Fic for sparkysparky
For: sparkysparky
From: shes_gone
Title: Ain't Got Time to Take a Fast Train
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry's got a rather filthy secret admirer.
Word Count: 6,400
Disclaimer: Nothing here belongs to me, tragically.
Warnings: Entirely too much porn. Seriously. Also, some light bondage.
Author's Note: sparkysparky! I had so much fun writing for you, holy crap. From your request, I took the prompts Aurors!, mystery and dirty talk, and this is what happened. I hope you enjoy! The title's from The Box Tops' "The Letter". Endless thanks to my betas, my Britpicker, and the mod. ♥! Merry Christmas!!
Ain't Got Time to Take a Fast Train
He finds it at the end of an already long, tiring day. He's just got back from almost a week in France, where he was giving a conference for all levels of law enforcement on the latest developments in Dark Arts detection and defence. The conference ended this morning and he got back to the London office just after lunch, so his afternoon's been a whirlwind of meetings and memos and returned Floo calls. The rumble of his stomach lets him know just how late it's become, in case all the empty offices weren't indication enough.
It's past seven when the last of his meetings finally ends. He returns to his office to collect a few things before heading home, and that's when he finds it, sitting quietly on his desk. It's just a letter in a cream-coloured envelope, and the only unusual thing about it is the fact that it's there at all - Harry's assistant, Sophie, holds all his afternoon owl post until morning, unless something's marked urgent, which this isn't.
Harry looks at it and isn't sure if it came by owl post at all-the envelope is flat and pristine, without any sign of recently having been tied to large bird. He frowns and picks it up, and he doesn't recognise the handwriting on the envelope.
He contemplates forgetting it until the morning. Ron's waiting for him at home, and they haven't had time for so much as a proper hello since Harry got back. The Department's policy on personal relationships between its members dictates that Harry and Ron can't work together on cases nor, since Harry's promotion two years ago, very closely on just about anything.
Days like today make that policy feel more like a punishment than a safety measure. Ron popped his head into Harry's office at around three, just to say hello, but Harry had the Minister on the Floo and Kingsley at his desk, so Ron just smiled at him and waved off their hello until later. Harry hasn't seen him since, and figures he's probably at home, stretched out on the sofa in front of the Floo right now with a Quidditch magazine.
Harry smiles and wants to pretend that he hasn't noticed the letter at all, but something about it tugs at him. It's going to bother him all night if he doesn't just open it, so he does.
He pulls out the paper inside - it's some sort of Muggle stationery, he notes, with a frown - and scans the first line.
I'm half-hard all day, it says, thinking about you.
Harry blinks.
I sit here and imagine what you look like under your robes, and how you'd look naked and spread out in my bed.
Harry's face heats up as he flips the paper over, looking for some clue as to where this came from, because the only thing he knows for certain is that this handwriting isn't Ron's.
He skims the rest of it, and it's dirty as can be, as the author describes all number of things that he apparently wants to do to Harry's naked body.
Harry's red as a beet when he finishes reading, and he finds himself glancing around his deserted office embarrassedly, just in case. He stares at the piece of paper in his hand, and has no idea what to do next. He imagines throwing it into the fire, or sending it off into oblivion with a flick of his wand, with no one ever the wiser.
Then he imagines Ron, stretched out on that sofa, reading a dirty letter from a secret admirer. Biting his lower lip against a small smile, Harry refolds the letter and slips it into his cloak pocket.
.--. --- .-. -.
He steps through the Floo a few minutes later and finds Ron stretched out on their sofa with a Quidditch magazine. He grins.
"Was wondering when I'd finally get to see you," Ron says, grinning back.
Harry shucks his cloak and tosses it over the arm of the sofa. "Sorry," he says. "I wanted to leave ages ago, but I-"
"Stop apologising," Ron interrupts, "and get down here."
Harry smiles and sinks down next to him, landing half on top of him. Ron's arms come around him and pull him close, and Harry sighs as they give in to the kiss they've both been waiting for all day. Ron's mouth is hot and welcoming, and his tongue is sweet with something minty, and his body is long and strong underneath Harry's, and it's really good to be home.
Harry pulls back with a smile, and tilts his head as Ron rubs his thumb over the side of his neck. "You know, I'm starting to think that this just might be worth not working together anymore," he says.
Ron barks a laugh. "Four years on, and you're finally coming around, are you? Dunno if I'm so sure, though. Maybe we should break up, and go back to being partners."
"Maybe," Harry says, and he makes a thoughtful face, like he's considering it. "I'm not sure I'm gonna like going back to hiding the instant hard-ons I get whenever you walk into the room, though."
"We all have our crosses to bear, Harry," Ron says, solemnly.
They look at each other, and Harry breaks first, snorting a laugh and falling back against Ron. He turns so he can throw a leg over Ron's thigh, half-straddling his lap, and his erection rubs against the crease of Ron's hip.
"You are excited tonight, aren't you?" Ron murmurs, pulling him closer. "What's up?"
"Nothing," Harry says, completely unconvincingly.
Ron quirks an eyebrow at him, and Harry feels his face go red.
"I just missed you," he tries again.
"Yeah, OK," Ron says, laughing. "So what was it? Another orgy this afternoon?"
"No," Harry says, cringing, "and thank you for that image."
"What? Orgies are hot."
"Not the ones that Aurors get called in to deal with, and you know it, you prat."
Ron just grins. "So what has got into you, then, if it wasn't another orgy of evil?"
Harry rolls his eyes, then glances at his cloak. "Someone sent me a letter today. Tonight, actually."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. And I'm not sure you're going to like it very much, if I'm honest."
Ron's eyebrows go up. "Why's that?"
Harry pulls his lower lip between his teeth and looks at Ron a moment. "It's dirty," he says.
"Dirty?" Ron echoes.
Harry nods. "And I don't know who sent it."
"Someone sent you an unsigned dirty letter?" Ron says, amusement plain in his voice.
Harry frowns at him. "You think it's funny, do you?" Ron just laughs. Harry sits back indignantly, and nearly falls off Ron's leg to the floor for his effort, but Ron gets his hands around his hips just in time.
"Steady on!" Ron says, still laughing. "And of course it's funny."
"Shut up, it's not!"
"In what universe is you getting a dirty letter not funny?"
Harry crosses his arms over his chest. "One in which there's some dirty fuck out there, writing pornography about me, and you don't even care!"
"Oh believe me," Ron says, chuckling, "I care. I plan to savour every word. Where is it? Did you bring it home?"
Harry huffs a sigh and slides off Ron's lap to reach into the pocket of his cloak. "Here," he says, tossing the envelope at him.
Ron just holds the envelope without opening it, a moment, and looks at Harry. "Would you rather I got all jealous about it?" he asks. "All angry and determined to defend your honour?"
"No," Harry says, rolling his eyes. "I don't want you all jealous and angry, but… a little might be nice, if it's not too much to ask." He stares at the wall, and can feel Ron's amused gaze on his overly-warm cheeks. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Ron pulls the letter from the envelope and starts to read.
Ron's amused expression fades as his eyes scan over the words, and is replaced by something a bit fuzzier around the edges. The air between them shifts as Ron's breath starts to drag in and out of his chest in a way that always speaks directly to Harry's cock. A faint flush appears over the collar of his shirt, and Harry tries to ignore the frisson of excitement that shoots up his own spine.
"Who the hell wrote this?" Ron asks, after he's skimmed the first half or so.
"I don't know," Harry says. He bites at the inside of his cheek as Ron reads to the end, and Harry knows he's getting to the really dirty part, where Harry's admirer talks about licking his arsehole wide open and then fucking him hard and fast.
His cock is rock solid by the time Ron looks at him again, and judging by the look Ron gives him, his isn't the only one.
"Fuck me, Ron," Harry says, his mouth dry. "Fuck me like that."
Ron drags in a breath. "I-yeah. OK," he says, dropping the letter to the floor.
It's only moments before they're in bed, naked, and Ron's body is pinning Harry's to the mattress.
"So fucking sexy," he mumbles against Harry's jaw, as he slides slick fingers into his arse. Harry threads his hands in Ron's hair and relishes the hot breath on his throat and the hard cock against his thigh.
"Do it, Ron," Harry says. "Been waiting all week, please. Just do it."
"You're so sexy," Ron says again, and he licks a long line over Harry's vocal chords. "Everybody fucking wants you."
"Don't care," Harry breathes, and he wants Ron's cock inside him so badly that his chest aches. "Don't care, I just want you-just want you to fuck me-"
Ron breathes a heavy breath and presses his mouth to Harry's collar bone for a hot moment before he slides down his body. Harry's fingers are still in Ron's hair, pushing him down as he pulls his legs up and over Ron's shoulders and holds his breath. Deftly, Ron replaces his fingers with his cock, and they both sigh a week's worth of frustration as he slides easily home, his balls coming to rest against Harry's arse.
It doesn't take very long, after all that, and soon they're lying next to one another, spent and panting. Harry watches Ron breathe and, after a moment, reaches a hand up to his face to brush the sweaty ginger strands off his forehead.
Ron opens his eyes, his expression lazy and smug. "Who knew you were such a perv, Potter? That you like the thought of some dirty fuck out there, thinking about you?"
"Shut up," Harry says, too blissed out for anything else.
Ron looks at him and chuckles, then curls in close. "I'm glad you're home," he says, his nose in Harry's hair. "Never go to France again, OK?"
"OK."
"Better yet, never leave the flat again, OK?"
"OK," Harry agrees, and he falls asleep with Ron's large hand on his hip and warm breath against his neck.
.--. --- .-. -.
The next day, Harry hasn't forgotten about the letter, but work's still completely insane as he tries to get caught up, and he doesn't have time to think about anything else, really. So he gives a small start of genuine surprise when he finds a second, identical envelope sitting on his desk at half six that evening.
He pops his head out his office door to see if Sophie's still there, hoping she knows where it came from. But she's already left, as has everyone who wasn't involved in the conference Floo call that only just finished.
Harry retreats to his desk and stares at the envelope, and does his self-respect the honour of having a pathetic standoff with it before giving in and opening it with a thrill of nervous energy.
The letter's written on the same simple Muggle stationery, and it's even dirtier than the first one. He pictures Ron the entire time he reads it, and he's so hard by the time he Floos home that he keeps a protective hand over his cock as he spins past the grates.
The flat smells delicious when he arrives. "In the kitchen!" Ron calls to him, and Harry smiles, because not only is Ron cooking, but the chessboard is set up next to the sofa, which means that Ron has plans for the two of them, tonight.
"Smells fantastic," Harry says, as he enters the kitchen. "I haven't forgotten something important, have I?"
"No," Ron answers, with a smile. "I just figure I should feed you every now and again."
Harry chuckles. "Molly's son after all, then?"
"Shut it," Ron says. He gestures towards the lounge, with a falsely innocent expression. "Fancy some chess, after we eat?"
"'Course," Harry says, and he wonders how many other people in the world consider a chess match foreplay.
He waits to pull out the letter until Ron has him good and trounced, and the air in the room is already thick with sexual energy. He sets it down on the chessboard without a word, right next to the battered, moaning game pieces.
Ron just looks at it, for a moment. "Is it like yesterday's?" he asks, his voice low.
Harry nods.
"Dirty?"
"Dirtier."
When Ron doesn't say anything else, Harry starts to wonder if he shouldn't have brought it out, and instead let Ron continue with whatever he had planned. But then, "Read it to me," Ron says. "Out loud."
Harry swallows as his cock, which hasn't fallen below half-hard all evening, swells. He unfolds the letter. "I want you to fuck me," he reads, with a furtive glance back at Ron. "I want you to put your cock inside me and fuck me, deeper and harder than anyone ever has."
Harry stops and looks at Ron, whose breath is already laboured as he nods for Harry to continue. Harry licks his lips. "But first," Harry reads, "first, I'm going to drive you mad. Completely and utterly mad, until you can't take it anymore, until you snap." Harry's voice starts to sound funny as he reads all the ways his anonymous admirer would try to make him crazy: peeling off his clothes, piece by piece, and laying him out on the bed as he mouths over his whole body, stroking him with hands and fingers and tongue, everywhere except where he'd really want it, until Harry'd be begging and babbling desperately.
"And then," Harry reads, "when you're right at the edge, I'll fuck you. I'll slide my cock deep into your arse and fuck you 'til I come, 'til I fill you up all the way. I'm still not gonna touch you, though, I'm not gonna let you come. I'm just gonna fuck you until you're desperate, so that as soon as I pull out, you'll flip me over and shove your cock all the way inside me as fast as you can. Because that's how I want you to fuck me: desperate and hard, with my come still dripping out of your arse."
It's hardly poetry, to be sure, but, "Shit," Ron breathes.
"I know," Harry replies, his voice shaky. Harry's so hard he can hardly see straight, so it's a good thing the letter ends there.
They don't even make it to the bedroom, and when Harry finally sinks into Ron's arse, his own arsehole open and hot and wet with Ron's come, he climaxes so intensely that he doesn't even notice they're still on the floor in the lounge until he wakes up there the next morning.
.--. --- .-. -.
The next day, Harry doesn't want to admit that he's hoping for a third letter, but he's absolutely hoping for a third letter. It's waiting for him when he returns from lunch, and it details such a filthy blowjob that Harry almost doesn't make it through the afternoon. It's only by the grace of an iron will he didn't realise he possessed that he makes it to five o'clock before going to Ron's office.
He stands in Ron's open door and hopes his erection isn't already visible as Ron signs off on the transcript of a questioning he conducted that afternoon. Ron grins when he sees him.
"You busy?" Harry asks, holding the letter up for Ron to see.
Ron raises his eyebrow and tilts his head to the side. "Not anymore."
Harry smirks.
"Should we go home?" Ron asks.
Harry looks at Ron leaning back in his large leather desk chair, and bites his lip. "We could," he answers. "Or we could stay here."
Ron blinks, because they haven't done that in a while, but he smiles. "Close the door," he says. "I want you to read it to me again."
"I've got a better idea," Harry says, and he's not sure where this is coming from, but he's feeling daring. He checks the corridor, then pulls Ron's door to almost-closed, leaving it open about six inches. He flips off the overhead lights. "I think you can keep quiet enough to make everyone think we've gone home while I just show you what's in this letter."
Ron's eyes are wide as Harry approaches him, and the low light is just sufficient for Harry to watch his irises disappear behind his growing pupils. Harry smiles and sinks to his knees in front of Ron's chair.
His cock is already visible through his trousers, and Harry knows how it's going to feel, hot and heavy against his tongue. He unbuckles Ron's belt and leans in, rubbing his face against the fabric trapping his cock, and Ron groans. "Shh," Harry chides, and Ron responds by pressing his hips up, pushing against Harry's face.
Harry unbuttons and unzips Ron's trousers, and slips his fingers inside quickly, and he's too hungry for this to tease much, save for a couple flicks of his tongue and a few breaths of cool air, but that's more preparation of his canvas than true teasing.
And then he's got the head of Ron's cock in his mouth, his tongue circling the tip, and Ron's suppressing a groan as his actual head falls back against the tall chair.
Harry works his cock for several minutes, alternating long, wet licks with hollowed cheeks and a bobbing head, and Ron's having a harder and harder time keeping quiet as small whimpers escape his throat and his fingers tighten in Harry's hair. He tugs, hard, and then releases his grip and strokes his fingers over Harry's scalp, as if by apology.
Harry pulls off Ron's cock just long enough to whisper, "No, I like that," and, "Pull harder." Ron's groan bursts forth, despite the obvious effort he makes to contain it, and then his long fingers are back, twisting in Harry's hair as he desperately tries to keep quiet.
Harry slips his fingers back to squeeze at Ron's balls, and he relaxes his throat to take Ron in as far as he can when Ron's hips strain forwards. The head of Ron's cock hits the back of his throat, and Harry hums his appreciation. Ron's fingers tighten even further in Harry's hair, and suddenly he's flooding Harry's mouth in hot, wet spurts, and Harry's swallowing it down like there's nothing he likes better.
Only moments after Ron comes, Harry's got him naked and on his back on the desk. He takes a second to close the door and cast a silencing charm, earning himself a half-hearted eye roll. "Oh, so you get to make noise, do you?" Ron says, and he can't even manage to sound annoyed, his voice is so fucked out and breathy.
Harry just grins and slides two slick fingers into Ron's arse. "Yeah, suppose I do," he says, as Ron grunts and presses against him. Harry's got neither patience nor reason to draw this out, what with Ron so boneless and ready for him, so he's got his cock deep inside him a minute later, and he's thanking whatever genius carpenter built this desk at such a perfect height.
.--. --- .-. -.
Afterwards, they're both stretched out on the desk, and Harry's drawing invisible circles on Ron's bare chest. "Do you think he knows?" Harry asks.
"Hmm?" Ron replies. "Who? Knows what?"
"Him. Whoever's writing these letters. Do you think he knows that we... bring them to life like this? Or d'you think he figures I'm just embarrassed by them and throw them away?"
"Dunno," Ron says, after a moment. "Maybe it's part of why he does it. It's a bit like watching, isn't it?"
Harry looks at Ron, surprised. "And you don't mind? You're not at all... irritated or jealous or something?"
Ron huffs a small laugh. "Jealous of what, exactly?" he says, gesturing to the press of their naked bodies, and the mess they've made of his office.
Harry grins and runs his hand over Ron's stomach, trailing his fingertips through the hair at his navel. "You wanna go home?" he asks. "I'm hungry."
"Like you have to ask," Ron says.
.--. --- .-. -.
Days pass, and the letters continue. They don't come every day, but Harry supposes even anonymous dirty letter writers have their busy days.
He reluctantly decides he should take some action to discover who's writing them. He doesn't want to show them to anyone, so he tears off a corner of one of the letters and takes it down to Paige Bennett in Forensics for analysis.
It's paper, though, and quills only imprint a magical signature on parchment, so Paige comes back empty-handed. All she's got is a vague idea that she's seen this particular stationery before, and she thinks they might have sold it a Flourish & Blotts a few years ago, as a Muggle novelty item.
Harry thanks her and doesn't admit that he didn't actually want an answer.
.--. --- .-. -.
He gets a letter on a Thursday that he waits until Saturday to show Ron. Ron's still asleep when Harry has to leave for a Department PR thing in the morning, so he sets the letter next to the coffee pot on his way out, and tries not to think about it while he works.
There's an intra-Ministry Quidditch League match that afternoon: Aurors versus the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, a rivalry match. Harry doesn't see Ron until they're on the pitch warming up, and Ron just smiles and waves at him, giving no indication that he's read the letter. Harry tries not to feel disappointed, instead focussing all his energies on the match, but his half-hard cock keeps rubbing against his broomstick and all he really wants is some sign from Ron that he's got a similar problem.
He doesn't get one, though, as Ron protects the Auror team goals, so Harry breathes deeply and scours the skies for the Snitch, because he's not sure how long he's going to last out here before he thoroughly embarrasses himself.
He catches it, of course, and there's a collective groan from the other team, but he ignores them and makes his way to the locker room, keeping his robes as billowy as possible in front of him. He roots around in his bag, looking for his towel, and considers how impolite it would be to skip the after-match festivities and just Apparate home without talking to anyone.
"Don't get undressed," a low voice says just behind his ear, and Harry gives a small start.
"You read it?" he asks, quietly. He turns to Ron, who's got a look on his face that sends arousal knifing through Harry's body.
"Do you want to do that?" Ron asks.
Harry's cock is fully hard. "Yes," he says.
Ron smiles obscenely, picks up his bag and Apparates away without another word. Harry blinks at the spot where Ron just was, and tries to settle himself enough to follow without Splinching anything.
It doesn't really work, but somehow he makes it home in one piece, and Ron's got him pushed up against the inside of the front door before he can get his bearings.
"Do you have any idea what you did to me this morning?" Ron asks, burying his nose in Harry's sweat-damp hair. "Leaving that letter out for me? Do you know how fucking turned on I was throughout that entire match?"
Harry just tries not to whimper, as Ron pushes his legs apart and presses a thigh against Harry's groin.
"I couldn't even look at you," Ron says. "Thought I'd come all over the inside of my kit if I did."
Harry shudders as Ron skates his fingers over his shoulders and down his arms, then splays them over the worn leather pads still protecting Harry's wrists.
Harry breathes and then, with the ardent encouragement of his cock, turns his wrists over underneath Ron's fingers, exposing the leather laces. He loses his breath a bit at the look Ron gives him.
Ron rubs at the laces, then wraps his long fingers around Harry's wrists and, in one quick motion, pulls them up over Harry's head, pinning them against the wall.
He crowds himself into Harry's space and brings his face close, so their noses almost touch, and his breath comes in hot bursts against Harry's lips.
"You're gonna take all your clothes off," Ron all but growls. "But these?" He squeezes the leather around Harry's wrists. "These stay."
Harry nods, and can barely breathe.
His brain is threatening to short out, and by the time he finds himself naked and spread out on their bed, he isn't sure if Ron just Apparated them here or if there's a trail of Quidditch robes through the lounge that he can't quite remember making.
But he doesn't care, because Ron's naked too, and he's unlacing Harry's wrist guards, freeing a few inches of leather cord on both arms.
"Lift up," he whispers, and Harry does, stretching his arms over his head. Ron guides his wrists to the bedpost and ties the loose ends together around the other side of it, and Harry's heart seems to have taken up beating inside his cock as he lies there, stretched out and bound to the bed.
Ron looks down at him expectantly, and Harry pulls, testing the strength of the knot. It holds. Ron smiles a dirty smile and runs his fingers over the exposed undersides of Harry's arms, and Harry shudders.
Ron reaches over Harry's body to rummage around in the drawer of the nightstand. The smell of Quidditch is rolling off of him - leather and sweat and sex by association - and his cock is prodding at Harry's hip, and Harry can't stand it. He presses his own cock up, desperate for a firmer touch, wanting to rut against Ron's stomach until he comes.
Ron chuckles and sits back on his knees, leaving Harry rutting at the air. "Oh, I don't think so," he says, with a predatory smile. Harry groans and the wooden bed frame creaks as he inadvertently pulls against his bonds.
Ron works very hard to keep a stern, composed exterior, but he can't seem to stop the occasional grin from bursting forth, and his cock is weeping. Harry starts to wonder how long they're going to be able to keep this up, because the thought of Ron giving in and just fucking him raw is so desperately hot that Harry has to try to stop thinking about it, so he doesn't come too quickly.
But Ron, it seems, is determined to take his time. He mouths and rubs his way all over Harry's prone body, nipping and licking and rubbing until the last of Harry's nerves is on full alert, ready to blow. Ron's teeth hold his nipples still in turn as his tongue works at them, pressing against them, swatting at them, and he bites down just enough so that Harry yelps and pulls at the bedpost and begs for Ron to get on with it, but Ron just laves at Harry's abused nipples and smiles.
Harry's sense of time is admittedly a bit warped, but he's sure an entire age as passed by the time Ron finally takes pity, slicking up his fingers and pressing two of them into Harry's arse, as far as they'll go. Harry groans, suspended against them until Ron slides them out again.
"God, more," Harry grunts, before he's really got his breath back.
"Patience," Ron says, and if Harry's hands weren't tied to the bed, he'd get a knock upside the head for the smug expression he's wearing. Instead, he just gets a look that could probably kill a small woodland creature, but he wipes it off Harry's face easily with a powerful thrust of his hand, and three slick fingers plough their way inside Harry's arse.
Harry gasps and throws his head against the pillow, arches up off the bed and takes it, willing Ron's fingers to stay right there, crowded against his prostate, radiating pleasure out to his entire body. Ron holds steady and presses a moment longer, then slides them out and back in again, hard enough that Harry starts to see sparks.
His arms are tugging at the bedpost, eliciting creaks and groans that might be worrisome, if either he or Ron gave a shit, and all Harry wants is to get his hands free to grab at Ron's hair or arms, but he can't-Ron must have spelled the fucking knot with extra strength, because Harry can't get loose and he's completely at Ron's mercy as long, strong fingers pump in and out of him.
Ron's other hand is pressed against Harry's hip, to hold him against the mattress or just to release Ron's own need, Harry isn't sure, but his fingers are digging in and probably bruising him right down to the bone, but Harry doesn't care as Ron keeps fucking him with his fingers. He's just about to demand more, demand harder and deeper when his brain short-circuits and pleasure rips through him, exploding out his cock, taking his breath and his awareness with it.
When he opens his eyes, his arms are free. He rolls his wrists and discovers that the leather is gone completely. Ron is stretched out next to him, and he's panting. Harry manages to roll up onto his side, and Ron just looks at him, his eyes glassed over. Harry smiles and reaches down for Ron's cock, but finds it soft and heavy.
Ron's pretty red already, but he goes even redder at Harry's raised eyebrows. "You were really fucking hot just now," he says sheepishly, rubbing his fingers through the wet mess on Harry's stomach. "I couldn't wait."
Harry grins. "So is this yours or mine?" he asks, dipping his index finger into the same wetness, and he already knows the answer.
"Bit of both?" Ron answers, cringing and smiling at once.
Harry laughs and presses his finger into Ron's mouth.
.--. --- .-. -.
They're in the shower, after, just standing together under the spray. Ron's got his arms around Harry's waist, and Harry's head is resting back against his shoulder.
"That was OK, right?" Ron asks, with something funny in his voice.
"What was?"
"That. Tying you up."
Harry huffs a laugh. "Only completely fucking brilliant," he says. "Didn't it seem like I was enjoying myself?" He turns his head to the side, so he can peer up at Ron's face.
"You did," Ron says. His mouth curves up a bit, but he's still got frown lines by his eyes.
"What's wrong?" Harry asks. "Why d'you look so worried?"
"I'm not worried, I just," he pauses. "We never talked about doing anything like that before, and I guess I'm not sure you would've wanted to, if it hadn't been in that letter."
Harry frowns. He doesn't know quite what to say, so he looks down and watches the water fall against the tiled floor. "Does it matter where the idea came from, if we both liked it?" he asks, finally.
"S'ppose not," Ron says, shrugging and looking a bit embarrassed for having asked. "And it wasn't all that kinky, really."
Harry smirks. "There weren't even nipple clamps involved."
Ron's mouth twitches up into a smile. "Careful what you wish for," he says, and Harry feels Ron's cock twitch to life against his arse.
"Who knew you were such a perv, Weasley?" Harry says with a smile.
.--. --- .-. -.
On Wednesday of the following week, Harry finds Ron's office empty when he stops in to ask him to lunch. He starts to leave, figuring he'll catch him a bit later, when he remembers that the reason Ron's not in his office is because he's in his performance review meeting with Kingsley.
Harry feels a bit guilty that he forgot to wish Ron well before the meeting started, even though he knows it will be nothing but positive-he's read everything in Ron's employment file, in direct contravention of Department policy. Ron doesn't know that, though, so Harry decides to leave a note asking Ron to come find him right after, so he can hear how it went.
And that's how he comes to be rummaging around in Ron's desk, in search of quill and parchment, when he happens upon a startlingly familiar sheet of paper. He smirks, at first, because he keeps a couple of the letters in his desk, too, for when he's bored, and he wonders which of them Ron likes to keep close at hand.
But then he frowns, because it's a letter Harry hasn't seen before. An unfinished letter that Harry hasn't seen before. He picks it up and there's a quill underneath it that Harry recognises from George's shop, that disguises handwriting.
"You sneaky bastard," Harry breathes, as he falls into Ron's leather chair.
I want to wake you up with my mouth on your cock, it starts. Harry smiles despite himself, and feels his cock twitch against his thigh.
This one isn't quite as dirty as the rest-which isn't saying much, really-and it's laughably soppy to boot, with several tangential bits about how good Harry smells and how he looks when he's sleeping, and even though part of Harry feels like he should be angry at the discovery that Ron's been lying to him, he can't keep the smile off his face as he reads it.
.--. --- .-. -.
Harry's still sitting at Ron's desk when Ron returns to his office.
"Hi," Ron says, grinning. "Just had my performance review."
Harry nods.
"Went well, I think."
"Good."
"I think old Kingsley's finally starting to like me."
"Mmm," Harry says, noncommittally.
Ron's expression falters a bit. "Everything OK?" he asks, and that's when he notices the half-written letter sitting on the desk in front of Harry. He draws a quick breath, then looks back at Harry's face and tries to read his expression. "I can explain," he says, his ears pink.
"Can you?" Harry asks, and he tries to keep a straight face, he honestly does, but his lips won't stop twitching.
Ron gives an embarrassed laugh as a deep flush creeps up his neck. "It was just meant to be a joke," he says, "at first. You were in France all week, and I was bored. Thought it'd be a laugh."
"This is a bit elaborate, even for you, isn't it?" Harry asks. "Using Muggle paper to hide your signature? Where'd you even get this?"
Ron shrugs, but can't hide his smile. "I had it. My dad gave it to me years ago, as a novelty, but I figured I'd put it to use. I had that quill rolling around, too, so." He shrugs again.
"What would you have done if I hadn't shown it to you, or said anything? If I'd tried to hide it?"
"Didn't even occur to me that you might, to be honest. You're awfully noble, you know."
"Shut up."
"Well you are," Ron says, a laugh creeping into his voice. "I figured you'd be all embarrassed and flustered and you'd try to figure out who it was, but then I'd confess and you'd have to punish me, a bit."
Harry quirks an eyebrow.
"I didn't guess you'd be so turned on by it, though. When you came through the Floo that night, all hot and bothered and begging me to fuck you? I didn't expect that, so much."
Harry rolls his eyes and feels his face heat up. "So you wrote another."
"Can you blame me? D'you know how hot it is, imagining all these things up, and then having you come to me, wanting to act it out? It's..." Ron looks at Harry a moment, then looks away. "I think I got a bit addicted."
Harry bites at the inside of his cheek and considers that Ron may not have been the only one a bit addicted. "This your current work in progress?" he asks, gesturing to the letter in front of him.
Ron flushes a deeper shade of red and shrugs.
"It's really quite soppy, you know."
"Why d'you think I never sent it?"
Harry smiles, and resists the urge to stand up and kiss Ron stupid immediately. Instead, he just steps around the desk and folds his arms over his chest. "I was hoping we could have lunch, after your meeting," he says, "but I have an important assignment for you, so I'm not sure you'll have time."
Ron frowns. "I-oh. OK," he says. "What is it?"
"A report," Harry says. "I'll need it on my desk by the end of the day."
"On what?" Ron asks, when Harry stops.
"Exactly what sort of punishment you deserve for all this."
Ron blinks.
"It should be a very detailed report," Harry clarifies, and he tries not to smile as the confused crease between Ron's eyebrows disappears.
"Yes, sir," Ron says. "I'll get started right away."
From: shes_gone
Title: Ain't Got Time to Take a Fast Train
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry's got a rather filthy secret admirer.
Word Count: 6,400
Disclaimer: Nothing here belongs to me, tragically.
Warnings: Entirely too much porn. Seriously. Also, some light bondage.
Author's Note: sparkysparky! I had so much fun writing for you, holy crap. From your request, I took the prompts Aurors!, mystery and dirty talk, and this is what happened. I hope you enjoy! The title's from The Box Tops' "The Letter". Endless thanks to my betas, my Britpicker, and the mod. ♥! Merry Christmas!!
Ain't Got Time to Take a Fast Train
He finds it at the end of an already long, tiring day. He's just got back from almost a week in France, where he was giving a conference for all levels of law enforcement on the latest developments in Dark Arts detection and defence. The conference ended this morning and he got back to the London office just after lunch, so his afternoon's been a whirlwind of meetings and memos and returned Floo calls. The rumble of his stomach lets him know just how late it's become, in case all the empty offices weren't indication enough.
It's past seven when the last of his meetings finally ends. He returns to his office to collect a few things before heading home, and that's when he finds it, sitting quietly on his desk. It's just a letter in a cream-coloured envelope, and the only unusual thing about it is the fact that it's there at all - Harry's assistant, Sophie, holds all his afternoon owl post until morning, unless something's marked urgent, which this isn't.
Harry looks at it and isn't sure if it came by owl post at all-the envelope is flat and pristine, without any sign of recently having been tied to large bird. He frowns and picks it up, and he doesn't recognise the handwriting on the envelope.
He contemplates forgetting it until the morning. Ron's waiting for him at home, and they haven't had time for so much as a proper hello since Harry got back. The Department's policy on personal relationships between its members dictates that Harry and Ron can't work together on cases nor, since Harry's promotion two years ago, very closely on just about anything.
Days like today make that policy feel more like a punishment than a safety measure. Ron popped his head into Harry's office at around three, just to say hello, but Harry had the Minister on the Floo and Kingsley at his desk, so Ron just smiled at him and waved off their hello until later. Harry hasn't seen him since, and figures he's probably at home, stretched out on the sofa in front of the Floo right now with a Quidditch magazine.
Harry smiles and wants to pretend that he hasn't noticed the letter at all, but something about it tugs at him. It's going to bother him all night if he doesn't just open it, so he does.
He pulls out the paper inside - it's some sort of Muggle stationery, he notes, with a frown - and scans the first line.
I'm half-hard all day, it says, thinking about you.
Harry blinks.
I sit here and imagine what you look like under your robes, and how you'd look naked and spread out in my bed.
Harry's face heats up as he flips the paper over, looking for some clue as to where this came from, because the only thing he knows for certain is that this handwriting isn't Ron's.
He skims the rest of it, and it's dirty as can be, as the author describes all number of things that he apparently wants to do to Harry's naked body.
Harry's red as a beet when he finishes reading, and he finds himself glancing around his deserted office embarrassedly, just in case. He stares at the piece of paper in his hand, and has no idea what to do next. He imagines throwing it into the fire, or sending it off into oblivion with a flick of his wand, with no one ever the wiser.
Then he imagines Ron, stretched out on that sofa, reading a dirty letter from a secret admirer. Biting his lower lip against a small smile, Harry refolds the letter and slips it into his cloak pocket.
.--. --- .-. -.
He steps through the Floo a few minutes later and finds Ron stretched out on their sofa with a Quidditch magazine. He grins.
"Was wondering when I'd finally get to see you," Ron says, grinning back.
Harry shucks his cloak and tosses it over the arm of the sofa. "Sorry," he says. "I wanted to leave ages ago, but I-"
"Stop apologising," Ron interrupts, "and get down here."
Harry smiles and sinks down next to him, landing half on top of him. Ron's arms come around him and pull him close, and Harry sighs as they give in to the kiss they've both been waiting for all day. Ron's mouth is hot and welcoming, and his tongue is sweet with something minty, and his body is long and strong underneath Harry's, and it's really good to be home.
Harry pulls back with a smile, and tilts his head as Ron rubs his thumb over the side of his neck. "You know, I'm starting to think that this just might be worth not working together anymore," he says.
Ron barks a laugh. "Four years on, and you're finally coming around, are you? Dunno if I'm so sure, though. Maybe we should break up, and go back to being partners."
"Maybe," Harry says, and he makes a thoughtful face, like he's considering it. "I'm not sure I'm gonna like going back to hiding the instant hard-ons I get whenever you walk into the room, though."
"We all have our crosses to bear, Harry," Ron says, solemnly.
They look at each other, and Harry breaks first, snorting a laugh and falling back against Ron. He turns so he can throw a leg over Ron's thigh, half-straddling his lap, and his erection rubs against the crease of Ron's hip.
"You are excited tonight, aren't you?" Ron murmurs, pulling him closer. "What's up?"
"Nothing," Harry says, completely unconvincingly.
Ron quirks an eyebrow at him, and Harry feels his face go red.
"I just missed you," he tries again.
"Yeah, OK," Ron says, laughing. "So what was it? Another orgy this afternoon?"
"No," Harry says, cringing, "and thank you for that image."
"What? Orgies are hot."
"Not the ones that Aurors get called in to deal with, and you know it, you prat."
Ron just grins. "So what has got into you, then, if it wasn't another orgy of evil?"
Harry rolls his eyes, then glances at his cloak. "Someone sent me a letter today. Tonight, actually."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. And I'm not sure you're going to like it very much, if I'm honest."
Ron's eyebrows go up. "Why's that?"
Harry pulls his lower lip between his teeth and looks at Ron a moment. "It's dirty," he says.
"Dirty?" Ron echoes.
Harry nods. "And I don't know who sent it."
"Someone sent you an unsigned dirty letter?" Ron says, amusement plain in his voice.
Harry frowns at him. "You think it's funny, do you?" Ron just laughs. Harry sits back indignantly, and nearly falls off Ron's leg to the floor for his effort, but Ron gets his hands around his hips just in time.
"Steady on!" Ron says, still laughing. "And of course it's funny."
"Shut up, it's not!"
"In what universe is you getting a dirty letter not funny?"
Harry crosses his arms over his chest. "One in which there's some dirty fuck out there, writing pornography about me, and you don't even care!"
"Oh believe me," Ron says, chuckling, "I care. I plan to savour every word. Where is it? Did you bring it home?"
Harry huffs a sigh and slides off Ron's lap to reach into the pocket of his cloak. "Here," he says, tossing the envelope at him.
Ron just holds the envelope without opening it, a moment, and looks at Harry. "Would you rather I got all jealous about it?" he asks. "All angry and determined to defend your honour?"
"No," Harry says, rolling his eyes. "I don't want you all jealous and angry, but… a little might be nice, if it's not too much to ask." He stares at the wall, and can feel Ron's amused gaze on his overly-warm cheeks. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Ron pulls the letter from the envelope and starts to read.
Ron's amused expression fades as his eyes scan over the words, and is replaced by something a bit fuzzier around the edges. The air between them shifts as Ron's breath starts to drag in and out of his chest in a way that always speaks directly to Harry's cock. A faint flush appears over the collar of his shirt, and Harry tries to ignore the frisson of excitement that shoots up his own spine.
"Who the hell wrote this?" Ron asks, after he's skimmed the first half or so.
"I don't know," Harry says. He bites at the inside of his cheek as Ron reads to the end, and Harry knows he's getting to the really dirty part, where Harry's admirer talks about licking his arsehole wide open and then fucking him hard and fast.
His cock is rock solid by the time Ron looks at him again, and judging by the look Ron gives him, his isn't the only one.
"Fuck me, Ron," Harry says, his mouth dry. "Fuck me like that."
Ron drags in a breath. "I-yeah. OK," he says, dropping the letter to the floor.
It's only moments before they're in bed, naked, and Ron's body is pinning Harry's to the mattress.
"So fucking sexy," he mumbles against Harry's jaw, as he slides slick fingers into his arse. Harry threads his hands in Ron's hair and relishes the hot breath on his throat and the hard cock against his thigh.
"Do it, Ron," Harry says. "Been waiting all week, please. Just do it."
"You're so sexy," Ron says again, and he licks a long line over Harry's vocal chords. "Everybody fucking wants you."
"Don't care," Harry breathes, and he wants Ron's cock inside him so badly that his chest aches. "Don't care, I just want you-just want you to fuck me-"
Ron breathes a heavy breath and presses his mouth to Harry's collar bone for a hot moment before he slides down his body. Harry's fingers are still in Ron's hair, pushing him down as he pulls his legs up and over Ron's shoulders and holds his breath. Deftly, Ron replaces his fingers with his cock, and they both sigh a week's worth of frustration as he slides easily home, his balls coming to rest against Harry's arse.
It doesn't take very long, after all that, and soon they're lying next to one another, spent and panting. Harry watches Ron breathe and, after a moment, reaches a hand up to his face to brush the sweaty ginger strands off his forehead.
Ron opens his eyes, his expression lazy and smug. "Who knew you were such a perv, Potter? That you like the thought of some dirty fuck out there, thinking about you?"
"Shut up," Harry says, too blissed out for anything else.
Ron looks at him and chuckles, then curls in close. "I'm glad you're home," he says, his nose in Harry's hair. "Never go to France again, OK?"
"OK."
"Better yet, never leave the flat again, OK?"
"OK," Harry agrees, and he falls asleep with Ron's large hand on his hip and warm breath against his neck.
.--. --- .-. -.
The next day, Harry hasn't forgotten about the letter, but work's still completely insane as he tries to get caught up, and he doesn't have time to think about anything else, really. So he gives a small start of genuine surprise when he finds a second, identical envelope sitting on his desk at half six that evening.
He pops his head out his office door to see if Sophie's still there, hoping she knows where it came from. But she's already left, as has everyone who wasn't involved in the conference Floo call that only just finished.
Harry retreats to his desk and stares at the envelope, and does his self-respect the honour of having a pathetic standoff with it before giving in and opening it with a thrill of nervous energy.
The letter's written on the same simple Muggle stationery, and it's even dirtier than the first one. He pictures Ron the entire time he reads it, and he's so hard by the time he Floos home that he keeps a protective hand over his cock as he spins past the grates.
The flat smells delicious when he arrives. "In the kitchen!" Ron calls to him, and Harry smiles, because not only is Ron cooking, but the chessboard is set up next to the sofa, which means that Ron has plans for the two of them, tonight.
"Smells fantastic," Harry says, as he enters the kitchen. "I haven't forgotten something important, have I?"
"No," Ron answers, with a smile. "I just figure I should feed you every now and again."
Harry chuckles. "Molly's son after all, then?"
"Shut it," Ron says. He gestures towards the lounge, with a falsely innocent expression. "Fancy some chess, after we eat?"
"'Course," Harry says, and he wonders how many other people in the world consider a chess match foreplay.
He waits to pull out the letter until Ron has him good and trounced, and the air in the room is already thick with sexual energy. He sets it down on the chessboard without a word, right next to the battered, moaning game pieces.
Ron just looks at it, for a moment. "Is it like yesterday's?" he asks, his voice low.
Harry nods.
"Dirty?"
"Dirtier."
When Ron doesn't say anything else, Harry starts to wonder if he shouldn't have brought it out, and instead let Ron continue with whatever he had planned. But then, "Read it to me," Ron says. "Out loud."
Harry swallows as his cock, which hasn't fallen below half-hard all evening, swells. He unfolds the letter. "I want you to fuck me," he reads, with a furtive glance back at Ron. "I want you to put your cock inside me and fuck me, deeper and harder than anyone ever has."
Harry stops and looks at Ron, whose breath is already laboured as he nods for Harry to continue. Harry licks his lips. "But first," Harry reads, "first, I'm going to drive you mad. Completely and utterly mad, until you can't take it anymore, until you snap." Harry's voice starts to sound funny as he reads all the ways his anonymous admirer would try to make him crazy: peeling off his clothes, piece by piece, and laying him out on the bed as he mouths over his whole body, stroking him with hands and fingers and tongue, everywhere except where he'd really want it, until Harry'd be begging and babbling desperately.
"And then," Harry reads, "when you're right at the edge, I'll fuck you. I'll slide my cock deep into your arse and fuck you 'til I come, 'til I fill you up all the way. I'm still not gonna touch you, though, I'm not gonna let you come. I'm just gonna fuck you until you're desperate, so that as soon as I pull out, you'll flip me over and shove your cock all the way inside me as fast as you can. Because that's how I want you to fuck me: desperate and hard, with my come still dripping out of your arse."
It's hardly poetry, to be sure, but, "Shit," Ron breathes.
"I know," Harry replies, his voice shaky. Harry's so hard he can hardly see straight, so it's a good thing the letter ends there.
They don't even make it to the bedroom, and when Harry finally sinks into Ron's arse, his own arsehole open and hot and wet with Ron's come, he climaxes so intensely that he doesn't even notice they're still on the floor in the lounge until he wakes up there the next morning.
.--. --- .-. -.
The next day, Harry doesn't want to admit that he's hoping for a third letter, but he's absolutely hoping for a third letter. It's waiting for him when he returns from lunch, and it details such a filthy blowjob that Harry almost doesn't make it through the afternoon. It's only by the grace of an iron will he didn't realise he possessed that he makes it to five o'clock before going to Ron's office.
He stands in Ron's open door and hopes his erection isn't already visible as Ron signs off on the transcript of a questioning he conducted that afternoon. Ron grins when he sees him.
"You busy?" Harry asks, holding the letter up for Ron to see.
Ron raises his eyebrow and tilts his head to the side. "Not anymore."
Harry smirks.
"Should we go home?" Ron asks.
Harry looks at Ron leaning back in his large leather desk chair, and bites his lip. "We could," he answers. "Or we could stay here."
Ron blinks, because they haven't done that in a while, but he smiles. "Close the door," he says. "I want you to read it to me again."
"I've got a better idea," Harry says, and he's not sure where this is coming from, but he's feeling daring. He checks the corridor, then pulls Ron's door to almost-closed, leaving it open about six inches. He flips off the overhead lights. "I think you can keep quiet enough to make everyone think we've gone home while I just show you what's in this letter."
Ron's eyes are wide as Harry approaches him, and the low light is just sufficient for Harry to watch his irises disappear behind his growing pupils. Harry smiles and sinks to his knees in front of Ron's chair.
His cock is already visible through his trousers, and Harry knows how it's going to feel, hot and heavy against his tongue. He unbuckles Ron's belt and leans in, rubbing his face against the fabric trapping his cock, and Ron groans. "Shh," Harry chides, and Ron responds by pressing his hips up, pushing against Harry's face.
Harry unbuttons and unzips Ron's trousers, and slips his fingers inside quickly, and he's too hungry for this to tease much, save for a couple flicks of his tongue and a few breaths of cool air, but that's more preparation of his canvas than true teasing.
And then he's got the head of Ron's cock in his mouth, his tongue circling the tip, and Ron's suppressing a groan as his actual head falls back against the tall chair.
Harry works his cock for several minutes, alternating long, wet licks with hollowed cheeks and a bobbing head, and Ron's having a harder and harder time keeping quiet as small whimpers escape his throat and his fingers tighten in Harry's hair. He tugs, hard, and then releases his grip and strokes his fingers over Harry's scalp, as if by apology.
Harry pulls off Ron's cock just long enough to whisper, "No, I like that," and, "Pull harder." Ron's groan bursts forth, despite the obvious effort he makes to contain it, and then his long fingers are back, twisting in Harry's hair as he desperately tries to keep quiet.
Harry slips his fingers back to squeeze at Ron's balls, and he relaxes his throat to take Ron in as far as he can when Ron's hips strain forwards. The head of Ron's cock hits the back of his throat, and Harry hums his appreciation. Ron's fingers tighten even further in Harry's hair, and suddenly he's flooding Harry's mouth in hot, wet spurts, and Harry's swallowing it down like there's nothing he likes better.
Only moments after Ron comes, Harry's got him naked and on his back on the desk. He takes a second to close the door and cast a silencing charm, earning himself a half-hearted eye roll. "Oh, so you get to make noise, do you?" Ron says, and he can't even manage to sound annoyed, his voice is so fucked out and breathy.
Harry just grins and slides two slick fingers into Ron's arse. "Yeah, suppose I do," he says, as Ron grunts and presses against him. Harry's got neither patience nor reason to draw this out, what with Ron so boneless and ready for him, so he's got his cock deep inside him a minute later, and he's thanking whatever genius carpenter built this desk at such a perfect height.
.--. --- .-. -.
Afterwards, they're both stretched out on the desk, and Harry's drawing invisible circles on Ron's bare chest. "Do you think he knows?" Harry asks.
"Hmm?" Ron replies. "Who? Knows what?"
"Him. Whoever's writing these letters. Do you think he knows that we... bring them to life like this? Or d'you think he figures I'm just embarrassed by them and throw them away?"
"Dunno," Ron says, after a moment. "Maybe it's part of why he does it. It's a bit like watching, isn't it?"
Harry looks at Ron, surprised. "And you don't mind? You're not at all... irritated or jealous or something?"
Ron huffs a small laugh. "Jealous of what, exactly?" he says, gesturing to the press of their naked bodies, and the mess they've made of his office.
Harry grins and runs his hand over Ron's stomach, trailing his fingertips through the hair at his navel. "You wanna go home?" he asks. "I'm hungry."
"Like you have to ask," Ron says.
.--. --- .-. -.
Days pass, and the letters continue. They don't come every day, but Harry supposes even anonymous dirty letter writers have their busy days.
He reluctantly decides he should take some action to discover who's writing them. He doesn't want to show them to anyone, so he tears off a corner of one of the letters and takes it down to Paige Bennett in Forensics for analysis.
It's paper, though, and quills only imprint a magical signature on parchment, so Paige comes back empty-handed. All she's got is a vague idea that she's seen this particular stationery before, and she thinks they might have sold it a Flourish & Blotts a few years ago, as a Muggle novelty item.
Harry thanks her and doesn't admit that he didn't actually want an answer.
.--. --- .-. -.
He gets a letter on a Thursday that he waits until Saturday to show Ron. Ron's still asleep when Harry has to leave for a Department PR thing in the morning, so he sets the letter next to the coffee pot on his way out, and tries not to think about it while he works.
There's an intra-Ministry Quidditch League match that afternoon: Aurors versus the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, a rivalry match. Harry doesn't see Ron until they're on the pitch warming up, and Ron just smiles and waves at him, giving no indication that he's read the letter. Harry tries not to feel disappointed, instead focussing all his energies on the match, but his half-hard cock keeps rubbing against his broomstick and all he really wants is some sign from Ron that he's got a similar problem.
He doesn't get one, though, as Ron protects the Auror team goals, so Harry breathes deeply and scours the skies for the Snitch, because he's not sure how long he's going to last out here before he thoroughly embarrasses himself.
He catches it, of course, and there's a collective groan from the other team, but he ignores them and makes his way to the locker room, keeping his robes as billowy as possible in front of him. He roots around in his bag, looking for his towel, and considers how impolite it would be to skip the after-match festivities and just Apparate home without talking to anyone.
"Don't get undressed," a low voice says just behind his ear, and Harry gives a small start.
"You read it?" he asks, quietly. He turns to Ron, who's got a look on his face that sends arousal knifing through Harry's body.
"Do you want to do that?" Ron asks.
Harry's cock is fully hard. "Yes," he says.
Ron smiles obscenely, picks up his bag and Apparates away without another word. Harry blinks at the spot where Ron just was, and tries to settle himself enough to follow without Splinching anything.
It doesn't really work, but somehow he makes it home in one piece, and Ron's got him pushed up against the inside of the front door before he can get his bearings.
"Do you have any idea what you did to me this morning?" Ron asks, burying his nose in Harry's sweat-damp hair. "Leaving that letter out for me? Do you know how fucking turned on I was throughout that entire match?"
Harry just tries not to whimper, as Ron pushes his legs apart and presses a thigh against Harry's groin.
"I couldn't even look at you," Ron says. "Thought I'd come all over the inside of my kit if I did."
Harry shudders as Ron skates his fingers over his shoulders and down his arms, then splays them over the worn leather pads still protecting Harry's wrists.
Harry breathes and then, with the ardent encouragement of his cock, turns his wrists over underneath Ron's fingers, exposing the leather laces. He loses his breath a bit at the look Ron gives him.
Ron rubs at the laces, then wraps his long fingers around Harry's wrists and, in one quick motion, pulls them up over Harry's head, pinning them against the wall.
He crowds himself into Harry's space and brings his face close, so their noses almost touch, and his breath comes in hot bursts against Harry's lips.
"You're gonna take all your clothes off," Ron all but growls. "But these?" He squeezes the leather around Harry's wrists. "These stay."
Harry nods, and can barely breathe.
His brain is threatening to short out, and by the time he finds himself naked and spread out on their bed, he isn't sure if Ron just Apparated them here or if there's a trail of Quidditch robes through the lounge that he can't quite remember making.
But he doesn't care, because Ron's naked too, and he's unlacing Harry's wrist guards, freeing a few inches of leather cord on both arms.
"Lift up," he whispers, and Harry does, stretching his arms over his head. Ron guides his wrists to the bedpost and ties the loose ends together around the other side of it, and Harry's heart seems to have taken up beating inside his cock as he lies there, stretched out and bound to the bed.
Ron looks down at him expectantly, and Harry pulls, testing the strength of the knot. It holds. Ron smiles a dirty smile and runs his fingers over the exposed undersides of Harry's arms, and Harry shudders.
Ron reaches over Harry's body to rummage around in the drawer of the nightstand. The smell of Quidditch is rolling off of him - leather and sweat and sex by association - and his cock is prodding at Harry's hip, and Harry can't stand it. He presses his own cock up, desperate for a firmer touch, wanting to rut against Ron's stomach until he comes.
Ron chuckles and sits back on his knees, leaving Harry rutting at the air. "Oh, I don't think so," he says, with a predatory smile. Harry groans and the wooden bed frame creaks as he inadvertently pulls against his bonds.
Ron works very hard to keep a stern, composed exterior, but he can't seem to stop the occasional grin from bursting forth, and his cock is weeping. Harry starts to wonder how long they're going to be able to keep this up, because the thought of Ron giving in and just fucking him raw is so desperately hot that Harry has to try to stop thinking about it, so he doesn't come too quickly.
But Ron, it seems, is determined to take his time. He mouths and rubs his way all over Harry's prone body, nipping and licking and rubbing until the last of Harry's nerves is on full alert, ready to blow. Ron's teeth hold his nipples still in turn as his tongue works at them, pressing against them, swatting at them, and he bites down just enough so that Harry yelps and pulls at the bedpost and begs for Ron to get on with it, but Ron just laves at Harry's abused nipples and smiles.
Harry's sense of time is admittedly a bit warped, but he's sure an entire age as passed by the time Ron finally takes pity, slicking up his fingers and pressing two of them into Harry's arse, as far as they'll go. Harry groans, suspended against them until Ron slides them out again.
"God, more," Harry grunts, before he's really got his breath back.
"Patience," Ron says, and if Harry's hands weren't tied to the bed, he'd get a knock upside the head for the smug expression he's wearing. Instead, he just gets a look that could probably kill a small woodland creature, but he wipes it off Harry's face easily with a powerful thrust of his hand, and three slick fingers plough their way inside Harry's arse.
Harry gasps and throws his head against the pillow, arches up off the bed and takes it, willing Ron's fingers to stay right there, crowded against his prostate, radiating pleasure out to his entire body. Ron holds steady and presses a moment longer, then slides them out and back in again, hard enough that Harry starts to see sparks.
His arms are tugging at the bedpost, eliciting creaks and groans that might be worrisome, if either he or Ron gave a shit, and all Harry wants is to get his hands free to grab at Ron's hair or arms, but he can't-Ron must have spelled the fucking knot with extra strength, because Harry can't get loose and he's completely at Ron's mercy as long, strong fingers pump in and out of him.
Ron's other hand is pressed against Harry's hip, to hold him against the mattress or just to release Ron's own need, Harry isn't sure, but his fingers are digging in and probably bruising him right down to the bone, but Harry doesn't care as Ron keeps fucking him with his fingers. He's just about to demand more, demand harder and deeper when his brain short-circuits and pleasure rips through him, exploding out his cock, taking his breath and his awareness with it.
When he opens his eyes, his arms are free. He rolls his wrists and discovers that the leather is gone completely. Ron is stretched out next to him, and he's panting. Harry manages to roll up onto his side, and Ron just looks at him, his eyes glassed over. Harry smiles and reaches down for Ron's cock, but finds it soft and heavy.
Ron's pretty red already, but he goes even redder at Harry's raised eyebrows. "You were really fucking hot just now," he says sheepishly, rubbing his fingers through the wet mess on Harry's stomach. "I couldn't wait."
Harry grins. "So is this yours or mine?" he asks, dipping his index finger into the same wetness, and he already knows the answer.
"Bit of both?" Ron answers, cringing and smiling at once.
Harry laughs and presses his finger into Ron's mouth.
.--. --- .-. -.
They're in the shower, after, just standing together under the spray. Ron's got his arms around Harry's waist, and Harry's head is resting back against his shoulder.
"That was OK, right?" Ron asks, with something funny in his voice.
"What was?"
"That. Tying you up."
Harry huffs a laugh. "Only completely fucking brilliant," he says. "Didn't it seem like I was enjoying myself?" He turns his head to the side, so he can peer up at Ron's face.
"You did," Ron says. His mouth curves up a bit, but he's still got frown lines by his eyes.
"What's wrong?" Harry asks. "Why d'you look so worried?"
"I'm not worried, I just," he pauses. "We never talked about doing anything like that before, and I guess I'm not sure you would've wanted to, if it hadn't been in that letter."
Harry frowns. He doesn't know quite what to say, so he looks down and watches the water fall against the tiled floor. "Does it matter where the idea came from, if we both liked it?" he asks, finally.
"S'ppose not," Ron says, shrugging and looking a bit embarrassed for having asked. "And it wasn't all that kinky, really."
Harry smirks. "There weren't even nipple clamps involved."
Ron's mouth twitches up into a smile. "Careful what you wish for," he says, and Harry feels Ron's cock twitch to life against his arse.
"Who knew you were such a perv, Weasley?" Harry says with a smile.
.--. --- .-. -.
On Wednesday of the following week, Harry finds Ron's office empty when he stops in to ask him to lunch. He starts to leave, figuring he'll catch him a bit later, when he remembers that the reason Ron's not in his office is because he's in his performance review meeting with Kingsley.
Harry feels a bit guilty that he forgot to wish Ron well before the meeting started, even though he knows it will be nothing but positive-he's read everything in Ron's employment file, in direct contravention of Department policy. Ron doesn't know that, though, so Harry decides to leave a note asking Ron to come find him right after, so he can hear how it went.
And that's how he comes to be rummaging around in Ron's desk, in search of quill and parchment, when he happens upon a startlingly familiar sheet of paper. He smirks, at first, because he keeps a couple of the letters in his desk, too, for when he's bored, and he wonders which of them Ron likes to keep close at hand.
But then he frowns, because it's a letter Harry hasn't seen before. An unfinished letter that Harry hasn't seen before. He picks it up and there's a quill underneath it that Harry recognises from George's shop, that disguises handwriting.
"You sneaky bastard," Harry breathes, as he falls into Ron's leather chair.
I want to wake you up with my mouth on your cock, it starts. Harry smiles despite himself, and feels his cock twitch against his thigh.
This one isn't quite as dirty as the rest-which isn't saying much, really-and it's laughably soppy to boot, with several tangential bits about how good Harry smells and how he looks when he's sleeping, and even though part of Harry feels like he should be angry at the discovery that Ron's been lying to him, he can't keep the smile off his face as he reads it.
.--. --- .-. -.
Harry's still sitting at Ron's desk when Ron returns to his office.
"Hi," Ron says, grinning. "Just had my performance review."
Harry nods.
"Went well, I think."
"Good."
"I think old Kingsley's finally starting to like me."
"Mmm," Harry says, noncommittally.
Ron's expression falters a bit. "Everything OK?" he asks, and that's when he notices the half-written letter sitting on the desk in front of Harry. He draws a quick breath, then looks back at Harry's face and tries to read his expression. "I can explain," he says, his ears pink.
"Can you?" Harry asks, and he tries to keep a straight face, he honestly does, but his lips won't stop twitching.
Ron gives an embarrassed laugh as a deep flush creeps up his neck. "It was just meant to be a joke," he says, "at first. You were in France all week, and I was bored. Thought it'd be a laugh."
"This is a bit elaborate, even for you, isn't it?" Harry asks. "Using Muggle paper to hide your signature? Where'd you even get this?"
Ron shrugs, but can't hide his smile. "I had it. My dad gave it to me years ago, as a novelty, but I figured I'd put it to use. I had that quill rolling around, too, so." He shrugs again.
"What would you have done if I hadn't shown it to you, or said anything? If I'd tried to hide it?"
"Didn't even occur to me that you might, to be honest. You're awfully noble, you know."
"Shut up."
"Well you are," Ron says, a laugh creeping into his voice. "I figured you'd be all embarrassed and flustered and you'd try to figure out who it was, but then I'd confess and you'd have to punish me, a bit."
Harry quirks an eyebrow.
"I didn't guess you'd be so turned on by it, though. When you came through the Floo that night, all hot and bothered and begging me to fuck you? I didn't expect that, so much."
Harry rolls his eyes and feels his face heat up. "So you wrote another."
"Can you blame me? D'you know how hot it is, imagining all these things up, and then having you come to me, wanting to act it out? It's..." Ron looks at Harry a moment, then looks away. "I think I got a bit addicted."
Harry bites at the inside of his cheek and considers that Ron may not have been the only one a bit addicted. "This your current work in progress?" he asks, gesturing to the letter in front of him.
Ron flushes a deeper shade of red and shrugs.
"It's really quite soppy, you know."
"Why d'you think I never sent it?"
Harry smiles, and resists the urge to stand up and kiss Ron stupid immediately. Instead, he just steps around the desk and folds his arms over his chest. "I was hoping we could have lunch, after your meeting," he says, "but I have an important assignment for you, so I'm not sure you'll have time."
Ron frowns. "I-oh. OK," he says. "What is it?"
"A report," Harry says. "I'll need it on my desk by the end of the day."
"On what?" Ron asks, when Harry stops.
"Exactly what sort of punishment you deserve for all this."
Ron blinks.
"It should be a very detailed report," Harry clarifies, and he tries not to smile as the confused crease between Ron's eyebrows disappears.
"Yes, sir," Ron says. "I'll get started right away."