Pansy - for cc45tom - Ron/Pansy, Harry/Ron - NC-17
Title : Pansy
For : cc45tom
Pairing : Ron/Pansy, Harry/Ron
Prompt : Harry comes to claim his Ron and is sucked in (as it were)
Words : 1788
Rating : NC-17


Ron had always assumed that being captured by Death Eaters would be terrifying.

Painful.

Dangerous.

And that it would be during the War.

But no.

Not when you are as big an idiot as he apparently was, and went blundering out of the rain and into a pub in Knockturn Alley and pushed back your hood to give the few remaining, disgruntled Death Eater wannabes a glimpse of Weasley-red hair.

All the big name fiends – BNFs, Harry called them – had been rounded up, and no one was worried about the flotsam of minor evil and children of dead Death Eaters.

Ron was unconcerned at the silence in the room, until a wand was pressed to his ribs.

“Well, well, well,” a soft voice whispered. “How did I live to be this lucky?”

And everything went black.

When everything stopped being black, Ron couldn’t believe his eyes.

He wasn’t expecting this much luxury in a prison cell.

Fred had been held by Real Death Eaters, during the War, and no, Ron wasn’t jealous, but when he got home and told the twins he’d been held prisoner in a large room with a four-poster bed and a hot bath ready and waiting on the hearth, well, they were gonna take the piss something rotten.

He pushed back the covers and swung his legs out of bed, only stopping when he realised he wasn’t wearing anything.

Looking round the room for his clothes, all he could see was a blue brocade robe, draped over the end of the bed. Shrugging into it, he stifled a moan at the feel of the silk against his skin and padded over to the bath, to investigate.

It was hot and steaming and full of pine smelling bubbles and he was very tempted.

If his captors had meant to drown him, they could have done it while he slept, not wait until he climbed into the bath.

So he dropped the robe and climbed in.

At first, he resisted the impulse to close his eyes, but what was the point of being on his guard? He’d slept through being brought here, being undressed and being put to bed; it didn’t seem like his baby Death Eaters were all that scary.

He relaxed into the bubbles, trying hard to worry about what would happen next.

Because he should worry, he knew that; everyone else would be worrying.

His mum would be frightened.

Hopefully Neville would manage to keep it from Hermione, because all he needed was a heavily pregnant woman attacking his Dark Wizards.

Harry.

His Harry would be frantic.

His Harry would come looking for him; putting himself in danger.

Which was touching.

Very.

Ron allowed himself to daydream a bit.

About Harry storming the Evil Lair and slaughtering the Death Eaters and sweeping him up in his arms and kissing him.

Godric, when had he turned into such a girl?

But Harry would definitely do the storming and the slaughtering.

And even the hugging.

The platonic, best mates hugging.

Which would be enough.

Ron sighed and rose from the bath, shaking the water from his hair and damply shrugging on the brocade robe.

He was mooching around the room, half heartedly trying to open the windows, tapping the panelling, looking for secret passages, when he heard the door click open.

Turning on his heel, he swallowed nervously, anxious for the first sight of his captor.

“Parkinson?” he snapped. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Pansy tilted her chin up and looked at him through narrowed eyes; Ron pulled his robe tighter around him.

“A bit late for modesty, Weasley,” she murmured. “Seeing as I undressed you.”

Ron swallowed. “Why?” he demanded.

“Your clothes were all wet and muddy,” she drawled, coming into the room and leaning against a bedpost. “I didn’t want to get my sheets dirty.”

“Your sheets?”

“This is my house,” she said.

“So, it’s not a Death Eaters’ dungeon?”

Pansy looked out the window, watching the sheep placidly munching their way across the hillside, opposite.

“Aren’t dungeons usually a bit more… underground?” she asked.

“I’m just a bit uncomfortable with the concept of a Death Eater’s cosy bedroom,” Ron said.

“I would have thought a dungeon was more uncomfortable, Weasley, but then I never understood you.”

“I never asked you to,” Ron said. “Why’ve you brought me here?”

“It was just too good a chance to miss,” she said. “Seeing you on your own, like that.”

“You won’t get to Harry, through me,” Ron said belligerently.

“Why would I want to?” Pansy asked.

Ron blinked.

“I don’t care about your precious Boy Who Lived,” Pansy scoffed. “This isn’t about Death Eaters and the Chosen One.”

“Then what is it about?” Ron demanded.

Pansy stepped closer and slid one talon-nailed hand down his chest and into his robe.

“This,” she whispered, closing her fingers round his cock.

Ron pulled away. “What the fuck was that?” he shouted.

“That was your cock,” Pansy said seriously. “Does the poor ickle Gryffindor not know what to do with it?”

“Keep it well away from Slytherins, if I don’t want Dragon Pox.”

“Well,” she smiled. “That is why you’re here.”

“Dragon Pox?”

“No,” she snapped, losing her cool for the first time. “Because I want your cock.”

Ron’s eyes opened wide. “Why?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because a filthy Slytherin must want it for a Potion ingredient,” she said.

Ron’s hands covered his groin.

“I could never understand why you’d waste it on that Mudblood,” Pansy said, taking out her wand and pointing it at him. “And I am going to make you forget you ever laid a finger on her.”

Ron grabbed uselessly at the bedpost as he was thrown onto the bed, struggling as ropes bound his wrists above his head and snaked tightly around his ankles and pulled his legs apart.

Pansy knelt at the foot of the bed, parting his robe with a flick of her wand and pouting down at his naked body.

“What a waste,” she said.

Ron tugged at his bindings.

“You won’t get free,” Pansy said quietly. “I have waited years to do this, and you are not going to stop me.”

“You’re not exactly getting me aroused here, Parkinson,” Ron snapped. “So I don’t see what you’re gonna manage to do.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure I can arouse you, Weasley,” she smiled. “What man can resist his cock being sucked?”

Ron snorted. “By someone attractive, maybe,” he muttered.

Pansy crawled closer, between his thighs, and ran one talon down his cock, as it slumbered on its bed of red hair.

“Mind what you do with those claws,” Ron snapped.

“What, your Mudblood never drew blood?” Pansy smirked, her fingers disappearing between his legs and cradling his balls.

“No, she never… we never… we never did anything, and stop calling her that.”

“You never did anything?” Pansy scoffed. “I thought you tired of her and handed her over to Longbottom?”

“Hermione and I were never together,” Ron said carefully. “And you are never going to get me off here, so why don’t you just let me go?”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “Not the Mudblood,” she murmured.

“No. And stop calling her that.”

She smiled, wickedly, and ran her hands roughly through her short black hair. “So, Weasley, maybe it was the Chosen One, instead.”

“No,” Ron protested.

“Maybe,” she said, leaning down and nuzzling his cock. “Maybe it’s the sight of black hair in your lap that does it for you.”

“Stop it,” Ron said.

“It’s always been you, Ron,” she growled, dropping her voice an octave. “The thing I’d miss most, right? Mate?”

“Please, stop,” Ron begged, twisting against the ropes holding him spread-eagled on the bed. “It’s not like that.”

“But you’d like it to be, wouldn’t you?” she said, taking his cock in her mouth and sucking as it hardened on her tongue.

Ron cried out at his body’s betrayal and then gasped as the wet heat was dragged away as Pansy was thrown across the room, landing in an unconscious heap on the floor.

Raising his head from the pillows, he saw Harry, standing in the open doorway.

He’d never been so pleased or so embarrassed to see his best friend.

“Harry?” he croaked.

Harry’s eyes were fixed on his cock, which perked up considerably.

“Harry?”

“I heard what she said,” Harry said quietly, his eyes finally rising to meet Ron’s.

Ron laughed nervously. “It’s called being tortured by Death Eaters,” he said, pulling against his bonds.

Harry’s green eyes were steady and serious, and rather sad. “Ron?” he whispered, taking a step closer. “Why did she say that?”

“You didn’t have to stop and listen,” Ron complained. “That’s not what you do when you are rescuing someone; when they are in danger.”

“I did,” Harry breathed. “Because she was pretending to be me and sucking your cock.”

“Well, that’s not my fault,” Ron said. “Harry, untie me!”

Harry knelt between his legs. “D’you really want me to?” he asked in a very small voice.

“Harry?” Ron squeaked.

“Why did she say that?” Harry begged.

Ron closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Because she couldn’t arouse me as a girl,” he said finally. “Because I only got hard when she talked about you.”

He gasped as a finger ran up his shaft.

A finger with short, blunt nails.

And a Harry on the other end.

And he opened his eyes wide as Harry’s lips closed over his cock.

“Aw, fuck, Harry,” he whispered.

Harry’s eyes locked on his and he sucked, harder.

“Yes,” Ron whispered. “Fuckyes, shewasright.”

Harry’s eyes closed and he hummed around Ron’s shaft, his head bobbing, one hand sliding under his arse, one cupping his balls and rolling them perfectly between callused fingertips.

And Ron arched off the bed, arms and legs tugging at his ropes, cock jerking and spilling down Harry’s throat.

Harry knelt up, his hands on Ron’s thighs, his head bowed, his tongue running over his lips.

“Um,” he said.

“Did you…”

“I meant it,” Harry interrupted swiftly.

“Excellent,” Ron said. He tugged at his bonds again. “So, about this rescue?”

“Shit,” Harry said, coming out of his trance and severing the ropes.

Ron sat up, rubbing his wrists.

Harry ran a fingertip over the reddened skin, over the old scars.

“So,” he said. “Are we… OK?”

“OK about what happened, or OK that it’s gonna keep happening?” Ron asked quietly.

“Both,” Harry said firmly.

“We are very, very OK,” Ron said. “I owe you one, but can we get on with the rescue part, first?”

“As long as you keep that robe,” Harry smiled, as Ron belted it round his flushed and naked body.