Trifling With His Affections - for magicofisis - Harry/Ron - NC-17
Title : Trifling With His Affections
For : magicofisis
Pairing : Harry/Ron
Prompt : fruit trifle; Moody's foe glass; bourbon
Words : 1023
Rating : NC-17


I hate it when Ron cooks.

I come home to find every dish, saucepan and spoon we own encrusted with something and piled on every surface.

Ron is standing in the middle of this chaos, triumphantly sprinkling hundreds and thousands on top of a trifle.

No, I didn’t know you could sprinkle triumphantly; living with Ron is a learning experience.

“Hey!” he says happily, wiping his hands on his jeans and leaving whipped cream all over his arse.

“You cooked?” I ask.

Well, I’m always hungry after practise, and at least I won’t have to make dinner.

“Trifle,” he says proudly.

I look round at the mess. “Just trifle?” I ask.

“D’you know how many layers there are in a trifle?” he says. “It took all day.”

I sigh.

“Well, what’s for dinner?”

“What’re you making?” he asks cheerfully.

I look round at the dirty pots and pans.

“How did you get six saucepans dirty?” I ask.

“Custard?”

Ron picks up a jug of custard and waggles his eyebrows.

“Made too much,” he says. “Got some left over.”

“Ron,” I say nervously, backing out of the kitchen.

“C’mon,” he says, following me with the jug.

“Ron, I am tired and hungry, and I am not in the mood,” I snap.

“Alright,” he huffs. “Keep your hair on!”

He turns back towards the kitchen and I drop into an armchair, taking off my glasses and rubbing my face and wondering what is in the larder that doesn’t need cooking.

I put my glasses back on and glance up at the mirror over the fireplace.

Ron is still in the kitchen, and thinks I can’t see him, but the mirror was a gift from Alastor and I can see him swiftly stripping off his clothes and slipping back into the lounge.

I roll my eyes at the look on his face as he sneaks up behind me with his jug of custard.

As he tips it over my head, I cast a Shield Charm and it splashes back at him and he wails and I turn in my seat and watch the custard dripping down his body.

“You’re right,” I say, leaning forward to lick it off his chest. “This is a good idea.”

I chase it with my tongue, eagerly lapping it up as he tangles his hands in my hair.

“L-love it when you swallow, Harry,” he murmurs, his voice rumbling against my lips.

I laugh and slip my arms round his waist, my hands settling naturally on his arse as I nibble my way lower.

“What d’you want?” I mutter.

“Suck me,” he begs, pushing my head down.

“I thought you’d never ask,” I whisper, pulling him flush against the back of the armchair and settling down to sucking on the cock that juts over the headrest.

His hands grip the cushions tightly as my fingers slip between his cheeks and brush over his hole.

“OhfuckyesHarry,” he babbles, trapped between my hands and my mouth as I suck happily.

I lean back as far as I can, without letting the tip of his cock slip out of my mouth; I and look up and his eyes are closed and his mouth is open and he is gasping my name and I slip a fingertip inside him and he floods my mouth and collapses over the back of the armchair.

I laugh as I sit back on my heels and he slithers over and lands in my lap, hands reaching for the zip of my jeans as I drag my t-shirt over my head and his custardy body is wrapped around mine.

“What do you want?” he murmurs between kisses as he frees my cock and strokes it.

“Want you,” I whisper and he tries to turn round in the chair, one knee hitting me in the jaw and one barely missing my groin.

I yelp and fall backwards onto the floor and hush him as he tries to apologise.

“Just kneel,” I say sternly and he leans against the back of the armchair and spreads his legs.

Taking advantage of my position on the floor, I run my thumbs up between his cheeks, dipping my head and nuzzling at his balls and running my tongue in circles until I reach his entrance.

He groans and unsubtly arches his back, opening himself up for my mouth as I breach him with my tongue.

My hands squeeze his arse and smooth up his back, feeling the muscles flexing under my fingers as I run down his chest, scooping up the custard I missed earlier and spreading it between his cheeks.

“Oh, fuck, Harry,” he gasps. “No way.”

“Wanna bet?” I laugh, reaching for the jug he’d dropped beside the chair and pouring the last of the custard over his hole.

“You can’t,” he protests feebly, as I stand behind him and rub the head of my aching cock over and over his entrance.

“Try me,” I whisper, pressing forward and pushing inside him.

He opens his mouth to reply, but only manages a strangled moan as I sheath myself inside him, my balls meeting his as he pushes back against me.

I grip his hips as I withdraw, watching my cock stretching him, watching his head tip back as he mutters filthy promises under his breath.

He is so hot and tight and a bead of sweat is dripping down his neck and I lean down to suck it up as I thrust harder and pour myself into him.

Dropping my head between his shoulder blades, I murmur into his skin and gasp as I slip out of his body, sighing happily as he turns and takes me in his arms.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” he says, kissing me, custard still glistening in various nooks and crannies. “I’ll find you something for dinner.”

I rest my forehead against his chest and try to catch my breath.

“There must be something in the larder,” I say.

“Chocolate biscuits,” he shrugs, stroking my hair.

“Get me a bourbon, would ya, babe?” I ask him, curling up in his lap.

I love it when Ron cooks.