Kiss It Better

Warning: this story contains explicit sexual activity between 13-year-old Percy and 9-year-old Ron. If that squicks you, please don't read any further.


Title: Kiss It Better
Author: Gertrude Flint
Pairing: Percy/Ron, with mentions of Percy/Oliver
Rating: NC-17
Words: 4,800
Warnings: Incest. Chanslash (underage male/male sex): Percy is 13, Ron is 9.
Summary: A garden gnome incident brings two Weasleys closer together. Much closer. Percy/Ron, first time, oral.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling and various corporations. I'm only borrowing some Weasleys.
Archive: Also posted to the afamilyaffair, pornish_pixies, and hpchan LiveJournal communities, and my journal, and Skyehawke. If anyone else wants it, ask me.



Percy is reading in the garden when he hears the scream.

At least, he tells himself the Arithmancy textbook has his full attention -- but the sultry August afternoon has worked its spell on him nonetheless, as he lies on his stomach in the shade beside the pond, barefoot, his shirt-sleeves rolled up.

His head sinks down onto his arms, his eyelids droop, and thoughts of studying float away in the heat, the buzzing of bees, frogs croaking in the pond, Mum's voice calling for Ginny somewhere inside the house...

He'll wake up in a minute or two, of course, and keep reading, since it's almost time for school to start again and he does want to be prepared for all the exciting new subjects in third year. He's already finished the textbooks for Muggle Studies and Divination. Only two weeks now and he'll be back at Hogwarts.

Two weeks and he'll see Oliver Wood again, whispers another corner of his mind: a corner usually well-silenced during the day but free to roam at night, when it's responsible for those dreams that make him wake up squirming and sticky.

Now it carries him, half-dozing, back to the end-of-year party in Gryffindor Tower... to singing and butterbeer and muffled giggles, and "I dare you" in a soft voice, in the dark, and the two of them locking the door of a bathroom stall before fumbling with each other's trousers. One kiss, sloppy and clumsy and thrilling -- then his hand closing around Oliver's cock and Oliver's hand finding his, gripping a bit too tight but that doesn't matter at all in the next few minutes or seconds or however long they trade stroke for stroke, faster and faster, until -- A gasp, a groan, his face pressing against Oliver's shoulder, and Oliver coming in his hand...

Voices intrude on his daydream -- the twins, at the bottom of the garden, probably up to mischief -- but Percy can't watch over his brothers all the time, can he? He'll ignore them, just this once, because it's so hot and all he wants is a few more minutes with his eyes closed before getting back to Arithmancy.

"Hold him, Fred -- yeah, that's it --"

He drifts, thinking of how Oliver's skin felt against his own... Drifts, until he hears that brief, high-pitched scream.

Percy's eyes fly open, and suddenly he's aware of two things: first, that he's hard and rubbing himself against the grass -- and second, that the scream was full of real pain, and it didn't come from Fred or George.

Ron.

In a moment he's scrambling to his feet, abandoning the book, and running -- untucking his shirt as he goes and hoping it'll hide the erection, then forgetting all about that as he plunges into the peony bushes at the bottom of the garden and finds the twins crouched on either side of Ron, who's lying on the ground, clutching at his groin and moaning.

"What have you done to him?"

"Nothing! Total accident, wasn't it, George?"

"Right! We were just minding our own business, when all of a sudden --"

"--this gnome ran up his trouser leg, for some reason --"

"Could happen to anyone, really --"

The twins burst out laughing.

Percy's silent for a moment, in sheer indignation, as his gaze moves between their faces and Ron's tears. How can Fred and George be starting at Hogwarts next month? They're so immature! Or maybe school is the best thing for them -- yes, that'll sort them out, Mum and Dad might be soft on them but Professor McGonagall won't stand for any of their tricks; a few detentions with Filch should make them grow up and act responsibly.

His erection's entirely gone now; thank goodness for that, at least.

"Gerroff!" Ron grunts as George pats his shoulder in a parody of comfort.

"You heard him." Outrage sharpens Percy's voice. "Get away! Go on, out of here -- or I'll tell Mum --"

"You do that," says Fred, getting up, "and we'll tell her we found ickle Ronnie playing with himself in the garden!"

"Yeah! Playing with his willy, he was --"

"Shocked, we were --"

"Shut up!" shrieks Ron, his face beet-red.

"Go," says Percy, glaring down at them. "Just -- go -- away!" The commanding tone he's aiming for is ruined by the way his voice slides an octave higher on the last word; he hears the twins sniggering as they leave.

But they're gone, at last; leaving him with Ron, who's crying even harder now.

"What happened?" Percy asks, kneeling down next to him. "A gnome? What --"

"Bit me," Ron manages to say. "It bit me, it's biting me, I don't -- ow!"

And Percy can't help wincing in sympathy as he sees it -- the struggling lump under Ron's hand, on his right leg, at the very top of his inner thigh. Ow, indeed.

"Don't worry, I'll fix it," he says, trying to sound authoritative. "Come on, let's get these off you..." Ignoring a few embarrassed protests, he unfastens the trousers -- baggy old hand-me-downs, still too big for his skinny youngest brother -- and slides them over Ron's hips, only raising an eyebrow when he finds no underwear beneath.

"Take your hand off -- all right, it's all right, I've got it --" Once he pries Ron's hand away, it's the work of a moment to get the tiny, vicious teeth out of his brother's leg: Percy knows how to squeeze the gnome's jaw with two fingers, hard. "There!"

He holds up the screeching gnome by its ankles, and looks at Ron's face -- so he won't have to look at the trickles of red running down that pale skin. Percy doesn't like blood. He really doesn't like it.

Ron's sobs have quietened. "Hurts," he hiccups. "Still hurts..."

"Don't worry," Percy says again. "And don't move, I'll be right back --"

Keeping a cool head in a crisis: that's good, he's thinking as he moves off in a half-crouch. Important leadership skill -- and he wants to be a prefect, two years from now. He emerges from the bushes only long enough to whirl the gnome around his head and toss it over the hedge, then dives back in search of the plants he needs. This part of the garden's a real wilderness, with all sorts of things growing everywhere as leftovers from Dad's gardening experiments.

There -- and there -- and he's crawling back as fast as he can, sweaty but pleased with himself.

Ron is still in the same spot: a small grassy clearing among the thickest bushes, the place they all know as the Cave. He's sitting up, with his trousers still around his knees, wincing as he touches the bite.

"No, don't go prodding at it," says Percy. "I'll get rid of it in a minute, now lie back down -- let me --" It's all right to be a little bossy at a time like this; people in trouble find it reassuring, or so he's read.

Pulling the trousers off completely, he pushes Ron's thighs apart. "Give me some room to work here," he mutters, stretching out on his stomach between his brother's legs.

Ron sniffles, trying to wipe his nose on the shoulder of his faded maroon t-shirt. "What are you doing?"

"Healing it for you," says Percy, tugging a handkerchief from his pocket. "Here. Blow! And it's all right, you're in good hands -- I'm top of the class in Herbology, you know."

Ron props himself up on his elbows and blows his nose loudly.

Percy takes back the handkerchief and wipes away the still-seeping blood, trying not to look at it too much -- difficult, with his face so close to the nasty little wound marring the smooth skin. Smooth, sweat-damp, and softer than his own skin... he's certainly never touched his brother like this before, but he's got no choice now.

When the back of his hand brushes against Ron's cock he glances up apologetically, but Ron doesn't seem to have noticed; he's only staring at Percy curiously, eyes all puffy from crying.

Percy clears his throat. "This is an aloe leaf," he says, holding it up so Ron can see. No reason why this can't be an educational experience, after all. "We want the stuff inside it, like so -- it's anti-inflammatory..."

Ron flinches as Percy's finger rubs the aloe's gel into the bite, and Percy strokes his leg gently, making a wordless, soothing sound, like Mum does sometimes when she looks after them. He trails his hand from the bite down to Ron's knee, then back up along the inner thigh, liking the feel of it beneath his palm. The freckles on Ron's legs look almost the same as those on his own, and Ron is tall for his age, lanky and long-limbed, showing promise of height to match Percy or Bill as he grows.

It's so hot. The day has become even more sweltering, impossibly so, with not a trace of a breeze. Percy removes his glasses for a moment to wipe the sweat from his nose -- then sits up, impatiently, and strips off his shirt, tossing it aside before settling back on the ground. He needs to concentrate for this next part.

"This is a shrivelfig," he tells Ron, holding up the ugly little lump as he starts skinning it, clumsily, with his fingers.

Ron only rolls his eyes. "I know that."

"Yes, well, it's jolly lucky for you we have some growing here! Very powerful magibotanical properties, they have. Bet you don't know what you get when you mix shrivelfig juice with aloe -- do you?"

"Uh... no."

"Something that heals minor wounds almost instantly, that's what," says Percy, confidently holding the shrivelfig over the bite. "Hold still now, this might sting a bit... Oh, damn," he adds under his breath.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing!"

He's getting hard again. Really, erections are such a bother; always happening at the most inconvenient moments. Must be because he's lying down like this, so soon after -- No. He won't think of Oliver now.

"Hold still," he repeats, squeezing the shrivelfig, then adding a little more of the aloe.

"Ow! Percy --"

"Hold still." He grasps Ron's thigh firmly to stop him squirming, and pulls himself forward -- with another throb at his groin as he moves -- to peer at the bite more closely. There. The skin's blurring for an instant, exactly like the picture in his textbook.

"It's working!" he says, delighted.

"Mmpfm," says Ron, through clenched teeth.

Of course, it probably does sting a lot -- and he should be talking to his brother, keeping his mind off the discomfort of the healing. "Er... how are the Cannons doing this week?" he asks hastily, shifting about in search of a more comfortable position for his hips.

Ron just shrugs, grimacing -- was that the wrong thing to say, are the Cannons losing? -- and all Percy's wriggles are only making him harder.

Fumbling for another topic, he stares at the bare skin in front of him and says the first thing to pop into his head: "Why aren't you wearing any underpants?"

Ron goes red at that, and looks away... but he does answer, sheepishly muttering something that sounds like "Fred" and "George" -- and finally, "small." Anyone who wasn't a Weasley wouldn't understand a word.

"Ah. Did they? Hmm. Well, next time you tell them to worry about their own, not yours." Percy moves his hand slightly upward, to give the cock in question a reassuring pat. "It'll grow when it's ready, you know. End up bigger than both of theirs put together, I shouldn't wonder."

Ron snickers, no longer looking like he's about to cry again. And his cock quivers beneath Percy's touch. Like his own did, when Oliver...

All at once he's back in that bathroom, that night, with Oliver laughing and saying -- in a voice he usually reserves for Quidditch -- something about the fourth-year boys he's spoken with, who touch each other too... and suck each other... And Percy has been wondering, all summer, what that was: only gossip, or an invitation? A promise...?

Now Percy is the one who's squirming, almost painfully hard against the grass. The thought of Oliver's cock in his mouth has just changed this from the kind of erection that can be ignored to the kind that takes over his whole body, mercilessly demanding action right now-now-now. He needs to --

"Percy? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he pants, utterly surprised to find that his hand is still where it was -- and his thumb is actually rubbing Ron's cock, which isn't as soft as it was a moment ago.

Ron starts to speak, but Percy interrupts him, moving his shaking fingers to where the bite used to be. The skin is slightly reddened, but clean and unscarred, and he continues to pet it, taking pride in the smoothness restored by his skill.

"Look, all gone," he murmurs, wiping away the last drops of plant-juice. "It worked. How's it feel?"

It feels... it would feel... so good against his cock.

"Okay. Still a bit sore, though," says Ron.

It robs him of his voice -- the realization that yes, that's what he wants, right now: to touch, touch more, to lick and kiss and suck, to rub and thrust and come. He wants that.

"Percy...? I said, it's still --"

"Sore. Heard you." The words are slow, heavy in the heat, dragged up from somewhere very deep within him as he looks at his brother. "Shall I... kiss it better for you, then?"

And Ron shifts his hips, opening his legs a bit wider. "If you want," he whispers -- and after that there's only one small sound, one hitch of breath, as Percy touches his lips to the place his fingers have caressed.

One kiss.

Another.

Not enough, not nearly enough... Ron's slender leg trembles, and Percy parts his lips, wanting to taste, but the trace of aloe is bitter on his tongue, so he turns his head and finds the little hollow at the top of Ron's inner thigh, and it's just right.

His hips find their own rhythm, short sharp thrusts against the earth, and for a moment he thinks he might come from this alone -- the tang of salt on warm, soft skin, the rapid pulse beneath his mouth, so good -- and there's summer heat and stillness all around, a pigeon cooing somewhere overhead, and sweat trickling down the back of his neck, and his baby brother on the grass before him, spread out so trustingly for Percy's hands and lips and tongue to explore.

His right hand strokes Ron's other thigh, his left grasps Ron's hip, and now he's licking a place he's never touched, never even seen until today -- the delicate skin right between Ron's legs, shockingly intimate and softer than anything in the world. Licking it again and again, with fast greedy swipes, learning it, claiming it... and as he moves up, seeking more, finding the tiny, smooth balls and tracing them, teasingly, with the tip of his tongue, he hears himself moan -- hears Ron's faint sigh -- and feels his own balls tighten in response.

If he could do this to Oliver... it would be different, of course -- there'd be dark hair between Oliver's legs, and the hard cock in front of him would be longer, thicker -- and Oliver would probably be standing up, saying "I dare you" again in his laughing voice, and Percy would kneel -- oh god, and then maybe Oliver would use his hands, those big hands pushing Percy's head forward and down as he kneels before Oliver's cock, and he'd open his mouth, and --

That's all it takes to make him come: grinding frantically against the ground, gasping, face buried in his brother's crotch.

"...Percy?"

His cheek is pillowed on Ron's thigh. He feels a hand touch his hair.

"You all right?"

"Oh, fine," he answers dreamily, nuzzling Ron's cock. "It's nothing... just an orgasm..."

The fantasy still glows inside him. Two weeks, and he'll be back at Hogwarts, and if -- when -- he does this with Oliver, he'll open his mouth and... and...

A disturbing question drifts into his woozy mind. He really isn't sure what happens next. Once the cock is in his mouth, what on earth should he do with it?

Raising his head, he straightens his glasses and thinks about that.

What if he does something horribly wrong? What if Oliver... laughs at him?

Percy doesn't like that prospect at all. He's always believed in taking an organized, methodical approach to things. Being prepared.

Then, as he watches Ron's hand move to grasp the small erection in front of him, the obvious solution suggests itself, and Ron only manages a couple of strokes before Percy pushes his hand away. He needs to practise, and there's no time like the present.

"Percy!"

"Hang on," he says, and turns onto his side briefly, unfastening his trousers and lifting his hips to slide them off, along with his underpants and the sticky mess inside. Naked now, he settles himself on his stomach again... and gently, deliberately, curls one hand around Ron's cock, watching his brother's face as he does so.

No, he's never seen Ron look like this -- propped up on his elbows, all breathless and wide-eyed, with the color in his cheeks spreading and deepening under Percy's scrutiny, until even his ears turn pink. Long, bare, freckled legs -- the little cock pressing eagerly into Percy's hand -- and every line of his body taut with anticipation, waiting to see what Percy will do to him.

Percy swallows hard, clears his throat, and tries his very best to sound like he knows what he's doing.

"I'm... ah, I want to take you in my mouth..." Now he's blushing too. "And you have to tell me how it feels, all right? This is... research. Kind of."

"Will it hurt?"

"No!" But he doesn't know that, so he hastens to add, scrupulously: "If it does -- if you don't like it -- just say so and I'll stop. All right?"

Ron nods. His lips shape a silent yes.

So Percy bows his head to place a kiss at the base of his brother's erection, and another along the slim shaft of it; and then he presses his lips against the head, and parts them -- and feels his own cock stir again as Ron's slips into his mouth.

"Oh," says Ron, in a voice that wavers and shakes. "Ohhh..."

Oliver would be bigger, Percy thinks; he'd have to open wider. This is more like sucking a thumb -- not that a thumb could ever feel so fascinating, with such softness over hardness, throbbing and alive beneath his tongue. He tries to take it all in, and does, and thrills to hear another moan in response.

All at once he's glad that the first cock in his mouth is Ron's, not Oliver's. With a stranger or even a friend he'd probably be nervous now, embarrassed by the intimacy of the act; but this is only Ron, quite familiar and safe... and entirely new, astonishingly arousing.

Percy is forced to remind himself, sharply, that he's supposed to be learning something here, not just lounging around in a daze with his mouth full of Ron and getting hard all over again.

He should try to be systematic about this, at least.

So he raises his head -- reluctantly letting the cock slip away, hungering for it as soon as it's gone -- and catches his breath at the look on Ron's face: a wanting look, simple and avid. That soft smile is one Percy has never seen before; with a rush of pride, he realizes it's for him.

"This is called fellatio," he informs Ron, his voice unaccountably husky. "So -- do you like it? Can I do it some more?"

And Ron nods again, very quickly, watching his brother's mouth, and his gaze is enough to send another surge of blood to Percy's cock.

"All right... Tell me how this feels," he whispers, and swallows Ron all over again -- slowly, his lips closing tight around the head, then sliding steadily down to the root, pausing, returning to the top. He does that a few more times, hearing Ron's breaths get faster, then pauses and looks up. "Well?"

"Good... oh, good," Ron sighs, his eyes half-closed.

"And this...?" Now he licks the cock, thoroughly, holding it in his mouth and circling it with his tongue, discovering the taste of it. "Still good?"

"Yes, yes..." Ron is panting, his hips twitching restlessly. "Percy, please..."

"How about this?" When he takes only the head in his mouth and starts sucking in earnest, Ron's hips leave the ground entirely; Percy slips his hands under them, cupping Ron's arse-cheeks, steadying him. And when he takes his mouth away, Ron actually whines.

"How was --"

"Percy!" Ron pleads. "It's brilliant -- I like it -- but you keep stopping..." He falls back onto the grass; his hands move to grasp at Percy's hair, nudging him down again. "Please, don't stop, don't stop --"

This time Ron doesn't wait to be taken in, but pushes forward impatiently as soon as Percy opens his lips. And this time, Percy doesn't stop -- can't stop, can't even remember what he's supposed to be learning, because everything seems to speed up and he's no longer in charge but swept away, drowning, entirely at the mercy of his racing heartbeat and aching cock.

But it's all perfectly simple, really, for all he has to do is lick and suck -- like this, and like that -- and oh, he could stay like this forever, held down by those small, determined hands, his mouth filled with hard flesh, caught by the need in Ron's high voice -- who would have thought it could make such sounds? Each whimper and sigh flying like a charm to Percy's own cock, playing him like a harpstring, making him moan and hump the grass as he grips Ron's arse and tries to draw him closer still, to taste more, his nose pressing into the warm hairless skin at the cock's base; and then he discovers he can stroke the shaft with his tongue as he sucks, and this brings yet another kind of noise from Ron, with his hips moving in rapid, urgent thrusts -- and it's simple, for all Percy has to do is hold on and let his little brother fuck his mouth until Ron comes with a yelp, his cock leaping like a small, startled fish, pulsing against Percy's tongue.

If this were Oliver, his mouth would be full of... He'd have to swallow...

The thought of it has him rising and moving forward before he knows it, before he can think of what he wants, or what he's meant to say now, or anything at all.

Percy has run out of words.

He's on his hands and knees over Ron, who's still sprawled on the grass. Ron's cheeks are flushed, his hair is a mess, his t-shirt has ridden up to the top of his chest -- and he's looking up with that same soft smile.

His gaze, innocently bold, traces a path along Percy's body -- stopping half-way -- and Percy gasps incoherently and looks down as well, at his own swollen cock... in time to see one clear drop fall from the head of it onto his brother's smooth belly, to lie there glistening like a brand. He gasps again as Ron's hand reaches forward, languid and sure, to touch that moisture; then he watches Ron taste it, tongue darting out to lick his own finger as he looks up once more, still smiling.

Percy still has no words, none, but he's never been this hard in his life.

And it seems no words are needed; there's no time for them, anyway, as it only takes a second for Ron to raise himself on his elbows, and Percy to straddle Ron's chest, and then -- before he can even ask -- he's sliding into Ron's mouth.

His open, waiting mouth.

Sliding in and trying desperately not to come at once.

Though he knows his cock isn't all that big -- he hopes it's still growing -- right now the sight of Ron's small lips stretching to take it in makes Percy feel huge.

Oh, he won't last long... he can't, it's too much: there's a mouth around the head of his cock, and it's so hot and soft, and wetter than he expected -- and he hears himself whimper, his voice suddenly sounding as high and young as his brother's.

Breathing hard, he takes hold of his cock with his right hand and slips his left behind Ron's neck, cradling the back of his head. Not pushing -- no, not that, despite his body's fierce demand to take, to thrust. Whatever happens, it's still his responsibility to look after Ron, and he can't let himself bruise that tender little mouth... but oh, he wants to come in it...

...and nearly does, at the very thought. Sweat breaks out on his back; his buttocks clench and his thighs shake with the strain of holding himself in place, holding back.

And of course he ought to remember all of this, every detail, so he can study the experience later, but his mind won't cooperate; Ron does something with his tongue, moves it somehow, and Percy's senses scatter helplessly into a hundred bright fragments of pleasure.

In -- out -- and in again, that delicious heat again, only the head of his cock, no more, he mustn't, no more than Ron can take; but it feels incredible. He's moaning at each shallow thrust, he can't help it -- and Ron is looking up at him, watching him writhe. Pink cheeks and tousled red hair, wide eyes and eager lips; and Percy yields to the sensation of slipping in and out, and in --

He catches himself going too deep. Pulls back, gasping. Cries out as Ron pushes forward onto his cock, deliberately taking in more.

Ron's wearing that determined look, the one he usually keeps for chess games, as he sucks hard, greedily, his eyes never leaving Percy's face. And giggles.

With a strangled scream as the vibration goes through his cock, Percy finally finds his voice. One word, only one -- "Ron" -- no time to say anything more before he comes, no warning before he spills into his brother's mouth; and what's worse, as Ron splutters and starts to pull away, Percy is selfish enough to hold him in place an instant longer -- mesmerized by the slim throat working to swallow his come, the beads of it escaping to trickle from Ron's lips -- the sight and the scent making him groan as the last spasms shake his body.

When his legs can no longer support him, he manages to collapse sideways, at least, rather than on top of Ron; and though at first he can only lie there shuddering, his face buried in his arms, it isn't long before concern for his brother rouses him.

"Sorry," he whispers, rolling over to face Ron -- who looks reassuringly normal, apart from being mostly naked, with come drying on his chin. Percy takes a deep breath. "Sorry I didn't... Um. Are you all right?"

"'Course I am," says Ron, with a grin. "That was cool. You looked ever so funny -- but now I know what it tastes like!"

"What?"

"Spunk," Ron answers smugly.

Percy fumbles around for the handkerchief, finally finding it on the ground beneath his trousers. "It's called semen, actually --"

"I know that! Charlie told me -- and he showed me some, when I asked. But he wouldn't let me taste it, or watch him make it." Ron holds still and lets Percy wipe his face, then stretches out on his back again, yawning. "So, did you like it too?"

And Percy feels a huge, unstoppable smile spreading across his face. "It was great," he says. "Really great."

"Yeah," Ron agrees. "It was..." With that, his eyelids flutter closed, and soon he's asleep on the grass.

Percy is drowsy as well, but he lies awake for a while, on his side, watching over his brother. And his hand reaches out to stroke, very lightly, the place on Ron's thigh where a bite used to be, only an hour ago.

Two weeks, and Percy will be back at Hogwarts. That means something different now: two weeks, and he'll have to leave Ron behind here at the Burrow.

Only two weeks...

He might not have time to read the whole Arithmancy textbook after all.



[The End]