Phone - H/R - NC-17
Title: Phone
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 569
Rating: NC-17

A smutlet for my Harry/Ron claim at 50_smutlets.


Phone
****
Poor old Myfanwy won another holiday in an unexpected competition, and a Polyjuiced Ron was back behind the bar.

Tonks was being pungent, in the corner, and Susan was at the bar, being wide eyed and attracting the attention of several of Ron's patrons, who didn't realise she could kill them with her bare hands, no matter with her wand or the poisons she carried in her dainty handbag.

Seamus had been left at home, as several older brothers of a lovely young lady called Rhian wanted to have a word with him. There was a good chance they'd have a niece or nephew receiving a Hogwart's letter in about eleven years, and he'd rather put off that conversation, unless it was unavoidable.

Harry was once more perched on a bar stool, trying to look vulnerable and trying not to punch the bloke who had one of Myfanwy's curls wrapped around his finger and was staring down her cleavage.

"Oh, Daffyd," Ron giggled and Harry ground his teeth.

This was the third evening he'd spent in the pub, hoping for a sight of McNair, and he wasn't sure he could cope with seeing Ron saying goodnight to his regulars again.

Suddenly, the 'phone behind the bar rang.

Ron met Harry's eyes and shrugged, desperately, his breasts shifting.

"Answer it," Harry mouthed.

Ron shook his head and edged away, turning to serve one of his admirers.

Harry rolled his eyes and leant over the bar for the 'phone.

"Blue Lion," he said.

"Jones the Post says Myfanwy's working tonight," a Welsh voice stated.

"Yeah," Harry grunted. "Who shall I say is calling?"

The other man laughed. "Tell her Geraint, you English pansy."

Harry covered the mouthpiece and beckoned Ron over. "A Geraint wants to talk to you," he said.

"Oh, shit," Myfanwy murmured. "He's my bloke."

Harry handed her the 'phone and glared at him.

"Ger, cariad," Ron trilled. "No, I know, I was going to go away, but the extra shifts came up. No, I'm not just blowing you off. Oh!" Myfanwy's eyes opened wide and Ron lowered his voice. "Yeah, of course I want to blow you, you naughty boy."

Harry's eyebrow shot up under his fringe.

"Ger, not now," Myfanwy hissed. "I can't."

Harry leant down and banged his forehead on the bar and Ron tugged him up by a handful of his hair.

Putting a finger beneath his chin, to force him to meet his eyes, she turned her back on the customers at the far end of the bar.

"Oh, you know you're my bloke," Myfanwy whispered, her eyes locked on Harry's. "If I could get off work, I'd have you upstairs in my room and I'd kneel at your feet."

Harry smiled dopily.

Myfanwy licked her lips and Harry's cock stirred. Hoping that this was because his cock somehow realised that it was Ron's tongue, he pressed his hand against the bulge in his jeans and carried on listening.

"Just how you like it babe," Ron whispered, smiling at his confused boyfriend. "I'll suck you deep in my throat and you can fuck my mouth until you come, screaming my name. You know I will, Ger. Sure, next week, night, babe."

"How d'you know just how he likes it?" Harry asked hoarsely.

Ron shrugged. "What bloke wouldn't want to fuck my mouth?" he said. "I just hope Myfanwy enjoys it as much as I do."


My Table.