Sight - H./R - NC-17
Title: Sight
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 651
Rating: NC-17

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


Sight
****
Harry ran his hands through his hair for the hundredth time and Ron frowned at him and smoothed it down again.

"You weren't this nervous facing You Know Who," Ron said. "What's wrong with you?"

Harry glanced round at the black leather couches and scary pieces of erotic art. "I am nervous because a total stranger is gonna watch me take it up the arse and take pictures."

Ron tutted. "He's seen it all before, and, while I think your arse is one of the eight wonders of the world, there is no reason to think he'll lose control of himself."

"Eight?"

"What?"

"It's seven wonders."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Muggles never get anything right," he complained. "'Sides, it's not even my favourite part of your body."

Harry frowned. "It's not?"

"No."

"I always thought it was."

Ron shrugged. "Well, it's a close run thing, I guess, but I think, on the whole, I prefer your cock."

"On your hole," Harry scoffed and they both sniggered.

And that is when their photographer arrived.

Harry blinked.

Now, he'd have to admit he was gay – he was here to get naked and sweaty and ravish another bloke – but at least he was a bloke.

The creature who fluttered towards them was draped in scarves and clasping an overdramatic hand to his chest as he greeted them.

Harry looked at Ron and raised an eyebrow.

"He's very good," Ron whispered.

"Or Hermione's playing a joke on us," Harry muttered.

Ron shook hands with the man and turned to introduce him to Harry.

"Oh, please," he breathed. "I know who you are. Harry, I am Tristan Cholmondely, and may I just say I am honoured that you have come to me. I know how you shun publicity, and, yes, I am touched. Choked."

"Ur, thank you," Harry said, shaking his proffered hand.

"Well, to business," Tristan proclaimed, opening the doors to his studios with a flourish.

Harry and Ron stepped inside and looked around. As well as all the lamps and cameras and strange machines, there was a pile of fur rugs in one corner, and a rail of strange costumes in another.

In the centre of the room, was a bed on a raised dias.

"Well, black is simply not possible," Tristan said. "Not with your hair."

And he raised his wand and the silk sheets changed to a deep green.

He turned to look at them and Harry took a nervous step closer to Ron. "Now what?" he asked.

"Now, you go and lie down together," Tristan beamed. "And just forget that I am here."

Harry didn't see how that would be possible, but he kicked off his shoes – "Socks, too," Tristan chirruped – and sat on the edge of the bed.

Ron got rid of his own shoes and socks and came to stand between Harry's knees. "I love you," he whispered.

Harry looked up into his sparkling blue eyes. He was never very good at judging people's emotions, but he'd know that look anywhere. That was Ron's 'I am gonna fuck you, now' look.

And, suddenly, everything was OK.

Suddenly he didn't care that Tristan was lighting lamps and positioning cameras; all he cared about was that Ron had pushed him back on the bed and was looming over him; that Ron's mouth had closed over his; that Ron's fingernails brought his nipples to peaks inside his silky black shirt; that he wantonly spread hs legs as Ron palmed his cock through his jeans.

He didn't care that Tristan was taking photographs as he thrust up into Ron's hand; as he unbuttoned Ron's shirt and pushed it off his shoulders; as Ron unzipped his jeans and slid his fingers inside, rolling Harry's balls between his fingers.

All he cared about was the man above him, eyes sparkling, hands wandering, pinning him to the bed.

The most beautiful sight he had ever seen.


My Table.