shocfix (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shocfix) wrote,@ 2005-02-01 06:00:00 |
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Godric's Hollow - Chapter Six : Senses - H/R - NC-17
Title: Godric’s Hollow
Author:shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17
This is my Big Damn Table, turned into a multi-chaptered novella.
One hundred stories inspired by Broke Back Mountain.
Ron looks back on his life with and without Harry.
Chapter 6: Senses
Sixth Sense
We found a quiet corner and Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron.
I suppose it was possible that we’d have a few drinks and a bit of a reminisce.
We’d met just there, at the barrier at King’s Cross, twenty-six years ago.
We could sit at the bar and talk about our time at school, about our kids, how it beggared belief that we had four kids at Hogwarts.
We.
We had kids.
Yes, I know. I spoke about the kids like that; like they were ours.
It honestly was mainly because his kids were my flesh and blood – and don’t think I didn’t sometimes feel really guilty about that - about the only thing we couldn’t have had in our relationship almost coming true, because of Ginny.
And it wouldn’t have been the same if he’d married someone else. We lived next door to each other, and with Hermione and me working, Harry often took care of our little ones during the day, and he helped Mum homeschool them.
They were in and out of each others’ houses all summer – most evenings Hermione would floo Harry at bedtime and ask how many were at his place. As long as there were eight in total, we just put to bed the ones we had in the house.
So.
Hermione had said, “Go for a drink’.
I followed Harry over to the bar, where he greeted Tom and asked for drinks and a spot of lunch.
There. We’d have a friendly afternoon together.
Harry was fine.
It was all in the past, now.
Too late to bring it up.
But something told me I’d been right.
It probably wasn’t noticeable to anyone else – and everyone else in the pub had turned to look at him when we entered, but I felt Harry tense up beside me.
“And Tom,” he added casually, “any chance of a private room?” he gestured to the people gawking at him.
“Of course, Mr Potter,” Tom said genially, every inch our host, and he put our bottles on a tray and levitated it before him down the passageway to one of the private rooms.
A fire was crackling merrily in the grate and large armchairs were drawn cozily up, facing it.
Tom put our drinks on a low table and Summoned cutlery for the dining table by the door.
“Emily will be along with your lunch, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, it’s always good to see you again,” and he bustled out, closing the door behind him.
Harry and I sat in the cozy armchairs.
We ate the hearty and wholesome lunch that the buxom and wholesome Emily brought us.
She brought more drinks when she cleared the table with a whisk of her wand.
We sat in the cozy armchairs again and we chatted.
And it was good.
Good to be with him.
The first time we’d been alone together like this since Ginny died.
And I looked at him; at his hands, idly caressing a bottle of butterbeer; at his hair, curling against his neck; at his eyes, as his lashes swept up in slow motion and he looked at me.
And I knew I’d just been waiting for him to need me again.
Smell
“Ron?” he said.
“Yes,” I said, knowing everything I was saying yes to.
“I did… it’s not that I didn’t… she… we…”
I felt very protective of him as he tried to justify what he was asking of me. “Ginny knew you loved her,” I interrupted and he blinked at me.
“I… I did,” he said. “But…”
“But it was too late,” I said, holding out my hand to him.
His face lit up and he looked younger than he had in years.
He threw himself across the space between us, stumbling to his knees in front of me.
“Take me back?” he whispered.
“I never gave you up,” I said, pulling him up and into my lap.
He flowed into my arms and held on so tightly I could barely breathe.
“Ron?” he murmured against my neck.
“Shush,” I said, wrapping my arms around him and holding him still.
I buried my face in his hair and breathed him in, that scent that was like a drug surrounded me.
Every cell in my body sparked as I filled myself with Harry.
Sound
“This is for good, Ron,” he murmured. “I can’t stop again. I can’t have you right here and not touch you.” His hands splayed on my chest and he watched them slowly moving down my body.
“We’ll see if the cottage is available,” I said.
He looked up and our eyes met. “No more than that?” he asked.
“Harry,” I said slowly. “What are you suggesting, here?”
“We could be together,” he whispered.
“We can’t,” I said.
“I threw away the most important thing in my life, Ron, I ran away and I lost you,” he said sadly.
“You never lost me,” I said. “You never will, but it has to be like this,” I gestured at the private room.
He frowned and I sighed and reached for the buttons of his shirt. He watched me, his breath hitching as I caressed the skin I uncovered.
“If I’d stayed,” he said, suddenly and I froze, my hands on the button of his jeans. “If I’d stayed, after the war, would we be together?”
There was a ringing silence.
That was the one thing he’d never asked. It echoed between us and he swallowed and looked away.
Would we be together?
No Hermione; no children.
But I would never have known the difference, would I?
He was poised for flight as I gazed at him.
I broke the silence.
“Yes,” I said.
Touch
His mouth was on mine, drinking me in, one hand was in my hair as the other fumbled for his wand and Transfigured the armchair we were curled up in into a bed.
His weight bore me backwards onto the mattress as he ground down against me.
“No,” I whispered, “I need to touch you.”
I rolled him over and ran my hand down his naked chest, relearning every inch, discovering changes.
I undid his zip and he kicked his way out of jeans, boxers and trainers with flattering haste.
His hips arched unsubtly up at me and I finally wrapped my hand around his bobbing erection.
He gasped as I stroked him and his hands scrabbled at my shoulders, obviously torn between pulling my mouth closer to his and pushing it down to join my hand.
He whimpered and twitched and I smiled and had to put him out of his misery and make the decision for him.
Taste
Hermione lectured me about sensory memories, once.
About how something unexpected can trigger overwhelming memories.
I shouldn’t have been thinking of Hermione at that moment.
When I took him in my mouth.
But I nearly choked.
Not because I was out of practise, or because I took him in too deep – it seems my tongue has what Hermione calls ‘muscle memory’ and remembered exactly what to do.
I nearly choked with emotion when I tasted him.
My mind flooded with images from the past twenty years – from the first time I clumsily went down on him, on our blanket, that glorious summer; from the first time I knelt at his feet in the shower at our cottage; from mouthfuls of wine or chocolate I’d swallowed with him.
It was overwhelming.
It was Harry.
Sight
There were beautiful images, burnt into my mind.
Things I’d never see again.
Hermione looked lovely on our wedding day.
She looked like shit when each of our children was born – not that I’d ever tell her that.
And each child, as it grew, left me breathless as I watched.
Watched determined little faces breaking into smiles as their first steps were negotiated.
Watched nervous little faces going off to school.
But there was one sight I loved above all others, god forgive me.
One sight I’d thought I’d never see again.
So, I let go of his cock with a swirl of my tongue and crawled up his body, leaving bite marks on his chest as I passed, until I stretched over him and whispered, “Look at me, Harry.”
I stroked him harder and faster, and his eyes flew open and locked with mine as his cock pulsed and leapt in my hand and his face flushed and his jaw clenched and he came for me.
Title: Godric’s Hollow
Author:
shocfixPairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17
This is my Big Damn Table, turned into a multi-chaptered novella.
One hundred stories inspired by Broke Back Mountain.
Ron looks back on his life with and without Harry.
Chapter 6: Senses
Sixth Sense
We found a quiet corner and Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron.
I suppose it was possible that we’d have a few drinks and a bit of a reminisce.
We’d met just there, at the barrier at King’s Cross, twenty-six years ago.
We could sit at the bar and talk about our time at school, about our kids, how it beggared belief that we had four kids at Hogwarts.
We.
We had kids.
Yes, I know. I spoke about the kids like that; like they were ours.
It honestly was mainly because his kids were my flesh and blood – and don’t think I didn’t sometimes feel really guilty about that - about the only thing we couldn’t have had in our relationship almost coming true, because of Ginny.
And it wouldn’t have been the same if he’d married someone else. We lived next door to each other, and with Hermione and me working, Harry often took care of our little ones during the day, and he helped Mum homeschool them.
They were in and out of each others’ houses all summer – most evenings Hermione would floo Harry at bedtime and ask how many were at his place. As long as there were eight in total, we just put to bed the ones we had in the house.
So.
Hermione had said, “Go for a drink’.
I followed Harry over to the bar, where he greeted Tom and asked for drinks and a spot of lunch.
There. We’d have a friendly afternoon together.
Harry was fine.
It was all in the past, now.
Too late to bring it up.
But something told me I’d been right.
It probably wasn’t noticeable to anyone else – and everyone else in the pub had turned to look at him when we entered, but I felt Harry tense up beside me.
“And Tom,” he added casually, “any chance of a private room?” he gestured to the people gawking at him.
“Of course, Mr Potter,” Tom said genially, every inch our host, and he put our bottles on a tray and levitated it before him down the passageway to one of the private rooms.
A fire was crackling merrily in the grate and large armchairs were drawn cozily up, facing it.
Tom put our drinks on a low table and Summoned cutlery for the dining table by the door.
“Emily will be along with your lunch, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, it’s always good to see you again,” and he bustled out, closing the door behind him.
Harry and I sat in the cozy armchairs.
We ate the hearty and wholesome lunch that the buxom and wholesome Emily brought us.
She brought more drinks when she cleared the table with a whisk of her wand.
We sat in the cozy armchairs again and we chatted.
And it was good.
Good to be with him.
The first time we’d been alone together like this since Ginny died.
And I looked at him; at his hands, idly caressing a bottle of butterbeer; at his hair, curling against his neck; at his eyes, as his lashes swept up in slow motion and he looked at me.
And I knew I’d just been waiting for him to need me again.
Smell
“Ron?” he said.
“Yes,” I said, knowing everything I was saying yes to.
“I did… it’s not that I didn’t… she… we…”
I felt very protective of him as he tried to justify what he was asking of me. “Ginny knew you loved her,” I interrupted and he blinked at me.
“I… I did,” he said. “But…”
“But it was too late,” I said, holding out my hand to him.
His face lit up and he looked younger than he had in years.
He threw himself across the space between us, stumbling to his knees in front of me.
“Take me back?” he whispered.
“I never gave you up,” I said, pulling him up and into my lap.
He flowed into my arms and held on so tightly I could barely breathe.
“Ron?” he murmured against my neck.
“Shush,” I said, wrapping my arms around him and holding him still.
I buried my face in his hair and breathed him in, that scent that was like a drug surrounded me.
Every cell in my body sparked as I filled myself with Harry.
Sound
“This is for good, Ron,” he murmured. “I can’t stop again. I can’t have you right here and not touch you.” His hands splayed on my chest and he watched them slowly moving down my body.
“We’ll see if the cottage is available,” I said.
He looked up and our eyes met. “No more than that?” he asked.
“Harry,” I said slowly. “What are you suggesting, here?”
“We could be together,” he whispered.
“We can’t,” I said.
“I threw away the most important thing in my life, Ron, I ran away and I lost you,” he said sadly.
“You never lost me,” I said. “You never will, but it has to be like this,” I gestured at the private room.
He frowned and I sighed and reached for the buttons of his shirt. He watched me, his breath hitching as I caressed the skin I uncovered.
“If I’d stayed,” he said, suddenly and I froze, my hands on the button of his jeans. “If I’d stayed, after the war, would we be together?”
There was a ringing silence.
That was the one thing he’d never asked. It echoed between us and he swallowed and looked away.
Would we be together?
No Hermione; no children.
But I would never have known the difference, would I?
He was poised for flight as I gazed at him.
I broke the silence.
“Yes,” I said.
Touch
His mouth was on mine, drinking me in, one hand was in my hair as the other fumbled for his wand and Transfigured the armchair we were curled up in into a bed.
His weight bore me backwards onto the mattress as he ground down against me.
“No,” I whispered, “I need to touch you.”
I rolled him over and ran my hand down his naked chest, relearning every inch, discovering changes.
I undid his zip and he kicked his way out of jeans, boxers and trainers with flattering haste.
His hips arched unsubtly up at me and I finally wrapped my hand around his bobbing erection.
He gasped as I stroked him and his hands scrabbled at my shoulders, obviously torn between pulling my mouth closer to his and pushing it down to join my hand.
He whimpered and twitched and I smiled and had to put him out of his misery and make the decision for him.
Taste
Hermione lectured me about sensory memories, once.
About how something unexpected can trigger overwhelming memories.
I shouldn’t have been thinking of Hermione at that moment.
When I took him in my mouth.
But I nearly choked.
Not because I was out of practise, or because I took him in too deep – it seems my tongue has what Hermione calls ‘muscle memory’ and remembered exactly what to do.
I nearly choked with emotion when I tasted him.
My mind flooded with images from the past twenty years – from the first time I clumsily went down on him, on our blanket, that glorious summer; from the first time I knelt at his feet in the shower at our cottage; from mouthfuls of wine or chocolate I’d swallowed with him.
It was overwhelming.
It was Harry.
Sight
There were beautiful images, burnt into my mind.
Things I’d never see again.
Hermione looked lovely on our wedding day.
She looked like shit when each of our children was born – not that I’d ever tell her that.
And each child, as it grew, left me breathless as I watched.
Watched determined little faces breaking into smiles as their first steps were negotiated.
Watched nervous little faces going off to school.
But there was one sight I loved above all others, god forgive me.
One sight I’d thought I’d never see again.
So, I let go of his cock with a swirl of my tongue and crawled up his body, leaving bite marks on his chest as I passed, until I stretched over him and whispered, “Look at me, Harry.”
I stroked him harder and faster, and his eyes flew open and locked with mine as his cock pulsed and leapt in my hand and his face flushed and his jaw clenched and he came for me.