shocfix (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shocfix) wrote,@ 2005-01-02 01:00:00 |
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Water - H/R - NC-17
Title: Water
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Challenge: Written for The HP Hydrosmut Challenge at
http://www.livejournal.com/users/venivi
Many thanks tohoneycakehorse for the beta.
“Well, you haven’t Potter-watched like I have,” giggled Ginny “and if I tell you what to look for, you’ll see it too.” She took a bite of her toast and looked sideways at Hermione.
“I think I’d have noticed,” said Hermione, frowning “but ok, what am I supposed to look for?”
“Water,” said the younger girl.
“Water?”
“Just try it, ok, Hermione?”
Just then a sleepy looking Harry entered the kitchen and slumped onto a chair opposite them. He lazily poured a glass of juice and buttered a piece of toast.
“Morning Harry,” chirruped Ginny, brightly.
“Mmm,” he grunted and ran a hand through his shower-damp hair.
Some more footsteps were heard on the stairs and Ginny nudged Hermione in the ribs. “Water,” she murmured.
Ron stumbled into the kitchen wearing very battered jeans and a faded Chudley Cannons t-shirt and yawning. He too had tried an early shower to wake himself up. He sat beside Harry and helped himself to toast and tea. “Morning all,” he said, adding four sugars and stirring. His hair was wet from his shower and a drop of water gathered on the dark red spikes behind his ear and ran down the side of his neck. Ginny nudged Hermione again and they looked at Harry. His toast was suspended half way to his mouth and his eyes had followed the droplet over Ron’s shoulder and down inside the neck of his t-shirt.
Ginny looked at Hermione. “Water,” she mouthed, nodding.
****
Hermione spent the morning lying on a blanket with a book. She watched the other three teenagers as they flew above her in an informal game of Quidditch. Ron flew in lazy circles in front of the branch they were using as his ‘hoops’. Hermione smiled at the sight. The nervous wreck of their fifth year was gone. It had been just a few weeks ago that he had, in their final game of their final year, accepted the Quidditch cup from Dumbledore as the proud Gryffindor Quidditch captain.
Ginny was playing Chaser, and Harry Beater, and all of his fierce Quidditch player’s attention was focused on defending against Ginny. He hadn’t spared a glance for his best friend, secure in the knowledge that the Keeper was on top of his game behind him. Hermione had begun to dismiss this morning’s water droplet as coincidence.
It seemed the game had come to an end and the three players landed and trudged towards her, carrying their brooms. Ginny reached her first, poured herself a long drink from the jug that Hermione had brought out with her, sipped and said “Mmm, water.” She wriggled her eyebrows at Hermione, who rolled her eyes. The boys also poured themselves a cooling drink. Ron threw back his head and gulped the water down thirstily. Rivulets ran out the corners of his mouth and splashed down onto his sweaty chest, darkening the faded t-shirt almost back to the original Cannons orange. Both girls looked at Harry. He shook himself and tore his eyes away from his friend’s heaving, wet chest and took a sip from his glass.
“Water,” Ginny mouthed to Hermione, smiling.
****
After lunch the four of them changed into swimming things and carried their blankets and towels down to the pond in the Weasley’s garden. Ginny looked at Hermione, glanced at the pond and smirked. Hermione shook her head, shook out her blanket and sat down with a book.
Ginny and Ron played boisterously in the water as Harry and Hermione lay and lazily watched the siblings attacking each other. Even after seven years, the two only children couldn’t believe how physical the Weasleys got.
Harry was half-dozing in the sunshine, his skin warm, the sun bright on his closed eyelids. Suddenly something blocked out the sun and ice cold drops fell on his body, almost sizzling as they ran down his chest.
Ron stood over him, the sun behind his head turning his hair to a glowing red mane; water ran down his neck and chest and into the hair that disappeared under his waistband; it gathered around the hem of his shorts and ran down his legs. Harry was transfixed. The two girls were looking for his reaction again and Hermione had to admit that Harry was more than startled. Ron shook his head violently and rain scattered down onto Harry, breaking the spell. He groaned and rolled onto his stomach as Ron straddled his back and dripped all over him. It seemed to Ginny that Harry had turned over in order to hide his reaction to his dripping wet best friend. To hide it in the blanket he was lying on.
“Water,” Hermione mouthed to Ginny, shrugging.
****
It had been a lovely evening and they had eaten dinner in the garden. Mr and Mrs Weasley had retreated to the kitchen and workroom respectively and the four young people were left at the long wooden table by themselves. Harry and Ron sat facing each other, astride one of the long benches, taking about Quidditch. The two girls sat on the far side of the table. Ginny poured herself a glass of water and the ice cubes in the jug tinkled against the glass.
Ron flopped backwards and lay along the bench, gazing up at the sky, and said “’t’s hot.” Harry didn’t seem to bat an eyelid at the sight before him.
Hermione met Ginny’s eye and shrugged. Ginny shook her head. “Water,” she whispered, and stood and tipped the jug full of ice cold water over her recumbent brother.
His jeans and thin white t-shirt clung to his body, his hair darkened and curled into red corkscrews. His jaw dropped. “Ginny,” he spluttered, “what the hell was that for?”
“You said you were hot,” she replied, unrepentant.
Ron was beyond retaliation or further speech. He rose to his feet and stood there, dripping gently. “C’mon,” said Harry, putting a shaking hand on his arm and dragging him into the house, “just get changed.”
Hermione and Ginny looked at each other. “Water,” they chortled, collapsing with laughter.
****
Up in the bathroom, Ron kicked off his trainers and peeled his jeans and socks slowly down his wet legs. Harry stood by the sink, arms firmly folded across his chest. Ron kept up an unceasing muttered monologue on the insanity of women in general and sisters in particular. He turned on the temperamental shower and left it to warm up while he turned back to Harry and pulled his clinging wet t-shirt over his head. His cold, wet skin was raised in goose bumps and his nipples were puckered and erect from the cold. He finally grumbled to a stop and noticed Harry’s eyes on him.
“What?” he said.
“OK, that’s it,” groaned Harry, stepping forwards. “All day long. Water dripping down your throat;” Ron took a step backwards, “dripping down your chest;” Harry raised his hand and Ron’s back reached the tiled wall, “dripping down your legs; “ he closed the final distance between them and ran his fingers over Ron’s chest, “but this wet t-shirt thing is just pushing all my buttons, ok?” He pushed his fingers up into Ron’s wet, red hair.
“OK,” Ron nodded frantically and bent and sealed his mouth over Harry’s.
Frantic fingers caressed Ron’s wet skin; desperate fingers pulled Harry’s t-shirt out of his jeans and trembling fingers undid his button and zip and pushed his jeans down over his slim hips. He toed his trainers off and kicked his jeans away. Ron dragged Harry’s t-shirt over his head and they crashed together again; rough chins scraping against each other, teeth clashing, tongues wrestling, lungs starved of oxygen gasping for air between more drugging kisses.
Turning away from the wall, Harry climbed into the huge bath and pulled Ron in after him. They stepped under the shower and the water beat down hard on their heads as their eyes fluttered closed and water filled their mouths. Straining to be closer together, both boys stripped off their soaked boxers and then ground hard against each other, skin to skin, hands slipping over wet flesh.
Tearing his mouth away from Harry’s, Ron looked down at his best friend. Harry’s eyes dragged themselves open and he swallowed shakily and looked up at Ron. After seven years Ron thought he knew every expression on Harry’s face, but seeing his green eyes almost black with passion, his lips rubbed raw by Ron’s stubble, his breath coming in ragged gasps, Ron was stunned.
“Harry,” he murmured and dipped his head to lick the water pooling on Harry’s collarbone, “oh, Harry” and he knelt under the shower at Harry’s feet. He watched his hands running over the other boy’s chest, stomach and thighs. Slipping his hands round behind Harry’s thighs he leant closer and looked up. Their eyes met.
Harry looked down at the boy kneeling before him. The shower still fell on Ron’s shoulders and the water ran down his chest and splashed onto his cock, which bobbed against Harry’s shins as he stood between Ron’s knees. Even in Harry’s eighteen-year-old boy’s fantasies of a wet Ron, he had barely dared imagine Ron kneeling naked at his feet in the shower. And then Ron leant closer and closed his mouth around Harry’s aching cock and all concious thought fled.
It may not have been the most professional blow job in history, but Ron made up with enthusiasm what he lacked in finesse and the smooth heat and suction soon had Harry twitching and grasping at Ron’s hair. Twining his fingers in the sodden red strands he looked down once more. The shower was hitting Ron on the crown of his head and his eyes were closed. Sheets of water flowed over his face and Harry gripped his head tightly and thrust hard into his throat. His cock disappeared through the waterfall and into the cave of Ron’s mouth. Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head as he saw stars and jerked hard twice and exploded deep in Ron’s throat.
Ron sucked greedily on him, and swallowed. He choked slightly and Harry looked down to see the come that spilt from Ron’s mouth being washed away by the water that still ran down his body.
“Fuck,” Harry gasped.
Ron smiled his lop-sided smile. “Yes, Harry,” he said, and rose to his feet.
He pulled Harry against him and kissed him deeply, rubbing his rock-hard erection against Harry’s belly. Harry thrust his tongue into Ron’s mouth and tasted his own come. They pulled back and looked at each other. “Yes, Ron,” Harry whispered.
Ron look wildly around the bathroom and grabbed a bottle of Ginny’s almond oil. He grinned at Harry and raised his eyebrows. Harry nodded. Ron kissed him again and then turned him to face the tiled wall. Harry rested his hands against the tiles and felt Ron’s oiled fingers slide over his arse. He jerked his hips and Ron pushed one finger into him. It burned for a moment, but then slipped smoothly inside. Harry groaned as Ron gently thrust into him, before adding a second finger. He leant his cheek against the cool tile and as he looked down he saw Ron’s legs close behind his own. He felt Ron’s fingers slip out and something far larger was placed at his entrance.
Despite himself he tensed and Ron’s lips brushed the back of his neck. “Don’t want to hurt you, Harry,” he whispered.
“You won’t,” he whispered back, “I want you inside me.”
Ron braced one hand on Harry’s hip and with the other he guided his cock slowly into Harry’s body. Harry could see the muscles in Ron’s thighs flexing, he could see drops of water running down their legs, he felt his muscles protest at the invasion and then relax and accept Ron’s presence. Inside him. Filling him. Owning him. “Yes,” Ron hissed, against his neck.
Slowly, but gradually picking up speed, Ron withdrew and thrust into him. Harry no longer resented Ron’s greater height, as each thrust lifted him almost off of his feet, pressed his face against the wall and pressed against something deep inside him that sent electric shocks through his body and to his re-awakened cock.
Grunting with each stoke, Ron reached around his body and wrapped his large hand around Harry’s cock. With each thrust he fucked Harry’s arse and Harry’s cock fucked Ron’s hand until they both called out and tensed as an insane climax ripped though their bodies.
Then in a tangle of wet limbs they sank down in the bath. Random kisses grazing across jaws, eyelids; random carresses smoothing wet hair out of eyes, gentling trembling muscles.
“So that pushes all your buttons, does it Harry?” asked Ron, a laugh in his voice.
“And how,” Harry answered, shakily.
“Well, you’re in luck. My fantasy is licking chocolate off of your body, so I think we’ll be taking a lot of showers to clean up.”
Title: Water
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Challenge: Written for The HP Hydrosmut Challenge at
http://www.livejournal.com/users/venivi
Many thanks to
honeycakehorse for the beta.“Well, you haven’t Potter-watched like I have,” giggled Ginny “and if I tell you what to look for, you’ll see it too.” She took a bite of her toast and looked sideways at Hermione.
“I think I’d have noticed,” said Hermione, frowning “but ok, what am I supposed to look for?”
“Water,” said the younger girl.
“Water?”
“Just try it, ok, Hermione?”
Just then a sleepy looking Harry entered the kitchen and slumped onto a chair opposite them. He lazily poured a glass of juice and buttered a piece of toast.
“Morning Harry,” chirruped Ginny, brightly.
“Mmm,” he grunted and ran a hand through his shower-damp hair.
Some more footsteps were heard on the stairs and Ginny nudged Hermione in the ribs. “Water,” she murmured.
Ron stumbled into the kitchen wearing very battered jeans and a faded Chudley Cannons t-shirt and yawning. He too had tried an early shower to wake himself up. He sat beside Harry and helped himself to toast and tea. “Morning all,” he said, adding four sugars and stirring. His hair was wet from his shower and a drop of water gathered on the dark red spikes behind his ear and ran down the side of his neck. Ginny nudged Hermione again and they looked at Harry. His toast was suspended half way to his mouth and his eyes had followed the droplet over Ron’s shoulder and down inside the neck of his t-shirt.
Ginny looked at Hermione. “Water,” she mouthed, nodding.
****
Hermione spent the morning lying on a blanket with a book. She watched the other three teenagers as they flew above her in an informal game of Quidditch. Ron flew in lazy circles in front of the branch they were using as his ‘hoops’. Hermione smiled at the sight. The nervous wreck of their fifth year was gone. It had been just a few weeks ago that he had, in their final game of their final year, accepted the Quidditch cup from Dumbledore as the proud Gryffindor Quidditch captain.
Ginny was playing Chaser, and Harry Beater, and all of his fierce Quidditch player’s attention was focused on defending against Ginny. He hadn’t spared a glance for his best friend, secure in the knowledge that the Keeper was on top of his game behind him. Hermione had begun to dismiss this morning’s water droplet as coincidence.
It seemed the game had come to an end and the three players landed and trudged towards her, carrying their brooms. Ginny reached her first, poured herself a long drink from the jug that Hermione had brought out with her, sipped and said “Mmm, water.” She wriggled her eyebrows at Hermione, who rolled her eyes. The boys also poured themselves a cooling drink. Ron threw back his head and gulped the water down thirstily. Rivulets ran out the corners of his mouth and splashed down onto his sweaty chest, darkening the faded t-shirt almost back to the original Cannons orange. Both girls looked at Harry. He shook himself and tore his eyes away from his friend’s heaving, wet chest and took a sip from his glass.
“Water,” Ginny mouthed to Hermione, smiling.
****
After lunch the four of them changed into swimming things and carried their blankets and towels down to the pond in the Weasley’s garden. Ginny looked at Hermione, glanced at the pond and smirked. Hermione shook her head, shook out her blanket and sat down with a book.
Ginny and Ron played boisterously in the water as Harry and Hermione lay and lazily watched the siblings attacking each other. Even after seven years, the two only children couldn’t believe how physical the Weasleys got.
Harry was half-dozing in the sunshine, his skin warm, the sun bright on his closed eyelids. Suddenly something blocked out the sun and ice cold drops fell on his body, almost sizzling as they ran down his chest.
Ron stood over him, the sun behind his head turning his hair to a glowing red mane; water ran down his neck and chest and into the hair that disappeared under his waistband; it gathered around the hem of his shorts and ran down his legs. Harry was transfixed. The two girls were looking for his reaction again and Hermione had to admit that Harry was more than startled. Ron shook his head violently and rain scattered down onto Harry, breaking the spell. He groaned and rolled onto his stomach as Ron straddled his back and dripped all over him. It seemed to Ginny that Harry had turned over in order to hide his reaction to his dripping wet best friend. To hide it in the blanket he was lying on.
“Water,” Hermione mouthed to Ginny, shrugging.
****
It had been a lovely evening and they had eaten dinner in the garden. Mr and Mrs Weasley had retreated to the kitchen and workroom respectively and the four young people were left at the long wooden table by themselves. Harry and Ron sat facing each other, astride one of the long benches, taking about Quidditch. The two girls sat on the far side of the table. Ginny poured herself a glass of water and the ice cubes in the jug tinkled against the glass.
Ron flopped backwards and lay along the bench, gazing up at the sky, and said “’t’s hot.” Harry didn’t seem to bat an eyelid at the sight before him.
Hermione met Ginny’s eye and shrugged. Ginny shook her head. “Water,” she whispered, and stood and tipped the jug full of ice cold water over her recumbent brother.
His jeans and thin white t-shirt clung to his body, his hair darkened and curled into red corkscrews. His jaw dropped. “Ginny,” he spluttered, “what the hell was that for?”
“You said you were hot,” she replied, unrepentant.
Ron was beyond retaliation or further speech. He rose to his feet and stood there, dripping gently. “C’mon,” said Harry, putting a shaking hand on his arm and dragging him into the house, “just get changed.”
Hermione and Ginny looked at each other. “Water,” they chortled, collapsing with laughter.
****
Up in the bathroom, Ron kicked off his trainers and peeled his jeans and socks slowly down his wet legs. Harry stood by the sink, arms firmly folded across his chest. Ron kept up an unceasing muttered monologue on the insanity of women in general and sisters in particular. He turned on the temperamental shower and left it to warm up while he turned back to Harry and pulled his clinging wet t-shirt over his head. His cold, wet skin was raised in goose bumps and his nipples were puckered and erect from the cold. He finally grumbled to a stop and noticed Harry’s eyes on him.
“What?” he said.
“OK, that’s it,” groaned Harry, stepping forwards. “All day long. Water dripping down your throat;” Ron took a step backwards, “dripping down your chest;” Harry raised his hand and Ron’s back reached the tiled wall, “dripping down your legs; “ he closed the final distance between them and ran his fingers over Ron’s chest, “but this wet t-shirt thing is just pushing all my buttons, ok?” He pushed his fingers up into Ron’s wet, red hair.
“OK,” Ron nodded frantically and bent and sealed his mouth over Harry’s.
Frantic fingers caressed Ron’s wet skin; desperate fingers pulled Harry’s t-shirt out of his jeans and trembling fingers undid his button and zip and pushed his jeans down over his slim hips. He toed his trainers off and kicked his jeans away. Ron dragged Harry’s t-shirt over his head and they crashed together again; rough chins scraping against each other, teeth clashing, tongues wrestling, lungs starved of oxygen gasping for air between more drugging kisses.
Turning away from the wall, Harry climbed into the huge bath and pulled Ron in after him. They stepped under the shower and the water beat down hard on their heads as their eyes fluttered closed and water filled their mouths. Straining to be closer together, both boys stripped off their soaked boxers and then ground hard against each other, skin to skin, hands slipping over wet flesh.
Tearing his mouth away from Harry’s, Ron looked down at his best friend. Harry’s eyes dragged themselves open and he swallowed shakily and looked up at Ron. After seven years Ron thought he knew every expression on Harry’s face, but seeing his green eyes almost black with passion, his lips rubbed raw by Ron’s stubble, his breath coming in ragged gasps, Ron was stunned.
“Harry,” he murmured and dipped his head to lick the water pooling on Harry’s collarbone, “oh, Harry” and he knelt under the shower at Harry’s feet. He watched his hands running over the other boy’s chest, stomach and thighs. Slipping his hands round behind Harry’s thighs he leant closer and looked up. Their eyes met.
Harry looked down at the boy kneeling before him. The shower still fell on Ron’s shoulders and the water ran down his chest and splashed onto his cock, which bobbed against Harry’s shins as he stood between Ron’s knees. Even in Harry’s eighteen-year-old boy’s fantasies of a wet Ron, he had barely dared imagine Ron kneeling naked at his feet in the shower. And then Ron leant closer and closed his mouth around Harry’s aching cock and all concious thought fled.
It may not have been the most professional blow job in history, but Ron made up with enthusiasm what he lacked in finesse and the smooth heat and suction soon had Harry twitching and grasping at Ron’s hair. Twining his fingers in the sodden red strands he looked down once more. The shower was hitting Ron on the crown of his head and his eyes were closed. Sheets of water flowed over his face and Harry gripped his head tightly and thrust hard into his throat. His cock disappeared through the waterfall and into the cave of Ron’s mouth. Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head as he saw stars and jerked hard twice and exploded deep in Ron’s throat.
Ron sucked greedily on him, and swallowed. He choked slightly and Harry looked down to see the come that spilt from Ron’s mouth being washed away by the water that still ran down his body.
“Fuck,” Harry gasped.
Ron smiled his lop-sided smile. “Yes, Harry,” he said, and rose to his feet.
He pulled Harry against him and kissed him deeply, rubbing his rock-hard erection against Harry’s belly. Harry thrust his tongue into Ron’s mouth and tasted his own come. They pulled back and looked at each other. “Yes, Ron,” Harry whispered.
Ron look wildly around the bathroom and grabbed a bottle of Ginny’s almond oil. He grinned at Harry and raised his eyebrows. Harry nodded. Ron kissed him again and then turned him to face the tiled wall. Harry rested his hands against the tiles and felt Ron’s oiled fingers slide over his arse. He jerked his hips and Ron pushed one finger into him. It burned for a moment, but then slipped smoothly inside. Harry groaned as Ron gently thrust into him, before adding a second finger. He leant his cheek against the cool tile and as he looked down he saw Ron’s legs close behind his own. He felt Ron’s fingers slip out and something far larger was placed at his entrance.
Despite himself he tensed and Ron’s lips brushed the back of his neck. “Don’t want to hurt you, Harry,” he whispered.
“You won’t,” he whispered back, “I want you inside me.”
Ron braced one hand on Harry’s hip and with the other he guided his cock slowly into Harry’s body. Harry could see the muscles in Ron’s thighs flexing, he could see drops of water running down their legs, he felt his muscles protest at the invasion and then relax and accept Ron’s presence. Inside him. Filling him. Owning him. “Yes,” Ron hissed, against his neck.
Slowly, but gradually picking up speed, Ron withdrew and thrust into him. Harry no longer resented Ron’s greater height, as each thrust lifted him almost off of his feet, pressed his face against the wall and pressed against something deep inside him that sent electric shocks through his body and to his re-awakened cock.
Grunting with each stoke, Ron reached around his body and wrapped his large hand around Harry’s cock. With each thrust he fucked Harry’s arse and Harry’s cock fucked Ron’s hand until they both called out and tensed as an insane climax ripped though their bodies.
Then in a tangle of wet limbs they sank down in the bath. Random kisses grazing across jaws, eyelids; random carresses smoothing wet hair out of eyes, gentling trembling muscles.
“So that pushes all your buttons, does it Harry?” asked Ron, a laugh in his voice.
“And how,” Harry answered, shakily.
“Well, you’re in luck. My fantasy is licking chocolate off of your body, so I think we’ll be taking a lot of showers to clean up.”