shocfix (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shocfix) wrote,@ 2005-01-28 01:00:00 |
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Second Chance - H/R - NC-17
Title: Second Chance
Author:ursulaurquhart
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Words: 5400
Written for the very exciting Reversathon, for the mysterious Letitia Grubb, who requested Harry/Ron, set in the future and if you added some make-up sex, it would be wonderful.
But look. How scary can she be – look at what good taste she has: Ron is her favourite, she writes Harry/Ron and Ron/Hermione, can do Harry/Ron/Hermione, cannot do Harry/Hermione.
Wait a minute, isn’t that me?
Oh, no, she writes Ron/Draco.
That so isn’t me!
Betaed, terribly kindly, by the wonderfulmagicofisis and the wondrousrosina_alcona.
And, yes, of courseursulaurquhart exists!
Oh, and it may not be completely work-safe, as you scroll down, OK?
OK, it really isn’t work-safe. But if it is – gosh, you have a cool job!
Second Chance
****
Harry never thought he would be able to say that he’d rather spend time with Draco Malfoy than Ron Weasley!
Yet here they were, sharing a companionable pint after their league match, comparing bruises and swapping Quidditch stories. Now that their rivalry was confined solely to the professional Quidditch pitch, and now that Malfoy could no longer deny that Harry was England’s Seeker purely on merit, since his catch snatched the World Cup title out from under Ireland’s noses, they had settled into a teasing relationship that Harry found rather enjoyable.
Especially as he really didn’t socialise that much.
Hermione had become an Unspeakable after the War, so there was almost nothing they could talk about when they met up for the occasional dinner.
Neville was working at Hogwarts, Seamus was back in Ireland, Dean was living in the Muggle world.
He saw Ginny or the twins sometimes when Mrs Weasley insisted he came over for Sunday lunch, but the awkwardness between him and Ron meant that he usually tried to get out of an invitation.
It was an awkwardness he never spoke about – even with Hermione, and especially not with Malfoy.
Yet you could almost set your clock by the ferrety blond. Madame Rosmerta would bring them a final pint when last orders was called, run her hands over Harry’s shoulders in his orange robes, ask him how the Cannons had done and Malfoy would wait until she was half-way across the room back to the bar before muttering, “If you don’t care whether the Weasel lives or dies, then please, please put the rest of us out of our misery and transfer to a team that stands a slug’s chance of winning the league!”
“Draco, stop it,” Harry would say.
“Seriously, Harry, it’s embarrassing. How d’you think the other professional Seekers feel? The England Seeker plays for the Cannons? It reflects terribly badly on the rest of us, old chap.”
And Harry would snort and shake his head and say, “They’re my team, OK, Draco? Leave it.”
And Malfoy would clap him on the shoulder and Apparate home to his wife and Harry would take a deep breath and close his eyes and Apparate home to nothing.
And he would take a beer from the fridge and slump on the couch, alone, and he would think about Ron.
****
He tried so hard not to think of him, and it worked most of the time. He trained and played hard and came home to shower and fall into an empty bed and a dreamless sleep.
Only lunch at the Weasleys’, dinner with Hermione and drinking with Draco left him in this mood.
Last week Hermione had tried again. They had met for a quick supper after she finally finished at the Ministry and she had oh so casually mentioned that Ron had been injured at work. Harry’s heart had beat painfully, but he had given Hermione a steady look and said, “Give him my best, won’t you.”
Hermione had sighed deeply. “Harry, he’d like to see you.”
“No, Hermione, don’t do this. He’s the one who wants nothing to do with me; it’s his problem.”
“You miss him!” Hermione had said impatiently. “And I know he misses you.”
“Miss him? I don’t miss him.”
They both knew that he did, but Hermione would never know what had happened to cause this estrangement, and Harry always changed the subject.
“This really cannot be just because you decided not to become an Auror,” she had said for the millionth time in the past two years.
“Hermione, leave it,” Harry had said in a warning tone, but she had ignored him, as usual.
“I can’t,” she’d moaned. “Everything was wonderful; Voldemort was dead; the three of us got our NEWT results; you both got the marks to be taken on by the Aurors; then I came back from my initial Unspeakable training to find that you had fallen out, that Ron was going to be an Auror, and that you wanted nothing more to do with him, but you had joined the Cannons. This whole situation drives me insane.”
But Harry would not be drawn on the split, and obviously Ron wouldn’t either, as Hermione never seemed to let the matter rest.
****
Harry swallowed a mouthful of his beer and allowed himself to dwell on the day he had told Ron he wasn’t going to be an Auror. OK, everyone else referred to it as the day he’d told Ron he wasn’t going to be an Auror.
To himself he should be honest enough to call it the day Ron had fucked his brains out and then gone insane.
The War left Harry sure of two things; he’d seen enough of death and he’d come so close to losing Ron during the Final Battle that he was going to have to do something about it.
This led to two major decisions; he would not become an Auror, and he was going to tell Ron how he felt about him.
So, that was two things to tell Ron, really. Because Ron was still keen on becoming an Auror, and on not shagging his best mate, as far as Harry knew. But he felt he owed it to Ron to tell him how he had come to his decision. And there was a chance that maybe Ron wouldn’t run screaming from the room.
He deliberately, and rather cowardly, waited until Hermione was cloistered in the Department of Mysteries, as he really couldn’t face her input, and he cornered Ron in his bedroom one afternoon when no one else was at the Burrow. Then, if Ron lost it in a big way, there wouldn’t be any eavesdroppers.
He sat on the end of Ron’s bed and fiddled nervously with the hem of his t-shirt until Ron cleared his throat loudly and grinned and him and said, “What is it, Harry?”
Harry had no idea which bombshell to drop first, as they were so interconnected and he was sure he’d make a mess of it. “I’ve been thinking, Ron,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one sweating palm. “Look, I just can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?” said Ron, sitting up and looking rather alarmed, and Harry’s mind went blank.
Was he talking about killing people or not kissing his best friend?
“I want to play Quidditch,” he managed to say, sure of just that one positive thing.
“Uh, OK, but we can’t play with just the two of us,” Ron looked worried.
“Good, let’s try something else,” said Harry, now distracted by other ways they could get hot and sweaty.
“OK,” said Ron, slowly. “Look, is something wrong?” he frowned, completely wrong-footed by Harry’s random comments.
“Uuurggghh. Yes. Yes! And no.”
“Well, I’m glad we’ve cleared that up!” Ron smiled at him, that wonderful lopsided smile that had been the only thing that got him through the day sometimes, and Harry took a deep breath.
“Ron… Ron. We’ve always done everything together. And now there are two important things I want to do. Well, no, one of them I don’t want to do. And I want to do them with you. Or not.”
“Harry, are you listening to yourself? Because I really can’t make head or tail…”
“Yes. The thing is. Here’s the thing. The first thing. That I don’t want to do with you. Be Aurors. There.” Harry relaxed slightly. One bombshell down, one to go. Or not.
“You don’t want to be an Auror with me? Don’t you think I can do it?” Ron looked hurt.
“Oh, God, no, that’s not it at all!” Harry didn’t want to be responsible for that look on Ron’s face. “I think that you’ll be an amazing Auror, if that’s what you want to do. But I just can’t do it. I’ve seen enough death, and I’ve killed, and I can’t do it anymore. I want to play Quidditch.”
“Harry, that’s fantastic,” Ron crowed. “I can’t think of anything better than watching you play professionally. You’ll be brilliant!”
“Wow. So you’re not angry with me? For abandoning you? We were going to do it together.”
“Harry, you daft sod,” Ron punched him lightly. “I hated what the War did to you, I think Quidditch is perfect for you. And for me – I assume I get tickets to all your matches?” He grinned happily.
“Of.. of course, I couldn’t play without you there. I. Um. I love you.”
“I love you too, mate,” Ron said genially and Harry winced.
“That’s the other thing,” he muttered.
“What other thing?” asked Ron, confused once again.
“The thing. The other thing. The one that I do want to do with you. Love you.”
Ron’s eyebrows shot up under his fringe. “You want us to love me?”
Harry snorted. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I want you to love me. But I understand if you don’t. It’s what made me realise I can’t be an Auror. When I saw you unconscious after the Final Battle; it nearly killed me. If I’d lost you I would have died. Died. I spent too long trying not to love you, and it’s just not possible. And then I nearly got you killed. You. Again. And I knew I couldn’t watch you walk into any more danger. I couldn’t watch you become an Auror, and I couldn’t become an Auror. I just want to make you happy. And I know you can’t want me. So I’ll play for the Cannons, how’s that?”
Harry kept babbling, because Ron still hadn’t said anything, but eventually he meandered to a stop and simply said, “Please, Ron?”
Ron blinked at him. “Please, what?” he whispered.
“Please… love me?”
Ron bit his lip and shrugged, helplessly. “I.. I don’t know Harry, I’ve never thought of… I’m not…”
But as Harry muttered, “No, no of course not,” and tried to get up, Ron caught hold of his hand and said, “But it’s you,” and leant forwards and kissed him, very clumsily.
It was not an auspicious beginning, and a little voice in the back of Harry’s head was telling him that they really should talk about it first. But a little voice in Harry’s groin was telling him that the weight he felt was Ron’s long lean body pressing him into the orange bedspread as one of Ron’s knees settled between his legs and one of Ron’s hands was in his hair and Ron’s tongue was in his mouth and then all voices were drowned by the thunder of his blood pounding in his ears as it headed further south.
Harry’s hands came up to stroke Ron’s hair and touch his face and run down the trembling muscles in his back and finally settled on his arse as Ron ground down against him.
Four frantic hands fumbled with buttons and zips and t-shirts. Four legs untangled from jeans and socks and then tangled up around each other and Ron thrust his hips in circles against Harry and their aching cocks rubbed up against each other and Harry moaned out loud.
“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, writhing under his friend, slipping a hand between their bodies to try and reach for Ron’s cock, but Ron batted his hand away. “More,” Harry gasped and Ron gave him a hot, calculating look before coming up on his knees and pushing Harry’s thighs apart. Oh, god, was he really going to… yes, spitting on his hand for lubrication, Ron reached for his cock and stroked it quickly. Just that glorious sight had Harry gasping and pulling his knees back and apart to give Ron more room, and Ron moved into place and fumbled at Harry’s entrance and pressed the head of his cock slowly into him.
Harry’s eyes widened as he breathed out hard through the pain. Ron was inching further inside him, and it burned and it hurt and it filled him and it was wonderful.
Harry looked up at Ron’s face, but Ron’s eyes were shut tight and he was biting his lip as he pushed into Harry, eerily quiet and frowning slightly with concentration.
“Ron,” Harry whispered, but Ron shook his head abruptly and buried his face in Harry’s neck as he was finally fully sheathed in his best friend’s body. “It’s OK, Ron, it’s good,” he murmured and Ron shifted against him and started to withdraw, stretching Harry once more as he paused with the head of his cock just inside, then driving back into him.
Harry moaned, and Ron withdrew again, establishing a clumsy rhythm as he picked up his pace.
Though Harry couldn’t help whispering and touching and moaning, Ron was still silent, but Harry was distracted from this as Ron braced himself on one elbow and reached down to wrap one large freckled hand around Harry’s cock.
Harry’s eyes dropped closed as his head fell back on the pillows and he arched up against Ron as he thrust harder and harder and stroked Harry’s cock with each thrust until Harry came in hot spurts over his fingers and Ron finally cried out as he emptied himself inside his friend.
Harry felt boneless and joyful and fulfilled and not even the discomfort of a large Weasley, breathing heavily and pinning him to the bed, could spoil this moment.
But then he felt Ron stiffen on top of him – and not in a good way, his subconscious supplied, slightly hysterically – and he closed his eyes so he didn’t have to watch Ron’s reaction.
Ron rolled away from him and sat up, wiping his hand on the sheet and reaching for his discarded clothes; Harry sat up, wincing slightly, and pulled the rumpled sheet over his lap.
He reluctantly opened his eyes to watch Ron dress, suddenly sure in his heart that this was his last chance to do so, after seven years of living in each others’ pockets. Ron was grinding his teeth and his hands were shaking as they zipped up his jeans and Harry sighed and spoke. “Ron, I’m sorry. We never have to mention it, or anything, please, just don’t go.”
“Go?” Ron shouted, finally turning to face him. “This is my room, Harry! You are naked in my bed. I fucked you in my bed. How am I ever going to get rid of this image?” He stooped to gather up Harry’s clothes and threw them at him. “Get out of here.”
“Ron, no, not like this. I can’t lose you like this,” Harry scrambled into his jeans and took a step towards Ron, who backed away from him. “Ron, please.”
Ron half-laughed. “Saying ‘Ron, please’ isn’t going to work anymore. I, I can’t deal with this. I want you gone when I get back.” He took out his wand to Apparate away and Harry grabbed his arm.
“No, Ron, you can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Ron looked down at Harry’s hand on his arm and his face went cold and blank and Harry flinched. “Too late. You shouldn’t have said anything. We shouldn’t have… No. Go and play Quidditch. Have a nice life.”
“NO!”
Ron finally met his eyes. “This never happened,” he hissed. “I am going to tell people that I was pissed at you for not becoming an Auror, and you are never, ever going to tell anyone what we... you did, and I don’t want to see you again.” And with a flick of his wand he was gone, taking Harry’s breath and his heart with him.
****
So they hadn’t talked for two years.
Harry missed him so much. He would give anything to have never said anything to Ron about how he felt. His worst case scenario had been Ron saying, “I’m sorry mate, I just don’t feel the same,” though possibly louder, and with more swear words.
He hadn’t expected Ron to touch him, to kiss him, to fuck him. And then to leave him. It hadn’t been worth it. Nothing could ever be worth this. And how often did he want to go and see his ex-best friend.
Harry didn’t dare apologise again; he didn’t dare see Ron, didn’t dare write. But he picked the Cannons out of the professional teams that offered him a contract, hoping Ron wouldn’t be able to resist coming to see him play. He scanned the crowd at Quidditch matches for a flash of red hair, when he was supposed to be scanning the skies for the Snitch.
But the only time he saw Ron was in Molly Weasley’s kitchen, and Ron sat at the far end of the table and never met his eye, and Harry didn’t see how he could go on like this for another hundred years, without the only person he cared about.
****
Harry was absolutely focused on Quidditch for the Cannons final match of the season. The Tutshill Tornados had already won the league, so they were hoping to go out on a high by crushing the Cannons.
Almost all neutral fans were hoping that the Cannons could snatch the match from them, not least because Harry Potter was playing Seeker. And at Seeker for the Tornados was one Draco Malfoy.
Harry and Malfoy circled high above the action, eyes constantly on the look out for the flash of gold. Below them, the Tornados were leading by two hundred points to sixty, so now would be a good time for Harry to see the Snitch.
The weather was worsening, and Harry’s hair was plastered to his skull by splattering rain when he saw Malfoy move into a steep dive.
Narrowing his eyes, he saw the Snitch also following Malfoy’s dive, so he followed the other Seeker towards the ground, unwilling to let him get too far ahead as the blond lay forward along his broom. Harry was still in complete control of his broom when the Snitch changed direction, coming straight at him as Malfoy pulled up, thirty feet from the ground. Harry automatically put out his hand and caught the struggling golden orb, shaking his head at the thought that Malfoy had tried to feint him, when suddenly Malfoy pulled hard left on his own broom, crashing hard into Harry and pulling on the bristles of Harry’s broom as Harry’s balance wobbled.
Harry was used to rough play, but not to someone blatantly pulling his broom out from under him, and he lost his grip and fell the best part of forty feet to the ground, landing hard on his shoulder. The last things he heard before darkness overtook him were a bone cracking and the referee blowing frantically on his whistle.
****
The next thing he heard was Hermione whispering angrily, and he smiled to himself but didn’t have the strength to open his eyes. It almost sounded like she was telling Ron off.
But no, that was impossible.
“I did my part, Hermione,” Malfoy whispered. “Here he is, injured just like you asked, but you have failed to deliver.”
Malfoy had hurt him deliberately? Because Hermione had asked him to? Clearly he was still unconscious.
“I delivered. I made sure Ron was at the match. You were supposed to just give Ron a fright, Harry was supposed to be slightly hurt. Not unconscious with a broken collarbone!”
“Well, Potter always was a drama queen. There was no need for the Weasel to take everything this badly. I can’t believe he threw up. So his little friend wouldn’t play Aurors with him. That isn’t a reason to sulk for two years! There has to be more to it than that.”
“I know there is, you idiot! But neither of them will talk about it. That is why we had to get them together in the same room. Only Harry being unconscious makes that futile.”
The two of them would have continued the furious whispered conversation, but there was the sound of a door opening.
“Ron!” Hermione gasped and it was all Harry could do to lie still; he could hear Ron tentatively approaching the bed.
“How is he?” Ron whispered, and Harry felt his heart rate increase – he hoped the Healers didn’t have a way to monitor such things.
“He’ll be fine,” Hermione whispered back. “The bruising isn’t as bad as it looks, and his collarbone is already healed.”
Harry could sense Ron’s presence beside his bed. He could feel him trembling, even though feet still separated them.
“I… I should go,” Ron whispered, sounding torn, and Hermione overrode him.
“No, Ron, please stay. Draco has to face his team bosses, and I have to go to work.”
Harry actually felt Ron stiffen with anger. “Yes, Malfoy, how are you going to explain deliberate blatching and blagging after the other Seeker already had the Snitch? You are going to be in such trouble.”
“Well, Weasel, the season is over. All I’ll get is a ban from the Tornados’ summer tour – and six weeks in the Far East doesn’t appeal to me. How are you going to explain not speaking to your best friend for two years?”
“Stop it, both of you,” Hermione interrupted. “Ron, please, stay. Someone should be here when he wakes up.”
“Hermione, I can’t,” Ron sounded nervous.
“Ron, you went green when he fell; I haven’t seen you so scared in years. You miss him. Please, stay.”
Ron must have acquiesced, because Harry heard Hermione bustling Malfoy from the room, and then there was the creak of a chair as someone sat down at his bedside.
And the unmistakeable sound of Ron sighing deeply.
Harry wondered if he was a good enough actor to fake coming round, but rather doubted it. And he didn’t want to start their conversation with a lie.
And then it was too late, because Ron started talking.
“Merlin, you gave me a fright, Harry,” he whispered. “I haven’t seen you take a fall like that since third year. Hermione bugged me and bugged me to come to the match today. She thinks I never watch you play, can you believe that? I’ve never missed a match! Even after, well, you know. It’s you. And the Cannons.
“It’s almost as if she knew something would go wrong today, and that I might never have the chance to speak to you again, you know? It was weird. I lost it when you hit the ground – thousands of wizards there, yet no one thought of casting a charm to cushion you! But she didn’t panic, not our Hermione. She just bustled me down the stairs and into the changing rooms.
“And when you were brought in here, all covered in blood and bruises - War flashback much? I had to go through to the showers and throw up while they patched you up. And then I came in here and Hermione and Malfoy were hissing at each other like cats – I don’t know why he was allowed in here after fouling you like that – I’ve never seen such blagging in a professional match!
“Merlin Harry, I miss you. I know I coped badly that day. Yeah, I know, understatement. I know I lost it, and I’m sorry. It wasn’t something I’d ever considered and I panicked. We should have talked about it, and, um, taken it slowly. Because I think I’d have been OK with it if we’d gone slowly.
“So, yeah. I’m sorry. And when you wake up, I, well, I want to be friends again. And more. Whatever it takes; whatever you want. Me too. I want it too. I can’t forget what happened.”
Harry couldn’t stand to wait another moment and he opened his eyes to see the concerned blue eyes looking down at him that he had missed so much for the past two years. “Me too,” he croaked, and Ron jumped.
“Harry! How much of that did you hear?” he said, accusingly, and blushed.
“All of it, I think,” muttered Harry, blinking up at him. “I was pretty much awake when Hermione was still here, but too tired to move.”
“Oh, Merlin,” Ron said.
“I’m sorry, Ron, I didn’t mean to listen, I was just sort of out of it,” Harry apologised.
“No, no, it’s OK. I meant it, Harry,” Ron swallowed and, looking very nervous, reached for Harry’s hand.
“Oh, my god,” Harry said, clasping his hand tightly. “Really?”
Ron laughed. “I know. I should have said something before this.”
“No, no, it’s my fault, dumping it on you like that!”
“It was my fault, I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.”
“No, I’d thought about it for years, I should have given you a chance to think about it, the sex was a mistake.”
“But I kissed you!”
“Yeah, you did,” and Harry looked at Ron’s lips, which quirked in a wry smile and came closer and brushed lightly over Harry’s.
They looked at each other, solemnly.
“So,” said Harry.
“So,” said Ron. “Can we really do this? Just like that?”
“Absolutely,” said Harry, nodding fiercely. “Really, it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“So, no pressure?” said Ron, raising an eyebrow.
They both sniggered, but were interrupted by the entrance of the Cannons’ Healer, who ran a wand over Harry’s aching collarbone, pronounced him fit to go, once he’d showered and changed, and left as abruptly as he’d arrived, the doors swinging closed behind him.
The charge in the atmosphere went up a notch.
Ron cleared his throat. “So, d’you need a hand with that?” he asked, nodding at the protective gear Harry was still laced into.
Harry really, really did need a hand. His shoulder ached, and he didn’t know how he would manage to bend and unlace his uniform. But he didn’t want anything to move too fast this time. This time had to be for keeps.
Ron could obviously tell what he was thinking. “Really, Harry. This time I’ve been thinking about it for years, too. I won’t run away again.”
Ron kissed him gently again and helped him down from the bed and they crossed the room to the showers. There, Ron closed the doors and took Harry’s hand in his. Turning it palm up, he pressed a kiss into the open palm and then unlaced the heavy leather wrist-guard. Dropping it to the floor, he repeated his actions with Harry’s other arm.
Carefully unlacing the throat of Harry’s shirt, he pulled it over his head, favouring the recently broken collarbone. Undoing and discarding Harry’s undershirt, he caressed the damp skin he uncovered, pressing another kiss into Harry’s neck.
They paused to kiss for a while, Harry’s hands gripping a double handful of Ron’s orange t-shirt and Ron stroking Harry’s aching shoulders and back.
Then Ron knelt to unlace Harry’s boots and shin guards. Throwing them to one side, he looked up at Harry and their eyes met as he undid Harry’s trousers and let them drop to the floor, revealing a rather pronounced bulge in his boxer shorts. Ron grinned and pulled them over Harry’s slim hips, grinning wider as Harry tried to cover himself with his hands.
Ron caught Harry’s wrists and held his hands away from his cock, unconsciously licking his lips as he studied Harry’s bobbing erection.
“Ron?” Harry asked in a strangled whisper, as Ron reached out a hand and ran gentle fingers along his shaft.
“I… I didn’t dare look at you last time, Harry. I want to look at you.”
“You too,” Harry murmured, and his voice cracked.
Ron smiled and got to his feet, swiftly undressing as Harry stepped out of his trousers and boxers and kicked them away. And they looked at each other, both blushing slightly at their obvious arousal.
Ron took his hand and led him to the showers, where he took the soap and slowly lathered and washed Harry’s body, exploring every part of him with gentle fingers. Harry tipped his head back under the showerhead and closed his eyes, letting the water thunder onto his face and run down his body, washing the bubbles away as Ron knelt and soaped his thighs. Just when he thought life could get no better he felt Ron’s hand wrap around his shaft and Ron’s mouth - Ron’s mouth - engulf the head of his cock.
Dragging his eyes open, he saw Ron looking up at him and his cock disappearing between wide pink lips. “Fuck,” he growled, his hips jerking forward, and the lips curved up into a smile.
“Hmmm,” Ron hummed around his cock and Harry whimpered and thrust again, reaching for Ron’s face and twining his fingers in the long, wet, red hair as he panted and thrust and fucked that beautiful hot mouth until he could hold back no longer and he started seeing stars as his climax approached.
He thrust harder and Ron gagged and Harry hastily withdrew, meaning to apologise, but it was too late as his come hit Ron in the face.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Harry gasped, his erection dwindling against his thigh as he knelt beside his friend and wiped away the mess with trembling fingers.
But Ron was laughing and he reached for Harry and kissed him and Harry laughed too and sighed into Ron’s mouth as the kiss deepened. Pulling back to look into Ron’s dancing eyes, Harry smiled and shook his head and leant forward to lick his own come from the corner of Ron’s mouth.
“Fuck,” Ron moaned, grabbing him and plunging his tongue into Harry’s mouth to take it back again, their tongues fighting over it as they shared the taste.
“Do it to me,” Harry whispered against Ron’s lips and Ron groaned.
“Don’t move,” he growled and got to his feet. His erection was aching and throbbing in his hand, and it took only a few strokes, with Harry kneeling at his feet and gazing up at him with vulnerable green eyes, before his cock jerked and his hips thrust forward and streams of come splattered across Harry’s cheeks and parted lips.
Harry’s head tipped back and his mouth opened as Ron sank to his knees again and gathered Harry up in his arms, kissing him hungrily. Ron ran his fingers over Harry’s face, smoothing his come into Harry’s skin, then following his fingers with his mouth as he laid a trail of open mouthed kisses along his jaw and down his neck.
They leant back under the shower, the powerful jet of water running down both their bodies, carrying away the sweat and the come and massaging Harry’s aching muscles.
Harry curled up in Ron’s lap and nuzzled his face into Ron’s neck, licking at the water drops dripping from his hair. This time Ron’s arms came round him to hold him tight, and he could feel that Ron’s entire body was pleasantly relaxed.
Ron kissed the top of his head. “You know, I think we should thank Malfoy. If he hadn’t knocked you off your broom like that, heaven knows how long it would have taken for me to pluck up the courage to come to you.”
Harry chuckled. “He knows,” he said, snuggling closer.
“Well, he’ll take the credit, but he didn’t knock you off your broom on purpose.”
“Yes, he did,” said Harry, running one forefinger down the trembling muscles in Ron’s chest. “Hermione asked him to.”
“What?” Ron gasped.
“That was his part of the plan – hers was to make sure you were at the match to see me get hurt. I heard them talking about it before you got here.”
Harry felt Ron stiffen beneath him – and not in a good way, his subconscious supplied once more – and he closed his eyes so he didn’t have to watch Ron’s reaction.
“What gives her the right? Is she insane? She… he… they…. Oh, bugger.” And he tipped Harry’s face up to him and kissed him, gently. “I guess she was right.”
Harry relaxed in his arms. “But she really had no idea what she was stirring up, Ron. She just wants us to be friends again.”
“Well,” Ron’s grin was almost scary, “won’t she be surprised to see us like this?” And his hands slipped lower, one to cup Harry’s arse and one into his lap to try and coax his recumbent cock back to life. Harry smiled against his lips and his thighs parted wantonly to give Ron better access.
Neither noticed the door open and Hermione muttering, “Well, I just thought we should come back and check they’re OK,” but their lips jerked apart and they turned to face the doorway when Malfoy caught sight of them and screamed.
****
Commissioned byursulaurquhart from myrafur
I know, creatingursulaurquhart may be taking all of this just a tad seriously, but I hope you enjoyed your story, love, shocfix.
OK, who guessed it was me?
Title: Second Chance
Author:
ursulaurquhartPairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Words: 5400
Written for the very exciting Reversathon, for the mysterious Letitia Grubb, who requested Harry/Ron, set in the future and if you added some make-up sex, it would be wonderful.
But look. How scary can she be – look at what good taste she has: Ron is her favourite, she writes Harry/Ron and Ron/Hermione, can do Harry/Ron/Hermione, cannot do Harry/Hermione.
Wait a minute, isn’t that me?
Oh, no, she writes Ron/Draco.
That so isn’t me!
Betaed, terribly kindly, by the wonderful
magicofisis and the wondrousrosina_alcona.And, yes, of course
ursulaurquhart exists!Oh, and it may not be completely work-safe, as you scroll down, OK?
OK, it really isn’t work-safe. But if it is – gosh, you have a cool job!
Second Chance
****
Harry never thought he would be able to say that he’d rather spend time with Draco Malfoy than Ron Weasley!
Yet here they were, sharing a companionable pint after their league match, comparing bruises and swapping Quidditch stories. Now that their rivalry was confined solely to the professional Quidditch pitch, and now that Malfoy could no longer deny that Harry was England’s Seeker purely on merit, since his catch snatched the World Cup title out from under Ireland’s noses, they had settled into a teasing relationship that Harry found rather enjoyable.
Especially as he really didn’t socialise that much.
Hermione had become an Unspeakable after the War, so there was almost nothing they could talk about when they met up for the occasional dinner.
Neville was working at Hogwarts, Seamus was back in Ireland, Dean was living in the Muggle world.
He saw Ginny or the twins sometimes when Mrs Weasley insisted he came over for Sunday lunch, but the awkwardness between him and Ron meant that he usually tried to get out of an invitation.
It was an awkwardness he never spoke about – even with Hermione, and especially not with Malfoy.
Yet you could almost set your clock by the ferrety blond. Madame Rosmerta would bring them a final pint when last orders was called, run her hands over Harry’s shoulders in his orange robes, ask him how the Cannons had done and Malfoy would wait until she was half-way across the room back to the bar before muttering, “If you don’t care whether the Weasel lives or dies, then please, please put the rest of us out of our misery and transfer to a team that stands a slug’s chance of winning the league!”
“Draco, stop it,” Harry would say.
“Seriously, Harry, it’s embarrassing. How d’you think the other professional Seekers feel? The England Seeker plays for the Cannons? It reflects terribly badly on the rest of us, old chap.”
And Harry would snort and shake his head and say, “They’re my team, OK, Draco? Leave it.”
And Malfoy would clap him on the shoulder and Apparate home to his wife and Harry would take a deep breath and close his eyes and Apparate home to nothing.
And he would take a beer from the fridge and slump on the couch, alone, and he would think about Ron.
****
He tried so hard not to think of him, and it worked most of the time. He trained and played hard and came home to shower and fall into an empty bed and a dreamless sleep.
Only lunch at the Weasleys’, dinner with Hermione and drinking with Draco left him in this mood.
Last week Hermione had tried again. They had met for a quick supper after she finally finished at the Ministry and she had oh so casually mentioned that Ron had been injured at work. Harry’s heart had beat painfully, but he had given Hermione a steady look and said, “Give him my best, won’t you.”
Hermione had sighed deeply. “Harry, he’d like to see you.”
“No, Hermione, don’t do this. He’s the one who wants nothing to do with me; it’s his problem.”
“You miss him!” Hermione had said impatiently. “And I know he misses you.”
“Miss him? I don’t miss him.”
They both knew that he did, but Hermione would never know what had happened to cause this estrangement, and Harry always changed the subject.
“This really cannot be just because you decided not to become an Auror,” she had said for the millionth time in the past two years.
“Hermione, leave it,” Harry had said in a warning tone, but she had ignored him, as usual.
“I can’t,” she’d moaned. “Everything was wonderful; Voldemort was dead; the three of us got our NEWT results; you both got the marks to be taken on by the Aurors; then I came back from my initial Unspeakable training to find that you had fallen out, that Ron was going to be an Auror, and that you wanted nothing more to do with him, but you had joined the Cannons. This whole situation drives me insane.”
But Harry would not be drawn on the split, and obviously Ron wouldn’t either, as Hermione never seemed to let the matter rest.
****
Harry swallowed a mouthful of his beer and allowed himself to dwell on the day he had told Ron he wasn’t going to be an Auror. OK, everyone else referred to it as the day he’d told Ron he wasn’t going to be an Auror.
To himself he should be honest enough to call it the day Ron had fucked his brains out and then gone insane.
The War left Harry sure of two things; he’d seen enough of death and he’d come so close to losing Ron during the Final Battle that he was going to have to do something about it.
This led to two major decisions; he would not become an Auror, and he was going to tell Ron how he felt about him.
So, that was two things to tell Ron, really. Because Ron was still keen on becoming an Auror, and on not shagging his best mate, as far as Harry knew. But he felt he owed it to Ron to tell him how he had come to his decision. And there was a chance that maybe Ron wouldn’t run screaming from the room.
He deliberately, and rather cowardly, waited until Hermione was cloistered in the Department of Mysteries, as he really couldn’t face her input, and he cornered Ron in his bedroom one afternoon when no one else was at the Burrow. Then, if Ron lost it in a big way, there wouldn’t be any eavesdroppers.
He sat on the end of Ron’s bed and fiddled nervously with the hem of his t-shirt until Ron cleared his throat loudly and grinned and him and said, “What is it, Harry?”
Harry had no idea which bombshell to drop first, as they were so interconnected and he was sure he’d make a mess of it. “I’ve been thinking, Ron,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one sweating palm. “Look, I just can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?” said Ron, sitting up and looking rather alarmed, and Harry’s mind went blank.
Was he talking about killing people or not kissing his best friend?
“I want to play Quidditch,” he managed to say, sure of just that one positive thing.
“Uh, OK, but we can’t play with just the two of us,” Ron looked worried.
“Good, let’s try something else,” said Harry, now distracted by other ways they could get hot and sweaty.
“OK,” said Ron, slowly. “Look, is something wrong?” he frowned, completely wrong-footed by Harry’s random comments.
“Uuurggghh. Yes. Yes! And no.”
“Well, I’m glad we’ve cleared that up!” Ron smiled at him, that wonderful lopsided smile that had been the only thing that got him through the day sometimes, and Harry took a deep breath.
“Ron… Ron. We’ve always done everything together. And now there are two important things I want to do. Well, no, one of them I don’t want to do. And I want to do them with you. Or not.”
“Harry, are you listening to yourself? Because I really can’t make head or tail…”
“Yes. The thing is. Here’s the thing. The first thing. That I don’t want to do with you. Be Aurors. There.” Harry relaxed slightly. One bombshell down, one to go. Or not.
“You don’t want to be an Auror with me? Don’t you think I can do it?” Ron looked hurt.
“Oh, God, no, that’s not it at all!” Harry didn’t want to be responsible for that look on Ron’s face. “I think that you’ll be an amazing Auror, if that’s what you want to do. But I just can’t do it. I’ve seen enough death, and I’ve killed, and I can’t do it anymore. I want to play Quidditch.”
“Harry, that’s fantastic,” Ron crowed. “I can’t think of anything better than watching you play professionally. You’ll be brilliant!”
“Wow. So you’re not angry with me? For abandoning you? We were going to do it together.”
“Harry, you daft sod,” Ron punched him lightly. “I hated what the War did to you, I think Quidditch is perfect for you. And for me – I assume I get tickets to all your matches?” He grinned happily.
“Of.. of course, I couldn’t play without you there. I. Um. I love you.”
“I love you too, mate,” Ron said genially and Harry winced.
“That’s the other thing,” he muttered.
“What other thing?” asked Ron, confused once again.
“The thing. The other thing. The one that I do want to do with you. Love you.”
Ron’s eyebrows shot up under his fringe. “You want us to love me?”
Harry snorted. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I want you to love me. But I understand if you don’t. It’s what made me realise I can’t be an Auror. When I saw you unconscious after the Final Battle; it nearly killed me. If I’d lost you I would have died. Died. I spent too long trying not to love you, and it’s just not possible. And then I nearly got you killed. You. Again. And I knew I couldn’t watch you walk into any more danger. I couldn’t watch you become an Auror, and I couldn’t become an Auror. I just want to make you happy. And I know you can’t want me. So I’ll play for the Cannons, how’s that?”
Harry kept babbling, because Ron still hadn’t said anything, but eventually he meandered to a stop and simply said, “Please, Ron?”
Ron blinked at him. “Please, what?” he whispered.
“Please… love me?”
Ron bit his lip and shrugged, helplessly. “I.. I don’t know Harry, I’ve never thought of… I’m not…”
But as Harry muttered, “No, no of course not,” and tried to get up, Ron caught hold of his hand and said, “But it’s you,” and leant forwards and kissed him, very clumsily.
It was not an auspicious beginning, and a little voice in the back of Harry’s head was telling him that they really should talk about it first. But a little voice in Harry’s groin was telling him that the weight he felt was Ron’s long lean body pressing him into the orange bedspread as one of Ron’s knees settled between his legs and one of Ron’s hands was in his hair and Ron’s tongue was in his mouth and then all voices were drowned by the thunder of his blood pounding in his ears as it headed further south.
Harry’s hands came up to stroke Ron’s hair and touch his face and run down the trembling muscles in his back and finally settled on his arse as Ron ground down against him.
Four frantic hands fumbled with buttons and zips and t-shirts. Four legs untangled from jeans and socks and then tangled up around each other and Ron thrust his hips in circles against Harry and their aching cocks rubbed up against each other and Harry moaned out loud.
“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, writhing under his friend, slipping a hand between their bodies to try and reach for Ron’s cock, but Ron batted his hand away. “More,” Harry gasped and Ron gave him a hot, calculating look before coming up on his knees and pushing Harry’s thighs apart. Oh, god, was he really going to… yes, spitting on his hand for lubrication, Ron reached for his cock and stroked it quickly. Just that glorious sight had Harry gasping and pulling his knees back and apart to give Ron more room, and Ron moved into place and fumbled at Harry’s entrance and pressed the head of his cock slowly into him.
Harry’s eyes widened as he breathed out hard through the pain. Ron was inching further inside him, and it burned and it hurt and it filled him and it was wonderful.
Harry looked up at Ron’s face, but Ron’s eyes were shut tight and he was biting his lip as he pushed into Harry, eerily quiet and frowning slightly with concentration.
“Ron,” Harry whispered, but Ron shook his head abruptly and buried his face in Harry’s neck as he was finally fully sheathed in his best friend’s body. “It’s OK, Ron, it’s good,” he murmured and Ron shifted against him and started to withdraw, stretching Harry once more as he paused with the head of his cock just inside, then driving back into him.
Harry moaned, and Ron withdrew again, establishing a clumsy rhythm as he picked up his pace.
Though Harry couldn’t help whispering and touching and moaning, Ron was still silent, but Harry was distracted from this as Ron braced himself on one elbow and reached down to wrap one large freckled hand around Harry’s cock.
Harry’s eyes dropped closed as his head fell back on the pillows and he arched up against Ron as he thrust harder and harder and stroked Harry’s cock with each thrust until Harry came in hot spurts over his fingers and Ron finally cried out as he emptied himself inside his friend.
Harry felt boneless and joyful and fulfilled and not even the discomfort of a large Weasley, breathing heavily and pinning him to the bed, could spoil this moment.
But then he felt Ron stiffen on top of him – and not in a good way, his subconscious supplied, slightly hysterically – and he closed his eyes so he didn’t have to watch Ron’s reaction.
Ron rolled away from him and sat up, wiping his hand on the sheet and reaching for his discarded clothes; Harry sat up, wincing slightly, and pulled the rumpled sheet over his lap.
He reluctantly opened his eyes to watch Ron dress, suddenly sure in his heart that this was his last chance to do so, after seven years of living in each others’ pockets. Ron was grinding his teeth and his hands were shaking as they zipped up his jeans and Harry sighed and spoke. “Ron, I’m sorry. We never have to mention it, or anything, please, just don’t go.”
“Go?” Ron shouted, finally turning to face him. “This is my room, Harry! You are naked in my bed. I fucked you in my bed. How am I ever going to get rid of this image?” He stooped to gather up Harry’s clothes and threw them at him. “Get out of here.”
“Ron, no, not like this. I can’t lose you like this,” Harry scrambled into his jeans and took a step towards Ron, who backed away from him. “Ron, please.”
Ron half-laughed. “Saying ‘Ron, please’ isn’t going to work anymore. I, I can’t deal with this. I want you gone when I get back.” He took out his wand to Apparate away and Harry grabbed his arm.
“No, Ron, you can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Ron looked down at Harry’s hand on his arm and his face went cold and blank and Harry flinched. “Too late. You shouldn’t have said anything. We shouldn’t have… No. Go and play Quidditch. Have a nice life.”
“NO!”
Ron finally met his eyes. “This never happened,” he hissed. “I am going to tell people that I was pissed at you for not becoming an Auror, and you are never, ever going to tell anyone what we... you did, and I don’t want to see you again.” And with a flick of his wand he was gone, taking Harry’s breath and his heart with him.
****
So they hadn’t talked for two years.
Harry missed him so much. He would give anything to have never said anything to Ron about how he felt. His worst case scenario had been Ron saying, “I’m sorry mate, I just don’t feel the same,” though possibly louder, and with more swear words.
He hadn’t expected Ron to touch him, to kiss him, to fuck him. And then to leave him. It hadn’t been worth it. Nothing could ever be worth this. And how often did he want to go and see his ex-best friend.
Harry didn’t dare apologise again; he didn’t dare see Ron, didn’t dare write. But he picked the Cannons out of the professional teams that offered him a contract, hoping Ron wouldn’t be able to resist coming to see him play. He scanned the crowd at Quidditch matches for a flash of red hair, when he was supposed to be scanning the skies for the Snitch.
But the only time he saw Ron was in Molly Weasley’s kitchen, and Ron sat at the far end of the table and never met his eye, and Harry didn’t see how he could go on like this for another hundred years, without the only person he cared about.
****
Harry was absolutely focused on Quidditch for the Cannons final match of the season. The Tutshill Tornados had already won the league, so they were hoping to go out on a high by crushing the Cannons.
Almost all neutral fans were hoping that the Cannons could snatch the match from them, not least because Harry Potter was playing Seeker. And at Seeker for the Tornados was one Draco Malfoy.
Harry and Malfoy circled high above the action, eyes constantly on the look out for the flash of gold. Below them, the Tornados were leading by two hundred points to sixty, so now would be a good time for Harry to see the Snitch.
The weather was worsening, and Harry’s hair was plastered to his skull by splattering rain when he saw Malfoy move into a steep dive.
Narrowing his eyes, he saw the Snitch also following Malfoy’s dive, so he followed the other Seeker towards the ground, unwilling to let him get too far ahead as the blond lay forward along his broom. Harry was still in complete control of his broom when the Snitch changed direction, coming straight at him as Malfoy pulled up, thirty feet from the ground. Harry automatically put out his hand and caught the struggling golden orb, shaking his head at the thought that Malfoy had tried to feint him, when suddenly Malfoy pulled hard left on his own broom, crashing hard into Harry and pulling on the bristles of Harry’s broom as Harry’s balance wobbled.
Harry was used to rough play, but not to someone blatantly pulling his broom out from under him, and he lost his grip and fell the best part of forty feet to the ground, landing hard on his shoulder. The last things he heard before darkness overtook him were a bone cracking and the referee blowing frantically on his whistle.
****
The next thing he heard was Hermione whispering angrily, and he smiled to himself but didn’t have the strength to open his eyes. It almost sounded like she was telling Ron off.
But no, that was impossible.
“I did my part, Hermione,” Malfoy whispered. “Here he is, injured just like you asked, but you have failed to deliver.”
Malfoy had hurt him deliberately? Because Hermione had asked him to? Clearly he was still unconscious.
“I delivered. I made sure Ron was at the match. You were supposed to just give Ron a fright, Harry was supposed to be slightly hurt. Not unconscious with a broken collarbone!”
“Well, Potter always was a drama queen. There was no need for the Weasel to take everything this badly. I can’t believe he threw up. So his little friend wouldn’t play Aurors with him. That isn’t a reason to sulk for two years! There has to be more to it than that.”
“I know there is, you idiot! But neither of them will talk about it. That is why we had to get them together in the same room. Only Harry being unconscious makes that futile.”
The two of them would have continued the furious whispered conversation, but there was the sound of a door opening.
“Ron!” Hermione gasped and it was all Harry could do to lie still; he could hear Ron tentatively approaching the bed.
“How is he?” Ron whispered, and Harry felt his heart rate increase – he hoped the Healers didn’t have a way to monitor such things.
“He’ll be fine,” Hermione whispered back. “The bruising isn’t as bad as it looks, and his collarbone is already healed.”
Harry could sense Ron’s presence beside his bed. He could feel him trembling, even though feet still separated them.
“I… I should go,” Ron whispered, sounding torn, and Hermione overrode him.
“No, Ron, please stay. Draco has to face his team bosses, and I have to go to work.”
Harry actually felt Ron stiffen with anger. “Yes, Malfoy, how are you going to explain deliberate blatching and blagging after the other Seeker already had the Snitch? You are going to be in such trouble.”
“Well, Weasel, the season is over. All I’ll get is a ban from the Tornados’ summer tour – and six weeks in the Far East doesn’t appeal to me. How are you going to explain not speaking to your best friend for two years?”
“Stop it, both of you,” Hermione interrupted. “Ron, please, stay. Someone should be here when he wakes up.”
“Hermione, I can’t,” Ron sounded nervous.
“Ron, you went green when he fell; I haven’t seen you so scared in years. You miss him. Please, stay.”
Ron must have acquiesced, because Harry heard Hermione bustling Malfoy from the room, and then there was the creak of a chair as someone sat down at his bedside.
And the unmistakeable sound of Ron sighing deeply.
Harry wondered if he was a good enough actor to fake coming round, but rather doubted it. And he didn’t want to start their conversation with a lie.
And then it was too late, because Ron started talking.
“Merlin, you gave me a fright, Harry,” he whispered. “I haven’t seen you take a fall like that since third year. Hermione bugged me and bugged me to come to the match today. She thinks I never watch you play, can you believe that? I’ve never missed a match! Even after, well, you know. It’s you. And the Cannons.
“It’s almost as if she knew something would go wrong today, and that I might never have the chance to speak to you again, you know? It was weird. I lost it when you hit the ground – thousands of wizards there, yet no one thought of casting a charm to cushion you! But she didn’t panic, not our Hermione. She just bustled me down the stairs and into the changing rooms.
“And when you were brought in here, all covered in blood and bruises - War flashback much? I had to go through to the showers and throw up while they patched you up. And then I came in here and Hermione and Malfoy were hissing at each other like cats – I don’t know why he was allowed in here after fouling you like that – I’ve never seen such blagging in a professional match!
“Merlin Harry, I miss you. I know I coped badly that day. Yeah, I know, understatement. I know I lost it, and I’m sorry. It wasn’t something I’d ever considered and I panicked. We should have talked about it, and, um, taken it slowly. Because I think I’d have been OK with it if we’d gone slowly.
“So, yeah. I’m sorry. And when you wake up, I, well, I want to be friends again. And more. Whatever it takes; whatever you want. Me too. I want it too. I can’t forget what happened.”
Harry couldn’t stand to wait another moment and he opened his eyes to see the concerned blue eyes looking down at him that he had missed so much for the past two years. “Me too,” he croaked, and Ron jumped.
“Harry! How much of that did you hear?” he said, accusingly, and blushed.
“All of it, I think,” muttered Harry, blinking up at him. “I was pretty much awake when Hermione was still here, but too tired to move.”
“Oh, Merlin,” Ron said.
“I’m sorry, Ron, I didn’t mean to listen, I was just sort of out of it,” Harry apologised.
“No, no, it’s OK. I meant it, Harry,” Ron swallowed and, looking very nervous, reached for Harry’s hand.
“Oh, my god,” Harry said, clasping his hand tightly. “Really?”
Ron laughed. “I know. I should have said something before this.”
“No, no, it’s my fault, dumping it on you like that!”
“It was my fault, I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.”
“No, I’d thought about it for years, I should have given you a chance to think about it, the sex was a mistake.”
“But I kissed you!”
“Yeah, you did,” and Harry looked at Ron’s lips, which quirked in a wry smile and came closer and brushed lightly over Harry’s.
They looked at each other, solemnly.
“So,” said Harry.
“So,” said Ron. “Can we really do this? Just like that?”
“Absolutely,” said Harry, nodding fiercely. “Really, it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“So, no pressure?” said Ron, raising an eyebrow.
They both sniggered, but were interrupted by the entrance of the Cannons’ Healer, who ran a wand over Harry’s aching collarbone, pronounced him fit to go, once he’d showered and changed, and left as abruptly as he’d arrived, the doors swinging closed behind him.
The charge in the atmosphere went up a notch.
Ron cleared his throat. “So, d’you need a hand with that?” he asked, nodding at the protective gear Harry was still laced into.
Harry really, really did need a hand. His shoulder ached, and he didn’t know how he would manage to bend and unlace his uniform. But he didn’t want anything to move too fast this time. This time had to be for keeps.
Ron could obviously tell what he was thinking. “Really, Harry. This time I’ve been thinking about it for years, too. I won’t run away again.”
Ron kissed him gently again and helped him down from the bed and they crossed the room to the showers. There, Ron closed the doors and took Harry’s hand in his. Turning it palm up, he pressed a kiss into the open palm and then unlaced the heavy leather wrist-guard. Dropping it to the floor, he repeated his actions with Harry’s other arm.
Carefully unlacing the throat of Harry’s shirt, he pulled it over his head, favouring the recently broken collarbone. Undoing and discarding Harry’s undershirt, he caressed the damp skin he uncovered, pressing another kiss into Harry’s neck.
They paused to kiss for a while, Harry’s hands gripping a double handful of Ron’s orange t-shirt and Ron stroking Harry’s aching shoulders and back.
Then Ron knelt to unlace Harry’s boots and shin guards. Throwing them to one side, he looked up at Harry and their eyes met as he undid Harry’s trousers and let them drop to the floor, revealing a rather pronounced bulge in his boxer shorts. Ron grinned and pulled them over Harry’s slim hips, grinning wider as Harry tried to cover himself with his hands.
Ron caught Harry’s wrists and held his hands away from his cock, unconsciously licking his lips as he studied Harry’s bobbing erection.
“Ron?” Harry asked in a strangled whisper, as Ron reached out a hand and ran gentle fingers along his shaft.
“I… I didn’t dare look at you last time, Harry. I want to look at you.”
“You too,” Harry murmured, and his voice cracked.
Ron smiled and got to his feet, swiftly undressing as Harry stepped out of his trousers and boxers and kicked them away. And they looked at each other, both blushing slightly at their obvious arousal.
Ron took his hand and led him to the showers, where he took the soap and slowly lathered and washed Harry’s body, exploring every part of him with gentle fingers. Harry tipped his head back under the showerhead and closed his eyes, letting the water thunder onto his face and run down his body, washing the bubbles away as Ron knelt and soaped his thighs. Just when he thought life could get no better he felt Ron’s hand wrap around his shaft and Ron’s mouth - Ron’s mouth - engulf the head of his cock.
Dragging his eyes open, he saw Ron looking up at him and his cock disappearing between wide pink lips. “Fuck,” he growled, his hips jerking forward, and the lips curved up into a smile.
“Hmmm,” Ron hummed around his cock and Harry whimpered and thrust again, reaching for Ron’s face and twining his fingers in the long, wet, red hair as he panted and thrust and fucked that beautiful hot mouth until he could hold back no longer and he started seeing stars as his climax approached.
He thrust harder and Ron gagged and Harry hastily withdrew, meaning to apologise, but it was too late as his come hit Ron in the face.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Harry gasped, his erection dwindling against his thigh as he knelt beside his friend and wiped away the mess with trembling fingers.
But Ron was laughing and he reached for Harry and kissed him and Harry laughed too and sighed into Ron’s mouth as the kiss deepened. Pulling back to look into Ron’s dancing eyes, Harry smiled and shook his head and leant forward to lick his own come from the corner of Ron’s mouth.
“Fuck,” Ron moaned, grabbing him and plunging his tongue into Harry’s mouth to take it back again, their tongues fighting over it as they shared the taste.
“Do it to me,” Harry whispered against Ron’s lips and Ron groaned.
“Don’t move,” he growled and got to his feet. His erection was aching and throbbing in his hand, and it took only a few strokes, with Harry kneeling at his feet and gazing up at him with vulnerable green eyes, before his cock jerked and his hips thrust forward and streams of come splattered across Harry’s cheeks and parted lips.
Harry’s head tipped back and his mouth opened as Ron sank to his knees again and gathered Harry up in his arms, kissing him hungrily. Ron ran his fingers over Harry’s face, smoothing his come into Harry’s skin, then following his fingers with his mouth as he laid a trail of open mouthed kisses along his jaw and down his neck.
They leant back under the shower, the powerful jet of water running down both their bodies, carrying away the sweat and the come and massaging Harry’s aching muscles.
Harry curled up in Ron’s lap and nuzzled his face into Ron’s neck, licking at the water drops dripping from his hair. This time Ron’s arms came round him to hold him tight, and he could feel that Ron’s entire body was pleasantly relaxed.
Ron kissed the top of his head. “You know, I think we should thank Malfoy. If he hadn’t knocked you off your broom like that, heaven knows how long it would have taken for me to pluck up the courage to come to you.”
Harry chuckled. “He knows,” he said, snuggling closer.
“Well, he’ll take the credit, but he didn’t knock you off your broom on purpose.”
“Yes, he did,” said Harry, running one forefinger down the trembling muscles in Ron’s chest. “Hermione asked him to.”
“What?” Ron gasped.
“That was his part of the plan – hers was to make sure you were at the match to see me get hurt. I heard them talking about it before you got here.”
Harry felt Ron stiffen beneath him – and not in a good way, his subconscious supplied once more – and he closed his eyes so he didn’t have to watch Ron’s reaction.
“What gives her the right? Is she insane? She… he… they…. Oh, bugger.” And he tipped Harry’s face up to him and kissed him, gently. “I guess she was right.”
Harry relaxed in his arms. “But she really had no idea what she was stirring up, Ron. She just wants us to be friends again.”
“Well,” Ron’s grin was almost scary, “won’t she be surprised to see us like this?” And his hands slipped lower, one to cup Harry’s arse and one into his lap to try and coax his recumbent cock back to life. Harry smiled against his lips and his thighs parted wantonly to give Ron better access.
Neither noticed the door open and Hermione muttering, “Well, I just thought we should come back and check they’re OK,” but their lips jerked apart and they turned to face the doorway when Malfoy caught sight of them and screamed.
****
Commissioned by
ursulaurquhart from myrafurI know, creating
ursulaurquhart may be taking all of this just a tad seriously, but I hope you enjoyed your story, love, shocfix.OK, who guessed it was me?