Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Day Eight
December 20th
The Burrow that night had been filled with friendly voices and joyous laughter, filling every corner of the warm house as it's occupants celebrated the coming holiday. The tree stood proudly by the fireplace, presents laden underneath as the shadows crackled over the now bare sitting room, the guests having gone home for the night and the rest having retired to their beds, dreaming lazily from a drunken stupor, save one.
Harry had been locked in Fred and George's room with a large bottle of Firewhiskey, the twins having set it upon themselves to give him a rather happy Christmas, per se. Little did they know, they'd given him so much more.
He now crept from their sulfur scented room, his footsteps falling heavy against the creaking wood as he opened Ron's yellow door and closed it noisily behind him. He then abruptly fell onto the nearest bed he could find, Ron's.
"Oi!"
His voice was sharp in the silence as Harry's warm body fell upon his, an unfamiliar sensation suddenly arising in his own as he stared down at the black haired boy, who was rather befuddled and confused as he pulled at Ron's clothed body.
Ron's hands caught his own as they both froze, the haze of Firewhiskey still covering them both as their glazed eyes met, Harry's heart pounding viciously against Ron's chest as tension filled the air around them, causing their skin to crawl and their hands to shake.
And then, Harry's lips pressed softly against Ron's.
He stood stock still under Harry, who's lips were far too soft for Ron's liking as the boy's tongue drug across his bottom lip, tasting of smoke and alcohol, warm and heady as his own lips parted, and moved with Harry's.
His body seemed to disconnect from his mind as it yelled from beneath the curtain of Firewhiskey, screaming at him to stop as his hands slid across Harry's skin, hard and wonderfully firm beneath his fingertips. Still, his fuzzy thoughts continued to tug at his attention as he tried to immerse himself in the feel of Harry above him, his weight comfortingly pleasant as his hips pressed closer to Ron's causing them both to moan.
His senses and thoughts finally lost in the rapture they created, Ron took advantage of his friends vulnerable state, and lifted his hips to thrust against Harry's. He'd wanted and prayed for this moment for far too long to let it fall from his grasp, wanted his friends lips against his in a way that possessed his very dreams.
And when Harry's own hips pressed tighter against his, he thought he was going to die from it all. His head swam as their lips continued to move in ways they'd never experienced before, they crashed and fused together almost violently, their tongues fighting for a dominance they never had to relinquish, their hips curling in ways they'd never thought was possible.
And soon their abdomens tightened, Harry's roughened jeans brushing madly against both of their now painfully hard erections as they slid them against each other, over and over until they fell over the edge, together.
Soon they lay spent, panting in each other's arms as the aftermath washed over them like another shot of Firewhiskey, both of them falling into a warm and glorious slumber.
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Author's Note: This ingenious chapter goes to my wife, Nina, who is just as perverted, if not more so, as I am. We are Team Switzerland, forever, my lovely wife. I do hope I got the tension right in the short first half, though I'm still kinda worried about it. Next chapter up after this! Review!! --Delta