, and Ron blushes an unflattering shade of scarlet but says nothing. He narrows his eyes further as the smoke dissipates into the air.
Seamus stubs his joint out into the carpet - which is, Ron thinks, phenomenally stupid - and rubs at it with the hard palm of his hand. Then he leans forward onto his hands and starts crawling across the Common Room towards Harry and Ron, eyes all mischief and mayhem and… sex, and that's when Ron gets hard.
Well. Harder.
Harry's knuckles are brushing against the head of his cock, after all, and that sort of started the whole thing.
_______________
Ron starts to think that maybe Harry and Seamus are in league here, because as soon as Seamus gets close enough that Ron can smell his sweet-ish, smoky breath, Harry's got his hand closed around Ron's cock. Tight. He's just holding it, which is sort of maddening, considering he's also breathing (heavy, too, and hard) against the place where Ron's neck meets his shoulder. He's just holding it, and Ron can feel it getting bigger, filling up in Harry's grip, starting to throb with a pulse he knows Harry can feel, and he wants Harry to do something with it.
Before Ron can complain too much, however, Seamus plucks the joint from between his lips and butts it out against the table, and Seamus's mouth lands square on his and starts sucking. There's no lead-up, no gentle tongue stuff, no tentative prodding. Seamus just closes his teeth on Ron's bottom lip, pulls it into his mouth, and that's that. And then Harry squeezes.
At first Ron thinks that Harry's surprised, and that he closed his hand in a startled sort of way, but he quickly figures out that that isn't the case. Or, if it is, it turns into something else almost immediately, because Harry's hand closes and then starts moving. The back-and-forth doesn't have a lot of rhythm - probably because Harry is still sniggering, though at what, Ron no longer has any idea - but it doesn't need it, because the friction itself is perfect.
Seamus's mouth is hot, and Harry's palm is sweaty and slick, and in under a minute, they're all sort of moving in sync. Ron has found Seamus's tongue and is poking at it with his own, and Seamus's hands are yanking apart his zip so that Harry has room to move even faster, and Harry's cock - hard, and much bigger than Ron imagined it might be, really - is pressing into Ron's arse through his trousers.
Ron presses back against it because it just feels good, and then Harry starts rocking forward in the same rhythm as his hand, rubbing himself up and down against Ron's arse as he jerks him off. Ron vaguely senses Harry reaching sideways to kill his own joint against the table, and then Harry's hips start wriggling like he can't get enough, and that's when Seamus helps.
He reaches behind Ron, insinuating himself between Ron's now wide-open knees, and reaches for Harry's zip. Ron can feel him fumbling around back there and tries to lean forward against Seamus's body to give him room, but Harry follows Ron up like he doesn't want to back off, even for a second. Ron laughs a little into Seamus's mouth, because Harry's ridiculous and desperate and funny, and Seamus shoves at Harry's hips trying to help. Finally, after what feels like forever but is probably only a few seconds, Ron feels Seamus's hands yank in opposite directions and feels the wet tip of Harry's cock slip against his back, brushing the exposed spot where Ron's shirt has ridden up.
Harry makes a throaty noise against Ron's neck, where he's been jamming his face, biting and licking like some mad little puppy. Ron arches back into it because it's tickling again, and Seamus moves off of Ron's mouth and down to his jaw, then his neck. Seamus's face meets Harry's somewhere over Ron's right shoulder, and Ron can feel them snogging each other against his skin, two sloppy, heavy-feeling tongues.
For a second, Ron feels a little lost, like he doesn't know what to do with his mouth now that he doesn't have Seamus showing him, but he busies himself instead with Seamus's zip, which seems to know what's going on, as it's already worked itself halfway down. Ron pulls it the rest of the way and then opens the button, and he isn't surprised at all to discover that Seamus doesn't have anything on underneath. He's all hard-on and pre-come and hot, hot skin.
Immediately, Seamus nudges himself forward and presses his cock into Ron's splayed palm. Ron rubs it a little and laughs into Seamus's sweaty neck when it jerks against his hand.
Seamus pulls his mouth off of Harry's long enough to mumble Shut up, Weasley, but Ron doesn’t shut up. He starts laughing then, in earnest; laughing and closing his fist around Seamus's prick and stroking it, first one way and then the other, with varying pressure, just to feel it move all twitchy-like. Seamus twists his hips and pushes against Ron, trying to get him to do what he wants, and finally Ron gives in.
He mouths Seamus's shoulder through the starchy fabric of his dress shirt, and he jerks him off fast.
They're a messy tangle then, Seamus holding Harry's cock against Ron's back as Harry frots himself frantically against the bare skin beneath Ron's shirt; Harry stroking Ron's cock in short, random bursts before getting distracted, stopping, then starting again; Ron biting into Seamus to anchor himself and jerking Seamus off double-fisted, all of them panting and sweaty and halfway between coming and bursting out laughing at any given second.
______________
The whole thing doesn't last long. Of course it doesn't, Ron thinks. It's too good.
Harry comes first, and he makes a noise like he's surprised by it, rising up onto his knees and getting his spunk all across Ron's shoulder blades, hot and sticky. Ron arches back, pulling his shoulders together, and wriggles his hips because he doesn't want Harry to stop. Harry does stop; he stops for too long, lost in his own up-high-then-back-down, and Ron takes one hand off of Seamus's cock to work on himself. After a second, Harry realizes what's happening, and he slumps forward against Ron to take over. Ron lets him, and just as he adds his second hand again, Seamus shouts and comes all over them both.
Seamus leans forward and grabs Ron's face, mashing their mouths together to muffle the sound inside of him that just won't stop - he's still coming, short little pulses, and every time he does, he makes a shuddery noise - and at the same time, Harry grabs hard, slides his hand down Ron's cock and twists, and that's the end of that. Ron yelps into Seamus's mouth, and it sounds like it echoes off of his teeth, and then they're all just a sticky, nasty pile of limbs and breath and come and sweaty hair and messed-up uniforms.
______________
The quiet hums around them for a few moments, pulses inside of their ears like a heartbeat.
It's Harry who breaks it finally, muttering Seamus? against the line of Ron's jaw.
Seamus yawns, his not-awfully-nice breath in Ron's face, and says Mmmm?
Harry starts laughing again before he can start to speak, and his breath isn't terribly pleasant, either, Ron thinks. After a couple of seconds, he manages to choke out an I forgive you, to which Seamus response with a shake of his head, tickling Ron's chin with his blond hair.
What about you, Weasley?
Dunno, Ron mumbles. Still think you were bang out of order, but… The sentences dies against Seamus's sharp cheekbone, and Ron starts laughing, too.
Peace, then?
Peace, Ron agrees sleepily. Yep.