Still Waters Run Deep

Ron had ventured to the Weasley’s on his own that afternoon. Harry had work all day, Christmas Eve of all things, so Ron had been left to sulk and mope around the flat all day until finally heading over to his mum and dad’s place. He’d proceeded to mope around there too, although he couldn’t well tell anyone why he was so upset. Molly had piled his plate full of food at dinner, and chided him for not eating enough when he pushed the corn around his plate.



It’s been Harry’s idea to wait to tell everyone. What had originally been a plan to wait a few months, had turned into six months, and then a whole year. It was their bloody fucking anniversary, and Harry still hadn’t told anyone besides Hermione and Ginny that they were a couple. He almost wondered if Harry were embarrassed of him or something. Or maybe Harry was ashamed of being gay. That was always a possibility. The truth of the matter was that Ron wasn’t in the slightest bit ashamed of being gay. But sometimes he could see why the infamous Harry Potter wouldn’t want to be seen with Ronald Weasley in any capacity other than platonic.



Hermione was convinced that Ron was over reacting, as usual. Ron was inclined to agree with Hermione (she was right about so many things) but he was also plagued by doubts. He didn’t really deserve Harry, he knew that, but he also knew he didn’t deserve to be anybody’s dirty little secret. Even Harry’s.



So, he’d suffered for six months in silence, and now he was beginning to wonder if he’d let his resentment fester the relationship. Harry was always at work, they hadn’t had sex in three weeks, and when they did see each other, all they did was fight. He wondered if perhaps Harry was having second thoughts about moving in after school ended, or if Harry was regretting the whole relationship. Which was probably why he hadn’t forced Harry to come out to his other friends, because if that made Harry leave, he wasn’t sure quite what he’d do. Probably jump off a bridge. Well, nothing that drastic. But he was sure that he’d do something stupid.



He Apparated to the front door of their flat, and stared at it for a bit. Harry had hung a rather dismal wreath a week before. Ron kept trying to take it down because it was ratty and sort of foul smelling, but Harry had insisted. Apparently it’d been a gift from one of the other Aurors-to-be. Ron thought it was tacky. Harry had replied that it was tacky not to hang it up. He was tempted to throw it in the can while Harry was out. Instead he shoved his key in the lock and jiggled it a bit until the door handle gave. The flat was Muggle-owned, and it was painfully obvious at times. He was glad that neither of them possessed anything of particular worth, because any wizard older than eleven could easily get into the flat and rob them blind.



The flat was dark, except for a light in the kitchen. Ron stumbled through the dark living room before poking his head into their small kitchen. Harry was asleep at the table, slumped, snoring, next to a pair of melting candles. He’d set the table, with cloth napkins and everything. There was something in the oven, still warming. He looked in. It was salmon. Over cooked by now. He wasn’t sure what to say. Harry stirred at the sound of the opening oven.



He looked up, wiping drool on the back of his hand. “Ron?”



“Hey.” Ron took the seat across from Harry, smiling sheepishly. “You made dinner?”



Harry looked a little too sleepy to be upset. “Yeah... It’s in the oven.”



“I got it out.” He pointed to the salmon on the range. Harry got up slowly, but Ron pushed him back into his seat and went over to dish up the dinner. Harry wasn’t the best cook, but it was clear that he’d been trying.



“Where were you?”



“I went to my mum’s. I didn’t think you’d be back until really late tonight.”



“Did you already eat?” Harry was upset now. “You didn’t even bother to ask me what I was doing tonight... I made you dinner!”



“I ate, but I can eat again.” He put a full plate in front of Harry. Fish, rice, green beans. Poured him a glass of white wine: some imported chardonnay from California, it looked fancy. “I didn’t know—”



“Of course you didn’t,” Harry said, sounding more resigned than sad or angry. “I should have reminded you.”



“Reminded me what?”



“Our anniversary.” Harry looked so miserable that Ron put down the wine bottle and went over to him.



“I remembered.”



“You did?” Harry looked so surprised that Ron felt guilty instantly. Maybe all his worries had been unfounded. Harry had clearly remembered their anniversary; they both had, evidently. Maybe there was hope.



Ron nodded. “Yeah. I thought you forgot.”



Harry sniffled slightly and then giggled. “Yeah, I guess we’re both idiots.”



Ron laughed, but he was tired, tired of the games. The avoidance. Maybe Harry did love him. But did it matter when they didn’t trust each other enough. It was odd, he trusted Harry with his life, but didn’t trust the other boy enough to keep their love alive. Was it even love? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it was childish infatuation. Well, he definitely loved Harry, but he wondered if Harry loved him back. Harry must have noticed his expression, because the quiet look of happiness on his face had faded.



“Ron?”



“Yeah?”



“You look like someone shit in your dinner.” Harry smiled, but the smile disappeared when Ron didn’t laugh. “Is something wrong with the salmon?”



“There’s nothing wrong with the salmon,” Ron admitted after a long moment of silence. “I guess... I’m just worried.”



“What are you worried about?” Harry fussed with his napkin, but kept his brilliant green eyes fixed on Ron’s face.



Ron shrugged, pushing his cutlery around a bit. “It’s just weird to me that we both thought the other had forgotten.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Harry, you don’t trust me.”



“You don’t trust me, either.” Harry almost seemed angry, and he pushed his food around his plate. “Obviously.”



“So what are we doing, then?”



“What do you mean?” Harry’s expression was blank, as if he’d been expecting this.



“Why are we still together? We never spend any time together, and when we do, we fight.”



Harry put his fork down and stared at Ron, although it was hardly a shocked expression. “Ron, are you trying to tell me something?”



“Well—”



“If you want to break up with me, just do it. Don’t beat around the fucking bush,” Harry said calmly.



Ron could barely believe his eyes. Harry was such a cold bastard.



“I don’t really want to break up with you,” Ron snapped. “But when you act like this it makes me reconsider the past year.”



“I’ve been waiting for this,” Harry hissed. “You were such a whore last year. I should have known you hadn’t changed.”



Ron exploded. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”



“Exactly what it sounds like,” Harry replied, pushing his chair away from the table to stand.



“Wait a bloody minute,” Ron said, holding his hands up, trying not to get his temper get away from him. He couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t cheated, not once. Never even thought of it. Not even on his loneliest nights, he hadn’t once thought of cheating on Harry. It just wasn’t something he wanted to do. It was then that he had a moment of clarity. “I haven’t been cheating on you, Harry. I haven’t touched anyone else.”



Harry looked unconvinced, and had folded his arms across his chest defensively. “Why should I believe you? You slept with just about all of Hogwarts last year.”



Ron rolled his eyes. “You are so ridiculous. Harry, I didn’t give a flying shit about any of them. And you should know that by now.”



Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable, as if entertaining for the first time the possibility that Ron hadn’t been cheating on him. Ron was a little put out, to say the least. “But...”



Ron sighed, leaning forward so that his face was only a couple inches from Harry’s. “Harry, I love you. I haven’t been cheating on you.” He’d never thought that Harry was so insecure. Or maybe he’d known all along, but had never considered that Harry might think their relationship was anything but strong. Or he’d been too insecure himself to realise that Harry was just as worried. God, they’d both been so stupid. “Harry, I’ve been worrying that you’re going to leave me, because I’m not good enough and whatnot.”



Harry looked confused. “But, I’m not good enough for you. I can’t satisfy you sexually.”



Where had everyone got this impression that Ron was such a sex fiend? He knew he’d slept with many people, but it wasn’t like he was insatiable. Or a sex addict. “Uhm, Harry, you do just fine.”



“Just fine?” Harry looked miserable. “See, that’s what I mean, I can’t even begin to compare! I’m not experienced enough.”



Ron snorted. “Please, as if experience means anything. I love you Harry. Don’t you get it?”



Harry was still unconvinced. Ron decided that Harry was a stubborn git, and the only way to get the idiot to understand was to strap him down and bloody show him.



And that sounded kinky enough to make his dick jump in his boxers. He grabbed Harry’s wrist. “Look, I’m going to bloody prove it to you, since you’re so stubborn.” He rolled his eyes again. “I swear Harry, you may be the thickest bloke in the whole country.” He leaned in, even closer, and pressed his lips against Harry’s.



At first it was apparent that Harry was determined to be immune to his charms. But Ron wasn’t easily dissuaded. He only deepened the kiss, and after what seemed like forever, Harry opened his mouth and returned the passionate kiss. He was tentative at first, as he always was.



Ron tightened his grip on Harry’s wrists. Harry pulled away from the kiss, alarmed. “What are you doing, Ron?”



“Like I said. Showing you.”



“Showing me what?”



“How much I love you, you fucking git.” He pulled Harry to his feet. Harry protested a bit, digging his feet in. “Nope, you’re coming with me.” Harry relented after a momentary tug of war, and Ron hauled him from the kitchen.



Ron kicked the bedroom door open and tossed Harry onto the bed. “What the fuck is going on?” Harry didn’t sound angry, so Ron deigned not to answer. He rooted around in the closet until he had found what he was looking for. Harry watched, interested, from the bed.



“Aha!” He brandished his old school tie with a bit of a manic look. “Hold still.”



Harry had quickly assessed what was going on, and eagerly stuck his wrists out. Ron tied them together tightly, wrapping the tie around them, leaving the ends flapping. He used one finger to push Harry onto his back on the bed and then used the other tie to fasten his wrists to the headboard.



With expert precision he eased Harry’s shoes off and threw them into the small closet they shared. Harry watched, craning his neck. “Ron? I mean, I get what we’re doing, but how is this supposed to prove anything?” He looked so sad that Ron kissed him to cheer him up. And show him exactly what he meant.



He wasn’t sure he’d ever kissed anyone like the way he kissed Harry. Ron kissed Harry with all his being. It felt like every nerve in his body was on edge, ready, at attention, to devote themselves to Harry. He remembered the first time they’d kissed, exactly a year ago. It had been this magical, perhaps better, but then again, time had weathered them both a bit.



Harry moaned into Ron’s mouth, and Ron wondered how he’d ever considered even letting Harry get away. It was stupid. Pure stupidity. He felt like he was kind of melting. Like chocolate. Or something. Which reminded him. He’d pull that out later, though.



As he kissed Harry he fumbled with his belt buckle, finally managing to shuck it and toss it off. His pants sagged considerably without the belt. He shimmied out of the jeans, keeping his lips locked on Harry’s, tasting him. Harry was really getting into it now, although he pulled off after a minute. “Ron, get my fucking pants off,” he panted, bucking his hips slightly. Ron grinned and then obliged.



He slowly unbuttoned Harry’s shirt, leaving it open, exposing pale white skin. He supposed that to take it off all the way he’d have to untie Harry, and he didn’t want to do that, so the shirt stayed on. Plus it was always kind of hot when they had sex with clothing on, or at least partially. He tweaked one of Harry’s pink nipples and watched as red suffused the pale skin and Harry squirmed under his fingers.



“Jesus fucking Christ,” Harry swore, arching his chest into Ron’s hand. “Do it again, Ron.” Ron did. He’d been teasing Harry’s nipples for a moment when he remembered what George had given him.



“An early Christmas present,” George had said, a little happy. Ron had taken the little brown jar and sniffed the contents suspiciously.



“What’s this?”



“Oh, don’t worry, it’s nothing dangerous.” George shrugged. Ron supposed he’d had a hard time doing pranks ever since Fred had died. But he’d been better this year, better than the year before.



Ron sniffed it again. It smelt like chocolate.



“Yes, it’s chocolate,” George said, grinning openly now. “It’s for you and Harry.”



Ron looked at him, confused.



“It’s for you and Harry... In bed.” George smirked. “It’s liked, edible body paint. Muggles invented it, apparently. But I just improved the recipe. The chocolate’s better.”



Of all the Weasley brothers, George was the only one who knew about Harry and Ron. Probably because he’d walked in on Ron giving Harry a blow job in the back room of Weasley Wizard Wheezes and had demanded an explanation. Well, there wasn’t much to explain, Ron had said. He liked giving Harry blow jobs. And they were a couple. George was more upset about the fact that there could be semen on some of his samples.



Ron jumped up from the bed and began rooting through his messenger bag. He found the little brown pot at the bottom of the bag, along with a handful of peppermint humbugs.



He unwrapped one, pushing the cellophane into the trash bin, and then jogged back to the bed. He slid the humbug into Harry’s mouth, and then uncapped the body paint.



“What’s that?” Harry asked, teeth whistling as he sucked on the hard candy.



“You’ll see.” Ron gingerly put the cap on the bedside table and stuck a finger in the pot. It was rather lugubrious, and sticky, to say the least. He stifled an expression of distaste and scooped out a generous amount on his index finger. Harry stopped sucking on his humbug to stare at the finger.



“What the fuck, Ron.”



“Just watch! So impatient.” Ron shook his head, mostly with fondness, and then stuck his finger in the middle of Harry’s pale chest. He traced a heart with the sticky chocolate, which was surprisingly fluid when moved about.



“Awh, that’s cute,” Harry said, grinning openly for the first time in what seemed like months.



“Yup.” Ron leaned over and began to lap up the chocolate, feeling a bit like a cat. Harry squirmed under his tongue. When he’d licked up the heart, he smeared more of the chocolate on Harry’s nipple and began to suck.



“Oh shit.” Harry’s breath smelled like peppermint now, and the smell of chocolate was filling the air. And Ron was pretty much intoxicated. He loved sucking on Harry’s nipples.



When he’d finished getting the chocolate off both of Harry’s nipples he set about the best part. Well, he considered it the best part, at least. Hopefully Harry would as well. He wiped his fingers on the sheets, leaving brown streaks, which made them both giggle. After he’d cleaned his fingers suitably, he pulled off Harry’s boxers, leaving him exposed to the air.



He cast a warming spell around them, and Harry’s goose-flesh faded quickly. He took the pot and scooped another generous fingerful. Harry craned his neck to see better. He obviously wanted to sit up, but Ron placed a hand on his stomach to keep him down.



While Harry was distracted with his other hand, Ron quickly smeared some of the chocolate on the head of Harry’s cock. It jumped slightly, and Harry squeaked. It was a rather amusing sound, and Ron couldn’t wait to elicit further high pitched noises from him. So he spread more of the body paint across Harry’s cock. He hoped that it wasn’t an irritant, because Harry would probably kill him tomorrow if he ended up with a rash all over his dick. But Ron figured it was worthwhile.



He blew on the chocolate and Harry yelped from the cold sensation. And before he had time to complain, Ron engulfed the tip of Harry’s cock in his mouth.



Ron had had plenty of opportunity to master the art of cock-sucking. And he liked to practice on Harry. Although he hadn’t got much practice in lately, what with them being slightly estranged and all. So he fully meant to make up for lost time.



He lapped his tongue along the underside of Harry’s dick, and wrapped his spare hand, still stick, around the base. Harry moaned, and his dick stiffened in Ron’s mouth. Ron grinned and began to work his way down the shaft, sucking softly at first, and then increasing pressure as he went. Harry was writhing slightly. He usually liked to stick his hands in Ron’s hair and twine his fingers through the red locks, but his hands were rather too tied up.



He sucked harder, wishing he had two sets of eyes so he could watch Harry’s face as he blew him. He knew from experience that Harry made the most amazing expressions when having sex. At first he always looked a little uncomfortable. Ron had always supposed that meant he was just not yet used to his body, but once he was stimulated enough, his face lost its constipated expression, and went completely slack with passion.



Maybe it was because they hadn’t had sex in so long, but Harry was gasping and moaning loudly within a moment. “Oh fuck, Ron, I’m gonna...” Ron always thought it funny that Harry could never say cum. He was too polite, or something.



Ron sucked harder, letting Harry fuck his face for a moment before exploding with passion. He swallowed, once, twice and then pulled off, letting Harry’s dick flap up against his dark furred stomach. After a moment it softened and slouched.



Harry looked completely wiped. Ron climbed up beside him. After kissing him for a moment, and savouring the taste of chocolate, cum, and peppermint, he untied Harry. Harry wrapped his arms around Ron’s neck and kissed him again, a softer, more gentle kiss than the one before.



“Believe me now?”



Harry shrugged.



Ron supposed that sex wasn’t exactly the answer, but how else could he show Harry how much he loved him. “Harry... I’m sorry.”



“What for?”



“Being a prat last year.”



“Oh, you weren’t a prat—”



“Yeah, I was. I guess it was because I loved you so much. And you seemed so... Straight, I guess.” Ron shrugged, and snuggled closer to Harry.



Harry shook his head. “It’s okay. I know you love me. Sometimes I just need a little convincing, I guess.”



Ron nodded, and then kissed Harry’s forehead. Sure, they had their problems. They would probably need to work hard to fix them. But they’d been through everything together, and this was only a bump in the road. “Happy Christmas, Harry.”



“Happy Christmas,” Harry replied, and when his green eyes lit up, Ron knew that everything was going to be fine.