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mildlunacyso i'm posting because i'm shameless. i wrote it. it's porny. it's pointless. it's harry/ron, goddamit, probably ooc as all hell, too. but who cares, it's wankfic, right? it's just, i missed the horrible babble... i mean, interaction. and stuff. i'll shut up now.
~~
Disclaimer: Not mine. I just found it on the street, but I'm sure it comes from a good home where these boys would never be so very bad. Bad, bad, bad.
Warning: Boys being boys. Uh yeah, that means slash. And sex. And really dorky attempts at romance. Or not. Plot-What-Plot, baby. Also, possible squick.
Author's note: My mom inspired this piece of bad porn during an innocuous talk about public masturbation. You should thank her, or curse her, accordingly. Yes, I'm blaming this on my mom, because obviously this had nothing to do with my own perversion and obsession with writing about boys wanking. Obviously.
- The Penis Daily -
Harry should've seen it coming, but of course he didn't. There was that time a month before when he and Ron had both had extreme amounts of what was supposed to be butterbeer in celebration of... no one was quite sure what. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had left them to their own devices for a few days, in care of Fred and George. Ministry business of some sort. For once, Harry and Ron hadn't thought too long about it before they had the misfortune of inquiring what the twins were up to.
They'd raced to the bathroom, laughing and bumping each other with their hips and elbows as they went. Harry had wasted no time having gotten to the urinal first, pushing down his trousers in one smooth practiced move and sighing loudly. Mere seconds later, a second noisy tinkle had joined his, and he and Ron were looking manically at each other, almost woozy with their success in having held it this long.
"I think I'm never drinking again," Ron had said, shaking his head.
"I hear ya." It felt as if his bladder was holding the contents of ten dozen bottles of butterbeer, as well as perhaps a few cups of Goblin's Guzzler, which was a legendary drink which was supposed to leave you peeing pink and purple streams for days. If you didn't turn into something nasty first. Harry was watching the healthily pink appendage in his hand closely for any sign of impending deformity, but nothing seemed forthcoming. "Not to mention I'm never trusting -them- again," he added.
Ron laughed. "I could've given you -that- advice -ages- ago. Took you long enough, eh?"
Still improbably draining yet more liquid, Harry snuck a peek at Ron's, in a similar state. It looked healthy too. "I don't think they put anything -too- bad in it," he said slowly, feeling a little faint. "Though I do feel a bit faint, I think." He swallowed. He felt fainter the longer he'd looked. Ron's cock was perfectly ordinary, tan-skinned and possibly a little flushed. He'd seen it before on numerous occasions, though he hadn't actually studied it in detail. It was... normal. It was Ron's.
Harry's heart began to pound, and he closed his eyes, wondering distantly just how much his bladder could have possibly held. The normally fleeting act of sharing bathroom space with another boy was suddenly becoming almost novel, as if he'd never done anything like this before. Which Harry hadn't, not for this long of a period of time.
"You look fine, Harry," Ron said, a little breathlessly, probably from their protracted exercise. Harry opened his eyes just in time to see Ron's on him, a tiny frown between his eyebrows. "I mean... well, as fine as you ever do." He smirked.
Harry flushed. "Er--" Ron had laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing a little, and Harry had the misfortune of squeezing himself a little harder as he jumped from the sudden contact, and there it was. Unmistakably hard, stiff and far from proud between his legs, still leaking fluid. "I-- sorry," he mumbled, wishing the floor would swallow him right then and there.
Ron coughed. "Oh-- um-- that? That-- you know-- that's probably part of whatever they spiked the butterbeer with. You know. That's the kind of pervs they are." Ron grinned, a little lopsidedly. Harry's cock twitched in his hand pathetically.
"Oh. Yeah, you're probably right."
Both of them were blushing a furious shade of red, however, and Harry's erection was refusing to abate, which made peeing rather difficult at that point. Thankfully, the flood had picked that moment to stop. They'd both pulled up their trousers with unusual haste and stumbled from the bathroom, not looking at each other all that much until the chess game later that evening. Neither had mentioned the incident in the bathroom by unspoken agreement since then, but even so, Harry should've known.
~~
A month later, he still hadn't meant to watch. They were just joking around as usual, nothing that was any different from the past five years of snorted laughter and crude jokes and soggy grins. The rest of their roommates had been done, and Harry and Ron had just gotten carried away, collapsed with laughter about something that neither would be able to remember five minutes later and would cease to be funny even before that.
Harry had agreed to wash Ron's back since the Keeper had claimed he could still feel that Bludger at the small of his back even a week later. It was the least Harry could do, since Ron was being so inexplicably entertaining. Neither felt like hurrying to cram for that Herbology exam with Hermione. Harry was still laughing hard, his arm shaky and his aim poor, though neither of them had noticed before Harry's arm just sort of-- slipped, and his soapy fingers dipped briefly into the crack of Ron's arse.
Ron moaned.
Suddenly, nothing was very funny anymore. Harry stood, frozen from head to toe except for one very notable exception which had immediately become flooded with heat and blood flow. His fingers couldn't seem to be able to -move- for some inexplicably mortifying reason, and Ron appeared to have a similar problem, because he hadn't uttered so much as a squeak, not a sound, really. Except for that moan.
Harry began to sweat, feeling a decidedly salty drop of liquid fear land on his lower lip, ticklish and insistent.
Ron's arse jerked backwards slightly and Harry's breath caught in his throat. Harry's finger was now lodged more firmly between the arse-cheeks, and he was trembling heavily, trying not to pant too obviously, trying not to move. His finger was very, very warm where it was. Neither was willing to disturb this moment, to look beyond it to the next. Where they'd have to acknowledge it, to look each other in the eye, to -speak-.
Ron stepped forward suddenly, refusing to turn back in the slightest towards his best friend. Harry's fingers slipped free with a tiny -pop-. He felt the loss keenly, especially since this shifted his focus to the silence, the rush of still-running water and to the thing now bobbing shamelessly between his legs.
"Harry?" Ron squeaked, then cleared his throat. He'd still not felt it necessary to look back. Harry was unreasoningly grateful for this bit of consideration, willing his stupid erection to die a horrible, painful death not for the first time in his life.
"Yeah?" Harry croaked.
"I'll just go-- dry off now," Ron mumbled, bursting out of the showers in a startling display of speed.
"Yeah, okay." Harry nodded to no one in particular, still mostly in a state of shock now that he was alone with his own slightly soapy back and unrepentant erection. Almost without his conscious consent, Harry's hand was wasting no time wrapping around his cock and pulling fiercely, his head dropping forward to nod against the tiles. In less than a minute, the water was already rinsing away the milky trails of evidence, but it took considerably longer before Harry's heartbeat returned to normal.
~~
Harry still hadn't figured it out as he lay wide awake in the dark. His blood was pounding in his ears, his palms were sweaty, and he was cursing his existence. He hadn't meant to wake up. He couldn't even remember what woke him up except a sense of unease, but he could definitely figure out what was keeping him up. Or rather, who. Harry pushed the pad of his palm against his mouth, breathing so harshly through his nose that he imagined it was louder than Neville's snores. He was shaking now, knees knocking together and horrible, itchy cold sweat running in rivulets down his inner thighs.
Harry screwed his eyes shut as tight as possible, hating that he couldn't do the same to his ears with every fiber of his being. He knew he was freaking out over nothing, overreacting, being a baby even, but it didn't help. The horribly crystal-clear visuals he was conjuring against his will just. Wouldn't. Stop.
Ron.
His pajama bottoms bunched haphazardly around his ankles.
His mouth hanging open in heavy, drawn-out pants, escalating to groans and whimpers and full moans.
His red hair looking dark with sweat, sticking to his forehead.
His sure grip, slick with spit and other things Harry refused to consider too closely lest he lose it entirely, smacking and sliding and jerking up and down.
(Smack.)
(Smack.)
(Smack.)
Harry flinched, fingers tightening on the linens, which were now damp and clinging to his back.
(Smacksmacksmack--slide--slurp--)
Harry's arse began to squirm on the soaked sheets, his hard-on quite painful by that point. He had bitten his lip bloody and still it continued; finally, Ron sighed and stopped for a minute, during which Harry's blood seemed to pound even louder at his temples and the urge to pull-- just once, really hard-- nearly overrode any remaining semblance of actual thought in his fevered brain.
(Smack smack-- slapslapslap--)
Harry's hips arched off the bed, eyes rolling back in his head. He had lived with dorm-mates all this time, and being silent when necessary had been second nature even back at the Dursleys. He'd never needed to ask Ron what silencing spell he usually-- always-- used.
The jerking slaps got more frantic, and Harry's cock was leaking so much pre-come it was making a wet spot on the rumpled sheet over his pajama bottoms. He was pumping his hips up and down mindlessly in time with the sounds by now, knees bent, legs hanging open. He had never been this hard or this desperate for relief in his life, but he couldn't. He just. Couldn't. It was okay as long as he didn't-- touch.
A longer, louder moan, and Harry could almost -see- the skinny, freckled hand moving on a swollen red cock so clearly, it was like his nose was inches away from it, all his concentration focused on observing every tiny detail. Harry was shuddering, his whole body shaking with the heavy pulses running through it.
Not-- Ron-- he thought frantically-- Not-- Ohgod, -Ron-!
Ron was uttering little guttural broken cries now, thumping against his mattress, grunting low in his throat and Harry's brain just shut off. Ron still hadn't slipped, it was just noise, none of them were dumb enough to allow themselves speech, but--
Harry's whole lower body arched off the bed like a strung bow, his fist tight as a vise around his cock, his mouth wide in a soundless scream as his aching balls contracted over and over, still pumping jets of sticky fluid even after there was nothing left to shoot.
He'd moaned helplessly, drawn-out and needy and raw, wishing-- wishing, as he came, that Ron's-- Ron's-- cock had been stuffed in his mouth so far it would have gagged him entirely.
~~
"So what did you want to tell me?" Harry whispered at Ron, sitting next to him at Potions.
"Fuck, Harry, I'm sorry, I must've forgot-- about, you know--"
Harry promptly turned red as a beet, as well as painfully hard inside his robes. He nearly sliced his finger off, cutting up his beetle's wings into microscopic pieces.
"Uh-- Ron-- can we... not talk about this now?"
"Oh, right. Snape," he snickered. "I bet old Snape would've come on the spot if he'd heard me. Do you think he's -ever- done it? In a million years? -Ever-, even?"
Harry choked, fighting the urge to wail. He was now erect enough to be noticeable if he'd stood up. He wanted to cry. "Would you stop it?!" he hissed, pounding his knife ferociously into the wooden table, virtually pulverizing everything in its path.
Ron snickered again, seeming to be amused by Harry's discomfort with the whole messy subject. Harry envied him. "Have it your way, Harry Spoilsport Potter," Ron whispered in his ear, still stirring the cauldron placidly. Hermione was organizing lists of used ingredients, ignoring them entirely as her own cauldron bubbled gently pink. "I know what you did last night, Harry," Ron whispered, as if imparting some great secret.
Harry flushed, growing increasingly annoyed with Ron's attitude. Wasn't he embarrassed too? What was he, inhuman? Harry shut his eyes in mortification as he felt himself shiver, fingers clenching tightly around his knife. Ron couldn't have. He just-- couldn't. It was impossible. Harry had been so, so perfectly silent, it was a record of heroic proportions. He had been almost proud, if not for the circumstances. Impossible. Still, Harry's heart was pounding like a newly caged bird. He swallowed convulsively.
He knew he was lying to himself, but the idea that Ron would bring it -up-, especially -now-....
"What -I- did? What about what -you- did, you bloody pervert?!" Harry hissed, ignoring all hypocrisy in the face of such blatant entrapment.
"What -we- did," Ron grinned widely, placating.
"Fuck!" Harry swore loudly as he sliced into his finger, bringing Snape to their desk, for which Harry was grateful for the first time in his school career.
~~
There was silence the next night, and the night after that, except for Seamus and Dean whispering to each other. Neville was still snoring. Harry's pulse was racing for no reason and he found himself unable to sleep even after keeping his eyes closed for what felt like hours. He fell into a light doze by the time light began seeping sluggishly through his curtains and Ron, in the bed next to him, had started to toss and turn as if he were on the verge of waking. Harry, in his far-gone state, felt a shiver of panic race up his spine at the thought of seeing Ron in this state, even though they had-- he had--
Harry felt his head swim, the familiar heavy trembling returning in full force. His eyes wide open, he lay motionlessly, drinking in every rustle of fabric on skin everywhere in the room, feeling like a small, trapped animal. He had to get out before they all woke.
Soundlessly as he could, Harry made his way down the stairs and out the portrait hole. It would be good to take a shower alone after flying for a bit. It might even air out this persistent feeling of... confusion. That was it. Confusion.
~~
Harry was certain of one thing: Ron was looking at him funny.
And he couldn't ask Hermione about it, either. Hermione had been ignoring them lately, what with her "special project" trying to educate the Hogwarts students about the centaurs in general and Firenze in particular. She had been at loose ends ever since she'd realized the majority of house-elves actively avoided Gryffindor Tower now, leaving Dobby to do everything.
Ron had been a bit too quiet, eating rather quickly even for him and only casting hurried, sidelong glances at Harry, which Harry was finding increasingly irritating. He felt guilty and mortified enough without having to deal with Ron's suddenly inscrutable mood swings and overall psyche. This was the second week Ron had "forgotten" to shower with the rest of his roommates, and even Neville had wondered where he was. Harry had just shrugged, a part of him not wanting to know by now.
"Harry! Wait!"
Harry froze, standing still as Ron caught up to him, palms inexplicably and immediately sweaty, which he then tried to rub surreptitiously against his robes. He turned around, getting a flash of manic grin and freckles before Ron pulled him suddenly to the side, slamming the door shut and leaning back against it, panting. Harry stood a bit awkwardly facing him, hands shoved into his robes' deep pockets, shifting from one foot to the other.
There was an even more awkward silence. Ron's lips were parted, his chest rising and falling in some sort of mesmerizing rhythm. Harry's mouth felt dry. Ron never-- just -looked- at him like this, before.
"You've been avoiding me, mate," Ron said mournfully.
"Me?" He sputtered. "-I- have been avoiding -you-?" He felt himself flush, this time in a welcome burst of good clean anger. "You've been practically running non-stop since-- uh-- two weeks ago! What have -I- done?"
Ron smirked wickedly at that, crossing his arms. "I don't know, Harry. What -have- you done? What have -we- done?"
"Ron!" Harry wailed. "What's gotten into you?! Are you -on- something?" Harry whispered harshly.
"Nope," Ron said, but he wasn't meeting Harry's eyes. "Oh, forget it," he mumbled, and began to turn as if to scramble back out again without even a hint of an explanation, as was becoming his habit.
"Oh no you don't," Harry cried, throwing himself at Ron to pin him immobile against the door so that he couldn't escape. "You can't just get -away- with--" And then he realized that Ron was being pressed full against him, and forgot what he was going to say. Ron was suddenly looking rather trapped, and Harry could feel both their heartbeats pounding hard between them, as if their hearts wanted to escape and beat against each other, naked flesh to flesh. All his blood rushed south at the thought and Harry gasped, totally unprepared for Ron failing to push him away or laugh it off or do anything at all except close his eyes silently, leaning his head back against the wooden door and not attempting to hide the flaming color burning up his throat to his cheeks. Harry stared at the boy pressed so close against him, not quite able to believe this was his best friend, right now, this was his best friend's erection pressing-- ohgod--
They both moaned at the same time, Harry only having enough time to wonder dizzily if -he- was the one that was on something before Ron closed the shrinking gap between them and his dry, chapped lips locked onto Harry's.
It was Harry that jerked away this time, mind reeling and lips buzzing crazily from the contact, his fingers flying immediately to his mouth. Ron's eyes were still closed and his chest was heaving and Harry thought he looked almost beautiful except he -couldn't- because this was -Ron-, and....
Harry swallowed a frantic sob, unable to bear looking at that face any longer, and pulled with all his strength at the door-handle, bumping Ron out of the way as he ran without a backward glance, the forward momentum and thoughtless panic all that carried him. This was insane. He was mental. Ron was.... Ron....
Somehow, Harry reached the spot near the lake that he always seemed to find when he wanted to get away, collapsing on the rocky beach and curling himself into a ball, rocking back and forth as soundless sobs wracked his body. He didn't know what he would do if Ron had followed him. There was nowhere else to run. There was nothing he could say to Ron now, or to himself.
He was just going to have to forget this incident like the others, that much was obvious.
~~
Harry was almost asleep the next time, lying curled up on his side with his legs half numb, heartbeat slow and steadily predicable, even drooling into his pillow a little. Then he heard it. The faint, muffled slapping sound he'd hoped to forget the existence of, at least until he stopped associating with-- oh God-- Ron--
He flipped onto his stomach fully, hoping to discourage any wandering fingers, except now his cock was literally throbbing against the mattress and the sheets became ridiculously smooth and silky to the touch all of a sudden, and now that Ron was moaning his name--
Having any further unconscious friction became impossible with this realization. Ron was-- Ron--
Harry scrambled up onto his knees, listening hard, erection forgotten in utter shock.
"I know you're--" A caught breath. "Listening, Harry...." A faint moan.
Harry flushed furiously, wishing desperately he could just spell himself asleep. Maybe he should just ask Madame Pomfrey for a potion, questions be damned. He supposed Hermione would know one too.... Harry groaned. Oh God, Hermione. His erection died a merciful death.
"I'm bloody well -not-!" Harry hissed, wincing at this flagrant betrayal of himself. He sighed. "All right, but it's your fucking -fault-, Ron! God, can you keep it -down-?"
Ron chuckled. "Can you? What kind of question is that?"
"A simple one!" Harry swung his legs over his bed, feeling a rush of adrenaline hit his system. He walked purposefully to Ron's bed, throwing the curtains open, still trying to be as quiet as possible. He was far from prepared for actually -seeing- it, he found. Seeing Ron, with his pajama bottoms tangled around those ankles just as he'd imagined, the erection tenting at his pajama-top, and that horrible half-smile playing on his lips.
"Like what you see, Harry?" Ron whispered, almost hesitantly.
"I-- no!" Harry cried, but he didn't move. His own erection was all too obvious, and Ron was staring blatantly at it. "I mean--"
Harry's hands seemed to have a mind of their own, and his right one was reaching slowly but surely across the distance separating them, trembling a little.
"You can touch, you know," Ron croaked, quite flushed-looking himself, but still keeping his fingers clenched tightly at his sides. "Please-- God-- please, just-- Harry, I don't, it's-- I didn't--"
As if in a dream, Harry folded one leg and then another to kneel beside Ron on his bed, his heart in his throat, cock thick and swollen and desperate in his pajama bottoms. He swallowed again and again, looking at Ron's flushed, open face and then at his cock, which had sprung free and was standing at attention in front of him.
Harry's palm was hovering uncertainly above Ron's lightly swaying erection, and he wanted to close his fist around it even more so than around his own, if that were possible. And then he did, making Ron gasp louder than Harry had ever heard him, and it was hot, scorching underneath his skin, and they were both trembling as Harry's hand began to jerk feverishly with no particular rhythm as Ron's hips started to buck. Ron wasn't looking at the fist wrapped so tightly about his cock, and he was still avoiding looking too long into Harry's eyes. He just stared fixedly at Harry's cock, which was peeping from the waistband and leaking glittering drops of pre-come. Harry wasn't touching it, and Ron wasn't either, he was just looking, which was making Harry decidedly dizzy when combined with what he was doing himself.
The frantic, artless pulling speeded up, and Harry was sweating copiously as if he were running a race, watching Ron's face contort in a myriad unimaginable ways, feeling as if he was going to spontaneously combust any moment. Ron was gasping and moaning and whimpering non-stop, pushing his hips up into Harry's hand with mindless insistence, making Harry yearn to just throw his leg over Ron's hips and ride him-- just-- ride him--
"Ohfuck, Harry, fuck!"
Ron's cock began to pulse in Harry's fist, making Harry's eyes roll back in his head, completely overwhelmed, so he didn't see the moment Ron snapped, his strange inhibition blown away in the force of his own orgasm, and reached for Harry's cock. He didn't bother pulling it out, just gripped it through the damp cotton and jerked a few times. Ron's arm was resting on top of Harry's as they wanked each other in sudden tandem, coming copiously together. Harry's hips were bucking so much he rose onto his knees, thrusting frantically into the air as he soaked his pajamas, not even feeling another boy's come sliding hotly down his hand and wrist for the first time.
They fell asleep just like that, holding on to each other, Harry's leg thrown over Ron's and his face buried in the other's shoulder. They'd forgotten to actually tie the curtains closed, so it was the dawn light that woke them, always rather bright in their room in the Tower. Thankfully, their roommates were still asleep, or at least pretending to be. Ron snorted, shaking his head as if to clear it and jumping noticeably when he realized he wasn't alone.
"Holy--!" he cried. "Harry, fuck, Harry, wake up!"
Harry mumbled something and curled tighter around Ron's warm comfy body, his fingers squeezing Ron's morning wood fitfully. He appeared to be smiling in his sleep. Ron was panicking. Seamus was groaning in that grumpy morning "who woke me up?" tone, and Neville's snores were almost indistinct, a sure sign of impending doom.
"Harry, you git! Get the hell -off- me!" He shoved the other boy away, much as he wished he could have let go of at least some of his consciousness enough to enjoy it. Harry just flopped onto his back, his own erection now rather obvious. Ron blanched, getting even harder. Ohgodohgodohgod, he thought incoherently. What was I thinking? Oh, right, I wasn't. He groaned, then grinned as he got a flash of sudden inspiration.
Still grinning somewhat maliciously, he pulled at Harry's cock, rather hard.
Harry sat up immediately with a strangled cry, eyes wide open and looking just as frantic as Ron. "Wha-- aaargh!" He took one look at himself and at Ron and scrambled in a mad dash to his own bed. Ron flipped back against his pillows, sighing in relief and reaching for his bed-curtains with a rueful smirk.
It was turning out to be a better than normal sort of morning, he thought as he reached for his cock. Harry had finally figured it out.
~~
~~
Disclaimer: Not mine. I just found it on the street, but I'm sure it comes from a good home where these boys would never be so very bad. Bad, bad, bad.
Warning: Boys being boys. Uh yeah, that means slash. And sex. And really dorky attempts at romance. Or not. Plot-What-Plot, baby. Also, possible squick.
Author's note: My mom inspired this piece of bad porn during an innocuous talk about public masturbation. You should thank her, or curse her, accordingly. Yes, I'm blaming this on my mom, because obviously this had nothing to do with my own perversion and obsession with writing about boys wanking. Obviously.
- The Penis Daily -
Harry should've seen it coming, but of course he didn't. There was that time a month before when he and Ron had both had extreme amounts of what was supposed to be butterbeer in celebration of... no one was quite sure what. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had left them to their own devices for a few days, in care of Fred and George. Ministry business of some sort. For once, Harry and Ron hadn't thought too long about it before they had the misfortune of inquiring what the twins were up to.
They'd raced to the bathroom, laughing and bumping each other with their hips and elbows as they went. Harry had wasted no time having gotten to the urinal first, pushing down his trousers in one smooth practiced move and sighing loudly. Mere seconds later, a second noisy tinkle had joined his, and he and Ron were looking manically at each other, almost woozy with their success in having held it this long.
"I think I'm never drinking again," Ron had said, shaking his head.
"I hear ya." It felt as if his bladder was holding the contents of ten dozen bottles of butterbeer, as well as perhaps a few cups of Goblin's Guzzler, which was a legendary drink which was supposed to leave you peeing pink and purple streams for days. If you didn't turn into something nasty first. Harry was watching the healthily pink appendage in his hand closely for any sign of impending deformity, but nothing seemed forthcoming. "Not to mention I'm never trusting -them- again," he added.
Ron laughed. "I could've given you -that- advice -ages- ago. Took you long enough, eh?"
Still improbably draining yet more liquid, Harry snuck a peek at Ron's, in a similar state. It looked healthy too. "I don't think they put anything -too- bad in it," he said slowly, feeling a little faint. "Though I do feel a bit faint, I think." He swallowed. He felt fainter the longer he'd looked. Ron's cock was perfectly ordinary, tan-skinned and possibly a little flushed. He'd seen it before on numerous occasions, though he hadn't actually studied it in detail. It was... normal. It was Ron's.
Harry's heart began to pound, and he closed his eyes, wondering distantly just how much his bladder could have possibly held. The normally fleeting act of sharing bathroom space with another boy was suddenly becoming almost novel, as if he'd never done anything like this before. Which Harry hadn't, not for this long of a period of time.
"You look fine, Harry," Ron said, a little breathlessly, probably from their protracted exercise. Harry opened his eyes just in time to see Ron's on him, a tiny frown between his eyebrows. "I mean... well, as fine as you ever do." He smirked.
Harry flushed. "Er--" Ron had laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing a little, and Harry had the misfortune of squeezing himself a little harder as he jumped from the sudden contact, and there it was. Unmistakably hard, stiff and far from proud between his legs, still leaking fluid. "I-- sorry," he mumbled, wishing the floor would swallow him right then and there.
Ron coughed. "Oh-- um-- that? That-- you know-- that's probably part of whatever they spiked the butterbeer with. You know. That's the kind of pervs they are." Ron grinned, a little lopsidedly. Harry's cock twitched in his hand pathetically.
"Oh. Yeah, you're probably right."
Both of them were blushing a furious shade of red, however, and Harry's erection was refusing to abate, which made peeing rather difficult at that point. Thankfully, the flood had picked that moment to stop. They'd both pulled up their trousers with unusual haste and stumbled from the bathroom, not looking at each other all that much until the chess game later that evening. Neither had mentioned the incident in the bathroom by unspoken agreement since then, but even so, Harry should've known.
~~
A month later, he still hadn't meant to watch. They were just joking around as usual, nothing that was any different from the past five years of snorted laughter and crude jokes and soggy grins. The rest of their roommates had been done, and Harry and Ron had just gotten carried away, collapsed with laughter about something that neither would be able to remember five minutes later and would cease to be funny even before that.
Harry had agreed to wash Ron's back since the Keeper had claimed he could still feel that Bludger at the small of his back even a week later. It was the least Harry could do, since Ron was being so inexplicably entertaining. Neither felt like hurrying to cram for that Herbology exam with Hermione. Harry was still laughing hard, his arm shaky and his aim poor, though neither of them had noticed before Harry's arm just sort of-- slipped, and his soapy fingers dipped briefly into the crack of Ron's arse.
Ron moaned.
Suddenly, nothing was very funny anymore. Harry stood, frozen from head to toe except for one very notable exception which had immediately become flooded with heat and blood flow. His fingers couldn't seem to be able to -move- for some inexplicably mortifying reason, and Ron appeared to have a similar problem, because he hadn't uttered so much as a squeak, not a sound, really. Except for that moan.
Harry began to sweat, feeling a decidedly salty drop of liquid fear land on his lower lip, ticklish and insistent.
Ron's arse jerked backwards slightly and Harry's breath caught in his throat. Harry's finger was now lodged more firmly between the arse-cheeks, and he was trembling heavily, trying not to pant too obviously, trying not to move. His finger was very, very warm where it was. Neither was willing to disturb this moment, to look beyond it to the next. Where they'd have to acknowledge it, to look each other in the eye, to -speak-.
Ron stepped forward suddenly, refusing to turn back in the slightest towards his best friend. Harry's fingers slipped free with a tiny -pop-. He felt the loss keenly, especially since this shifted his focus to the silence, the rush of still-running water and to the thing now bobbing shamelessly between his legs.
"Harry?" Ron squeaked, then cleared his throat. He'd still not felt it necessary to look back. Harry was unreasoningly grateful for this bit of consideration, willing his stupid erection to die a horrible, painful death not for the first time in his life.
"Yeah?" Harry croaked.
"I'll just go-- dry off now," Ron mumbled, bursting out of the showers in a startling display of speed.
"Yeah, okay." Harry nodded to no one in particular, still mostly in a state of shock now that he was alone with his own slightly soapy back and unrepentant erection. Almost without his conscious consent, Harry's hand was wasting no time wrapping around his cock and pulling fiercely, his head dropping forward to nod against the tiles. In less than a minute, the water was already rinsing away the milky trails of evidence, but it took considerably longer before Harry's heartbeat returned to normal.
~~
Harry still hadn't figured it out as he lay wide awake in the dark. His blood was pounding in his ears, his palms were sweaty, and he was cursing his existence. He hadn't meant to wake up. He couldn't even remember what woke him up except a sense of unease, but he could definitely figure out what was keeping him up. Or rather, who. Harry pushed the pad of his palm against his mouth, breathing so harshly through his nose that he imagined it was louder than Neville's snores. He was shaking now, knees knocking together and horrible, itchy cold sweat running in rivulets down his inner thighs.
Harry screwed his eyes shut as tight as possible, hating that he couldn't do the same to his ears with every fiber of his being. He knew he was freaking out over nothing, overreacting, being a baby even, but it didn't help. The horribly crystal-clear visuals he was conjuring against his will just. Wouldn't. Stop.
Ron.
His pajama bottoms bunched haphazardly around his ankles.
His mouth hanging open in heavy, drawn-out pants, escalating to groans and whimpers and full moans.
His red hair looking dark with sweat, sticking to his forehead.
His sure grip, slick with spit and other things Harry refused to consider too closely lest he lose it entirely, smacking and sliding and jerking up and down.
(Smack.)
(Smack.)
(Smack.)
Harry flinched, fingers tightening on the linens, which were now damp and clinging to his back.
(Smacksmacksmack--slide--slurp--)
Harry's arse began to squirm on the soaked sheets, his hard-on quite painful by that point. He had bitten his lip bloody and still it continued; finally, Ron sighed and stopped for a minute, during which Harry's blood seemed to pound even louder at his temples and the urge to pull-- just once, really hard-- nearly overrode any remaining semblance of actual thought in his fevered brain.
(Smack smack-- slapslapslap--)
Harry's hips arched off the bed, eyes rolling back in his head. He had lived with dorm-mates all this time, and being silent when necessary had been second nature even back at the Dursleys. He'd never needed to ask Ron what silencing spell he usually-- always-- used.
The jerking slaps got more frantic, and Harry's cock was leaking so much pre-come it was making a wet spot on the rumpled sheet over his pajama bottoms. He was pumping his hips up and down mindlessly in time with the sounds by now, knees bent, legs hanging open. He had never been this hard or this desperate for relief in his life, but he couldn't. He just. Couldn't. It was okay as long as he didn't-- touch.
A longer, louder moan, and Harry could almost -see- the skinny, freckled hand moving on a swollen red cock so clearly, it was like his nose was inches away from it, all his concentration focused on observing every tiny detail. Harry was shuddering, his whole body shaking with the heavy pulses running through it.
Not-- Ron-- he thought frantically-- Not-- Ohgod, -Ron-!
Ron was uttering little guttural broken cries now, thumping against his mattress, grunting low in his throat and Harry's brain just shut off. Ron still hadn't slipped, it was just noise, none of them were dumb enough to allow themselves speech, but--
Harry's whole lower body arched off the bed like a strung bow, his fist tight as a vise around his cock, his mouth wide in a soundless scream as his aching balls contracted over and over, still pumping jets of sticky fluid even after there was nothing left to shoot.
He'd moaned helplessly, drawn-out and needy and raw, wishing-- wishing, as he came, that Ron's-- Ron's-- cock had been stuffed in his mouth so far it would have gagged him entirely.
~~
"So what did you want to tell me?" Harry whispered at Ron, sitting next to him at Potions.
"Fuck, Harry, I'm sorry, I must've forgot-- about, you know--"
Harry promptly turned red as a beet, as well as painfully hard inside his robes. He nearly sliced his finger off, cutting up his beetle's wings into microscopic pieces.
"Uh-- Ron-- can we... not talk about this now?"
"Oh, right. Snape," he snickered. "I bet old Snape would've come on the spot if he'd heard me. Do you think he's -ever- done it? In a million years? -Ever-, even?"
Harry choked, fighting the urge to wail. He was now erect enough to be noticeable if he'd stood up. He wanted to cry. "Would you stop it?!" he hissed, pounding his knife ferociously into the wooden table, virtually pulverizing everything in its path.
Ron snickered again, seeming to be amused by Harry's discomfort with the whole messy subject. Harry envied him. "Have it your way, Harry Spoilsport Potter," Ron whispered in his ear, still stirring the cauldron placidly. Hermione was organizing lists of used ingredients, ignoring them entirely as her own cauldron bubbled gently pink. "I know what you did last night, Harry," Ron whispered, as if imparting some great secret.
Harry flushed, growing increasingly annoyed with Ron's attitude. Wasn't he embarrassed too? What was he, inhuman? Harry shut his eyes in mortification as he felt himself shiver, fingers clenching tightly around his knife. Ron couldn't have. He just-- couldn't. It was impossible. Harry had been so, so perfectly silent, it was a record of heroic proportions. He had been almost proud, if not for the circumstances. Impossible. Still, Harry's heart was pounding like a newly caged bird. He swallowed convulsively.
He knew he was lying to himself, but the idea that Ron would bring it -up-, especially -now-....
"What -I- did? What about what -you- did, you bloody pervert?!" Harry hissed, ignoring all hypocrisy in the face of such blatant entrapment.
"What -we- did," Ron grinned widely, placating.
"Fuck!" Harry swore loudly as he sliced into his finger, bringing Snape to their desk, for which Harry was grateful for the first time in his school career.
~~
There was silence the next night, and the night after that, except for Seamus and Dean whispering to each other. Neville was still snoring. Harry's pulse was racing for no reason and he found himself unable to sleep even after keeping his eyes closed for what felt like hours. He fell into a light doze by the time light began seeping sluggishly through his curtains and Ron, in the bed next to him, had started to toss and turn as if he were on the verge of waking. Harry, in his far-gone state, felt a shiver of panic race up his spine at the thought of seeing Ron in this state, even though they had-- he had--
Harry felt his head swim, the familiar heavy trembling returning in full force. His eyes wide open, he lay motionlessly, drinking in every rustle of fabric on skin everywhere in the room, feeling like a small, trapped animal. He had to get out before they all woke.
Soundlessly as he could, Harry made his way down the stairs and out the portrait hole. It would be good to take a shower alone after flying for a bit. It might even air out this persistent feeling of... confusion. That was it. Confusion.
~~
Harry was certain of one thing: Ron was looking at him funny.
And he couldn't ask Hermione about it, either. Hermione had been ignoring them lately, what with her "special project" trying to educate the Hogwarts students about the centaurs in general and Firenze in particular. She had been at loose ends ever since she'd realized the majority of house-elves actively avoided Gryffindor Tower now, leaving Dobby to do everything.
Ron had been a bit too quiet, eating rather quickly even for him and only casting hurried, sidelong glances at Harry, which Harry was finding increasingly irritating. He felt guilty and mortified enough without having to deal with Ron's suddenly inscrutable mood swings and overall psyche. This was the second week Ron had "forgotten" to shower with the rest of his roommates, and even Neville had wondered where he was. Harry had just shrugged, a part of him not wanting to know by now.
"Harry! Wait!"
Harry froze, standing still as Ron caught up to him, palms inexplicably and immediately sweaty, which he then tried to rub surreptitiously against his robes. He turned around, getting a flash of manic grin and freckles before Ron pulled him suddenly to the side, slamming the door shut and leaning back against it, panting. Harry stood a bit awkwardly facing him, hands shoved into his robes' deep pockets, shifting from one foot to the other.
There was an even more awkward silence. Ron's lips were parted, his chest rising and falling in some sort of mesmerizing rhythm. Harry's mouth felt dry. Ron never-- just -looked- at him like this, before.
"You've been avoiding me, mate," Ron said mournfully.
"Me?" He sputtered. "-I- have been avoiding -you-?" He felt himself flush, this time in a welcome burst of good clean anger. "You've been practically running non-stop since-- uh-- two weeks ago! What have -I- done?"
Ron smirked wickedly at that, crossing his arms. "I don't know, Harry. What -have- you done? What have -we- done?"
"Ron!" Harry wailed. "What's gotten into you?! Are you -on- something?" Harry whispered harshly.
"Nope," Ron said, but he wasn't meeting Harry's eyes. "Oh, forget it," he mumbled, and began to turn as if to scramble back out again without even a hint of an explanation, as was becoming his habit.
"Oh no you don't," Harry cried, throwing himself at Ron to pin him immobile against the door so that he couldn't escape. "You can't just get -away- with--" And then he realized that Ron was being pressed full against him, and forgot what he was going to say. Ron was suddenly looking rather trapped, and Harry could feel both their heartbeats pounding hard between them, as if their hearts wanted to escape and beat against each other, naked flesh to flesh. All his blood rushed south at the thought and Harry gasped, totally unprepared for Ron failing to push him away or laugh it off or do anything at all except close his eyes silently, leaning his head back against the wooden door and not attempting to hide the flaming color burning up his throat to his cheeks. Harry stared at the boy pressed so close against him, not quite able to believe this was his best friend, right now, this was his best friend's erection pressing-- ohgod--
They both moaned at the same time, Harry only having enough time to wonder dizzily if -he- was the one that was on something before Ron closed the shrinking gap between them and his dry, chapped lips locked onto Harry's.
It was Harry that jerked away this time, mind reeling and lips buzzing crazily from the contact, his fingers flying immediately to his mouth. Ron's eyes were still closed and his chest was heaving and Harry thought he looked almost beautiful except he -couldn't- because this was -Ron-, and....
Harry swallowed a frantic sob, unable to bear looking at that face any longer, and pulled with all his strength at the door-handle, bumping Ron out of the way as he ran without a backward glance, the forward momentum and thoughtless panic all that carried him. This was insane. He was mental. Ron was.... Ron....
Somehow, Harry reached the spot near the lake that he always seemed to find when he wanted to get away, collapsing on the rocky beach and curling himself into a ball, rocking back and forth as soundless sobs wracked his body. He didn't know what he would do if Ron had followed him. There was nowhere else to run. There was nothing he could say to Ron now, or to himself.
He was just going to have to forget this incident like the others, that much was obvious.
~~
Harry was almost asleep the next time, lying curled up on his side with his legs half numb, heartbeat slow and steadily predicable, even drooling into his pillow a little. Then he heard it. The faint, muffled slapping sound he'd hoped to forget the existence of, at least until he stopped associating with-- oh God-- Ron--
He flipped onto his stomach fully, hoping to discourage any wandering fingers, except now his cock was literally throbbing against the mattress and the sheets became ridiculously smooth and silky to the touch all of a sudden, and now that Ron was moaning his name--
Having any further unconscious friction became impossible with this realization. Ron was-- Ron--
Harry scrambled up onto his knees, listening hard, erection forgotten in utter shock.
"I know you're--" A caught breath. "Listening, Harry...." A faint moan.
Harry flushed furiously, wishing desperately he could just spell himself asleep. Maybe he should just ask Madame Pomfrey for a potion, questions be damned. He supposed Hermione would know one too.... Harry groaned. Oh God, Hermione. His erection died a merciful death.
"I'm bloody well -not-!" Harry hissed, wincing at this flagrant betrayal of himself. He sighed. "All right, but it's your fucking -fault-, Ron! God, can you keep it -down-?"
Ron chuckled. "Can you? What kind of question is that?"
"A simple one!" Harry swung his legs over his bed, feeling a rush of adrenaline hit his system. He walked purposefully to Ron's bed, throwing the curtains open, still trying to be as quiet as possible. He was far from prepared for actually -seeing- it, he found. Seeing Ron, with his pajama bottoms tangled around those ankles just as he'd imagined, the erection tenting at his pajama-top, and that horrible half-smile playing on his lips.
"Like what you see, Harry?" Ron whispered, almost hesitantly.
"I-- no!" Harry cried, but he didn't move. His own erection was all too obvious, and Ron was staring blatantly at it. "I mean--"
Harry's hands seemed to have a mind of their own, and his right one was reaching slowly but surely across the distance separating them, trembling a little.
"You can touch, you know," Ron croaked, quite flushed-looking himself, but still keeping his fingers clenched tightly at his sides. "Please-- God-- please, just-- Harry, I don't, it's-- I didn't--"
As if in a dream, Harry folded one leg and then another to kneel beside Ron on his bed, his heart in his throat, cock thick and swollen and desperate in his pajama bottoms. He swallowed again and again, looking at Ron's flushed, open face and then at his cock, which had sprung free and was standing at attention in front of him.
Harry's palm was hovering uncertainly above Ron's lightly swaying erection, and he wanted to close his fist around it even more so than around his own, if that were possible. And then he did, making Ron gasp louder than Harry had ever heard him, and it was hot, scorching underneath his skin, and they were both trembling as Harry's hand began to jerk feverishly with no particular rhythm as Ron's hips started to buck. Ron wasn't looking at the fist wrapped so tightly about his cock, and he was still avoiding looking too long into Harry's eyes. He just stared fixedly at Harry's cock, which was peeping from the waistband and leaking glittering drops of pre-come. Harry wasn't touching it, and Ron wasn't either, he was just looking, which was making Harry decidedly dizzy when combined with what he was doing himself.
The frantic, artless pulling speeded up, and Harry was sweating copiously as if he were running a race, watching Ron's face contort in a myriad unimaginable ways, feeling as if he was going to spontaneously combust any moment. Ron was gasping and moaning and whimpering non-stop, pushing his hips up into Harry's hand with mindless insistence, making Harry yearn to just throw his leg over Ron's hips and ride him-- just-- ride him--
"Ohfuck, Harry, fuck!"
Ron's cock began to pulse in Harry's fist, making Harry's eyes roll back in his head, completely overwhelmed, so he didn't see the moment Ron snapped, his strange inhibition blown away in the force of his own orgasm, and reached for Harry's cock. He didn't bother pulling it out, just gripped it through the damp cotton and jerked a few times. Ron's arm was resting on top of Harry's as they wanked each other in sudden tandem, coming copiously together. Harry's hips were bucking so much he rose onto his knees, thrusting frantically into the air as he soaked his pajamas, not even feeling another boy's come sliding hotly down his hand and wrist for the first time.
They fell asleep just like that, holding on to each other, Harry's leg thrown over Ron's and his face buried in the other's shoulder. They'd forgotten to actually tie the curtains closed, so it was the dawn light that woke them, always rather bright in their room in the Tower. Thankfully, their roommates were still asleep, or at least pretending to be. Ron snorted, shaking his head as if to clear it and jumping noticeably when he realized he wasn't alone.
"Holy--!" he cried. "Harry, fuck, Harry, wake up!"
Harry mumbled something and curled tighter around Ron's warm comfy body, his fingers squeezing Ron's morning wood fitfully. He appeared to be smiling in his sleep. Ron was panicking. Seamus was groaning in that grumpy morning "who woke me up?" tone, and Neville's snores were almost indistinct, a sure sign of impending doom.
"Harry, you git! Get the hell -off- me!" He shoved the other boy away, much as he wished he could have let go of at least some of his consciousness enough to enjoy it. Harry just flopped onto his back, his own erection now rather obvious. Ron blanched, getting even harder. Ohgodohgodohgod, he thought incoherently. What was I thinking? Oh, right, I wasn't. He groaned, then grinned as he got a flash of sudden inspiration.
Still grinning somewhat maliciously, he pulled at Harry's cock, rather hard.
Harry sat up immediately with a strangled cry, eyes wide open and looking just as frantic as Ron. "Wha-- aaargh!" He took one look at himself and at Ron and scrambled in a mad dash to his own bed. Ron flipped back against his pillows, sighing in relief and reaching for his bed-curtains with a rueful smirk.
It was turning out to be a better than normal sort of morning, he thought as he reached for his cock. Harry had finally figured it out.
~~