Notes: I know, I know... I should be worrying about BL and The Pet... but my muses are stubborn... This is just an idea that popped in my head the other day. Harry and the Weasley boys ^^
Legs
Legs. That was Harry's first thought when he woke up, the bitter taste of firewhiskey still haunting his mouth.
There were legs everywhere.
Legs to his left, legs to his right. There was a big toe halfway inside his right ear, and a knee digging into his spleen. He tried to move, get up, but there was another one across his belly. A heavy one.
He finally gathered enough strength to lift one arm – the one that wasn't numb – and remove the limb. With a sigh, he tried to remember of a time when he was as tired as he felt at that moment. He failed.
Sitting up made the room spin, and it took a good eight minutes before he could fully recognise whose bodies those legs belonged to. There were so many legs. Legs and red hair. "Oh, Merlin…" came the whisper. He was totally screwed.
Carefully, and very – very – flexibly, he managed to get out of the bed without stepping onto anyone. After locating the bathroom, he tiptoed in its direction. As he grabbed the handle to open it, a mumble reached his ears. Slowly turning his head, he was relieved to see that everyone was still asleep. He continued – he really needed to pee.
It was only inside, door shut and locked, that he realised he was naked. He felt like screaming. The sleeping bodies on the other side of the door stopped him, so he had to settle for splashing some cold water in his face.
His memories were fuzzy, and the guy in the mirror was useless too. He got mad and gave him the finger. It didn't help.
The clock went on, doing its business. The pointers moving between 'asleep', 'not waking up' and 'no way'.
And still Harry sat in the bathroom, a kind of self-imposed exile. As the first rays of light shone through the small window, his form laid, miserably motionless, hands hiding his face, elbows on the knees, back against the medium-sized tub.
It was time to get back to bedroom. Besides the pain in his backside – which he was really trying to ignore, or at least not think about it so much – there was the fact that is butt was freezing. And more then that, it was a lot less hard and embarrassing to look for his clothes while they were asleep. He might have grown up with the older boys - men now - but it didn't make this situation any easier.
He opened the door and a head peeked out for a few seconds. Satisfied, the rest of his body followed.
There were surprisingly few clothes scattered on the floor, for the amount of people involved in whatever happened the night before. Harry located the baggiest rags he could find – they would certainly belong to him.
He found his shoes, one sock and then a greyish-green shirt that had seen way too many better days. He wasn't able to find his pants, but he saw an aquarium with purple water, a book on the many ways to politely slap a person, a shady mound of something on one side of the bed, and was that a bra?
Harry shook his head, and wandered how exactly this situation had come upon him. He was a good boy – most of the time. He didn't drink – or he did, sometimes, apparently – or smoke – if you don't count those few times with Seamus during that one Christmas. He even had a girlfriend. Well, kind of.
Crap, he thought. He was so going to hell for this.
As he stood there, shirt and shoes in one hand, sock in the other, one of the boys in the bed sat up drowsily. He blinked a few times, as the world became more focused. "'Arry?"
The young wizard just turned his head in a glance, and said nothing. "You ok, mate?" "I…" he tried to speak, but didn't know what to say.
What exactly does one say in times like these?
Another boy, this one older, with shorter, darker hair, rose from the pile of legs – Harry still couldn't believe the amount of legs there were on that bed. "Stop thinking so much." He extended a hand, "come back to bed."
By this time, all four pairs of eyes were wide awake, waiting for his answer. He looked back, and then to the door. It would be easier to just run. He was small, but fast. But would it really be better, to just flee and face whatever that was on the other side? Angry almost–girlfriend? Tired and disappointed adults? A path of destruction caused by five drunken young wizards?
The answer came to him surprisingly fast. No.
He could face the wreckage later, preferably tomorrow. There was nothing he could do now, the damage was done. If he was to suffer the consequences of this night, he might as well enjoy it for all that was worth.
He stepped towards the bed again, dropping the items he held, and the mouths attached to the legs smiled.
He kneeled softly on the edge and caressed the limbs closer to him. All those years of Quidditch had toned them into virtual perfection. Long and powerful, all of them.
And suddenly, there weren't only legs in there. Arms were all around him, pulling him in. He was touched and kissed, and he touched and kissed back.
Morning came and went. A feminine voice was heard asking for her bra, somewhere on another part of the house. Footsteps echoed from the floor above. And Harry would bet a whole years worth of candy that Mrs Weasley walked past the room mumbling about those ingrate sons of her, that were never around to help finding Harry.
But he didn't care. He was tired, and sweaty, so, so utterly comfortable.
Who knew that his one–man pity–party in the 'Alley would lead his awkward, stick–like legs to this amazing bed?
He laughed happily, as a tongue licked a path through the inside of his tight. He felt someone spread his legs and move them to a better position. He ended up with the left one raised up in the air.
He tried to find some leverage for his foot, which resulted in him throwing a lamp down from the nightstand. It came down hard on the unclassified pile he had found earlier, and it moved. Grumbled even.
A skinny, long leg appeared from beneath.
"'m awake…!" it said.
"Ron?"
"OI! I can't believe you wankers started without me!!"
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