Ravenous

Disclaimer: Harry Potter universe is the property of JK Rowling. I, sadly, make no money from fanfiction.

Harry began to stir from his slumber when he felt the mattress dip under Ron’s familiar weight. Arching his shoulders, hearing that little ‘crack’ as bones shifted, and groaned in protest, he smiled sleepily and rolled on his side toward Ron.

“Morning,” he mumbled tiredly, his voice rumbling from disuse.

“Morning, Harry,” replied Ron, running a hand lightly over the curve of Harry’s hip.

But it wasn’t Ron’s touch that motivated Harry to sit up with a start. It was the way he’d said ‘Morning, Harry’ that did it. He used That Tone. Whenever Ron sounded just like that -- trying-to-be-innocent-and-not-doing-a-good-job-of-it– Harry knew something was going on.

“What?” he asked suspiciously, twisting around to snatch his glasses from the bedside table.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, mate.” Grinning, Ron laid a palm on the centre of Harry’s chest and applied just enough pressure to indicate that Harry should scoot back a little.

Rolling his eyes, Harry complied, his back leaning against the pillow and the headboard. “Suuuure you don’t, Dots,” he said good-naturedly. “You don’t know anything at all, do you?”

Ron gasped and it was all Harry could do not to chuckle; he never tired of this sort of back-and-forth bantering with his lover. It had been nearly six years now and it never got old.

“Don’t call me Dots, Thor,” Ron griped, standing up abruptly and flicking his wand at a tray laden with breakfast that had been levitating nearby. “You know I hate that.”

Yes. Yes, Harry did know that Ron hated that. Harry knew that Ron hated that just as much as he hated Ron calling him Thor. Just because a bloke had a lightning bolt sticking out from under his fringe didn’t mean his best mate had to go about calling him some dodgy thunder god, now did he? And was that breakfast? Why hadn’t he noticed that right away? Suddenly Harry was starving.

“Oi! Where’re you going with my brekkie? I’m ravenous!”

Ron snorted. “Ravenous? Isn’t that a big word for the likes of you?”

“Hermione!”

That seemed to be enough of an explanation for Harry’s suddenly stellar vocabulary for Ron. “Fair enough,” he nodded, obviously gearing up for another swish and flick of his wand. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just be sending this tray here back to the kitch–“

Harry hurriedly pushed the duvets off, manoeuvring so that he could get off the bed and cross to Ron. “I could eat a hippogriff,” he complained, looking longingly at the tray heaping with all his favourite breakfast things.
“Buckbeak,” Ron replied smugly, crossing his arms about his chest. Harry thought he looked rather ridiculous like that, the tip of his wand digging into the bottom of his chin. Ron twitched but didn’t move his arms. He was an awfully stubborn bugger; wouldn’t move to make himself more comfortable because he was too busy making a point.

A vision of Buckbeak surfaced and Harry pulled a face.

“Ew.” Harry wrinkled his nose and conceded. “Maybe not a hippogriff...but I’m damned hungry!”

Ron still didn’t budge. Maybe it was time for another tactic. Harry broke out the pouty lip and the puppy-dog eyes. “You wouldn’t deny a bloke nourishment on his birthday, would you?”

The smug look on Ron’s face faltered just a bit. “Well...”

It was hard but Harry somehow managed to resist smirking. The old puppy-dog-eyes-and-pouty-lip-thing did it every time. Ron was predictable. He was predictable and Harry loved that about him.

“Sit back down,” Ron said, and waited until Harry did just that to direct the tray over to him. When Harry began to voraciously attack his bangers, Ron climbed up on the bed and sat cross-legged, watching Harry go at it with a small grin.

When Harry finally pushed the tray away, Ron Banished it to the kitchen and turned to Harry wearing a very sly grin.

“Ready for your presents, mate?”

“Presents?” Harry asked, an eyebrow quirking in surprise. “I told you not to get me anything. You know I don’t need anything.”

It was true. Harry really didn’t need anything. Everything he’d wanted when they were school boys had, well, come true over the past few years.... At least, everything he’d wanted that could be within reason. There wasn’t any bringing his parents or Sirius back, no matter how much he wished for that. But he wasn’t going to think on that today. Today was his birthday and he wanted to just spend it lazing about with the man he loved. Yesterday Hermione and her fiancé, that Viktor Krum of whom Ron was still highly suspicious, had them over for a birthday dinner and today would be all about Ron and him. He was quite looking forward to a day spent in bed with Ron, whether it meant napping or fucking. He loved both of those activities with Ron. And if one activity would be followed by the other at one (or several) points today, he would consider it to be a brilliant twenty-second birthday.

“Oh, rubbish,” Ron said dismissively. “Of course I got you something and of course you need a present. It’s your birthday! Now get up, go brush your teeth, and march right back here.”

Bossy. Hermione really had rubbed off the both of them over the years.
Knowing better than to argue with Ron when he was on about something, Harry padded down the hall to their bathroom and brushed his teeth. His mind was off somewhere thinking on that really spectacularly horrid black cherry gateau Viktor had made for afters yesterday when he noticed a bit of gray at his temples.

He nearly choked on his toothbrush, fumbling for a moment before spitting it out, practically pressing his nose against the mirror to get a closer look at the hair that most certainly couldn’t be his.

“Harry?”

Ron appeared suddenly in the doorway, sounding very worried. “What happened? Are you--?”

Harry coughed and backed away from the mirror, giving Ron a horrified look. “I’m old,” he groaned. “Look!” Pointing at the offending gray hairs, he frowned. “This isn’t normal! I’m a freak, an old freak and I--”

“Harry.”

How could Ron sound so calm? How could he look so calm? What was his damned problem? Harry was turning twenty-two and he had gray hairs! His life was over. That was it. It had to be it. He dodged death for so long that, now that he didn’t have to worry about Voldemort any longer, Fate was stepping in and finishing what should have been taken care of years ago. Any day now. Any minute now he’d keel over–

“Harry!”

Ron was shaking him now, fingers curling into his shoulders.

“What?” Harry gasped, shaking his head as if to get the cobwebs out.

“It’s normal.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “It– it is?” he asked uncertainly, still feeling panicked.

“Yes,” Ron confirmed, reaching one hand up to brush over the ‘freakish’ strands of gray standing out bold against the black. “It is. My mum’s been using a Colouring Charm on her hair since she was twenty. It’s perfectly normal.”

“Oh,” Harry sighed, feeling relieved. And there he was, cheating death yet again. Gray hairs, indeed.

Ron eyed him critically for a long moment. “I rather like them,” he announced unexpectedly.

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Ron grinned. “They make you look all dignified. And more fit.”

More fit? Well, there would be no more complaints about gray hairs from Harry Potter, no sir!

“Tell me more,” Harry said, returning the grin.

“Later,” promised Ron, grabbing hold of his hand. “C’mon, it’s time for a very special present.”

And there was That Tone again. Harry gave Ron a questioning look but didn’t ask what was on his mind; he figured he’d find out soon enough. Twining their fingers together, Harry allowed Ron to lead him down the corridor.

“It’s in here,” Ron said, stopping in front of the door leading to their guest bedroom. He jerked his chin at the door. “You first, birthday boy.”

A twist of the knob and then the door opened slowly, Harry stepping inside. His eyes automatically went to the four-poster, as it was in the centre of the room and he figured that would be where Ron would set out his birthday parcel.

Only it wasn’t a parcel that was set out on his bed.

It was Ginny Weasley.

A very naked Ginny Weasley.

“Wh-what?” Harry stuttered, eyes nearly bulging out of his head.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Ginny said brightly, greeting him with a smile and rather perky breasts.

“Go on then, mate.” He heard Ron’s encouraging voice from somewhere behind him, the words followed by a push on one of his shoulders. He stumbled forward a few steps, nearly tripping on a small throw rug.

“I– er--”

“I know you said you didn’t need anything, Harry,” Ron said, walking over to the four-poster where his Very Starkers Sister was lounging. Placing a hand on one of the posts, he leaned into it and continued, using a very reasonable tone. “So I didn’t get you anything you needed. I got you something that you wanted, instead.”

“Oh.”

Reeling, Harry shuffled away from the bed, stopping only when he felt his back up against the wall. His eyes never left Ginny’s form, drinking in her womanly shape and Weasley freckles. While Ron was all muscles and angles, she looked to be soft and curvy. Growing up had definitely been a good thing as far as Ginny was concerned. Even from his place across the room, Harry could see that.

I got you something that you wanted, instead.

Ron’s words played over and over in his mind. How had he– Of course he knew. Of course. Ron wasn’t daft; he knew Harry better than Harry knew himself. When they had been in their sixth year at Hogwarts and Ginny had been dating Dean Thomas, Ron had caught him more than once watching Ginny when he’d thought no one would notice. He never said anything of his attraction to Ginny to anyone, least of all Ron. And when Ron and he had gotten together over Christmas hols of that year, he’d decided that it would be best to never speak of it ever - to Ron or anyone else.

Yes, he did want Ginny. He’d realised it during fifth year when she reminded him that she was the only person around him that knew what it was like to be possessed by Voldemort. She’d been so strong, so caring and he’d given her nothing in return. It had disgusted him, how he had failed her, not figuring out sooner what things meant that year. That was why, when he had been fifteen, that he hadn’t acted on the realisation that she was something special. And then Sirius had died and things got horribly mucked up and— then he and Ron came together and he felt complete.

He still felt complete. But there was part of him that had always wondered about Ginny. And now it seemed as though his days of wondering were about to be cut very short.

“Ron?” Ginny’s voice wavered a bit and oh God did Harry ever like the way her fiery red hair settled over one of those pert breasts as she turned her face up to her brother’s.

Harry could see Ron frown. “Just a minute, Gin,” he said, straightening and coming over to stand before Harry.

“Something wrong?” he asked Harry in a low voice, concern plain on his face.

“No,” Harry said a bit too quickly, his voice squeaky to his ears. “Nothing’s wrong, Ron, I– it’s just– it’s your sister. And you’re here and I’m a bit gay, you see, and--”

“Harry,” Ron said in a voice one uses to speak to a petulant child, “you aren’t gay. You like blokes and birds, just the same as me. And don’t go telling me you don’t want her cos I know you do. You should know how Gin feels about you; it hasn’t changed since she was wee, no matter if she’s said the opposite in the past.”

Swallowing hard, Harry nodded. Just over Ron’s shoulder he could see her face, could see a desire in her eyes that really was quite fetching.

Right then.

But– oh.

“She’s your--” Harry said suddenly, squeezing Ron’s hand.

“She was my first,” Ron whispered, pressing Harry’s palm back. “I told you that.”

“First kiss,” Harry returned slowly.

“No.” Ron shook his head. “You just assumed that’s what I meant. My first everything.”

The mental image alone was enough to make Harry hard.

“Oh,” he breathed, eyes flickering from Ron to Ginny and back again. Wetting his bottom lip, he nodded to himself. That made sense, considering things Ron had told him in the past about growing up as the two youngest children at the Burrow. It made sense and it was really fucking hot.

“Oh,” Ron returned, the corners of his mouth twitching. He released Harry’s hand and took a few steps back. Inhaling deeply, he said casually, “I’ll show you how your present works. When you think you’ve got the hang of it, come and play.”

Suddenly Harry felt very warm. Very warm and dizzy.

“O-okay,” he croaked, pressing his shoulders back against the stone wall for leverage.

He felt even warmer still as he watched Ron carelessly shed his clothing on the way back to the four-poster.

Bloody hell, he felt warmer than warm - like he was on fire - when Ron’s hands palmed those freckled breasts of Ginny’s, his mouth meeting his sister’s in a kiss Harry knew all too well. That was Ron’s ‘I’m going to fuck you right through the bloody mattress’ kiss. The technique was unmistakable.

The technique was unmistakable, as was the purr coming from Ginny and the very real ache in Harry’s cock.

“God,” he said in a strangled voice, nearly tripping over that fucking throw rug again in his haste to get to the bed.

And then Harry was in between them, Ginny in front and Ron in back, every last bit of him pressed against Weasley freckled-dots and oh the humming in his head was so very pleasant. His hands ran here, there, everywhere, front, back, up, down, side... connecting the dots and making patterns on their skin as their lips branded every bit of Harry they could reach, every so often pausing to remove bits of his clothing.

Ginny felt every bit as soft as Harry thought she might while Ron was familiar and all hard angles and heated skin. His lips suckled at the nape of Harry’s neck in that way the always made Harry think he’d come right then and there but this time he didn’t worry about coming because there was a mouth, small and wet and skilled, around his cock and a tongue pushing against his slit and a hand lightly caressing his sac that didn’t have calluses like Ron does because Ginny always remembered to wear gloves when flying a broomstick. He didn’t worry about anything or bother trying to think because all that was then and there was Ginny and Ron and what their mouths were doing to him, what their hands were doing to each other as they reached around Harry to touch, their elbows brushing against Harry’s sides.

Dimly he remembered that sisters and brothers shouldn’t be touching or kissing or doing things with the same person at the same time but Harry didn’t care right then. He loved Ron and he’d wanted Ginny for so long. It was his birthday and he was a right selfish prig. He was a right selfish prig and–

Ron moved behind him, xylophoning his tongue down over Harry’s spine while Ginny took him completely in. Harry whimpered and then cried out, driving his hips forward, pushing himself in Ginny’s welcoming mouth as far as he could go, fingers fisting in her hair. She cried out, her vocalisations creating a humming, vibrating sensation around him that uncoiled the heat in his belly. The cries turned into screams as he felt Ron’s tongue pushing against his entrance.

“God.” Harry moaned, falling back against Ron’s mouth as Ginny released him with a soft pop. He had half a mind to protest as he’d quite liked what she was doing but the words died on his lips when Ron licked his way back up Harry’s body and snogged Ginny right over his shoulder. Ron and Ginny were kissing right over his shoulder and Harry felt himself spring back to attention.

They broke apart, both gasping for air, and then their hands were on him again. Harry was pleased to discover that groping ran in the Weasley family. He was also pleased to discover that Ginny was just as take-charge about things as Ron, for she wrapped her hands around him, guiding him into her as Ron pushed himself into Harry. He nearly blacked out, white flares blooming in the darkness behind eyes screwed tight. And then there was no more time to think, only feel and experience. It was awkward but they found a rhythm, one thrusting and pushing the others together, then rocking everything back over and over again. There were cries and whimpers and grunts and oh God so many fucking animalistic sounds and Harry didn’t care if he was making all of them or none of them.

Tension swirled, mounting and building until there wasn’t room to contain it any longer. Harry came with a shout, setting off the other two. Ginny was the last to come back down, shaking and clenching around Harry for what felt like eons, while Ron collapsed limply against his back, sliding a hand between Harry and Ginny to press at her clit, helping her crest along the last of it.

Harry was exhausted, barely having the energy to roll them onto their sides. He managed to do it, though, and pressed up against Ginny, tucking his head beneath her chin and against her breasts. Ron’s chest was warm and sticky against his band and Harry felt more complete and full than he ever had before.

“Thanks for the present,” he murmured, words muffled against Ginny’s breasts.

“That’s not all.” Ron’s breath tickled the back of his neck.

“You still haven’t gotten my present yet,” Ginny whispered, brushing some of his damp hair back.

“Any hints?” Harry asked, rolling his hips and rubbing on two sets of freckled dots at once.

“Let’s just say,” Ginny replied slyly, “that this was only the appetizer.”

Suddenly Harry felt rather ravenous again.