shocfix (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shocfix) wrote,@ 2005-03-01 01:20:00 |
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Leather - H/R - NC-17
Title: Leather
Author:shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 750
Rating: NC-17
A smutlet for my Harry/Ron claim at 50_smutlets.
Leather
****
They were supposed to be meeting Neville for a drink, so Ron tidied his desk by shoving everything on it into a draw and slamming it shut.
Harry rolled his eyes and tidied his paperwork properly.
He was watering the fanged geranium on his filing cabinet and Ron was leaning one hip on the corner of his desk, twiddling a take-away menu between his fingers and speculating on the likelihood of Neville bringing a date, and if so, what sort of food she'd like, and what chance was there that she'd go for an Indian, because they hadn't had an Indian for ages, when Kingsley stuck his head round the corner of their cubicle.
"What the hell was that all about, Potter?" he snapped.
Harry looked from the brightly coloured pictures of lamb dansak to his trembling geranium.
"You are not supposed to scream at other Aurors during an interrogation," Kingsley said heavily. "My office, now."
Harry gestured vaguely at Ron, who took a step backwards, brandished his menu and promised to get the first round in and he'd see Harry at the pub.
Harry sighed and went off to have his wrist slapped.
By the time Kingsley had finished telling him off, Harry decided there wasn't time to change, so he just ruffled his hair, untucked his shirt and Apparated to the Three Broomsticks.
He felt a bit guilty for shouting at Ron like that.
Yes, Ron knew how to push all his buttons; he could get him from zero to erect in five seconds, but he knew there was a time and a place.
Usually.
Cemeteries not-withstanding.
So, he'd have a nice, friendly drink, with his scruffy best mate, free from sexual tension.
Nev would fill them in on what was happening up at the school.
They'd tell him what Hermione had been up to.
Nice.
He pushed open the door, and the first thing he noticed was an arse, in black leather.
It was very noticeable, as the owner was apparently standing on a table, in the middle of a circle of admirers.
The second thing he noticed was that his cock had also noticed the tight fitting trousers, the perfectly edible arse and the endless legs.
The third thing he noticed was that the arse was very familiar.
He looked up.
What the fuck was Ron doing, standing on a table in the Three Broomsticks, wearing skin-tight leather trousers?
Ron turned and saw him and smiled.
OK, apparently he was being effortlessly and devastatingly sexy and Harry was doomed.
He strode through Ron's ring of fans and gazed up at him, shaking his head in disbelief and thanking the fates for his long loose shirt, covering his growing erection.
Ron squatted down with a leathery squeak and beamed at him. "What d'you think?" he demanded.
"Why on a table?" Harry asked, staring at the crotch in front of him.
Ron shrugged a shoulder. "Someone thought I wouldn't," he explained. "C'mon Harry. What d'you think?"
"Outside," Harry whispered.
To smirks and catcalls, he turned on his heel and left the bar, hearing the thud as Ron jumped off the table and followed him.
He stalked round the corner into a quiet wynd and waited.
Ron's footsteps stopped behind him and he took a deep breath.
"What's wrong?" Ron asked plaintively.
Harry turned round, his eyes blazing and Ron took a half-step back, before stumbling as Harry lunged for him and slammed him against the wall of the pub.
"Harry?" Ron whispered.
Harry growled and sank to his knees.
"Oh," Ron whispered.
Harry reached out and stroked the bulge covered in soft, black leather; he leant forward and rubbed his face over it, like a cat.
"Right," Ron whispered.
Harry unzipped the trousers and whimpered when he found there was no room for boxer shorts inside.
He nuzzled Ron's cock as it tried to escape, pale skinned against the supple black leather; he inhaled deeply and groaned at the musky smell.
"Fuck," Ron whispered as Harry's mouth finally closed over him.
Harry's eyes fluttered closed as he sucked greedily, digging his fingers into that tight leather covered arse and squeezing hard as Ron flooded his throat.
He finally sat back on his heels, licking his lips and gazing up at Ron.
"Where?" he muttered.
"Present from Nev," Ron said, trying to tuck himself back into his trousers. "He's been plant hunting in the States."
"Why?"
"He thought I'd like them," Ron shrugged.
"Right."
"He's got you some, too."
My Table.
Title: Leather
Author:
shocfixPairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 750
Rating: NC-17
A smutlet for my Harry/Ron claim at 50_smutlets.
Leather
****
They were supposed to be meeting Neville for a drink, so Ron tidied his desk by shoving everything on it into a draw and slamming it shut.
Harry rolled his eyes and tidied his paperwork properly.
He was watering the fanged geranium on his filing cabinet and Ron was leaning one hip on the corner of his desk, twiddling a take-away menu between his fingers and speculating on the likelihood of Neville bringing a date, and if so, what sort of food she'd like, and what chance was there that she'd go for an Indian, because they hadn't had an Indian for ages, when Kingsley stuck his head round the corner of their cubicle.
"What the hell was that all about, Potter?" he snapped.
Harry looked from the brightly coloured pictures of lamb dansak to his trembling geranium.
"You are not supposed to scream at other Aurors during an interrogation," Kingsley said heavily. "My office, now."
Harry gestured vaguely at Ron, who took a step backwards, brandished his menu and promised to get the first round in and he'd see Harry at the pub.
Harry sighed and went off to have his wrist slapped.
By the time Kingsley had finished telling him off, Harry decided there wasn't time to change, so he just ruffled his hair, untucked his shirt and Apparated to the Three Broomsticks.
He felt a bit guilty for shouting at Ron like that.
Yes, Ron knew how to push all his buttons; he could get him from zero to erect in five seconds, but he knew there was a time and a place.
Usually.
Cemeteries not-withstanding.
So, he'd have a nice, friendly drink, with his scruffy best mate, free from sexual tension.
Nev would fill them in on what was happening up at the school.
They'd tell him what Hermione had been up to.
Nice.
He pushed open the door, and the first thing he noticed was an arse, in black leather.
It was very noticeable, as the owner was apparently standing on a table, in the middle of a circle of admirers.
The second thing he noticed was that his cock had also noticed the tight fitting trousers, the perfectly edible arse and the endless legs.
The third thing he noticed was that the arse was very familiar.
He looked up.
What the fuck was Ron doing, standing on a table in the Three Broomsticks, wearing skin-tight leather trousers?
Ron turned and saw him and smiled.
OK, apparently he was being effortlessly and devastatingly sexy and Harry was doomed.
He strode through Ron's ring of fans and gazed up at him, shaking his head in disbelief and thanking the fates for his long loose shirt, covering his growing erection.
Ron squatted down with a leathery squeak and beamed at him. "What d'you think?" he demanded.
"Why on a table?" Harry asked, staring at the crotch in front of him.
Ron shrugged a shoulder. "Someone thought I wouldn't," he explained. "C'mon Harry. What d'you think?"
"Outside," Harry whispered.
To smirks and catcalls, he turned on his heel and left the bar, hearing the thud as Ron jumped off the table and followed him.
He stalked round the corner into a quiet wynd and waited.
Ron's footsteps stopped behind him and he took a deep breath.
"What's wrong?" Ron asked plaintively.
Harry turned round, his eyes blazing and Ron took a half-step back, before stumbling as Harry lunged for him and slammed him against the wall of the pub.
"Harry?" Ron whispered.
Harry growled and sank to his knees.
"Oh," Ron whispered.
Harry reached out and stroked the bulge covered in soft, black leather; he leant forward and rubbed his face over it, like a cat.
"Right," Ron whispered.
Harry unzipped the trousers and whimpered when he found there was no room for boxer shorts inside.
He nuzzled Ron's cock as it tried to escape, pale skinned against the supple black leather; he inhaled deeply and groaned at the musky smell.
"Fuck," Ron whispered as Harry's mouth finally closed over him.
Harry's eyes fluttered closed as he sucked greedily, digging his fingers into that tight leather covered arse and squeezing hard as Ron flooded his throat.
He finally sat back on his heels, licking his lips and gazing up at Ron.
"Where?" he muttered.
"Present from Nev," Ron said, trying to tuck himself back into his trousers. "He's been plant hunting in the States."
"Why?"
"He thought I'd like them," Ron shrugged.
"Right."
"He's got you some, too."
My Table.