Oh what the hell, says Ron
A soft slide of skin on skin, the sheets shifting, whispering with a sensual voice of their own. There's a low squeak, the one that only came from Harry's bed, when he sat up too fast. But this time instead of the last gasp of a smothered nightmare, the protest of old springs is followed by a low shuddering breath. Harry only grunts a little, and the sound is stifled by a long, slow, wet sultry smack. Followed by another grunt, one that isn't from Harry. A lower voice, a hitch of breath.
Maybe he had dropped his teddy, or maybe there was a louder sound earlier that he didn't recall, but Neville found himself blinking and looking about blearily.
The sheets rustle again, and the sound of the grind of the bed is too loud, too heavy for just one person. And that rhythmic panting is not Harry.
The room felt suddenly hot to Neville, as his mind came awake and he recognized those sounds. He eyes shifted in uncomprehending darkness as he wondered what to do. He should tell them he's awake, he doesn't want to hear this, but he knows - god, wow, wouldn't that be embarrassing? If someone knew, and not only knew, but caught them at... it. Neville wouldn't embarrass anyone, he knew that feeling all too well. And he didn't want Harry looking at him funny tomorrow, avoiding him. Maybe even mad at him. He didn't know why exactly Harry would be mad, but everyone was always mad at him so he was ready for it.
So Neville stirred deliberately, as if just waking up. Yawned.
There was another squeak, a "shh!" and a low chuckle. And more smacks.
Oh shit, that hadn't worked.
At least the rocking grind had stopped. Neville sighed and stared up at his canopy. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the half-light, and the folds above made vague shadows of grey on dark grey. He looked around the room, flushed and (if he would admit it) titilated by just what his roommates were doing.
The slow rise and fall of Dean and Seamus' blankets told Neville what he needed to know on their account. He looked over at Ron's bed, but of course, the blankets were squashed to the foot of the bed, the pillow dented with the memory of the red head that had been there just hours before. Well, he sure hadn't gone far.
There was a sudden high-pitched gasp and a squeak from Harry, and what sounded like a laughing - purr? They were playing cat and mouse between the sheets.
Neville cringed in humiliation. His cock of course had it's own twitching response, which only made matters worse.
Then there was a whisper, a slight breathless laugh: "We really ought not to be doing this here -" silenced by another wet sound, slow slurping, and he ended with a moan.
Harry's right! Neville thought as loudly as he could, not here! Not here!
Instead of an answer (or a blessed halt) Ron's voice whispered: "Lumos. Hang on, I can't see to undo -"
Oh no. Neville didn't want to hear the end of that sentence. Fortunately Ron didn't finish it. The red curtains around Harry's bed glowed now, a private bubble of light revealed shadows. You could tell it was Harry from the wild streaks and spikes the shadows made of his hair. Ron was a softer, round blur, moving.
"Got it." Ron said hoarsely. He was suddenly more real to Neville now, for having been seen in just this position. His shadow danced and made crazy motions, then stretched and lay flat with Harry's. "Nox." He sighed.
There were several sudden sharp rustles, yanks at the sheets, and Neville could hear what sounded like Harry turning over.
Neville closed his eyes in disbelief. And heard a cough from Dean's bed. He glanced over. There a slight sparkle of eyes, and the sheets were no longer doing that steady rise and fall. A quick glance at Seamus showed he was still asleep.
Gratefully, Neville made a helpless gesture at Dean, hands wide. He could just barely see the white of Dean's eyes roll. He was so relieved that he wasn't alone with this, and that Dean was staying silent, too. Neville rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.
He and Dean would talk tomorrow.
Neville smothered a helpless giggle at a loud moan from Harry's bed.
Couldn't Ron be quiet about anything?