FICLET: Home, Harry/Ron, NC-17
The second of my hpshortfics ficlets from last night. (The previous one--a Snape/Draco--can be found here.)
Title: Home
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1678
Notes: Written for geoviki's challenge white dress shirt and a Weasley. This version is a bit longer than what I wrote last night because I wasn't happy with the way it ended. So, um, I added more! *g*
It was late when they left the Burrow, loaded down with the boxes of food that Mum insisted they take with them because of course they couldn't cook themselves, they were lads, weren't they, and she knew what that was like, they lived on takeaway curry and beer and the occasional omelette if one of them actually felt like finding the stove in that hovel they called a home, and did they want her to come tidy up a bit for them while they were at work this week so they wouldn't be embarrassed the next time they brought a girl over for dinner?
They'd just exchanged amused glances, because she wasn't that far off the mark, except the bit about the girl, and Ron had kissed her cheek and handed the food to Harry and told her thanks, but they'd be fine and they really needed to get back to London soon.
And now they were standing in the kitchen, putting away the boxes and the tins and the bags of crisps, and Ron was watching Harry out of the corner of his eye as he stretched up to put a tin of biscuits in the cupboard. He was lean and graceful and his hair curled just a bit over the collar of the dress shirt he'd worn to work that day, and his shoulders tightened and flexed beneath the thin white cotton.
He turned then and gave him a small, lopsided grin, and Ron was suddenly aware that he was standing there with a plate of Mum's roast lamb in his hands and he flushed the way he always did when Harry caught him looking. He smiled, a bit embarrassed, and turned back to the refrigerator, shoving the plate inside next to the jar of plum preserves as Harry brushed past him and his hand trailed over Ron's back. He shivered.
"I'm going to change," Harry said, and Ron nodded into the fridge, staring at the Stilton in front of him.
He closed the refrigerator door and leaned against it with a sigh.
Merlin. He could still smell Harry. He shook himself and grabbed a beer, walking back into their bedroom. He kicked his trainers off and jerked his t-shirt over his head. Sometimes, he thought, being a field Auror had its benefits. No dress code like Harry had shoved down his throat at the Ministry. Ron took a drink of his beer and threw himself onto the bed, one arm tucked behind his head, and he let his mind slide to his favourite subject.
Harry.
Harry and the way he threw his head back when he laughed at dinner, and the way his eyes crinkled behind his glasses, and how he looked at Ron, across the table from him, with that small, secret smile, and how the hell did his family not know? How did they manage to sit there, every Monday night, and think he and Harry were just mates, when Harry was giving him those looks-the ones that made Ron's toes curl and his pulse throb and his cock ache and all he wanted to do was to shove Harry up against one of the Burrow's walls and shag the bloody fuck out of him.
He'd managed to kiss him once, upstairs in the hall outside the bathroom, and then they'd heard someone on the stairs and Fred had come bounding up. He hadn't asked why they were both flushed, hadn't even noticed really, just told them cheerfully that Mum was looking for them and they better get downstairs before she shouted down the house and didn't they hear her anyway? And Harry had touched his hand lightly and smiled at him and followed Fred downstairs, leaving Ron standing there, breathless and cock hard.
He heard the bathroom door click open and the soft pad of Harry's bare feet against the wood floor of their flat and then Harry was in the doorway, and he was wearing the white shirt.
Nothing but the white shirt.
Ron sat up, and he blinked and set his beer aside.
"Harry?" he asked carefully, unable to take his eyes off Harry and the way the shirt brushed against his hips and the way Harry's fingers were undoing the buttons slowly.
Harry smiled and he crawled over the bed to Ron, straddling his thighs. "Hey," he whispered, and his eyes were bright and green behind his glasses. Ron swallowed and he touched Harry's face.
"Hey," he said, roughly, and Harry's smile widened.
"You've been staring at me all night," Harry said, and he rocked forward just enough to make Ron gasp. "Any reason?"
"Can't think of one." Ron slid Harry's glasses down to the tip of his nose. "Except maybe you've got nice eyes?"
"Eyes, huh?" Harry unbuttoned the last button and the shirt fell open. Ron's gaze drifted downward. He took a shaky breath.
"Yeah." He licked his bottom lip, watching Harry's cock bump against his jeans. He slid his hands up Harry's sides and he twisted his fingers in the soft cotton of the shirt. "Really nice….eyes."
Harry laughed, and Ron felt his heart jump. He grinned back at him, and rolled over, pushing Harry into the mattress. "Reckon they'll ever figure it out?" he murmured, and his mouth moved across Harry's neck.
"Someday," Harry said. He arched against Ron's tongue and moaned. "Right there, that's nice." He breathed out, and his hands slid down Ron's back. "We could tell them."
"We could," Ron said into Harry's collarbone. He raised his head. "Do you want to?"
Harry looked at him, shifting up on his elbows, and his glasses were askew. "Do you want to?"
Ron bit his lip, and he looked at Harry for a long moment. His hair was mussed and his cheeks were pink and his eyes were bright and solemn and he looked fucking amazing lying there underneath Ron. He nodded slowly, and a grin spread across his face. "Yeah. Think after four years, they probably ought to know."
Harry's eyes widened and he blinked, and then he was kissing Ron roughly, his hands twisting in Ron's hair and that told Ron everything he needed to know. He pulled away, breathless and he laughed softly, a quiet huff against Harry's throat. "Ginny's going to kill me."
"That's why you're telling her and not me." Harry grinned and kissed him again.
"Bastard." Ron shoved a pillow over Harry's face, laughing as Harry knocked him off and rolled back on top of him, grabbing his wrists and pulling them above Ron's head. His glasses slid to the end of his nose, fogged and smeared with fingerprints, and his shirt hung open and Ron's breath caught. Harry was thin-too thin, Mum said-but he was wiry and solid and Ron watched as the shadows from the lamp next to the bed flitted across his pale skin.
"You're fucking gorgeous," he whispered and Harry's eyes darkened and he let go of Ron's wrists, sliding his fingertips down his arms and over his chest. He scraped a thumbnail lightly across Ron's nipple and Ron jerked and moaned softly.
Ron slid Harry's glasses off and he smiled as Harry's eyes softened, went out of focus. "Turn the light off," he said, voice rough, and his hands curled around Harry's hips, pushing the shirt up and sliding around to cup his arse.
"What if I don't want to?" Harry rocked against Ron's hips, breathing hard, and Ron pulled him tighter, closer.
Ron slid a finger through Harry's crease. "Harry," he said softly.
Harry pulled at Ron's jeans, jerking them open and their cocks pressed against each other. "I want to see you," Harry said with a groan and his cock slid across Ron's, warm and heavy. "Please."
And with a gasp Ron rolled over again, pushing Harry's legs apart as he settled between his thighs and he rocked into Harry, hard and fast because that's how they both needed it, with their pricks sliding together and their breaths coming in short, sharp gasps.
Harry's legs were tight around Ron's hips and his heel pushed against the waist of Ron's jeans, shoving at them until there was skin against skin and his fingers dug into Ron's arms and it should have hurt, Ron knew, but it felt-God, it felt fantastic and he watched Harry's face as he rutted against him, gasping,
Harry arched his neck and pressed into the pillow, his shoulders lifting up, "Ron, please, oh God, give it to-oh, God, yes, please--" He broke off with a groan and his hands were pressed against the headboard and he was thrusting his hips against Ron's and the head of his cock was wet and slick and his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright and unfocused and his teeth were white and sharp against his bottom lip as he groaned again and arched up and then his fingers were scrabbling at the wood and he cried out and came, sticky and warm against Ron's cock and Ron rocked into him harder, his hair tumbling into his damp face and then he felt it, right there-fuck, yes--and his back arched and he shook, his fingers digging into the mattress beneath them and it was fucking amazing.
Harry kissed him gently, and he shifted to the side, bonelessly, pulling Harry up next to him, not even caring that his jeans were twisted and his cock still hung out of them.
"This is good, you know," Ron said, into Harry's shoulder, his mouth brushing against the damp cotton of the shirt, and Harry raked his fingers through Ron's hair gently.
"I know," he whispered, casting a cleaning charm and curling up next to him, and Ron smiled, because he knew Harry understood. He always had. This was good. This was home.
He closed his eyes and lay silent for a moment. "Harry," he said finally, not bothering to open his eyes.
Harry shifted next to him and brushed his mouth across Ron's neck. "Yeah?"
"Turn off the damned light."
Harry smacked him.
The light clicked off.
Title: Home
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1678
Notes: Written for geoviki's challenge white dress shirt and a Weasley. This version is a bit longer than what I wrote last night because I wasn't happy with the way it ended. So, um, I added more! *g*
It was late when they left the Burrow, loaded down with the boxes of food that Mum insisted they take with them because of course they couldn't cook themselves, they were lads, weren't they, and she knew what that was like, they lived on takeaway curry and beer and the occasional omelette if one of them actually felt like finding the stove in that hovel they called a home, and did they want her to come tidy up a bit for them while they were at work this week so they wouldn't be embarrassed the next time they brought a girl over for dinner?
They'd just exchanged amused glances, because she wasn't that far off the mark, except the bit about the girl, and Ron had kissed her cheek and handed the food to Harry and told her thanks, but they'd be fine and they really needed to get back to London soon.
And now they were standing in the kitchen, putting away the boxes and the tins and the bags of crisps, and Ron was watching Harry out of the corner of his eye as he stretched up to put a tin of biscuits in the cupboard. He was lean and graceful and his hair curled just a bit over the collar of the dress shirt he'd worn to work that day, and his shoulders tightened and flexed beneath the thin white cotton.
He turned then and gave him a small, lopsided grin, and Ron was suddenly aware that he was standing there with a plate of Mum's roast lamb in his hands and he flushed the way he always did when Harry caught him looking. He smiled, a bit embarrassed, and turned back to the refrigerator, shoving the plate inside next to the jar of plum preserves as Harry brushed past him and his hand trailed over Ron's back. He shivered.
"I'm going to change," Harry said, and Ron nodded into the fridge, staring at the Stilton in front of him.
He closed the refrigerator door and leaned against it with a sigh.
Merlin. He could still smell Harry. He shook himself and grabbed a beer, walking back into their bedroom. He kicked his trainers off and jerked his t-shirt over his head. Sometimes, he thought, being a field Auror had its benefits. No dress code like Harry had shoved down his throat at the Ministry. Ron took a drink of his beer and threw himself onto the bed, one arm tucked behind his head, and he let his mind slide to his favourite subject.
Harry.
Harry and the way he threw his head back when he laughed at dinner, and the way his eyes crinkled behind his glasses, and how he looked at Ron, across the table from him, with that small, secret smile, and how the hell did his family not know? How did they manage to sit there, every Monday night, and think he and Harry were just mates, when Harry was giving him those looks-the ones that made Ron's toes curl and his pulse throb and his cock ache and all he wanted to do was to shove Harry up against one of the Burrow's walls and shag the bloody fuck out of him.
He'd managed to kiss him once, upstairs in the hall outside the bathroom, and then they'd heard someone on the stairs and Fred had come bounding up. He hadn't asked why they were both flushed, hadn't even noticed really, just told them cheerfully that Mum was looking for them and they better get downstairs before she shouted down the house and didn't they hear her anyway? And Harry had touched his hand lightly and smiled at him and followed Fred downstairs, leaving Ron standing there, breathless and cock hard.
He heard the bathroom door click open and the soft pad of Harry's bare feet against the wood floor of their flat and then Harry was in the doorway, and he was wearing the white shirt.
Nothing but the white shirt.
Ron sat up, and he blinked and set his beer aside.
"Harry?" he asked carefully, unable to take his eyes off Harry and the way the shirt brushed against his hips and the way Harry's fingers were undoing the buttons slowly.
Harry smiled and he crawled over the bed to Ron, straddling his thighs. "Hey," he whispered, and his eyes were bright and green behind his glasses. Ron swallowed and he touched Harry's face.
"Hey," he said, roughly, and Harry's smile widened.
"You've been staring at me all night," Harry said, and he rocked forward just enough to make Ron gasp. "Any reason?"
"Can't think of one." Ron slid Harry's glasses down to the tip of his nose. "Except maybe you've got nice eyes?"
"Eyes, huh?" Harry unbuttoned the last button and the shirt fell open. Ron's gaze drifted downward. He took a shaky breath.
"Yeah." He licked his bottom lip, watching Harry's cock bump against his jeans. He slid his hands up Harry's sides and he twisted his fingers in the soft cotton of the shirt. "Really nice….eyes."
Harry laughed, and Ron felt his heart jump. He grinned back at him, and rolled over, pushing Harry into the mattress. "Reckon they'll ever figure it out?" he murmured, and his mouth moved across Harry's neck.
"Someday," Harry said. He arched against Ron's tongue and moaned. "Right there, that's nice." He breathed out, and his hands slid down Ron's back. "We could tell them."
"We could," Ron said into Harry's collarbone. He raised his head. "Do you want to?"
Harry looked at him, shifting up on his elbows, and his glasses were askew. "Do you want to?"
Ron bit his lip, and he looked at Harry for a long moment. His hair was mussed and his cheeks were pink and his eyes were bright and solemn and he looked fucking amazing lying there underneath Ron. He nodded slowly, and a grin spread across his face. "Yeah. Think after four years, they probably ought to know."
Harry's eyes widened and he blinked, and then he was kissing Ron roughly, his hands twisting in Ron's hair and that told Ron everything he needed to know. He pulled away, breathless and he laughed softly, a quiet huff against Harry's throat. "Ginny's going to kill me."
"That's why you're telling her and not me." Harry grinned and kissed him again.
"Bastard." Ron shoved a pillow over Harry's face, laughing as Harry knocked him off and rolled back on top of him, grabbing his wrists and pulling them above Ron's head. His glasses slid to the end of his nose, fogged and smeared with fingerprints, and his shirt hung open and Ron's breath caught. Harry was thin-too thin, Mum said-but he was wiry and solid and Ron watched as the shadows from the lamp next to the bed flitted across his pale skin.
"You're fucking gorgeous," he whispered and Harry's eyes darkened and he let go of Ron's wrists, sliding his fingertips down his arms and over his chest. He scraped a thumbnail lightly across Ron's nipple and Ron jerked and moaned softly.
Ron slid Harry's glasses off and he smiled as Harry's eyes softened, went out of focus. "Turn the light off," he said, voice rough, and his hands curled around Harry's hips, pushing the shirt up and sliding around to cup his arse.
"What if I don't want to?" Harry rocked against Ron's hips, breathing hard, and Ron pulled him tighter, closer.
Ron slid a finger through Harry's crease. "Harry," he said softly.
Harry pulled at Ron's jeans, jerking them open and their cocks pressed against each other. "I want to see you," Harry said with a groan and his cock slid across Ron's, warm and heavy. "Please."
And with a gasp Ron rolled over again, pushing Harry's legs apart as he settled between his thighs and he rocked into Harry, hard and fast because that's how they both needed it, with their pricks sliding together and their breaths coming in short, sharp gasps.
Harry's legs were tight around Ron's hips and his heel pushed against the waist of Ron's jeans, shoving at them until there was skin against skin and his fingers dug into Ron's arms and it should have hurt, Ron knew, but it felt-God, it felt fantastic and he watched Harry's face as he rutted against him, gasping,
Harry arched his neck and pressed into the pillow, his shoulders lifting up, "Ron, please, oh God, give it to-oh, God, yes, please--" He broke off with a groan and his hands were pressed against the headboard and he was thrusting his hips against Ron's and the head of his cock was wet and slick and his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright and unfocused and his teeth were white and sharp against his bottom lip as he groaned again and arched up and then his fingers were scrabbling at the wood and he cried out and came, sticky and warm against Ron's cock and Ron rocked into him harder, his hair tumbling into his damp face and then he felt it, right there-fuck, yes--and his back arched and he shook, his fingers digging into the mattress beneath them and it was fucking amazing.
Harry kissed him gently, and he shifted to the side, bonelessly, pulling Harry up next to him, not even caring that his jeans were twisted and his cock still hung out of them.
"This is good, you know," Ron said, into Harry's shoulder, his mouth brushing against the damp cotton of the shirt, and Harry raked his fingers through Ron's hair gently.
"I know," he whispered, casting a cleaning charm and curling up next to him, and Ron smiled, because he knew Harry understood. He always had. This was good. This was home.
He closed his eyes and lay silent for a moment. "Harry," he said finally, not bothering to open his eyes.
Harry shifted next to him and brushed his mouth across Ron's neck. "Yeah?"
"Turn off the damned light."
Harry smacked him.
The light clicked off.