Title: Bad Day?
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Warning: ranting!Harry, dubious consent
A/N I (author) had a bad day a while ago, so I had Harry bitch about it for me. Now available in tamer FFN version.

Harry was in such a bad mood that he was surprising himself with his irrational anger. Well, not entirely irrational. He'd spent the previous night finishing a three-foot essay for Potions, and once he was finally done, he still had that DADA lesson review for Um-bitch. He worked on it in the common room until he dozed off on top of the parchment, then, rubbing the ink stains from his cheek, barely answered the remaining questions before going to bed.

He'd skipped breakfast the following morning to review his Potions essay with Hermione, so she could catch anything for which Snape might fail him for yet again.

Defence Against the Dark Arts (or now The Dark Lord Won't Kill You if You Ask Him Politely Not To) was the usual crap, and he spent most of the class trying not to listen as the Toad simpered. AFter class, she told Harry that his review answers were incomplete and unacceptable, and that he'd have to turn them in next Tuesday for half-credit. Fuming over sleep lost for nothing, he stormed off to lunch, only to be hit in the face by Seamus' sandwich as Neville tripped and fell into the other boy. Forsaking the rest of his lunch hour to ensure no mayonnaise was left in his hair, he arrived at Double Potions with an increasingly-empty stomach.

Double Potions was, well, Double Potions. That class really knew how to kill a Friday. It meant being stuck in the same room as Snape and the Slytherins for an unbearable amount of time, and somehow Ron's snide remarks about how Malfoy was secretly a pretty little princess just pissed him off more.

Once that ordeal was over, he foolishly agreed to a game of wizard chess with Ron in the common room, thinking it to be better than joining Seamus, Neville and Dean for a snowball fight. Thus his supper was spent hearing his friend gloat over the utter massacre of Harry's chessmen.

Back in the common room, all the happy voices of recently-fed students already enjoying the weekend were like drills boring into his skull. He muttered something about being tired to Ron and Hermione, deciding the sooner he fell asleep, the sooner this day would be over. Once he got into bed, his ire gradually replaced itself with fatigue, and after a while was snoring.

It was difficult to judge how much time had passed. He was aware that something had woken him up, but he wasn't sure exactly what. It was a sensation, pleasant and slightly warm. He slowly opened his eyes, his mind foggy. In the darkness he could see someone kneeling over him, on his bed, yet the curtains were closed. The sensation increased, but this time with pressure. He realized that someone had their hand on his crotch, and his crotch was by no means complaining. Frowning, he blinked his eyes a few times to clear his vision, and pinched himself to see if he was dreaming. Wincing from the pain, he could make out red hair, and freckles, and...

"Ron?"

"Shhh."

Ron smiled, rubbing his hand over Harry's erection, which was creating a prominent tent in his pyjamas. Ron was touching him there and Harry's brain was telling him this wasn't right, wasn't natural, that something was wrong. But the feeling of a hand other than his own making that kind of friction sent shivers up his spine, and his heart started beating faster, fluttering.

"What're you-"

"Don't talk. Just relax."

"Ron! What the-"

Ron grabbed Harry's wand from the nightstand and conjured a gag across Harry's mouth. He felt it tighten, muffling his cries of protest.

"I said relax! I was worried about you and came up to see if you were okay. When I saw your, er, situation, I decided to help you out."

Harry could feel tears of anger stinging at his eyes, but his rage softened at Ron's explanation, and damn that felt good. Ron ground the base of his palm into Harry's erection and slowly moved his hand up the length. Harry let out whimper, and Ron's other hand began to pull at the waistband of his pyjamas. He smiled as Harry's cock strained against the elastic and then snapped free, hitting his navel with a soft slap.

Harry's hands clutched his sheets as Ron's hand closed around him, his thumb gently teasing his foreskin. Then he pulled it back and stated moving his hand in slow, long strokes, taking care not to give the head any contact. Tenseness rippled from his groin to his chest, and when Ron pulled down the gag he moaned quite audibly.

Ron leaned in to kiss him and Harry agreed, and it felt like his brain just died as yet another fantastic sensation coursed through him. Ron sat up again, his free hand reaching inside his pants to relieve his own cock as he continued to stroke Harry's.

Harry's back arched, and the intensity grew inside him until he couldn't take any more - and he was coming, covering Ron's hand and his abdomen. The sight of Harry's orgasm drove Ron over the edge and soon he too was coming all over Harry, his chest heaving.

Ron collapsed on top of Harry, and they lay there for a while, savouring the feeling of being spent. Harry groaned in protest as Ron lifted himself off him to wipe them clean. For a moment Harry felt a pang of fear, thinking Ron was going to leave, but then he crawled under the covers, putting an arm around him.

Harry didn't know how it had happened and didn't want to think about it - that was for the morning. Right now it was all about him and Ron, feeling the other boy's body up against his, feeling his chest rise and fall slowly against his back. This was pure satisfaction, he thought, and drifted off into an untroubled sleep.