This is supposed to make up for the fact that I didn't really have any
lemon in my Big-Fic, 'Ron and Harry In The Seventh Year.'
Speaking of which...I rated this fic 'R' because it is lemon. Sex. And it is SLASH!!! You no likee, go find something more....tame?
That and Harry Potter is owned by the Goddess Incorporated, J.K. Rowling, whose writing is only eclipsed by that of Lois McMaster Bujold. I have no hopes of matching either, therefore no copyright infringement is intended.
---
Love. It is a funny thing. I mean, I've had crushes before. I've been in love. Maybe not seriously, maybe just flingy-type things...but I am in love with Harry Potter.
OK, typical, yes I know, and I feel so funny writing that down. I am in love with Harry Potter. Harry-bleeding-Potter! Hermione laughed when I told her. A lot. And when the silence continued, she took me in, face half-smirk and half-horror. I was afraid of the reaction; the 'I-knew-you- what-the-fuck' reaction, or the 'you're-not-gay!' reaction, or the 'HARRY?!?' Which is what I got. And Hermione, she stood there for a long while, assimilating.
When did I first notice...geez, I dunno. Can you quantify that? It just develops, like glass on a beach...so deadly sharp to start, and the water has its slow way with it, and it turns into this beautiful, smooth, thing you put in your pocket and carry around with you everywhere. That is, I did until I gave it to Harry; it matched his eyes, though slightly duller.
Hermione, as is her principal, had no moral problems with my confession. She wondered, though, if Harry felt the same way. He had been aloof of late, worrying to the extreme about You-Know-Who doing Who-Knows-What. I told Harry he had nothing to worry about, and he gave me that same placating smile as if to say 'Yes, I expected you'd say that.' And then he went away. I guess that's when...that's when I wanted to see something different; something other than the indifference he'd been showing. The intense pain of Sirius' death seemed diminished, almost; the hate was there, but the verve, the life, was gone. I know he'd stay up reading at night, or looking at that photo album of his parents, and I wanted to hear about it, I wanted to know all about his memories, or how he was feeling, but I didn't dare ask. I'm Ron, after all, just Ron. Not 'you-can-talk-to- me-Ron' or 'your-Confidant!'...I guess I felt like it wasn't my place to be that close to him. He put on that 'tortured alone hero' bit too well.
But when he stayed up for nights in a row...I worried. During the fifth night of his vigilance, I could hear him breathing raggedly, and I had the sinking feeling that he was crying. He certainly wasn't about to do that in front of people, and I knew if he thought I was awake he wouldn't have been doing it. I set my teeth and slipped out of bed anyway.
He didn't notice me until I was next to his bed, reaching a hand out tentatively. He looked at me like a trapped dog, and my heart stopped. The look was rage, like it was my fault he was crying, or my fault for initiating contact. I stood there for an awkward moment, my mouth hanging open, just looking at him, and I couldn't look away from his eyes.
"Go away, Ron."
I shut my mouth abruptly. I also withdrew my hand.
"Harry, I...er, I want to talk."
Harry sniffed irritably. "I don't." His face was set, green eyes a veritable wall of disengagement.
"You...I don't want you to do this alone..." I don't know why I still stood there; normally I would have backed off under his withering look. "When you cry, I want to know why."
Harry gulped a laugh. "You...why, so I can get the same regurgitated line about how everything is going to be all right in the end? How will that be, anyway? Am I supposed to make miracles?"
I stood there like a statue for a moment, blinking. "You do whether you try or not. You've stayed alive under incredible circumstances. So of course I think...I mean, I know that everything..." I trailed off, loathe to repeat my line verbatim.
Harry scoffed at me harshly. "Don't get me wrong, Ron, I am grateful for your support." His face lightened considerably for a moment. "I mean, I don't want to think what I'd do without you..."
The moment hung in the air. While his face was still genial, I decided to make myself more comfortable. I sat down next to Harry's chest, and he moved his arm around me so that I wasn't squishing his arm. His fingers brushed lightly on my pajama bottoms. I know I shivered.
"Well you wont have to think of that. I don't want to think of that. I guess that's why I keep this idea that nothing will...can...go wrong. What kind of friend would I be..." I smiled imploringly.
"What would you do if I died?" Harry's face stayed remarkably straight; I know mine fell a foot when it hit me what he'd said.
Again I sat there floundering. Harry looked down. I was filled all at once with this feeling of...of...love? I reached down and brought his chin up, eyes level with mine.
"I'd die."
Harry looked down again. "I have this feeling like it wouldn't matter one bit if I died. But then, I find I'm afraid of it all the same. I'm not ready to die. Even in my most painful moments, most painful memories..." Harry cringed, and my hand rested itself across Harry's cheek. Realizing the touch, I awkwardly brought my hand back, earning a plaintive look from Harry.
"I've...I've never been this close to someone. I mean, physically. No one's ever touched my face like that."
I was torn between wanting to admonish myself for the action, and wanting to do it again. At his face I did it again, putting a thumb across his chin as well, and I ran my hand slowly down his cheek and across his throat. His eyes never left me, and I felt as though I was being acutely studied for averse reaction. When I gave none, he said "That is nice."
I smiled and swallowed the frog in my throat awkwardly. Butterflies made wild attempts at my esophagus. Why was he so calm? Was he just so tired he didn't know what I was doing?
I reached my other hand around to his other cheek. That's when the moment, and the look, and the feel of his skin under my fingers propelled me...I leaned close, and closer, and his breath smelled slightly of toothpaste, warm and minty, and our noses touched, and my lips touched his.
His arms were around me faster than I'd ever seen him ride a Firebolt. Our lips locked, and I was kissing Harry Potter. It was my first kiss, and I had no idea what the hell to do. I did what came naturally, that is until his tongue flicked its way into my mouth, and then I was lost again. I kissed him all the same, with every ounce of Ronald Weasley in me.
His arms were around my waist, and working their way up my sides, and I gasped when the coldness reached my brains. That's also when I realized that my hands were still on his cheeks. I moved them down his throat, over his adams apple, and tugged at the collar of his shirt. He tugged at the bottom of mine, pulling it off in an awkward motion that sent my hands above my head and lips away from his.
I was surely in shock when his hands were on my bare chest, running quickly over my sides, massaging both nipples, touching freckles. My hands somehow found the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up halfway, and he arched his back, facilitating the full removal of his top. I worked it off, and my head was close enough to his chest that I leaned over and began kissing his chest. Then I kind of smeared my mouth over his chest, but he didn't seem to mind the attention. My hands worked their way across his chest and sides, and I found I really liked the slight love handles he had. I snapped at his pajama bottoms, working them precariously southward.
I had never seen another male erection in my life. They say once you've seen one you've seen them all, but that person must have been a celibate. I didn't think to tease him at all with any kind of further foreplay; once his pants were down, it just seemed like the next step to put my mouth on it, and I was rewarded with a large gasp from above my head.
It tasted...funny. I cant even describe, and I have nothing else in my repertoire of experience to compare it to. I know it worked best when my hands were moving as fast as my tongue, and I know that teeth were bad. I got quite a few 'Ow!'s among the gasps and moans of pleasure. That and I wasn't sure, in the moment, whether to swallow or run quickly to the facilities. In the interest of continued eroticism, I swallowed.
I was thankful when Harry kissed me again, quite voraciously, and when he took off my pants and gave me the same treatment...I just about died. It was all I could do not to scream incredibly loudly. I know I said his name loudly once. His hands were concentrated mostly on my stomach, and belly button, and occasionally entered the region his mouth encompassed...that moment was the best feeling moment I had ever had up to that point. I shook with pleasure, completely ignoring Harry's best efforts to catch everything, ignoring everything except my hands entangled in Harry's black hair or my gasps for breath among the heavy release of air.
When he fell on top of me, clearly tired, it was nothing for me to wrap my arms around his abdomen and hug him close. I was still breathing quickly, holding his head to my chest, rubbing his back with my free hand. We fell asleep together, like that. I woke up once in the night, cold, and covered us with his blankets.
In a moment I had changed the way I thought about Harry and me. It took me a while to realize that it was only the way I thought that changed, not the way I felt. I still felt the same. I relished that night, in all its sensations, and thanked whatever power for the chance to hold that raven- haired boy. I was in love.
---
Thank you so very much to those people who read my other fic and gave me constructive criticism, especially KarenLeFay, who was with me from the beginning. This fic was inspired by real-life coincidences not of my own. Who knows where I'll go next...I've been itching to write a Draco/Harry fic, but I still have this place for Ron/Harry. Thanks for reading, and please review in the interest of making my future fics better. :)
Speaking of which...I rated this fic 'R' because it is lemon. Sex. And it is SLASH!!! You no likee, go find something more....tame?
That and Harry Potter is owned by the Goddess Incorporated, J.K. Rowling, whose writing is only eclipsed by that of Lois McMaster Bujold. I have no hopes of matching either, therefore no copyright infringement is intended.
---
Love. It is a funny thing. I mean, I've had crushes before. I've been in love. Maybe not seriously, maybe just flingy-type things...but I am in love with Harry Potter.
OK, typical, yes I know, and I feel so funny writing that down. I am in love with Harry Potter. Harry-bleeding-Potter! Hermione laughed when I told her. A lot. And when the silence continued, she took me in, face half-smirk and half-horror. I was afraid of the reaction; the 'I-knew-you- what-the-fuck' reaction, or the 'you're-not-gay!' reaction, or the 'HARRY?!?' Which is what I got. And Hermione, she stood there for a long while, assimilating.
When did I first notice...geez, I dunno. Can you quantify that? It just develops, like glass on a beach...so deadly sharp to start, and the water has its slow way with it, and it turns into this beautiful, smooth, thing you put in your pocket and carry around with you everywhere. That is, I did until I gave it to Harry; it matched his eyes, though slightly duller.
Hermione, as is her principal, had no moral problems with my confession. She wondered, though, if Harry felt the same way. He had been aloof of late, worrying to the extreme about You-Know-Who doing Who-Knows-What. I told Harry he had nothing to worry about, and he gave me that same placating smile as if to say 'Yes, I expected you'd say that.' And then he went away. I guess that's when...that's when I wanted to see something different; something other than the indifference he'd been showing. The intense pain of Sirius' death seemed diminished, almost; the hate was there, but the verve, the life, was gone. I know he'd stay up reading at night, or looking at that photo album of his parents, and I wanted to hear about it, I wanted to know all about his memories, or how he was feeling, but I didn't dare ask. I'm Ron, after all, just Ron. Not 'you-can-talk-to- me-Ron' or 'your-Confidant!'...I guess I felt like it wasn't my place to be that close to him. He put on that 'tortured alone hero' bit too well.
But when he stayed up for nights in a row...I worried. During the fifth night of his vigilance, I could hear him breathing raggedly, and I had the sinking feeling that he was crying. He certainly wasn't about to do that in front of people, and I knew if he thought I was awake he wouldn't have been doing it. I set my teeth and slipped out of bed anyway.
He didn't notice me until I was next to his bed, reaching a hand out tentatively. He looked at me like a trapped dog, and my heart stopped. The look was rage, like it was my fault he was crying, or my fault for initiating contact. I stood there for an awkward moment, my mouth hanging open, just looking at him, and I couldn't look away from his eyes.
"Go away, Ron."
I shut my mouth abruptly. I also withdrew my hand.
"Harry, I...er, I want to talk."
Harry sniffed irritably. "I don't." His face was set, green eyes a veritable wall of disengagement.
"You...I don't want you to do this alone..." I don't know why I still stood there; normally I would have backed off under his withering look. "When you cry, I want to know why."
Harry gulped a laugh. "You...why, so I can get the same regurgitated line about how everything is going to be all right in the end? How will that be, anyway? Am I supposed to make miracles?"
I stood there like a statue for a moment, blinking. "You do whether you try or not. You've stayed alive under incredible circumstances. So of course I think...I mean, I know that everything..." I trailed off, loathe to repeat my line verbatim.
Harry scoffed at me harshly. "Don't get me wrong, Ron, I am grateful for your support." His face lightened considerably for a moment. "I mean, I don't want to think what I'd do without you..."
The moment hung in the air. While his face was still genial, I decided to make myself more comfortable. I sat down next to Harry's chest, and he moved his arm around me so that I wasn't squishing his arm. His fingers brushed lightly on my pajama bottoms. I know I shivered.
"Well you wont have to think of that. I don't want to think of that. I guess that's why I keep this idea that nothing will...can...go wrong. What kind of friend would I be..." I smiled imploringly.
"What would you do if I died?" Harry's face stayed remarkably straight; I know mine fell a foot when it hit me what he'd said.
Again I sat there floundering. Harry looked down. I was filled all at once with this feeling of...of...love? I reached down and brought his chin up, eyes level with mine.
"I'd die."
Harry looked down again. "I have this feeling like it wouldn't matter one bit if I died. But then, I find I'm afraid of it all the same. I'm not ready to die. Even in my most painful moments, most painful memories..." Harry cringed, and my hand rested itself across Harry's cheek. Realizing the touch, I awkwardly brought my hand back, earning a plaintive look from Harry.
"I've...I've never been this close to someone. I mean, physically. No one's ever touched my face like that."
I was torn between wanting to admonish myself for the action, and wanting to do it again. At his face I did it again, putting a thumb across his chin as well, and I ran my hand slowly down his cheek and across his throat. His eyes never left me, and I felt as though I was being acutely studied for averse reaction. When I gave none, he said "That is nice."
I smiled and swallowed the frog in my throat awkwardly. Butterflies made wild attempts at my esophagus. Why was he so calm? Was he just so tired he didn't know what I was doing?
I reached my other hand around to his other cheek. That's when the moment, and the look, and the feel of his skin under my fingers propelled me...I leaned close, and closer, and his breath smelled slightly of toothpaste, warm and minty, and our noses touched, and my lips touched his.
His arms were around me faster than I'd ever seen him ride a Firebolt. Our lips locked, and I was kissing Harry Potter. It was my first kiss, and I had no idea what the hell to do. I did what came naturally, that is until his tongue flicked its way into my mouth, and then I was lost again. I kissed him all the same, with every ounce of Ronald Weasley in me.
His arms were around my waist, and working their way up my sides, and I gasped when the coldness reached my brains. That's also when I realized that my hands were still on his cheeks. I moved them down his throat, over his adams apple, and tugged at the collar of his shirt. He tugged at the bottom of mine, pulling it off in an awkward motion that sent my hands above my head and lips away from his.
I was surely in shock when his hands were on my bare chest, running quickly over my sides, massaging both nipples, touching freckles. My hands somehow found the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up halfway, and he arched his back, facilitating the full removal of his top. I worked it off, and my head was close enough to his chest that I leaned over and began kissing his chest. Then I kind of smeared my mouth over his chest, but he didn't seem to mind the attention. My hands worked their way across his chest and sides, and I found I really liked the slight love handles he had. I snapped at his pajama bottoms, working them precariously southward.
I had never seen another male erection in my life. They say once you've seen one you've seen them all, but that person must have been a celibate. I didn't think to tease him at all with any kind of further foreplay; once his pants were down, it just seemed like the next step to put my mouth on it, and I was rewarded with a large gasp from above my head.
It tasted...funny. I cant even describe, and I have nothing else in my repertoire of experience to compare it to. I know it worked best when my hands were moving as fast as my tongue, and I know that teeth were bad. I got quite a few 'Ow!'s among the gasps and moans of pleasure. That and I wasn't sure, in the moment, whether to swallow or run quickly to the facilities. In the interest of continued eroticism, I swallowed.
I was thankful when Harry kissed me again, quite voraciously, and when he took off my pants and gave me the same treatment...I just about died. It was all I could do not to scream incredibly loudly. I know I said his name loudly once. His hands were concentrated mostly on my stomach, and belly button, and occasionally entered the region his mouth encompassed...that moment was the best feeling moment I had ever had up to that point. I shook with pleasure, completely ignoring Harry's best efforts to catch everything, ignoring everything except my hands entangled in Harry's black hair or my gasps for breath among the heavy release of air.
When he fell on top of me, clearly tired, it was nothing for me to wrap my arms around his abdomen and hug him close. I was still breathing quickly, holding his head to my chest, rubbing his back with my free hand. We fell asleep together, like that. I woke up once in the night, cold, and covered us with his blankets.
In a moment I had changed the way I thought about Harry and me. It took me a while to realize that it was only the way I thought that changed, not the way I felt. I still felt the same. I relished that night, in all its sensations, and thanked whatever power for the chance to hold that raven- haired boy. I was in love.
---
Thank you so very much to those people who read my other fic and gave me constructive criticism, especially KarenLeFay, who was with me from the beginning. This fic was inspired by real-life coincidences not of my own. Who knows where I'll go next...I've been itching to write a Draco/Harry fic, but I still have this place for Ron/Harry. Thanks for reading, and please review in the interest of making my future fics better. :)