Quidditch Injuries - H/R - NC-17
Title: Quidditch Injuries
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 924
Rating: NC-17

For my darling cork, because I love her and she is a good person and she is drawing canon for hpqfac for charity, and I have sponsored her, but said I’d pay extra for Harry/Ron, and that is just evil of me, but friendship!art is even better than her porn, because I can put it on my wall and sigh.


Quidditch Injuries
****
Sitting at Ron’s hospital bedside never got any easier and Harry sighed and ran his fingertip over freckled knuckles and silently apologised for all the times at school that Ron had visited him in the hospital wing.

And the month at St Mungo’s when Ron’d never left his side after the final battle.

And, OK, so there’s been no Dark Wizards and ancient curses to knock Ron unconscious, this time.

Just a fall from his broom.

Sometimes Harry despaired of the Wizarding World’s casual attitude to the extreme brutality and random danger of Quidditch.

What sort of society let an eleven-year-old ride a cursed broom, hundreds of feet in the air?

Let a twelve-year-old have his arm broken by a Bludger?

Let a thirteen-year-old fly in a thunderstorm?

Let a twenty-one-year-old professional Keeper wink at his boyfriend, in the stands, and take a Quaffle to the head?

Ron muttered something about mice and stirred and Harry leant closer, but Ron settled back to sleep again.

He brushed Ron’s fringe out of his face and trailed his fingers down the sleeping cheek.

He contemplated peeling back an eyelid to see a sliver of blue eye, but decided that that’d be a bit mean. He considered putting his foot down and making Ron leave the Cannons and stay at home, with him, wrapped in cotton wool.

Or tied to the bed, at the very least.

They’d come so close to never even getting together, both convinced he’d have to watch the other one marry his sister, or closest thing to one.

Until Voldemort had been found and they’d had a briefing on the Order’s plans for Harry to confront him, the following day, and Ron had come into Harry’s room afterwards and closed the door behind him and leaned against it and said, “Um.”

Harry had already stripped down to purple boxers with Snitches on and Ron had been totally distracted and just stared at them.

And Harry had said, “Ron?”

And Ron had looked up from Harry’s silk covered cock and blushed and Harry had lit up like a Wildfire Whiz-Bang and launched himself across the room and pressed Ron up against the door, their mouths devouring each other, their hands ripping off clothes, their bodies thrusting and grinding as they whispered that it could have been too late and they had had to say something, and oh god, at last.

And Ron had spun them round and loomed over the smaller boy and grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the door above his head as they both looked down between their bodies, to where Ron was slowly thrusting against him, their cocks sliding past each other, velvet skin dragging against prickling hair and aching balls.

And that had been their only, desperate, coupling before the battle that nearly drained Harry dry, and he’d been unconscious for a month and he really thought they’d been though enough and were ready for the happy ever after, now, thank you very much.

He sighed and wraped his arms around as much of Ron as he could reach and rested his cheek on Ron’s chest, their fingers entwined. He listened to Ron’s steady heartbeat and he thought of how much Ron loved the Cannons and he knew he’d have to watch him play over and over again and he sighed and nuzzled closer and Ron’s other hand stroked his hair.

“Ron, you’re awake!” he gasped, leaping up.

“Hmmm,” Ron said. “What happened?”

“You were flirting with me and got knocked off your broom,” Harry said sternly.

“No, the game!” Ron protested. “What happened to the game?”

Harry sighed.

“They lost,” he said. “Catesby let in twenty-seven goals.”

Ron winced, knowing that it was really his fault they’d lost.

“I’m for it, now, aren’t I?” he asked.

“I don’t think anyone else saw you flirting,” Harry said wryly. “You may get away with claiming it was an accident – if your ears don’t flush and give you away.”

“And are you OK?” Ron said.

“I’m fine!”

“You saw me fall, and you were all snuggled up on top of me when I woke up,” Ron said.

“I don’t like you getting hurt,” Harry said. “I want to wrap you up in cotton wool.”

“Kinky,” Ron said approvingly.

Harry snorted.

“I’m not feeling kinky,” he said sternly.

Ron tsked and pulled Harry down onto the bed beside him, swiftly parting the other man’s robes and freeing his cock.

“You’re not gonna let this go to waste, are you?” he said, tugging and squeezing and stroking until it was heavy and hard in his hand.

“Ron, you’re in hospital,” Harry protested weakly. “You have been unconscious; you are not allowed to fuck anybody.”

“Not even Malfoy?”

“Shut up.”

“Fine,” Ron said, turning his back on his boyfriend.

“Don’t sulk,” Harry said, putting a hand on his shoulder and pulling him back against his chest.

“I’m not sulking, you prat!” Ron laughed. “I’m not gonna worry you by over exerting myself, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve some fun, and these hospital gowns open at the back, especially for this sort of thing!”

He wriggled closer and pulled his gown forwards, over his hip.

Harry laughed and ran his hand down the curve of the splendid arse presented before him.

“That’s not why they’re back to front,” he said severely. “It’s so they can change it and stuff when you’re unconscious.”

“Isn’t,” Ron scoffed. “They’re back to front so you can get at my back to frot.”

So he did.