shocfix (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shocfix) wrote,@ 2005-03-01 01:45:00 |
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Thigh Highs - H/R - NC-17
Title: Thigh Highs
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 450
Rating: NC-17
A smutlet for my Harry/Ron claim at 50_smutlets.
Thigh Highs
****
Harry and Susan had been complaining all week that the hostesses were getting new outfits at the weekend; Ron had been complaining that Harry's arse was black and blue from punters' pinching fingers; Kingsley had been complaining about their expenses claims.
Harry Flooed in from Susan's flat, in jeans and a check shirt and full make up; he ran through the lounge, clutching his new outfit, just before he was due at the club.
Ron lay full length on the couch, reading the Evening Prophet and trying to get up enough energy to Floo over to Seamus' and collect him.
He listened to Harry swearing in the bedroom.
"How long is the skirt?" he called out.
"Don't ask," Harry called back.
"Suspenders visible?"
"No suspenders, this time."
Ron snorted. "Let's see," he said.
Harry dashed in, straightening his very short skirt. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, gonna be late," he muttered.
"Call in sick," Ron choked.
Harry's knickers were barely visible, but the things Ron couldn't tear his eyes away from were spike heeled, thigh high, black patent leather boots.
"Very funny," Harry said, reaching for his coat.
"Not joking," Ron whispered. "Come here."
"But I…."
"I don't care," Ron said, sinking to his knees and sliding Harry's knickers off, over the shiny leather.
Harry rolled his eyes and stepped out of them "Really quickly, then," he said. "How d'you want me?"
Ron sat back on his heels, his eyes frantically scanning Harry's legs, before lingering on the tip of his cock, visible under the edge of the tiny skirt..
"You… um… I… fuck, Harry, I can't think straight."
Harry laughed and lay down on the couch. "C'mere," he whispered, one high heeled foot on the floor, one leg draped along the back of the couch.
"Oh, dear god," Ron whispered, frantically unzipping his jeans and freeing his aching erection. "I gotta be inside you."
Harry reversed his wand and handed it to Ron, who nodded sharply before filling his hand with lube and stroking it on his cock.
He knelt between Harry's legs and slid his arm behind the leg propped up on the couch cushions; leaning forward, he positioned himself at Harry's entrance and pushed slowly inside, groaning at the heat surrounding him and the black leather sliding past his cheek as Harry hooked his leg over his shoulder.
"Oh, Harryfuckyes," he moaned, his other hand petting Harry's thigh just above the top of his boot as he pushed his legs further apart.
Harry hissed between his teeth, his hand moving beneath his skirt to stroke himself.
"Harry, fucking unbelievable," Ron gasped, gazing down at his debauched boyfriend as he came. "You are such a slut. Love you so much."
My Table.
Title: Thigh Highs
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 450
Rating: NC-17
A smutlet for my Harry/Ron claim at 50_smutlets.
Thigh Highs
****
Harry and Susan had been complaining all week that the hostesses were getting new outfits at the weekend; Ron had been complaining that Harry's arse was black and blue from punters' pinching fingers; Kingsley had been complaining about their expenses claims.
Harry Flooed in from Susan's flat, in jeans and a check shirt and full make up; he ran through the lounge, clutching his new outfit, just before he was due at the club.
Ron lay full length on the couch, reading the Evening Prophet and trying to get up enough energy to Floo over to Seamus' and collect him.
He listened to Harry swearing in the bedroom.
"How long is the skirt?" he called out.
"Don't ask," Harry called back.
"Suspenders visible?"
"No suspenders, this time."
Ron snorted. "Let's see," he said.
Harry dashed in, straightening his very short skirt. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, gonna be late," he muttered.
"Call in sick," Ron choked.
Harry's knickers were barely visible, but the things Ron couldn't tear his eyes away from were spike heeled, thigh high, black patent leather boots.
"Very funny," Harry said, reaching for his coat.
"Not joking," Ron whispered. "Come here."
"But I…."
"I don't care," Ron said, sinking to his knees and sliding Harry's knickers off, over the shiny leather.
Harry rolled his eyes and stepped out of them "Really quickly, then," he said. "How d'you want me?"
Ron sat back on his heels, his eyes frantically scanning Harry's legs, before lingering on the tip of his cock, visible under the edge of the tiny skirt..
"You… um… I… fuck, Harry, I can't think straight."
Harry laughed and lay down on the couch. "C'mere," he whispered, one high heeled foot on the floor, one leg draped along the back of the couch.
"Oh, dear god," Ron whispered, frantically unzipping his jeans and freeing his aching erection. "I gotta be inside you."
Harry reversed his wand and handed it to Ron, who nodded sharply before filling his hand with lube and stroking it on his cock.
He knelt between Harry's legs and slid his arm behind the leg propped up on the couch cushions; leaning forward, he positioned himself at Harry's entrance and pushed slowly inside, groaning at the heat surrounding him and the black leather sliding past his cheek as Harry hooked his leg over his shoulder.
"Oh, Harryfuckyes," he moaned, his other hand petting Harry's thigh just above the top of his boot as he pushed his legs further apart.
Harry hissed between his teeth, his hand moving beneath his skirt to stroke himself.
"Harry, fucking unbelievable," Ron gasped, gazing down at his debauched boyfriend as he came. "You are such a slut. Love you so much."
My Table.