A Chair By The Hearth

~~~~~ A CHAIR BY THE HEARTH ~~~~~

Ron smiled broadly as he Apparated away from the Cannons' practice pitch. Their exhibition match with the newly formed Glasgow Green Knights had been cancelled because some over-zealous, enterprising fan had smuggled in dozens of contraband, charmed action figures.

The miniature Quidditch players had proved nearly impossible to round up, and the coaches of both teams had agreed to postpone the match until the following week. Ron had managed to snag a figure in his own likeness, and after sharply tapping the figure's head three times, it now rested quietly in his duffle. As eager as he was to show the action figure to Harry, it would just have to wait until a bit later.

Much later, if Ron’s plans worked out.

Ron appeared at the rear of their cottage's walled garden, sprinting toward the kitchen door and nearly treading upon a rather sluggish garden gnome in the process.

Harry'd been unusually randy that morning, and Ron had been more than sorry to put off what was sure to be a memorable shag. Harry had a wicked habit of working Ron up at the most inopportune moments, and he'd done a fantastic job earlier that very day, giving Ron a throbbing hard-on that'd barely faded by the time he'd reached the pitch.

He burst into their tiny kitchen, dropping his duffel and shrugging out of his Cannons team jacket.

"Hey, Harry! It's me!"

He glanced around, quickly checking the small bathroom just off of the kitchen and finding it empty. "I’m home early, so we can pick up where we left off this morning!"

Ron pulled his Quidditch jersey over his head, dropping it in the short hall between the kitchen and sitting room.

"Hey, where are you, mate?"

He strode through the doorway to the sitting room, nearly tripping over his favourite armchair, which was decidedly out of place and sitting right in the middle of the doorway.

"Bloody hell," he grumbled, looking around. "What're you doing way over here?"

Ron hoisted the heavy chair up, carrying it across the room and carefully restoring it to its proper place by the hearth. Stepping back a moment to size things up, he nudged the chair a few more inches to the left.

"There you go, right back where you belong."

"Hey, you're home."

Ron whirled about to find Harry standing in the doorway. A smiling Harry, wearing nothing but a pair of nicely tight, nicely white boxer briefs that left nothing to the imagination.

"I, erm, well, the match was cancelled. Errant magical action figures on the pitch. Flying hazard, ya know."

"Oh, how tragic," Harry commented blithely, one hand ghosting across the thick trail of dark brown hair that made a line down the centre of his stomach. "So you're home for the day, then?"

Ron swallowed and nodded, his cock already hardening inside his Quidditch flannels.

"Well, I'm sorry you won't get to fly today," Harry replied with a crooked grin. "But I'm thinking you'll get to play." He slowly walked across the room, his fingers languidly caressing the outline of his equally swollen cock.

"Oooooh, okay," Ron breathed. "Not that I'm complaining, but why're you, um...um." He gestured vaguely, indicating Harry's state of undress.

"Was gonna take a shower." Harry stepped up to Ron, snaking his arms around Ron's waist. "Wanna join me?" He slowly ground his groin into Ron's upper thigh.

"Sure," Ron replied, leaning down and brushing his lips to Harry's.

Harry responded with marked enthusiasm, his hands squeezing Ron's arse firmly while his tongue demanded access to Ron's mouth. Harry brought one leg up and wrapped it around Ron, the intensity of their kiss deepening with each passing second. Harry ran his hands up and across Ron's broad back, his hips pressing ever harder against Ron.

Ron groaned appreciatively. His own erection, though still trapped in his flannels, felt absolutely wonderful rubbing against Harry's bare stomach.

Harry then wrapped his arms about Ron's neck, hopping up off the floor and throwing his other leg around Ron's waist.

Ron stumbled slightly at Harry's unexpected onslaught, stepping backward a few steps, his calves brushing against the front of his armchair.

Harry writhed about more forcefully, his teeth nipping at Ron's bottom lip as he wound his fingers in Ron's shoulder length hair. "So fucking good," he gasped, pulling away to gulp in some deep breaths.

"You too. How about we...shite!" Ron yelped loudly as he lost his balance, falling backward into his armchair.

Harry merely chuckled as Ron straightened himself out. "How about we what?" he growled, sitting up and facing Ron, his knees at the back of the chair, his arse atop Ron's groin.

"I thought we'd head up to the shower and continue this."

"Sounds good. Very, very good..."

"But then again, we could keep going right here." Ron waggled his eyebrows and lifted his hips up and into Harry's arse.

Harry pulled a face, shaking his head. "Uh, no thanks. Not in this ratty old thing."

Ron rolled his eyes. He was used to Harry maligning his favourite chair, and while it wasn't the most lovely bit of furniture, it was damned comfortable. "It's not ratty," he replied with a bit of resentment threading through his voice. "It's well worn. What was it doing half-way across the room, anyway?"

"Well..."

"Well, what, Harry?" Ron sighed, his libido deflating as rapidly as his cock.

"It was going to be a surprise. An early birthday present." Harry blew out a breath and folded his arms across his furred chest.

"An early present?" Ron furrowed his brow and stretched out his long legs. "You were sending it out to be re-upholstered? That's a nice thought, but I like it the way it is, truth be told."

Harry had suddenly decided that the ceiling was of intense interest. "I wasn't sending it out to be re-covered. I was sending it out. For good."

Ron blinked, his mouth falling open. "You wouldn't! You know how much I adore this chair!"

"It's hideous," Harry replied, sticking out his tongue for emphasis. "The seat cushion's worn through, the springs are shot, and the back legs are about to fall off again."

"It's not hideous and I'm not parting with it."

"Oh, c'mon, Ron, you're acting like it's a family heirloom or something. It's from Grimmauld Place, for Merlin's sake."

"So? We did live there for almost six years, remember? It was the only piece of furniture I felt comfortable in." Ron sighed, pursing his lips in a thin line. "I can sleep in this chair! It's mine, I like it, and that's that!"

Harry snorted. "Well, you can be comfy in the nice, high backed leather armchair that's arriving today from Biddle & Beadle. This...this monstrosity's outta here." He waved a hand at the chair's arm. "I swear it's still infested with dungfleas."

"It is not infested! Not anymore, anyway," Ron growled, placing a hand on each armrest and lifting himself up and out of the chair rather forcefully. He snorted as Harry struggled to maintain his balance, nearly falling backward as Ron stood up. "It's a good thing my match was cancelled. You'dve put it out on the burn pile if I hadn't come home early."

"I wasn't going to burn it," Harry shot back. "The Daughters of Circe are due later this afternoon to pick it up. They're always looking for good second hand furniture for the needy."

Ron planted both hands on his hips. "You were giving my chair away to The Daughters? Unbelievable!"

"What's unbelievable is that you're so attached to this grotesque thing."

"It's not grotesque."

"Ron, it's covered in pansies. Ugly pansies, if I may say."

"They're not pansies."

"No?"

Ron stared at his armchair, cocking his head to one side. "No. They're um, very clearly, erm...carnations. Or zinnias."

"Oh, bloody hell," Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. "They're freaking pansies! Your favourite chair is covered in pink, purple and maroon pansies."

Ron shrugged. "Well, I can't help it you don't care for pansies."

"I don't mind pansies, Ron."

"Problem solved, then."

"I knew you'd act like this."

"So that's why you tried to sneak it out, behind my back?"

Harry arched a bushy eyebrow. "I'd hoped that if the new chair was here waiting for you when you got home, you wouldn't mind quite so much. How was I to know you'd behave so irrationally?"

"M'not being irrational. I just...I just like that chair. And yeah, it isn't the nicest looking thing you could have about the house. But it's ours. Besides, you sat in it more than a few times while we were at Grimmauld during the War. Slept in it too, if I recall."

Harry nodded, a tiny smile tugging at a corner of his mouth. "Well, it is sort of comfy."

"Damn right it is! I can't count the number of times you'd sit in it, poring over parchments and plans with Remus stalking about the parlour, Minverva and Hermione and me on the sofa. Hermione liked it, too."

"Well, still, it's a bit manky."

"I like it that way," Ron replied. "If we charmed it back to new condition or recovered it, it wouldn't be the same."

Harry threw up his arms. "Fine, fine! You win. It can stay." He eyed the armchair as if it might come to life at any moment and attack. "I suppose I've underestimated its sentimental value."

"A bit."

"Sorry, love."

Ron cleared his throat and stepped close to Harry, sliding his hands down the back of Harry's boxer briefs. "Apology accepted. Care to make amends?"

Harry waggled his eyebrows and crashed his lips to Ron's. "I'd love to...now, where were we?"

Ron whirled them about and walked them toward the armchair, gently breaking their kiss. "I've got an idea." He placed his palm flat on the center of Harry's bare chest and pushed firmly.

Harry fell backward into the chair with a grin, slouching down into it, his legs stretched out and his arse on the edge of the seat cushion. "That's my strategist," he rumbled.

"Accio wand!" Ron said in a slow, measured voice. His wand flew into his open right hand an instant later. A second after that, and he'd banished Harry's boxer briefs. He was about to do the same with the remainder of his own clothing when Harry put up a hand.

"No, wait! Take it off yourself. And do it slow, yeah?" Harry smirked, one hand curling about his rigid cock while the other toyed with one of his mounded nipples.

"Oh, okay," Ron answered, tossing his wand away. He bit his bottom lip as he bent down to unstrap his knee pads, letting the first drop to the carpet before working on the second. He then turned around and bent over, his arse facing Harry as he un-buckled his shin guards.

"Godric, but you've a great arse," Harry panted from the chair.

Ron turned around, smiling from ear to ear as he kicked off his shin guards. "Thanks." He then removed his wool socks, slowly, carefully, tugging at them ever so slightly until they were both off.

"Slower, slower," Harry moaned, his hand now smoothly stroking the entire length of his cock.

Ron balled up his socks, tossing them over his shoulder. He took a few steps toward Harry as he flicked open the top button of his Quidditch flannels. Stepping around Harry's legs, he stroked the notable outline of his erection beneath the soft fabric of his trousers. "See what you do to me?" he growled. "You've always had this effect on me."

"Fuck, Ron, but you're gorgeous."

"So're you," Ron replied, slowly popping open the four buttons of his fly. Harry whimpered as Ron slid his hands into the flannels and slowly, teasingly, pushed them down past his hips. He leaned over to shove them over his muscular thighs, leaving a quick kiss to Harry's forehead before standing up and kicking the flannels away. "There, now, how's that?"

"Fucking wonderful," Harry gasped as his thumb played with the head of his dick. "Now, before you take the rest of your kit off, how about a few of my favourite poses?"

Ron felt himself blush a bit. "C'mon, Harry, you know how embarrassed I get when you ask me to do that."

"Bugger embarrassed! It makes me fucking crazy! Please? Just one or two like the ones you did in Un-robed!, okay?" Harry groaned and pulled on his cock. "Please?"

"Anything for you, love," Ron rumbled, standing up straight and puffing out his broad chest. He placed both hands behind the small of his back and stretched, then brought them up and behind his neck. He flexed each one of his large pectorals in turn, earning appreciative grunts from Harry.

"Oh, fuck yeah, Weasley. More, more!"

Ron then put his arms straight out, parallel with his shoulders, palms up. He made fists, flexing his forearms, and slowly brought them up in the classic bodybuilder's pose. He curled his fists inward slightly and flexed his sizable biceps, grinning and moving closer to Harry. "How am I doin'?"

"Brilliant! Fucking brilliant! Now get down here before I come!"

Ron nodded, shaking out his arms and pushing off his Chudley orange bikini briefs.

Harry sat up in the chair, both hands grabbing Ron's hips. "Now that's a beautiful thing," he murmured before maneouvering his lips over the head of Ron's erection and nearly swallowing it whole.

Ron gasped as Harry's skilled teeth and tongue worked their way up and down his thick cock, the fingers of one of Harry's hands caressing and gently massaging his balls. "Gods, so good, mate, so bloody good."

Harry hummed a response, and Ron thought he'd nearly swoon. "Do that some more," Ron whimpered.

Harry complied, swallowing Ron to the root, humming with abandon as his tongue and teeth worked their way all along Ron's length.

Ron threw his head back and moaned as the tip of his dick grazed the back of Harry's throat again and again. He'd always marvelled at how adept Harry was at giving head, and Ron wasn't exactly small, either. He knew that he wasn't quite as good when it was his turn to suck his lover's cock; he still couldn't do it with out gagging every now and then, but Harry didn't seem to mind.

"Harry, Harry..." he gibbered, his hips bucking slightly as the heat built up within his balls. "Gonna come!"

Harry released him a second later, and he gasped as the cool air washed across his over-heated erection.

"Get over here," Harry commanded. "Wanna fuck you. Now."

Ron nodded, taking deep breaths as he cast a wandless Lubricus on his arse and Harry's dick. He smiled at the way Harry's eyes were wide with desire, how his cheeks were flushed a ruddy pink, how his lightning bolt scar appeared redder and angrier than ever, as if the passion itself were firing it and providing the colour. He watched Harry's nicely muscled but lean chest heave up and down, the anticipation of Harry's long and slender dick inside him nearly causing him to orgasm right then and there.

Harry bit his bottom lip as he slouched down into the chair again, one hand at the base of his cock, holding it upright so that it resembled a miniature Muggle skyscraper. "C'mon," he said hoarsely.

Ron knelt on the chair as Harry had earlier, sitting astride Harry, careful to make sure his arse was properly located over Harry's cock. He let his hips drop down slowly until he felt Harry's hardness tease the crack of his arse. He shifted up slightly to provide better access, and he took a deep breath as the head of Harry's dick found his entrance.

"Fuck, Ron," Harry said, one hand on Ron's hip.

Ron let out his breath and pushed himself downward, his tight ring of muscle automatically protesting at the intrusion. He willed himself to relax, but the anticipated bloom of hot pleasurepain nearly caused him to swoon, per usual. He saw stars, barely bracing himself on the arms of the chair.

Harry yelped once and began speaking in parseltongue, the smooth, sibilant tones of the serpentine language amazingly, incredibly stimulating. Ron sucked in a breath and pushed himself downward, impaling himself on his lover, seeing stars once more and moaning loudly.

Harry's liturgy of parseltongue continued unabated, and both of his hands gripped Ron’s hips firmly, willing Ron to move.

Ron complied, lifting up, slowly, then down again, smoothly, then slightly faster the next time, steadily increasing his movements.

Harry matched Ron’s rhythm perfectly, hefting up his hips at precisely the right moment, just before Ron pushed himself down again.

One of Harry’s hands strayed to caress and scratch at Ron’s ginger-haired stomach while the other curled about Ron’s aching cock, stroking it firmly.

Ron’s head felt faint, but in that entirely desirable way that only occurred when Harry was buried deep within him. He’d never have thought that he’d not only enjoy taking it up the arse, but that he’d actually prefer it. There was nothing in the world like surrendering himself to his Harry.

“Getting close,” Harry spluttered, and Ron wasn’t at all sure whether he was asking Ron or describing his own imminent orgasm.

“Yeah,” Ron answered, Harry’s skilled fingers having nearly completed their work. “Gods, yeah!”

“Love you,” Harry groaned, closing his eyes.

“Love you too.” Ron ceased his movements, slowly settling down as Harry’s release filled him. He wiggled his arse slightly, which caused Harry to gasp and cry out Ron's name. He then clasped his hand over Harry’s, helping his bondmate’s ministrations to his aching cock. A few more strokes, and Ron gasped, his ejaculate coating his and Harry’s fingers.

Ron leaned down, touching his forehead to Harry’s. “Bloody hell, mate, but you’re good.”

“’Course,” Harry replied with a wry grin. “I’m the hero of the Wizarding World.”

“That you are. Mine, too.”

“Prat.”

“Arse.”

Ron slowly lifted himself from Harry’s spent cock, flopping to the carpet in a sated, boneless heap. Harry sat up on the edge of the seat cushion and sucked at his spunk covered fingers.

“Damn, mate, but I don’t know about that,” Ron commented with a shake of his head.

“I do. You taste good, Ron.” Harry laughed, before wandlessly charming both of them clean.

“I don’t think I can move,” Ron said, stretching out.

“Who says we have to?” Harry summoned Ron’s wand, casting an Incendio in the fireplace and summoning some cushions, pillows, and a blanket from the sofa. “We can just camp out right here, eh?” With another flick of the wand, two bottles of Winchester’s Burly Brown ale floated to them from the kitchen.

After moving the coffee table closer to the hearth and arranging the mass of pillows against it, Ron spread out the sofa cushions and Harry Engorged them so that they were large enough for both of them to lounge on. Popping the cap of his ale, Ron held up his bottle.

“To comfy chairs.”

Harry rolled his eyes and clinked his bottle to Ron’s. “Salut.”

They took deep swallows of the smooth ale, snuggling close, the blanket across their waists.

“Good thing I stopped ya from getting rid of that chair, innit?” Ron mused with a wide grin. “Has its uses.”

“Berk.” Harry leaned in and left a wet kiss on Ron’s cheek.

“But I’m your berk.”

“Too right,” Harry replied, taking another pull on his Winchester’s.

They drank their ales in silence, simply enjoying the smoothly crackling fire and the sound of the wind rattling the leaded window panes. Harry laid his head on Ron’s chest, one arm about Ron’s waist.

Harry yawned, and Ron did the same. Sleep was about to claim them when a loud rapping at their front door jerked both of them awake.

“Whoizzit?” Ron asked rather hazily.

“Dunno,” Harry answered. “Either Biddle & Beadle or The Daughters of Circe.”

Ron waved a hand. “No matter which, really. They’ll go away when no one answers.”

Harry sat bolt upright, his eyes wide.

“What?” Ron asked.

“I told them the front door would be open...”

Ron eyes went wide as the telltale sound of their front door latch unlatching wafted in to them.

“...and to come right on in.”

“Shite,” Ron mouthed silently as a female voice called out cheerily from the hall.

“Heeellloooo! It’s The Daughters here for a pickup! And your new furniture’s arrived as well! So, I‘ll wager our unwanted chair is right here in the sitting room.”


~~~~~ fin ~~~~~