shocfix (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shocfix) wrote,@ 2005-05-23 01:00:00 |
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Ron's Problem - H/R - NC-17
Title: Ron’s Problem
Author:shocolate
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 1500
Rating: NC-17
Written for the Helmet Fest 2008, where my prompt was Rimming, wallsex, voyeurism, wanking, all the makings of a great fic.
Ron’s Problem
****
It’s not that I’m unaware of homosexual sexual practices.
There was a whole chapter about it in the book I consulted about Ron’s… problem. It said that suppressed homosexual urges were often the root cause of a man’s failure to perform, and that the female partner could take absolutely no blame for the sad, soft thing battering her between her thighs, or the muffled swearing in her ear.
I’m paraphrasing.
After it happened for the third time, Ron stopped visiting on Hogsmeade weekends, and took on extra shifts at the Wheezes.
I gave him just enough time to get over the immediate embarrassment, without letting him fret himself into too much of a mess, and I got a weekend pass to leave school and Apparated down to London.
I knew Harry was on early shifts at the Ministry, and I decided to corner Ron at Grimmauld Place, before he left for work.
Not that I was going to put any pressure on him, but if he did have homosexual urges, then we needed to talk about it, needed to discuss if it was going to be an insurmountable obstacle to our relationship, or something we could work around, and I would be supportive of his decision.
Hoping that we could salvage something from our relationship, and that he didn’t, in fact, fail to perform because he saw me as a mother figure, which would be worse, I went upstairs to his bedroom.
His door was ajar and I was about to knock, when I heard him gasp.
I shouldn’t have stopped to watch, but I’d seen him naked, already, hadn’t I? He’d been naked and humiliated on top of me three times; I think I deserved to see what I was missing.
Ron’s bed was in the far corner of the room, and he couldn’t have been better framed in the open doorway if he’d planned it.
He was naked. His head was tipped back on his pillow, his eyes closed. His legs were spread, his far hand wrapped around something I had almost given up hope of seeing.
Call it intellectual curiosity.
And lust.
It was huge.
In comparison to the thing that had curled up to sleep in my pubic hair, anyway.
He let out a low groan as he stroked it, pulling any slack firmly down the shaft and revealing a glistening purple head that had me swallowing nervously. Part of me ached to… to mount him, for heaven’s sakes, to take him inside me, and I was shocked at how primeval I felt. Disapproving strongly of mother nature’s interference, I tried to ignore that part of me and focus on the more scientific part of my brain.
Obviously, everything was in working order. Glorious, pumping, thrusting off the bed and into his hand working order. The mental block apparently came when erection was being attempted in another’s presence.
My presence.
Why in my presence?
“That’s it,” he moaned, pumping harder and throwing his head back on the pillow. “Suck it. Suck. It.”
It seemed his fantasy life was healthy, and richly detailed. Picturing the Act wasn’t the problem, so it must have been me.
“Gonna come,” he gasped.
Was I simply that unattractive?
“Gonna come.”
Did I remind him of his mother?
“Gonna… come… oh, Harry!”
Or.
Was he suppressing homosexual urges?
Ribbons of ejaculate splattered across his belly and chest as he squeezed hard, milking the last drops from his softening member as he whispered Harry’s name once more.
I stepped back from the doorway, hiding in the shadows, feeling numb.
Numb, yet somehow vindicated.
It was something of a relief, really, wasn’t it? Not only was I right, but why should he be able to achieve erection with me?
Nothing personal; too many female genitalia.
I swiftly descended to the kitchen and Flooed back to school, unwilling to face a sated Ron just yet. Unsure of how to proceed.
Did calling out Harry’s name mean his suppressed homosexual urges were anything but?
Was he even aware of what he had done?
Was he picturing anonymous lips, wrapped around his penis? Was his subconscious vocalising its deepest desires while he blacked out during his orgasm?
I clearly had to think very carefully before I talked to him about it.
He was always so bad at discussing his feelings – he’d just assumed we were together, never actually asked me out – and he’d been extra defensive when I’d tried to ask him about his performance issues.
He must know I wouldn’t be satisfied with a ‘Hermione, I’m fine, leave it’.
I spent the best part of a week deciding what to say, choosing to Floo over and see him on Saturday night, after hearing Ginny tell Luna she had a date.
With Harry out of the way, maybe I could get Ron to talk seriously about his problem.
I had barely stepped out of the kitchen before I heard Ron’s voice from the sitting room.
“Oh God,” he was saying. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
I paused in the hallway, wondering if I should cough or something, give him time to make himself decent, and then question him about his masturbatory fantasies. To be on the safe side, I peered round the edge of the open doorway.
I stopped and stared.
It’s not that I’m unaware of homosexual sexual practices.
There was a whole chapter about it in the book I consulted about Ron’s… problem. It said that suppressed homosexual urges were often the root cause of a man’s failure to perform, and that, if the female partner cannot face anal penetration, then rimming was a less terrifying possibility.
I’m paraphrasing.
But there was a paragraph devoted to the pleasure the nerve endings around your anus could generate.
I’d been dubious, but apparently I was wrong.
Ron was naked.
He was standing in front of the fireplace, his arms folded on the mantelpiece, his face buried in his forearms, a string of obscenities falling from his lips, his shoulders tensed, his feet planted firmly apart.
Kneeling behind him, and equally naked, was Harry.
He was holding Ron’s cheeks apart and doing something with his tongue that made Ron’s voice crack like it hadn’t done for years.
“Fuck, yes,” he gasped, arching his back and pushing his arse more firmly into Harry’s face. “Oh, Harry… yesmorefucktouchmeyes.”
One of Harry’s hands slid round to Ron’s front and started jerking and Ron cried out.
I backed away from the sight, unable to believe Harry was enjoying what he was doing with his mouth, despite the filthy noises he made as he lapped.
Unable to believe my eyes.
I stumbled downstairs to the kitchen and Flooed back to school, wringing my hands. Was I angry? Jealous? Surprised?
Aroused?
I paced around the Common Room for a couple of minutes before deciding that what I was was insane.
I took another pinch of powder and knelt on the hearth. Blushing in anticipation of what I’d see, I threw in the powder, called out for the sitting room at Grimmauld Place and plunged my head into the fire.
Blinking through the flames I looked up to see Ron standing over me, his thigh muscles trembling as Harry’s hand ran up and down his erection. Harry’s tongue was still working industriously between Ron’s cheeks and Ron’s babbling was incoherent and desperate.
As I gazed up, Harry squeezed and Ron bellowed and globules of ejaculate sizzled as they hit the flames, evaporating millimetres from my face. I flinched, sure they would look down and see me, but Ron’s face was still hidden in his folded arms and Harry was getting to his feet.
Ron’s chest was heaving as he recovered from his climax, but his breath hitched as Harry stepped closer and gripped Ron’s hips. Ron’s feet slid further apart, apparently lowering himself onto Harry’s waiting erection, because they groaned in unison.
I watched Ron brace himself as Harry started to thrust, their movements practised and almost beautiful. Harry’s hands ran up and down Ron’s chest and belly and he murmured jumbled endearments; Ron’s back was arched as he pushed back against Harry, welcoming him deep inside his body.
They were together in a way I could never compete with and I mentally berated Ron for trying so hard to make things work with me.
Finally, Harry’s arms wrapped around Ron’s waist and Ron braced one hand against the fireplace, letting his other close over Harry’s. At last, I could see Ron’s face, and it was filled with joy as he squeezed Harry’s hand and Harry thrust faster and more erratically and climaxed inside him.
They both sank to their knees, the flames painting shadows on their naked bodies as Ron turned in Harry’s embrace and kissed him.
I silently withdrew my head from the fire, sitting back on my heels and gazing into the flames.
I had lost what was obviously never mine to begin with, and I was going to have to look after the pair of them.
Title: Ron’s Problem
Author:
shocolatePairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 1500
Rating: NC-17
Written for the Helmet Fest 2008, where my prompt was Rimming, wallsex, voyeurism, wanking, all the makings of a great fic.
Ron’s Problem
****
It’s not that I’m unaware of homosexual sexual practices.
There was a whole chapter about it in the book I consulted about Ron’s… problem. It said that suppressed homosexual urges were often the root cause of a man’s failure to perform, and that the female partner could take absolutely no blame for the sad, soft thing battering her between her thighs, or the muffled swearing in her ear.
I’m paraphrasing.
After it happened for the third time, Ron stopped visiting on Hogsmeade weekends, and took on extra shifts at the Wheezes.
I gave him just enough time to get over the immediate embarrassment, without letting him fret himself into too much of a mess, and I got a weekend pass to leave school and Apparated down to London.
I knew Harry was on early shifts at the Ministry, and I decided to corner Ron at Grimmauld Place, before he left for work.
Not that I was going to put any pressure on him, but if he did have homosexual urges, then we needed to talk about it, needed to discuss if it was going to be an insurmountable obstacle to our relationship, or something we could work around, and I would be supportive of his decision.
Hoping that we could salvage something from our relationship, and that he didn’t, in fact, fail to perform because he saw me as a mother figure, which would be worse, I went upstairs to his bedroom.
His door was ajar and I was about to knock, when I heard him gasp.
I shouldn’t have stopped to watch, but I’d seen him naked, already, hadn’t I? He’d been naked and humiliated on top of me three times; I think I deserved to see what I was missing.
Ron’s bed was in the far corner of the room, and he couldn’t have been better framed in the open doorway if he’d planned it.
He was naked. His head was tipped back on his pillow, his eyes closed. His legs were spread, his far hand wrapped around something I had almost given up hope of seeing.
Call it intellectual curiosity.
And lust.
It was huge.
In comparison to the thing that had curled up to sleep in my pubic hair, anyway.
He let out a low groan as he stroked it, pulling any slack firmly down the shaft and revealing a glistening purple head that had me swallowing nervously. Part of me ached to… to mount him, for heaven’s sakes, to take him inside me, and I was shocked at how primeval I felt. Disapproving strongly of mother nature’s interference, I tried to ignore that part of me and focus on the more scientific part of my brain.
Obviously, everything was in working order. Glorious, pumping, thrusting off the bed and into his hand working order. The mental block apparently came when erection was being attempted in another’s presence.
My presence.
Why in my presence?
“That’s it,” he moaned, pumping harder and throwing his head back on the pillow. “Suck it. Suck. It.”
It seemed his fantasy life was healthy, and richly detailed. Picturing the Act wasn’t the problem, so it must have been me.
“Gonna come,” he gasped.
Was I simply that unattractive?
“Gonna come.”
Did I remind him of his mother?
“Gonna… come… oh, Harry!”
Or.
Was he suppressing homosexual urges?
Ribbons of ejaculate splattered across his belly and chest as he squeezed hard, milking the last drops from his softening member as he whispered Harry’s name once more.
I stepped back from the doorway, hiding in the shadows, feeling numb.
Numb, yet somehow vindicated.
It was something of a relief, really, wasn’t it? Not only was I right, but why should he be able to achieve erection with me?
Nothing personal; too many female genitalia.
I swiftly descended to the kitchen and Flooed back to school, unwilling to face a sated Ron just yet. Unsure of how to proceed.
Did calling out Harry’s name mean his suppressed homosexual urges were anything but?
Was he even aware of what he had done?
Was he picturing anonymous lips, wrapped around his penis? Was his subconscious vocalising its deepest desires while he blacked out during his orgasm?
I clearly had to think very carefully before I talked to him about it.
He was always so bad at discussing his feelings – he’d just assumed we were together, never actually asked me out – and he’d been extra defensive when I’d tried to ask him about his performance issues.
He must know I wouldn’t be satisfied with a ‘Hermione, I’m fine, leave it’.
I spent the best part of a week deciding what to say, choosing to Floo over and see him on Saturday night, after hearing Ginny tell Luna she had a date.
With Harry out of the way, maybe I could get Ron to talk seriously about his problem.
I had barely stepped out of the kitchen before I heard Ron’s voice from the sitting room.
“Oh God,” he was saying. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
I paused in the hallway, wondering if I should cough or something, give him time to make himself decent, and then question him about his masturbatory fantasies. To be on the safe side, I peered round the edge of the open doorway.
I stopped and stared.
It’s not that I’m unaware of homosexual sexual practices.
There was a whole chapter about it in the book I consulted about Ron’s… problem. It said that suppressed homosexual urges were often the root cause of a man’s failure to perform, and that, if the female partner cannot face anal penetration, then rimming was a less terrifying possibility.
I’m paraphrasing.
But there was a paragraph devoted to the pleasure the nerve endings around your anus could generate.
I’d been dubious, but apparently I was wrong.
Ron was naked.
He was standing in front of the fireplace, his arms folded on the mantelpiece, his face buried in his forearms, a string of obscenities falling from his lips, his shoulders tensed, his feet planted firmly apart.
Kneeling behind him, and equally naked, was Harry.
He was holding Ron’s cheeks apart and doing something with his tongue that made Ron’s voice crack like it hadn’t done for years.
“Fuck, yes,” he gasped, arching his back and pushing his arse more firmly into Harry’s face. “Oh, Harry… yesmorefucktouchmeyes.”
One of Harry’s hands slid round to Ron’s front and started jerking and Ron cried out.
I backed away from the sight, unable to believe Harry was enjoying what he was doing with his mouth, despite the filthy noises he made as he lapped.
Unable to believe my eyes.
I stumbled downstairs to the kitchen and Flooed back to school, wringing my hands. Was I angry? Jealous? Surprised?
Aroused?
I paced around the Common Room for a couple of minutes before deciding that what I was was insane.
I took another pinch of powder and knelt on the hearth. Blushing in anticipation of what I’d see, I threw in the powder, called out for the sitting room at Grimmauld Place and plunged my head into the fire.
Blinking through the flames I looked up to see Ron standing over me, his thigh muscles trembling as Harry’s hand ran up and down his erection. Harry’s tongue was still working industriously between Ron’s cheeks and Ron’s babbling was incoherent and desperate.
As I gazed up, Harry squeezed and Ron bellowed and globules of ejaculate sizzled as they hit the flames, evaporating millimetres from my face. I flinched, sure they would look down and see me, but Ron’s face was still hidden in his folded arms and Harry was getting to his feet.
Ron’s chest was heaving as he recovered from his climax, but his breath hitched as Harry stepped closer and gripped Ron’s hips. Ron’s feet slid further apart, apparently lowering himself onto Harry’s waiting erection, because they groaned in unison.
I watched Ron brace himself as Harry started to thrust, their movements practised and almost beautiful. Harry’s hands ran up and down Ron’s chest and belly and he murmured jumbled endearments; Ron’s back was arched as he pushed back against Harry, welcoming him deep inside his body.
They were together in a way I could never compete with and I mentally berated Ron for trying so hard to make things work with me.
Finally, Harry’s arms wrapped around Ron’s waist and Ron braced one hand against the fireplace, letting his other close over Harry’s. At last, I could see Ron’s face, and it was filled with joy as he squeezed Harry’s hand and Harry thrust faster and more erratically and climaxed inside him.
They both sank to their knees, the flames painting shadows on their naked bodies as Ron turned in Harry’s embrace and kissed him.
I silently withdrew my head from the fire, sitting back on my heels and gazing into the flames.
I had lost what was obviously never mine to begin with, and I was going to have to look after the pair of them.