Harry Potter -- Experimenting: The Scientific Method Way
Title: Experimenting: The Scientific Method Way
Author: Fabella (wistful_fever)
Fandom: Harry Potter, set in the sixth or seventh year
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: Adult-ish. References to body parts, but no sex.
Summary: “So?” Harry said finally. “Results?”
Challenge: For contrelamontre. Show, don’t tell, the afterglow.
Notes: I went over the time limit a tiny bit while editing.
*
Experimenting: The Scientific Method Way
Harry’s hand was still in Ron’s pants, loosely cupping the softening flesh, fingers sticky with ejaculate. Hot breath scoured Harry’s neck like the pads he used to wash dishes at the Dursley’s, Ron’s sunfire face pressed tight against Harry’s shoulder, mouth still hanging open from his final, deafening moan.
“Um,” Harry said, the one word shaky.
Past Ron’s hair, the curve of Harry’s arm was visible. Bent at the elbow, the robe sleeve bunching on the thighs of Ron’s pants, his knobby wrist vanishing inside the opening, the notches of his knuckles four bumps under the fabric. Harry’s pointer finger twitched, sliding along the underside of Ron’s prick, and Ron hissed, hips drawing back from the contact even as he crushed his face harder against Harry.
Harry gently released Ron and pulled his hand free from the fabric. Again gently, he pried Ron’s hand out of his own pants, flinching when Ron’s fingers dragged over his pubic hair, seemed to grasp.
“Those are mine,” Harry said.
“Sorry,” Ron grunted at Harry’s neck, and quickly pulled his arm away, setting his hand on his own kneecap, blunt nails digging in.
Quiet took them in. They stayed as they were in the silence: Ron’s face heating up Harry’s shoulder, breath hurting Harry’s neck, one of Harry’s arms used as balance to hold the both of them up. Ron had his other arm around Harry’s waist, palm on his hip, and squeezed progressively tighter as the silence went on, became awkward.
“So?” Harry said finally. “Results?”
“Poof,” Ron confirmed, flexing his fingers on Harry’s hip. “Flaming. Want to fuck you through a wall.”
“That’s that, then. You were right.”
Harry let go of Ron, shifting on the bed to reach for his wand where it had since fallen to the floor. Ron’s hand, still on Harry’s hip, tugged him back over to Ron’s side with the strength one got from being monstrously tall and, Harry thought, unfairly fit for a person who didn’t do much exercise besides running around saving Harry’s life. The wet fingers of his other hand slipped over Harry’s wrist, lifting it slowly to his mouth, just breathing on the skin, one hot breath after another, until Harry couldn’t control himself any longer, and twitched his eyes in Ron’s direction.
Only a glance, he told himself, but Ron promptly sucked Harry’s semen-coated fingers into his mouth, pulling them past his kiss-bruised lips. Harry strangled a gasp, and his eyes fixated, grew a new point of reference. He’d be in NEWT Potions tomorrow and think, Oh, Ron’s sucking his spunk off my fingers. No, wait, that’s just Snape picking his hideously huge nose.
“Poof?” Harry managed when Ron, after being impossibly thorough and dedicated, wouldn’t Hermione be proud?, finally stopped stealing points from Harry’s I.Q. He folded Harry’s wet fingers within his own, holding his hand.
“A poof,” Ron said, nodding.
Harry shifted, leaning in to press his face against Ron’s shoulder as Ron had done to him mid-climax. The cloth smelled of mothballs and age, and nothing had ever been sweeter to Harry, except, perhaps, for the moment when Ron came to him for help.
An experiment, Ron had said. You’re gay. Help a friend out, would you?
“I already knew anyway,” Ron said now, kissing Harry’s sweaty forehead. “I just wanted in your robes. I can’t believe you fell for that line.”
Harry smiled, widely, and cheerfully clobbered Ron with a pillow.
*
End
Feedback is very nice. Yes, yes.
Author: Fabella (wistful_fever)
Fandom: Harry Potter, set in the sixth or seventh year
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: Adult-ish. References to body parts, but no sex.
Summary: “So?” Harry said finally. “Results?”
Challenge: For contrelamontre. Show, don’t tell, the afterglow.
Notes: I went over the time limit a tiny bit while editing.
*
Experimenting: The Scientific Method Way
Harry’s hand was still in Ron’s pants, loosely cupping the softening flesh, fingers sticky with ejaculate. Hot breath scoured Harry’s neck like the pads he used to wash dishes at the Dursley’s, Ron’s sunfire face pressed tight against Harry’s shoulder, mouth still hanging open from his final, deafening moan.
“Um,” Harry said, the one word shaky.
Past Ron’s hair, the curve of Harry’s arm was visible. Bent at the elbow, the robe sleeve bunching on the thighs of Ron’s pants, his knobby wrist vanishing inside the opening, the notches of his knuckles four bumps under the fabric. Harry’s pointer finger twitched, sliding along the underside of Ron’s prick, and Ron hissed, hips drawing back from the contact even as he crushed his face harder against Harry.
Harry gently released Ron and pulled his hand free from the fabric. Again gently, he pried Ron’s hand out of his own pants, flinching when Ron’s fingers dragged over his pubic hair, seemed to grasp.
“Those are mine,” Harry said.
“Sorry,” Ron grunted at Harry’s neck, and quickly pulled his arm away, setting his hand on his own kneecap, blunt nails digging in.
Quiet took them in. They stayed as they were in the silence: Ron’s face heating up Harry’s shoulder, breath hurting Harry’s neck, one of Harry’s arms used as balance to hold the both of them up. Ron had his other arm around Harry’s waist, palm on his hip, and squeezed progressively tighter as the silence went on, became awkward.
“So?” Harry said finally. “Results?”
“Poof,” Ron confirmed, flexing his fingers on Harry’s hip. “Flaming. Want to fuck you through a wall.”
“That’s that, then. You were right.”
Harry let go of Ron, shifting on the bed to reach for his wand where it had since fallen to the floor. Ron’s hand, still on Harry’s hip, tugged him back over to Ron’s side with the strength one got from being monstrously tall and, Harry thought, unfairly fit for a person who didn’t do much exercise besides running around saving Harry’s life. The wet fingers of his other hand slipped over Harry’s wrist, lifting it slowly to his mouth, just breathing on the skin, one hot breath after another, until Harry couldn’t control himself any longer, and twitched his eyes in Ron’s direction.
Only a glance, he told himself, but Ron promptly sucked Harry’s semen-coated fingers into his mouth, pulling them past his kiss-bruised lips. Harry strangled a gasp, and his eyes fixated, grew a new point of reference. He’d be in NEWT Potions tomorrow and think, Oh, Ron’s sucking his spunk off my fingers. No, wait, that’s just Snape picking his hideously huge nose.
“Poof?” Harry managed when Ron, after being impossibly thorough and dedicated, wouldn’t Hermione be proud?, finally stopped stealing points from Harry’s I.Q. He folded Harry’s wet fingers within his own, holding his hand.
“A poof,” Ron said, nodding.
Harry shifted, leaning in to press his face against Ron’s shoulder as Ron had done to him mid-climax. The cloth smelled of mothballs and age, and nothing had ever been sweeter to Harry, except, perhaps, for the moment when Ron came to him for help.
An experiment, Ron had said. You’re gay. Help a friend out, would you?
“I already knew anyway,” Ron said now, kissing Harry’s sweaty forehead. “I just wanted in your robes. I can’t believe you fell for that line.”
Harry smiled, widely, and cheerfully clobbered Ron with a pillow.
*
End
Feedback is very nice. Yes, yes.