42. DISORIENTATION (NC-17) BY IAMSHADOW
Title: Disorientation
Author: iamshadow
Ship: Ron/Harry
Word Count: 1,095
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: I don't know whether to warn for a wank or boysex. *shrug* Bodily fluids.
Summary: Harry awakens.
A/N: If this chapter sucks at all, I blame the fact that I'm not feeling well at all today. Ugh. Sorry about that.
The Teapot 'verse Series
Chapter List HERE
Future Fics HERE
Teapot Cookie Fics HERE
I wake uncharacteristically slowly. Generally, lately, I jolt into consciousness, instantly alert, checking for danger before I take another breath. This isn’t like that at all. It’s as though I’m swimming up to the surface of a deep, warm pool of water. The mattress and bedding cocoon me, and I know that I’m lying in the circle of someone’s arms. It’s nice, and it feels safe. The familiar panic is far away, barely noticeable. I sigh, and snuggle in closer, and I hear a gentle murmur, feel a light kiss on my brow. My cheek is pressed against a firm chest, and my half-hard cock is nudging against a muscled thigh. I rock my hips slowly, allowing my arousal to build, the sensation to wash over me.
“Oh,” someone gasps, their voice shocked and pleased and full of wanting. It might be my voice, it might be his. I’m not certain, and in this warm, half-awake place, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that friction, and nuzzling blindly up to meet his lips with my own.
The kisses are light, but there’s an air of desperation about them.
It’s been too long, I think, even though I’m not sure what I mean, myself.
I’m rubbing against him faster, now. He doesn’t try to pull me in close, or tilt his pelvis so that our cocks align, even though I’m sure he’s hard too. He just lets his hand drift down to rest on my hip, caressing it lightly as I thrust.
The kisses disintegrate when I get close, as I pant and moan softly. He’s gasping, and his hand on my hip twitches now and then, as though he’s struggling not to cling to me. I slide a hand under his waistband and trail a finger down his crack, feather-light, and he shivers all over.
“Shit,” he swears, and his cheek is damp against mine. “Oh fuck.”
His thigh presses a little firmer against me, and it’s the last straw. I come hard, crying out and trembling in his arms, and it’s only when he keeps stroking my back afterwards and repeating soothing phrases over and over, that I realise the wet on my face isn’t sweat at all, but tears that won’t stop.
I open my eyes for the first time, and meet his worried, almost frightened gaze. I’m fully awake, now, trying to catch my breath between hiccups. I seem to have lost that wonderful control I had. It went wrong, somewhere, turned against me like an animal, and now there’s nothing left of it. I turn to face away from him, unable to stand the look in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, not exactly certain what I’m apologising for. There’s so much I want to take back, undo, unsay. I wonder when kindness from people around me began to hurt, rather than comfort.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Ron answers softly, misunderstanding. “You just didn’t... You haven’t wanted to... Did I do the wrong thing? Should I not have... um...?”
I can hear the guilt and self-doubt in his voice, and I suddenly realise he thinks he’s taken advantage of me, despite the fact that I started it, and that Ron himself probably didn’t get anything but frustration out of the encounter. The idea is so ludicrous, I actually laugh.
“No,” I wheeze between chuckles. “Nothing wrong.”
I wriggle back until I’m pressed against him, and, encouraged, he winds his arm around me. To my surprise, I can feel that he’s not hard after all, though I imagine he was not long ago, before I scared him.
“Mum wanted to know, a while ago, if you’d be down for dinner,” Ron asks, his breath puffing across the back of my neck.
I think for a moment, and decide that I actually am hungry, and that I can probably manage to sit at the table downstairs and eat.
“Yeah,” I say, “Yeah, I think I will.” I shift a little, and grimace at the sensation. “I have to change my pants, first, though.”
The distaste must be evident in my voice, because I feel Ron relax a little behind me, and hear him snigger at my state of disarray.
“Shut up,” I grouch, without venom. I really do feel quite slimy and disgusting, but it’s hard to get up the motivation to move when things feel a little bit right for the first time in forever.
“We shouldn’t be too long,” Ron warns. “I came up here ages ago. Dinner’s probably just about ready, by now, and Mum’s going to come looking for us, otherwise.”
I make a grumbling noise of complaint and burrow deeper into the pillow, before stretching out my limbs and making the effort to sit up. The pants come off, immediately, and I try and wipe myself down a bit with them, but it’s no use. My pubic hair is all gluey; nothing short of a shower will fix it and there’s no time. I pull on jeans and a t-shirt that’s been worn to softness. It isn’t one of Dudley’s, but one of Ron’s, and he probably got it from one of his older brothers, years ago.
Ron is rebuttoning his shirt as I hesitate, hand outstretched, beside the bed. Though I can see the need for it, I can’t help but feel that the potion signifies my failure. I don’t realise how long I’ve been stuck there, hovering in indecision and misery, until Ron appears at my side and slips his hand into mine.
“I’ve got a Chocolate Frog somewhere, if it tastes bad,” he offers.
“It doesn’t,” I respond.
“Go on, then,” Ron urges, giving my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
I uncork the bottle and take a tiny, measured mouthful. I’m aware of Ron taking the bottle from me and carefully resetting it on the bedside table as the room whirls around me for a couple of seconds.
“You all right?” Ron asks. He’s got an arm around me, steadying me. I lean my heavy head back against his shoulder, and take a deep, slow breath.
“Mmmm,” I hum. “Fine. Jus’ a bit, you know. Spinny. Goes away, in a bit.”
“Right,” Ron says, sounding a bit uncertain. “I’m going to help you down the stairs, all right?”
“All right,” I agree placidly, happy to lean in close to Ron as the stairs twist and turn back on themselves beneath my feet, following the delicious scent of Molly’s cooking to its source.
<- 41. Yearning c@r 43. Preparation
Author: iamshadow
Ship: Ron/Harry
Word Count: 1,095
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: I don't know whether to warn for a wank or boysex. *shrug* Bodily fluids.
Summary: Harry awakens.
A/N: If this chapter sucks at all, I blame the fact that I'm not feeling well at all today. Ugh. Sorry about that.
The Teapot 'verse Series
Chapter List HERE
Future Fics HERE
Teapot Cookie Fics HERE
I wake uncharacteristically slowly. Generally, lately, I jolt into consciousness, instantly alert, checking for danger before I take another breath. This isn’t like that at all. It’s as though I’m swimming up to the surface of a deep, warm pool of water. The mattress and bedding cocoon me, and I know that I’m lying in the circle of someone’s arms. It’s nice, and it feels safe. The familiar panic is far away, barely noticeable. I sigh, and snuggle in closer, and I hear a gentle murmur, feel a light kiss on my brow. My cheek is pressed against a firm chest, and my half-hard cock is nudging against a muscled thigh. I rock my hips slowly, allowing my arousal to build, the sensation to wash over me.
“Oh,” someone gasps, their voice shocked and pleased and full of wanting. It might be my voice, it might be his. I’m not certain, and in this warm, half-awake place, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that friction, and nuzzling blindly up to meet his lips with my own.
The kisses are light, but there’s an air of desperation about them.
It’s been too long, I think, even though I’m not sure what I mean, myself.
I’m rubbing against him faster, now. He doesn’t try to pull me in close, or tilt his pelvis so that our cocks align, even though I’m sure he’s hard too. He just lets his hand drift down to rest on my hip, caressing it lightly as I thrust.
The kisses disintegrate when I get close, as I pant and moan softly. He’s gasping, and his hand on my hip twitches now and then, as though he’s struggling not to cling to me. I slide a hand under his waistband and trail a finger down his crack, feather-light, and he shivers all over.
“Shit,” he swears, and his cheek is damp against mine. “Oh fuck.”
His thigh presses a little firmer against me, and it’s the last straw. I come hard, crying out and trembling in his arms, and it’s only when he keeps stroking my back afterwards and repeating soothing phrases over and over, that I realise the wet on my face isn’t sweat at all, but tears that won’t stop.
I open my eyes for the first time, and meet his worried, almost frightened gaze. I’m fully awake, now, trying to catch my breath between hiccups. I seem to have lost that wonderful control I had. It went wrong, somewhere, turned against me like an animal, and now there’s nothing left of it. I turn to face away from him, unable to stand the look in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, not exactly certain what I’m apologising for. There’s so much I want to take back, undo, unsay. I wonder when kindness from people around me began to hurt, rather than comfort.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Ron answers softly, misunderstanding. “You just didn’t... You haven’t wanted to... Did I do the wrong thing? Should I not have... um...?”
I can hear the guilt and self-doubt in his voice, and I suddenly realise he thinks he’s taken advantage of me, despite the fact that I started it, and that Ron himself probably didn’t get anything but frustration out of the encounter. The idea is so ludicrous, I actually laugh.
“No,” I wheeze between chuckles. “Nothing wrong.”
I wriggle back until I’m pressed against him, and, encouraged, he winds his arm around me. To my surprise, I can feel that he’s not hard after all, though I imagine he was not long ago, before I scared him.
“Mum wanted to know, a while ago, if you’d be down for dinner,” Ron asks, his breath puffing across the back of my neck.
I think for a moment, and decide that I actually am hungry, and that I can probably manage to sit at the table downstairs and eat.
“Yeah,” I say, “Yeah, I think I will.” I shift a little, and grimace at the sensation. “I have to change my pants, first, though.”
The distaste must be evident in my voice, because I feel Ron relax a little behind me, and hear him snigger at my state of disarray.
“Shut up,” I grouch, without venom. I really do feel quite slimy and disgusting, but it’s hard to get up the motivation to move when things feel a little bit right for the first time in forever.
“We shouldn’t be too long,” Ron warns. “I came up here ages ago. Dinner’s probably just about ready, by now, and Mum’s going to come looking for us, otherwise.”
I make a grumbling noise of complaint and burrow deeper into the pillow, before stretching out my limbs and making the effort to sit up. The pants come off, immediately, and I try and wipe myself down a bit with them, but it’s no use. My pubic hair is all gluey; nothing short of a shower will fix it and there’s no time. I pull on jeans and a t-shirt that’s been worn to softness. It isn’t one of Dudley’s, but one of Ron’s, and he probably got it from one of his older brothers, years ago.
Ron is rebuttoning his shirt as I hesitate, hand outstretched, beside the bed. Though I can see the need for it, I can’t help but feel that the potion signifies my failure. I don’t realise how long I’ve been stuck there, hovering in indecision and misery, until Ron appears at my side and slips his hand into mine.
“I’ve got a Chocolate Frog somewhere, if it tastes bad,” he offers.
“It doesn’t,” I respond.
“Go on, then,” Ron urges, giving my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
I uncork the bottle and take a tiny, measured mouthful. I’m aware of Ron taking the bottle from me and carefully resetting it on the bedside table as the room whirls around me for a couple of seconds.
“You all right?” Ron asks. He’s got an arm around me, steadying me. I lean my heavy head back against his shoulder, and take a deep, slow breath.
“Mmmm,” I hum. “Fine. Jus’ a bit, you know. Spinny. Goes away, in a bit.”
“Right,” Ron says, sounding a bit uncertain. “I’m going to help you down the stairs, all right?”
“All right,” I agree placidly, happy to lean in close to Ron as the stairs twist and turn back on themselves beneath my feet, following the delicious scent of Molly’s cooking to its source.
<- 41. Yearning c@r 43. Preparation