Flying - H/R - NC-17
Title: Flying
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 491
Rating: NC-17

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


Flying
****
The Aurors had two teams in the Inter-Departmental Quidditch League; Harry played at Seeker for the A team and Ron at Keeper for the B's.

This wasn't usually a problem, as there was nothing Harry enjoyed more than going to watch Ron play, and Ron had always loved to watch Harry fly.

Just once a year, the teams faced each other.

The rivalries in the department were dreadful, in the week leading up to the game; players found themselves sent on wild goose chases after fake Death Eaters, who specialised in boil curses or after importers of mysterious substances that caused dizziness and fainting spells .

But Harry and Ron had a pact.

They saw each other in far too vulnerable positions to play practical jokes on each other.

Their rivalry was kept to the Quidditch pitch.

Which wasn't as pure and noble as it sounds.

Because, once they were up in the air, all bets were off.

Ron kept narrowed eyes on the Quaffle, at all times, but, whenever Harry flew past, he ran his hand up and down the shaft of his broom, as suggestively as possible.

He didn't stand a chance.

He simply had to keep a clean sheet, because Harry was bound to catch the Snitch, and the B's had to keep at least a hundred and sixty ahead.

So, he really needed to concentrate on the game.

And not listen out for the filthy words that Harry whispered, each time he passed Ron's hoops.

Look at how your thighs grip that broom was easy enough to ignore.

I love your arse in Quidditch gear was harder.

I'm gonna need that arse, later left him glazed eyed, just as the A's Chasers attacked.

Want me to use my mouth? made him wobble and they scored.

Don't bother guarding your ring, tonight made him blush and hope desperately that no one else had heard.

You know I'm gonna score, Ron made him long for Slytherin taunts.

You know I'm gonna fuck you through the mattress was too much.

"Fuck off, Harry," he snapped, glaring at his partner and letting in a second goal.

His captain glared at him and he shook himself and focused on the Quaffle again.

He was doing much better, managing to ignore Harry moaning his name and making the little noise he always made when Ron entered him.

But they were only ahead one hundred to twenty when Harry swooped on the Snitch, apparently unflustered by the orgasm he'd faked on his previous lap of the pitch.

"You fucking bastard," Ron complained, as Harry draped an arm round his shoulders on their way off the pitch. "I'd have kept a clean sheet, if it wasn't for you."

Harry smirked. "What's so great about a clean sheet?" he asked. "Tonight I am gonna rim you 'till come all over our sheets."

"Well," Ron said, perking up significantly. "When you put it like that."


My Table.