The Games People Play - H/R - NC-17
Title: The Games People Play
Author: shocolate
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 1001
Rating: NC-17

It is Harry Potter’s birthday.

Happy, happy birthday, my darling boy.

You’re alive.

And buried, balls deep, in your Weasley.

So, this is for you.

Thank you for bringing me the most purely enjoyable things in my life – fandom and Ron’s arse.


The Games People Play
****
"What has come over the Muggles?" Ron asked, as he buried his face in Harry's neck and breathed heavily.

“What?" Harry asked, his legs still wrapped around Ron's waist, his climax still shivering through him. "Muggles? What?"

"They're behaving strangely," Ron said, pushing himself up on his elbows to look down into confused green eyes.

"As strangely as you asking random questions, when your cock is still up my arse?" Harry asked weakly.

"I walked here from the Leaky," Ron said, wriggling backwards until his softening cock slid free. "And the streets are full of weirdly dressed Muggles, speaking strange languages. Weirder than usual, I mean."

Harry adjusted his own cock as they squelched apart, burrowing into Ron's side as he settled beside him with a groan and a leg thrown across Harry's thighs.

"Why d'you walk?" he asked casually.

"'S a nice day," Ron shrugged, doodling in the cooling spunk smeared on Harry's belly.

"Did you really have time for a walk?" Harry said, trying hard not to pout. The Chief Auror shouldn't pout; there was probably something about it in the Departmental Guidelines.

"Hey," Ron said, leaning in to kiss the poutlet away. "None of that."

"We only get a couple of hours," Harry said.

"And I was early," Ron said firmly. "I left the office early and you wouldn't even have been here yet, and I had time to walk through Muggle London."

"You might have got lost," Harry said.

"I know where our hotel is," Ron protested. "We've only been coming here for an effing decade. Plus, I could just Apparate if I got lost."

Harry hummed his reluctant agreement and Ron wrapped his arms and legs tighter around his fretting partner.

"I'd never miss our time together," he said.

"We're together all day," Harry said, relaxing slightly and rocking his hips, letting his dazed cock rub against Ron's thigh, letting the friction spark something in his balls. "We see each other every evening, if only to sort out which kids sleep where."

"Our time," Ron sad, pressing harder against his rutting lover and watching his face, appreciatively. "Hermione and Ginny give us two hours a week and I won't waste a second."

Harry smiled as Ron's fingers slid lower and tugged on damp black curls.

"Need you," he murmured, spreading his legs as Ron's thigh moved aside and Ron's hand cupped his balls. "Need you more than…"

"Two hours," Ron said sternly, tugging on his prize and making Harry gasp. "You leave my sister at home with three small children; we're not gonna abuse their rules."

Harry grunted.

"I was gonna say 'need you more than ever'," he moaned as Ron's long fingers slid between his cheeks and caressed him. "I know how lucky we are. How many wives would let us do this?"

"You'd be surprised," Ron said, lapping at the salty skin of Harry's neck. "You know Malfoy hasn't touched his wife since he got his heir and his fingers stuck up Smith's arse.

"He got his heir stuck up Smith's arse?" Harry echoed.

"His fingers," Ron laughed, his actions mirroring his words, two fingers easily probing Harry's still aching entrance.

"Don't mention Malfoy while you're fingering me," Harry panted, fisting his slumbering cock. "And that's not the same thing, anyway. He was only married for and until he got his son; we're all still happily married."

"With a glorious fuck my brother-in-law clause," Ron agreed, biting Harry's throat and hooking his fingers inside him. "Tell me I was right, Harry."

"Won't" Harry said, gasping as Ron's fingers pressed just so and stilled. "Eight years on and you know I still think it was the stupidest proposal ever."

"Took the wind right out of their sails," Ron whispered, nuzzling Harry's ear. "I have my finger on your weak spot; tell me I was right."

Harry snorted.

"Move it," he moaned.

"Tell me," Ron murmured.

"Bastard," Harry gasped, bearing down on Ron's hand.

"Tell me I'm brilliant."

"You're brilliant," Harry whined as Ron's fingers thrust and twisted and Harry tugged on his awakening cock. "Best proposal ever. When your girlfriend asks if you're fucking your best mate, propose. Brilliant."

"And don't forget it," Ron said smugly, getting up on his knees and batting Harry's hand away from his erection.

"I won't forget Hermione's face," Harry said, watching Ron straddle him and groaning as Ron slathered lube on his aching cock. "'Ron, are you and Harry fucking?', 'I love you even more for accepting it; marry me?' I thought she'd kill you."

Ron shuffled forward and reached behind him for Harry's cock, holding it at his entrance and rocking gently.

"She thought she'd lost me," he said, lowering himself until Harry was buried, balls deep, inside him. "Never occurred to her that you'd share."

Harry made a needy noise as Ron's body engulfed him.

"I care too much about Hermione to make her put up with you, full time," he moaned.

"And I take it up the arse, so my poor sister doesn’t have to," Ron gasped, raising and lowering himself.

"Fuck, you're a good… brother," Harry panted, planting his feet and driving up to meet him.

"Fuck, we're lucky," Ron said, leaning down and stealing a kiss.

"Fuck," Harry agreed, his hands cupping Ron's arse and holding him firmly in place as he thrust harder.

"Fuck, yes," Ron whispered, watching Harry's face as he came.

"Wow," Harry croaked.

"Really," Ron said, letting Harry's cock slip free and settling on it like a broody hen, "what's come over the Muggles?"

"Oh, Ron," Harry slurred, trying to blink him into focus, "'S fer th'Olympics."

"Limb bricks?" Ron asked, frowning doubtfully.

"O-lym-pics," Harry huffed. "Muggle sports thing; it's in London, this summer. Like the World Cup, but all sorts of sports."

"Like… football," Ron said proudly, showing off seventeen years of Dean's influence.

"Yeah," Harry said, "and running, jumping… wrestling… 'n'swimming. Oiled, hair free men, in teeny, tiny swimming trunks."

"Oily limp pricks it is, then," Ron smirked.