On the Defensieve - H/R - NC-17
Title: On the Defensieve
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 4650
Rating: NC-17

Written for the wonderful abigail89’s birthday. May your coming year be full of other stuff just as wonderful as shocfixcon, HBP, TWH and GoF!!! Betaed by the fabulous rosina_alcona.

Summary: Ron looks in Harry’s Pensieve – Ron’s POV.

For Harry’s POV, see the companion version by the fabulous magicofisis, here.


On the Defensieve
****
Ron had assumed that the biggest problem in their Seventh Year would have been Voldemort or NEWTs. Death Eater attacks or Hermione’s revision timetables. Yeah, one or the other. And then Harry had arrived at The Burrow a couple of weeks before term started, and he’d been his same skinny, messy-haired self. Still dressed in faded Muggle clothes that were too big for him. Jeans still belted to stop them dropping past his slim hips. T-shirt askew on his shoulders, showing a too prominent collarbone in the stretched neckline.

And Ron’s heart had beat hard in his chest, and his stomach had clenched and he had thought he was going to throw up.

Now Ron wasn’t stupid. Hermione had accused him of having the emotional range of a teaspoon, and maybe he couldn’t work out what other people were feeling, but he thought he had a pretty good handle on his own feelings. He had felt like this before. He had watched Hermione dancing with Krum at the Yule Ball and felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach.

He’d admitted – to himself anyway – that he’d been in love with her. Well, as in love as a fourteen-year-old boy with self-esteem issues could be. But he’d never said anything, and it had faded away. Which was probably for the best, he told himself, as it’s hard to gaze adoringly at someone who is nagging you to do your homework. And he’d been fine when she dated Tony in Sixth Year – brought together by their love of colour coded revision timetables.

Thinking about it, he hadn’t really transferred his feelings to anyone else. The other girls in their year were really giggly and irritating. And he’d been so busy with schoolwork, and prefect duties, and Quidditch, and looking after Harry.

And now this.

This. His best mate, sprawled on the grass outside the Burrow, hands folded behind his head. T-shirt riding up to show, oh God, a trail of black hair disappearing under the waistband of his jeans. At seventeen Harry seemed to have stopped growing, and Ron topped him by six inches. Harry would always be slight and skinny, and Ron cursed the way his Muggle relations had treated him, but he was tough and wiry, and his muscles were hard from hours of Quidditch and DA training, and, God, Ron wanted to touch him, and this was really, really bad.

Harry was laughing. Throwing back his head and snorting at something Ginny was saying. Stretching lazily on the grass, rolling his shoulders and digging his bare toes into the grass. And, God, he was mesmerising. Gorgeous. Beautiful. Fuck. This was bad. Worse than anything he’d felt for Hermione. Better. Worse. God. Fuck.

So they had packed and returned to Hogwarts for a final time. Hermione had almost every minute of the school year already scheduled. She was, of course, Head Girl, and had a folder full of prefect patrol schedules. Their NEWTs were only nine months away, and they had a lot of work to do.

Harry was quiet. He seemed to have accepted his fated show-down, but kept the details away from them, no matter how much Hermione pestered. And then Ron would stop her, saying that Harry would talk about it when he was ready, which turned into another row.

And Ron. Ron had a big year ahead of him. He was Head Boy and Quidditch Captain – both of which came with their own heavy list of duties. He was Harry’s second in the DA and in whatever horrors the Death Eaters threw at them this year. He had his NEWTs coming up. But top of his To Do list was “Don’t let Harry realise that you are head over heels madly in love with him.”

****
Ron thought he was doing pretty well. Classes were hard – even apart from the NEWT level work – partnering Harry the whole time was stressful. Duelling with him, doing all their homework together.

Quidditch practise was even harder. Though Ron focussed fiercely during the game, he was always aware of Harry flying above them. And a sweaty Harry in his Quidditch uniform was bad enough, but trying to ignore him in the showers afterwards….

And then there were the nights. Harry changing for bed. Harry walking around in just boxers. The sound of Harry breathing could keep him awake for hours. But he tried hard. He tried to behave as normally as possible around him. He joined in Seamus’s nightly scrutiny of the girls in their year. He blushed dutifully when he was teased about Hermione. Yeah. Undercover Auror work would be a doddle compared to this term.

And so he had reached a place where he was so tired out after a day of classes and Quidditch and meetings and patrolling and homework that he could collapse into bed at night without thinking of Harry in the next bed.

One afternoon after classes had finished they had returned to the Seventh Year boys’ dorm to dump their bags and books. They had listened to Dean and Seamus discussing their plans for Parvati and Lavender that night. They had listened to the advice they gave Neville about getting Luna to go all the way. And now they were left alone.

“I don’t think they’re right, you know,” mused Harry.

“Who, what?” said Ron and inwardly winced.

“About Luna,” Harry explained. “Luna isn’t going to be tricked or guilted into ‘going all the way’. He should just tell her that he wants to do it; explain how much it’d mean to him. She’d probably be rather keen.”

“I don’t think girls work like that, Harry.”

“Luna is more straightforward than you think.”

Ron grunted. Did he really want to be discussing sex with Harry? Especially Luna’s sex-life.

“I doubt Dean or Seamus has ever had an actual conversation with Luna, yet here they are, giving her boyfriend advice on seducing her.” Harry shook his head, sadly.

“The thing that worries me is the idea of Neville having a sex life,” offered Ron, deciding he’d look less suspicious if he just went along with it, but fully aware that he would be kept awake tonight by the thought of Harry saying ‘seducing’ over and over again in his head.

“That’s harsh, Ron,” said Harry, grinning widely. “Neville deserves a sex life. We’re fit and healthy and seventeen. Even Hermione deserves a sex life.”

“Harry.”

“Yes, Ron?”

“What did we agree on, when she was with Tony?”

Harry sniggered. “That we wouldn’t speculate on Hermione’s sex life?”

“Right. That.” Doomed. Harry had said ‘sex’ three times. He might as well do his essays all night; he wasn’t going to sleep now.

Harry laughed. Harry was standing much too close. Ron couldn’t concentrate. "So how come you and I are the only ones who don't seem to be getting any?" asked Ron glumly, then mentally slapped himself on the forehead. No, no! Bad topic!

"Perhaps it's because we spend all our free time playing Quidditch," Harry offered.

Yeah, thought Ron, or because you would run screaming into the Forest if I said anything. "Sure, but you'd think that all the time we spent handling our brooms would make us sought after as lovers," he replied, gamely trying to keep up the Best Mates conversation.

"Who says we're not?" smirked Harry back at him.

Ron's eyes opened wide. "Do you mean to say that someone is after you? I'd love to know who it is." No, I wouldn’t. Really. Don’t tell me.

"I never said they were after me..."

Ron gulped. "Me? You must be joking. No one is interested in me."

Harry cleared his throat. "You'd be surprised." He waggled his eyebrows.

Oh, Harry, that is so unfair, thought Ron and looked down at his shoelaces. "Well, there is someone I wouldn't mind...getting friendly with, but don't ask because there's no way I'm going to tell you."

"I thought we told each other everything?" He could hear disappointment in Harry’s voice, but he didn’t dare look up.

"Well not this,” Ron stated, boggling at the idea of what Harry would say. “Come on, Harry. Would you tell me who you liked?"

"No."

"So there it is. 'S' not like it's ever going to happen anyway. I mean, if it hasn't happened by now..."

Ron's sentence trailed off, as if realised he’d come close to disclosing more than he wanted to. Harry was standing far too close and Ron backed away quickly, turning to rifle through his trunk as if looking for something.

He picked up his Charms book and flipped absently through it, trying to look casual. Trying to look as if he hadn’t been discussing his love life with Harry. Trying to slow his heartbeat and return his blood flow to above his waist.

Harry turned away. "I'm going to take a shower before dinner," he called to Ron as he left the room.

Ron sighed and collapsed onto his bed, adjusting his jeans where they pinched his erection.

Why was he even in Gryffindor anyway? Surely a true Gryffindor would have taken the opportunity to tell Harry how he felt? Harry had asked him. Asked him who he fancied. Ugh. He should just have said “Hermione” and ended the conversation.

****
So Ron spent all his time with Hermione. They had so much schoolwork to do this year, and it was balm to his bruised ego to have her make a fuss of him when he worked seriously. Then they had Head Boy and Girl duties together. He almost wished he still fancied her but, let’s face it, he wouldn’t be able to work like this with her if he did. He’d be avoiding her instead of Harry.

Harry.

Harry was definitely avoiding him, too. He must have realised something. Ron thought he’d been so careful, but Harry knew him better than anyone, so he must have guessed. And he was keeping his distance. He flew like a madman at Quidditch practise, never giving Ron a chance to talk to him, and the Snitch didn’t stand a chance.

Hermione had, of course, asked what was wrong, but Ron denied any rift and she just sighed and shook her head and Looked at him.

****
Ron slammed the dorm door behind him and stalked over to his bed. Apart from a couple of first and second years, he and Harry and Hermione and Ginny were the only Gryffindors who had stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas.

Which meant that it would be almost impossible for Harry to avoid him. Which meant that Harry must be trying really, really hard, because Ron hadn’t seen him once today. Which meant that he knew how Ron felt about him and was so disgusted he couldn’t even come near him.

He sat on the edge of his bed and glared at Harry’s. How had he messed up his life quite this horribly? He couldn’t stand not seeing Harry. And it wasn’t just because of his feelings for him. He missed him dreadfully. He missed his friend. He hated it when they were not speaking, but this was worse. Harry wasn’t angry with him, he was just avoiding him. Because what Ron wanted from him was so dreadful.

His eyes fell to the floor and he saw a strange shivering light coming from beneath Harry’s bed. Frowning, Ron got up and walked over. Kneeling down, he reached under and pulled out a shallow stone basin engraved with runes and symbols. Inside was a strange silver-white substance, swirling and dancing and giving of the shimmering light.

Ron’s eyes opened wide. It must be Dumbledore’s Pensieve. He had given it to Harry to store memories that he couldn’t block with Occlumency, and Harry always kept it locked away. So these were his worst memories. This silvery liquid was his memory of Cedric dying, of Sirius dying, of his duels with Voldemort.

Ron felt so selfish. His list of problems was pathetic next to Harry’s. He really should try harder to act normally around Harry. To be a supportive friend.

He knew he shouldn’t, but he took out his wand and cast a quick glance towards the door. Well, if Harry was avoiding him he wouldn’t come up here, would he?

He gave the contents of the Pensieve a small prod with the end of his wand. The silvery stuff within began to swirl very fast. Ron leaned carefully forwards over it and saw that it had become completely clear. He seemed to be up high, looking down into a room as though through a window in the ceiling. The room was all tiled in white.

Remembering what Harry had told him about touching the surface, he took a great gulping breath, and plunged his face into Harry’s thoughts. At once, the floor of the dorm lurched, tipping Ron head-first into the Pensieve, and he was falling through cold blackness, spinning as he went, until he landed in the Gryffindor boys’ bathroom.

He looked up to see a shirtless Harry standing at the sink, regarding himself solemnly in the mirror. “I don’t know who you think you’re kidding, Potter,” Harry muttered aloud. “No one’s ever going to fall for you. Stupid of you to think you ever had a chance.”

Ron felt a hand grasp his heart and squeeze hard. Harry was in love with someone. Of course he was. Ron frowned. But why was this one of Harry’s most terrible memories? Then Harry turned the shower on and started to undress and Ron groaned. He started to turn away, and then froze.

Oh, God. Harry in the shower. He could watch Harry in the shower. He really shouldn’t watch Harry in the shower. There was no way on earth he could stop himself watching Harry in the shower.

So he stayed.

Harry stripped off the rest of his clothes and Ron walked closer. He let his eyes run down the contours of the body he had never dared to examine closely. At the planes of his chest and belly, at the jutting hipbones, at the strong thighs, at the muscles flexing in his arse as he stepped into the shower.

As he turned in the shower and let the water hit him on the shoulders, and, oh dear God, his hand ran down his body and closed over his semi-erect cock

Ron whimpered. He shouldn’t watch this. He really shouldn’t watch this. Harry was wanking. He was watching Harry wanking. Oh dear God. He should leave. He should.

After a few lazy strokes Harry pulled back his foreskin and ran his fingers over the head, over the slit. Ron felt his own cock stiffen in record time. This was the most fucking incredible thing he had ever seen. He would never see this sight again, but it would fuel his fantasies for the rest of his days. Harry’s eyes were closed and his head was tipped back, under the pounding water, as his hand moved faster and faster and Ron moaned “Oh, Harry”.

And Harry moaned “Ron.”

Ron froze. He stopped breathing, he felt like his heart stopped beating. Fuck

“Ungh, Ron, you feel so good,” moaned Harry softly. “Want to fuck your mouth, Ron. Oh… oh fuck… Ron!” And he came, splashing all over the shower, and slumped back against the tile, panting heavily.

“Oh my God,” Ron whispered, trying to breathe.

But then a hand had closed tight over his upper arm and he was spun around to see a furious Harry Potter standing beside him. Ron opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly felt himself rising into the air, floating upwards through icy blackness until, with a swooping feeling, he found himself kneeling on the floor of the dorm with Harry kneeling beside him, shaking with anger.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Harry shouted. “Nothing gives you the right to look at that! Nothing!”

Ron tried hard to explain, to apologise for doing something so dreadful. “You’ve been avoiding me, and I was worried—”

But Harry kept screaming in his face. “How long have we been friends, Ron? Seven years. Seven fucking years, and yet you think that means you can help yourself to my most personal thoughts!”

“Just let me explain—” Ron tried to interrupt. If only he could let Harry know that it was OK. More than OK. So much more than OK.

“How the hell am I ever supposed to trust you now? God, you’re unbelievable…”

But Harry didn’t give him a chance to explain. To tell him – though he was beginning to wonder why – that he was crazy about him. That’s it, Ron thought. Time to take action. I’ll just have to show him.

“Harry!” Ron shouted almost directly in his face, grabbing onto Harry’s shoulders. Stunned, but still furious, Harry stopped in mid-sentence. Ron immediately leaned over and kissed him firmly on the lips.

Harry froze under his mouth, but Ron wasn’t giving up now, and he kissed him again, this time pausing at the end of the kiss to suck on Harry’s lower lip. God, Harry, please, let this be OK.

Harry gasped and his lips parted, so Ron pulled him closer and slipped his tongue into Harry’s mouth. Harry groaned and climbed into Ron’s lap, sitting astride him and burying his fingers in Ron’s shaggy red hair as their kiss deepened. Ron’s arms came around him and slipped up under his shirt, his shaking fingers running up Harry’s back and holding him close.

He ran his tongue along the soft skin inside Harry’s lips, moaning in the back of his throat. Harry moaned back and ground his pelvis down into Ron’s lap. Ron’s head fell back and he gasped aloud as he felt Harry’s cock pressed against his through two layers of denim. Their eyes met and Ron licked his lips, nervously. “I sh-shouldn’t have looked in the Pensieve,” he whispered, his chest heaving.

Harry moaned loudly. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered back, leaning in to capture Ron’s lips again. “I’m glad you did, I couldn’t go on like that,” a kiss. “I need you so much,” a kiss. “I missed you,” a deep kiss.

Ron leant back and his eyes searched Harry’s face. “I missed you, Harry,” he said, earnestly. “No more secrets, OK? I want to be friends, and I want to be with you.”

“Yes,” Harry whispered. “I want to be with you, too.” And he leant into another kiss, nimble fingers unbuttoning Ron’s shirt as his kisses trailed down Ron’s neck.

Ron laughed, breathlessly, and pulled Harry’s shirt off over his head. Harry untangled his arms and slipped Ron’s shirt off his shoulders. They came together again, kissing frantically and exploring the newly exposed skin with eager hands.

Ron thrust his hips up and Harry gasped, “Bed” and scrambled off of him, getting to his feet and offering Ron a hand to help him up. They quickly stumbled out of jeans and socks and boxers and fell onto Ron’s bed.

“More,” said Harry, throwing his glasses onto the bedside table and pulling Ron on top of him, and Ron covered his friend’s body with his own.

Harry’s hands cupped Ron’s face and then slid into his hair again as they kissed. Ron propped himself on one elbow as he ran the other hand down Harry’s chest and grasped his nipple between thumb and finger. Harry groaned and arched up off the bed and Ron tore his mouth away from Harry’s to close it over Harry’s aching nipple, sucking it to a hard peak.

“Fuck, Ron,” Harry gasped and thrust up against Ron’s thigh again.

Ron turned onto his side, revealing the two straining erections sandwiched between their bodies. Nervously he moved his hand further down Harry’s body and closed his long fingers around Harry’s cock. Harry made a fabulous strangled noise in the back of his throat and Ron grinned widely as he stroked up and down Harry’s shaft and ran his thumb slowly over the head, spreading the glistening drop of pre-come leaking from the slit.

Harry’s hand reached awkwardly downwards and grasped Ron’s cock, making Ron groan and thrust hard into his friend’s hand. “Harry,” he whispered, leaning down for another kiss. “That’s so good.”

“Yeah,” Harry moaned.

“Harry.”

“Yeah?”

“In the shower. You were thinking of me. When you touched yourself.”

“Yeah.”

“What were you thinking of?”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up under his fringe. “Um,” he whispered. “You. Using your mouth on me.” He flushed scarlet.

Ron’s eyes went as wide as galleons. “Really?” he whispered back.

Harry nodded, frantically.

Ron’s blush started at the tops of his ears and reached his chest, and he nodded back and kissed Harry on the mouth. He pulled back to search Harry’s eyes and then leant down and kissed the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his ear and down his neck. He bit his collarbone and Harry jerked. He kissed and licked his way to Harry’s nipples again, where he paused to suckle on each of them as Harry moaned. Then he raised himself onto hands and knees and crawled lower and kissed Harry’s hipbone before settling between Harry’s parted thighs.

Harry looked down at him nearsightedly and gasped, “Ron, you don’t have to do that.”

Ron looked up at him through a curtain of red hair and said, “I want to,” his voice coming out low and hoarse.

Harry’s eyes widened in awe and then narrowed frantically to try and bring Ron’s face into focus.

Ron smiled at him and then bent and licked Harry’s cock from base to tip. It arched away from Harry’s belly and Ron captured it between his lips. Harry groaned loudly and thrust his hips up, his cock slipping deeper into Ron’s mouth. Ron moaned and sucked hard and Harry gasped, “Yes, fuck, yes, Ron.”

Ron put both hands on Harry’s hips to pin him down as he dipped his head again and again, trying to swirl his tongue and cover his teeth and suck at the same time, until Harry cried out and Ron felt his cock jerk and throb in his throat as his mouth filled with a strange bitter taste.

Swallowing swiftly he crawled back up Harry’s body, placing random kisses as Harry twitched with aftershocks. When he reached Harry’s face, he looked deep into the beautiful green eyes and bent to kiss him.

He thrust his tongue into Harry’s mouth and groaned at the thought that Harry could taste what he had just swallowed. Kissing him harder, he ground his aching cock against Harry’s thigh.

He felt his friend trembling beneath him, but soon Harry came back down from his high and took a more active role in the kiss. His hands started caressing Ron’s body, leaving a trail of goosebumps where they touched – they ran across his shoulders, circled his nipples, cupped his arse. Ron moaned into Harry’s mouth and then gasped in surprise as Harry suddenly rolled them over and Harry was leaning over him, pressing him down into the bed.

Harry bent down to lick the hollow of Ron’s neck before kissing his way to Ron’s earlobe. “Ron,” he said in a low voice, “that was the most fantastic thing I’ve ever felt. I want to show you.”

“Yes, God, anything,” Ron answered breathlessly. Please, yes.

Their eyes met for a moment, but Ron’s rolled back in his head as Harry bent and laid a trail of kisses down his body. Ron moaned loudly, completely lost in the sensation as Harry sucked hungrily on a nipple before moving lower.

Then Harry knelt between Ron’s parted thighs and he tensed, waiting for Harry to touch his cock God, Harry was going to touch his cock. But instead, Harry reached back and trailed his fingers up the insides of his calves and thighs. When they got to his hips Ron gasped in anticipation, but Harry completely ignored his erection again, and Ron groaned and let out the breath he’d been holding. No, no, no. You promised. You said you’d go down on me.

Harry placed a hand on each of his hips and moved forward, smoothing his hands up Ron’s chest and then across his shoulders. Leaning down, he pressed his hips against Ron’s, and bent down to kiss him, grinding into Ron’s erection as he did so.

Ron whimpered. Harry, you promised.

“Are you ready for me to suck you? Because once I start, there’s no stopping until you come in my mouth,” Harry whispered.

Ron couldn’t believe his ears. Fuck! He writhed under Harry’s body, pressing his aching cock against his sweat-slicked hip. “Fuck, Harry,” he squeaked, “you’re going to make me come before your mouth gets anywhere near there.” He knew he sounded pathetic, but he was beyond caring. Why was Harry torturing him like this?

“That won’t do at all,” Harry answered, and he was gone, rearing back onto his hands and knees in one smooth motion, he ducked his head over Ron’s straining cock and opened his mouth and swallowed as much as he could.

Fuck! “Fuck!” groaned Ron. Hot. So hot. Wet. Harry’s mouth. Harry’s mouth!

Ron drowned in the feeling of Harry’s lips dragging up and down the length of his cock, his tongue swirling wetly around the head. Then Harry bent further to lick his sac and Ron’s fingers and toes curled as his whole body started to tense. Harry must have sensed this because he wrapped his hand around the base of Ron’s cock and squeezed, following his mouth up and down the shaft.

Wanting to warn his friend, Ron managed to call out, “Gods, Harry, I’m gonna…”

But instead of retreating, Harry placed a hand on each of his hips and pinned him to the bed as he arched his back and came deep in Harry’s throat. His cock jerked and spat in Harry’s mouth, and Harry continued to suck, draining every drop.

Ron lay there, trembling, and Harry crawled back up his body and nestled next to him. They kissed again, this time without the urgency, but with the knowledge that they were both spent and happy. Ron marveled at the taste of himself on Harry’s tongue.

Ron moaned softly as Harry didn’t let him come straight back down to earth, moving his hand idly across Ron’s chest, stopping every so often to stimulate one of his nipples to a peak.

He couldn’t believe his luck. Why had he wasted so much time trying to avoid Harry? They could have been doing this for months!

“Hey Harry,” he said, “have you got any other good memories in that pensieve?”

Harry looked stunned, but then chuckled. “Truthfully, I don’t actually know what’s in there. Once the thoughts leave my head, I don’t remember what they are. I’m sure that there are others equally as humiliating as the one you saw.”

“Not humiliating – just incredibly hot,” Ron said, feeling his face flush as Harry smirked at him. “What?”

“I should make you put one of yours in there and we can perve over you next time.”

Dear God, no. I don’t want to watch myself wanking. “No way! If you were to ever watch me, I would die of embarrass—oh.”

Suddenly Ron could appreciate why Harry had been so upset before.

“How about if we just stick to the real world for now,” asked Harry.

“Yeah, a good plan, that.”

****
Ron bounced down the stairs to breakfast the next morning. He had a big year ahead of him. He was Head Boy and Quidditch Captain. He was Harry’s second in the DA and in whatever horrors the Death Eaters threw at them this year. He had his NEWTs coming up.

But top of his To Do list was “Show Harry every day that you are head over heels madly in love with him.”