Of Age

A/N: I know it's been a long time since I updated. Sorry about that! My brain flew completely out the window. But now it's back! See? =D Don't hate me too much. Please?

I'll take care of you...just as I always have...

Harry wanted very badly to believe Mrs. Weasley. She was the closest thing to a mother he had ever had...but her words didn't quell the frigid feeling that was the beginnings of a panic attack. He forced himself to breath in and out, slowly, deeply.

It was almost funny, wasn't it?

How he could take Lord Voldemort on in a duel...how he could face death itself and stare it in the eye...and yet...

"Hey, Harry."

"Ron?" Harry choked out, turning his head to stare blindly in the general direction of the voice.

"Yeah. It's me." Ron replied vaguely.

There was another creaking of bedsprings. A hot blush crept its way haphazardly up Harry's face when he realized he had gotten in bed next to him.

He wanted to turn away. He knew what he could see. "Get these off." he said imploringly, shaking his wrists so that the chains made a faint clinking sound against the bed's frame. There was a silence; Harry's eyebrows furrowed. Had he gone? No. He couldn't have. He was just...

Staring.

Harry closed his eyes needlessly. "Ron--!" he hissed.

"Ah, yeah." Ron grunted as though waking from a deep sleep. "One minute."

Harry felt him lean forward. Felt his fingers working at the bindings. A second later, they fell away. He sighed. Able to move his arms. He tore off the blindfold -- they were in Fred and George's old bedroom, he saw -- right before covering his privates.

Ron chuckled. "Yeah...you can do that. For all the good it'll do you." he said.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Shut up, Harry." Ron brought their faces together and kissed him roughly, his tongue forcing past the barrier of his lips, probing the inside of his mouth with a desperate ferocity he remembered him displaying during his face-sucking sessions with Lavendar Brown.

He could only endure it, blinking stupidly. He supposed he should have been ready for an advance like this...after Mrs. Weasley and all she had said. But it was surreal. This might as well have been a dream. If it wasn't for the bruising quality of the kiss (the pain assured him everything was quite real) he might have deluded himself into believing it was.

He tried to turn his head to the side, but Ron followed, his tongue delving deeper into his mouth. He felt as though he might choke on it. Did Ron really think that felt good? He groaned.

Bad idea. Ron must have took that as a sign of encouragement, because his hand went down to cover the hand Harry already had over his cock. With the fingers pried away, his friend was able to grasp the flaccid tool firmly in his hand. He gave it a rough stroke.

Harry tried to pull away; Ron countered by breaking the kiss and his hold, briefly, and rolling on top of him. "Stop it!" he yelled. "Stop it!"

"No!" Ron yelled back. Looming over him, face twisted in a dark scowl, Harry's best friend looked intimidating for the very first time.

Harry closed his eyes against the ugly image. That wasn't Ron. This wasn't real. It was a dream, all a dream, had to be!

"You'll like this. Trust me." he added in an apologetic whisper, pressing a kiss to the side of Harry's face.

That hand was back, stroking his cock. Harry wanted to close his legs, but with Ron seated firmly between them, he was running out of options. He grabbed Ron's wrist, tugged his hand off, covered himself.

"Cute, Harry. But you're gonna have to get over that. Fine. We'll do this instead." Ron said, slipping his hands under Harry's legs, lifting his lower half clear of the bed.

"Piss off." Harry said bitterly. A second later he was wishing he had just let Ron fist his cock. He could feel a hardness pressing against the pucker of his anus. Hands gripped his wrists, holding them fast to the headboard of the bed. His eyes opened wide. Before he knew it, something (it didn't take a genius to guess what) was pushing inside. "Nnh! No!!"

No response.

"Please." he gasped in a last ditch effort to save himself from the crude fucking. He stared up into Ron's face. Searched desperately for some sign of hope. There was none. Harry's inner muscles clenched and unclenched around the bulbous head of his tool, trying to force it out, but only serving to stimulate the redhead, who gasped and thrust sharply into him.

"Sorry, mate." was all Ron would say.

"Ahhhnn; for the love of god, Ron, take it out!" Harry barked, the muscles of his chest tightening as he tried to sit up. Three guesses how well that worked. He fell back against the pillows, gasping sharply as the thick shaft journeyed along his insides, stretching his walls as they had never been stretched before.

"Does it hurt?" Ron asked huskily, stilling his hips at the halfway point.

"Yes!" Harry snarled. Fear breeds helplessness. Helplessness spawns rage. He thought, if he could just free his arms, he might strangle Ron. Friendship be damned.

Ron's brows furrowed; like he just couldn't understand how Harry wasn't enjoying himself.

Not that Harry noticed the expression. He was busy with his eyes closed, trying desperately to throttle the urge to weep.

Ron bucked his hips again, forcing several more inches inside. How big was he? Bigger than Harry, surely. Even with all that lube he felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside.

Sweat poured from his face. He kept his eyes closed, his teeth clenched, as he waited for the rest of it to be delivered. Because surely there was more to add to this hell. But several seconds trickled by and nothing happened. Reluctantly, Harry opened his eyes. He forced himself to look down. To study the place where they were connected. He could see Ron's pubes, darker than his hair but still ginger. Could see the base of his shaft...and...nothing else. The rest was inside. Inside him. He let out a watery gasp that was almost a sob.

"Sorry, Harry." Ron said again. Evidently he had stilled for Harry's benefit. But now that charity was through. He pulled back, back, back, till just the helmet of his penis penetrated the blackhaired boy. And then he pushed forward, propelling all seven inches in again.

"Ahhhh!" Harry cried out. Something pierced through the pain. Like an arrow. His eyes widened. Instinctively, he bucked back against the invading length. "Haaa...!"

"Good?" Ron asked breathlessly, certain that last cry hadn't been of plain pain. He repeated the process. Pull out. Shove in. Pull out. Shove in. He moved brutally but with purpose.

Harry trembled in anticipation. Sure enough, after a third awkward thrust, it happened again. "Ahhh..." he whimpered. He was pushing back against Ron now, frantically, like a bitch in heat, quickly growing addicted to that burst of pleasure that was somehow making the pain and humiliation almost worth it.

"Fuck yeah." Ron groaned. Every time he hit that spot in him, Harry would clench down, like he didn't want him to leave at all. It was a trial to pull out, but he managed, only to slam in again.

Harry's eyes were leaking liberally now. He didn't notice. He could focus only on the buggering. "Please!" he moaned, not even sure what he was asking for.

Ron responded by rolling, rocking his hips, thrusting in, sliding out, thrusting in, sliding out, slamming into that spot, sliding out, thrusting in -- exploding. In his ecstasy, he gripped Harry's cock, squeezing it in time with the spurts he let off -- deep inside.

Harry felt...heat, filling him up. He tensed up uncertainly, just before flying over the edge himself, coming all over his chest and Ron's hand.

"That was..." Ron muttered, stilling himself with his penis plugging Harry's hole. He contentedly soaked up that sloppy, warmly wet feeling. "...brilliant."

"Hnn..." Harry mumbled, closing his eyes.

As the seed grew chill, his shame bubbled to the surface. He opened his eyes. Grimaced. "Will you...?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically high.

"Pull out?" Ron guessed with a laugh. He remained sheathed fully inside. If anything, he pressed forward a bit more. "Hah. You were singing a totally different tune towards the end there. You're a horrible actor, mate." He reached up, stroking a few strands of jet black hair from Harry's eyes. "You loved it."

Harry scowled. True enough...it had started feeling good. He couldn't deny the fact that -- he came. Embarrassing as that was, he came. Still -- he tried to remind himself -- this was a crude violation of his rights as a person. This was wrong. Inexcusable. He was being victimized here, wasn't he...? He wasn't some tart who enjoyed those kinds of things happening to him. No.

Was he?

"Done already, Ron?"

"Wow. That's got to be some sort of record."

"Yeah. That took you -- what? -- three minutes?"

Fred and George stood near the doorway, side by side. Both were grinning identical grins.

Ron flushed scarlet; right to his ears.

Harry cringed. How long had they been there?

"Though. You do have a lovely singing voice, Harry, mate." Fred said cheerfully.

"Yeah, lovely. You ought to try out for the opera."

"Leave 'im alone." Ron said coldly.

"Yeah, alright, alright. Budge aside. We want a go." George said impatiently. He was already unbuckling his pants.

Behind him, Fred was slipping out of his dragon hide vest.

"We didn't skive off work to just stand around and flap out jaws; as lovely as the sights are." he winked Harry's way.

"Yeah, move it." Fred agreed.

Ron glowered at them. Reluctantly, he pulled out. A mixture of lubrication, come, and blood followed him out. The sight was gross but...strangely erotic.

"Stop staring!" Harry plead, closing his legs now that Ron was out from between them. He felt empty. Empty, cold, and gross.

"Aww. Look at that, George. Ickle Harry's still like a blushing virgin. We'll have to strip him of that, won't we?" Fred asked, dropping his pants to reveal a black pair of briefs tented by an imposing erection.

"'Course we will." George chuckled.

A/N: Dundundun~! What cruel fate awaits our hero? You'll have to wait to find out. Oh, and review. Reviews help a lot, heh.