How Many Holes Has An Ocarina Got? - H/R - NC-17
Title: How Many Holes Has An Ocarina Got?
Author: shocolate
Pairing: Harry/Ron (and Ron/Hermione, which I'm only warning for because I'll post it on harry_and_ron, but it's against my moral code to warn for mentions of canon and perfect shagging, and now I'm grumpy)
Words: 3908
Rating: NC-17

For my oncelikeshari, for your birthday.

2009.

The Year of Grint.

It's gonna be extraordinary.

I have a bucket ready.


How Many Holes Has An Ocarina Got?
****
I've had my share - probably more than my share - of heart stopping moments. What with the whole Voldemort thing, and three years as an Auror.

And dying.

But nothing compared to how I felt during an insane conversation with Hermione.

Brilliant, but scary, isn't that what Ron always thought?

The three of us live at Grimmauld Place - they moved back in to cheer me up when I broke up with Ginny for the sixth time - and it is cheerier, not to live alone, even if it rather emphasises that I sleep alone.

Finding someone who actually fancies me, and not the Chosen One, being more effort than it's worth.

So, I tend not to date and I could wank for England, if I wasn't big on avoiding publicity.

And Ron and Hermione are living happily ever after, are ignoring Mrs Weasley's pointed remarks about weddings, and are very conscientious about Silencing Charms on their bedroom.

Best of all, Ron and I are partners, at work; it's all we ever dreamt of. No one else I'd ever trust at my back, like that.

So, we're all happy, happy, happy.

Except Ron has been a bit twitchy, lately, and I've been meaning to take him out and get him drunk and listen to him bitch about his mother nagging Hermione about weddings.

Apparently Neville beat me to it, because Ron was out at the pub, one night, when Hermione started the world's most insane conversation.

"I need a favour, Harry," she said, sitting beside me on the couch and tucking her feet up under her.

A perfectly innocent beginning to any conversation and one that tricked me into saying "of course."

I'd do anything for her, after all.

"I wouldn't ask," she said earnestly, "only..."

"Only?" I prompted.

"Only Ginny said you liked to finger her bottom, during sex."

I gaped at her, unable to believe what she'd said - or that girls discuss things like that.

"What?" I finally squeaked.

"Oh, don't worry, she hasn't told anyone else," she comforted me, spectacularly inadequately. "And she really liked it."

"Um... good?" I said, unable to hazard a guess as to where the conversation was going, or what favour Hermione could possibly be leading up to.

"Oh, yes," she said happily. "Actually, she misses it; it's not as common as she thought."

I blinked helplessly.

"I'm... I have no idea what you want from me," I said weakly, resolutely not thinking about her bottom.

"I'm... hoping you are still as... anal... as Ginny remembers," she said.

"Um," I said.

"And that you'd be willing to..." she trailed off, her calm facade cracking.

"Hermione, I'm not gonna..." I made a twirly, yet penetrative, gesture with my middle finger and her eyes widened as she looked at it and she squirmed and shook her head firmly.

"No," she said. "I don't want..."

"Don't want what?" I asked, making a fist to hide my bottom accessing finger.

"I'm really not very fond of bottoms," she said primly. "I think it's probably being the child of dentists - it's so unhygienic - although, of course, we're talking fingers here, not mouths - although I do know that people..."

She blushed.

"Hermione?" I prompted.

She squared her shoulders.

"I'm not a prude," she said. "I've encouraged Ron to suggest sexual acts that he finds appealing, and once we've discussed them, we have tried all sorts of things. But."

"But?"

"But Ron likes bottoms."

Seriously, where is a Dark Lord when you need him? I've died - it's no big deal. Not a patch on discussing Hermione's reluctance to have Ron take her up the arse.

Especially when I simply cannot understand her reluctance.

"Right," I said carefully. "And he suggested... and you discussed it, and you don't want to... well, it's your... no reason to feel bad for not taking it up the arse, Hermione."

She gasped.

"No!" she said. "He doesn't... he didn't... he didn't ask... to do that."

"He didn't," I echoed, trying very hard to block out the images cartwheeling through my head. "I'm... sorry, I just assumed... just the... the... that he'd wanted and you..."

We looked at each other, and she looked just about as flustered as I felt.

"He asked me to..." she trailed off and bravely stuck her index finger in the air.

An image of Ron, naked, on his hands and knees, slammed through me and I felt my legs turn to jelly, even 'though I was sitting down.

I was pretty much an equal opportunities wanker, with Oliver featuring in my fantasies as often as Katie.

But never Ron.

I wasn't gonna picture my Ron naked, not my Ron, the most important person in my life.

My straight as a wand Ron.

And now his insanely dedicated to research girlfriend was putting forbidden images of his arse in my head.

"Christ, Hermione," I muttered, staring at her finger. "If you're asking me for tips... I'd say use your middle finger, first..."

"No!" she interrupted. "I won't... can't..."

"I give up," I said. "If you don't want me to teach you to..."

I showed her my middle finger.

"I want you to touch him," she said simply.

Huh.

So.

I survived Avada Kedavra, twice, and was killed by my dear friend asking me to finger Ron's arse.

That would never have occurred to Voldemort, of course, plus I'd have just been baffled by him asking me to kneel beside my best mate and slide my finger between his cheeks.

Hermione sat there, looking calmly at me, like she hadn't just killed me.

Perfect murder.

You had to admire her; she was brilliant, of course.

The Aurors would never be able to pin it on her, what with the murder weapon being tricking me into imagining my fingers sliding into the scalding hot, tight entrance to Ron's body.

Brilliant.

"Touch him?" I echoed. "Touch his arse?"

There.

It had taken my last lungful of air, but if she suffered a pang of honesty and told the investigating Aurors my final words, maybe they'd suspect her.

"I'd hate for him not to get to try it," she said calmly. "Not when the solution is so obvious."

"Obvious?" I croaked.

"He needs anal stimulation, and his best friend is... famous for it, albeit in very select circles."

Insane.

"But Hermione," I protested.

"He trusts you," she said seriously. "I can't think of anyone else we could trust to do this."

Completely fucking insane.

"So," I said slowly. "We wait for him to get home, he kneels on the rug, you watch as I lubricate my finger and stick... stimulate him, then you take him to bed, and benefit."

"No!" she breathed, wide eyed. "How could you think we'd ask that of you?"

"Honestly," I said, "trust me. I never, ever thought you'd ask that of me."

"We do trust you," she said simply. "And what I want to do is wait for him to get home, tell him everything will be alright, then I'll go to bed, and you can make love to him."

I was completely blindsided by how much that hurt and found myself pressing a hand to my aching heart.

"'Make love to him' and then go to work tomorrow, as of nothing happened?" I demanded.

"Oh, Harry, no," she said, blinking away sudden tears. "Oh, I've made such a mess of this. I thought it all through, so carefully, and I was sure that it'd work out, for all of us, and I've ruined everything."

"Don't cry," I said, reaching for her. "I just have no idea what you want from me."

She buried her face in my neck and snuffled, for a while.

"Explain what you thought through, so carefully," I said, stroking her hair. "I thought the two of you were living happily ever after, and all that."

"Oh, we are," she said snottily. "I adore him; I'd do anything for him, to make him happy, Harry, honestly. But this... bottom thing, well, it's not just something I don't like the idea of, is it? He's not just asking me to use my fingers, is he?"

"I... have no idea."

"He wants to be... buggered," she finished, in a whisper.

"Oh, Hermione," I said. "It doesn't follow. It doesn't mean he needs to be fucked," she tutted against my neck, "he could just... it does feel good, maybe that's all he needs. Your dainty fingers."

"He needs you," she said firmly, sitting up and looking me in the eye.

"Has he said that?" I asked, hoping, despite myself. "Is that one of the things he's suggested and you've discussed?"

"No," she admitted. "But I know him. And I'm the one who has seen him... in bed. He can be assertive and he can be..."

"Submissive," I croaked, wondering why I was still arguing.

She nodded.

"And I can tell that the bottoms thing is just the first step," she said. "I know he'll need more and more. And why should we stress everyone out, by having him wheedle and beg me to go further, and me do more and more things I don't enjoy. When you can give that to him."

"Wait," I said, shaking my head to get rid of the distracting images. "So he's never said he'd go with a man? My name has never come up?"

She shook her head.

"All this is because you know I used to... I accessed... Ginny's a girl, Hermione, you do know that?"

"Of course I do!"

"Yet you have used the image of my finger up a freckled arse and extended that to an assumption that I'd want to do the same to Ron?"

"I know you," she said. "And I know you want to do the same to Ron."

"Even if I…" I blushed. "I can't just do it and forget about it."

"I don't want you to forget about it, I want you to share him."

"Share him?" I echoed. "What makes you think I…"

I stopped, abruptly, an image of Ron's smile as he looked at Hermione filling my mind; an image of him turning that smile on me filling my heart.

If Hermione was only half as brilliant and insane as she sounded, I could have that. I could have Ron's face light up when he saw me – and not just in a fancying a drink way, but in a fancying me way.

"How would that even work?" I asked, deciding it was futile to deny I wanted it.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "But I know the three of us can do anything, if we set our hearts on it."

I laughed, slightly hysterically.

"So, you'll do it?" she asked. "Harry, quick, say you'll do it."

The Floo in the next room had rattled to life and she put a hand on my wrist and stared intently into my eyes. "You'll give him what he needs?"

"Of course," I said helplessly. "Anything he needs."

She smiled happily, just as our boy strolled into the room, hair dishevelled, face flushed from Firewhiskey and fresh air, a smut from the Floo on his cheek.

For the first time, I allowed myself free reign as I looked at him.

He was beautiful. Fiery hair and sparkling eyes and a lanky body and endless legs he folded into the armchair opposite us.

Loyal, passionate, lazy, generous, with a loving heart that shone in his face as he looked at Hermione and licked his lips and blinked slowly.

"So," he said. "You look cozy – what d'I miss?"

Hermione sat up straight and wriggled away from me.

"You missed a serious conversation," she said, smoothing her skirt down her thighs.

"Blimey," he said, watching her hands, his face creasing with his special smile. "We been leaving the toilet seat up, again? Spending too long in there, with Quidditch Monthly?"

"No," she said. "Although I'm glad your mind went straight to bottoms."

"W… what?" he said, a cute frown forming, as I wondered where the word 'cute' had come from.

"I was telling Harry that you need anal stimulation," she said, like it was a perfectly normal sentence.

"What?" Ron gasped, his face going stark white, his freckles standing out like drops of blood. "Why… why would... why would you… why would anyone do that?"

"Because you have asked me for it," she said simply.

"I… um… I probably thought it was a private conversation," he said. "And you were so definitely against the idea, so why on earth would you tell anyone?"

"Not just anyone," she said indignantly. "Harry."

"Why would you tell Harry, you insane woman?" he said, stubbornly not looking at me and making me very, very nervous, because for ten years we have never not made eye contact and bonded over Hermione being insane.

Hermione tutted and opened her mouth and for a fraction of a second I was scared she was going to tell him I had volunteered to fuck him, before realising it was going to be far worse.

"Because Ginny says he's really good at it," she said.

"What?" Ron croaked.

I closed my eyes and wished for a dragon to land on the house and put us all out of our misery.

"I've asked him to do it, for you," she explained.

I opened one eye to see Ron glowing redder than I have ever seen him and opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish.

"Why the fuck…"

"Hermione, go to bed," I interrupted, "you're making things worse."

She stood up, looking hesitantly back and forth, between us.

"I'll sort things out," I promised.

She nodded and bent to kiss my cheek, before crossing to touch Ron's face and kiss him.

"Good night," she murmured. "It's for the best. Really."

She wiped the dirt off his cheek with a gentle thumb and left, closing the door behind her.

"Ron?" I prompted, realising he had a lot to get off his chest.

"She…" He stood and paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair, before stopping and shaking his head, wide eyed. "Did she… did my… my girlfriend… did she ask…"

"So, you didn't discuss this?" I asked.

He made a strangled noise and collapsed onto the couch, beside me.

"We discussed…" he shrugged helplessly.

"Her fingers, yeah," I said. "She said you'd asked…"

"Well, it's one thing for a bloke to ask his girlfriend to try something new, and I'm even happy to discuss it, in committee. But not to discuss it with anyone else."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"What are you apologising for?" he demanded. "It's Hermione who should… you're not apologising for taking my sister up the arse, are you? Because I don't think I could cope with that."

"No!"

"No, you didn't, or no, you're not apologising for it?"

"No, I never… not… well… but… fingers…"

"Oh, god," Ron said, his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry."

"And Hermione thinks that's a good enough reason to ask you to do it to me?" he asked weakly, looking up at me.

"Well," I said. "On the one hand, here's the you wanting it and, on the other hand, there's the me doing it. And then there's Hermione putting two and two together," I held up two fingers on each hand and he swallowed, audibly, "and thinking it's what you need."

"You're… a bloke," he muttered. "And she's… well, not."

"I know," I said slowly, "but Hermione thinks you're at… well, stage one."

"Do I want to know what that means?" he asked.

"I don't think it means anything in particular, in… anal… circles."

"Fuck," he whimpered.

"Oh, stop it," I said. "I didn't mean 'anal circles' like that, and you know it. Hermione means that you want… fingers… but you'll go beyond that and want… and that needs a bloke… or I think women can use a… device… or Polyjuice… why doesn't she just brew some Polyjuice and take care of things herself… except that I don't even know if a girl can turn into a bloke, except that she turned into me, didn't she, and grew a… fuck, she grew my… but she doesn't like bottoms, anyway, and… oh, Christ."

Ron sat and blinked at me.

"She asked you to…" he trailed off with a strangled sound that could have been 'fuck me', if I listened carefully, and wished very hard.

I nodded.

“Merlin, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “There is no reason to… involve you in my…fantasies…”

“Oh,” I said sadly. “Because…”

“Because?”

“Because I don’t mind,” I said.

“Don’t mind… fantasies?”

“Don’t mind… helping?”

“Ah,” he said. “And when you say ‘helping’, you mean?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Want?”

“Up your arse.”

His eyes opened impossibly wide.

“And when I say ‘don’t mind’,” I admitted. “I mean really, really want to.”

“Harry,” he breathed, shifting in his seat and I licked my lips and he groaned. “Really want to because it’s your… thing, yeah?”

“Well, no,” I said. “I mean, yes; I mean I wouldn’t really, really want to finger… Terry’s arse, but… really want this because you’re my… thing.”

“Oh,” he said.

“But it’s OK if I’m not,” I said.

“Not what?”

“Not yours.”

“Not mine?”

“Not your… thing,” I said, cursing and blessing Hermione.

“Of course you’re my thing,” he protested indignantly.

I smiled.

“And is Hermione right?” I asked.

“Always,” he said automatically.

I snorted. “About the… arse stuff,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said helplessly.

“Not just the…” I waggled my fingers. “About the… more…”

“About everything,” he admitted in a tiny voice. "But it's… scary… you know?"

"We can start small, tonight," I said. “But you really want me to…?”

“Well, yeah, god… you… you're… but… how… I’m with… Hermione, she… what does she want me to…?”

“She wants to share you with me,” I said.

“Share?”

“Share,” I confirmed. “She used the word ‘share’.”

“Bloody hell,” he whispered. “Share… how?”

“How?”

“I mean,” he gestured vaguely. “Are you in charge of my arse? Do I get to play with yours? Can you suck me off, or is that her responsibility?”

“How would I know?” I asked. “She didn’t issue me instructions.”

“Oh, Merlin,” he said, his lips twitching. “She’s gonna colour code my bits, isn’t she? I’ll be in the showers at work, and Seamus will ask why my arse and one nipple and one bollock are green, while my cock and one nipple and one bollock are orange. Green for your eyes,” he explained.

“Wishful thinking that she’d suck a Cannons orange cock,” I said.

“But she expects us to do it, tonight, without giving us detailed instructions?”

“Detailed?” I echoed. “She’s not gonna tell me how to stick my tongue up your…”

His eyes opened wide and he flushed.

"Tongue?" he croaked.

“She said, ‘make love to him’,” I said, leaning closer and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"And that means tongues?" he whispered against my lips.

"Oh, yes," I said fervently. "Will you let me?"

He nodded, breathing hard as I slid off the couch and knelt before him.

"Nothing you don't want," I said, parting his legs and smoothing my hands up his thighs.

He licked his lips and I tipped up my face and he bent and gave me a brief kiss.

"Anything you want," I said.

He looked down and clasped one of my hands, running shaking fingertips the length of my fingers.

"Um?" he said. "You…"

"Of course," I said brightly. "That's why I'm here."

He snorted and I realised I was grinning like a lunatic. I tried to look a bit more seductive and he looked worried, so I sighed and shrugged and he kissed me and I reached for the button of his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping and smiling as he automatically lifted his arse and let me tug them down his legs.

"Here?" he asked, wide eyed.

"Nice," I said, patting the couch encouragingly.

"Harry?"

"I'm nervous," I said. "Ignore me."

"How'm I s'posed to ignore someone whose fingers are…"

I stood and dragged his t-shirt off, over his head, smothering his words.

"Lie on the couch," I said firmly, looking down at him.

He looked up and up and swallowed and nodded, kicking off his shoes and untangling himself from his jeans, before lying on his front, his face buried in his folded forearms.

I knelt and ran my hand down his back, my fingertips following his spine before sliding between his cheeks as I cupped one globe and squeezed; I flexed my fingers, burrowing deeper, and he gasped and the back of his neck flushed.

"OK?" I whispered.

"Mmm-hmm," he said, parting his legs slightly.

My wand was upstairs, in my bedroom, so I reached for the wand in the back pocket of Ron's jeans, pointed it at his arse and murmured the Charm every teenage boy has used a thousand times. My nerves and the unfamiliar wand conjured enough lube to drown him, and he squawked in surprise.

"Sorry," I said, siphoning most of it away as he laughed at me.

I smacked his well lubricated cheek and he gasped.

He settled down again and my hand returned to his arse, all four fingers sliding easily between his cheeks, and one finger slipping inside him up to the first knuckle. Ron moaned and arched his back and I thought how easy this was – only one hole to worry about, as if Ginny was as complicated as playing the flute and Ron was… well, I couldn't think of a wind instrument with only one hole to finger, and I'd completely distracted myself, by then, anyway, by the image of playing a flute and blowing gently across the hole.

I leant down and parted his cheeks and blew gently and he whimpered and pulled his legs up under him, opening himself up to me.

"Good boy," I whispered, circling his hole with a fingertip and groaning as I pressed inside him.

He was scalding hot and tight and he huffed as I added a second finger, arching under my hand before carefully relaxing. His body swallowed my fingers hungrily and I watched as I slowly fucked him, spreading my fingers and twisting my hand as he muttered and reached for his cock, tugging on it each time I thrust into him.

He made an incoherent noise of protest as I removed my hand, but cried out as I leant closer and ran my tongue between his cheeks, lapping at his hole and slipping inside him.

"Harry," he moaned, before exhaling on a string of filthy gibberish as I kissed and licked and stretched him and alternated with two fingers pressed deep inside until he tightened around my fingers and came with a ragged cry.

My hand slipped free as he curled on his side, facing me. His eyes were wide and his chest rose and fell and I stroked him from shoulder to thigh, with no regard for where my fingers had been and his hand was still milking the last of his orgasm from his leaking cock. I hadn't even looked at his cock and a drop of come oozed from the slit and I had another wind instrument vision, because you just blow across the top of Pan's pipes, don't you?

Of course, that'd mean I had to line up Ron and all his brothers, naked.