FIC: Writhe. Harry/Ron. NC-17. smut_69 prompt.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Series: Part 2 of my smut_69 table. I'm trying to tell a story here, so read the first one, well, first.
Notes: I wanted to have this finished ages ago, but I've been having a real hectic time in life right now and I'm not thrilled with how this came out. I wanted it to be more. *Sighs* Oh well. My mind has been very fuzzy lately, but hopefully this will do for now.
2. Writhe
* * *
Tensions had settled into a knot just right inside the edge of Harry's shoulder blade. He noticed a twitch now and again and thought for not the first time that he was just too young to be afflicted with such nonsense. Countless hexes were splayed out in front of him as he and Hermione mulled over each and every one, on her insistence he be as prepared as possible for the third task, but his mind was firmly elsewhere.
"All the other triwizard champions have known loads of these spells for years, Harry! You have a lot of catching up to do in a month," her voice of reason had told him more than once since the third task had been revealed.
She was right of course. But that didn't help his mind focus on the events and he couldn't muster the concern he should have felt for the third task. Darkness was enveloping the school. First Crouch, then the pensieve, and Dumbledore's confirming his suspicion of Voldemort growing in power...
And then there was Ron. It had been weeks since that night and Harry wondered if maybe he had imagined it, if it had all been some stress-induced dream, or some new side-effect from one of the Weasley twin's latest concoctions. He might have actually believed it, too, if it had not been for the fact that in those nights since the second task, he'd woken up to a figure lingering outside his curtains on more than one occasion, and that Ron was always looking at him, when they were alone. And the tension... aching and tangible, between them and so noticeable.
"Have you and Ron had another row?" Hermione had asked soon after, always observant. "Oh, Harry. Did Ron say something stupid?"
"No," Harry had replied quickly and comforted himself with the fact that it wasn't a lie. They hadn't fought, after all, and not saying anything wasn't quite the same as saying something stupid. But part of him wanted to tell Hermione everything, ask for her wisdom, which at times seemed endless and boundless. But his stomach always tightened and the tendrils of tension spread throughout his body with every reply he could imagine.
"Oh, Harry, loads of friends do that with one another. Didn't you know?" and he wouldn't, because he never really had real friends, until Ron and Hermione. Or "Interesting, Harry. It happened right after the second task. Maybe Ron was so thrilled and couldn't contain himself after being the thing you'd miss the most. He was terribly excited beforehand," which sounded like such a load of bollocks even to him and he had to suppress a grimace. And then there was always, "Oh Harry! You have to talk to Ron about this! It's dreadful for both of you if you don't sort out what's going on here."
Of course, there was always the chance that he'd be met with a smack upside the head and cold, furious jealousy, the likes the Miss Fleur DeLacour could never provoke. And maybe, he thought, that'd set him straight -- not literally -- and he could move on with his life without these ruminations.
"Harry!" Hermione's sharp voice cut through his thoughts like a razor. "You're never going to make it through the maze if you don't try to study some of these hexes!"
"Oh, erm. This one looks interesting," Harry said quickly with a point of a finger, attempting to cover his digression.
Hermione eyed him carefully before packing up her books in a flurry of motion. "Come on. Professor Flitwick's classroom must be empty by now. Let's get Ron and practice while we can."
* * *
There was Ron, at night, hot and licking and sucking. Wet mouth obscenely pink and wrapped around Harry's cock. It was too much, the tight heat, the noises, and Harry couldn't stop the small thrust that overtook him as he nearly came...
But then he was waking, writhing into the hard mattress below, and just like every other night he'd dreamt of Ron since the second task, there was nothing but coarse sheets and a gasp that escaped before he could stop it. This was when he felt the tautness of his muscles the most and when the need manifested itself into every muscle and fiber in his body.
This is how it had been, for countless nights, and with a primal tendency, Harry's hand slid down his body, gripping himself in a squeeze that did more to curtail his erection than provide release. He could still see his dream Ron, and he was so close from the dream--
"Harry? Mate? You okay?"
Oh! Shit. That most certainly was not dream Ron. Covering himself quickly as movements grew closer, Harry cursed under his breath and wondered, vaguely, if he talked in his sleep. Please, no. But before he could full on panic, the curtain was tossed aside, and there was Ron sleepy and concerned.
"I'm fine Ron. Just a dream," he said quickly, hoping to get him out as soon as possible.
"A nightmare? With You-Know-Who?" The air was thick with worry, chasing away Harry's desire effectively.
"No." Harry wanted to go on, to tell him to sod off, he didn't need fussing over, but Ron sat beside him and was starring at him, a look of something on his face that made Harry's insides tighten. Ron was there in an instant, hand falling on Harry's shoulder in a gesture obviously meant for comfort. Tendrils of warmth wrapping themselves around Harry with just a single touch and comfort turned to something else entirely. "Ron?"
"Sorry, mate." Realization spread over Ron's shadowed face and he slowly took his hand away. "I took a good one to the head today." Practicing had been difficult. He hated every time a stunned Ron collapsed in a heap as a result of Harry's spell. Harry immediately felt guilty and sat up, trying his hardest to focus on Ron's face in the dim light.
"Did I hurt you?"
"It doesn't matter. I'd do it again. You know that," Ron said, but then his voice became quieter, huskier. "I'd do anything for you, Harry."
Oh. The practicing, Ron's insistence on being there for Harry at all costs... Slowly, with a sinking feeling, Harry understood. Ron's words from a year prior, "If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us too!", rang loudly in his head. Ron would take a hex for him, risk his life for him, or... give his body for him.
It was wrong. He didn't want Ron to do this for him. He didn't want to need it so much. But before he could think it through, his hand was on Ron's thigh, and he was taking what Ron was offering with a need so great that it eclipsed all his questions, all the confusion.
It helped, a little, that Ron responded so eagerly. It helped, a lot, when Ron shut the curtains and crawled next to him, blocking out almost all the light. Harry's other senses kicked in and he could hear Ron's movements, feel them, rather then see them. Part of him wanted to see, to look in Ron's eyes as their lips met, but when he imagined Ron's face during this, more than a little fear gripped his stomach.
Ron was hard within a few minutes of their deep kissing and petting, and before Harry knew what to do next, Ron grabbed his length and stroked in such a way that made Harry grip the sheets. Harry vaguely wondered how movements so similar to what he did to himself could feel so much more heightened when the hand belonged to Ron, and then Ron's tongue found his jaw, his lips swollen and wet against his skin, and Harry gave up thought altogether.
Ron's hand was firm and steady with its pace and he didn't let go, even when Harry started bucking up against him, so close. It took all Harry's energy not to scream when he came and instead he buried his face in Ron's hair and everything went black with an explosion of pleasure that had been weeks in the making.
When he opened his eyes, his was still in Ron's hand, twitching in the aftermath of the momentous pleasure. Muscles he didn't even realize could ache were sore from having tensed so greatly during his release. Yet, with a sigh, he noted that the tension that had taken up residence in his back the past few weeks was nonexistent with Ron there beside him.
"What are we doing?"
"It's what you want," Ron said after moments of silence. More than the words, the thought that was behind them could be heard. Harry couldn't breathe. He'd struggled with the want for weeks, for so long that he didn't even recognize what it was like to not feel it. He could accept it, the want, sweaty and chilled in the night air with Ron. Want was easy for him now.
It was the need that tore his heart and made him turn away.
* * *
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Series: Part 2 of my smut_69 table. I'm trying to tell a story here, so read the first one, well, first.
Notes: I wanted to have this finished ages ago, but I've been having a real hectic time in life right now and I'm not thrilled with how this came out. I wanted it to be more. *Sighs* Oh well. My mind has been very fuzzy lately, but hopefully this will do for now.
2. Writhe
* * *
Tensions had settled into a knot just right inside the edge of Harry's shoulder blade. He noticed a twitch now and again and thought for not the first time that he was just too young to be afflicted with such nonsense. Countless hexes were splayed out in front of him as he and Hermione mulled over each and every one, on her insistence he be as prepared as possible for the third task, but his mind was firmly elsewhere.
"All the other triwizard champions have known loads of these spells for years, Harry! You have a lot of catching up to do in a month," her voice of reason had told him more than once since the third task had been revealed.
She was right of course. But that didn't help his mind focus on the events and he couldn't muster the concern he should have felt for the third task. Darkness was enveloping the school. First Crouch, then the pensieve, and Dumbledore's confirming his suspicion of Voldemort growing in power...
And then there was Ron. It had been weeks since that night and Harry wondered if maybe he had imagined it, if it had all been some stress-induced dream, or some new side-effect from one of the Weasley twin's latest concoctions. He might have actually believed it, too, if it had not been for the fact that in those nights since the second task, he'd woken up to a figure lingering outside his curtains on more than one occasion, and that Ron was always looking at him, when they were alone. And the tension... aching and tangible, between them and so noticeable.
"Have you and Ron had another row?" Hermione had asked soon after, always observant. "Oh, Harry. Did Ron say something stupid?"
"No," Harry had replied quickly and comforted himself with the fact that it wasn't a lie. They hadn't fought, after all, and not saying anything wasn't quite the same as saying something stupid. But part of him wanted to tell Hermione everything, ask for her wisdom, which at times seemed endless and boundless. But his stomach always tightened and the tendrils of tension spread throughout his body with every reply he could imagine.
"Oh, Harry, loads of friends do that with one another. Didn't you know?" and he wouldn't, because he never really had real friends, until Ron and Hermione. Or "Interesting, Harry. It happened right after the second task. Maybe Ron was so thrilled and couldn't contain himself after being the thing you'd miss the most. He was terribly excited beforehand," which sounded like such a load of bollocks even to him and he had to suppress a grimace. And then there was always, "Oh Harry! You have to talk to Ron about this! It's dreadful for both of you if you don't sort out what's going on here."
Of course, there was always the chance that he'd be met with a smack upside the head and cold, furious jealousy, the likes the Miss Fleur DeLacour could never provoke. And maybe, he thought, that'd set him straight -- not literally -- and he could move on with his life without these ruminations.
"Harry!" Hermione's sharp voice cut through his thoughts like a razor. "You're never going to make it through the maze if you don't try to study some of these hexes!"
"Oh, erm. This one looks interesting," Harry said quickly with a point of a finger, attempting to cover his digression.
Hermione eyed him carefully before packing up her books in a flurry of motion. "Come on. Professor Flitwick's classroom must be empty by now. Let's get Ron and practice while we can."
* * *
There was Ron, at night, hot and licking and sucking. Wet mouth obscenely pink and wrapped around Harry's cock. It was too much, the tight heat, the noises, and Harry couldn't stop the small thrust that overtook him as he nearly came...
But then he was waking, writhing into the hard mattress below, and just like every other night he'd dreamt of Ron since the second task, there was nothing but coarse sheets and a gasp that escaped before he could stop it. This was when he felt the tautness of his muscles the most and when the need manifested itself into every muscle and fiber in his body.
This is how it had been, for countless nights, and with a primal tendency, Harry's hand slid down his body, gripping himself in a squeeze that did more to curtail his erection than provide release. He could still see his dream Ron, and he was so close from the dream--
"Harry? Mate? You okay?"
Oh! Shit. That most certainly was not dream Ron. Covering himself quickly as movements grew closer, Harry cursed under his breath and wondered, vaguely, if he talked in his sleep. Please, no. But before he could full on panic, the curtain was tossed aside, and there was Ron sleepy and concerned.
"I'm fine Ron. Just a dream," he said quickly, hoping to get him out as soon as possible.
"A nightmare? With You-Know-Who?" The air was thick with worry, chasing away Harry's desire effectively.
"No." Harry wanted to go on, to tell him to sod off, he didn't need fussing over, but Ron sat beside him and was starring at him, a look of something on his face that made Harry's insides tighten. Ron was there in an instant, hand falling on Harry's shoulder in a gesture obviously meant for comfort. Tendrils of warmth wrapping themselves around Harry with just a single touch and comfort turned to something else entirely. "Ron?"
"Sorry, mate." Realization spread over Ron's shadowed face and he slowly took his hand away. "I took a good one to the head today." Practicing had been difficult. He hated every time a stunned Ron collapsed in a heap as a result of Harry's spell. Harry immediately felt guilty and sat up, trying his hardest to focus on Ron's face in the dim light.
"Did I hurt you?"
"It doesn't matter. I'd do it again. You know that," Ron said, but then his voice became quieter, huskier. "I'd do anything for you, Harry."
Oh. The practicing, Ron's insistence on being there for Harry at all costs... Slowly, with a sinking feeling, Harry understood. Ron's words from a year prior, "If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us too!", rang loudly in his head. Ron would take a hex for him, risk his life for him, or... give his body for him.
It was wrong. He didn't want Ron to do this for him. He didn't want to need it so much. But before he could think it through, his hand was on Ron's thigh, and he was taking what Ron was offering with a need so great that it eclipsed all his questions, all the confusion.
It helped, a little, that Ron responded so eagerly. It helped, a lot, when Ron shut the curtains and crawled next to him, blocking out almost all the light. Harry's other senses kicked in and he could hear Ron's movements, feel them, rather then see them. Part of him wanted to see, to look in Ron's eyes as their lips met, but when he imagined Ron's face during this, more than a little fear gripped his stomach.
Ron was hard within a few minutes of their deep kissing and petting, and before Harry knew what to do next, Ron grabbed his length and stroked in such a way that made Harry grip the sheets. Harry vaguely wondered how movements so similar to what he did to himself could feel so much more heightened when the hand belonged to Ron, and then Ron's tongue found his jaw, his lips swollen and wet against his skin, and Harry gave up thought altogether.
Ron's hand was firm and steady with its pace and he didn't let go, even when Harry started bucking up against him, so close. It took all Harry's energy not to scream when he came and instead he buried his face in Ron's hair and everything went black with an explosion of pleasure that had been weeks in the making.
When he opened his eyes, his was still in Ron's hand, twitching in the aftermath of the momentous pleasure. Muscles he didn't even realize could ache were sore from having tensed so greatly during his release. Yet, with a sigh, he noted that the tension that had taken up residence in his back the past few weeks was nonexistent with Ron there beside him.
"What are we doing?"
"It's what you want," Ron said after moments of silence. More than the words, the thought that was behind them could be heard. Harry couldn't breathe. He'd struggled with the want for weeks, for so long that he didn't even recognize what it was like to not feel it. He could accept it, the want, sweaty and chilled in the night air with Ron. Want was easy for him now.
It was the need that tore his heart and made him turn away.
* * *