The Agency - H/R - R
Title: The Agency
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: R

Written for harry_and_ron's fifth challenge round – The Harry/Ron FQF.

The Challenge :- Ron gets a job over the summer in order to buy a new broom. He doesn't know it, but Harry is his best customer.

Beta’ed by the incomparable magicofisis - well, I’d have to compare her to a really, really sexy thing, and she has used up all my smut, because this fic was G rated, and less than half the length, when she said “You've got to be kidding! How high do you want the flames to be? Because if you leave it here, I can assure you they'll be to the second floor.” Which is only the first floor in England, but still...


The Agency
****
He'd seen the advert in the back of the Daily Prophet, and it seemed like a good way to make a bit of extra money. The summer holiday was going to be a long haul, and Harry wasn't going to be arriving at the Burrow until late August. If he saved hard, maybe he'd have enough for a Nimbus for their final year at school?

All he'd had to do was contact the Agency, and he would receive plain owls from their clients and then he'd write back and he'd get 10 sickles per client - more if they kept replying. And his family didn't even realise he had a summer job, they just thought he was moping in his room, owling Hermione!

He'd thought that the description he'd given - name Rock, age 17, height 6', build slim, colouring red hair, interests Quidditch - would appeal to witches in, say, their late twenties - maybe their husbands were neglecting them? Maybe they'd want to flirt with a younger guy?

Apparently not.

Apparently wizards in their fifties were also feeling neglected. He tried his best, tried to answer their questions - why would they care what he was wearing? Nothing he owned could possibly look sexy anyway. But his heart wasn't in it, and they rarely owled twice.

After a couple of weeks he was ready to give it up. He'd just sat there blushing to the tips of his ears as he replied to a middle-aged wizard in Aberdeen, describing just what they could do with an ice cube and a feather, when one of the Agency's owls arrived.

He took the parchment and initial payment from the owl's leg and unrolled it, automatically wincing.

Only to be pleasantly surprised. The writer was another wizard, yeah, but he said he was 23, called Henry, dark haired, Quidditch mad and wanted Rock to describe his favourite Quidditch fantasy!

With a wry grin and a thought about a reply detailing a Cannons victory in the Championship, Ron pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and described how they'd both be hot and sweaty after playing, and they'd barely manage to strip off their Quidditch robes as they couldn't stop kissing, and how Rock would press him up against the wall in the showers.

He'd almost gone on, but the Agency's rules prevented any mention of an actual sex act in the first letter - hopefully the client would beg for more. Never before had he used one of his actual fantasies in a letter - though, of course, he'd usually be thinking of Harry at this point. No, never mind, this was business, not pleasure.

He rolled up both letters and gave them to the owl to take back to the Agency.

****
A couple of days later the owl returned. Nothing from Aberdeen - Ron rather thought that it was too cold that far North to find ice sexy - but there was a payment and another letter from Henry.

Ron actually unrolled it eagerly. Yes. Henry wanted Rock to keep his Quidditch robes on, just shed his gloves. And he wanted Rock on his knees.

No sooner said than done. Ron dashed off a heartfelt letter, describing how he'd frantically strip off his gloves and be unable to resist falling to his knees, undoing Henry's trousers and freeing Henry's throbbing erection. He squinted at the word 'throbbing', wrinkling his nose. Too much? He looked down at his lap. No, throbbing was about right. Finishing the letter with a description of what Henry would be able to see as he looked down and watched his cock sliding between Rock’s lips, he signed off with a flourish and gave his letter to the owl.

Well, that was more like it. He hoped this correspondence would continue. No wonder he couldn’t write something convincing that would arouse someone his dad’s age – do not go there, Weasley!

But this Henry was close to his age, dark haired, had a Quidditch kink, well, he could image he was writing to…. well, to Harry. He sighed. OK, that would never happen. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

He pulled out another piece of parchment and started an actual letter to Harry. He had almost nothing to put in it, as none of his ‘news’ was safe to put in writing, but poor Harry was all alone as usual, so he had to do his best to cheer him up.

****
By the end of August, Ron was hooked. He had enough money saved to buy his broom, but he looked forward to Henry’s letters more than the money that accompanied them. And he had been receiving some good bonuses for keeping the other wizard interested. He daren’t imagine how much the Agency was making from the poor guy.

The fantasies they’d exchanged were becoming really heated and detailed. Ron had used every secret fantasy he’d had about Harry over the past two years. The stolen kisses; the blow jobs in the changing rooms; the blow jobs in the showers; bending him over a desk and rimming him; tying his wrists to the bed-posts with a Cannons scarf and fucking him. And Henry’s replies had been just as hot. There was one in particular, about two Aurors on a secret mission, trapped in an abandoned building, that he’d swiftly incorporated into his nightly wanking routine.

And Ron had finally admitted to himself that he was in love with his best friend. What a way to find out. And what was he going to do now? Harry was arriving today, the camp bed was already installed in Ron’s room, and Ron had been staring at it for an hour. There was absolutely no way he could say anything to Harry, it would completely freak him out. But what about when his next owl arrived from the Agency? What could he tell Harry about that? What the fuck had he got himself into this time?

He sighed.

The door opened awkwardly and Harry levitated his trunk into the room. Ron looked at his friend and knew he was doomed. Head over heels. Arse over elbow. He’d spent a month describing in colourful detail what he wanted to do to Harry’s body and now that body was in his room, and he wasn’t allowed to touch it.

“Hey,” he said glumly.

Harry rummaged in his trunk for something and stood up, holding it out to Ron. It was a Cannons scarf.

“Hey, Rock,” he said.

The silence was suddenly deafening and Ron could hear the blood pounding in his ears. No, he was clearly going insane. There is absolutely no way that Harry had called him ‘Rock’. There is absolutely no way that Harry could know.

But Harry was looking suddenly nervous, and biting his lower lip in a way that made Ron feel suddenly nervous.

“H-Harry?” he managed to whisper. “What… what did you call me?”

Harry swallowed hard and his hand fell to his side. “I…” he licked his lips and Ron stared at the tip of his tongue. “I called you ‘Rock’,” he bit his lip again. “I thought you might like to, um, use this…. oh, shit I’m no good at this sort of thing. It’s so much easier to write it….” He trailed off, uncertainly.

Ron made a strangled noise. “H-Henry?” he asked, utterly appalled. “No way, Harry, you can’t… you…. I…”

He stood and made to bolt from the room, but Harry caught him by the arm and spun him round, having to catch him by the other arm too, to keep him on his feet. He stared down at the smaller boy, feeling his temper rising.

“How could you, Harry?”

“Me?” asked Harry, blinking. “You started it!”

“No, Harry, I didn’t know… you… when did you know it was me?”

“When I read the ad!” laughed Harry. “Rock? Honestly!”

“But why did you write to him, uh, me? That’s a rotten thing to do, embarrassing me like that, asking me all my fantasies, spending – shit, how much did this cost you?” He tried to pull away, but Harry was surprisingly strong.

“Ron, stop it. Think about it.”

“Oh, I’m thinking about it, alright! I’m thinking of how I told you every one of my most private…” he stopped dead, “…fantasies. They’re… they’re yours. They’re yours, too. They’re yours, too?” he gasped, his eyes widening.

Harry bit his lip and nodded, and Ron felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. He couldn’t breathe. He. Harry. He. Wanted him? “Harry,” he said, very uncertainly, “you want…”

“Worth every knut, Ron,” and he stood on tiptoe and pressed his lips against his blushing 6' tall, slim, red haired, Quidditch crazy friend’s lips

Ron distinctly heard bells ringing. Still standing with his arms by his sides he pressed back and they kissed softly. He pulled back, frowning down at Harry, who sighed and released Ron’s arms, sliding his hands up and into Ron’s hair and pulling him down for another kiss. And another. And another.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured between kisses, “I shouldn’t have done it. I knew it was you, but the Quidditch thing – I thought it was my only chance to live out that fantasy.” Ron whimpered into his mouth. “And by the time I realised you meant it too, well, I was addicted!”

“God, me too, Harry,” said Ron, finally lifting his arms and wrapping them around Harry’s back. “I mean, I didn’t know it was you, but I was so thinking of you at the time.”

“And afterwards?” asked Harry with a wicked grin and a raised eyebrow.

“Definitely afterwards,” moaned Ron. “Really, you wouldn’t believe what some clients found sexy – and they were all really old. And then there was Henry! God. I always thought of you. That Aurors thing? So hot.”

“The Quidditch showers is still my favourite,” smirked Harry, leaning in for another kiss and steering Ron towards the bed, until it hit him behind his knees and he toppled backwards, pulling Harry with him.

Feeling Harry settle on top of him, one leg nudging between his own, Ron tensed, but Harry bit his way down Ron’s neck, just like he’d described in the Quidditch Showers letters and Ron melted into his Cannons bedspread. “Grnnnurgh,” he managed to say.

“See,” smiled Harry against Ron’s neck, “we know exactly what turns the other on – this’ll be brilliant.” And he sucked on Ron’s neck while silently unbuttoning his shirt. Ron’s eyes had fluttered closed, so when he felt Harry’s mouth continue moving down his chest and closing over his nipple, he gasped out loud.

Harry wriggled down the bed, stroking, nibbling and kissing the pale, freckled skin he was uncovering, until he reached Ron’s jeans, already tented with a painful looking bulge. Biting his lip, he unbuttoned and unzipped and Ron lifted his hips to help wriggle out of them. Rather nervously, Harry stroked the hot, hard erection inside the bright orange boxer shorts, and Ron whimpered and arched into his hand.

Thinking brave but vague Gryffindor thoughts, Harry tugged the boxers down Ron’s thighs and released his cock, which almost leapt into the air, seeming to be reaching for Harry. Who took pity on it, and ran a finger down the length of the shaft. Ron muttered something incoherent and Harry took courage and wrapped his fingers firmly around it, caressing the velvet soft, scalding hot skin that slid over the core of iron as he stroked it.

Ron made a fabulous moaning sound in the back of his throat, so Harry did it again. Ron moaned. Harry stroked harder, faster, further down the shaft, stretching the smooth skin as far as it would go, further up, running his thumb over the head as Ron’s head was thrown back on his pillows and he was gasping a stream of profanities. Now Harry moaned as his strokes speeded up and Ron twitched and thrust into his hand and cried out as he came across Harry’s hand and his own stomach.

Harry added another few strokes as Ron came down to earth and then climbed back up to lay beside him.

“Oh, Harry,” Ron breathed, “that was fucking fantastic.”

Harry grinned, self consciously, and kissed him again.

Ron sat up and shrugged off his shirt, used it to wipe his belly and Harry’s fingers and then tossed it aside. “Your turn,” he said leering and wiggling his eyebrows. Harry almost backed away, but Ron caught hold of him and kissed him hard. Together, they managed to remove Harry’s clothes and they lay back down, side-by-side.

Ron ran his large hand in circles over Harry’s body, repeatedly approaching his straining cock, which twitched each time he barely brushed its underside. Harry gasped each time, then hissed as the fingers moved on. Finally Ron stopped teasing, and ran his fingers down the length of Harry’s cock, marvelling at how hot it felt. “My God,” Harry moaned.

“You called?” Ron grinned down at him.

“Shut the fuck up, you prat,” Harry gasped. “Can’t you think of anything better to do with that clever mouth?”

Ron nodded frantically and moved down the bed. Wrapping his hand around Harry’s cock he looked it in the eye and took a deep breath. He ran his hand up the shaft, ran his thumb across the sensitive ridges and leant forwards and followed his hand down again with his mouth. Harry’s hips bucked as he felt Ron’s incredibly hot mouth close around him, and his cock thrust deeper than Ron had been prepared for, hitting him in the throat and making him gag and pull back.

“Sorry,” they both said.

Keeping a firmer hold with his hand, he tried again, trying to keep his teeth covered and his tongue sliding against Harry’s rose-petal skin. As he picked up speed, he sucked experimentally on the up-stroke and Harry writhed and hissed “Yes.”

Grinning around a mouthful of what turned out actually was a throbbing erection after all, Ron repeatedly slid and sucked, slid and sucked until Harry buried his fingers in the red hair flowing over his lap and jerked and thrust as he came.

Ron’s throat was flooded with something hot and strange, which he hastily swallowed before slithering back up to lie half on top of Harry. They kissed again and Harry marvelled at the new taste in Ron’s mouth.

“Well, Rock,” he whispered, and Ron rolled his eyes, “I could give you a glowing reference for the Agency, but I think I’d like you to retire from the business.”

“Gladly,” Ron laughed, “but I think I’d like to keep my favourite client.”