Curiouser and Curiouser - H/R - NC-17
Title: Curiouser and Curiouser
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron – mention of Ron/Hermione and Harry/Hermione – OK, very funny, stop laughing.
Rating: NC-17
Words: 3500
Warnings: do we still warn for rimming? I just wondered.

Ron is gay, Harry is curious.

For all the wonderful, wonderful people at daily_countdown – especially sekkrit_twin, ginger_nuts and kaalee.

They have made my hubbiless time fly by, and he will be back on Saturday – totally knackered, which is unfortunate timing, because I will have to watch Doctor Who and be tormented into a sexual frenzy, and then watch hubby sleep.

Betaed by the shy and retiring secret_beta.


Curiouser and Curiouser
****
“So, what’s it like?” Harry said, suddenly.

“It’s a cheese and pickle sandwich,” I said, swallowing a large bite.

“No, not that,” he said. “Gay sex.”

I choked.

“Harry!” I complained.

“What?”

“You can’t just blurt out something like that!”

“Why not?” he asked. “We’re mates, aren’t we?”

I huffed. “Well, I don’t ask you what straight sex is like, do I?”

“You know what straight sex is like,” he pointed out.

I waved that away. “But, still, Harry!”

“Well, I thought we could ask each other anything,” he said.

Pouted.

The bastard.

“Why on earth would you want to know?” I asked.

“Well,” he said, ridiculously earnestly. “It must be pretty amazing, for you to give up women.”

I blinked at his enthusiastic face.

“I… I didn’t give up women for the gay sex,” I said, frowning and fiddling with my sandwich. “I gave up women because I’m gay.”

“What’s the difference?” he asked.

“Even if I didn’t manage to pull, it’d be a bloke I was trying to pull,” I said. “Um… and, if I do get lucky, well, then the sex is with a bloke, yeah. But I just am gay, I’m not faking it so I can sleep with men.”

He sniggered.

I rolled my eyes.

“But, how did you know?”

“Because I wasn’t attracted to women… because I thought of blokes when I bashed the bishop… and, anyway, a lot of the actual sex isn’t that different, is it?”

He blushed. “How would I know?” he asked.

“Well, like, a hand-job or a blow-job,” I said, looking firmly over his shoulder. “It isn’t all that different if it’s a girl or a bloke doing it. Though a bloke is more likely to know what’ll feel good; and a girl might not be quite firm enough, or confident enough.”

“Like Hermione,” we said, in unison, and I looked him in the face.

“What?” I asked.

“What?” he echoed.

“What d’you know about Hermione’s technique?” I demanded.

“Um,” he said.

“You slept with Hermione?”

“A bit,” he admitted.

“A bit?”

“When you split up,” he said. “She was upset.”

“So you fucked her?”

“Why are you so upset?” he asked. “You split up with her!”

“Because I was gay,” I shouted.

“Well, you didn’t tell her that!” he shouted back. “She came to my flat and was all ‘there’s something wrong with me, what did I do wrong?’ and then she was all ‘tell me how this feels’ and unzipping my trousers!”

“She went down on you?” I asked, hollowly.

He nodded.

“Fuck,” I spat.

I shouldn’t have been that upset, but the image of them together, the image of her kneeling at his feet and taking him in her mouth.

The thought that, yes, she wasn’t that confident about doing it, and I could do it so much better.

And that that was something I usually put a lot a lot of energy into not thinking about.

Sex with Harry.

Until fucking Harry goes and tells me about it.

I exhaled loudly and shook myself.

“Yes, well, right,” I said. “So, all that sort of thing doesn’t make much of a difference then, does it. And, um, well, if you, you know, top, well, some women let you, um, you know… Harry, do I have to go into great detail, here?”

He was slightly flushed. “No, no, topping, yes, fine. Though I’ve never…”

“So,” I interrupted, feeling thankful that we were coming to the end of this awful conversation. “The main difference is when you’re actually being fucked, and… there is nothing I can compare it to. And this conversation is over.”

I think I was as red-faced as he was.

But he didn’t let it drop.

“But,” he said. “How can you let yourself be that… vulnerable?”

I sighed. “Harry,” I wailed. “You just… you… sometimes it feels right, sometimes you just want him inside you.”

He nodded, his eyes on my throat.

“Can we talk about something else, now?” I asked.

“Did you ever…” he trailed off.

I closed my eyes and sighed.

Why wouldn’t he let this go?

“Did I ever what?” I asked.

“Never mind,” he said.

“Harry?”

“Did you ever… think of… me that way?”

OK.

No oxygen was getting through to my brain.

Felt dizzy.

Aha.

I had forgotten to breathe.

I gulped for air.

“Harry?” I asked, weakly.

“It’s just… I thought… about it… you.”

“Me?”

“Doing… stuff…” he looked out the window.

“You thought about me doing stuff in general?” I asked.

“No.”

I waited.

“Doing stuff with me,” he whispered.

OK.

This must be one of those parallel universe thingers that Hermione talks about.

Because my Harry would never have said that.

“You,” I blinked.

I had no idea how to finish the sentence.

“You thought about us… doing stuff?”

“Hmmm,” he said. “More of a wonder…ing.”

“Wondering?” I echoed, helplessly.

“What it would be like,” he whispered.

“With a man?”

“With you,” his voice shook slightly, but he looked up at me.

I carefully put my sandwich down and took a deep breath.

“You’re not gay, Harry,” I said carefully.

He shook his head.

“And I’m not an experiment.”

He frowned at me. “I don’t mean it like that,” he said.

“It sounds like it.”

He shook his head. “I always wondered.”

“Always?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” he flushed. “Since I… Hermione…”

“Since Hermione sucked your cock?” I said harshly.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“And all I could think of was her sucking yours. What it would be like.”

Fuck.

“Fuck, Harry,” I said weakly.

“If you want,” he said.

“Not funny,” I said, getting up and crossing swiftly to where he sat.

I leant down, one hand on each arm rest, trapping him.

“Yes, I thought of it,” I said quietly, our faces inches apart. “In far greater detail than you have. And it is not something I want to joke about.”

His eyes were huge and dark in his nervous face, and his chest rose and fell rapidly, but he didn’t look away.

Then, unbelievably, he leant closer.

“Don’t,” I whispered against his lips. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Harry.”

Our lips met.

Briefly, chastely.

He sat back and swallowed audibly.

I marvelled at my restraint, when I had six years’ of my wildest fantasies gazing up at me.

“Harry,” I whispered. “You have no idea…”

“You said it’s not that different,” he murmured.

I half-laughed.

“Show me,” he said, winding his hands in my t-shirt and pulling me down.

I gave in.

I’d always sworn I wouldn’t spoil things by making a pass at him, but he’d done the chasing, hadn’t he?

My stupid Gryffindor.

So, I closed my eyes and kissed him.

His head was tipped back and he opened up to me and I drank him in.

My Harry.

I started to kneel down, but he pulled away far enough to murmur “no”, and let go of my t-shirt to slip from the armchair and kneel before me.

“Harry,” I moaned, opening my eyes to watch him unbuttoning and unzipping me, a look of fierce concentration on his face.

His eyes flicked up to my face, but then my trousers dropped and he cupped my erection through my boxers.

He looked nervous, but he stroked me firmly and then pulled down my underwear and looked my cock in the eye.

“Harry,” I said. “You don’t have to.”

“Oh, yes I do,” he said, and, with his facing Death Eaters look on his face, he wrapped his hand around me.

Stroking me for a few moments gave him courage and he leant closer and took me in his mouth.

It was the least confident blow job I’d had since I broke up with Hermione, and he kept his hand firmly wrapped round my shaft after being hit in the throat, and his other hand just held tight to my hip, even when I shifted my feet to part my thighs and give him better access to anything he fancied exploring.

But I wound my fingers in his hair and watched him licking and sucking me, and it was Harry and that was enough to lift me towards my climax.

“Gonna come,” I muttered, pulling back and he let go of me with unflattering speed and it splattered across his chin and neck.

I sank to my knees, biting my lip and sure that this was the moment he admitted it had been a dreadful mistake, but he ran his fingers through my come and looked at it in amazement.

I struggled out of my trainers and tangled clothes, giving him a moment to take it in.

“Sorry,” he said and I looked up, surprised.

“What d’you have to be sorry for?” I asked softly.

“I panicked,” he said sheepishly. “I meant to swallow and everything.”

He was flushed and his hair was tousled from my fingers and my fucking come was on his face and he was more perfect than ever.

“That’s OK,” I said, smiling and taking of my t-shirt and using it to wipe his face. “This has a certain charm.”

He blushed.

I was sitting there, stark bollock naked, having just fucked his mouth.

And now he blushed.

I looked down at myself and shrugged. “Look,” I said. “We can call it a day if you want. You found out what it’s like, right?”

“Not all of it,” he said quietly.

“Harry?”

“Show me,” he said, again.

“Harry…”

“I know that wasn’t that great,” he interrupted. “C’mon, Ron. I just want to be better than Hermione at something!”

I laughed aloud and shook my head at his cheeky grin.

Well, in for a knut in for a sickle. “Show you what?” I asked, getting to my feet and holding out my hand.

He took it and pulled himself up. “Everything,” he said, firmly.

I led him over to the couch, where I had been sitting, and leant down for a kiss.

He sighed as I cupped his face, his hands hovering uncertainly between us, unsure where to land, as he was fully dressed and I was naked.

My hands ran down his neck and fell to the buttons of his shirt, and he finally settled on wrapping his arms round my neck.

Each button uncovered more skin and, much as my fingers were enjoying this exploration, I had waited a long time to see this.

So, I broke the kiss and stepped back to admire him.

His hands fell to his sides and I slid his shirt off his shoulders.

He would always be slim, but now he was wiry, having long ago shaken off the skinny, starved boy I’d met all those years ago.

I dipped my head to tongue the dip of his collarbone and he hissed.

Smiling against his skin, I worked my way across his shoulder and round behind him.

Tugging off his shirt, I ran my hands over his back; he tipped back his head and I bit his neck.

“Beautiful,” I whispered, careful to keep my feelings to myself, but unable to keep silent when he was finally under my hands, when I was finally undressing him. “So fucking beautiful.”

Kissing and biting his shoulders, his chest, I stood before him once more, marvelling at the flushed face and parted lips.

After brushing one more kiss over them, I stooped to close my mouth over his nipple.

He moaned and his hands came up to touch my face.

Tormenting one nipple with my lips and the other with my fingers, I popped the button on his jeans without him noticing.

Flicking my eyes down, I nearly drooled at the sight of the fine black hairs that led beneath his soft cotton briefs.

I fell to my knees and pulled down his jeans and he laughed nervously and stepped out of them, kicking them away.

His erection was inches from my face and I could feel the heat, smell his arousal, almost taste it in the air.

I traced his length with my fingers and he jerked forward against me.

“Ron,” he gasped and my cock twitched in reply.

Fuck, how I’d wanted to make him gasp my name; I’d have given anything to have this be more than experimentation.

Leaning closer, I rubbed my face against his cock, before mouthing him through the thin layer of cotton that separated us.

“Christ,” he whispered.

He was already trembling, and I wanted so much more, so I finally slid down his briefs and freed his erection.

Holding the head against my lips, I looked up through my fringe and met his eyes.

They were wide and dark and they fluttered closed as I sucked him into my mouth.

His velvet soft skin slid between my lips and he was hot and hard and heavy on my tongue as I took him as deep as I could and sucked hungrily.

He swore and his legs trembled and I laughed around his cock and sat back on my heels to push him down onto the couch.

I got rid of his briefs and he parted his thighs with wanton speed.

He was breathing swiftly, through flared nostrils, and his cock was arching between us and I knelt and ran my hands up his thighs, bringing them together beneath his balls and caressing him gently until he whimpered.

Wrapping one hand round his shaft, I stroked him slowly, running my palm over the head and making him moan as I lowered my head and nuzzled his balls.

His frantic hands scrabbled at my head, holding me in place as I sucked them into my mouth, one at a time, rolling them on my tongue and groaning into his skin as I felt his legs spread further and his arse slip over the edge of the couch.

I stopped mouthing him and looked up, still stroking his cock.

“Everything?” I asked quietly.

“Anything,” he whispered.

Well, he was a man of the world. The things I had dreamt of doing to him since we were eighteen may have shocked him then, but I felt I had been given permission.

I stood up and leant over him, thrusting my cock against his a few times before kissing him. “Turn over,” I whispered against his lips. “Kneel on the couch.”

His eyes widened but he wriggled over beneath me and I gave him room to come up on his knees, face pillowed on his folded arms on the back of the couch.

Starting at the back of his neck, I pressed kisses down his spine and he arched under my mouth.

When I reached his arse I ran my tongue in circles on one cheek and then the other, before nudging his knees further apart and ducking to cup his balls and bring them to my mouth once more.

He moaned and pushed back against me and I started licking him, each stroke starting at his balls and getting closer and closer to his entrance.

I half expected him to stop me, but I flicked my tongue over his hole.

He gasped and arched his back, opening himself up for me.

I parted his cheeks further with my thumbs and ran my tongue over and over him, marvelling that he would let me do this.

I stroked and petted and circled his entrance slowly with tongue and fingertips, pressing harder until one finger slipped inside him.

He froze, so I let it slide out and replaced it with the tip of my tongue, thrusting with tiny strokes until he pressed back against me and moaned my name.

When I tried my fingers again he exhaled noisily and dropped his head limply forward, allowing me to slip deep inside and reach for his prostate.

He jerked and tightened around my fingers before throwing his head back and crying out as I stroked it.

I sat back on my heels, one hand on his arse, as I watched myself finger-fucking him, watched him shaking and sweating under my hands.

“Harry,” I whispered.

“More,” he said.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

He looked back over his shoulder, eyes wild. “It just feels right; want you inside me,” he said quietly and I surged forward, covering his body and capturing his lips with mine.

We kissed and kissed and I mirrored the action of my fingers, thrusting my tongue into his mouth.

“Harry,” I whispered.

“Yes,” he whispered back.

I grabbed my wand from the occasional table and summoned lube from my bedroom.

Harry laughed nervously, watching me stroke it onto my cock and I breathed slowly, trying to stop my hands shaking.

I hadn’t been this nervous shagging a bloke for years.

But this wasn’t some bloke, this was my Harry and he was on his hands and knees, waiting for me to fuck him, and what the hell would happen after that?

I moved to stand behind him, using the head of my cock to spread lube over his entrance and pushing slowly forward as he exhaled and pushed back.

Carefully, I slipped inside, but he cried out and we both froze.

“Relax,” I murmured, stroking his back with one hand and reaching for his cock with the other.

“Hurts,” he whispered.

“Hush,” I said.

I bent over him, my legs trembling with the strain of not thrusting forwards, but resting my cheek on his shoulder and slowly stroking his cock until he huffed and carefully relaxed his muscles.

I moved deeper, with shallow thrusts, echoing them on his cock, until I was fully sheathed inside him.

He was shaking and I was kissing the back of his neck and murmuring and stroking him and he finally nodded and sighed.

“’T’s OK,” he said. “You can move.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said, kissing his neck and stilling my hand.

“I want you,” he said. “I want this. Don’t you?”

“Oh, Harry,” I said. “You have no idea.”

He half laughed and turned his face and I kissed him hard and slowly pulled out of him.

As I thrust back inside, he gasped into my mouth and I moaned.

He was so tight, and he still hadn’t relaxed properly, and I was so scared I’d hurt him, but his hand reached down to cover mine on his cock and I groaned and started moving in earnest.

I curled over him, thrusting and touching and kissing and watching the sweat forming along his spine and it was Harry and I wanted it to never end, because I was inside him and it was Harry.

And it would probably never happen again.

And it was Harry.

And I wanted to make him come, but I wasn’t going to last much longer, so I concentrated on my own climax and threw back my head and surged into him, thrusting until I saw stars and cried out and spilled into him.

I pulled back and slid out of him, falling to my knees.

He collapsed awkwardly on the couch, cross-legged, our hands still wrapped around the cock that bobbed between us.

This I could do for him.

I leant down and took him in my mouth.

“Yes,” he hissed, lying back on the couch and tangling his hands in my hair. “Please, Ron.”

Even though I was dreading the fallout on the far side of his orgasm, I gave him my best Better-Than-Hermione moves and soon he was holding my head firmly in place and thrusting up into my mouth and it was with a rather smug feeling I sucked his climax out of him and swallowed.

His cock softened and slipped out of my mouth, but I rested my cheek against it and kept my face buried in his lap.

It was over.

I’d shown him, right?

What gay sex was like.

I wondered how awkward it would be.

He stroked my hair.

“Come here,” he whispered, tugging on it.

I sat up and looked at him.

He looked incredible, lying full length on the couch, obviously debauched, corrupted, used.

He smiled and pulled my head down and kissed me.

And laughed at my surprised face.

“What?” he asked.

“I didn’t think we’d still be kissing,” I said stupidly.

“D’you want to stop?” he asked.

“Uh… no,” I said. “But I… um… I said I’d show you what it was like.”

“You also said you love me,” he said.

I boggled at him.

“No, I didn’t,” I said.

I’d been careful not to say that.

Except.

“Yes, you did,” he said smugly. “When you came.”

“Fuck.”

“Isn’t… isn’t it true?” he asked uncertainly.

I gave in.

As usual.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s true. I’m sorry.”

He whacked me on the head.

“Ow,” I complained.

“You’re sorry?” he echoed.

I sighed. “I shouldn’t have said it.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“You’re… uh… straight.”

He gestured eloquently to his naked, very fucked, body.

“I think we can agree I am probably bi,” he said.

“Yes, but…”

“And,” he interrupted. “As such, I am qualified to tell you that I love you, too.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoed.

I smiled dopily.

He grinned back.

“I thought you were just, you know, curious,” I said.

“Well, I was very curious,” he admitted. “And look at all the things I have learnt.”

I laughed.

“And I can try them all on you, now.” He grinned evilly.

I groaned as he rolled off the couch and into my lap.