Paternity

Authors notes: From http://www.ibiblio.org/herbmed/eclectic/kings/sapo.html :hard-milled soap--curd soap, composed of hard, granular particles. The soap is taken out and allowed to harden in wooden or iron frames. Yellow or resin soap is formed by adding a certain quantity of resin. Budge up--move over.


Paternity, 3/?
By Scribe

Part Three
Comfort

*Malfoy. Fucking, eternally bedamned Draco MALFOY! I choose to have my first time with a snotty, stuck-up, nasty git who's done nothing but insult me and mine since he stepped on the Hogwarts Express, and not just that, oh no. That would be bad enough, but I let him mount me out in the middle of a fucking FIELD! What was I THINKING?*

Ron's thoughts were a frantic near babble as he raced back to the school and found the side entrance. He was so upset that he scarcely paused as he slipped inside, almost beyond caring whether Filch, Mrs. Norris, or Snape might be lurking about. The only thing that let him hold on to his last shred of caution was the absolute terror that they might look at him and somehow KNOW. Ron could actually SMELL Malfoy on himself--a hot, musky funk that practically screamed sex, and he could just imagine Snape sniffing, then peering down that long nose at him, and speaking in that special tone he seemed to save for when he'd caught Ron or Harry out. *Well, well, well, Weasley. And what have you been up to?*

As he crept up the stairs, Ron thought desperately, *A bath. I have to have one--NOW.* There was always a chance that Draco's scent was more Ron's imagination than fact, but he DID need to clean up. Ron had learned one of his first practical facts of life--a dry wipe down just wasn't enough to make you feel fresh after a bout of raunchy sex.

He might normally have worried about meeting someone in the Gryffindor bathing chamber (there was often someone taking a last minute wash after a long study session), but there was little chance tonight. He was pretty sure that nothing less than an expulsion spell would get Harry out of bed before morning, and there was no one else to worry about. He'd be able to have a proper bath in peace.

In the lavatory, Ron started the taps on one of the tubs, then stripped while it filled with steaming water. He had to lower himself into the water an inch at a time, and it took real courage to finally dunk his balls. The tender skin immediately started stinging, but Ron grimly forced himself on, till he was sitting. Then he just sat, adjusting to the feel, letting the sensation go from sting to prickles. He could see his skin pinkening from the heat. When he was sure he could stir the water up without having the currents cause fresh pain, he took a bath sponge from the shelf just above the tub, bypassed the prettily colored and scented bar someone had left behind, and went straight for the hard-milled, yellow, institutional soap that was provided by the school.

Ron rubbed the bar on the sponge till it was thickly lathered, then began to scrub. He switched to a cloth for his face and genitals, but scrubbed ever other inch of his body--twice. He even dunked his head and rubbed the bar frantically in his hair, shuddering as he picked out a velvety, dark green leaf, and dropped it on the floor behind the tub.

He finally let the still warm, but now scummy, water drain, thankful that the house elves would take care of cleaning out the tub. He couldn't bear to think of again having to clear away the dirt he'd just removed from his own body. *What else? My teeth, I need to brush my teeth, and gargle with antiseptic. Thank God Malfoy didn't get his tongue in my mouth. I might have developed one of those Muggle eating disorders Hermione told us about. Lord, that gave Mum the horrors--the thought of a young person not eating. Damn it, my toothbrush is upstairs. I can't risk going for it, tcomicoming all the way back here.* Ron grimaced, then used his teeth to shave a bit of soap off the bar. He chewed grimly, face working at the nasty taste, then rinsed his mouth out several times. If he hadn't been so disgusted with himself and what had happened, he would have had a good laugh at the sight of his own reflection, foaming at the mouth like a werewolf with lunar madness.

He got the taste out of his mouth eventually, and went to pick up his clothes. That was when he spotted the tag end of his drawers peeking out of his trouser pocket. Reluctantly, he tweezed the underwear between thumb and forefinger, drawing it out for examination. He moaned. They were tacky, thickly smeared with spunk, and traces of blood and shit. He scrubbed them in the washbasin, using the hottest water he could coax from the taps. He examined them critically, holding them up to the light, and eventually decided that was the best he could do. It would have to suffice. He certainly wasn't going to let the house elves get hold of them.

Ron pulled his clothes back on and made his way back to the room he shared with Harry. Harry was still sleeping peacefully. *And isn't that a small miracle? The way things have gone tonight I'd have expected him to be sitting up like Mum did the first time Grandy Tittlecan took Ginny out--tapping his foot.* Ron quickly crammed the damp pants into the bottom drawer of his nightstand--the junk drawer.

He got into his nightshirt, and climbed into bed, extinguishing the lights before laying his wand aside. *I'm going to go to sleep, and when I wake up tomorrow, this will have all been a particularly disturbing dream. After all--I've had sex dreams before. It's just that they were never about Draco.* Ron hadn't really expected to sleep, but he was more tired than he'd thought, the physical exertion and emotional strain had drained him. He dropped off into a light, uneasy doze. The problem was that, as is often the case, there was no escape from his troubled thoughts--they followed him, in disjointed dreams.

In the dreams there was darkness, and the dark, moist smell of fresh earth and green, growing things. There was coolness beneath him, cradling his body, but there was heat and hardness above him, and inside him. He was buffeted by pleasure that was as sweet as honey, and as bitter as gall. A voice whispered, "You like it, of course you like it, little slut, can't help your nature, born to be used," and there was silver, silver glinting off hair and from eyes, and *oh, God, that's WRONG! The eyes should be green.*

Harry was awakened by a low moan. For a moment he thought that it was one of the school ghosts, but they were on strict orders to stay within the public rooms, and not bother the students in their dorms. There was only one person it could be. A little groggy, Harry got up and padded over to Ron's bed. He'd left his glasses on his nightstand, and he blinked as he peered down, trying to draw Ron into focus.

Ron had even extinguished the tiny night-light they usually kept burning, in case someone had to make an emergency trip to the toilet during the night. Harry could barely out Ron's face against his pillow, but he could tell that his friend was moving, twitching restlessly under the sheet. *He's having a nightmare,* thought Harry. *I wonder if I ought to wake him, or leave him alone?*

Ron moaned again, head thrashing, as if in denial of something unthinkable. He was talking in his sleep, but there was no force behind the words, and Harry could not decipher the faint sounds. Harry leaned closer still, trying to decide. *I don't think I've seen him look this upset since we almost lost Ginny.* Ron was in pain--emotional, if not physical, and Harry just couldn't stand it. He gently touched the other boy's shoulder, saying softly, "Ron?"

Rerkeerked awake, eyes snapping wide open, drawing a deep, whooping gasp, as if preparing to scream. Harry gripped his shoulder quickly, feeling the tension in Ron's wiry body. He said urgently, "Ron, it's all right! It's just me--it's just Harry."

Ron blinked rapidly, but Harry saw some of the fear leave his expression. "Harry? I'm sorry--I didn't mean to wake you."

"What's wrong, Ron? Nightmare?" Ron nodded. "You all right now?"

"I s'pose so."

"You don't sound very convincing, Ron. Are you, or aren't you?"

Ron sighed. "I guess I'm not. You go back to bed, Harry. I might as well go sit up in the common room."

"Don't be stupid. You'll be dead on your feet if you do that."

"I'm not going to be able to sleep again, anyway."

"What do you do at home when you have nightmares?"

"Well... I haven't had them much for the last year or two. I used to go crawl in between Fred and George. I got kicked, and they grumbled, but it just felt safe, you know? I figured if anything tried to get me, they'd stuff one of their jokes down its gullet and make it explode."

"Would it make you feel better if I climbed in with you for a bit?"

"I'm not a baby, Harry."

"Yeah. Budge up." Ron shifted quickly, and Harry climbed under the covers with him. "Don't be selfish--share your pillow." Ron moved the pillow, and Harry laid his head down beside Ron's. "Now go back to sleep." He closed his eyes. A moment later he opened them again. "Ruddy hell, Ron--you're trembling like a flutterby bush. Come here." Harry put his arms around Ron, but the trembling seemed to increase. "What is it? You're not cold. In fact, you're really warm--I can feel heat RADIATING off you. Do you have a fever? Maybe we should go see Pomfry."

"No, I'm not sick. I just took a bath before I came to bed." Ron forced out a watery chuckle. "Good thing no one else needs hot water any time soon."

"What did you do--boil yourself?"

"Close to."

"Huh." Harry moved his nose up against Ron's hair. "Washed your hair, too. It's still damp. Didn't your Mum tell you not to go to bed with wet hair?"

"Make up your mind, Harry. Either I have a lie down, or I sit up till my hair is dry. I can't do both. I had to use that grotty yellow soap for my hair. I bet it looks like ginger gillyweed tomorrow."

"Smells nice, though," murmured Harry. "Clean." Harry was startled when Ron suddenly embraced him, squeezing hard. "Oof! Steady, Ron. Leave me some breath."

*Clean--he thinks I'm clean. I didn't think I'd ever feel that way again, but if Harry thinks I am, maybe it's possible.* Ron buried his face against Harry's shoulder, rubbing his face on the smooth cotton of his nightshirt.

Harry felt the moist warmth of Ron's breath against the sensitive skin of his neck, and closed his eyes. *Just a bit more, and he could be kissing my throat. Maybe it's time. I could never have tried to be intimate with him at the Burrow. God, the walls are like tissue paper--his whole FAMILY would know, but here, with the place practically deserted... How do I do this? Don't pull away, Ron. Please don't pull away.* Harry let his hands stroke up and down the length of Ron's back. Then he slipped one arm around Ron's waist. His other hand crept up to cradle the back of Ron's head, fingers pushing into the damp hair, pressing his face closer.

Ron went still as Harry pulled him close, urging his face against the warm, pulsing column of his throat. He heard Harry whisper, "It's all right, Ron. Isn't it? Isn't this all right?"

Ron breathed a grateful sigh. "Oh, yes, Harry. It's very right."

Harry used his grip in Ron's hair to gently tug him up till their faces were level. For a long moment they stared into each other's eyes. Then Harry leaned over, closing the scant inches, and pressed his lips to Ron's.

The kiss was tender, gentle, almost reverent--everything that Draco's had not been. Harry pulled back, watching Ron carefully. Ron knew that all he had to do was turn away, or make some silly joke, and it would be over. Harry would accept his decision, and it wouldn't be spoken of again. Ron said quietly, "You know, I DON'T feel ridiculous."

"Yeah, you're related to Fred and George, all right." There was a hint of wryness in Harry's tone, then it turned serious. "But don't joke about this, Ron. This is serious--at least for me. It isn't just spur of the moment. Well, I suppose it counts as spontaneous, but I've been thinking about something like this for ages."

"Have you?" Ron wound his arms around Harry's neck and leaned in for another kiss. "Smashing."

This time the kiss was deeper. Both boys opened their mouths, moving them together slowly. Harry was shocked at how good it felt. He'd practiced kissing with Hone one (as he assumed Ron had). That wasn't nearly as nice as kissing Ron. For one thing, Hermione was her usual bossy self, dictating exactly how long, how wet, how firm. And besides--Ron tasted better. There was a very faint roughness of barely there stubble beside the smoothness of lips, the contrast stimulating, and making Harry eager to explore the other textures of his best friend's body.

He's seen Ron naked before. Hell, this was boarding school--they had communal lavatories, and slept four to a room. It was inevitable, unless one was a vigilant, hardcore prude. Harry hoped that he'd be able to coax Ron into making love in the afternoon some day, so he could have a long, leisurely perusal, but he could just remember the glimpses he'd already had. It would be enough, since he now had hope for more.

Harry continued to kiss Ron, inching Ron's nightshirt higher and higher. Ron broke the kiss, pulling back, and Harry felt his stomach drop in disappointment. But Ron was tugging the garment over his head, saying, "I want to be naked for you. I want to feel you on my skin--all over me. Take yours off, too."

Speechless at the other boy's carnal generosity, Harry removed his own sleepwear. He'd barely dropped it to the floor when Ron was once again plastered against him. Harry gasped as he felt the hot, firm length of Ron's cock press against his bare thigh. "Christ, Ron, you're like an iron bar!"

Harry gasped again as Ron's long, smooth fingers encircled his rigid prick, pulling lightly. "I'm not the only one. You're a randy devil, you are, Harry Potter."

"I'm not a random one, though, Ron. I've only ever got like this thinking of you."

"Yeah?" Ron's voice was teasing. "Not even for Viktor Krum?"

"Oh, well--Quidditch. Since he turned professional, I think that even the blokes who only like girls have a bit of a hard one for him."

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop rabbitting on and DO something."

Harry reached between Ron's legs and cupped the velvety sac of his scrotum, rolling it gently. "How about this?"

Ron bit his lip. "That'll do for a start."

For long moments the boys explored each other's bodies, becoming as familiar with taste, feel, and scent as they had been with voice, and attitude. During the past six years they had spent countless hours together, learning each other's moods, thoughts, and quirks. Now they set about to learn each other's flesh just as intimately.

Ron pushed Harry onto his back and began to kiss his shoulder, then his chest. He paused to nip and lick at the straining points of Harry's nipples, experimenting to see what would cause a gasp, what would cause a whimper. When the fleshy buds were swollen and near aching with pleasure, he moved down. He licked deep into Harry's bellybutton, holding his hips down when he laughed and tried to squirm away. Then he moved lower still.

"Ron," Harry breathed, as he felt breath ruffle his pubic hair. "You don't have to."

Ron didn't respond verbally. Instead he gripped Harry's cock in both hands and licked the tip lavishly. Harry moaned in appreciation, touching Ron's hair in encouragement. Ron placed an open mouthed, sucking kiss on the glans, then licked again, dipping his tongue tip into the tiny, sensitive slit. Clear fluid oozed out, mingling with his saliva, and Ron almost sobbed with happiness as the taste filled his mo *H *Harry. Good, honest, brave, caring Harry. Harry wants me, and not just a warm hole.*

Ron took the head entirely in his mouth and sucked it like a sweet, then bobbed, sliding the first couple of inches in and out between his clinging lips. Harry let go of Ron and fisted his hands in the sheets. He had to. He was afraid that otherwise he'd hold Ron still, and ram up into that sweet heat. "So good, Ron. God, you're so good. Let me do something for you."

Ron pulled back. "Do you mean it?"

"Yeah."

"Whatever I want?"

"Christ, Ron, I'll give you my firstborn child if you ask. Anything!"

"Sit up. Prop yourself against the headboard."

Harry was confused and disappointed, but he'd given his word. He scooted back till he was sitting, back braced. Ron pulled on his hips a little, sliding him a bit further down on his spine. Then he straddled Harry's hips, gripping Harry's shoulder with one hand and leaning back, reaching down and between them with the other. "What are you...?"

"Sh." Ron's expression was intent. "I can do this if I concentrate--I know I can. Stay still, Harry." Ron gripped Harry's erection firmly, and shifted till the tip parted the narrow crease of his buttocks. He started to lower himself.

"Ron? Oh, hell, Ron!" Harry felt resistance as he pressed against something warm and rubbery. Ron's eyes were fixed on his face, and he didn't stop. There was a minute give, then a spreading, and Harry's cockhead popped through the tight ring of Ron's asshole. Ron winced, and Harry said, "Wait! Take a minute, get used..." Ron gritted his teeth and sank down quickly, spiking himself on Harry's turgid flesh. He yelped in discomfort, and Harry's arms went around him, instinctively comforting and supporting. "I didn't want to hurt you."

Ron rested his forehead against Harry's panting. "Didn't. Wanted it this way. Need it." He moved, sliding halfway up, then dropping till Harry's wiry pubic hair prickled his buttocks, scraping ever so slightly at the tender skin of his wide stretched hole. *I feel like I'm going to split wide open. He's bigger than Draco.* Ron forced himself to keep moving, erasing the feel of Draco with the feel of Harry.

It got easier, and Ron increased his speed. Then he tilted his hips just right, and Harry's cock slid over his prostate. It was suddenly all pleasure. He cried out, head dropping back as he gripped Harry's shoulders hard, and began posting for all he was worth. Harry grabbed Ron's waist and added his efforts, slamming Ron's lean, pliant body down as hard as he could, drilling into him. He'd planned to be slow and careful their first time, but Ron seemed to need this, and he wanted to give Ron what he needed. He wanted to BE what Ron needed.

Harry gasped. "Now! Wait... wait..." He held Ron down, keeping his prick embedded to the root. Ron whined and struggled, desperate for more of the friction that was driving him mad, but Harry was relentless. After a second Harry's hips jerked, and he somehow managed to sink just a little deeper as his orgasm struck.

Ron whimpered. "Let me move! Damn it, Harry, I HAVE to move!"

Instead of letting go, Harry leaned forward abruptly, tipping Ron so that he was lying on his back, his legs going up around Harry. Ron's hard, leaking cock was trapped between their bodies. Harry pulled free of Ron's clutching back passage and slid his still hard cock against Ron's. He grabbed Ron's head, kissing him fiercely, possessively, as he rubbed against him. When Ron stiffened, coating Harry's belly with warm spunk, the dark haired boy swallowed his new lover's cries of passion, taking them into himself.

When Ron was still, save for his heaving breaths, Harry slid his tongue into the other boy's mouth, tasting the faint traces of his own pre-seminal fluid. Then he rested his head on Ron's shoulder, stroking the taller boy's heaving flanks.

*I have to tell him, don't I?* Thought Ron.

"Ron." He couldn't see Harry's face, but Ron could imagine his quiet, grave expression. "Don't say anything, okay? This was... was pretty overwhelming, and I don't think either of us is quite in his right mind. Let's not talk now. Let's just take some time to think. We can talk later, yeah?"

*He didn't ask. Maybe he WON'T ask--then I won't have to tell.*

Ron hugged Harry. "Yeah."