Word Count: 1,405
Warnings: Nothing but porn.
Summary: Gift!fic for lnalvgd and fordanglia. I hope you guys don't mind sharing - it's just that this one ended up twice as long as I'd planned, and did not come easily. It was more of the kicking, screaming and biting variety of plotbunny that did not want to flow. Still, I'm happy with the end result, so I hope you are, too. You can fight between yourselves about who owns which bits. :)
This is sort of a smutty "outtake" for Longing. Though Longing is sort of trio, this piece is exclusively Ron/Harry in content. You don't have to have read Longing to read this, but the situation and a bit of the dialogue will make much more sense if you have. (Also, if you read Longing first, then Bedfellows won't spoiler you for it.)
Stories in the Longing 'verse
We were alone. Alone together. And the world seemed to have shrunk to the places we were touching, his hot breath on my chest and the slow whirl of dizziness in my brain.
I almost absently noted my hand reaching up to stroke his cheek, and felt a little stab of pain when he flinched at the caress.
“You don’t...you don’t have to,” he murmured.
“Yes, I do,” I countered, my hands threading into his dark hair.
“Only because Hermione-” he began.
“Hermione was right,” I said gently but firmly. “About everything. As usual.”
“Oh,” he whispered.
For a long moment neither of us spoke or moved, save for the gentle stroking of my hand across his face and hair. I watched his expression, still and almost expectant, his eyes closed. When my fingers trailed across the nape of his neck he gasped, those eyes flew open, and his hot mouth locked with mine again.
This kiss was less slow, less tentative than the first. There was a clumsy urgency behind the thrust of his tongue, the mashing of our lips, the occasional click of teeth. His hands slipped under my shirt and my head gave a great spin.
“Oh, fuck,” I mumbled, breaking the kiss and resting my head on Harry's shoulder as his fingertips drifted up and down my spine, across my ribs and the soft, senstive skin of my sides.
“All right, Ron?” Harry asked, his hands still moving, almost tickling.
I nodded. It was too much, but too much in the best possible way.
As I slid my own hands under Harry’s shirt, he sucked in a sharp breath and it sent a bolt of pleasure from my brain...downwards. We were barely touching, and I was already half-hard.
“What...” My voice came out hoarse, so I stopped to clear my throat. “What are we going to...er...do?”
Harry’s reply sounded as nervous as my question. “I don’t know, really. I never...I never expected to actually...you know. I mean, I’ve thought about doing things before, but...ah...”
I pulled back to look at him. “You’ve thought about doing things? With me?”
Harry shifted a little, embarrassed. “Loads of times.”
Harry abruptly blushed a brilliant crimson, and my brain suddenly caught up with the conversation. “Oh...right. Sorry,” I mumbled, knowing my face was glowing like a setting sun.
Harry had thought about me. While he wanked.
Oh. Shit. Harry wanking.
All at once my imagination created an image, and there was no longer anything ‘half’ about my erection.
“I’m sorry,” Harry continued. “I shouldnt’ve said...I don’t want you thinking that I expect-” He was pulling away a little, taking half a step backwards, letting me go...
Lust or Gryffindor courage or some mixture of the two must have driven me to do what I did. I honestly have no idea which. All I could think at the time was that I couldn’t let him run away from me.
I tightened my arms around Harry and pressed my body against him. My whole body. And we both groaned when the bulge in my pants firmly met the one in his.
For long minutes reality dissolved into a kind of haze of desperate kissing and touching and delicious friction. Then Harry tugged my shirt up and off me, and I did the same with his. We’d seen each other half-dressed hundreds, possibly even thousands, of times through the years at school and last year in the tent, but I found myself openly looking him up and down for the first time.
“Not much to look at, I know,” Harry said, self-conscious under my appraising eye.
He was still too thin, it was true, but there were things about his lean frame that I was finding very appealing on closer inspection. His pale skin, soft under my fingertips, and the gentle curve of the muscles in his chest and biceps. His slender neck that begged for nuzzles, kisses and maybe even a gentle nip or two.
And I seemed to be mesmerized by that trail of coarse hair that led down beyond the waistband of his jeans.
“Are you mental?!” I asked. “You’re bloody gorgeous! You’re the one who should be feeling a bit let down.”
“What do you mean?” Harry asked, looking genuinely confused.
“Well...it’s me,” I said, gesturing at myself, as if that should explain everything. “My nose is enormous, I’ve got scars all over, and millions of freckles everywhere. Not exactly a catch.”
“That’s utter bollocks! If your nose was any smaller it’d just look silly. I’ve got as many scars as you do, and your freckles...well, I...I really like them,” Harry stammered.
“Yeah,” he said earnestly.
I eyed him sceptically. “You’re not just saying that to get into my pants?”
“No!” he protested indignantly. I sniggered, and he gave me a sheepish grin. “Okay, I am trying to get into your pants. But I meant what I said.”
Our hands were eagerly exploring the planes and contours of newly exposed skin even as we spoke. I surrendered to my impulse and leaned in to brush my lips against his neck above his pulsepoint. He released a sigh, a gentle exhalation of breath that caressed my shoulder.
Harry’s fingers were moving back and forth across my stomach and every now and then dipping teasingly inside the waistband of my jeans. After he’d done this half a dozen times, I gave an little moan and thrust my hips forward demandingly. I felt Harry’s lips curve against my skin, then that hand drifted down and squeezed gently, and I saw stars.
“Freckles everywhere?” Harry asked wickedly, as I whimpered and pressed myself wantonly into his palm.
“Uh huh,” I mumbled, holding on tight to his hips with both hands. This was partly for leverage, but mainly so I didn’t fall flat on my arse because my balance seemed to have evaporated along with any reservations I may previously have held about frotting shamelessly against my best mate’s hand.
“Come to bed with me?” he asked in a whisper, and I immediately nodded. We wrestled impatientily with pants and shoes and socks in between more kisses, more touches. When I was down to just my boxers I paused for a brief moment, but Harry’s lips on mine wiped away my hesitation and we slid between the sheets in nothing but our skin.
Things went very rapidly from there.
Too rapidly, really, but at the time, we weren’t really thinking about drawing it out. I wasn’t thinking much at all beyond right there and Harry and so good and almost my entire vocabulary of swear words (which is extensive, due to growing up with five older brothers, one of whom was Charlie).
To be honest, it was all a bit of a blur.
One moment, it was more of the same; Harry’s tongue tracing a tendon in my neck, my large hands easily cupping his small, muscular arse.
Then the next; my hand was around Harry’s cock and his hand was around mine, and we were both thrusting and grunting and moaning and muttering odd snatches of almost-words and panting and then...and then...
Sweet Merlin, I came.
The flood of sensation left me sweaty, sticky, sated, and gasping for breath. When I came back to myself a bit I was aware of Harry gently nuzzling and kissing my neck, and I felt a rush of guilt. What exactly did you say when you came so quickly, and completely forgot about your partner when it got to the messy end of things?
“I’m sorry...Did...did you...?” I trailed off, embarrassed.
“Yes,” he murmured softly.
“Oh,” I said. “That’s...that’s good.”
“Incredible,” he responded.
“Me too,” I replied. “I mean, you were. For me.”
I seemed to have regained minimal use of my limbs. My fingers glided across the skin of his back, his hip, his thigh; retracing paths walked hastily, committing them to memory. Harry’s fingertips traced lazy patterns on my ribs as he tilted his head up to catch my mouth in a long and languid kiss. I felt my body stirring again, heat rising slowly, and I knew that the next time, and all the times after that would be better.
And I was right, but I was also wrong.
Because nothing, nothing ever seemed to come close to that first time. The first time Harry and I shared a bed as lovers, not just friends.
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