"What a prick!" Ron snarled, shaking of the dust and soot, and turning to catch Harry as he fell through the fireplace, incapable of exiting gracefully despite years of traveling in such a fashion. Once sure that the slighter man was stable, he turned with a huff, storming through to the attached kitchenette and slamming a tumbler onto the side, throwing open the fridge door and searching for the carton of orange. He felt a headache approaching, and with every measured breath could feel himself getting more worked up.
"Where the fuck is the fucking juice?" he muttered under his breath, leaning his forehead against the cool door and attempting to calm down, lest Harry see how irritated he'd become. He closed his eyes, the cool air of the fridge rippling over him, and with every gust felt his irritation subside, until he was left with something less explosive in the pit of his belly.
He felt an arm reach past him into the fridge, smelt the sweat and the heat radiating close to this face, and pressed forwards blindly until his lips made contact with the crook of Harry's elbow. He mouthed at the damp skin, tongue flicking roughly over the salty patch until he was left with something less sharp.
"Calmed down?" came the measured voice from behind him, and the arm slipped away. Ron opened his eyes, staring blankly into the brightly coloured contents of the ice box. He felt very tired all of a sudden. Turning, he watched as Harry poured the juice into the glass he'd lain out, and passed it to him with a carefully guarded expression. He downed the juice, but kept his eyes the figure in front of him. There was silence for a few moments.
Harry leant back on the counter, propping his elbows up and cocking his head slightly, "What was that?"
Ron considered the answer as he leant back against the fridge.
"He's a prick."
"Yeah, so?"
Ron huffed, feeling some of his anger trickling back.
"What'd you mean, 'so'? He acted like a total pillock! What he said-"
"Was standard Percy, and actually I think there were two of you ruining lunch for everyone else," Harry interjected, a frown creasing his forehead and his hand coming to pull through his hair in agitation. Ron opened his mouth, looking startlingly like a goldfish for a moment.
"He called you a squib!" he spat out, a testament to his self-control that he kept the volume at a minimum. He strode past Harry back into the living room, pacing past the fireplace and urging himself not to floo back to the Burrow and have out the fight he so desperately wanted. He turned at the noise of footsteps and stared at his partner, framed in the doorway. Harry was looking at him with a mixture of frustration and affection, and Ron quietened, feeling the first prickle of shame at his actions.
"What?" he growled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, ignoring a trickle of sweat as it slid down his neck and into the collar of his faded t-shirt. Harry slid towards him quietly, pushing him down onto the sofa and standing between his spread legs. He looked as if he was steeling himself for something.
"You've got to stop this, Ron," he shushed the red-head when it looked like he was about to interrupt, "you know I love you, and it turns me on something mental when you get all angry of my behalf, but you can't jump down everyone's throat when they say something you don't like."
Ron scowled at him, "Percy shouldn't have said what he did-"
"He wasn't aiming it at me, you know that. Look, I know he can be a pain in the arse, but he works in the ministry, he's going to have some opinions that differ to your own sometimes, and you can't pitch a fit on my behalf just because he uses the 's' word in earshot."
Ron glared up at him balefully, one hand reaching up to stroke up underneath the slightly damp t-shirt of his partner. Harry's eyes, fixed on his own, softened, and he knelt on the floor.
"I love that you love me so much… just try not to take everything so personally."
Ron twisted his mouth in disgruntled agreement, and sat forwards, pressing his lips to Harry's gently. The arms that wrapped around his neck were reassuring in their forgiveness, but he mouthed the apology into the skin of his neck regardless. The shiver and answering were all he needed.