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A Tale of Two Pretties
Title: A Tale of Two Pretties
Author:shocolate
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words : 2446
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JKR, all descriptions of genitalia are fictional, and do not refer to DJR.
Written for the![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif)
hprwfqf, 2007.
My challenge was The twins dose Ron with Veritaserum or equivalent to force him to admit to his feelings for Hermione. Under questioning, however, an entirely different confession gets made. And then, of course, they shag
Also, and very lazily, and I should be spanked for it, dedicated to my belovedmaple_mahogany, for your birthday. I miss you desperately, my squishy.
Many thanks to mymagicofisis, for the perceptive beta, with much squee and bounce – and this comment was already included when I sent her the document, so, no pressure!
A Tale of Two Pretties
****
There's some Muggle book that starts with 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.'
Hermione read big chunks of it to me, to depress me.
No, that's unfair; she only ever has good motives for her insanity, my Hermione. She was trying to inspire me. Us. The bloke in the book does the right thing and ends up sacrificing himself.
Mental.
Not the bloke.
Hermione.
I don't need to know about some fictional bloke having his head chopped off to know about doing the right thing. She doesn't have to train me; she knows I'd do anything for Harry, and I know she feels the same way.
Anyway.
The day it happened was just like the book. Luckily, it wasn't the ultimate sacrifice.
But it was the worst day of my life – and then it got even worse - until it was the best.
We were so focussed on the whole finding the Horcruxes thing, we really hadn't given much thought to the destroying them bit.
Looking back, well, yeah - look what happened to Dumbledore's hand when he cracked the ring.
How Harry managed to fluke destroying one when he was twelve, I'll never know - I guess the moral is always carry a Basilisk fang.
Charmed life, my Harry.
In a totally doomed way.
So.
We found Hufflepuff's Cup.
The blasted thing was only in Harry's vault, at Gringott's. No, You Know Who didn't hide it there.
We ended up there because Hermione reckoned he took it with him, the night he went after baby Harry. She reckons he split off what she calls a tranche of his soul and then he what I call Horcruxed it into the Cup when he killed Harry's dad.
She says that Horcrux isn't a verb, but I say that tranche isn't even a word.
Anyway.
You Know Who was blown to smithereens when he attacked Harry, the Cup went rolling off into the rubble, and the Ministry being so incompetent, no one even searched the ruins at Godric's Hollow for potential Dark Artefacts, they just stuffed everything that wasn't too exploded into Harry's vault.
So, we went and had a rummage, and there it was!
Bloody brilliant, my Hermione.
Maybe she should have taken it somewhere else to destroy it, I grant you that much, because it was a pretty impressive explosion, in an enclosed space, and there was gold and blood and jewels and blood and blood everywhere and we were blown out the door of the vault.
Harry and I were pretty battered, but Hermione had been the one holding the cup, and there was so much blood and Harry and I couldn't stop it and I have never been so terrified in my life.
We managed to get her patched up and to St Mungo’s, and waited until she was out of danger before slinking off into the night. The famous, missing Harry Potter shouldn’t really hang around in public places, you know? We couldn’t face anyone at Grimmauld Place or the Burrow, and we ended up outside Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes at nearly midnight.
We hadn’t actually seen anyone for several months, and the twins were both furious and delighted to see us.
Fred couldn’t make up his mind whether to hug me or shake me and we sort of clung and shook together.
And then George noticed that Hermione was elsewhere and that Harry and I were covered in dried blood and everything went pear shaped for a minute – I didn’t know they cared, actually. About Hermione, or about me. It was kinda nice. For them.
Anyway, they took us upstairs and got us a change of clothes and a meal and a stiff drink.
“See, this,” I said, sitting on the floor, leaning against a couch beside Harry’s legs and waving my glass of Firewhiskey up at him, “is why we came here, and not to the Burrow.”
“’Sright,” he said. “Your mum’s great, but I didn’t need a Butterbeer.”
“Ah, we always know what a distressed soul needs,” Fred said cheerfully. “Another shot?”
We both held out our glasses and George refilled them.
“Worst day, ever,” I said mournfully. “I can’t get all the blood out of my head.”
Harry’s leg pressed against my side and he patted my shoulder.
“But she’s alright, your bird,” Fred said comfortingly.
Harry snorted.
“Not my bird,” I hiccoughed.
“No. Way,” George said. “You still haven’t asked her?”
“’Snothing to ask,” I said.
Fred snorted and nodded at George, who nodded back.
“Really?” George asked.
“Nothing,” I said solemnly, taking another drink and blinking up at him as he took my glass out of my hand. “Leave it, George, I’m fine, I’m not drunk.”
“Just topping you up,” he said, clinking the flame shaped bottle against my glass.
“Good. Yes. Right.”
I burped loudly, took my drink and swallowed a mouthful.
They both watched me carefully and my heart lifted at their concern.
“Nothing to ask, Ron?” Fred said.
“Hmmm?”
“Hermione. You don’t want to ask her out?”
“Nope,” I said cheerfully. “Lovely girl; too much like mum, but with nicer tits.”
Harry gasped and smothered a giggle.
“But you fancy her,” George prompted.
“Nah,” I said, taking another drink. “I used to, but I was wrong.”
“Wrong, how?” Fred asked.
“Not wrong about the tits,” I said solemnly. “Lovely tits; let me play with them for ages and ages.”
“Ron,” Harry protested. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Softer nipples than you’d expect from someone so prickly,” I said, warming to my subject. “And pinker; way girlier than you’d expect. You’d expect something much more sensible than soft, pink nipples. Something made of parchment, possibly.”
I had no idea why the twins gawped at me.
“What have you done to him?” Harry asked them.
“Nothing,” Fred protested.
“Hardly anything,” George agreed.
“We just wanted him to admit he liked her,” Fred said weakly.
“It’s called Tattling Teardrops,” George said. “Just a drop in his whiskey.”
“Taste good,” I said.
“The whiskey?” Harry asked, leaning down with an arm round my shoulders.
“The nipples,” I explained.
“Right,” Harry said. “I’m putting you to bed.”
“See,” I said happily. “That’s why I was wrong!”
“What is?” Fred asked.
“I thought I fancied Hermione,” I said. “And I got distracted for ages by tasting her nipples…. where was I?”
“Distracted,” George said, biting his lip. “Nipples.”
“Right,” I said brightly, reaching for my drink and pouting up at Harry when he took it away. “But that was a huge mistake, ’cos Harry’s nipples are much perkier.”
There was a ringing silence.
“Specially if he’s bare-chested and walks under a lamp,” I explained. “If the light just catches them from above.”
“Bed,” Harry said firmly.
“And he’s got such a beautiful cock, that I’d much rather suck on,” I continued. “Which poor Hermione can’t compete with, now, can she?”
I sat back and folded my arms triumphantly.
Fred made a strange, strangled noise.
“So,” I said. “That’s why I split up with Hermione.”
I beamed up at Harry and saw his stricken face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him. “Don’t worry about her, she said she always knew you’d come first with me. Then she laughed a bit hysterically, but I don’t know why.”
Harry opened his mouth, but seemed to have nothing to say.
I smiled encouragingly at him and he frowned and it felt like a partition lifted inside my head and I heard what I’d been saying and the smile slid off my face like ice cream melting on hot pumpkin pie.
The twins were babbling and swearing and apologising and Harry’s jaw was set and his nostrils were flaring and I wanted to die.
“Oh, Harry,” I croaked.
“Fuck, Ron, we’re so sorry,” Fred whispered. “We put something in your drink so you’d spill the beans about Hermione.”
I scrambled backwards, on hands and feet and arse, trying to get away from Harry, and he fell to his knees beside me.
“No, don’t,” he said. “It’s OK.”
I shook my head mournfully. “No, it isn’t,” I moaned. “I am so, so sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “It was them!”
Fred and George carried on apologising.
“They didn’t know what’d happen,” I whimpered.
“It’s alright!” Harry insisted.
“How can you say that?”
Harry’s eyes narrowed.
He reached for my abandoned drink and gulped it down.
“Harry!” we all gasped.
“It. Is. Fine,” he said firmly. “More than fine. Wonderful.”
“Harry?” I squeaked. “But you looked stricken when I was babbling.”
“Tattling,” Fred murmured.
“I was embarrassed – for you – no one is allowed to upset my beautiful boy – and I was gonna kill your brothers for doing that to you – well, not George so much, because he’s so much hotter than Fred -”
“Hey!” Fred complained.
“- and then you said you wanted to suck my cock and I was instantly hard and I hadn’t drunk any of their blasted Cocksuckers Cocktail - ”
“Not bad!” George interrupted.
“- and then I was even more embarrassed - and that wasn’t how I’d ever imagined you offering to suck it and, believe me, I thought I’d come up with every possible scenario – and d’you think you could offer with loads of Quidditch innuendo – and maybe wear your old uniform – and I didn’t know what to say and I couldn’t just sit there and say ‘yes, please’ and my cock was aching and I couldn’t just unzip in front of Fred and George – well, not Fred, anyway –”
George sniggered.
“- and, please, I want your beautiful lips wrapped round it and those amazing, long fingers sliding inside me – and this is the only way to show you I mean it – and oh my god I can hear what I’m saying – but it’s for you - so it’s OK.”
He ground to a panting halt and looked at me.
“Oh, Harry,” I breathed, scrambling onto my knees and reaching for him.
“Merlin!” Fred muttered.
“Fuck off, the pair of you,” I said, my eyes not leaving Harry’s, which were struggling to shake off the potion and focus on me, and I was gonna wait for this until he was conscious.
“Hey,” Fred complained, as George dragged him out of the room.
“Oh, Harry,” I said, smiling at him and watching him take a shuddering breath and work through the haze.
“Oh,” he said, wide eyed.
“Yeah,” I said, biting my lip and moaning as his eyes flickered to my mouth.
“Did I really just… oh.”
“So, George?” I asked.
“Um,” he said.
“Well, that explains why you can always tell them apart,” I said.
“Sorry,” he said, looking embarrassed.
I grinned down at him and he shrugged.
“So,” I said slowly. “Me?”
“So you!” he moaned.
“So you, too,” I echoed. “So, so you.”
He moved closer and his tongue peeped out and wetted his lips.
“So,” I said. “Do we just kiss and take things slowly, or do we go straight to the cock sucking?”
“Ron!” he laughed.
“Well, it was what we both seemed to have thought about,” I said, dragging my t-shirt off over my head and smiling as he automatically copied me.
“We have to kiss first,” he protested.
“Why?” I said and he huffed.
“You are not gonna go down on me without kissing me, first!” he said indignantly.
“I thought things’d be simpler with a bloke,” I complained, leaning down and covering his pouting lips with mine.
He smiled against my mouth and I bore him backwards onto the shabby rug, which twitched and fluffed up beneath him.
“What was that?” he murmured, shifting against the fur.
“Another Wheeze,” I said, reaching for the buttons on his jeans. “Threadbare Skin Rug – looks all innocent when your parents come over, fluffs up when you need it to.”
He snorted and helpfully lifted his arse for me as I tugged his trousers and boxers off.
“It’s not gonna… join in, is it?” he asked, snuggling his cheeks down into the fuzz.
“No,” I assured him, kneeling between his parted thighs and admiring him.
He was still too thin and his ribs were visible beneath those perky nipples I’d admired; the tangled very happy looking trail of crisp black hair led to that utterly beautiful cock that I had only ever dared look at out of the corner of my eye.
He unsubtly arched his back and it strained towards me.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, here,” I warned him, reaching out and running my fingers down his velvety skin.
He hissed.
“Isn’t there a… spell?” he gasped.
“Fellatio!” I sniggered and he groaned. “Nah, really, there isn’t; Hermione checked.”
“Too much information,” he complained. “Any information is too much, ‘cos your mouth is supposed to be full.”
“What if I’m no good at it?” I asked, stroking him firmly and enjoying the heat and weight of him in my hand.
“Fuck, Ron,” he whimpered. “You made me hard by saying you’d suck it – there is nothing you could do wrong with my cock in your mouth – now, suck the fucking thing!”
I sniggered and bent my head, inhaling his scent as I brushed my lips across the head of his cock.
Harry yelped and twitched and his hands scrabbled frantically across his chest.
I looked up through my fringe as I took him in my mouth and watched the cords stand out in his neck as he cried out, and then I couldn’t watch him anymore, because I was concentrating hard on what I was doing, with my tongue on his cock and my fingers on his balls, and flatteringly soon he was shaking beneath me and flooding my mouth as he came.
And it was foul, so I swallowed swiftly and looked up at him.
His eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily and his hands were buried in the fur rug and his legs were wantonly spread and he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
And I had done that to him.
And I kicked off my jeans and boxers and lay beside him, curling my body around his as he snuggled against me and the smug rug flowed over us.
And it was the best day of my life.
And I was so proud of myself, and I thought of the end of Hermione’s book, and how she’d be so proud of me, thinking of literature at a time like this.
It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known.
Title: A Tale of Two Pretties
Author:
shocolatePairing: Harry/Ron
Words : 2446
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JKR, all descriptions of genitalia are fictional, and do not refer to DJR.
Written for the
hprwfqf, 2007.My challenge was The twins dose Ron with Veritaserum or equivalent to force him to admit to his feelings for Hermione. Under questioning, however, an entirely different confession gets made. And then, of course, they shag
Also, and very lazily, and I should be spanked for it, dedicated to my beloved
maple_mahogany, for your birthday. I miss you desperately, my squishy.Many thanks to my
magicofisis, for the perceptive beta, with much squee and bounce – and this comment was already included when I sent her the document, so, no pressure!A Tale of Two Pretties
****
There's some Muggle book that starts with 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.'
Hermione read big chunks of it to me, to depress me.
No, that's unfair; she only ever has good motives for her insanity, my Hermione. She was trying to inspire me. Us. The bloke in the book does the right thing and ends up sacrificing himself.
Mental.
Not the bloke.
Hermione.
I don't need to know about some fictional bloke having his head chopped off to know about doing the right thing. She doesn't have to train me; she knows I'd do anything for Harry, and I know she feels the same way.
Anyway.
The day it happened was just like the book. Luckily, it wasn't the ultimate sacrifice.
But it was the worst day of my life – and then it got even worse - until it was the best.
We were so focussed on the whole finding the Horcruxes thing, we really hadn't given much thought to the destroying them bit.
Looking back, well, yeah - look what happened to Dumbledore's hand when he cracked the ring.
How Harry managed to fluke destroying one when he was twelve, I'll never know - I guess the moral is always carry a Basilisk fang.
Charmed life, my Harry.
In a totally doomed way.
So.
We found Hufflepuff's Cup.
The blasted thing was only in Harry's vault, at Gringott's. No, You Know Who didn't hide it there.
We ended up there because Hermione reckoned he took it with him, the night he went after baby Harry. She reckons he split off what she calls a tranche of his soul and then he what I call Horcruxed it into the Cup when he killed Harry's dad.
She says that Horcrux isn't a verb, but I say that tranche isn't even a word.
Anyway.
You Know Who was blown to smithereens when he attacked Harry, the Cup went rolling off into the rubble, and the Ministry being so incompetent, no one even searched the ruins at Godric's Hollow for potential Dark Artefacts, they just stuffed everything that wasn't too exploded into Harry's vault.
So, we went and had a rummage, and there it was!
Bloody brilliant, my Hermione.
Maybe she should have taken it somewhere else to destroy it, I grant you that much, because it was a pretty impressive explosion, in an enclosed space, and there was gold and blood and jewels and blood and blood everywhere and we were blown out the door of the vault.
Harry and I were pretty battered, but Hermione had been the one holding the cup, and there was so much blood and Harry and I couldn't stop it and I have never been so terrified in my life.
We managed to get her patched up and to St Mungo’s, and waited until she was out of danger before slinking off into the night. The famous, missing Harry Potter shouldn’t really hang around in public places, you know? We couldn’t face anyone at Grimmauld Place or the Burrow, and we ended up outside Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes at nearly midnight.
We hadn’t actually seen anyone for several months, and the twins were both furious and delighted to see us.
Fred couldn’t make up his mind whether to hug me or shake me and we sort of clung and shook together.
And then George noticed that Hermione was elsewhere and that Harry and I were covered in dried blood and everything went pear shaped for a minute – I didn’t know they cared, actually. About Hermione, or about me. It was kinda nice. For them.
Anyway, they took us upstairs and got us a change of clothes and a meal and a stiff drink.
“See, this,” I said, sitting on the floor, leaning against a couch beside Harry’s legs and waving my glass of Firewhiskey up at him, “is why we came here, and not to the Burrow.”
“’Sright,” he said. “Your mum’s great, but I didn’t need a Butterbeer.”
“Ah, we always know what a distressed soul needs,” Fred said cheerfully. “Another shot?”
We both held out our glasses and George refilled them.
“Worst day, ever,” I said mournfully. “I can’t get all the blood out of my head.”
Harry’s leg pressed against my side and he patted my shoulder.
“But she’s alright, your bird,” Fred said comfortingly.
Harry snorted.
“Not my bird,” I hiccoughed.
“No. Way,” George said. “You still haven’t asked her?”
“’Snothing to ask,” I said.
Fred snorted and nodded at George, who nodded back.
“Really?” George asked.
“Nothing,” I said solemnly, taking another drink and blinking up at him as he took my glass out of my hand. “Leave it, George, I’m fine, I’m not drunk.”
“Just topping you up,” he said, clinking the flame shaped bottle against my glass.
“Good. Yes. Right.”
I burped loudly, took my drink and swallowed a mouthful.
They both watched me carefully and my heart lifted at their concern.
“Nothing to ask, Ron?” Fred said.
“Hmmm?”
“Hermione. You don’t want to ask her out?”
“Nope,” I said cheerfully. “Lovely girl; too much like mum, but with nicer tits.”
Harry gasped and smothered a giggle.
“But you fancy her,” George prompted.
“Nah,” I said, taking another drink. “I used to, but I was wrong.”
“Wrong, how?” Fred asked.
“Not wrong about the tits,” I said solemnly. “Lovely tits; let me play with them for ages and ages.”
“Ron,” Harry protested. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Softer nipples than you’d expect from someone so prickly,” I said, warming to my subject. “And pinker; way girlier than you’d expect. You’d expect something much more sensible than soft, pink nipples. Something made of parchment, possibly.”
I had no idea why the twins gawped at me.
“What have you done to him?” Harry asked them.
“Nothing,” Fred protested.
“Hardly anything,” George agreed.
“We just wanted him to admit he liked her,” Fred said weakly.
“It’s called Tattling Teardrops,” George said. “Just a drop in his whiskey.”
“Taste good,” I said.
“The whiskey?” Harry asked, leaning down with an arm round my shoulders.
“The nipples,” I explained.
“Right,” Harry said. “I’m putting you to bed.”
“See,” I said happily. “That’s why I was wrong!”
“What is?” Fred asked.
“I thought I fancied Hermione,” I said. “And I got distracted for ages by tasting her nipples…. where was I?”
“Distracted,” George said, biting his lip. “Nipples.”
“Right,” I said brightly, reaching for my drink and pouting up at Harry when he took it away. “But that was a huge mistake, ’cos Harry’s nipples are much perkier.”
There was a ringing silence.
“Specially if he’s bare-chested and walks under a lamp,” I explained. “If the light just catches them from above.”
“Bed,” Harry said firmly.
“And he’s got such a beautiful cock, that I’d much rather suck on,” I continued. “Which poor Hermione can’t compete with, now, can she?”
I sat back and folded my arms triumphantly.
Fred made a strange, strangled noise.
“So,” I said. “That’s why I split up with Hermione.”
I beamed up at Harry and saw his stricken face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him. “Don’t worry about her, she said she always knew you’d come first with me. Then she laughed a bit hysterically, but I don’t know why.”
Harry opened his mouth, but seemed to have nothing to say.
I smiled encouragingly at him and he frowned and it felt like a partition lifted inside my head and I heard what I’d been saying and the smile slid off my face like ice cream melting on hot pumpkin pie.
The twins were babbling and swearing and apologising and Harry’s jaw was set and his nostrils were flaring and I wanted to die.
“Oh, Harry,” I croaked.
“Fuck, Ron, we’re so sorry,” Fred whispered. “We put something in your drink so you’d spill the beans about Hermione.”
I scrambled backwards, on hands and feet and arse, trying to get away from Harry, and he fell to his knees beside me.
“No, don’t,” he said. “It’s OK.”
I shook my head mournfully. “No, it isn’t,” I moaned. “I am so, so sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “It was them!”
Fred and George carried on apologising.
“They didn’t know what’d happen,” I whimpered.
“It’s alright!” Harry insisted.
“How can you say that?”
Harry’s eyes narrowed.
He reached for my abandoned drink and gulped it down.
“Harry!” we all gasped.
“It. Is. Fine,” he said firmly. “More than fine. Wonderful.”
“Harry?” I squeaked. “But you looked stricken when I was babbling.”
“Tattling,” Fred murmured.
“I was embarrassed – for you – no one is allowed to upset my beautiful boy – and I was gonna kill your brothers for doing that to you – well, not George so much, because he’s so much hotter than Fred -”
“Hey!” Fred complained.
“- and then you said you wanted to suck my cock and I was instantly hard and I hadn’t drunk any of their blasted Cocksuckers Cocktail - ”
“Not bad!” George interrupted.
“- and then I was even more embarrassed - and that wasn’t how I’d ever imagined you offering to suck it and, believe me, I thought I’d come up with every possible scenario – and d’you think you could offer with loads of Quidditch innuendo – and maybe wear your old uniform – and I didn’t know what to say and I couldn’t just sit there and say ‘yes, please’ and my cock was aching and I couldn’t just unzip in front of Fred and George – well, not Fred, anyway –”
George sniggered.
“- and, please, I want your beautiful lips wrapped round it and those amazing, long fingers sliding inside me – and this is the only way to show you I mean it – and oh my god I can hear what I’m saying – but it’s for you - so it’s OK.”
He ground to a panting halt and looked at me.
“Oh, Harry,” I breathed, scrambling onto my knees and reaching for him.
“Merlin!” Fred muttered.
“Fuck off, the pair of you,” I said, my eyes not leaving Harry’s, which were struggling to shake off the potion and focus on me, and I was gonna wait for this until he was conscious.
“Hey,” Fred complained, as George dragged him out of the room.
“Oh, Harry,” I said, smiling at him and watching him take a shuddering breath and work through the haze.
“Oh,” he said, wide eyed.
“Yeah,” I said, biting my lip and moaning as his eyes flickered to my mouth.
“Did I really just… oh.”
“So, George?” I asked.
“Um,” he said.
“Well, that explains why you can always tell them apart,” I said.
“Sorry,” he said, looking embarrassed.
I grinned down at him and he shrugged.
“So,” I said slowly. “Me?”
“So you!” he moaned.
“So you, too,” I echoed. “So, so you.”
He moved closer and his tongue peeped out and wetted his lips.
“So,” I said. “Do we just kiss and take things slowly, or do we go straight to the cock sucking?”
“Ron!” he laughed.
“Well, it was what we both seemed to have thought about,” I said, dragging my t-shirt off over my head and smiling as he automatically copied me.
“We have to kiss first,” he protested.
“Why?” I said and he huffed.
“You are not gonna go down on me without kissing me, first!” he said indignantly.
“I thought things’d be simpler with a bloke,” I complained, leaning down and covering his pouting lips with mine.
He smiled against my mouth and I bore him backwards onto the shabby rug, which twitched and fluffed up beneath him.
“What was that?” he murmured, shifting against the fur.
“Another Wheeze,” I said, reaching for the buttons on his jeans. “Threadbare Skin Rug – looks all innocent when your parents come over, fluffs up when you need it to.”
He snorted and helpfully lifted his arse for me as I tugged his trousers and boxers off.
“It’s not gonna… join in, is it?” he asked, snuggling his cheeks down into the fuzz.
“No,” I assured him, kneeling between his parted thighs and admiring him.
He was still too thin and his ribs were visible beneath those perky nipples I’d admired; the tangled very happy looking trail of crisp black hair led to that utterly beautiful cock that I had only ever dared look at out of the corner of my eye.
He unsubtly arched his back and it strained towards me.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, here,” I warned him, reaching out and running my fingers down his velvety skin.
He hissed.
“Isn’t there a… spell?” he gasped.
“Fellatio!” I sniggered and he groaned. “Nah, really, there isn’t; Hermione checked.”
“Too much information,” he complained. “Any information is too much, ‘cos your mouth is supposed to be full.”
“What if I’m no good at it?” I asked, stroking him firmly and enjoying the heat and weight of him in my hand.
“Fuck, Ron,” he whimpered. “You made me hard by saying you’d suck it – there is nothing you could do wrong with my cock in your mouth – now, suck the fucking thing!”
I sniggered and bent my head, inhaling his scent as I brushed my lips across the head of his cock.
Harry yelped and twitched and his hands scrabbled frantically across his chest.
I looked up through my fringe as I took him in my mouth and watched the cords stand out in his neck as he cried out, and then I couldn’t watch him anymore, because I was concentrating hard on what I was doing, with my tongue on his cock and my fingers on his balls, and flatteringly soon he was shaking beneath me and flooding my mouth as he came.
And it was foul, so I swallowed swiftly and looked up at him.
His eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily and his hands were buried in the fur rug and his legs were wantonly spread and he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
And I had done that to him.
And I kicked off my jeans and boxers and lay beside him, curling my body around his as he snuggled against me and the smug rug flowed over us.
And it was the best day of my life.
And I was so proud of myself, and I thought of the end of Hermione’s book, and how she’d be so proud of me, thinking of literature at a time like this.
It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known.