The Seeker - H/R - NC-17
Title: The Seeker
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 3000
Rating: NC-17

Obviously, songfics are a very odd thing, and I only usually write them to turn the lyrics porny, but the lovely shaldana introduced me to this song, and well.

It is all about teh Harry/Ron.

It is dedicated to the luminous kerryblaze - she knows why – who joins me in the Harry/Ron love to a suitably insane degree and makes our ship a happier, smuttier and altogether better place.

Not betaed, I’m afraid, because I am too impatient…


The Seeker
****
I am a seeker
A poor sinful creature
There is no weaker than I am
I am a seeker

You are a teacher
You are a reacher
So reach down
Won't you reach out and lead me
Guide me and keep me
In the shelter of your care each day
'Cause I am a seeker
You are a keeper
You are the leader
Won't you show me the way

I am a vessel that's empty and useless
I am a bad seed that fell by the way
I am a loser that wants to be a winner
And you are my last hope
Don't turn me away

I am a seeker
A poor sinful creature
There is no weaker than I am
I am a seeker
You are a teacher
You are a reacher
So reach down
Won't you reach out and lead me
Guide me and keep me, Lord
In the shelter of your care each day
'Cause I am a seeker
You are a keeper
You are the leader
Won't you show me the way

Oh, I know you are a mountain
From which there flows a fountain
So let it's water wash my sins away
'Cause I am a seeker
You are a keeper
You are the leader
Won't you show me the way

The problem is, Ron has always taught me everything I know about living as a Wizard.

Hell, I spent my childhood in a cupboard, Ron has always taught me everything I know about living.

I can still picture the shock on his grubby little face when he realised I’d never heard of Quidditch.

And he’d gleefully taught me all about it; with a shameless slant towards the Cannons.

He’s so transparent.

We’ve always been able to talk about anything.

We talked for hours behind drawn curtains in our beds at school.

We stayed up and talked over summers in Ron’s old room at home.

About anything. All the things I never learnt about, growing up with Muggles. All the things he takes for granted.

So he'd know what the Wizarding World thinks about things like this.

Wouldn't he?

But what if the Wizarding World is really, really anti?

What if Ron is really, really anti?

Maybe, if my problem had just been that I’m gay, maybe I could have gone straight to him and asked for his advice.

But my main problem is Ron.

So I can't ask him.

I can't say, "Hey, what do we think of Wizards that love other Wizards? Because I'm in love with you."

Maybe I could have asked Hermione what she's read about it? Though I don't really want to be her next crusade for the oppressed.

So, maybe not.

And, anyway, it took me the longest time to work it out for myself.

I'm not really sure how these things work.

I don’t mean practically. I’m pretty sure I know what goes where.

I mean I don’t know what other people think of it. Even in the Muggle world.

I know Uncle Vernon's opinion, of course. And my rule of thumb, as always, is, "If he hates it, it must be OK."

So I've never had anything against gay, um, blokes.

Not that I've had any, um, exposure to them.

If you'll pardon the expression.

But when I realised that I simply didn't think of breasts and stuff anymore when I bashed the bishop; when I closed my eyes and stroked myself and pictured Ron’s face poised over me, Ron’s hands on me.

Well.

Big clue.

So, there really wasn’t anyone else I could ask. Anyone I trusted.

Well, there was Ginny, I guess, but I’d hurt her enough, without telling her the real reason I had never rekindled our relationship.

So.

It had to be Ron.

I’d ask him about gay wizards.

I didn’t have to tell him that I was in love with him. That I couldn’t sleep if I couldn’t hear him breathing. That I wanted to play connect the dots with his freckles.

Using my tongue.

So, I decided that I would tell him on one sunny afternoon at the Burrow, when we went for a walk.

It was hot and sticky and we kicked up dust as we crossed the dried up lawn and I wished that there’d been a stream or a pond or something nearby, because I really wanted to cool off.

As I followed Ron down winding lanes, I could see sweat darkening his hair and trickling down his neck, to pool between his shoulder blades and dampen his t-shirt. I considered putting off my big confession until a day when he didn’t look this good, but had to admit that that day was unlikely to come.

God, what a sap.

We stopped for lunch at a Muggle pub and had a pint and a ploughman’s in a cool, dark room with low beams and horse brasses.

Ron ate and drank heartily, oblivious to how he looked when he tipped back his head and drank his bitter; oblivious to how much I wanted to bite his neck as I watched him swallow.

We chatted about Quidditch and the Ministry and what jobs we should apply for in the autumn, as he chased his pickled onion round his plate and I watched him smiling and cursed my luck.

I just didn’t dare say anything, not in public. If I wanted to hear his unguarded opinion, well, I’d have to get him away from the Muggles. Get him on his own.

We finished our leisurely lunch and had another pint. I watched Ron’s hands as he doodled in the condensation on his glass and I wondered how I would ever cope without him if he reacted badly to my news.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, though the air felt heavy, and Ron suggested we take the long way back, over the fields.

Well, maybe I could tell him in the middle of a field somewhere, just in case he flipped.

I trailed after him, lost in my thoughts, not noticing the storm clouds boiling in until the sky was almost dark.

“Ron?” I called. “It’s gonna rain. How far from home are we?”

“Too far,” he muttered, peering up at the sky. “There’s a barn at the far side of the next hill, though. Maybe we should head for it?”

I shrugged and followed as he quickened his pace. Just as we reached the crest of the hill, the heavens opened.

“C’mon Harry,” Ron called and laughed aloud as he broke into a run and slithered down the hill in the pouring rain.

It was almost dark, the sky split with flickering lightning, when we reached the old barn and Ron pulled open a door. I followed him inside, laughing, and he pulled the door shut and turned to face me.

I took out my wand and whispered, Lumos, and cursed the fates.

He was laughing down at me, sopping wet, eyes sparkling, his hair plastered to his neck, his t-shirt clinging to his lanky body.

I was doomed.

It was all I could do to tear myself away and go to explore our refuge.

There were what I – a boy brought up in Surrey – took to be a few bales of hay, stacked in a corner. I hauled a couple down and, using my wand to sever the twine holding them together, spread it out on the floor to give us something comfortable to sit on.

When I turned around, Ron had taken off his trainers and jeans and was hauling his t-shirt off over his head. OK, I know they were soaking wet, I know he had to dry out, but how was I supposed to tell him I was gay when he had stripped down to his boxers?

He scraped a clear space on the earth floor to light a fire and draped his wet clothes on a bale of hay facing the flames.

“C’mon,” he said, sprawling on the bed I’d made up. “You’ll catch your death, Harry, take your wet things off.”

"Can't we cast a warming charm, or something?" I asked, dripping gently.

Ron shrugged. "I'm crap at domestic charms, I'd probably set fire to them – they'll dry soon enough."

I sighed and kicked off my trainers; standing on one foot, I awkwardly dragged my sodden jeans down and managed to step out of them. Ron was watching me and I grabbed the neck of my t-shirt and dragged it off over my head, catching and entangling my glasses.

Ron had seen me in my boxers a couple of thousand times; I’d have to pretend I was flushed from the exertion – or the fire.

I hung my clothes up with his and I finally sat down beside him.

The thunder was still rumbling and the rain was drumming on the roof of the barn.

Ron’s fire was crackling merrily and it burnished his skin and his freckles were lickable and his hair was drying and curling against his neck and catching the colours of the flames.

Doomed.

“It’ll blow over soon,” he said, wriggling to get comfy in the hay.

I grunted.

“Look, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Huh?” I said cleverly.

“You have hardly said a word all day, Harry. Is something wrong?”

I sighed. “Not wrong,” I said. “But I was going to ask you something.”

“Go on, then,” he said.

I shook my head. “Not really the place,” I said awkwardly. “It’s a bit embarrassing.”

Ron raised an eyebrow. “What can you not ask in a barn?” he laughed. “C’mon Harry, you can ask me anything. You know that.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I know. I need to know something about the Wizarding World.”

Ron frowned at me. “How can that be something so embarrassing that you can’t ask me?” he demanded.

I fiddled with a wisp of hay and sighed, heavily. “I don’t know what the Wizarding World thinks of gay men, OK?”

“Why would you… oh,” Ron stopped, mouth open, and I could see the wheels moving in his head.

“Everyone else knows how the world works,” I said pitifully, to fill the silence. “You know I always have to ask you about stuff like this.”

“Stuff like this,” he echoed.

“Never mind,” I said, starting to get to my feet and he reached out and caught my wrist.

“Harry. Sorry. You took me by surprise, that’s all,” he said and I let him pull me down.

He let go.

“Are you asking because, um, someone made a pass at you, or because you’re…” he didn’t look me in the face.

“Because I’m,” I muttered.

“Right,” he said, suddenly brisk. “Well. It’s frowned at; doesn’t help population numbers, does it? The Wizarding community isn’t very big, Harry, it needs all the little wizards and witches in can get. But it happens – of course it does. It’s just not really spoken about. Most blokes would hide it, or leave the Wizarding World for good, I guess. That’s why we’d never have heard about anyone at school – they’d have hidden it carefully – especially living in dorms like that.”

“That figures,” I said. “Why should I have an easy life?”

“Look, Harry…”

“Never mind,” I interrupted. “I guess I wouldn’t have told you if I’d known it was that bad.” I turned to reach for my damp clothes, unwilling to sit there in my boxers with him a moment longer than necessary.

“No, Harry, please…”

“Can we forget I told you, Ron?” I asked, kneeling in the hay with my back to him. “There wasn’t any other way for me to find out, without making an even bigger fool of myself, but I don’t want things to be awkward between us. Not us.”

I heard him moving to kneel behind me and I didn’t dare look up.

His hand closed on my bare shoulder.

“I don’t want to forget you told me,” he said quietly.

My heart sank. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Not because I’m disgusted, you idiot,” Ron said roughly, shaking me. “Because I’m glad you came to me.”

“Really?” I asked timidly. “You don’t hate me?”

“Shut up,” he said, pulling me round to face him. “I could never hate you, Harry. How could you say that?”

I shrugged, helplessly. “You said it’s frowned at, that I’ll have to hide it from everyone.”

“Not from me,” Ron said.

I smiled at him. “Thanks,” I said.

“It’s been hard for you, then, this summer, hasn’t it?” he asked, sympathetically.

“It’s awful; having everyone expect me to get back together with Ginny,” I muttered.

Ron snorted.

“It’ll be hard to keep it a secret,” I said.

Ron nodded. “It is,” he said.

“What is?” I asked, frowning at him.

“It’s hard to keep it a secret,” he said slowly. “And it hurts. But we can be honest with each other now, which is fantastic.”

I blinked at him.

He bit his lip and looked down at me, his face flushed in the firelight, his nostrils flaring, a pulse beating wildly in his neck.

“What are you talking about?” I asked carefully, not daring to believe my ears.

He rolled his eyes, dramatically. "Even you're not that thick, Harry," he smiled. "I mean I know what you're going through; I have the same secret."

"You never said," I said blankly.

“That would be the whole keeping it a secret thing,” Ron pointed out.

I started to reach for him and then realised how ridiculous that would be. Liking blokes isn’t the same thing as liking me.

I’d have to be happy with his support and sympathy; I couldn’t expect more.

But I suddenly felt light headed with relief.

I’d told him.

And I hadn’t lost him.

I lay back in the hay, laughing slightly insanely.

Ron raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you’d hate me,” I explained between giggles. “I thought you’d never want to speak to me again.”

“True Gryffindor, as usual, Harry,” he said smiling down at me. “I don’t think I’d ever have dared say anything.”

We grinned at each other and I Gryffindored again and caught his hand and pulled him down beside me, where he flopped onto his back, smiling up at the roof.

And I realised we were lying side-by-side in the hay, with the firelight flickering over our bodies. I was wearing only boxer shorts, which would fail miserably at hiding the erection building inside them.

I stopped laughing.

Ron rolled onto his side and leant on an elbow, propping his head on his hand and looking down at me rather seriously.

“Look, Harry,” he said. “I don’t want things to be weird between us, but there’s something that I think should be said.”

“Yeah,” I said, licking my lips nervously.

“Everyone assumes I’m in love with Hermione, as if a bloke can’t be friends with a girl without wanting to get into her pants,” he said, and my heart sank.

“Yeah,” I said faintly.

“And there is no reason to assume I’d fancy another bloke, just because he was gay,” Ron half-snorted. “I mean, just say Malfoy was gay, yes, that’d be enough to make me fall for the pointy bastard.”

“Of course,” I said, weakly, dreading the rest of his sentence. Of course he wouldn’t want me just because I’d become available.

“Look, Harry,” he licked his lips and looked nervous and I wanted to jump in and gruffly deny I’d ever looked at him as more than a friend, but he continued doggedly. “The thing is, I never dreamt you’d tell me you were gay, and I don’t want you to think I’m gonna suddenly decide I want to take advantage of the fact.”

“Please, Ron,” I interrupted. “I don’t think that – I’d never expect you to…”

“But I’ve been in love with you for ever,” he over rode me.

I blinked stupidly up at him.

“And I’m not expecting anything,” he stumbled on. “But I thought you should know, seeing as we’re telling secrets, and that is my big one; that’s why I never said anything, because you’d have run a mile; but maybe now you won’t actually mind and…”

“Ron!” I shouted.

“What?” he asked nervously.

“Me too,” I said.

It was his turn to blink stupidly.

“I would never have said anything,” I said quietly. “I had to ask you about the gay thing because you’re my guide to the Wizarding World, but I’d never have told you how I feel about you.”

“About me?” he echoed.

I boldly reached up and brushed his incredible hair out of his eyes. “God, yes,” I said, laughing at the look on his face. “I love you.”

My words were smothered as his mouth covered mine.

“Love you,” I whispered between kisses.

“Love you,” he whispered back, stretching out over me, his body pressing mine down into the hay.

“Never thought this could happen,” I whispered, running my hands down his back, slipping my fingertips under the waistband of his boxers and feeling the muscles in his arse twitching.

“Never dreamt,” he whispered, kissing his way to my ear and down my neck.

“Always wanted,” I gasped as he slithered downwards, his mouth closing over my nipple as his hand brushed against my aching cock.

“Fuck yes,” he hissed, throwing a freckled thigh across mine and grinding against me as he sucked and licked his way across my chest.

“Touch me,” I begged, rubbing against his hand.

Ron laughed and suddenly his mouth was back on mine as we both wriggled out of our boxer shorts and kicked them away.

And then he was on top of me, sliding his cock against mine and wrapping his hand around them both.

I tore my mouth away from his and looked down, watching as he thrust against me, as the muscles in his body strained in the firelight.

I could keep still no longer and I drove up into his hand, thrusting in as he pulled out, feeling his cock against mine on every stroke.

“Harry,” he whispered and I looked up and our eyes met.

We stared at each other as we picked up speed, rocking alternately as our climaxes built.

Suddenly, with a strangled gasp, he buried his face in my neck and his hips jerked twice and I felt his come spread between our bodies.

I buried my hands in his hair, holding him tight as I writhed beneath him, desperate to come, but the incredible friction on my cock had decreased as his come coated his fingers.

But then that thought registered in my addled brain and I realised that Ron’s come was all over my cock and my climax ripped through me like a whirlwind.

Coming slowly back down to earth, I pulled his face to mine and kissed him thoroughly.

“Fucking amazing,” he said, grinning down at me.

“Amazing,” I echoed.

He wrapped his arms around me and we tried to find a comfortable spot in our hay bed.

I yelped suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I have hay up my arse,” I muttered.

“I think I can help you with that,” he smirked.