Shower - H/R - NC-17
Title: Shower
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17

Look! A another sequel to My Eyes!, Arse and Cinderella, Perfect and Cock, arse. Arse, cock. and I think I might be Gay.

It is a present for the very over-worked and very patient magicofisis, whose Harry is pining for his Ron since I lost my Ron-voice after reading HBP.

And also for my new friend santa_elidan, who ships Ron/Hermione like whoa, but needs a Harry/Ron fix every now and then – she made this icon – and has just posted all the German calendars to me!

Well, it is still clearly all about teh Harry/Ron but, while I am having problems getting them together from where JKR left them – see Harmonians? You aren't the only ones! – I can still play in my Arseverse, right? No, I know it's not 'right'; 'right' would be x-rated Ron/Hermione – but lots of people are finishing off WsIP, so I don't care!


Shower
****
I really didn't want to move, I wanted to try and break the World Sex Record – with the recovery time of two fit and healthy seventeen-year-old boys, I reckoned we never need get out of bed again. There were so many things I wanted to try, and keeping Harry naked and in my bed was pivotal to most of them. Some of them, admittedly, didn't need the bed. And one or two may have involved black lacy underwear.

But Harry cruelly and unnecessarily stopped stroking my arse and tried dragging me out of bed. "C'mon, Ron," he said. "We have to go back downstairs and face them sooner or later."

I groaned loudly as he threw my jeans in my face. "No. No we don't! We have to stay away from Hermione for ever!"

Harry laughed at me. "She'll be fine about it, Ron."

I sat on the side of the bed and shook my head, grabbing hold of him again and pulling him to stand between my knees. "She won't be 'fine', Harry," I said, earnestly, kissing him wherever I could reach. "She will be 'right'! You know what it's like when Hermione is 'right'." I cupped his arse and rested my forehead on his stomach, which wobbled as he laughed again, and I relented, running my hands down over his arse one last time and letting go.

It was my job to take care of him, so I would have to face Hermione.

But first. "Uh, Harry? We're a bit too sticky to face Hermione."

"Shower?" he asked with a provocatively raised eyebrow.

"Shower," I agreed, striking a hopeful line through one of the items on my list.

He gave the filthiest laugh yet and grabbed my hand, hauling me off the bed and into the showers.

Of course we'd showered together before. Before. But that was 'together' as in in the same bathroom, or in the Quidditch changing rooms. With people wandering in and out; with Dean singing off-key in the next cubicle; with Seamus telling tall stories at the sinks as he shaved; with Neville dropping the soap.

But not like this.

With Harry behind me, his wet hands running down my body, washing away the sweat and spunk, his lips wandering over my back.

With the water hitting my face, the sound drumming out the words Harry was muttering into my skin.

And, then, God, his hand wrapped around my cock, and I groaned and braced my hands against the cool tile of the shower cubicle and let the water hit me on my shoulders as Harry stroked me.

As Harry pressed tightly against me from behind, his cock poking me in my thigh, his cheek resting on my back, his other hand still wandering over my body.

Best. Shower. Ever.

I was losing track of what he was doing, as his hands and mouth moved on me and I dropped my head to watch him wanking me. Then, of course, I was distracted by wondering if that was the right word, if you can wank someone else, or only wank yourself. Hermione probably knew, but I wasn't going to ask her!

He wrapped his other arm around my waist and held on tight as he stroked me. And it was bliss. We were pressed together, head to toe, he was biting and licking my neck and shoulders and he was stroking my cock with a slightly clumsy rhythm, because of the angle, that was driving me wild.

It wasn't quite enough to get me off, but it kept me on the edge as my toes curled and I tried thrusting into his hand, but he brought his other hand down to my hipbone and held me against him.

I moaned and ground back against him, desperate for the added stimulation that would help me come, gasping his name as he bit me harder.

And then. God.

As I braced my legs and tried pushing back against him, his hand moved behind me and his fingers slid over my arse, rubbing with the same rhythm his other hand was using on my cock, and my brain short-circuited.

Harry. My Harry. With the world's most beautiful arse. Harry was reaching between my wantonly parted thighs and curling his fingers and cupping my balls and my cock leapt in his hand as he squeezed and touched and petted and then, oh. Those curling, magical fingers slid back and up and parted my cheeks and one of them slipped inside me.

Dean told us once about some test that Muggle doctors do, when they stick a finger up a bloke's arse. The shocked silence in the dorm was thick and scared, and I know I wasn't the only one who clenched my cheeks together. Thank Merlin for Diagnostic Charms. I hadn't thought about it since, but if anyone had asked if I'd like something stuck up my arse, well, they wouldn't have stayed conscious long enough to hear my answer.

That was, of course, before I realised I couldn't stop touching Harry's perfect, tight, gorgeous, perfect arse. And, in my new arse-centric world, the feeling of Harry's finger sliding inside me was incredible. It burned and stretched and filled me and I breathed out hard and pressed back against him and he slid deeper inside and I whimpered.

Well, I'd found something I could do to distract me from needing to touch Harry's arse all the time – I wonder if we could walk round school with his finger up my arse? Harry could get away with almost anything.

With each thrust of his finger he stroked my cock and there was something building all over my body, pulling tighter and tighter and I knew it would just take the slightest touch to send me over the edge. And then Harry turned his hand over and pressed against something inside me that sent sparks shooting through me and I cried out and slid down to my hands and knees, almost sobbing as Harry knelt behind me and continued using both hands on me, one pulling on my cock and one buried deep inside me.

Inside me. Harry's fingers. Then, no! I whimpered again as Harry's fingers slid out, and I moaned pitifully, because I still couldn't come.

But then. Harry's tongue. Was that Harry's tongue? Something hot and wet against my skin and I shamelessly thrust my arse up at him, moaning his name as his tongue ran over me again and again. And slipped inside.

And that did it. It didn't fill me like his fingers, it didn't reach deep enough to touch that special place, it didn't stretch, it didn't hurt.

But it was insanely intimate and I thrust erratically down, into his hand, and up, onto his tongue, and simply fell apart, my come splashing onto the floor tiles and swirling away with the spray from the shower as I curled up in Harry's lap and tried to remember how to breathe.

Well, there were simply hundreds of things on my sexual shopping list, now.

Harry stroked me as I came back to myself, and, taking a ragged breath, I turned my face to look at what was digging me in the shoulder.

I looked Harry's erection in the eye and licked my lips.