shocfix (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shocfix) wrote,@ 2005-01-21 01:00:00 |
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Freckles - H/R - NC-17
Title: Freckles
Author:shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 5400
Rating: NC-17
Written forannchen for the Ron ficathon.
Pairing: Ron alone or paired with someone or everyone. Go nuts.
An accident with a freckle-removing spell/potion. The embarrassing task to paint them all back again.
I don’t know if you have ever read my story In a Jam, but this subject was just tailor-made for me – many thanks toannchen for the brilliant bunny, to snoopypez for giving me something this adorable, when loads of people probably asked for Ron/Snape and Ron/Malfoy(s) and stuff like that, and, as always to magicofisis and rosina_alcona, for beta services beyond the whatsit.
Freckles
****
When Ron had been in the bathroom for an hour, Harry started to get irritated.
He banged on the door. “Hey, Weasley, just admit you’re doomed. She is never going to fancy you, no matter what you do, so just get your freckly arse out here and let the rest of us have a turn!”
“Go ‘way, Harry,” a mournful voice replied, and the door refused to budge.
“I’ll get Hermione up here to open the door,” Harry threatened, and he heard a definite gasp inside from behind the door.
“Who else is out there?” came Ron’s voice.
“No one, just me,” replied Harry. “But I have a date too, Ron; come on, what’s going on in there?”
“I’ve got a bit of an, um, problem,” Ron said, removing the locking charms on the door and opening it an inch.
Harry looked at the miserable blue eye that peeped through the gap at him. There was no red fringe draped across it – wait, there were no red eyelashes, no red eyebrow. “Ron? Let me in!”
With a sigh, Ron stepped back and let Harry wriggle through the gap, before turning and locking the door again.
Harry stood behind him, staring. Ron had a towel wrapped low on his hips, and his back rose above it, pale creamy skin un-marked, not a freckle in sight. Harry’s gaze moved up Ron’s body, coming to rest on a smooth, hairless skull.
“Ron!” he gasped. “What the fuck happened?”
Ron turned glumly and leant against the door, shoulders hunched and head drooping. He looked up at Harry in the familiar way he always did when he was in trouble, but he was usually peeping through his eyelashes and his fringe. Now, nothing. Not a hair and not a freckle in sight.
“Ron?” he said.
Ron slumped dramatically to the floor and Harry knelt beside him.
“It was a potion,” Ron muttered.
“Why d’you take a potion? What’s wrong?” Harry prompted.
“Nothing! Well, nothing really. Nothing a normal person would try and fix. But if you’re an idiot like me…”
“Ron!”
“It was supposed to remove freckles, OK?” Ron glared at him.
“You wanted to remove your freckles?” Harry was taken aback.
“Yes!”
“But I love your freckles!”
Ron rolled his eyes at him. “That’s not the point. Sue doesn’t like them.”
“It’s, what, your third date and you’re removing your freckles for her? I didn’t think it was that serious!”
Ron huffed. “It’s not that it’s that serious,” he muttered. “It’s just that she said girls don’t like freckles, and I reckon maybe that’s why girls won’t go out with me…”
“What girls?” Harry interrupted.
“Any girls.”
“Have you asked these girls out?”
“No,” Ron sighed, drooping over his knees.
“Anyway,” said Harry, shaking his head wryly. “That’s not your problem at the moment. Even without your lovely freckles,” Ron glared, “what happened to your hair?”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen!”
Harry snorted. “No. Really?”
“I think it’s because my hair was the same colour as my freckles, or something.”
Harry started to laugh, weakly, but he stopped when he saw the forlorn look on Ron’s face.
“It’s not funny, Harry. What am I going to do?”
“OK, give me the bottle and go and hide in your bed. I will go and cancel our dates and track down Hermione, and we will find out how to reverse this.”
Ron looked stricken. “Hermione? Do you have to?”
“Well, yes. I wouldn’t have the faintest idea where to look!”
Ron sighed glumly and hauled himself to his feet. He took a small, green bottle from the sink and handed it to Harry. “Just do your best, yeah?”
Harry bit his lip and turned to the door. “We’ll sort this out, Ron, don’t worry.”
“Thanks, Harry,” Ron muttered, glaring at himself in the mirror above the sinks.
****
Harry slunk down the stairs into the common room, dreading seeing Parvati so, of course, there she was.
“Hey, Harry,” she said coming over to kiss him on the cheek, ponytail swinging.
“Um, Parvati, I’m afraid I’m going to have to, um, postpone our trip to Hogsmeade,” he said, trying to look apologetic.
“What?” she demanded. “You are right here, how can you tell me you can’t go?”
“Um, Ron and I have a bit of a problem – oh, d’you think you could let his date know? Sue is supposed to be waiting for him in the Great Hall…” he trailed off at her furious look.
“I will tell her,” snapped Parvati. “But only because she is a nice girl, and doesn’t deserve to be kept waiting. I thought you two had grown up – but you are as bad as you were three years ago at the ball!”
And she whirled on the spot, ponytail whipping Harry in the face as she turned, and strode from the room.
“And what was that all about?” a voice asked by his ear, making him jump.
“Ah, Hermione, shh, look, we need you to help us out with something…”
“Getting rid of dates?” she asked, tartly.
“No, no, look, really, we have a problem. Here,” and he handed her the little empty bottle of Sacharissa’s Maculation Expunger.
She raised a baffled eyebrow, but bent and read the ingredients and instructions. “This isn’t a genuine Sacharissa Tugwood product, Harry. She never used such a high proportion of Bubotuber Pus. It won’t just remove pimples; it’ll practically strip every drop of colour out of you. It’s used as the base of an Invisibility Draught.”
Harry barely paused to boggle at the fact that Hermione was already ahead of them. “Well, it’s not quite that strong,” he murmured, drawing her down to a seat by the window, where they could talk unobserved.
“OK,” she fixed him with a stern eye. “What has happened?”
Harry sighed. “Ron used it on his freckles.”
“What?” she shouted, and he frantically shushed her. “What?” she hissed. “There’s nothing wrong with his freckles. He took the whole bottle?” Harry nodded. “Well, that won’t just cover his freckles, it’ll, it’ll….” she floundered.
“Remove every hair on his body?” Harry offered.
“Well, yes, possibly… oh, no, did it really? No, look. It’s only a cosmetic thing, Harry. It doesn’t make someone disappear; it makes them invisible, right? So it has attacked his pigment - cloaked his freckles and made his hair invisible.”
“Oh, OK, well, that doesn’t sound too bad – what is the antidote?”
“Hmmm, I’ve read about something like this. There is a charm that reverses the effect…”
“Brilliant!”
“But it has to be cast carefully on every freckle, Harry. If it touches his uncloaked skin it’ll burn him.”
Harry felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. “You’re not serious? We have to hit each freckle individually?”
Hermione nodded.
“But what about his hair?”
“Well, that’s different. That is a side effect of the cloaking on his freckles. I think if we get enough of the freckles, it’ll break the effect on his hair, and it’ll come back.”
“What d’you mean ‘enough’ of his freckles?” Harry asked.
Hermione scrunched up her face as she calculated the strength of the potion. “I’d say something like ninety-five per cent.”
“Hermione,” Harry gasped. “That is ridiculous. There has to be another way!”
Hermione shrugged. “Even Ron doesn’t have all that many freckles, if we cast a general charm on him it will burn him too badly in between them.”
“Right, OK, teach me the charm, we’ve got a rather strange day ahead of us.”
****
Once Hermione was happy with his wrist movement, and they were sure that the other seventh year boys had left for Hogsmeade, Harry and Hermione went up to his dorm.
Hermione walked briskly to Ron’s bed and jerked the curtains open, revealing a monumentally glum Ron Weasley sitting on his bed in just boxer shorts.
“Hermione!” he squeaked, trying to cover himself with his hands.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “How are we going to sort this out if I can’t look at you?”
Harry meanwhile was rummaging through his trunk and came over with a stack of Wizarding photographs.
“Harry,” Ron whined. “What took you so long?”
Harry gave him a dirty look. “Well, next time, why not come up with a slightly less insane crisis? Look, Hermione thinks we’ll be OK.”
“Your freckles are still there, Ron,” she said. “They are just cloaked.”
Harry sat on the bed and dug out a close up photo of Ron, showing every freckle on his face. “Here, we have this to work from, all we need do is charm each freckle back.”
“So there’s a charm?” asked Ron, looking from one to the other. “Wait. Why d’you need the photographs?”
“To see where they are,” said Hermione crisply. “We have to charm each one, individually.”
“That’s bollocks!” Ron snapped. “I have freckles in places that have never been photographed, Hermione!”
Harry sniggered, and they both glared at him. “Look, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said. “For now, we’ll start on your face.”
They pressed Ron back on his pillows, propped the photograph on his chest and knelt on either side of him.
Carefully they each pressed the tips of their wands to an invisible freckle and whispered the charm. Ron flinched slightly, but two perfect red freckles popped into sight, one on each cheek.
“Did that hurt?” Hermione asked.
“No,” said Ron. “I didn’t feel a thing, it’s just creepy, having you both pointing your wands at my face.”
“Well, you trust us, don’t you, Ron?” asked Harry.
“’Course I do. OK, get on with it.”
So they settled on either side of him and worked steadily across his forehead, cheeks and nose, making Ron cross-eyed as he watched them.
Just once, Hermione was slightly off-centre on a freckle and Ron yelped as a half-freckle half-burn bloomed on his jaw. “What happened?” he asked frantically.
Hermione sighed and bit her lip; she was really hoping to have covered rather more skin before this came up. “That’s why we’re being careful to hit each freckle,” she explained. “Because if we miss, it’ll burn you.”
“Burn? Burn me?” Ron yelped, scrambling away from them. “Nice of you to point this out before we started!”
“Ron!” Harry snapped. “We are not doing this for fun, mate. We are doing our best, and yes, the charm burns your pale skin, so we are being as careful as we can, but it’s the only way!”
“Oh Merlin, why is my life so fucked?” Ron slumped down between them dramatically. “I’m sorry, Hermione. Go ahead; try not to burn me.”
Their eyes met over his prostrate form and rolled to the heavens. Then they returned to their work, each waiting for the Ron in the photograph to turn and watch the other one as they moved on to the freckles along his jaw and down his neck.
When they had recalled every cloaked freckle visible in the picture, they paused to sort through Harry’s photographs. He had a good close up of Ron’s bare chest and arms that caused Hermione to raise an eyebrow at him. “The scars,” he muttered. “From the brains. So I don’t forget.”
Hermione gave him a small smile and turned away.
Even though the scars had faded a lot in the past two years, they were a useful frame of reference and they made very few mistakes uncovering the freckles down his arms and hands. Ron winced and bit his lip each time they burnt him, but he didn’t say anything.
There were fewer cloaked freckles on his body and they worked steadily up his chest and across his shoulders, where the freckles almost outweighed the clear skin. Ron’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he watched them both frowning slightly as they carefully uncovered the freckles closest to his nipples.
“You know, even for us, this is getting weird,” he pointed out and Harry laughed and his wand slipped and left a burn rather too close to his left nipple for comfort.
“Sorry,” he muttered and Ron winced.
When they had uncovered all they could on his arms and chest they sat back and looked at him.
“What d’you reckon?” asked Harry. “How much have we done?”
“No more than forty per cent,” Hermione said. “His back’ll be a problem, and you’d be surprised how large the surface area of your legs is.”
“Hey, Hermione,” Ron broke in, “maybe witches could use this instead of shaving their legs! Its much less hassle.”
“Less hassle?” boggled Harry. “We’ve just spent three hours trying to get your hair back, you idiot!”
“What d’you mean trying?” Ron asked.
“And stop being such a misogynist, Ron,” Hermione snapped. “Not all witches shave or charm their legs, you know.”
“What d’you mean trying?” Ron asked again.
Hermione sighed loudly. She had really hoped to be closer to their goal before discussing this part with him. “The hair isn’t cloaked like the freckles, Ron,” she said, gently.
“It’s a side effect of the freckled being hidden,” Harry said. “And Hermione says all the hair will stop being invisible once we get enough freckles back.”
“Enough?” said Ron. “Exactly how much is enough?”
“More than we’ve uncovered, so let’s keep going, shall we?” said Hermione.
“How much?” Ron insisted.
“Practically all of them, Ron,” said Harry. “Something like ninety-five per cent.”
“Oh, Merlin, that’s impossible!” Ron moaned, collapsing back onto the bed. “Just forget it! I’m stuck like this for ever.”
“No, really, let’s keep going, you’ll be fine,” Harry took his hand and squeezed it. “We’ll do it, just you see.”
Ron swallowed and nodded, and Harry and Hermione went back to the stack of pictures.
“How about this one?” Hermione asked, holding out a picture of Ron picking Ginny up to throw her in the pond at the Burrow the previous summer. “I mean, I wish his shorts had been shorter, but you can see most of his legs, and you see his back when he turns round.”
“How inconsiderate of me not to have worn more revealing swimming trunks!” Ron muttered.
“Yeah, yeah that’ll work,” agreed Harry, ignoring him. “Ron, turn over, we’re going to do your back.”
Ron sighed and turned over, burying his freckled face in his freckled forearms. They propped the photograph in the small of his back and took up their places once more on either side of his shoulders.
By the time they had uncovered his back and worked down to his ankles, flipping him over to do the front of his legs, Hermione had to admit two things.
Firstly, no hair had reappeared, and she estimated they had cleared ninety per cent of Ron’s body. Secondly, Harry was much, much better at judging the location of freckles than she was.
Well, Harry had all sorts of unexpected talents, but she suspected there was more to it than that.
She sat back on her heels and stared at Ron’s boxer shorts.
“No,” said Ron, clasping them tightly. “No way, Hermione. Just admit defeat.”
She glared at him. “Even if I wanted to remove your pants, Ronald, there would be no point. We don’t have any photographs…. Oh, tell me we don’t have any photographs.”
Harry snorted. “We don’t, don’t worry. But…” he trailed off, biting his lip.
“But?” Hermione prompted.
“But what?” asked Ron.
Harry closed his eyes and sighed. “But I think I can do it without photographs, OK?” he muttered.
Ron and Hermione looked at each other.
“Harry?” Hermione asked gently. “Um, you’ve done really well so far, you’re much more accurate than me in placing the freckles, but, well, I mean, you do still need the pictures.”
“No, I don’t,” Harry sighed, looking from one to the other. “I’m doing it half from the picture, half from memory anyway. But trust me, there are some areas I can do just from memory, and two of those are inside those boxer shorts.”
“Harry,” breathed Hermione.
“Harry?” squeaked Ron.
“Look, Ron,” said Harry, desperately. “This is not how I wanted you to find out, believe me. But you can’t go around like this, and I swear I know where every single freckle is on your arse.” And he blushed Weasley-red.
Hermione snorted with laughter, and Harry turned to glare at her.
“It is not funny, Hermione,” he snapped. “Nothing in my life ever works properly. All I want is a normal life, and if it isn’t bad enough that I… that I’m a…”
“You Know What?” giggled Hermione, backing away from a rather irate Boy Who Lived, who leapt off the bed after her, picked her up by her elbows and carried her to the door.
“I think we can manage from here without your help, Hermione,” he said, removing the locking charms from the door and pushing her out into the corridor. Charming the door again, he took a deep breath and turned to face Ron, who still hadn’t reacted to his bombshell.
“I’m sorry, Ron,” he muttered, staring at the floor somewhere between the door and Ron’s bed. “I’ll understand if you don’t want me to try, but I don’t know what else we can do.”
“Look, Harry, let’s just get on with it,” Ron replied, in a slightly gruff voice. “We’ll talk about it after, or whatever. Or not at all!” He laughed nervously.
Harry half-laughed back and approached the bed.
“So, how d’you want me?” Ron asked, then squeaked and blushed.
“Oh, Ron, I’m so sorry,” Harry started, but Ron cut him off.
“Let’s just do it before I lose my nerve, OK?” And he wriggled out of his boxer shorts and flung himself on the bed, burying his face in a pillow.
Harry bit his lip and looked at him, his eyes running up the freckled legs, over the pale arse, up the refreckled back, to the bright red back of the neck – which showed just how much Ron was blushing into his pillow.
“OK,” said Harry, trying to sound businesslike.
He knelt beside Ron and examined his arse carefully, reacquainting himself with the contours that were etched into his memory. The dimple at the base of Ron’s spine, the swell of his arse cheeks, the slight crease at the top of each thigh. Leaning closer, he closed his eyes and pictured the freckled version. Taking and letting out a deep breath, he didn’t see Ron’s arse clench as his breath washed over it.
Opening his eyes, he set to work. Working from the dimple, he carefully revealed the pattern of ten freckles that was shaped like an ‘H’; that Harry liked to think of as his brand. But not now. No. Now he wasn’t thinking of Ron like that at all. Now he was concentrating on the job in hand.
It was like filling in a star chart for astronomy, really. He’d treat it as a solar system; think of the major freckles on each cheek as planets; try hard not to think of what they were orbiting at the centre of the system…
OK, across the left cheek there were thirteen large freckles, in almost equidistant orbits, each one surrounded by its scattering of satellites. Touching his wand to each spot and whispering the charm, Harry uncloaked every freckle in the left, well, hemisphere, without making a single mistake.
Sitting back to admire his work, he had to swallow a slightly hysterical laugh. It was one thing to be proud of his work, but he knew he’d never be able to boast about it to anyone.
Climbing over Ron’s legs, he settled down to examine the right hemisphere.
Ah. On the right hand side there was a line of freckles leading from the dimple down into the shadows between the cheeks. Looking for all the world like a pathway for his tongue to… looking for all the world like a comet’s tail, yes, that was better.
He carefully whispered the charm and revealed each freckle in the comet.
Then moving outwards once more from the, um, the sun, the centre, oh gods. Moving outwards, he revealed another fourteen planets, plus their moons, plus a band of asteroids – arseteroids! he swallowed a giggle - along the top of the right thigh.
Then he sat back and examined Ron’s arse carefully. Closing his eyes once again, he conjured up the ‘before’ version. Opening them he gazed at the ‘after’, checking that each freckle mapped onto its fellow.
Ron peeped over his shoulder at him. “All done?” he asked, still flushing slightly.
“Yeah, all done; all back,” he grinned at Ron, a bit self-consciously. “I told you I could do it.”
Ron sniggered, but then sobered as he sat up and covering his lap with a cushion. “Still no hair, though,” he pointed out.
“Um, no, no hair,” Harry agreed, fiddling with his wand.
“And are there really no more freckles you can remember anywhere else? Maybe on an area Hermione worked on?” Ron asked.
Harry ran his eyes carefully over Ron’s body, frowning slightly and missing the way Ron shivered as his gaze touched him. “No, nowhere else, Ron. There are quite a few on your hip bones and across your belly; that should do it.”
“Oh, Merlin,” Ron muttered, sighing. “Just do it.” And he flopped backwards, covering his eyes with one hand as he uncovered his crotch with the other, revealing the last swath of unfreckled skin, and a fully erect cock.
Harry swallowed, as his eyes ran along the length of it.
OK, that needn’t mean anything. Ron was seventeen, and someone had been touching his arse for half an hour. Surely he’d react the same way, no matter who it was?
Trying to ignore the heat emanating from the cock just inches from his wand hand, he started revealing the freckles on Ron’s hipbones. There was a rather cool pattern that looked like finger marks – almost like instructions for Harry to hold Ron down while he… no, concentrate. But it was so hard… um, to concentrate with Ron’s erection in his face like this. Dear gods!
Not many more to go now. He uncloaked the freckles sprinkled across Ron’s belly. And there were a few that were usually scattered through the red hair that led down from Ron’s navel.
But he would need to move Ron’s cock out the way to get at them.
In what he hoped was a businesslike manner, he grasped Ron’s cock between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it off his belly. His wand wavered slightly as Ron whimpered, but he kept his eyes firmly on the task in hand… no, the other hand. At the pale, hairless skin that, oh, god, had just one drop of pre-come on it, where the tip of Ron’s erection had lain.
So, there were just twelve more freckles to reveal. Harry carefully touched his wand tip to each one and whispered the charm. The pathway was revealed, clearer than he had ever seen it, but then it was usually covered in hair, and he was peeping through his fringe as he pretended to do up his laces.
Still no hair. Well, he’d never seen Ron’s cock erect, but when it was pointing downwards, there were two freckles on what was currently the lower surface of his erection. So Harry carefully stood it upright and whispered the charm as the two penile freckles were revealed. Ron whimpered again.
Well, much as he didn’t want to admit defeat, that was it. “Ron?” he said. “That’s it. I don’t know any more freckles.”
Ron removed his forearms from his flushed face, revealing two embarrassed blue eyes. He cleared his throat. “Well, you tried,” he croaked.
“No, wait, you look,” Harry insisted. “You look at yourself, don’t you? What have I missed?”
Ron sat up and held his arms out in front of him, turning them this way and that as he examined the freckles. He looked at his chest, his thighs, his stomach. “I dunno,” he muttered. “I don’t like my freckles, I don’t pay much attention to them, not like…” he trailed off and Harry blushed. “Actually, there is one…” he outblushed Harry by a mile. “Well, that you won’t have seen,” and he grasped his cock and indicated a point on the head, just to the left of the slit.
Harry bit his lip. “No, well, I guess that’s usually covered up…” he trailed off, helplessly.
Ron shrugged. “You mean if you fancied an American wizard you’d have seen all his freckles?” he smirked.
“Shut up,” Harry said, and pressed the tip of his wand to the tip of Ron’s cock, took a steadying breath and whispered the charm one last time.
A perfect, red, heart-shaped freckle bloomed into life under his wand, and a sudden nest of ginger curls sprang up around the base of Ron’s cock. Harry’s eyes followed the delicious trail of hairs up Ron’s belly, the dusting of hairs across his chest, up to the gorgeous soft red hair flopping into his beautiful blue eyes.
“Harry!” Ron gasped, throwing his arms around his friend and pinning him to the bed. “You did it! You fucking did it! You are a genius.”
Harry squirmed under his onslaught, painfully aware of Ron’s erect cock digging in his thigh, and of the look of utter joy on the beloved face poised over him.
“Oh, I could just kiss you!” Ron exclaimed, lunging forwards, as Harry reared up and their head clashed together, hard.
“That’s not funny, and not fair,” Harry complained, trying to squirm out of Ron’s grasp, but the large freckled hands closed tighter on his arms.
“Merlin, Harry, don’t,” Ron shook his head, Harry didn’t know if it was in denial of something or to clear it from the cracking blow. “I wouldn’t do that! I mean it.” He let go of Harry and sat back.
“No you don’t,” said Harry.
Ron gestured to his lap, where the impressive erection still bobbed. Harry made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob.
“You didn’t say anything?” he said vaguely.
“Well, you’d already humiliated yourself,” Ron muttered. “I thought we should get the freckles thing finished first. After keeping it a secret for so long, this isn’t how I wanted you to find out, either, but what was I supposed to do when the man of my dreams spends half an hour touching my arse?”
Harry reached a hand towards him and Ron captured it. “Really,” he whispered, pulling Harry towards him.
“But you never, you… what about removing your freckles for the girls?”
Ron blushed and opened his mouth to defend himself, but Harry shook his head and shushed him. “It doesn’t matter. Why am I trying to talk you out of this? You’re sure? You mean it?”
“On my life, Harry; it’s always been you,” he blushed harder.
“Well,” smirked Harry, moving towards him, “let’s do something about this. Much as I love watching you blush, it really is a waste of blood that should be occupied elsewhere.” His eyes flicked down to Ron’s lap again, and he smiled as he pushed Ron back against the pillows piled by the head of the bed, straddled his lap and leant in for a ghost of a kiss.
He pulled back to look at Ron’s face and those blue eyes were dancing as they looked up at him. Ron’s arms came round him and his hands slid up and under Harry’s t-shirt and gentled the trembling muscles in his back. Slipping higher, they flattened against his skin and pulled him back for another kiss. “Hmmmm,” Ron breathed against his lips and Harry slid his hands into the beautiful red hair and twined it around his fingers, holding Ron’s face in place as he parted his lips and his tongue gently ran along Ron’s full bottom lip.
“Gnnnrrrmmm,” Ron said, opening his mouth and inviting Harry’s tongue inside.
Harry greedily tasted him and whimpered into his mouth. Pulling back, he stroked Ron’s face with one hand, tracing the utterly adorable freckles across his cheekbone. “Ron,” he breathed, and almost unconsciously ground down against the erection that was pressing against his own through his jeans.
Ron groaned. “Clothes, Harry,” he muttered, grabbing the hem of Harry’s t-shirt and struggling to pull it off over his head. Harry’s glasses got tangled in it and tossed aside, but Harry didn’t even notice as Ron’s hands ran across his shoulders and down his chest, the long fingers splayed out to touch as much skin as they could, before reaching the waistband of his jeans, where they hovered then continued downwards to rub at the aching erection trapped inside.
“Harry?” he whispered, suddenly nervous. “I… I don’t know what you want… I mean, I haven’t ever… but you…”
“Everything,” Harry interrupted. “You, everything. I want.”
Ron laughed at his eagerness and flicked open the button on Harry’s jeans with a thumb. Four hands went for the zip and both boys laughed. Ron pushed Harry off his lap and they both dragged his jeans and boxers down over his slim hips.
Harry knelt, frozen to the spot, and looked nervously at Ron, who didn’t meet his eyes, as he was looking down at Harry’s erection and unconsciously licking his lips, which made Harry’s cock ache and twitch higher.
Then Ron grunted in the back of his throat and reached for Harry, grabbing him round the arms and pulling him back into his lap. Their mouths crashed together hungrily and Harry once more wrapped Ron’s hair round his fingers as he groaned into the other boy’s mouth and Ron’s hands slid down the small of his back to cup his arse and pull him hard, hard, against him. Ron whispered “Harry,” as Harry ground down into his lap, crushing their cocks together.
And it was perfect. Well, not perfect. It was clumsy and awkward and absurd. But it was perfect.
As Harry pulled hard on Ron’s hair and attached his mouth to the pale, freckled skin that was revealed as Ron’s head tipped backwards, Ron reached desperately between their writhing bodies to wrap his hand round both their cocks and stroke them.
Harry groaned and sunk his teeth into Ron’s collarbone and they both thrust their hips jerkily forward into Ron’s hand, not quite in rhythm with each other. But it didn’t matter, because Ron gasped “Fuck, Harry,” and Harry felt his entire body tense with his gathering climax.
Ron stroked faster and his head rolled back on the pillows as he called Harry’s name and Harry felt Ron’s cock throb against his and Ron came over his hand and their bellies.
Harry watched Ron’s face as his cock jerked and spurted between them and Harry had never seen anything so hot and he groaned and buried his face in Ron’s neck as he thrust hard between Ron’s slippery fingers until his own climax ripped through him.
Ron’s arms came round him and held him tight as he came, one large hand stroking his back as he trembled with aftershocks.
Eventually their breathing slowed and Harry peeled himself up off Ron’s body, peering blearily down at where their skin was stuck together with their mingled come.
“Wow,” he whispered, looking tentatively up at Ron through his fringe. They hadn’t really discussed it sufficiently beforehand, and he knew his Ron Weasley, and this was the moment for Ron to lose it, if he was going to freak out.
But Ron was smiling at him, and looking as if he was never going to stop. “Harry!” he said reverently, dipping his head for a hard kiss. “That fucking potion was worth every sickle!”
Harry kissed him back, hungrily. “Touching you was torture,” he murmured. “Studying and touching every inch of your skin, with Hermione right next to us.” Without noticing it, he had started rubbing himself against Ron again.
“I cannot believe how much you did from memory. Or that I never noticed you staring at me enough to memorise the freckles on my arse!”
“I treated it as a star chart for astronomy,” he whispered and Ron snorted with laughter.
“What?” he demanded, his hands automatically drifting down to Harry’s arse as Harry ground in circles against him.
“There are thirteen planets on your left cheek,” Harry grinned, punctuating his words with kisses. “And fourteen on your right. Most of them have moons around them.”
Ron laughed in delight.
“And there is a comet that is disappearing between the cheeks that makes me ache to follow it.” Ron slipped his fingers between Harry’s cheeks and Harry gasped. “Yes, just like that….”
Title: Freckles
Author:
shocfixPairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 5400
Rating: NC-17
Written for
annchen for the Ron ficathon. Pairing: Ron alone or paired with someone or everyone. Go nuts.
An accident with a freckle-removing spell/potion. The embarrassing task to paint them all back again.
I don’t know if you have ever read my story In a Jam, but this subject was just tailor-made for me – many thanks to
annchen for the brilliant bunny, to snoopypez for giving me something this adorable, when loads of people probably asked for Ron/Snape and Ron/Malfoy(s) and stuff like that, and, as always to magicofisis and rosina_alcona, for beta services beyond the whatsit.Freckles
****
When Ron had been in the bathroom for an hour, Harry started to get irritated.
He banged on the door. “Hey, Weasley, just admit you’re doomed. She is never going to fancy you, no matter what you do, so just get your freckly arse out here and let the rest of us have a turn!”
“Go ‘way, Harry,” a mournful voice replied, and the door refused to budge.
“I’ll get Hermione up here to open the door,” Harry threatened, and he heard a definite gasp inside from behind the door.
“Who else is out there?” came Ron’s voice.
“No one, just me,” replied Harry. “But I have a date too, Ron; come on, what’s going on in there?”
“I’ve got a bit of an, um, problem,” Ron said, removing the locking charms on the door and opening it an inch.
Harry looked at the miserable blue eye that peeped through the gap at him. There was no red fringe draped across it – wait, there were no red eyelashes, no red eyebrow. “Ron? Let me in!”
With a sigh, Ron stepped back and let Harry wriggle through the gap, before turning and locking the door again.
Harry stood behind him, staring. Ron had a towel wrapped low on his hips, and his back rose above it, pale creamy skin un-marked, not a freckle in sight. Harry’s gaze moved up Ron’s body, coming to rest on a smooth, hairless skull.
“Ron!” he gasped. “What the fuck happened?”
Ron turned glumly and leant against the door, shoulders hunched and head drooping. He looked up at Harry in the familiar way he always did when he was in trouble, but he was usually peeping through his eyelashes and his fringe. Now, nothing. Not a hair and not a freckle in sight.
“Ron?” he said.
Ron slumped dramatically to the floor and Harry knelt beside him.
“It was a potion,” Ron muttered.
“Why d’you take a potion? What’s wrong?” Harry prompted.
“Nothing! Well, nothing really. Nothing a normal person would try and fix. But if you’re an idiot like me…”
“Ron!”
“It was supposed to remove freckles, OK?” Ron glared at him.
“You wanted to remove your freckles?” Harry was taken aback.
“Yes!”
“But I love your freckles!”
Ron rolled his eyes at him. “That’s not the point. Sue doesn’t like them.”
“It’s, what, your third date and you’re removing your freckles for her? I didn’t think it was that serious!”
Ron huffed. “It’s not that it’s that serious,” he muttered. “It’s just that she said girls don’t like freckles, and I reckon maybe that’s why girls won’t go out with me…”
“What girls?” Harry interrupted.
“Any girls.”
“Have you asked these girls out?”
“No,” Ron sighed, drooping over his knees.
“Anyway,” said Harry, shaking his head wryly. “That’s not your problem at the moment. Even without your lovely freckles,” Ron glared, “what happened to your hair?”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen!”
Harry snorted. “No. Really?”
“I think it’s because my hair was the same colour as my freckles, or something.”
Harry started to laugh, weakly, but he stopped when he saw the forlorn look on Ron’s face.
“It’s not funny, Harry. What am I going to do?”
“OK, give me the bottle and go and hide in your bed. I will go and cancel our dates and track down Hermione, and we will find out how to reverse this.”
Ron looked stricken. “Hermione? Do you have to?”
“Well, yes. I wouldn’t have the faintest idea where to look!”
Ron sighed glumly and hauled himself to his feet. He took a small, green bottle from the sink and handed it to Harry. “Just do your best, yeah?”
Harry bit his lip and turned to the door. “We’ll sort this out, Ron, don’t worry.”
“Thanks, Harry,” Ron muttered, glaring at himself in the mirror above the sinks.
****
Harry slunk down the stairs into the common room, dreading seeing Parvati so, of course, there she was.
“Hey, Harry,” she said coming over to kiss him on the cheek, ponytail swinging.
“Um, Parvati, I’m afraid I’m going to have to, um, postpone our trip to Hogsmeade,” he said, trying to look apologetic.
“What?” she demanded. “You are right here, how can you tell me you can’t go?”
“Um, Ron and I have a bit of a problem – oh, d’you think you could let his date know? Sue is supposed to be waiting for him in the Great Hall…” he trailed off at her furious look.
“I will tell her,” snapped Parvati. “But only because she is a nice girl, and doesn’t deserve to be kept waiting. I thought you two had grown up – but you are as bad as you were three years ago at the ball!”
And she whirled on the spot, ponytail whipping Harry in the face as she turned, and strode from the room.
“And what was that all about?” a voice asked by his ear, making him jump.
“Ah, Hermione, shh, look, we need you to help us out with something…”
“Getting rid of dates?” she asked, tartly.
“No, no, look, really, we have a problem. Here,” and he handed her the little empty bottle of Sacharissa’s Maculation Expunger.
She raised a baffled eyebrow, but bent and read the ingredients and instructions. “This isn’t a genuine Sacharissa Tugwood product, Harry. She never used such a high proportion of Bubotuber Pus. It won’t just remove pimples; it’ll practically strip every drop of colour out of you. It’s used as the base of an Invisibility Draught.”
Harry barely paused to boggle at the fact that Hermione was already ahead of them. “Well, it’s not quite that strong,” he murmured, drawing her down to a seat by the window, where they could talk unobserved.
“OK,” she fixed him with a stern eye. “What has happened?”
Harry sighed. “Ron used it on his freckles.”
“What?” she shouted, and he frantically shushed her. “What?” she hissed. “There’s nothing wrong with his freckles. He took the whole bottle?” Harry nodded. “Well, that won’t just cover his freckles, it’ll, it’ll….” she floundered.
“Remove every hair on his body?” Harry offered.
“Well, yes, possibly… oh, no, did it really? No, look. It’s only a cosmetic thing, Harry. It doesn’t make someone disappear; it makes them invisible, right? So it has attacked his pigment - cloaked his freckles and made his hair invisible.”
“Oh, OK, well, that doesn’t sound too bad – what is the antidote?”
“Hmmm, I’ve read about something like this. There is a charm that reverses the effect…”
“Brilliant!”
“But it has to be cast carefully on every freckle, Harry. If it touches his uncloaked skin it’ll burn him.”
Harry felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. “You’re not serious? We have to hit each freckle individually?”
Hermione nodded.
“But what about his hair?”
“Well, that’s different. That is a side effect of the cloaking on his freckles. I think if we get enough of the freckles, it’ll break the effect on his hair, and it’ll come back.”
“What d’you mean ‘enough’ of his freckles?” Harry asked.
Hermione scrunched up her face as she calculated the strength of the potion. “I’d say something like ninety-five per cent.”
“Hermione,” Harry gasped. “That is ridiculous. There has to be another way!”
Hermione shrugged. “Even Ron doesn’t have all that many freckles, if we cast a general charm on him it will burn him too badly in between them.”
“Right, OK, teach me the charm, we’ve got a rather strange day ahead of us.”
****
Once Hermione was happy with his wrist movement, and they were sure that the other seventh year boys had left for Hogsmeade, Harry and Hermione went up to his dorm.
Hermione walked briskly to Ron’s bed and jerked the curtains open, revealing a monumentally glum Ron Weasley sitting on his bed in just boxer shorts.
“Hermione!” he squeaked, trying to cover himself with his hands.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “How are we going to sort this out if I can’t look at you?”
Harry meanwhile was rummaging through his trunk and came over with a stack of Wizarding photographs.
“Harry,” Ron whined. “What took you so long?”
Harry gave him a dirty look. “Well, next time, why not come up with a slightly less insane crisis? Look, Hermione thinks we’ll be OK.”
“Your freckles are still there, Ron,” she said. “They are just cloaked.”
Harry sat on the bed and dug out a close up photo of Ron, showing every freckle on his face. “Here, we have this to work from, all we need do is charm each freckle back.”
“So there’s a charm?” asked Ron, looking from one to the other. “Wait. Why d’you need the photographs?”
“To see where they are,” said Hermione crisply. “We have to charm each one, individually.”
“That’s bollocks!” Ron snapped. “I have freckles in places that have never been photographed, Hermione!”
Harry sniggered, and they both glared at him. “Look, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said. “For now, we’ll start on your face.”
They pressed Ron back on his pillows, propped the photograph on his chest and knelt on either side of him.
Carefully they each pressed the tips of their wands to an invisible freckle and whispered the charm. Ron flinched slightly, but two perfect red freckles popped into sight, one on each cheek.
“Did that hurt?” Hermione asked.
“No,” said Ron. “I didn’t feel a thing, it’s just creepy, having you both pointing your wands at my face.”
“Well, you trust us, don’t you, Ron?” asked Harry.
“’Course I do. OK, get on with it.”
So they settled on either side of him and worked steadily across his forehead, cheeks and nose, making Ron cross-eyed as he watched them.
Just once, Hermione was slightly off-centre on a freckle and Ron yelped as a half-freckle half-burn bloomed on his jaw. “What happened?” he asked frantically.
Hermione sighed and bit her lip; she was really hoping to have covered rather more skin before this came up. “That’s why we’re being careful to hit each freckle,” she explained. “Because if we miss, it’ll burn you.”
“Burn? Burn me?” Ron yelped, scrambling away from them. “Nice of you to point this out before we started!”
“Ron!” Harry snapped. “We are not doing this for fun, mate. We are doing our best, and yes, the charm burns your pale skin, so we are being as careful as we can, but it’s the only way!”
“Oh Merlin, why is my life so fucked?” Ron slumped down between them dramatically. “I’m sorry, Hermione. Go ahead; try not to burn me.”
Their eyes met over his prostrate form and rolled to the heavens. Then they returned to their work, each waiting for the Ron in the photograph to turn and watch the other one as they moved on to the freckles along his jaw and down his neck.
When they had recalled every cloaked freckle visible in the picture, they paused to sort through Harry’s photographs. He had a good close up of Ron’s bare chest and arms that caused Hermione to raise an eyebrow at him. “The scars,” he muttered. “From the brains. So I don’t forget.”
Hermione gave him a small smile and turned away.
Even though the scars had faded a lot in the past two years, they were a useful frame of reference and they made very few mistakes uncovering the freckles down his arms and hands. Ron winced and bit his lip each time they burnt him, but he didn’t say anything.
There were fewer cloaked freckles on his body and they worked steadily up his chest and across his shoulders, where the freckles almost outweighed the clear skin. Ron’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he watched them both frowning slightly as they carefully uncovered the freckles closest to his nipples.
“You know, even for us, this is getting weird,” he pointed out and Harry laughed and his wand slipped and left a burn rather too close to his left nipple for comfort.
“Sorry,” he muttered and Ron winced.
When they had uncovered all they could on his arms and chest they sat back and looked at him.
“What d’you reckon?” asked Harry. “How much have we done?”
“No more than forty per cent,” Hermione said. “His back’ll be a problem, and you’d be surprised how large the surface area of your legs is.”
“Hey, Hermione,” Ron broke in, “maybe witches could use this instead of shaving their legs! Its much less hassle.”
“Less hassle?” boggled Harry. “We’ve just spent three hours trying to get your hair back, you idiot!”
“What d’you mean trying?” Ron asked.
“And stop being such a misogynist, Ron,” Hermione snapped. “Not all witches shave or charm their legs, you know.”
“What d’you mean trying?” Ron asked again.
Hermione sighed loudly. She had really hoped to be closer to their goal before discussing this part with him. “The hair isn’t cloaked like the freckles, Ron,” she said, gently.
“It’s a side effect of the freckled being hidden,” Harry said. “And Hermione says all the hair will stop being invisible once we get enough freckles back.”
“Enough?” said Ron. “Exactly how much is enough?”
“More than we’ve uncovered, so let’s keep going, shall we?” said Hermione.
“How much?” Ron insisted.
“Practically all of them, Ron,” said Harry. “Something like ninety-five per cent.”
“Oh, Merlin, that’s impossible!” Ron moaned, collapsing back onto the bed. “Just forget it! I’m stuck like this for ever.”
“No, really, let’s keep going, you’ll be fine,” Harry took his hand and squeezed it. “We’ll do it, just you see.”
Ron swallowed and nodded, and Harry and Hermione went back to the stack of pictures.
“How about this one?” Hermione asked, holding out a picture of Ron picking Ginny up to throw her in the pond at the Burrow the previous summer. “I mean, I wish his shorts had been shorter, but you can see most of his legs, and you see his back when he turns round.”
“How inconsiderate of me not to have worn more revealing swimming trunks!” Ron muttered.
“Yeah, yeah that’ll work,” agreed Harry, ignoring him. “Ron, turn over, we’re going to do your back.”
Ron sighed and turned over, burying his freckled face in his freckled forearms. They propped the photograph in the small of his back and took up their places once more on either side of his shoulders.
By the time they had uncovered his back and worked down to his ankles, flipping him over to do the front of his legs, Hermione had to admit two things.
Firstly, no hair had reappeared, and she estimated they had cleared ninety per cent of Ron’s body. Secondly, Harry was much, much better at judging the location of freckles than she was.
Well, Harry had all sorts of unexpected talents, but she suspected there was more to it than that.
She sat back on her heels and stared at Ron’s boxer shorts.
“No,” said Ron, clasping them tightly. “No way, Hermione. Just admit defeat.”
She glared at him. “Even if I wanted to remove your pants, Ronald, there would be no point. We don’t have any photographs…. Oh, tell me we don’t have any photographs.”
Harry snorted. “We don’t, don’t worry. But…” he trailed off, biting his lip.
“But?” Hermione prompted.
“But what?” asked Ron.
Harry closed his eyes and sighed. “But I think I can do it without photographs, OK?” he muttered.
Ron and Hermione looked at each other.
“Harry?” Hermione asked gently. “Um, you’ve done really well so far, you’re much more accurate than me in placing the freckles, but, well, I mean, you do still need the pictures.”
“No, I don’t,” Harry sighed, looking from one to the other. “I’m doing it half from the picture, half from memory anyway. But trust me, there are some areas I can do just from memory, and two of those are inside those boxer shorts.”
“Harry,” breathed Hermione.
“Harry?” squeaked Ron.
“Look, Ron,” said Harry, desperately. “This is not how I wanted you to find out, believe me. But you can’t go around like this, and I swear I know where every single freckle is on your arse.” And he blushed Weasley-red.
Hermione snorted with laughter, and Harry turned to glare at her.
“It is not funny, Hermione,” he snapped. “Nothing in my life ever works properly. All I want is a normal life, and if it isn’t bad enough that I… that I’m a…”
“You Know What?” giggled Hermione, backing away from a rather irate Boy Who Lived, who leapt off the bed after her, picked her up by her elbows and carried her to the door.
“I think we can manage from here without your help, Hermione,” he said, removing the locking charms from the door and pushing her out into the corridor. Charming the door again, he took a deep breath and turned to face Ron, who still hadn’t reacted to his bombshell.
“I’m sorry, Ron,” he muttered, staring at the floor somewhere between the door and Ron’s bed. “I’ll understand if you don’t want me to try, but I don’t know what else we can do.”
“Look, Harry, let’s just get on with it,” Ron replied, in a slightly gruff voice. “We’ll talk about it after, or whatever. Or not at all!” He laughed nervously.
Harry half-laughed back and approached the bed.
“So, how d’you want me?” Ron asked, then squeaked and blushed.
“Oh, Ron, I’m so sorry,” Harry started, but Ron cut him off.
“Let’s just do it before I lose my nerve, OK?” And he wriggled out of his boxer shorts and flung himself on the bed, burying his face in a pillow.
Harry bit his lip and looked at him, his eyes running up the freckled legs, over the pale arse, up the refreckled back, to the bright red back of the neck – which showed just how much Ron was blushing into his pillow.
“OK,” said Harry, trying to sound businesslike.
He knelt beside Ron and examined his arse carefully, reacquainting himself with the contours that were etched into his memory. The dimple at the base of Ron’s spine, the swell of his arse cheeks, the slight crease at the top of each thigh. Leaning closer, he closed his eyes and pictured the freckled version. Taking and letting out a deep breath, he didn’t see Ron’s arse clench as his breath washed over it.
Opening his eyes, he set to work. Working from the dimple, he carefully revealed the pattern of ten freckles that was shaped like an ‘H’; that Harry liked to think of as his brand. But not now. No. Now he wasn’t thinking of Ron like that at all. Now he was concentrating on the job in hand.
It was like filling in a star chart for astronomy, really. He’d treat it as a solar system; think of the major freckles on each cheek as planets; try hard not to think of what they were orbiting at the centre of the system…
OK, across the left cheek there were thirteen large freckles, in almost equidistant orbits, each one surrounded by its scattering of satellites. Touching his wand to each spot and whispering the charm, Harry uncloaked every freckle in the left, well, hemisphere, without making a single mistake.
Sitting back to admire his work, he had to swallow a slightly hysterical laugh. It was one thing to be proud of his work, but he knew he’d never be able to boast about it to anyone.
Climbing over Ron’s legs, he settled down to examine the right hemisphere.
Ah. On the right hand side there was a line of freckles leading from the dimple down into the shadows between the cheeks. Looking for all the world like a pathway for his tongue to… looking for all the world like a comet’s tail, yes, that was better.
He carefully whispered the charm and revealed each freckle in the comet.
Then moving outwards once more from the, um, the sun, the centre, oh gods. Moving outwards, he revealed another fourteen planets, plus their moons, plus a band of asteroids – arseteroids! he swallowed a giggle - along the top of the right thigh.
Then he sat back and examined Ron’s arse carefully. Closing his eyes once again, he conjured up the ‘before’ version. Opening them he gazed at the ‘after’, checking that each freckle mapped onto its fellow.
Ron peeped over his shoulder at him. “All done?” he asked, still flushing slightly.
“Yeah, all done; all back,” he grinned at Ron, a bit self-consciously. “I told you I could do it.”
Ron sniggered, but then sobered as he sat up and covering his lap with a cushion. “Still no hair, though,” he pointed out.
“Um, no, no hair,” Harry agreed, fiddling with his wand.
“And are there really no more freckles you can remember anywhere else? Maybe on an area Hermione worked on?” Ron asked.
Harry ran his eyes carefully over Ron’s body, frowning slightly and missing the way Ron shivered as his gaze touched him. “No, nowhere else, Ron. There are quite a few on your hip bones and across your belly; that should do it.”
“Oh, Merlin,” Ron muttered, sighing. “Just do it.” And he flopped backwards, covering his eyes with one hand as he uncovered his crotch with the other, revealing the last swath of unfreckled skin, and a fully erect cock.
Harry swallowed, as his eyes ran along the length of it.
OK, that needn’t mean anything. Ron was seventeen, and someone had been touching his arse for half an hour. Surely he’d react the same way, no matter who it was?
Trying to ignore the heat emanating from the cock just inches from his wand hand, he started revealing the freckles on Ron’s hipbones. There was a rather cool pattern that looked like finger marks – almost like instructions for Harry to hold Ron down while he… no, concentrate. But it was so hard… um, to concentrate with Ron’s erection in his face like this. Dear gods!
Not many more to go now. He uncloaked the freckles sprinkled across Ron’s belly. And there were a few that were usually scattered through the red hair that led down from Ron’s navel.
But he would need to move Ron’s cock out the way to get at them.
In what he hoped was a businesslike manner, he grasped Ron’s cock between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it off his belly. His wand wavered slightly as Ron whimpered, but he kept his eyes firmly on the task in hand… no, the other hand. At the pale, hairless skin that, oh, god, had just one drop of pre-come on it, where the tip of Ron’s erection had lain.
So, there were just twelve more freckles to reveal. Harry carefully touched his wand tip to each one and whispered the charm. The pathway was revealed, clearer than he had ever seen it, but then it was usually covered in hair, and he was peeping through his fringe as he pretended to do up his laces.
Still no hair. Well, he’d never seen Ron’s cock erect, but when it was pointing downwards, there were two freckles on what was currently the lower surface of his erection. So Harry carefully stood it upright and whispered the charm as the two penile freckles were revealed. Ron whimpered again.
Well, much as he didn’t want to admit defeat, that was it. “Ron?” he said. “That’s it. I don’t know any more freckles.”
Ron removed his forearms from his flushed face, revealing two embarrassed blue eyes. He cleared his throat. “Well, you tried,” he croaked.
“No, wait, you look,” Harry insisted. “You look at yourself, don’t you? What have I missed?”
Ron sat up and held his arms out in front of him, turning them this way and that as he examined the freckles. He looked at his chest, his thighs, his stomach. “I dunno,” he muttered. “I don’t like my freckles, I don’t pay much attention to them, not like…” he trailed off and Harry blushed. “Actually, there is one…” he outblushed Harry by a mile. “Well, that you won’t have seen,” and he grasped his cock and indicated a point on the head, just to the left of the slit.
Harry bit his lip. “No, well, I guess that’s usually covered up…” he trailed off, helplessly.
Ron shrugged. “You mean if you fancied an American wizard you’d have seen all his freckles?” he smirked.
“Shut up,” Harry said, and pressed the tip of his wand to the tip of Ron’s cock, took a steadying breath and whispered the charm one last time.
A perfect, red, heart-shaped freckle bloomed into life under his wand, and a sudden nest of ginger curls sprang up around the base of Ron’s cock. Harry’s eyes followed the delicious trail of hairs up Ron’s belly, the dusting of hairs across his chest, up to the gorgeous soft red hair flopping into his beautiful blue eyes.
“Harry!” Ron gasped, throwing his arms around his friend and pinning him to the bed. “You did it! You fucking did it! You are a genius.”
Harry squirmed under his onslaught, painfully aware of Ron’s erect cock digging in his thigh, and of the look of utter joy on the beloved face poised over him.
“Oh, I could just kiss you!” Ron exclaimed, lunging forwards, as Harry reared up and their head clashed together, hard.
“That’s not funny, and not fair,” Harry complained, trying to squirm out of Ron’s grasp, but the large freckled hands closed tighter on his arms.
“Merlin, Harry, don’t,” Ron shook his head, Harry didn’t know if it was in denial of something or to clear it from the cracking blow. “I wouldn’t do that! I mean it.” He let go of Harry and sat back.
“No you don’t,” said Harry.
Ron gestured to his lap, where the impressive erection still bobbed. Harry made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob.
“You didn’t say anything?” he said vaguely.
“Well, you’d already humiliated yourself,” Ron muttered. “I thought we should get the freckles thing finished first. After keeping it a secret for so long, this isn’t how I wanted you to find out, either, but what was I supposed to do when the man of my dreams spends half an hour touching my arse?”
Harry reached a hand towards him and Ron captured it. “Really,” he whispered, pulling Harry towards him.
“But you never, you… what about removing your freckles for the girls?”
Ron blushed and opened his mouth to defend himself, but Harry shook his head and shushed him. “It doesn’t matter. Why am I trying to talk you out of this? You’re sure? You mean it?”
“On my life, Harry; it’s always been you,” he blushed harder.
“Well,” smirked Harry, moving towards him, “let’s do something about this. Much as I love watching you blush, it really is a waste of blood that should be occupied elsewhere.” His eyes flicked down to Ron’s lap again, and he smiled as he pushed Ron back against the pillows piled by the head of the bed, straddled his lap and leant in for a ghost of a kiss.
He pulled back to look at Ron’s face and those blue eyes were dancing as they looked up at him. Ron’s arms came round him and his hands slid up and under Harry’s t-shirt and gentled the trembling muscles in his back. Slipping higher, they flattened against his skin and pulled him back for another kiss. “Hmmmm,” Ron breathed against his lips and Harry slid his hands into the beautiful red hair and twined it around his fingers, holding Ron’s face in place as he parted his lips and his tongue gently ran along Ron’s full bottom lip.
“Gnnnrrrmmm,” Ron said, opening his mouth and inviting Harry’s tongue inside.
Harry greedily tasted him and whimpered into his mouth. Pulling back, he stroked Ron’s face with one hand, tracing the utterly adorable freckles across his cheekbone. “Ron,” he breathed, and almost unconsciously ground down against the erection that was pressing against his own through his jeans.
Ron groaned. “Clothes, Harry,” he muttered, grabbing the hem of Harry’s t-shirt and struggling to pull it off over his head. Harry’s glasses got tangled in it and tossed aside, but Harry didn’t even notice as Ron’s hands ran across his shoulders and down his chest, the long fingers splayed out to touch as much skin as they could, before reaching the waistband of his jeans, where they hovered then continued downwards to rub at the aching erection trapped inside.
“Harry?” he whispered, suddenly nervous. “I… I don’t know what you want… I mean, I haven’t ever… but you…”
“Everything,” Harry interrupted. “You, everything. I want.”
Ron laughed at his eagerness and flicked open the button on Harry’s jeans with a thumb. Four hands went for the zip and both boys laughed. Ron pushed Harry off his lap and they both dragged his jeans and boxers down over his slim hips.
Harry knelt, frozen to the spot, and looked nervously at Ron, who didn’t meet his eyes, as he was looking down at Harry’s erection and unconsciously licking his lips, which made Harry’s cock ache and twitch higher.
Then Ron grunted in the back of his throat and reached for Harry, grabbing him round the arms and pulling him back into his lap. Their mouths crashed together hungrily and Harry once more wrapped Ron’s hair round his fingers as he groaned into the other boy’s mouth and Ron’s hands slid down the small of his back to cup his arse and pull him hard, hard, against him. Ron whispered “Harry,” as Harry ground down into his lap, crushing their cocks together.
And it was perfect. Well, not perfect. It was clumsy and awkward and absurd. But it was perfect.
As Harry pulled hard on Ron’s hair and attached his mouth to the pale, freckled skin that was revealed as Ron’s head tipped backwards, Ron reached desperately between their writhing bodies to wrap his hand round both their cocks and stroke them.
Harry groaned and sunk his teeth into Ron’s collarbone and they both thrust their hips jerkily forward into Ron’s hand, not quite in rhythm with each other. But it didn’t matter, because Ron gasped “Fuck, Harry,” and Harry felt his entire body tense with his gathering climax.
Ron stroked faster and his head rolled back on the pillows as he called Harry’s name and Harry felt Ron’s cock throb against his and Ron came over his hand and their bellies.
Harry watched Ron’s face as his cock jerked and spurted between them and Harry had never seen anything so hot and he groaned and buried his face in Ron’s neck as he thrust hard between Ron’s slippery fingers until his own climax ripped through him.
Ron’s arms came round him and held him tight as he came, one large hand stroking his back as he trembled with aftershocks.
Eventually their breathing slowed and Harry peeled himself up off Ron’s body, peering blearily down at where their skin was stuck together with their mingled come.
“Wow,” he whispered, looking tentatively up at Ron through his fringe. They hadn’t really discussed it sufficiently beforehand, and he knew his Ron Weasley, and this was the moment for Ron to lose it, if he was going to freak out.
But Ron was smiling at him, and looking as if he was never going to stop. “Harry!” he said reverently, dipping his head for a hard kiss. “That fucking potion was worth every sickle!”
Harry kissed him back, hungrily. “Touching you was torture,” he murmured. “Studying and touching every inch of your skin, with Hermione right next to us.” Without noticing it, he had started rubbing himself against Ron again.
“I cannot believe how much you did from memory. Or that I never noticed you staring at me enough to memorise the freckles on my arse!”
“I treated it as a star chart for astronomy,” he whispered and Ron snorted with laughter.
“What?” he demanded, his hands automatically drifting down to Harry’s arse as Harry ground in circles against him.
“There are thirteen planets on your left cheek,” Harry grinned, punctuating his words with kisses. “And fourteen on your right. Most of them have moons around them.”
Ron laughed in delight.
“And there is a comet that is disappearing between the cheeks that makes me ache to follow it.” Ron slipped his fingers between Harry’s cheeks and Harry gasped. “Yes, just like that….”