Long, Hot and Slow - H/R/S - NC-17 - part one
Title: Long, Hot, and Slow
Author: shocfix/elladora_k
Pairing: Harry/Ron/Seamus, with some Harry/Hermione, Ginny/Dean and mention of Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny
Kink/Prompt: Double Penetration/Long, Hot, and Slow
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Who would win Ron’s boyish heart? Harry Potter, his troubled and dashing and raven haired and dashing best friend or Seamus Finnegan, the cheeky and dashing Irishman with the attractive bollocks?
Author's Notes and Disclaimer: Beated into submission by my magicofisis.


Long, Hot, and Slow – Part One
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My mum and dad would be livid if you said they’d brought us up with any Pureblooded crap; they think they think of Muggleborns as being the same as any other witch or wizard.

And they do try, they really do, they just can’t help it.

Muggleborns are different, in some ways.

Not better, or worse, just different.

They have different attitudes, different expectations. Just think of Hermione and SPEW – she never, ever accepted that house elves were happy.

She never accepted that some things are different in the Wizarding World.

Which is fine, but it also explains how we never quite got together.

Hermione never understood what I was waiting for, and I never understood why she didn’t want to wait.

See, the Wizarding World isn’t very big; the people you know at school are gonna be the people you know for ever; you might meet someone at work who is a few years older or younger, but most people marry their school sweetheart.

Not the girl you take to Hogsmead a couple of times; not the girl you snog after Quidditch matches; the Girl you give your heart to.

No one ever told Hermione this, apparently.

So, it was gonna be a big deal, when I finally asked her out, because she was gonna be the Girl, wasn’t she? And that was a hard thing to cope with at sixteen or seventeen, even for someone who doesn’t watch other blokes in the showers.

I put it off and put it off and we went off with Harry to smite evil and I put it off and I thought she realised that I thought we were too young for weddings and stuff.

And a year passed and we grew up and we were living at Grimmauld Place and the only naked bloke I saw was Harry, and Harry has always been a special case and, without Seamus walking around the dorms and Dean showering after practise, I managed to convince myself that I didn’t fancy blokes and that it was time to settle down with Hermione.

That I’d miss sharing a room with Harry (even without mentioning the nakedness), but we could get married and share Mum and Dad’s old room.

So, that’s what I told her, and her face fell.

Apparently, Muggles don’t ‘settle down’ at eighteen, and, much as she adored me and much as she had all but given up on ever finding out if I actually fancied her, she wasn’t ready to get married.

She wanted to see the world.

She wanted a career.

She wanted to date fascinating men.

She needn’t ‘settle down’ for a decade, and who married their childhood sweetheart?

I sat and blinked and gently told her it wasn’t like that in the Wizarding World, and what fascinating men, anyway?

The ones at work – with brilliant minds and ground breaking research, apparently.

She didn’t believe me that they’d all have married their sweethearts and, what was she, some sort of scarlet woman, preying on married men?

She glared and I blinked and my heart ached and we took the case to our High Court, on appeal.

Our High Court being Harry, of course.

Now, as I said, my Harry is something of a special case. You cannot get less Muggleborn than being Harry Potter, yet he was raised in the Muggle world.

I think we did a great job of placing our unbiased cases before him: I had finally made my move – Hermione was surprised that it came with a ring – I was surprised she didn’t want a husband.

So.

When did Muggles settle down?

Harry blinked rather a lot and looked back and forth, between us.

“You want to get married?” he shouted at me.

Apparently, the only Muggles who got married at eighteen were already expecting.

I was stunned. How was it not seen as a good and responsible thing to do? How was I the bad guy, here? Did Harry really think that Hermione and I could just fool around? Did he care so little for her?

Would he treat Ginny like that?

Shit.

If he had looked surprised that I expected to marry Hermione, it was nothing compared to the look on his face when I asked if he expected to marry Ginny.

Because, apparently not.

Apparently, the only thought he’d given it beforehand was “what’d Ron think of me dating his sister?”, but, when I saw him kiss her, well, I saw it as pretty much a declaration of his intentions, and that meant the world to me.

Harry’s kids would be of my blood.

It never occurred to me that his only worry would be how awkward it’d be when they split up.

Because of course they’d split up.

They were fifteen and sixteen.

And there’s me – and Ginny – being impressed that he’d made his decision so soon.

So.

I was horribly depressed and upset for me and my baby sister, and I slunk off to the Burrow to lick my wounds.

I’d never criticise Harry or Hermione, especially in front of my mum, but she skilfully extracted the reasons for my long face. Mother of seven, and all that.

And she was furious.

With Hermione for being a trollop and breaking her baby boy’s heart, no matter how much I defended her. It wasn’t really her fault she expected to date fascinating men – or that I wasn’t fascinating – or that I was more offended than heartbroken.

She was scandalised that Hermione hadn’t accepted such a respectable offer.

But she was also slightly wrong-footed.

By Harry.

Harry didn’t intend to return to her daughter, and was being blatantly Muggle about it – but Harry was, as always, a special case, and it was very hard to object to anything he did.

So, it was all Hermione’s fault.

And an attempt to console Ginny about it was rebuffed with a scowl and the news that she’d been consoled far more effectively and thoroughly by Dean Thomas, thank you very much.

Well, I’d missed that, having left school, and I can’t say I was all that pleased with the news, if only because that was introducing yet another Muggleborn into the equation.

But I got a rather pointed Look when I asked if she’d ever thought of Neville that way.

I sulked at the Burrow for a few days, angry with Hermione for making me think badly of Muggleborns, angry with Harry for abandoning my sister, angry with Hermione for making me give up on my cosy future, angry with Dean for being loyal and waiting, angry with Harry for being unattached, angry with Seamus for strutting, naked, in my dreams.

Anyway.

I squared my shoulders and returned to Grimmauld Place, and the three of us didn’t mention it and Hermione had a theory about where the Cup may be and we seemed to forget all about it. We were used to moving on from a disagreement, and my foolish proposal had been dismissed.

But Hermione didn’t smile at me like she used to; Harry watched me carefully, obviously waiting for me to go insane again. And me? I’d lost my safety net.

I could no longer use the image of living happily ever after with Hermione to block what else was going on in my head.

Especially after Ginny finished school and turned up at the house and was closeted with Harry all day.

And Harry made an announcement.

Lord, no. They weren’t getting back together, or anything. She’d only dumped Dean originally because he was too devoted and she wasn’t ready, they were back together for good and everything; and Harry certainly didn’t need a girlfriend – especially not one who heard wedding bells.

No, she wanted to help us – and so did Dean and so did Seamus, but the boys had never been told about Grimmauld Place by Dumbledore, so they couldn’t see it, so Harry decided to move house.

Hermione and I were slightly baffled, as he’d always refused to leave Grimmauld Place, no matter how much he hated it, but Ginny convinced him that living in a house that fewer and fewer people could actually see was useless, if not creepy.

So we found a three-bedroom house, and Hermione and Ginny shared the attic, and Harry and I shared a room, and Dean and Seamus shared a room, and there wasn’t a day on which I didn’t see Harry or Dean or Seamus naked and I couldn’t hide behind thoughts of Hermione and I had to admit that I wanked to a faceless figure with Dean’s legs and Harry’s arse and Seamus’ balls.

But we’d been getting a bit grim about the Quest and their enthusiasm was just what we needed to get us going again and we found and destroyed the Cup and Seamus insisted that we celebrate.

When we’d destroyed the Locket, our celebration consisted of Hermione healing Harry’s burns and an early night, but that just wasn’t possible with Seamus in the house and we all got very drunk and rather sick and I woke up the next day to a sandy coloured head in the bed on the other side of the room.

“Seamus?” I muttered.

The head rose and blinked at me and the attached body wriggled to the edge of the bed and sat up, unsteadily. My head was throbbing too loudly to even notice that the body was naked and the legs were splayed and a hand was lazily scratching the bollocks.

Because I wasn’t allowed to look at those bollocks.

“Wha’ cho doin’ in Harry’s bed?” I asked.

Seamus sniggered and I shook my head and winced.

“Can’t remember,” he said, clasping his hands together and stretching his arms above his head.

I closed my eyes because of the bright light, not because of the naked bloke, and lay back on my pillows.

“Well, where’s Harry?” I asked.

“Verily and forsooth, that shall be our Quest,” he said happily. “Sod pieces of You Know Who for one day – let’s track down the Chosen One.”

We carefully got up and dressed in last night’s clothes, before supporting each other across the landing to Seamus’ room. The obvious solution was that he’d slept in Seamus’ bed.

We opened the door, expecting to see our hungover and bleary best mates.

But not his hungover best mate’s arse with my sister’s hair hanging over it.

I yelped and Ginny muttered something and nuzzled closer and Seamus dragged me out of the room and closed the door.

I stood and gibbered, while Seamus either vibrated slightly or I was having trouble focussing.

“They’ve been together a long time,” he said, one hand clasped round my forearm. “Let them have their fun, yeah? He’s a good bloke.”

“Coffee,” I said firmly. “I need a very strong coffee.”

“Have we given up on our Quest?” Seamus asked, following me downstairs and into the wrecked kitchen.

“Quest for new eyes,” I muttered, haphazardly Scourgifying a couple of mugs.

Seamus snorted.

“These ones have seen Weasley hair between Dean’s cheeks,” I complained.

He laughed and winced and held his head as I put a coffee down in front of him.

“Well, where’s your mate, then?” he asked.

I gulped some scalding hot coffee and shrugged. “You and Ginny obviously kicked him out, so he’s probably ended up in the girls’ room.”

Seamus frowned at his coffee and stirred it with the handle of a dirty spoon.

“No,” he said.

“No what?”

“No, that makes no sense,” he complained.

“Come back later for sense,” I said. “My head aches.”

“No, but listen.”

“Fine.”

“Listen.”

“What?”

“If it were Ginny came down to my room and kicked me out so she could... access her young man,” he said slowly. “Then I wouldn’t go an’ kick Harry out of his bed!”

“So?”

“So, Harry must have been missing already,” he explained. “Harry must have kicked Ginny out of her room!”

I snorted.

“Right,” I said. “Because he’s gonna kick his ex out of bed to share with a mate.”

Seamus raised a sceptical Celtic eyebrow.

“What?” I asked.

Its associate joined it.

“What?”

“Harry and Hermione,” he said.

“Fuck off.”

He nodded wisely.

“They wouldn’t!” I said firmly.

“Because you used to fancy her?” he asked. “That was a year ago. How good a mate does he have to be? I’d be happy for Dean to screw any of my exes. If he wasn’t mad for yer lovely sister, of course.”

“Not because I fancied her,” I protested.

“Then why are you frothing?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not still...”

“Because I fucking proposed,” I said and then bit my tongue.

“You didn’t,” he breathed. “And she said ‘no’?”

“What makes you think she said ‘no’?” I asked defensively.

“The fact you never got married, you dick head. And that she’s shagging Harry.”

“It’s a Muggle thing,” I grunted. “Muggles don’t get married at eighteen. And she’s not shagging Harry.”

“But she’s not a Muggle, is she, yer woman?” he shrugged.

“She’s not my woman,” I protested. “She wants to date loads of fascinating men.”

“Like who?” he asked.

“I don’t know!”

“I reckon Harry’s pretty fascinating,” he mused. “All dark and tragic and heroic.”

“Then you shag him,” I muttered, before closing my eyes and holding my breath as an image of Seamus and Harry cartwheeled though my unstable head.

Seamus leapt up and grabbed my hand and dragged me to my feet.

“Bet you a pint of Thor’s Old Familiar that Harry’s arse is smothered in clouds of bushy hair,” he said, starting for the stairs.

My brain was too full to protest, so I followed him, hand in hand.

Partly full of images of Hermione’s face pillowed on Harry’s beautiful arse; partly with indignant denial that my two favourite people in the world would do that to me, or each other; partly with trying to remember which hand Seamus had scratched his bollocks with.

We stopped outside the attic bedroom.

“They’ll be asleep in separate beds,” I whispered.

“Double or nothing,” Seamus whispered back, inexplicably still holding my hand.

“What?”

“Two pints of Old Familiar if they’re fucking.”

I dropped his hand and glared at him.

He shrugged and winked and pushed the door open and I stepped closer and looked over his shoulder.

No one was fucking.

No one’s arse was framed in anyone else’s hair.

No one was in Ginny’s bed.

They were in Hermione’s bed, together, naked, a twist of sheet covering her from the waist down.

She lay on her side, with Harry behind her; his face was half buried in her hair, his arm was wrapped round her waist, holding her close against him and cupping one breast with his hand; one leg was curled between hers, pulling the sheet tight around her body and baring his arse to the world.

And, even though he was clinging so tightly in his sleep, I’ve never seen his face so relaxed.

There were nail marks on his back and a love bite on her throat and a half smile on their faces and my heart raced and I pulled Seamus out of the room.


art by yaaronet

I stumbled down the stairs, shaking my head to banish the image I knew I’d never forget and ignoring Seamus’ insincere apologies.

I sat down at the kitchen table and picked up my cold coffee and stared into it and tried to persuade myself that I’d imagined it.

Imagined my two best friends naked and wrapped up in each other in a room that smelled of sex.

Imagined the weight of her breast in his hand.

Imagined his body curving around hers.

Imagined I wasn’t good enough for either of them.

“I’m sorry,” Seamus said, sitting beside me and putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You shouldn’t have seen that. I’m sorry.”

I shook myself. “It’s just...”

“A shock,” he filled in helpfully. “Seeing her with another bloke.”

And I nodded, failing to mention the shock of seeing Harry with another woman.

“Look,” Seamus said. “They’ll all sleep a bit more, being shagged out. You take the first shower and I’ll tidy the kitchen and we’ll feel a bit better, right?”

I sighed.

I went up to the bathroom and I stripped and stepped under the spray and rested my head on the cool, tiled wall and let the water beat down on my shoulders.

Well, I did not see that coming.

Which is hardly surprising, as I thought Hermione wanted six freckled children.

I idly soaped my hands and ran them over my body; over my nipples as I thought of Hermione’s breasts, that I had finally seen one of; over my arse as I thought of Harry’s arse, that I had finally seen sated.

Over my cock as I closed my eyes and pictured him poised above over, ready to thrust.

I sighed and shook my head and tried to forget how they looked together and I pictured Seamus sitting on Harry’s bed, all rumpled and naked and bollock fondling and I came over my fingers and watched the water wash it away.

By the time I’d dressed and gone downstairs, Seamus had tidied the kitchen and followed me into the shower. I made myself a cup of tea and found the paper and I hadn’t been sitting there long when a sleepy looking Dean shuffled in, rubbing his stubbly jaw.

I poured him a cuppa and watched him sugar it and sit and blink slowly. He rasped his stubble again and I wondered what I should say.

“Need a shave,” he muttered.

“If Ginny has stubble burn anywhere but her chin, I don’t want to know,” I said.

His eyes opened wide. “Um,” he said.

“And you may know more about art than I do,” I said. “Composition and stuff. But I’d never drape red hair between black buttocks.”

“Ron!” he spluttered. “Christ, I...”

“Never mind,” I said, waving his probably not going to be an apology anyway away. “I have bigger things to worry about.”

“Right,” he said solemnly. “You Know Who, and...”

“People shagging in my bedroom,” Ginny interrupted, sitting down in just a towel that covered her from nipple to mid-thigh and showing rosy breasts that I hoped were pink from her shower, and not from having someone nuzzling them all night.

“What”? Dean asked. “Who’s shagging in your bedroom?”

“Harry and Hermione,” she said, belatedly biting her lip and looking at me nervously.

Dean gawped at her.

“You okay?” she asked me, reaching out to touch me and then yelping and reaching for her towel as it nearly slid off her nipples.

“I’m... confused,” I said carefully. “So much for Hermione not wanting to date.”

“Hmmm,” Ginny said.

“Hmmm.”

“Although...”

“Although?”

“They’re not actually dating.” We all looked up at the ceiling. “And that was a year ago.”

I grunted.

“Be fair, Ron,” she said. “You offered to marry her and freaked her out; he probably offered to spend the night.”

“It’s not like her,” I insisted. “Or him.”

I glared at Dean.

“Why are you glaring at me?” he asked. “I’m not shagging Hermione.”

“I don’t want to think all Muggleborns are sex mad,” I complained.

I leant down and banged my forehead on the table.

Hard.

“Stop that, Ron,” Ginny said.

“No,” I muttered, doing it again.

And again, but someone had cast a Cushioning Charm and I was suspended an inch from the surface.

“Morning, Hermione,” I said.

“Good morning, Ron,” she replied.

I sighed and sat up, in time to see Dean and Ginny whisk out of sight and Harry and Hermione sit down, side by side, opposite me.

“It’s none of my business,” I said swiftly.

“We wanted to tell you, because it’s... not how it looks,” Harry said.

I snorted. “You’re kidding me!”

“We weren’t just... it wasn’t just... sex,” Hermione said.

“That’s not how it looked,” I agreed.

Harry blinked. “We’re, well, we are together I reckon, but it won’t change anything...”

“Didn’t think it would,” I said.

They frowned at me.

“It looked like you’d decided you were each fascinating and Muggle enough to date for a while,” I said. “Until someone more fascinating comes along.”

“Oh,” Hermione whispered.

“Then I suppose it was how it looked,” Harry said.

“No,” Hermione said. “Don’t make it sound horrid. It’s how you date when you’re our age. You find someone attractive that you care about and want to spend time with. It’s not healthy to go without physical affection.”

“Except from me,” I said petulantly and waved away their indignant reactions. “No, I’m sorry, I do get it. Neither of you want to settle down, but you do want someone. I left it too long, but I want you both to be happy.”

“And we want you to be happy, too,” she said. “Don’t we, Harry?”

She poked him and he glanced up and shrugged and looked sheepish and I rolled my eyes.

And it was okay.

And I smelt Harry on her as she hugged me and went upstairs for a shower.

And Harry and I talked about Quidditch and the next Horcrux and the afternoon stumbled past and no one asked what I thought, but Harry and Ginny and Seamus all moved their stuff into their new bedrooms and Hermione Transfigured their single beds into doubles and night fell.

And what did I think, as Seamus stripped down to his boxers and slipped between Harry’s old sheets?

I thought that Dean was good for Ginny and knew that she wanted to get married.

I thought that Harry – once he knew I wasn’t going to hit him – had looked more relaxed than he had in years. That he’d smiled as Hermione touched his hand; that he’d twirled a lock of her hair around his finger, that they looked coupley.

And, honestly, who else would I trust to take care of my Harry? And – seeing as he was relentlessly straight – who would I trust to take care of my Hermione?

And as for me?

Well, no one need feel sorry for me; I had a really hot room mate to ogle.

So I sighed and settled down to sleep, much closer than was good for my sanity to Seamus’ beautiful bollocks.

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Okay, so Hermione must have been doing something right, because Harry was invigorated – not sexually, I don’t want to think of them together like that, because I end up jealous of both of them and it does my head in.

No, I think having someone of his very own inspired him and we found ourselves tracking down and destroying Ravenclaw’s brooch and heading for the Final Showdown rather sooner than I’d expected.

Well, some of us were headed for the Final Showdown – and some of us were heading for Malfoy Manor, to kill a snake.

Harry and Hermione and I stood by the fallen stones in the Northern inner ring at Avebury and Harry cast a Great Summoning Charm and we watched it pulse out across the countryside, to where we knew You Know Who was hiding.

To where we knew Ginny, Seamus and Dean were waiting.

To where we knew they’d slip into the house as soon as You Know Who left, and kill his sodding snake and leave Harry free to finish the bloody thing.

And You Know Who and his cronies turned up, as expected. And he taunted Harry, as expected. And Ginny’s Patronus flashed through the sky and we knew it was time and Harry stepped forward.

And I missed about half of the battle, because I stepped in front of a curse meant for Harry, and everything went blindingly white and then black.

I came round to find myself lying on my back, with trainered feet planted either side of my shoulders. Looking up long, jeans covered legs, I recognised Seamus’ bollocks defending me.

Okay, it was Seamus’ heart and mind and wand doing the defence, but I lay and blinked and watched his arse flex as he turned to face each attacker, without stepping away from my prone body.

And my mind wandered a bit to what he could do to my prone body any time he liked, what with the gorgeous and the bollocks and the wandering naked around our room. And I pictured him crouching down and lowering that beautiful arse onto my waiting cock and.... I shook myself and tried to focus on the battle.

I stirred and he instantly crouched down and lowered that beautiful arse... well, he couched down and looked into my face.

“Ron,” he said. “You alright, there? Fuck, you gave me a fright!”

I nodded and hauled myself up to a sitting position and Seamus scrooched backwards and crouched over my legs and I was still dizzy enough to want to kiss him and I leant forwards, between his parted knees, and my hands slid up his thighs and he caught one and said, “There you go!” and stood and dragged me to my feet.

Always a dodgy business, as I’m so much taller than him.

“Think you can fight?” he asked, brushing me down briskly, before firing off a curse at a random Death Eater.

“Yeah, ‘course,” I said. “Where’s Harry?”

“You Know Who chased him off down the Avenue of stones just as we got here,” Seamus explained, watching Dean and Ginny take down another bad guy. “Hermione followed him and I stopped to see if you were okay. She, uh, she wanted to... but Harry...”

“’Course,” I said again, starting off in the direction he’d indicated, and hearing him call to Dean and Ginny to follow us.

We got there just in time to see Harry cast something and You Know Who explode. Harry and Hermione were knocked off their feet and we ran over and I knelt by his side and he sat up and threw his arms around my waist and buried his face in my chest and I held him and I caught Hermione’s eye and she smiled beatifically through the grime and Seamus stood behind me and put his hand on my shoulder and stroked the back of my neck and I wondered how I knew it was Seamus.

And then the six of us were hugging and Hermione was sobbing and Harry was holding her and looking worried and then she and Ginny were clinging together and Seamus was making coarse remarks and Dean was slapping him on the back of the head and then Harry was in my arms again and I buried my face in his hair and held on so tight.

“Knew you’d do it,” I whispered and he half laughed and half sobbed into my neck.

“Now what?” Hermione asked and we looked up at her.

“Now what what?” I asked.

“Well, I always pictured half the Order and the Aurors being here with us,” she said, wiping her eyes. “But it’s just us and a pile of dead Death Eaters. We have to go and tell someone it’s over.”

“Nah,” Seamus said. “We have to go and get cleaned up, and then we have to go out and celebrate.”

“But we have to tell someone,” Harry protested.

“What’ll happen if we tell someone?” Seamus said. “We’ll be whisked off and questioned and poked and prodded and by the time we get to the pub, the bastards we’ve saved will have drunk the place dry!”

“Seamus,” Hermione gasped. “We can’t just not tell everyone. They’re kind of worried about Voldemort.”

Seamus waved that away. “So, let them worry for an extra day,” he said. “They’re safe now, it won’t hurt them any. But it’ll give us a chance to have a well deserved drink.”

“But, the... bodies...” Dean said. “The evidence. Shay, we can’t just leave them here.”

“And we can’t party tonight at the Leaky Cauldron and then go into the Ministry all hung over, tomorrow, and claim we killed You Know Who,” Ginny said. “No one’ll ever believe us!”

“Oh, you’re all such kill joys,” he pouted, turning to me. “Ron?”

I looked at his pouty face and I melted.

“I say we owl the Ministry that there are some dead Death Eaters to be dealt with at Avebury,” I said. “And then we go and get drunk at a Muggle pub, so the history books never find out, and then we go in and make a statement, tomorrow.”

Seamus beamed.

“Well, I think we deserve that much, actually,” Hermione said.

“Ha!” Seamus said. “Ron Weasley the voice of reason!”

“Who would ever have thought it,” Ginny agreed.

So, we went back home and, while she waited for her turn in the shower, Hermione sent an owl to the Auror department, asking them to dispose of the dead bodies.

Ginny and Dean had saved time and water by showering together, then Seamus took a turn, then Harry, then Hermione had to kick him out and I went up to his room with him while she showered.

He looked dazed, sitting on the end of their bed and staring at his hands.

“I killed him,” he said.

“Pffffrt,” I said.

He looked up, surprised eyebrows under his fringe.

“I did,” he said. “Don’t you start casting doubt on it – it’ll be hard enough to prove, anyway!”

“I’m not casting anything,” I said, sitting beside him and nudging him with my shoulder. “But, to be fair, you killed hardly any of him.”

“What?”

“Seven pieces of his soul,” I said. “You destroyed the diary, Dumbledore destroyed the ring, Hermione destroyed the locket, Ginny destroyed the cup, I destroyed the brooch – and thanks for that, by the way, I get to go down in the history books for being the brave vanquisher of girly jewellery – and Seamus killed the snake. So stop taking all the credit for it.”

He laughed and blinked and looked a bit less dazed and shook his head at me.

“Git,” he said.

I smiled.

“You nearly died,” he said.

“Ah, we all nearly...”

“Today,” he interrupted. “I really, really hate it when you sacrifice yourself like that.”

“I won’t do it again,” I assured him.

“Good,” he muttered. “’Cos I’d never forgive you.”

We looked at each other levelly and my heart swelled and Hermione coughed in the doorway.

“Ron, you’re filthy,” she said gruffly. “Get up off my quilt.”

I stood and ruffled Harry’s hair. “That’s because I am so self-sacrificing and have let everyone else shower first and am going to be left with cold water,” I said, passing her in the doorway and kissing her on the cheek.

“That would work if this wasn’t a Wizarding house with Charmed hot water,” she laughed, closing the door on me.

I shook my head, wryly, and went down to the bathroom.

It hadn’t really been a Moment with Harry.

We were always that close and we’d nearly died and anyway, he was straight and he was with Hermione, and I was crazy about Seamus, which was irrelevant, because he was straight, too, but if I was gonna swoon over a straight mate, I should, at least, be consistent.

Except that it was Harry, and I would always have a weak spot as far as Harry was concerned.

So I stood under the shower and sighed as it beat down on my aching muscles and I remembered Seamus stroking my neck and I tried not to think that it had been caressing. I shook myself and thought about Harry and found myself stroking my cock, so I shook myself again and thought about Seamus and gasped his name as I came and then gritted my teeth and washed briskly and stepped out of the shower.

“No more daydreaming in the shower,” I told myself sternly in the mirror as I combed my hair. “You know that Harry is spoken for and you know that Seamus doesn’t want you like that.”

“Like what?” the mirror asked.

“None of your business,” I spluttered.

“You were talking to me!”

“I was talking to myself,” I said.

“I couldn’t help overhearing you,” the mirror said. “In the shower.”

“What about in the shower?” I asked doubtfully.

“Oh, Seamus,” the mirror gasped, mimicking me.

“Bugger off,” I said. “That is so none of your business!”

I turned towards the door.

“It’s just that he does that, too,” the mirror called after me.

I turned and looked at it, which felt weird, because I was glaring at myself.

“Who does what, too?” I asked carefully.

“Your Seamus,” the mirror smirked.

Which is impressive, without a face.

“My Seamus... he’s not my Seamus... of course he wanks in the shower,” I spluttered.

“He calls out,” the mirror said. “Do you want to know what he calls out as he finishes?”

“No?” I said tentatively.

“He calls your name.”

I swallowed and looked at my gobsmacked reflection.

“He doesn’t,” I breathed.

“He tugs on his prick and squeezes his balls and says, Aw, Ron, go on and suck the feckin’ thing,” the mirror gasped in a passable brogue.

“Aren’t there rules about mirrors not betraying a confidence?” I asked weakly.

“I’m a mirror, not a priest!” it laughed. “And they are more like guidelines, anyway.”

“Uh, well, thank you,” I said, stumbling out of the bathroom and across the landing to my room.

Our room.

The bedroom I share with the world’s most beautiful bollocks.

Bollocks that he has been alleged to squeeze as he comes and calls my name.

Well.

That was an interesting titbit to process as I dressed and wandered down to the lounge, where everyone else was waiting for me.

“So,” Seamus said brightly. “How about the Slug and Lettuce?"

So the six of us went out and drank and laughed and drank and Ginny sat in Dean’s lap and he pressed his lips against her neck and Harry had his arm around Hermione’s shoulders and pieces of her hair kept getting in his face and he didn’t mind and I watched Seamus and wondered.

Could he really fancy blokes? Fancy me? Was I really capable of making a pass at someone?

I’d proposed to Hermione, but I thought that was what she wanted me to do; I wasn’t gonna propose to Seamus – but what does one propose to a bloke, anyway? I pretty much wanted to wait until he was undressing for bed and then kneel at his feel and suck his cock, but I’d probably be kneed in the face if I didn’t ask nicely, first.

I took another swallow of my drink, and, fuck, was Seamus watching me swallow? This was impossible. I was happy with unrequited crushes. Well, not happy, but at least there was nothing I could do about it. And now I was seriously thinking of telling him. Well, I was seriously thinking of fondling his magnificent balls, so I really should tell him.

I sighed and watched my sister snogging her bloke and I caught Harry’s eye and he stopped twirling his fingers in Hermione’s hair and looked at his watch.

“I reckon we should call it a night,” he said. “We’ll have a pretty heavy day at the Ministry, tomorrow.”

“I don’t give a monkey’s about the Ministry,” Seamus said, but he grumbled to his feet and necked his drink and a drop overflowed and ran down his neck and I almost lunged for him and licked it off.

Which pretty much decided things.

We found a quiet corner and Apparated home and Dean picked Ginny up and took the stairs two at a time, and Harry tried to pick Hermione up and she batted his hands away and hurried up the stairs, with Harry behind her, groping whatever he could reach.

And Seamus ascended without a backwards glance and I trailed after him, wondering what I had expected, and laughed at the though of him throwing flirtatious looks over his shoulder at me and I reached our room to find him already stripped down to boxers and socks and standing in the middle of the room, hands on hips.

I closed the door behind me and wandered over to my bed.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well what?” I asked nervously.

“You haven’t taken your eyes off me all night,” he said. “I wondered if you were gonna make something of it.”

“Like a fight?” I asked.

He snorted and stalked towards me, stopping with his boxers an inch from my knees and I groaned, imagining I could feel the heat off his bollocks.

“Like a pass,” he said. “Stop acting the maggot.”

“Lovely,” I said. “Is this you making a pass?”

“Yes,” he said. “So, are you interested?”

“Um, I dunno,” I said. “In you?”

“In this,” he said, gesturing down his body.

“Um,” I said.

His nostrils flared. “Don’t you dare back down now, Ron.”

“No,” I said. “It’s the socks – can we lose the socks?”

“Socks?” he echoed. “You feckin’ eejit. The socks are the problem?”

I nodded and he bent and swiftly tugged off his socks and I parted my legs and he stepped closer and I reached out and slid my hand up his thigh and inside the leg of his boxers and I ran my thumb over his balls and we both moaned.

“You reckon you can fondle my bollocks without buying me dinner, first, do ya?” he asked.

“Shut up, Seamus,” I groaned and he pounced and bore me backwards onto my bed.

He settled between my legs, one hand in my hair and one sliding up inside my shirt as our mouths met in clumsy, open mouthed kisses and his stubble rasped against my jaw and I fucking whimpered.

Pathetic.

My hands slid under his waistband and I cupped his gorgeous arse as he rubbed against me and I was suddenly overdressed.

“Wait,” I muttered.

He pulled back and glared at me. “Now what?” he demanded.

“I wanna get undressed,” I protested.

“Excellent,” he said, wriggling back to kneel between my legs and undo my jeans.

“Socks first,” I said and he snorted and reached behind him and ripped off my socks before helping me out of my jeans and shirt.

He played with the hem of my boxers and looked suddenly vulnerable.

“Um,” he said.

“Off,” I said firmly and he grinned and we both kicked our boxers off and looked at each other.

I am horribly skinny and pale and freckled, while he has the world’s most beautiful bollocks, but we both said, “wow,” and he descended on me again.

And this time, as he settled between my thighs, our cocks slid together and his balls hung over mine like a mother hen settling over her chicks. I laughed at this image and he raised an eyebrow and I cupped his face and craned my neck for his kiss as he ground against me.

“Fuck, s’good,” I gasped into his mouth, hooking one ankle over his leg and drawing him closer.

“’Course s’good,” he said, sliding his hands under my shoulders and holding in for dear life as he thrust. “S’why everyone does it.”

I laughed and panted against his lips as I felt my climax starting to spark inside me. “Gonna come, Shay,” I moaned.

He reared back and looked down at me.

“What?” I asked, arching up beneath him.

“Wanna watch your face,” he whispered and my climax ripped through me and splattered between our bodies.

“You’re a perv,” I muttered, twitching as he moved against my softening cock.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said, burying his face in my neck as he jerked against me.

Afterwards, we lay together, Seamus idly drawing patterns in the drying spunk on my belly.

“That is gross,” I complained.

“I don’t care,” he said.

“Good,” I said.

__..__..__..__..__..__..__..__..__..__..__

I’d never woken up naked and sticky and tangled up with another man, before, but I had no chance to panic, because Seamus had a smirk on his face as he rubbed his cock against my hip.

“Morning,” I said.

“Hmmm,” he said. “You gonna freak out on me?”

“I’m thinking not,” I said.

“Good.”

“Though I do wonder where you got the nerve to make a move,” I said.

“What sort of Gryffindor would I be if I wasn’t brave enough to snog my room mate?” he asked.

“One like me,” I suggested.

He waved that away and let his hand fall to my chest and idly caress me.

“Ah, but I’m not usually into blokes,” he said. “I can see why you didn’t do anything.”

“But I’m... I haven’t... Hermione...”

He propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at me.

“What sort of Gryffindor would I be if I hadn’t noticed the way you look at Harry?” he asked.

“What?” I squeaked.

“Well, I’m sure Harry hasn’t noticed,” he said.

“It’s different with Harry,” I said. “I don’t... fancy Harry. He’s...”

“Part of you,” Seamus said. “I know. ‘Swhy I’d never have done anything while Harry was available.”

“Harry doesn’t fancy blokes,” I said. “You didn’t have to wait; I’d never have made a move on Harry.”

“Well, I had to wait until you knew that,” Seamus said smugly.

“I didn’t even dare make a move on you, when the mirror in the bathroom says you call my name when you wank in the shower,” I said airily.

I laughed at his stunned face.

He shook himself.

“Look,” he said. “Are we really doing this, or is it a one off thing?”

“I’m really not a one night stand type of bloke,” I said and he grinned dopily.

“Hence the proposing to Hermione,” he said.

“Hence.”

“Even though you’re queer.”

I huffed. “Which henced the thought that I’d never want to settle down with any girl but Hermione.”

“So, you’re really okay with them being together?” he asked.

“Much more okay than I’d be with them being with anyone else,” I said.

“Good,” he said, kissing me firmly. “So, up and at ‘em, tiger. We have to walk into the history books, today!”

“Hand in hand?” I asked, untangling myself and standing up.

“Hand on arse,” he said, smiling and smacking my bottom.

So, we showered and dressed, stealing kisses between buttons, and were still the first ones downstairs.

“What’s with the shagged out heterosexual couples?” I asked. “Why’re we always the first down?”

“Well, we’ll have to do more stuff, next time,” Seamus said.

I blushed.

Our well penetrated friends joined us and we took a deep breath and set out.

Apparating to the visitors’ entrance to the Ministry, we stepped into the fellytone box and Harry dialled 62442.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business," came a female voice.

“Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan,” Harry said rapidly, looking pale but determined. “We’re here to tell you the War is over.”

Hermione tutted and Ginny rolled her eyes and Seamus said, “Why am I last?”

And six badges clinked into the slot as the box sunk into the ground.

Harry passed them out and I looked at mine before pinning it to my robes: Ron Weasley, Peace Maker.

I snorted.

We followed Harry through the Atrium, full of scurrying, worried looking people and no statues, and cleared security.

“Where to?” I asked. “The Minister?”

“The Aurors,” Hermione said and Harry set his jaw and nodded and I squashed a pang at the thought of them lying in bed together and discussing it and Seamus ran a comforting hand over my arse and we took the lift down to the Aurors’ Department on Level Two and my arse cheeks released and clenched and reached for Seamus like a baby bird opening its beak and calling for its mother and I had to shake myself and focus as we exited the lift.

Harry led the way to Kingsley’s cubicle and stopped dead and I walked into him as we saw my dad sitting beside the desk, looking grey with exhaustion.

He leapt to his feet when he saw us and grabbed me and pulled me into a hug as Kingsley stood and waved Hermione’s letter in our faces.

“What’s this supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“That there are some... bodies as Avebury that needed dealing with,” Hermione said.

“Eight, in fact,” Kingsley said levelly. “Eight of our most wanted Death Eaters. Would anyone care to explain what happened?”

“Voldemort brought them with,” Harry said calmly.

“With?” Kingsley echoed.

“When he came to fight me.”

“Fight?” my dad said, running his hands up my arms and looking wildly from me Ginny and back. “You didn’t take on eight Death Eaters...”

“More like a dozen, plus Voldemort,” Harry said. “I think a few got away.”

“And You Know Who?” Kingsley asked, his hands fisting and crumpling Hermione’s parchment.

“Gone,” Harry said calmly. “I doubt there’d be anything left of him to detect.”

“There was the residue of Dark Magic all over the site,” Kingsley said. “No one could explain what it was.”

“It was Voldemort,” Harry said. “We can all give Penseive memories for you to watch.”

“That won’t be admissible as evidence...” Kingsley started.

“Thank you,” my dad said. “Thank you - all of you.”

Kingsley shrugged helplessly and went to see his boss and the department exploded into life and we were marched around the Ministry for the rest of the day, drawing comfort from each other as we were questioned and tested and requestioned and monitored and eventually spat out into my dad’s custody.

He dumped us at home and we sat around feeling aimless until we started to hear fireworks going off overhead, when Seamus shook himself and went into the kitchen for a bottle of Irish whiskey and we toasted each other and went up to bed.

I was standing and looking nervously at my bed when Seamus closed the door behind me and I jumped.

“We don’t have to,” he sighed.

“Yes, we bloody do,” I said, unbuttoning. “But lose the socks.”

He grinned and rolled his eyes and tackled me onto the bed.

Sinking into the pillows, I closed my eyes and drowned in the taste of him, marvelling that I’d become addicted to it so quickly.

“D’you reckon they noticed anything?” he asked, reluctantly sliding off me and onto one hip as he helped me undress. “’Bout us?”

“I reckon Hermione did,” I admitted, tugging on his robes and pulling them down over silken skinned shoulders. “You kept stroking my arse.”

“You kept looking stressed,” he said, wriggling out of his clothes and reaching down to remove our socks. “I just wanted to distract you.”

“Oh, you so do,” I said, pulling him back into my arms and kissing him, my hands running down his back and settling on his arse.

“I haven’t touched your arse for a couple of hours,” he pointed out.

“That’s appalling,” I said.

“Roll over.”

I swallowed a nervous laugh and rolled onto my front, adjusting my erection and burying my flushed cheeks in my folded arms.

Face cheeks.

Because my other cheeks were busy.

Busy being caressed and squeezed and parted.

Busy peering down between themselves at the total exhibitionist of an arsehole that they’d spent nineteen years protecting, as it begged for Seamus’ attention.

And Seamus didn’t disappoint it and his mysteriously lubed finger slid inside me and my cheeks flushed and I made a ridiculously needy noise and thrust back at him and he hummed and slipped his other hand under my hipbone and tugged and I pushed myself up on knees and elbows and gasped as he pulled my cheeks further apart.

“Ron?” he whispered and his breath brushed over my entrance and I whimpered and he took it for a yes and his tongue touched me.

And I don’t know if it was the sensation or the intimacy or the utter filthiness, but fuck, I could kneel with Seamus’ tongue up my arse all night!

Why had no one ever told me how good it felt? Not that I can imagine it ever, ever coming up in conversation with anyone – and if any of my close friends know how it feels, I really don’t want to know. But it’s fucking brilliant!

Seamus didn’t let me wallow; alternating between wide strokes, lapping between my cheeks, and the tip of his tongue running in hypnotic circles that made me moan and reach for my cock, tugging desperately on it as he licked me.

And his fingers dug into my arse and his face was buried between my cheeks, his tongue probing as I stroked myself and I came in my hand, gasping.

“Fuck, Seamus,” I whimpered collapsing onto my side and grinning up at him as he pushed my fringe out of my face. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Practised on ring doughnuts,” he said. “Was it.... alright?”

“It was more than alright,” I said, blushing and not quite daring to meet his eyes.

He settled closer, one leg thrown across mine, his balls against my thigh, his cock nudging me, his mouth closing on mine – and I barely gave any thought as to where his tongue had been as it slid between my lips.

He sighed and ground against me.

“You... that... um...” I said wittily.

“Hmmm?” he said, dotting kisses along my jaw line.

“D’you want... that?”

He leant back and frowned down at me.

“What?”

I huffed and ran my fingertip up his cock. “D’you want me to do something about this?” I asked bravely.

“So, so, so much,” he grinned.

“What should I....?”

“Whatever you want to do,” he said, kissing me softly. “We have all the time in the world to get to the hard stuff.”

I sniggered and he ground his hard stuff against my hip again.

“I’m thinking....” I stopped and bit my lip.

He raised a hopeful eyebrow.

“I’m thinking I need to touch your bollocks.”

“What?”

“Fuck, Shay, you’ve got spectacular bollocks,” I said, wincing at sounding like such an idiot, but he groaned and rolled onto his back and spread his legs.

And there they were, his cock curving proudly above them, as if it knew how lucky it was to hang around in such impressive company.

“Touch yourself,” I whispered, kneeling between his legs. He made a strangled noise and his hand cupped his bollocks, rolling them between his fingers as his eyes locked on mine.

“Gorgeous,” I said, finally looking down. “I never... looked directly at them, before.”

He laughed. “Like an eclipse,” he suggested.

“Yeah.”

“Or an arse?”

“What?”

“I never looked directly at yer arse,” he explained.

“Hence the... practising on ring doughnuts,” I said.

“Hence,” he agreed, his free hand coming up to stroke his cock.

“And did it... was it...” I huffed.

“It came up to my expectations in every way,” he sniggered.

I blushed.

“You gotta stop blushing if we’re gonna do this,” he said. “I plan on spending a lot of time on your arse.”

“Oh, yes please,” I said, leaning over him to claim a kiss. “Yes, yes please.”

He sucked on my bottom lip as I pulled away and I placed random kisses down his body as I neared those beautiful bollocks.

Crouching over his cock, I breathed him in and watched him wank, before reaching out and cupping his balls and squeezing gently.

“FuckyesRonhandssuchfuckhands,” he babbled, before suddenly coming in my face.

I sat back and blinked at him.

“Oh, fuck, Ron,” he said, sitting up and wiping my cheek with trembling fingers. “Your hands... Keeper’s hands...”

“Big enough to hold them in one hand?” I asked.

“Uh... yeah,” he admitted.

“Plan on doing that a lot.”

__..__..__..__..__..__..__..__..__..__..__



continue to part two