Thank Merlin For Lesbians - H/R - NC-17
Title: Thank Merlin For Lesbians
Author: shocolate
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 3602
Rating: NC-17

Written for your birthday, my beloved magicofisis. I am enormously impressed that you managed to fit in your life blip between birthdays – what organisational skillz!!

This year is gonna rock very hard, and be full of much, much pretty.

This is the FIFTH birthday fic I have written for you… isn't that amazing?? Not that I'm amazing, just that we have been wallowing in our perfect, perfect boys for that long… and, oh, we're getting a beautiful dollop of them this and next week – well birthdayed!!!


Thank Merlin For Lesbians
****
I'm not proud of how long I clung to Hermione's skirts, after having realised I wasn't interested in what's inside them. She deserved better. I'm just pleased I didn't venture any further; it's embarrassing enough to think that she was the first girl to touch my tackle.

First and last.

I always used to think she'd be my first and last and I was right. Never in a million years would I have guessed that the first person to suck on it would be Terry Boot.

I still have no idea how he knew I'd be… receptive. Unless he follows everyone into the gents at the Leaky and kneels at their feet? But I hit my thumb with a hammer, when we were putting up shelves, and his Healing Charm wasn't great and I had a stonking great bruise, and he'd've had to be pretty sharp at healing black eyes if he followed everyone into the gents and knelt and rubbed his face against their crotch.

We were putting up shelves because we'd put so many things up each other's arses we reckoned we could put up with each other day and night, and decided to move in together.

And put up shelves.

I should probably have told people I Chased for the other side, before I moved out of the Burrow, and Hermione told me it'd be better to tell everyone in stages, but I thought it'd be better to get it over and done with, in one go, like ripping off a plaster.

Hermione thought I should… Come Out, she called it, so that then no one'd be surprised when I set up home with a bloke. I thought that what I was Coming In would be too much of a shock, and I couldn't face slinking in and out of my mum's bathroom, everyone knowing I was washing spunk out of my nooks and crannies.

So, at Sunday lunch, one Sunday, I got a firm grip on one corner of my Life Plaster by mentioning how good it felt to be working and earning and I could finally make my way in the world. Various Weasleys made encouraging noises and Harry looked up and I said I was going to move out and share a flat and Harry smiled and I ripped off the Plaster and said a one bedroom flat and I would be sharing with Terry and Harry's face went strangely blank.

I didn't have time to register this properly, because my mother had dropped a gravy boat and there was gravy everywhere and Percy was mopping and George was saying something about the boat going down with all hands and Ginny was saying if I was going down then she didn’t want to know what I did with my hands and my mother was staring at me and Fleur was saying if she'd know she'd have introduced me to her Cousin Amaury.

I was torn between having disappointed my mother and having missed out on a bloke who looked like Fleur and I was sure that Harry'd be OK so I flashed him a tight smile and my mother flung herself at me and my dad was patting her as she cried on my neck and mourned my children and Fleur tried to distract her with her belly and, by the time I hadn't been disowned, Harry had gone.

I hadn't seen him go and I hoped he was just leaving me to my family stuff, even though he should know he's family, too, but a small part of me was worried he was shocked, or something. We'd never discussed queer blokes in any greater detail than throwing a pillow at Seamus when he insisted that even though that picture of Malfoy with his fingers up someone's arse showed Millicent Bulstrode's plump buttocks flexing, well, yeah, right, Malfoy, and that she was really a bloke called Milo.

It had taken Terry releasing my cock from my trousers for me to realise what had gone wrong with me and Hermione, and his cupping and tugging on my balls as he sucked it for me to admit I was queer.

Now, I'd obviously had a vested interest in accepting this fact as soon as humanly possible, because I was about to come down Terry's throat, but Harry was under no similar obligation; Harry could be as shocked or disgusted as he liked, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

I saw Harry every day, at work, and it was painfully obvious that he was the only bloke not taking the piss out of me and Terry. He was the only close mate who didn’t come and see my new flat, and I caught him staring very strangely at my bruised thumb and had a bizarre urge to assure him I hadn't damaged it up Terry's arse.

This wasn't a huge surprise, really, because I had bizarre urges around Harry rather a lot.

He's beautiful, my Harry.

You'd think thinking a bloke was beautiful would have been a clue to what went wrong between me and Hermione, but it's not that simple. It took me far too long to realise that she was a girl, even after I noticed girls, because she's my Hermione, and she's different.

So, in reverse, I'd always noticed Harry, way before I noticed blokes, because he's my Harry, and he's different. Beautiful and complicated and sarcastic and prickly and generous and loyal and angry and probably fucking my sister and mine.

So, if I wanted to make him happy, to make him smile, to touch him… well, he's my Harry.

It's different.

My base state of do-anything-for-him for the last eight years had absolutely no cock clause. I had grudgingly accepted that his cock was pointed at my sister and I wasn't jealous; I wanted him to be happy and it was Ginny's job to make him happy.

Even when I was… awakened by Terry, I never thought of Harry's cock.

Not really.

I loved sucking cock, Harry had a cock, Ginny took care of it.

I never made the connection, or thought of cutting out the middle woman, not really, not until I was living with Terry and trying hard not to think about Harry thinking about my sex life.

And even then, I didn't actively think of it, not really.

Not really, really.

I knew my Harry was gorgeous and I could… admire him, but I never really, actually thought of doing anything to him… I didn't even dare invite him over to my flat, in case he had to refuse on the grounds that he found my lifestyle disgusting or contagious or something.

Not that I actually had an actual lifestyle, that's just what Hermione called it. I had work and the pub and the Quidditch and my mates, and the only difference between my and Neville's 'lifestyle' was that he went home to squeeze exotic plant extracts on Hannah's boobs, and I went home to squeeze my arse muscles around Terry's cock.

And I don’t think I really thought Harry thought I was contagious, not when he pushed me to the ground on a work thing and flung himself on top of me, covering my body with his.

A tracking proto-Death Eaters mission work type thing, not a cheese and pineapple on sticks cocktail party work type thing.

So, Harry was happy to touch me, just not to drop by the flat, and after what Neville got an eyeful of, that time he flooed over, unannounced, well, I can't blame him. I certainly never dropped in at Grimmauld Place, uninvited, once Ginny had left school.

Things might never have changed, if it hadn't been for something Angelina said. She'd recently started dating George, and a lot of people thought it was pretty weird, what with her having some pretty unpretty bits of his equipment to compare to Fred's.

It didn't really bother me. I mean, I've always liked Angelina, plus I would probably do any number of things to my sister's boyfriend's bits, if given half the chance, without hardly giving him the chance to wash them, first.

Even if I'd never admit as much.

Anyway, Ginny'd been out of school nearly a year, playing for the Harpies. I wasn't sure how she and Harry were doing – part of the whole him shagging my sister and me shagging a bloke thing meant we didn't talk about it – and they never touched each other in front of me and she usually didn't make it to the monthly drinks at the Leaky Cauldron.

I assumed that what happened in Wales stayed in Wales; I tried not to glare at sheep too obviously.

We'd been talking about Oliver, and Angelina had said how much she liked to see a bloke in tight fitting Quidditch gear, with all those leather laces and buckles, and George had leered and said ditto, and why hadn't she joined Holyhead, because admiring his little sister was not possible.

"What?" Angelina had snorted. "I really wasn't quite what they want, George."

"You're an awesome Chaser," he'd said loyally, "what more could they want?"

"Uh… lesbians?" Angelina had said.

There had been a ringing silence, and everyone had looked at me, as if I was responsible for lesbians.

"I'm not responsible for lesbians," I'd protested.

"He doesn't even like one set of boobs, no matter two," Terry had said supportively.

"They're not really lesbians, are they?" Neville had asked.

"Just 'cos they're all women…" Dean had said slowly.

"They're not really…are they?" Seamus had asked, wide eyed and hopefully.

"Yeah," Angelina had said. "Kinda… open secret."

"Kinda completely secret," George had spluttered.

"Not among female Quidditch players," Angelina had said, "or they'd wonder why they weren't being scouted."

"Scouted?" Seamus had croaked. "Do they try and make a pass at girls before offering them a trial?"

"Oh, that'd be brilliant," Dean had said. "Make a pass, then pass the Quaffle."

"I'd love to be a lesbian scout," Seamus had breathed.

"You're a bloke," Angelina had pointed out.

"So?" Seamus had said. "Just think… I could be paid to chat up all those athletic teenage girls, and the ones who don't sleep with me, I pass on to the Quidditch scout."

"What about the straight ones who turn you down because they have good taste?" Neville had asked. "I think they'd have female lesbian scouts, who only pass on the ones they've snogged to the Quidditch scouts."

Seamus had moaned loudly.

"But they're not really all lesbians," George had insisted. "Not really really."

"The Llanfair Lesbos, the Mona Moaning Muff Munchers? Queer to a woman," Angelina had said firmly.

Seamus had whimpered and Terry had sniggered and pressed his thigh firmly against mine.

"But… Ginny," Dean had spluttered.

There had been a deafening silence, and everyone had looked at Harry.

"What?" he'd said.

"Tell them your girlfriend isn't a lesbian," George had said encouragingly.

Harry had shrugged. "I… don't have a girlfriend," he'd said, glancing warily at me.

"You… Ginny…" George had spat and gestured helplessly at him. "Since when?"

"Um, Dumbledore's funeral?" Harry had said, trying to look unconcerned that a dozen people were now gaping at him.

"But… you…" I'd stammered. "Harry! We've been back two years, and everyone thinks…"

He'd shaken his head. "I… well, it took me a while to get my head together, that summer, and I'd assumed we'd… well, have time to sort things out… but she'd… she said she wanted to be a… to play for the Harpies."

Angelina had snorted loudly.

"And I s'pose we never actually told anyone we weren't…" Harry'd continued. "Well, I s'pose she didn't want her parents to… know about the Harpies."

"Don't tell me you knew what that meant," George had protested.

"Well, no," Harry'd admitted, "she had to explain why I was surplus to requirements… that the lighthouse at South Stack was the only massive erection needed in Holyhead."

I'd snorted loudly and Harry'd blushed and we'd all gone home baffled, or grinning stupidly, if we were Seamus, and apparently it was true.

I tracked Ginny down to the team's quarters on Middle Mouse and tried to ignore the muffled noises coming from upstairs as I sort of asked her about it; she offered to tell me explicit details, but I'm not sure I'd have been able to cope with the knowledge of what her Beaters did to her, even if I'd been straight.

And it's not as if I'd ever wanted to giggle over boys with her, but suddenly everything had changed.

I went from not thinking about the fact that Harry was sleeping with my sister to being obsessed with the fact that he'd let everyone continue to not think about the fact that he was sleeping with my sister.

And why?

Why the hell hadn't he dated anyone for the last two years? Why did he agree to be her… was there a male equivalent of a 'beard'? Her boobs… why was he happy to be her boobs for two years, when he could have been…

What?

Not mine; I wasn't gonna think that.

Happy?

He seemed happy enough.

But why wasn't he dating? Was he dating? Who was he dating? Who did he want to date? Why hadn't he told me about Ginny? Why was he so weird about me and Terry? Was it because of Ginny? But I'd been queer first. Did he think I'd turned his girlfriend queer? Did he think I'd turn him queer? Did he want me to turn him queer? Had I turned him queer? Why wasn't he dating?

It took just three months of me obsessing over it for Terry to blow up and move out, taking all his books with him, so he wasn't coming back.

It took just three days for Harry to find out and turn up with a bottle of Firewhiskey.

And it took just three hours to find out why he'd never visited, before.

We had a few drinks and bitched about work and a few more before bitching about relationships.

"I'm not sure I want a r'shn'ship… 'ship," I said. "More trouble than it's worth, and you end up with…"

"A broken heart?" Harry suggested.

"Empty shelves," I sighed.

"What?" Harry snorted.

"I put up shelves for him," I said sadly. "Real shelves, from scratch, with tools and wood and everything. He has more books than Hermione and I put up shelves for him and I hit my thumb with a hammer and you kept looking at my thumb strangely, but there's nothing sexual I could have done to hurt my thumb, like that. And now he's gone, and taken all the books."

"And broken your heart?" Harry persisted. "Are you all 'what'm I gonna do without him'?"

"What'm I gonna do without his books," I said. "My shelves are empty, and it's too late to get Hermione back."

"Ron?"

"No, I'm not broken hearted," I admitted. "I don't blame him for leaving; we were supposed to be having fun and I've been a miserable sod lately."

"Surely not," he said loyally.

"I've been… distracted," I said. "Not obsessed, no matter what Terry thinks."

I took another swallow of Firewhiskey and looked at Harry's hands, wrapped around his drink.

"With what?" he asked quietly, running a distracting fingertip around the rim of his glass.

"By what, not with what," I insisted.

"What what?" he asked.

"I've been distracted by, not obsessed with," I said stubbornly.

"OK, by what?" he said patiently.

"So, you do know where I live," I mused.

"What?" he asked, wrong footed.

"This is the first time you've been here, Harry," I said. "Eight months I've lived here, and my best mate hasn't visited me."

"Ah," he said.

"That's by," I explained.

"What's by?" he asked.

"That's what I'm distracted by," I said. "By my best mate never coming over, and it can't be just not liking Terry, 'cos you'll go to the pub with us, or the Quidditch, so it must be that we're not shagging at the pub. And I was pretty much OK with you not wanting to drop by and not have any surface you were happy to sit on, without being sure that Terry hadn't fucked me on it…"

"What?" Harry squeaked, shifting uncomfortably in his armchair.

"Because I didn't want to have that conversation," I said sadly.

"What conversation?" he asked.

"The one where you tell me you're disgusted by what me and Terry come over, and that that's why you never come over."

"Ron, no," he protested.

"So, we never mentioned our sex lives," I pressed on, pouring myself another drink, "and that was more than fine, because you couldn't cope with where my cock's been, and yours… I wouldn't want to know about Ginny's area."

"Oh," he said, "but…"

"But you go to Holyhead to watch the Quidditch," I laughed. "Your access all areas pass gets you into the dressing rooms, but not into her knickers. All those broomstick jokes I never made… protecting her hoops…"

"I don't see why you got… upset by that," Harry said.

"Distracted."

He rolled his eyes.

"I didn't want to know that you're homophobic," I said, "but then I find out you've been OK with Ginny being queer, and even taken advantage of the fact, and not having to date anyone else, and that drove me mad, and that's what got on Terry's tits, because I couldn't stop thinking that you're purposely not dating anyone, on purpose, and that's ridiculous, and why aren't you dating? Who are you not dating? Who d'you want to date?"

"You," he said simply.

I gaped at him. "Me?" I squeaked.

"I had no idea you were gay," he said, "and then you announced you were moving in with Terry, and I was… furious, which was ridiculous… and unfair, and I tried to persuade myself that I was upset you'd never told me, and that's when I tried to get things back with Ginny and she told me, and… and I realised that I was jealous and it was too late."

"Me?" I gasped.

"And, then, the longer I didn't come over and see you and Terry being… You and Terry… then the more I couldn't just drop by," he went on. "And I couldn't… try other blokes, because I knew everyone thought I was still with Ginny, and then Angelina outed her and I've been trying to… to find someone else and then… then Hermione said Terry had left and… and it's dreadful of me to… pounce like this… too soon… but you're upset about your shelves, not broken hearted, and…"

"Me?" I said.

"Can you say anything else?" he snapped.

"Harry," I breathed, scrambling across the faded rug between our armchairs and falling to my knees in front of him, my hands running up his thighs as he automatically parted his legs for me.

"Me?" he teased gently.

I marvelled at the hopeful look on his face; the shining eyes, the tentative smile.

He's beautiful, my Harry.

I kissed him.

He smiled against my lips and kissed me back, his hands closing on my wrists, holding me firmly in place.

As if I would want to be anywhere else.

"Me?" I crowed, moving back an inch and beaming insanely at him.

"Shut up, Ron," he said.

I leant in for another kiss, pressing harder until his lips parted and I tasted him. He tasted fantastic. I ran the tip of my tongue across his bottom lip and he moaned and I slid inside his mouth and his tongue fluttered against mine, before gaining in confidence and thrusting over it and between my hungry lips.

I groaned and sucked hard, before pulling back and letting his tongue slide free.

"God," he murmured, following me. "Ron."

"Wow," I whispered, dropping kisses on his pouting lips, the tip of his nose, his cheek.

"Ron, you've…" He huffed, his hands leaving my wrists and sliding up my arms, to link behind my neck.

"What's wrong?" I asked, shuffling closer and pressing against him, my hands resting on his hips, my fingertips brushing bare skin low on his back.

"You've done everything," he complained, "and I've kissed your sister."

I pulled a face.

"Which I'll never mention again," he said seriously. "But…"

"I'll be gentle with you," I said solemnly.

"Fuck off," he said, pulling my hair.

"Then I'll be rough," I said fondly, leaning in for another kiss.

He gave me a filthy look, but I ignored him and I grinned as I smoothed my hands over the bulge straining in his jeans, before reaching for the button and flicking it open.

"What d'you want me to be, then?" I asked.

"Quiet," he muttered, wriggling out of his jeans and sitting bravely back in his armchair, chin raised in challenge.

I love sucking cock, Harry has a cock; it was bobbing there, looking at me.

And Harry wanted me to be quiet.

So I bent and took it in my mouth.

Harry was far from quiet, burying his hands in my hair and crying out as I sucked, and I marvelled that there were still things I could learn about him, after all this time. How he tasted, how he spread his thighs and arched his back and thrust into my mouth as he came.

I let him slip from my mouth and rested my cheek on his thigh, breathing him in.

My Harry.

If we moved in, together, we'd probably have enough books to fill my shelves.