Smutathon Entry 12: Banned (Harry/George)
Title: Banned
Pairing: Harry/George
A/N: Well, why not?
Smut:
The changing room was quiet. The Gryffindor wall hangings screwed up on the floor; not even their win against Slytherin could soften the blow. He’d been thrown off the team, his broom confiscated and all the fault of bloody Malfoy.
He heard the door creak but didn’t turn his head, not wanting the interloper to see his tears.
“Thought I’d find you here, Harry.”
Recognising the voice, Harry swallowed before saying, “George.”
“You okay?”
Harry shrugged. “No idea. Everything that made Hogwarts special is slowly being ripped away and I -” He slumped to the floor, burying his head in his knees.
He didn’t hear George approach, but felt his hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got me ... I mean us, Fred and me, Ron, Hermione - Ginny.” He stopped talking, and Harry heard him sigh.
Looking up, he suddenly realised how close George was. Harry wondered if he should move away, but something about this nearness felt right. And then there was the way George was staring at him, his blue eyes darkening with a serious intensity Harry had never seen from him. He blinked and tried to look away, but instead remained immobile even though he could feel George’s breath on his collarbone.
“I should go,” Harry murmured.
“Yes,” George replied, in a low whisper. “You should.”
Harry counted the seconds, or at least he tried to, but his mind was awhirl with confusing sensations that seemed to centre on the very physicality of George and his hand, which was still touching his shoulder, the pressure increasing, his thumb sliding along his neck.
“George, what are you ...”
Instantly George pulled away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything. Mistake,” he babbled as he stood up quickly.
He strode to the door, and slammed it shut as he left. Harry sat there, feeling suddenly cold without George, and yet the skin on his shoulder still tingled.
“George,” he shouted, following him out. “Come back. I ... I ...” He took a breath. “It might not be a mistake.”
“What are you saying?” George said hoarsely, standing in the shadows.
“I don’t know,” Harry replied and stepped falteringly towards him.
Not saying another word, George reached out and interlocked his fingers into Harry’s. The space between them could have been an ocean and not mere inches, but then George pulled him closer and stared into his eyes. “You can tell me to stop,” he murmured, “at any time.”
Then his hand trailed across Harry’s arm, and Harry could feel a burning sensation rippling through him. A soft breathy moan escaped from his lips, and, unthinking, he tilted his face towards George and waited.
George dusted his lips with his own, and then slowly slipped his tongue inside Harry’s mouth. Harry groaned and as George pulled him closer, he became aware of George hard against his thigh.
“Shall I stop?”
His hand slipped to Harry’s stomach, his fingers dipping below the waistband. Harry breathed in, giving George room to explore.
“Shall I stop?” George repeated.
“No,” Harry moaned. “Oh, God.”
George unbuttoned Harry’s trousers, his hands tugging until the jeans were halfway down his thighs, and then with one finger, he traced the outline of Harry’s cock in his boxers.
“I could stop,” he murmured. “You can forget this ever happened.”
But Harry grabbed George’s arm, and held him there, whilst he moved his groin, rubbing it against the palm of George’s hand. George was still kissing him, but not gently now. He sucked at Harry’s lower lip, his teeth lightly nipping as his other hand cupped Harry’s arse, his fingers digging into him.
And just when Harry thought this couldn’t get better, when George was now grasping his cock, and biting his neck, George pulled down his boxers and dropped to his knees.
“Don’t stop,” Harry cried.
“I’m not going to,” George replied, his fingers stroking Harry’s balls. “This is where it gets a lot more fun, Harry.”
He took him in his mouth. His tongue slid down the length, sucking, nuzzling, as his hands gripped behind his thighs. Harry jerked against him, unable to stop; his orgasm quick, explosive and all-consuming. He shuddered and his knees buckled.
“First time is always quick,” George whispered, lowering them both to the ground. “But next time... if you want a next time... I’ll teach you how to make it last.”
Harry nodded dumbly. “I want a next time.”
George grinned - his first smile since before the match. “Good, because I’m not sure I can stay away now and ... uh ... I’m so hard I’m going to burst through these trousers.”
“What do I do?”
“You’ll figure it out.” Then George gasped. “God, yes. There. And there. Yes. Yes. Don’t stop.”
Pairing: Harry/George
A/N: Well, why not?
Smut:
The changing room was quiet. The Gryffindor wall hangings screwed up on the floor; not even their win against Slytherin could soften the blow. He’d been thrown off the team, his broom confiscated and all the fault of bloody Malfoy.
He heard the door creak but didn’t turn his head, not wanting the interloper to see his tears.
“Thought I’d find you here, Harry.”
Recognising the voice, Harry swallowed before saying, “George.”
“You okay?”
Harry shrugged. “No idea. Everything that made Hogwarts special is slowly being ripped away and I -” He slumped to the floor, burying his head in his knees.
He didn’t hear George approach, but felt his hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got me ... I mean us, Fred and me, Ron, Hermione - Ginny.” He stopped talking, and Harry heard him sigh.
Looking up, he suddenly realised how close George was. Harry wondered if he should move away, but something about this nearness felt right. And then there was the way George was staring at him, his blue eyes darkening with a serious intensity Harry had never seen from him. He blinked and tried to look away, but instead remained immobile even though he could feel George’s breath on his collarbone.
“I should go,” Harry murmured.
“Yes,” George replied, in a low whisper. “You should.”
Harry counted the seconds, or at least he tried to, but his mind was awhirl with confusing sensations that seemed to centre on the very physicality of George and his hand, which was still touching his shoulder, the pressure increasing, his thumb sliding along his neck.
“George, what are you ...”
Instantly George pulled away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything. Mistake,” he babbled as he stood up quickly.
He strode to the door, and slammed it shut as he left. Harry sat there, feeling suddenly cold without George, and yet the skin on his shoulder still tingled.
“George,” he shouted, following him out. “Come back. I ... I ...” He took a breath. “It might not be a mistake.”
“What are you saying?” George said hoarsely, standing in the shadows.
“I don’t know,” Harry replied and stepped falteringly towards him.
Not saying another word, George reached out and interlocked his fingers into Harry’s. The space between them could have been an ocean and not mere inches, but then George pulled him closer and stared into his eyes. “You can tell me to stop,” he murmured, “at any time.”
Then his hand trailed across Harry’s arm, and Harry could feel a burning sensation rippling through him. A soft breathy moan escaped from his lips, and, unthinking, he tilted his face towards George and waited.
George dusted his lips with his own, and then slowly slipped his tongue inside Harry’s mouth. Harry groaned and as George pulled him closer, he became aware of George hard against his thigh.
“Shall I stop?”
His hand slipped to Harry’s stomach, his fingers dipping below the waistband. Harry breathed in, giving George room to explore.
“Shall I stop?” George repeated.
“No,” Harry moaned. “Oh, God.”
George unbuttoned Harry’s trousers, his hands tugging until the jeans were halfway down his thighs, and then with one finger, he traced the outline of Harry’s cock in his boxers.
“I could stop,” he murmured. “You can forget this ever happened.”
But Harry grabbed George’s arm, and held him there, whilst he moved his groin, rubbing it against the palm of George’s hand. George was still kissing him, but not gently now. He sucked at Harry’s lower lip, his teeth lightly nipping as his other hand cupped Harry’s arse, his fingers digging into him.
And just when Harry thought this couldn’t get better, when George was now grasping his cock, and biting his neck, George pulled down his boxers and dropped to his knees.
“Don’t stop,” Harry cried.
“I’m not going to,” George replied, his fingers stroking Harry’s balls. “This is where it gets a lot more fun, Harry.”
He took him in his mouth. His tongue slid down the length, sucking, nuzzling, as his hands gripped behind his thighs. Harry jerked against him, unable to stop; his orgasm quick, explosive and all-consuming. He shuddered and his knees buckled.
“First time is always quick,” George whispered, lowering them both to the ground. “But next time... if you want a next time... I’ll teach you how to make it last.”
Harry nodded dumbly. “I want a next time.”
George grinned - his first smile since before the match. “Good, because I’m not sure I can stay away now and ... uh ... I’m so hard I’m going to burst through these trousers.”
“What do I do?”
“You’ll figure it out.” Then George gasped. “God, yes. There. And there. Yes. Yes. Don’t stop.”