Undercover - H/R - NC-17
Title: Undercover
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 2000
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JKR, all descriptions of genitalia are fictional, and do not refer to DJR.

Ron goes undercover!

Happiest of Upside Down Birthdays to the wonderful mrsquizzical - see you next week, cookie!

Given the once over by the perfectitude that is maple_mahogany.


Undercover
****
I sat in the lobby of the Firkin Hotel and pulled my hat lower over my eyes. Peeping over the top of my newspaper, I watched someone checking in at the big shiny desk and pocket a plastic rectangle as he turned away.

Hiding behind an enormous thing full of flowers, I watched him follow a skinny bloke in a dreadful uniform wheeling a tall… wheely thing into a lift and turn as the doors slid silently closed.

I’d tried those lifts.

The fuckers wouldn’t work without the plastic thing.

I’d seen someone slide their rectangle into a slot by the buttons and press one. Blasted fancy Muggle lifts.

I sat back down, hid behind my paper once more and gave the problem some serious thought.

I was an Auror, so I should be able to do this!

I was in a Muggle hotel and couldn’t use magic; my target was in a room on the seventh floor.

What were my options?

I’d tried delivering some flowers, but the bitch at the front desk had taken them and promised they would be taken up to room 713.

I could knock out the bloke who wheeled the luggage, steal his uniform and his plastic rectangle, show someone to their room and slink off to the seventh floor.

I could hide in a large cardboard box and have myself delivered to room 713.

I could check into the hotel and score my very own plastic rectangle, but what if my rectangle only worked on my floor?

I knew the organisation had taken the whole of the seventh floor – I couldn’t hope to be nearby.

The woman at the desk was watching me, so I casually stretched, folded my newspaper and strolled out onto the street.

I’d already done it twice, but I decided to walk around the block, checking the building for weak spots.

There were three fire exits, but they opened from the inside.

There was a restaurant that had an external entrance, but that only led back out into the lobby.

There were.

Oh.

There were three blokes in the hotel uniform loitering outside the staff entrance for a cigarette.

Ducking into a ‘phone box, I drew my wand and Transfigured my clothes to a pretty good copy of the uniform. Pulling my cap low over my eyes and conjuring and lighting a cigarette with my wand, I sauntered over to join them, just as they ground their butts under their heels and turned to go in.

I threw my own cigarette away and followed them through the door just as it swung shut.

They waved their farewells to each other and went their separate ways down what seemed like miles of identical corridors.

I walked purposefully into the building, trying to look like I knew what I was doing.

So. I was inside, but I still didn’t have a plastic rectangle to activate the lifts, and my target was still seven floors above me. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, yet I needed a good reason to be upstairs.

A reason that was good enough for the hotel staff, but also for the security guards I knew would be posted on the seventh floor.

As I passed what sounded like a large and busy kitchen, the doors opened and a pretty girl backed out, pulling a triple decker trolley, laden with three dinner trays, covered in silver domes.

I automatically held the door for her and she smiled and tugged her trolley out into the corridor.

“Thanks,” she said. “Blasted thing has a wonky wheel and a mind of its own!”

“Can I give you a hand?” I asked, striking a ridiculous pose and flexing my muscles.

She laughed.

“Yeah,” she said. “I don’t see why not.”

She set off down the corridor and I followed her with the sentient trolley as she pressed the button to call the lifts down to us.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” she said, taking a sacred plastic rectangle out of her pocket and twirling it between her fingers.

“I’m new,” I said, pushing the independent trolley into the lift, after her. “Transferred down from, uh, Bolton.”

“Right,” she said, sliding in her rectangle and pressing button seven. “Well, these trays are for the seventh floor.” I whooped inside. “Rooms 701, 702 and 713. I brought supper to room 713 last night and this big goon wouldn’t even let me knock. Said giggling women weren’t allowed in the room. Took the tray in himself. No one knows who’s taken the seventh floor – maybe a rock band, or something, and they’re keeping the fans away.”

“Want me to do that one?” I asked casually.

“Well, yeah, if you don’t mind,” she said happily, holding the lift doors open as I manoeuvred the trolley out into the corridor. “You just knock and say ‘room service’. If there’s no answer, you use your key to get in and you leave the tray on the table.”

“Right,” I said confidently, my heart racing.

We’d stopped outside room 701 and my new friend handed me the bottom-most tray and pointed me down the corridor.

I straightened my uniform and strode past locked doors and two bored looking guards sprawled in armchairs.

One looked up as I approached room 713 and I nodded at the tray and said ‘room service’.

Apparently male hotel staff weren’t a danger to his clients and he grunted and nodded at the door, before slouching back into his chair.

I cleared my throat, balanced the tray on one hand and rapped smartly on the door.

“Room service,” I said brightly.

There was a rattle of bolts and the door swung open, the room’s occupant turning away and saying, “on the table, please,” without even looking at me.

I closed the door behind me and crossed to the table, making a production of moving a vase of flowers out of the way and placing the tray on the table.

I turned to face him, to find he was fiddling with a handful of Muggle money, presumably for my tip.

He held out a couple of fat, brassy coins and I reached for them

“Thank you very much, sir,” I said and his eyes finally flew to my face.

“Ron!” he gasped. “What the fuck d’you think you’re doing here?”

“I had to see you,” I said, not thrilled with my welcome.

“You’ll get into so much trouble,” he moaned. “If you’re caught…”

“You worry too much,” I said calmly. “You look stressed, and no wonder, locked up in here. C’mon.”

I took his hand and tugged him towards the bedroom.

“What d’you think you’re doing?” he asked, wide eyed.

“I think I’m gonna suck you off and then fuck you so hard you won’t be able to sit on a broom,” I said cheerfully. “And then you can come downstairs with me, because I’ll need your rectangle thing to work the lift.”

“No!” he said. “Don’t you think the guards will wonder why the room service bloke has been in my bedroom for an hour?”

“Pfffrttt, who cares?” I shrugged. “On the one hand you spend the evening alone, on the other -” I waggled my eyebrows and thrust my middle finger upwards as suggestively as I could, “- you get this finger up your arse.”

“Please, stop it,” he moaned. “You know you shouldn’t be here!”

I stepped closer and kissed him on the nose.

“I don’t want to get you into trouble, Harry,” I said. “But I missed you.”

“A week!” he said. “A one week training camp with a strict curfew – and all because you wanted me to join the Cannons - can’t you last that long without sex?”

“Without your arse?” I asked. “No.”

He sighed.

And gave in.

“You are not fucking me so hard I won’t be able to sit on a broom,” he said. “I have training in the morning.”

I grinned widely.

“OK,” I agreed. “Then you get to chose what goes up your arse.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“What exactly are my choices?” he asked.

“My cock,” I said, counting off his choices on my fingers.

“Too big,” he said, and I actually flushed.

“My fingers,” I went on.

“Hmmm, even that’ll hurt when I’m flying tomorrow.”

I slid my arms round his waist and cupped that delicious arse through his jeans. Pulling him hard against me, I dipped my head, running my tongue along his jaw line until I reached his ear.

“My tongue?” I whispered.

“Seems like the best solution,” he whispered back.

“Only practical,” I agreed, unzipping his trousers and pushing them down his slim hips and letting them slide down his legs and pool around his ankles.

He stepped out of them and his boxers and kicked them away

He reached for the button on my jeans and I batted his hands away.

“No time for that,” I murmured

He blinked at me. “But you’re the one who’s sex starved,” he protested.

“I don’t need access to my cock,” I said. “I’ve had access to my cock – it’s your arse I missed.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes and yelped as I spun him round and bent him forwards over the arm of the couch.

“Ron!” he gasped.

“Hush,” I murmured, my eyes on my goal.

He laughed and tipped further forwards, making himself comfortable and spreading his legs for me.

I knelt between his feet and ran my hands over his perfect arse.

I admired how it dimpled when I dug my fingers into his cheeks, and how it blushed when I stopped.

And how he arched his back as I parted those perfect cheeks.

I bent my head and nuzzled my spot at the base of his spine, pressing kisses into his skin and sliding my tongue out to taste him.

“Oh hurry up,” he moaned. “The guard will come and check on me, soon.”

“You cannot hurry art, Harry,” I said solemnly and he snorted and thrust his arse unsubtly up towards me.

And how could I refuse him?

I finally dropped my head and ran my tongue between his cheeks, sighing as he trembled beneath me and reached for his poor trapped cock, pressed up against the couch.

I took my wand from my back pocket and lapped frantically at his hole, pressing inside him as he pushed back against my face and I wordlessly carved an opening in the arm of the couch with a Hollowing Charm.

“Fuck the couch, Harry,” I whispered, dropping my wand and grasping his aching cock and directing it to the new channel.

“What have you done?” he gasped as his cock slid between the velvety walls.

“Hush,” I murmured, grasping both cheeks and returning to my place.

Because it was my place, my favourite place. Kneeling behind him, buried inside him, feeling him shake as he thrust back and forth, fucking the fucking furniture and fucking himself on my tongue.

Until he came with a startled cry and fell across the couch, shaking.

I sat back on my heels and petted his arse as he lay there, waiting for his reaction.

“You. Are. Insane,” he finally panted. “I fucked the couch!”

I let my fingers trail between his cheeks and they tightened.

“I fucked the couch, Ron.”

“Lucky couch,” I said, watching as he withdrew his cock and slumped to the floor, staring at the hole.

He turned to look at me.

“My come is inside the couch,” he said weakly.

I picked up my wand and closed the opening in question. “There,” I said. “No one’ll ever know.”

He shook himself and leant against me and I kissed his temple.

“Ron,” he said, looking quizzical. “How on earth did you know how to do that?”

I flushed.

“A week without you,” I pointed out. “We may have… a few holes in our mattress.”