shocfix (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shocfix) wrote,@ 2005-05-28 01:00:00 |
 |
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I'll never have Hermione for Breakfast - H/R - NC-17
Title: I'll never have Hermione for Breakfast
Author:shocolate
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 3000
Rating: NC-17
Written for the We Lovemagicofisis community, over at magicoffriends.
I love you, my Sikrit Twin, and I miss you like whoa and my Ron misses your Harry and I hope this little fic helps you remember the important things in life.
Harry's arse.
There is a little treat, at the end, which isn’t quite Work Safe…
I'll never have Hermione for Breakfast
****
I wish I could say I’d always looked at the naked blokes in the showers, or watched Oliver’s hands grasp the shaft between his thighs, or something; at least then I’d have had some warning.
A bloke shouldn’t find out he’s even the tiniest bit gay from his ex-girlfriend, and she shouldn’t find out from his homework.
Homework.
I’d rather hoped that I’d left all that behind, but, as much as the Ministry were willing to overlook our lack of NEWTs, they still required us, between the DADA and the physical combat training, to churn out three foot long essays on anything from the history of the Wizengamot, to the treatment of prisoners in Azkaban.
To the various Dark Objects in the Department’s vaults.
Sounds straightforward enough: pick any object confiscated from Dark wizards over the last millennium, investigate its uses, write three feet on your findings.
Why would the Ministry even have an Evil Expanding Butt-Plug?
I’d waved it around, sniggering and making feeble jokes, tormenting Harry with it. Well, that’s just part of your duties, when your best mate is a shirtlifter; kill anyone else who does it, but tease him mercilessly about anything arse related that rears its ugly head.
Using the words ‘rear’ and ‘head’, if at all possible.
So, just to enjoy watching Harry blush as I studied it, measured it, researched it, activated it, documented it, I chose it.
Harry had rolled his eyes and selected the cursed Bludger that Wilfred Allcock had used during the Cannons v Puddlemere match in 1929, having bet heavily on the Cannons.
So, it was war.
Harry’s project was aimed at my soft spot, and mine at his.
The introduction to his essay was a history of the Cannons’ failures, as background to the crime of betting on them to win.
The introduction to mine was a detailed study of anal sex, as background to the crime of being stretched just that bit too far, when tortured by Death Eaters.
And I was rather surprised at just how far was too far. I had my research spread out on the kitchen table – complete with moving pictures of arses being fisted – ‘does it go in up to the elbow, Harry?’, ‘not with hands your size, Ron’ - or impaled on foot long, magically throbbing dildos – ‘look, Harry, it’s double ended’, ‘that’s so you can fuck back to back with someone you can’t stand looking at; you should get one for Malfoy’ – and I’d just made some remark to Harry about having written nine inches, and he’d made some scathing comment about nine inches always turning out to be six, when the Floo rattled and Hermione tripped into the kitchen.
Her Bless Them, They’re Doing Their Homework beaming smile was cut short when she saw my research.
“Ron!” she gasped, trying not to watch as my drawing of the Evil Expanding Butt-Plug, being screwed into place and activated, played over and over again.
“It’s his homework, Hermione,” Harry defended me, which he needn’t have done, not when there were curly black pubes visible in my drawing, and I’d been threatening to add bright green eyes, peering back over a shoulder and an arched back, as the EEB expanded, just to make it extra clear who it was being used on.
“Honestly,” I said, with my most innocent smile. “Homowork.”
“I am not that stupid,” she sniffed. “You are looking at pornography.”
“I most certainly am not,” I said, with great dignity, showing her the original Auror’s report on the EEB’s confiscation. “It took them two hours to remove it from the victim’s arse, and another three before he could stop whimpering and tell them who’d Cursed him. And you belittle his suffering, by calling it porn? I’m surprised at you, Hermione.”
Hermione blinked rapidly at me.
“Even if you researched the case, Ron,” she said carefully. “And even if you illustrated your essay. Such lovingly drawn, coloured pictures... when did you even learn the Charms to activate the drawings, anyway?”
“I couldn’t leave them Uncharmed,” I scoffed. “You wouldn’t get the effect of it being screwed in, and then opened up. A before and after isn’t good enough; not when it’s transparent and three inches across.”
She looked back and forth, from the buttocks clenching around the Fiendish Device, to my face.
Then she looked at Harry.
And back at the arse.
But she won’t have seen Harry’s arse clearly enough to recognise it.
“Is this just another method of tormenting your best friend, or are you in love with him?” she asked finally.
“What?” I gasped.
“I know you buy an unnecessary number of phallic shaped fruit and vegetables, to try and make Harry blush,” she said, “but this amount of study, and this detailed drawing of what you’d like to do to his arse, is... taking things to a completely different level.”
“This is so not what I want to do with his arse,” I said indignantly and Harry made a strange whimpering noise.
“Given it a lot of thought, have you?” she asked me carefully.
“No,” I said.
“Not even during all the time it took to draw it?”
I frowned at Harry and he shifted nervously, in his seat and on his arse. Why would I want to do anything to his arse? It was only Harry, it was only an arse.
Well, yes, it was Harry, but I wasn’t bent. Yes, I talked about him being an arse bandit, and stuff. A lot. But that was because I was teasing him; I wasn’t flirting.
And, OK, I’d put a hell of a lot of effort into my essay, but...
...well, Hermione likes it when I put a hell of a lot of effort into my essay, so it was clearly to impress her, not Harry.
But.
It had been over a year since I needed to impress Hermione. We’d broken up perfectly amicably, and were better friends than ever, and I almost never got distracted from what she was saying by watching her mouth and remembering that she’d sucked me off. And me and Harry had never talked about it, out of respect for her, not because I was too busy trying to find out everything he’d done with Terry.
I don’t fancy Terry.
"It's not fair, leading him on like this," Hermione said sternly.
How was I supposed to tell the difference between lovingly drawing his arse to wind him up and lovingly drawing his arse because it was his arse.
"How'm I supposed to tell the difference between lovingly drawing an arse to wind him up and lovingly drawing an arse because I like arses?" I asked her petulantly.
Harry whimpered again.
"I think that's your answer, Ron," she said gently. "If you're open to the idea of liking arses, then that's why you drew it."
I frowned at her.
"No, but maybe I just…"
She put her fingers to my lips and shook her head.
"I think you're in love with him," she said. "D'you think I don't know what you look like when you're in love with someone?"
With a kiss pressed to my cheek, she stepped back into the Floo, leaving me and Harry and a lovingly animated drawing of Harry's arse alone together.
I huffed and started gathering my work together, stacking the parchment carefully and lovingly smoothing down the lovingly drawn drawing of my Harry's lovely arse.
Bugger.
Finally, I sat down and looked at him.
He was looking back at me, with a ridiculous 'puppy about to be smacked with a rolled up newspaper' look on his lovely, lovely face. And I'm a cat person.
I'm not the fastest on the uptake, romancewise, but if I start using the word 'lovely' twice in every sentence, I think that's something like a clue.
"I know it's just a piss take," he said, with a fake smile and an even faker laugh. "Who makes a pass at someone by drawing their arse?"
"Um… me," I said, watching my fingers stroking my drawing. "I think."
I looked up at Harry, who had gone very, very still.
"Um," I said.
"Ron?" he prompted.
"I think I… enjoyed it more than a bloke normally would, if he was just drawing his mate's arse, for a joke."
"Because that's ever normal, is it?" he asked weakly.
"It's more than just…" I touched the EEB with a fingertip as it stretched the arse I'd spent so long drawing. "…Harry, how would I know?"
"Know what?" he asked, his eyes on my hand as it fondled his arse by proxy.
"Well," I said slowly. "I'm pretty sure I'm not queer, because if you gave me a drawing of Hannah's boobs or Terry's arse, I know which one I'd animate."
"'Course," he said. "That's always a pretty reliable indicator."
"And it's not as if I think 'Harry's gay, so he'll let any bloke who asks access his arse', because I'm pretty sure I'm straight, and I don't want Parkinson's mouth anywhere near my cock."
"'Course not," he said supportively.
"And I'm not vain enough to think you'd actually want me to."
"To?" he echoed. "T'wat?"
"To if," I said, licking my lips nervously. "To if we agree that I'm probably ninety-nine percent straight, with some sort of Harry clause, and that Hermione is right and that maybe I put so much effort into drawing this, because."
"Because?"
I looked up at him and his heart was in his eyes.
"Because," I said firmly.
"Being gay doesn't mean letting any bloke who asks access my arse," he said, his hand closing over mine and stilling them both on the hypnotically flexing drawing.
"'Course not," I said.
"But you are so not just any bloke."
I turned my hand over and our fingers tangled and clung.
"Wow," I said, looking up at him.
"Wow," he echoed, looking slightly stunned.
"Are we really gonna…?"
"Nothing you don't want to," he said swiftly. "All the fisting and stuff you've teased me about, that's really… pushing boundaries and stuff and… we don't have to do anything too… sexual..."
"What's the point of that?" I asked.
"What?"
"We already have a queer relationship, except for the sex," I said. "If we don't do the sex stuff… what changes?"
He laughed nervously.
"I think the whole issue here is that I have a thing about your arse," I said.
He nodded enthusiastically.
"And if I'm gonna finish my essay, and add bright green eyes, peering back over a shoulder and an arched back, I'm gonna need you to pose for me."
"Yes please," he said, grinning like a lunatic.
"G'won, then," I said.
"Just like that?" he asked indignantly. "Don't you even… kiss me, first?"
"I don't think we should do anything as intimate as kissing," I said, "not until we prove I really do want to access your arse."
He stood up, shaking his head and trying not to smile and he crossed his arms and grasped and pulled his t-shirt up and over his head.
"Nice," I said, admiring his skinny stomach and chest. "Arse, Potter."
He tutted and shoved the furniture back against the sink, giving himself room to step between me and the table. I sat back in my chair and folded my arms, frowning studiously at his performance.
He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans and let them fall.
"I've seen your legs, before," I pointed out.
"You've seen my arse," he said, kicking his jeans away and dropping his boxers.
His cock was half hard and I very carefully didn't lick my lips, or swallow.
"But not in action," I said.
"Just because you've questioned me, endlessly, about what to do with one," he said, taking his cock in hand and tugging on it, "doesn't mean you actually know what to do with one."
"Trust me," I said. "And turn 'round."
He did.
Now, I'd only ever slept with Hermione, and I was used to being bossed around in bed, so this was interesting.
He turned and bent over the table, his head drooping over folded arms, his long, slim back ending with the arse I'd spent so long drawing, without being able to do it justice.
"Oh, Harry," I breathed, standing and leaning over him, my hands running up his forearms to cover his hands and lock our fingers together, my mouth pressing kisses on his ear until he turned his head and I found his lips.
"Oh," he gasped, into the kiss. "I thought you didn't want to kiss me?"
"It's… not funny, anymore," I whispered, wrapping our arms around him.
"Good," he said thickly, squeezing my hands.
His eyes shone, half hidden behind glasses askew on his nose, his lips curving into a smile as I kissed him.
I stood, upright, pulling him up with me and holding him against me; he fitted perfectly, his head tipped back on my shoulder as I nuzzled his neck, inhaling deeply and wondering why his scent had never turned me on, before.
He shifted from foot to foot, his lovely arse rubbing against my jeans and the cock that was achingly trapped inside.
"Are you sure?" he murmured.
"Very sure," I whispered. "Very sure I want to, but very sure I don’t know what I'm doing."
He laughed and his body rumbled, beneath our hands.
"Let me show you," he said.
He unfurled his fingers, still interlaced with mine, flattening them on his chest. Leading my hands in slow circles, we touched him, fingertips brushing over hardening nipples, running through crisp black hair as our hands paused on his belly.
I looked down, over his shoulder, seeing his cock arching away from his body, barely missing the backs of my hands.
"Yes?" he said, turning his head to look at me.
"Yes," I echoed.
His left hand took mine around his waist, wrapping tightly around his body and holding him close; his right slid lower, his fingers circling his cock.
I moaned as I felt the heat under the delicate skin, just brushing past my fingertips as Harry stroked himself. He buried his face in my neck, his breath puffing against my skin as he arched into our hands.
He didn't use the same rhythm that I did, but it felt so natural to stroke him.
"Let me?" I whispered and his hand slid away, dipping between his thighs to tug on his balls as I touched him.
Touched him.
My Harry.
His erection was heavy and scorchingly hot in my hand and his breath hitched as I stroked him and he made a fantastic needy noise and sagged in my arms and came over my fingers, his cock pulsing.
"Wow," I croaked. "Wow, Harry."
He staggered upright and turned and looked up at me, with heavy lidded eyes.
"Wow," I said helplessly.
He laughed and helped me struggle out of my shirt; reaching up for a kiss, he hooked his fingers in the belt loops of my jeans, stepping backwards until he could sit on the kitchen table. He parted his legs and I stood between them and we kissed and I brought my hands up to cup his face and I wondered if I should wipe his come off my fingers, first, but was distracted by my jeans slithering down my legs.
Breaking our kiss, I looked down to see my boxers following them, as Harry reached for my cock.
"This OK?" he asked.
"More than," I said, stepping out of my boxers and jeans and kicking them away. "'Though I'll never have Hermione for breakfast ever, ever again?"
"What?" he asked, gazing up at me as if I was an idiot and squeezing my cock.
"Your naked arse on the table," I moaned. "How can Hermione eat off that table?"
"Shut up about Hermione," he said, incredulously. "If you can't cope with her sitting beside an ex-arse print, how'll you get rid of the image of me lying here, covered in your come?"
He lay back, legs spread wide, giving me a perfect view of some rather lovely balls and I automatically reached for them with one hand and my cock with the other.
He looked rather smug as I started stroking myself, bringing his feet up into the table, so he could writhe and arch up into my hand and pretty much ensure I could never let my mother in the kitchen, ever again.
I moaned and tugged harder, my other thumb slipping below his balls and between his cheeks.
I'd never touched it before, but I'd spent a long time drawing it and I knew exactly where to press gently inside him.
He gasped and arched his back, his hand falling to his reawakening cock and his eyes meeting mine as we both stroked harder and I fucked him with my thumb.
"Good boy," I breathed, stepping closer until our balls touched.
He whimpered and ground up against me, sending sparks up my spine as his cock brushed mine.
"Fuck, yes," I groaned, batting his hand away from his cock.
"Together," he gasped.
"Really?" I asked.
"Oh, yes," he said. "Together… stroke them, together. Keeper's hands."
I laughed and wrapped my hand about them and squeezed and Harry made an amazing, whimpering noise.
Or it may have been me.
Because, despite all the research and teasing I'd done about arses, I didn't even have a word for pressing my cock against Harry's, together, root to tip, and stroking them, together, my hand running smoothly up and down the shafts, my thumb circling both heads, together, until I came in absolute ribbons, all over his belly.
Not together.
Poor Harry was left reaching for his climax as I collapsed on top of him, and he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the ear.
"So," I muttered into his collarbone, "better than Terry?"
"Ron," he complained.
"I have to be better than Terry," I said. "You never desecrated my kitchen table with Terry."
"Not Terry, no," he said.
I leant up on my elbows.
"Not Terry?" I echoed. "Then who?"
"Remember that Muggle marine biologist??" he asked sheepishly.
"He smelt of fish," I said.
"He fucked me on the table."
He gave me another puppy look.
I got to my feet.
"Roll over," I growled.
art bycork
Title: I'll never have Hermione for Breakfast
Author:
shocolatePairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 3000
Rating: NC-17
Written for the We Love
magicofisis community, over at magicoffriends.I love you, my Sikrit Twin, and I miss you like whoa and my Ron misses your Harry and I hope this little fic helps you remember the important things in life.
Harry's arse.
There is a little treat, at the end, which isn’t quite Work Safe…
I'll never have Hermione for Breakfast
****
I wish I could say I’d always looked at the naked blokes in the showers, or watched Oliver’s hands grasp the shaft between his thighs, or something; at least then I’d have had some warning.
A bloke shouldn’t find out he’s even the tiniest bit gay from his ex-girlfriend, and she shouldn’t find out from his homework.
Homework.
I’d rather hoped that I’d left all that behind, but, as much as the Ministry were willing to overlook our lack of NEWTs, they still required us, between the DADA and the physical combat training, to churn out three foot long essays on anything from the history of the Wizengamot, to the treatment of prisoners in Azkaban.
To the various Dark Objects in the Department’s vaults.
Sounds straightforward enough: pick any object confiscated from Dark wizards over the last millennium, investigate its uses, write three feet on your findings.
Why would the Ministry even have an Evil Expanding Butt-Plug?
I’d waved it around, sniggering and making feeble jokes, tormenting Harry with it. Well, that’s just part of your duties, when your best mate is a shirtlifter; kill anyone else who does it, but tease him mercilessly about anything arse related that rears its ugly head.
Using the words ‘rear’ and ‘head’, if at all possible.
So, just to enjoy watching Harry blush as I studied it, measured it, researched it, activated it, documented it, I chose it.
Harry had rolled his eyes and selected the cursed Bludger that Wilfred Allcock had used during the Cannons v Puddlemere match in 1929, having bet heavily on the Cannons.
So, it was war.
Harry’s project was aimed at my soft spot, and mine at his.
The introduction to his essay was a history of the Cannons’ failures, as background to the crime of betting on them to win.
The introduction to mine was a detailed study of anal sex, as background to the crime of being stretched just that bit too far, when tortured by Death Eaters.
And I was rather surprised at just how far was too far. I had my research spread out on the kitchen table – complete with moving pictures of arses being fisted – ‘does it go in up to the elbow, Harry?’, ‘not with hands your size, Ron’ - or impaled on foot long, magically throbbing dildos – ‘look, Harry, it’s double ended’, ‘that’s so you can fuck back to back with someone you can’t stand looking at; you should get one for Malfoy’ – and I’d just made some remark to Harry about having written nine inches, and he’d made some scathing comment about nine inches always turning out to be six, when the Floo rattled and Hermione tripped into the kitchen.
Her Bless Them, They’re Doing Their Homework beaming smile was cut short when she saw my research.
“Ron!” she gasped, trying not to watch as my drawing of the Evil Expanding Butt-Plug, being screwed into place and activated, played over and over again.
“It’s his homework, Hermione,” Harry defended me, which he needn’t have done, not when there were curly black pubes visible in my drawing, and I’d been threatening to add bright green eyes, peering back over a shoulder and an arched back, as the EEB expanded, just to make it extra clear who it was being used on.
“Honestly,” I said, with my most innocent smile. “Homowork.”
“I am not that stupid,” she sniffed. “You are looking at pornography.”
“I most certainly am not,” I said, with great dignity, showing her the original Auror’s report on the EEB’s confiscation. “It took them two hours to remove it from the victim’s arse, and another three before he could stop whimpering and tell them who’d Cursed him. And you belittle his suffering, by calling it porn? I’m surprised at you, Hermione.”
Hermione blinked rapidly at me.
“Even if you researched the case, Ron,” she said carefully. “And even if you illustrated your essay. Such lovingly drawn, coloured pictures... when did you even learn the Charms to activate the drawings, anyway?”
“I couldn’t leave them Uncharmed,” I scoffed. “You wouldn’t get the effect of it being screwed in, and then opened up. A before and after isn’t good enough; not when it’s transparent and three inches across.”
She looked back and forth, from the buttocks clenching around the Fiendish Device, to my face.
Then she looked at Harry.
And back at the arse.
But she won’t have seen Harry’s arse clearly enough to recognise it.
“Is this just another method of tormenting your best friend, or are you in love with him?” she asked finally.
“What?” I gasped.
“I know you buy an unnecessary number of phallic shaped fruit and vegetables, to try and make Harry blush,” she said, “but this amount of study, and this detailed drawing of what you’d like to do to his arse, is... taking things to a completely different level.”
“This is so not what I want to do with his arse,” I said indignantly and Harry made a strange whimpering noise.
“Given it a lot of thought, have you?” she asked me carefully.
“No,” I said.
“Not even during all the time it took to draw it?”
I frowned at Harry and he shifted nervously, in his seat and on his arse. Why would I want to do anything to his arse? It was only Harry, it was only an arse.
Well, yes, it was Harry, but I wasn’t bent. Yes, I talked about him being an arse bandit, and stuff. A lot. But that was because I was teasing him; I wasn’t flirting.
And, OK, I’d put a hell of a lot of effort into my essay, but...
...well, Hermione likes it when I put a hell of a lot of effort into my essay, so it was clearly to impress her, not Harry.
But.
It had been over a year since I needed to impress Hermione. We’d broken up perfectly amicably, and were better friends than ever, and I almost never got distracted from what she was saying by watching her mouth and remembering that she’d sucked me off. And me and Harry had never talked about it, out of respect for her, not because I was too busy trying to find out everything he’d done with Terry.
I don’t fancy Terry.
"It's not fair, leading him on like this," Hermione said sternly.
How was I supposed to tell the difference between lovingly drawing his arse to wind him up and lovingly drawing his arse because it was his arse.
"How'm I supposed to tell the difference between lovingly drawing an arse to wind him up and lovingly drawing an arse because I like arses?" I asked her petulantly.
Harry whimpered again.
"I think that's your answer, Ron," she said gently. "If you're open to the idea of liking arses, then that's why you drew it."
I frowned at her.
"No, but maybe I just…"
She put her fingers to my lips and shook her head.
"I think you're in love with him," she said. "D'you think I don't know what you look like when you're in love with someone?"
With a kiss pressed to my cheek, she stepped back into the Floo, leaving me and Harry and a lovingly animated drawing of Harry's arse alone together.
I huffed and started gathering my work together, stacking the parchment carefully and lovingly smoothing down the lovingly drawn drawing of my Harry's lovely arse.
Bugger.
Finally, I sat down and looked at him.
He was looking back at me, with a ridiculous 'puppy about to be smacked with a rolled up newspaper' look on his lovely, lovely face. And I'm a cat person.
I'm not the fastest on the uptake, romancewise, but if I start using the word 'lovely' twice in every sentence, I think that's something like a clue.
"I know it's just a piss take," he said, with a fake smile and an even faker laugh. "Who makes a pass at someone by drawing their arse?"
"Um… me," I said, watching my fingers stroking my drawing. "I think."
I looked up at Harry, who had gone very, very still.
"Um," I said.
"Ron?" he prompted.
"I think I… enjoyed it more than a bloke normally would, if he was just drawing his mate's arse, for a joke."
"Because that's ever normal, is it?" he asked weakly.
"It's more than just…" I touched the EEB with a fingertip as it stretched the arse I'd spent so long drawing. "…Harry, how would I know?"
"Know what?" he asked, his eyes on my hand as it fondled his arse by proxy.
"Well," I said slowly. "I'm pretty sure I'm not queer, because if you gave me a drawing of Hannah's boobs or Terry's arse, I know which one I'd animate."
"'Course," he said. "That's always a pretty reliable indicator."
"And it's not as if I think 'Harry's gay, so he'll let any bloke who asks access his arse', because I'm pretty sure I'm straight, and I don't want Parkinson's mouth anywhere near my cock."
"'Course not," he said supportively.
"And I'm not vain enough to think you'd actually want me to."
"To?" he echoed. "T'wat?"
"To if," I said, licking my lips nervously. "To if we agree that I'm probably ninety-nine percent straight, with some sort of Harry clause, and that Hermione is right and that maybe I put so much effort into drawing this, because."
"Because?"
I looked up at him and his heart was in his eyes.
"Because," I said firmly.
"Being gay doesn't mean letting any bloke who asks access my arse," he said, his hand closing over mine and stilling them both on the hypnotically flexing drawing.
"'Course not," I said.
"But you are so not just any bloke."
I turned my hand over and our fingers tangled and clung.
"Wow," I said, looking up at him.
"Wow," he echoed, looking slightly stunned.
"Are we really gonna…?"
"Nothing you don't want to," he said swiftly. "All the fisting and stuff you've teased me about, that's really… pushing boundaries and stuff and… we don't have to do anything too… sexual..."
"What's the point of that?" I asked.
"What?"
"We already have a queer relationship, except for the sex," I said. "If we don't do the sex stuff… what changes?"
He laughed nervously.
"I think the whole issue here is that I have a thing about your arse," I said.
He nodded enthusiastically.
"And if I'm gonna finish my essay, and add bright green eyes, peering back over a shoulder and an arched back, I'm gonna need you to pose for me."
"Yes please," he said, grinning like a lunatic.
"G'won, then," I said.
"Just like that?" he asked indignantly. "Don't you even… kiss me, first?"
"I don't think we should do anything as intimate as kissing," I said, "not until we prove I really do want to access your arse."
He stood up, shaking his head and trying not to smile and he crossed his arms and grasped and pulled his t-shirt up and over his head.
"Nice," I said, admiring his skinny stomach and chest. "Arse, Potter."
He tutted and shoved the furniture back against the sink, giving himself room to step between me and the table. I sat back in my chair and folded my arms, frowning studiously at his performance.
He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans and let them fall.
"I've seen your legs, before," I pointed out.
"You've seen my arse," he said, kicking his jeans away and dropping his boxers.
His cock was half hard and I very carefully didn't lick my lips, or swallow.
"But not in action," I said.
"Just because you've questioned me, endlessly, about what to do with one," he said, taking his cock in hand and tugging on it, "doesn't mean you actually know what to do with one."
"Trust me," I said. "And turn 'round."
He did.
Now, I'd only ever slept with Hermione, and I was used to being bossed around in bed, so this was interesting.
He turned and bent over the table, his head drooping over folded arms, his long, slim back ending with the arse I'd spent so long drawing, without being able to do it justice.
"Oh, Harry," I breathed, standing and leaning over him, my hands running up his forearms to cover his hands and lock our fingers together, my mouth pressing kisses on his ear until he turned his head and I found his lips.
"Oh," he gasped, into the kiss. "I thought you didn't want to kiss me?"
"It's… not funny, anymore," I whispered, wrapping our arms around him.
"Good," he said thickly, squeezing my hands.
His eyes shone, half hidden behind glasses askew on his nose, his lips curving into a smile as I kissed him.
I stood, upright, pulling him up with me and holding him against me; he fitted perfectly, his head tipped back on my shoulder as I nuzzled his neck, inhaling deeply and wondering why his scent had never turned me on, before.
He shifted from foot to foot, his lovely arse rubbing against my jeans and the cock that was achingly trapped inside.
"Are you sure?" he murmured.
"Very sure," I whispered. "Very sure I want to, but very sure I don’t know what I'm doing."
He laughed and his body rumbled, beneath our hands.
"Let me show you," he said.
He unfurled his fingers, still interlaced with mine, flattening them on his chest. Leading my hands in slow circles, we touched him, fingertips brushing over hardening nipples, running through crisp black hair as our hands paused on his belly.
I looked down, over his shoulder, seeing his cock arching away from his body, barely missing the backs of my hands.
"Yes?" he said, turning his head to look at me.
"Yes," I echoed.
His left hand took mine around his waist, wrapping tightly around his body and holding him close; his right slid lower, his fingers circling his cock.
I moaned as I felt the heat under the delicate skin, just brushing past my fingertips as Harry stroked himself. He buried his face in my neck, his breath puffing against my skin as he arched into our hands.
He didn't use the same rhythm that I did, but it felt so natural to stroke him.
"Let me?" I whispered and his hand slid away, dipping between his thighs to tug on his balls as I touched him.
Touched him.
My Harry.
His erection was heavy and scorchingly hot in my hand and his breath hitched as I stroked him and he made a fantastic needy noise and sagged in my arms and came over my fingers, his cock pulsing.
"Wow," I croaked. "Wow, Harry."
He staggered upright and turned and looked up at me, with heavy lidded eyes.
"Wow," I said helplessly.
He laughed and helped me struggle out of my shirt; reaching up for a kiss, he hooked his fingers in the belt loops of my jeans, stepping backwards until he could sit on the kitchen table. He parted his legs and I stood between them and we kissed and I brought my hands up to cup his face and I wondered if I should wipe his come off my fingers, first, but was distracted by my jeans slithering down my legs.
Breaking our kiss, I looked down to see my boxers following them, as Harry reached for my cock.
"This OK?" he asked.
"More than," I said, stepping out of my boxers and jeans and kicking them away. "'Though I'll never have Hermione for breakfast ever, ever again?"
"What?" he asked, gazing up at me as if I was an idiot and squeezing my cock.
"Your naked arse on the table," I moaned. "How can Hermione eat off that table?"
"Shut up about Hermione," he said, incredulously. "If you can't cope with her sitting beside an ex-arse print, how'll you get rid of the image of me lying here, covered in your come?"
He lay back, legs spread wide, giving me a perfect view of some rather lovely balls and I automatically reached for them with one hand and my cock with the other.
He looked rather smug as I started stroking myself, bringing his feet up into the table, so he could writhe and arch up into my hand and pretty much ensure I could never let my mother in the kitchen, ever again.
I moaned and tugged harder, my other thumb slipping below his balls and between his cheeks.
I'd never touched it before, but I'd spent a long time drawing it and I knew exactly where to press gently inside him.
He gasped and arched his back, his hand falling to his reawakening cock and his eyes meeting mine as we both stroked harder and I fucked him with my thumb.
"Good boy," I breathed, stepping closer until our balls touched.
He whimpered and ground up against me, sending sparks up my spine as his cock brushed mine.
"Fuck, yes," I groaned, batting his hand away from his cock.
"Together," he gasped.
"Really?" I asked.
"Oh, yes," he said. "Together… stroke them, together. Keeper's hands."
I laughed and wrapped my hand about them and squeezed and Harry made an amazing, whimpering noise.
Or it may have been me.
Because, despite all the research and teasing I'd done about arses, I didn't even have a word for pressing my cock against Harry's, together, root to tip, and stroking them, together, my hand running smoothly up and down the shafts, my thumb circling both heads, together, until I came in absolute ribbons, all over his belly.
Not together.
Poor Harry was left reaching for his climax as I collapsed on top of him, and he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the ear.
"So," I muttered into his collarbone, "better than Terry?"
"Ron," he complained.
"I have to be better than Terry," I said. "You never desecrated my kitchen table with Terry."
"Not Terry, no," he said.
I leant up on my elbows.
"Not Terry?" I echoed. "Then who?"
"Remember that Muggle marine biologist??" he asked sheepishly.
"He smelt of fish," I said.
"He fucked me on the table."
He gave me another puppy look.
I got to my feet.
"Roll over," I growled.
art by
cork