Buggered, Bothered And Bewildered

~~~BUGGERED, BOTHERED AND BEWILDERED~~~


Sunday, 10 August, 2003

Harry leaned in closely, gently kissing the top of Ron’s head as he set the cup of sweet, milky tea on the desk next to the towering stack of parchments.

“There you go, love,” he said brightly. “Need anything else?” He rubbed Ron’s shoulders, nuzzling an ear in the process.

Ron leaned into his bondmate, closing his eyes and grasping one of Harry’s hands in his.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “How about I chuck this and we head upstairs for a quickie?”

Harry chuckled, standing up and ruffling Ron’s hair.

“Sorry, mister. You’ve got work to do.”

Ron looked up at Harry and groaned. “Now you sound just like Mum.”

Harry planted his hands on his hips and flung his head about, schooling his features into his best Molly expression.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley,” he squawked in a falsetto voice, “if’n you don’t get that work done right now, no dessert for a week, and you’ll also be cleanin’ out the chicken coop for the next month!” He tried to glare menacingly but failed, nearly cracking up in the process. “Don’t make me get out the hickory switch!”

They stared at each other for a moment before the smiles broke out on both of their faces.

“It’s really quite frightening how you channel her so perfectly,” Ron offered through his laughter.

“Well, you know what they say,” Harry replied with a crooked grin. “Most blokes tend to marry the one that reminds them of their dear old mum.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Ron growled. “Yet another completely unnecessary anecdote, courtesy of the Boy Who Lived. And thanks for a right nasty little mental picture…”

Harry laughed out loud. “On the house.” He leaned over Ron’s shoulder and tapped the blank parchment with his index finger. “Can’t finish unless you start.” He licked the shell of Ron’s ear, which sent a visible shudder through the redhead. “And when you’re done, I’ll have a nice reward for you.” He snaked a hand over Ron’s chest, down his stomach and across the tight fabric of Ron’s jean-clad crotch.

Ron moaned appreciatively as Harry’s hand traced his rapidly hardening arousal. "Damn tease, what you are,” Ron breathed, turning about in his chair.

Harry backed away quickly, wagging his finger at Ron. “Work first Ronnie, then playtime. Yeah?”

Ron folded his arms. “Buzz kill,” he muttered sullenly.

“I love it when you pout like that,” Harry said as he strode out of their office and into the hallway.

“This most certainly is not pouting,” Ron shot back, adjusting himself. “Rightful indignation, more like.”

Harry poked his head back into the room. “Get to work! I’ve got a few things to take care of, and after that--” He winked before disappearing into the hallway again.

Ron blew out a breath. “Right. Let’s get this over with.” He pulled down the topmost book from the teetering stack and flipped it open. After scanning the first few pages, he inked his quill and finally began to write…


~~~;~@ ~~~;~@ ~~~;~@


Nearly two hours later, Ron dropped his quill and flopped back into his chair.

"Bloody hell," he sighed mournfully.

He stared at the barely filled parchment ominously before groaning and rubbing his eyes. He'd had an entire month to complete the brief on Induco Atrum, but true to form, he'd procrastinated and was now faced with having to write four feet of parchment on the curse. Well, make that three feet, now. Old Upton would have a litter of skrewts right then and there if he didn't have the brief ready for the presentation first thing in the morning.

He was already in hot water with his supervisor at St. Mungo's ever since George had released his Jouncing Jellies six months ago. It wasn't his fault that George was still a complete git and hadn't researched all the possible side effects properly. It had taken nearly forty-eight hours to clear the trauma ward of bouncing wizards and witches; Upton shot daggers at him for the next two weeks, as if he'd actually had something to do with it.

It was his idea to pad the ceilings after the first few cases had bounced in. Besides, his specialty was Dark Magic Curses, not Spell Reversal.

He reached for his teacup, frowning as he noted it was empty. "Harry?" he called over his shoulder. "Warm the kettle up, would ya?"

He sat back up, scanning over what he'd written so far. Good for a start, he reckoned. Minerva had helpfully owled over a small parcel at his request, which, once restored to full size, turned out to be a huge stack of reference books. There were so many volumes that he couldn't have possibly read them all, even if he had started reading a month ago. As it was, he'd skimmed through barely three or four of them. Nothing for it but to slog through as best he could.

He looked out the window, the bright summer's day taunting him silently. The curtains rippled lazily in the warm breeze as birds chirped away in the garden. "Sodding birds," he muttered. "Go sing somewhere else. Work to do here."

He picked up his quill again and scratched out another paragraph, the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he wrote. He glanced at his still empty teacup. "Oy, Harry?" he called out. A few moments passed by with no response.

Their old house was strangely silent. "Harry?" he tried one last time. "Now where'd he get off to?"

Shoving his chair back, Ron stood up and stretched. He'd been sitting far too long and needed a break anyway. Grabbing his teacup, he walked out of their study and down the short hallway toward the front door. To his right, the parlour. Empty. On his left, the small dining room. Also devoid of Harry.

Ron noted Harry's Ballycastle Bats cap on its peg, and Harry's wand was just where it should be, right next to his own. He picked up the slender slip of holly, turning it over a few times before replacing it in the old beer stein on the small side table.

So Harry hadn't left the house. Now where In Merlin's balls was he?

Ron walked through the dining room and into their kitchen, again finding another Harry-less space. The kettle was on the stove, but it was stone cold. Everything else was in its place. Worry slowly began to nudge annoyance out of the way as Ron yanked open the back door and took a few steps onto the porch to survey their small garden. He planted his hands on his hips, seeing nothing but Harry's carefully tended flora and a stray gnome or two skittering about.

"Circe‘s tits," he grumbled, going back inside the house and closing the door.

The familiar pangs of concern began to scrape at his insides, and as unfounded as he knew the sensations were, it was most difficult to dismiss them easily. The two and a half years he'd spent with Harry and The Order battling Snakeface's minions were still amazingly fresh in his mind, and there had been more times than he cared to recall when he'd thought that he'd lost Harry for good.

It was absurd to get upset simply because Harry hadn't answered him right away. Or was nowhere to be found.

Hell, he was probably just in the loo...

Ron glanced to his right, sighing once again as he noted the narrow door to the lav was wide open. Peering inside, he gestured to the ornate mirror over the sink. "Seen Harry lately?" he asked tersely.

There was a rather long pause before the mirror answered, its feminine, matronly voice oddly hesitant. "Oh, yes, saw him this morning, I did. Needs a haircut, if'n you ask me."

Ron made a rude noise. "Haven't seen him since then?"

"No, dearie," the mirror responded flatly.

Ron rolled his eyes and turned to leave, the mirror tutting petulantly as he did so.

He stepped over to their small kitchen table, which was overflowing with Ballycastle Bats paraphernalia. Hats, t-shirts, banners, buttons, posters, action figures of the players and Barny the Bat filled the entire surface of the table, mounded and stacked nearly two feet tall.

Ron tapped one of the figures twice on the head, and it immediately rose into the air and began zooming about the kitchen. The miniature player waved and smiled as he flew about Ron's head, gesturing toward his inanimate team-mates in their shipping carton.

"Sorry, mate," Ron said, shaking his head.

The Quidditch player shrugged and continued to fly about, executing a series of stock manoeuvres as he darted in an out of the skillets and pots hanging from the wrought iron pot rack.

Ron barely knew any of the new players’ names for Ballycastle. Oliver Wood had taken over as Captain of the team from Northern Ireland six months ago, having turned over the entire roster and filling it with unknowns. Wood had needed a Seeker, and somehow convinced Harry to chuck his trophy position at The Ministry. Which, most likely, wasn’t as difficult as it seemed. It wasn’t exactly a secret Harry had hated the job that Scrimgeour created for him; plus, Harry loved to fly and was still a bloody good Seeker.

He'd never seen Harry happier than that Thursday morning when he'd floo'ed to St. Mungo's after quitting The Ministry, all smiles and flushed cheeks. They'd had a hot snog and shag right then and there in Ron's tiny office.

So Harry was spending a lot of time at practices in Northern Ireland, and Ron was now used to floo'ing directly to the Bats’ practice pitch after his rounds. Oliver was over to their house a great deal as well, which also meant that he saw more of Percy now than he had when they were growing up. His older brother was still somewhat of a prat, but Oliver was clearly smitten, so there was nothing for it.

Ballycastle actually began winning games, soundly trouncing the Cannons, much to Ron's chagrin. The last time he'd checked the sports section of The Prophet, Ballycastle was four games out of first place, barely trailing behind Kenmore, Montrose, and Puddlemere.

And Harry was talking about buying property in Belfast. Well, if that's what Harry wanted, then that's what they'd do. Ron had vowed to follow his best mate no matter where, and he figured Belfast couldn't be any worse than Little Hangleton had been.

He fingered his handfasting ring, turning it about as was his custom when nervous or frustrated. Harry always teased that he’d wear it down to nothing if he weren’t careful. Even though he knew better, there were times when he’d swear that the intricate Celtic symbols on the copper band were indeed becoming rather smooth.

He pushed past the door leading upstairs to peer about their pantry, not at all surprised to find it empty. He turned about, chewing his lip and looking at the old Muggle clock in the kitchen. It was well past noon, and Harry had invited Remus, George, Oliver and Percy over for tea.

If they didn't get busy, and soon, they have to floo into town for some take away. Now, where in hells was he?

"Balls," he hissed, crossing his arms and leaning back against the doorway to the stairs.

Samwise, their mostly yellow Labrador, raised and cocked his head to one side, his tail thumping the flooring. He stared at Ron from across the kitchen, obviously gauging his master as to whether a biscuit or two were in his immediate future.

Ron snorted. “I suppose you haven’t seen him, either.”

Samwise responded with a heavy sigh, flopping back to the floorboards to continue his nap.

The next instant Ron was struck with the realization that he hadn’t yet checked upstairs. Whirling about and yanking the door open, he flew up the narrow steps two at a time.

There were only two rooms at the top of the staircase; the guest bedroom on the right was empty, save for their extremely fat and lazy cat, Draco, who was lounging on the bed. The feline opened one eye and yawned as Ron turned and strode across the large landing and into their bedroom.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his arms limp at his sides. "What are you doing?" he asked, slightly winded.

Harry blinked at him innocently. "Nothing. Why? Are you done with your paper already?"

Ron stared at his bondmate. Harry was sitting up against the headboard of their king sized bed, a pile of pillows arranged behind him. His shoulder-length mass of hair was even more dishevelled than usual, and there was an odd gleam in his eyes. He smiled crookedly, his hands clasped on top of the pillow covering his lap. As far as Ron could tell, Harry appeared to be totally, completely starkers.

The curtains on both windows were drawn, so the room was somewhat dark, a startling contrast to the rest of the house and the bright, summer’s day in progress outside.

Harry shifted about a bit, his smile growing wider.

Ron noted the parchments beneath Harry's hands.

"Doing some reading, then?" Ron asked, taking a step to the foot of the bed. He jerked his head toward the window. "Much nicer outside. Why not go out on the porch and read? Better than this dark, stuffy bedroom."

Harry shifted again, sliding the parchments to the tangled bed sheets and hugging the pillow in his lap more tightly. "There's nothing wrong with our room, Ron. It's not stuffy at all, really. I just came up to, um, make the bed, and decided to have a little read."

Something was afoot, of that Ron was certain. What exactly that was, well, it certainly looked like…he cocked his head to one side. "Right." He stared at Harry, who actually appeared to be blushing now. "So you came up to make the bed, didn't, and decided to read, but on the bed." He flipped a finger toward the squishy armchair in the corner. "Didn't fancy the chair, then?"

Harry glanced at the nearest window, once again shifting about nervously on the bed. "Well, yeah, I could have used the chair," he began, studying the ceiling a moment before continuing, "but I thought the bed made more sense, just in case I needed a lie down. Or something."

Ron snorted. "A lie down? Already? Really, Harry, we haven't been up that long, and don't forget about tea tonight--”

He stopped in mid-sentence, epiphany striking him as if it were an out of control bludger.

“Oh.”

The curtains fluttered in the slight breeze; a dog barked off in the distance as the birds sang in the garden.

Oh, buggering bloody harpies on a broomstick.

Harry spared him a slightly embarrassed glance.

“Oh, right, yeah!" Ron stammered, throwing up his hands and backing out of the room. He felt the flush rising immediately up from the collar of his t-shirt. “Shite, Harry, sorry, I didn’t mean…well, I didn’t know…oh, blimey!”

“Ron,” Harry offered, smiling broadly but remaining seated on the bed. “It’s okay, mate.”

"Didn't mean to interrupt, don't mind me," Ron shot back, his neck and face suddenly very hot.

"No, it's fine, really, don't go!" Harry replied, more than a hint of amusement in his voice. "Why don't you, uh come read with me?"

Ron shook his head, utterly embarrassed, not only at his timing but his naiveté . "No, you go on and enjoy your smut, or porn, or whatever it is."

"It's only Un-Robed! The special Fall Season Preview issue!" Harry pulled the magazine out from under the parchments and held it up. On the cover, a hunky young fellow grinned and flexed, wearing nothing but his leather gloves and a smile, holding a quaffle in a location providing only the barest modicum of modesty. "It's not porn or smut," Harry added, "although I don't see anything wrong with either of them, truth be told."

Ron rolled his eyes as his stomach turned inside out. "Whatever. Just enjoy your wank," he mumbled, nearly walking into the wall as he turned to leave. He took a step into the hall but poked his head back into the room. "And clean up the mess. You know I go spare about wet spots. Don't forget about the boys coming over later for tea."

Harry started to speak, but Ron turned and stalked across the landing for the stairs.

"C'mon, Ronnie," Harry called after him.

Ron stomped down the steps. "Nice pillow placement, Harry," he huffed loudly.

Back in the kitchen, he yanked open the cold box, pulling out a dark brown bottle. He tried to twist of the cap, only succeeding in hurting his fingers. "Sodding Muggle beer caps!"

He rooted through a drawer, finally finding the vintage bottle opener his Dad had given him last Christmas. He pried off the cap, flipping it across the kitchen and squarely into the dustbin. He took a long pull on cool liquid, taking a deep breath and slamming the bottle down on the chopping block. He knew he shouldn't be upset, but his patented Weasley temper had other designs.

What exactly was the problem? Why was he so upset suddenly? It wasn’t a big deal. Or was it? He didn't really mind if Harry wanked; that wasn't the point. Of course Harry wanked; what bloke didn’t? And considering all of the other, extremely intimate activities they’d engaged in through the years, wanking was rather tame in comparison. So there was nothing wrong at all. Perfectly natural. Normal, even. No worries.

He took another deep swallow of beer.

So why the hell was he still buggered by the whole thing?

Never mind that Harry had sequestered himself in their bedroom for a lovely, solitary wank when he was stuck downstairs slaving away on some boring paper. The problem was that Harry seemed to want to wank to pictures of other men. Very lovely, toned, muscular men. But what was wrong with that, really? He enjoyed ogling a nicely shaped chest or bum himself. It was no secret that both he and Harry often admired other blokes ‘assets,’ comparing notes or debating which observed attribute was most delectable.

They were handfasted, not dead, as Harry was fond of saying.

And sure, Ron wanked himself every now and then, mostly in the shower, or sometimes in his office at lunch. But always to visions and thoughts of his Harry. Okay, there was that gorgeous, furry young bloke that had come to repair his Muggle computer a few months ago. The short, stocky blond must have painted his khakis on each day, and there had been no mistaking the fact that he’d shamelessly flirted with Ron, and more than once. He’d barely been able to usher the smiling repairman out of his office and lock the door before he’d ripped open his trousers to service his aching cock. He hadn’t conpleted a dozen strokes before he came all over his desk…

The miniature Bats player coasted to a stop right in front of his face. "Oy," he squeaked in a tiny voice, "how about being a good guy and waking up me mates? I'm dying for a good scrimmage!"

Ron snapped out of his reverie and growled again, loping over to the table and roughly tapping the remaining six action figures on their heads. A moment later, the air was filled with tiny shouts and whoops as the charmed toys flew about excitedly.

"Cheers," Ron said, draining his beer. He leaned on the chopping block, his head hanging nearly to his chest.

He supposed it was only natural that Harry might find other blokes more attractive. After all, he wasn't exactly handsome. He was tall, gangly, and while still in pretty good shape, he'd noticed the first signs of a slight belly forming. Ruddy desk job, what it was. He enjoyed working out, but after a ten or twelve hour day, the last thing he wanted to do was to hit the gym.

There was no way he could compete with a muscle boy like the one on the cover of Un-Robed! And he could work out eight hours a day and still not look like that. Charlie, Fred and George, however, were practically born that way. He and Percy weren't so lucky. And Harry was looking damn good lately, what with the hours of Quidditch practice every week. Not to mention he was drop dead gorgeous to begin with, and the saviour of the sodding Wizarding World.

"Bollocks!"

The miniature Ballycastle team was now circling over his head, singing their theme song. They were horribly off key:

"Barny ain't smarmy, right, right, right!
We’ll dominate the Pitch,
And grab that Snitch,
Ballycastle forever, fight, fight, fight!”

Ron waved a hand, scattering the players to the other side of the kitchen, where they hovered about the chopping block. He decided he was still thirsty, so he grabbed another beer from the cold box. After a few deep swigs, he ambled into the loo.

The mirror was unusually silent as he gazed into it, turning his head this way and that.

Aside from the large, angry scar that ran down the entire right side of his face, he looked much as he did at Hogwarts. His hair was once again touching his collar, having kept it close cropped during the War.

Not too awful, really.

Setting his beer bottle down on the sink, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. Even though he was still somewhat slim, he'd filled out a bit. He actually had some definition to his chest, except what little muscle he had was hidden under thick whorls of ginger hair. Perhaps that was it. Most of those young muscle boys were as hairless as a newborn skrewt…Neville had been using some sort of hair removal charm since fourth year…he’d have to owl him for details.

He flexed his arms and chest, scrutinizing his reflection. Again, nothing flash, but nothing to complain about, either. He ran his hands over his stomach, his fingers following the trail of red fur until it disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. He turned sideways, noting the definite curve of his belly.

"Hell’s bells," he murmured, sucking in his stomach and puffing out his chest. He held the pose for a few moments, smiling. He relaxed and blew out a breath, assuming his normal stance. “Bah!” He growled at his reflection.

"Too much Guinness, love," the mirror commented sagely.

"Just shut it or I'll hang you in the shed," Ron snapped.

"Touchy," the mirror responded, obviously miffed.

Ron toed off his trainers and unbuttoned his jeans. He quickly pushed them down and tossed them over the shower curtain rod. He studied the mirror once more, examining his profile. Yeah, he could stand to lose a few pounds. But really, he looked pretty good. The boxer briefs that Harry liked accentuated his arse quite nicely. And he did have rather muscled legs, even if they were a bit too long. He wasn't a cover boy, to be sure, but all in all...

"Not bad," Ron said softly to himself.

"Bloody hot, really."

Ron whirled about, gasping at Harry and flushing slightly. His bondmate stood in the doorway to the loo, completely naked. He was holding the copy of Un-Robed! over his groin and grinning from ear to ear.

Ron swallowed hard, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Harry! Hey, well, I was um...erm..." he stammered.

The mirror giggled.

“Watch it,” Ron spat back.

The mirror harrumphed.

Harry moved into the bathroom, tossing the magazine to the floor.

Ron's eyes goggled at the sight of Harry's erection. "Mnnpfhf," was all Ron could manage.

Harry stepped next to Ron, running a hand down the middle of his chest. "Getting all worked up again, I see." He slipped his fingers under Ron's tightly clasped hands, firmly stroking Ron's rapidly engorging cock through the satiny fabric of his under shorts. "Not that I have a problem with that." He licked his lips, leaning forward to swipe the tip of his tongue across one of Ron's mounded nipples.

Ron moaned, leaning down to nuzzle Harry's head. "Sorry," he murmured. "I just got a little needy when I saw you ogling those muscle boys." He gasped as Harry switched nipples. "I know I’ve let myself go a bit. I should lose a few pounds," he spluttered between moans. “And I probably should do something about all this hair…”

Harry lifted his head, smirking. "Always so emotional.” He nuzzled Ron’s neck, nipping at the flesh there. “So fiery." Jerking his head to the discarded magazine, he said, "So fiery. Those blokes can't hold a candle to you, love. They're nice to look at, but I prefer a real man," he purred, wrapping his arms around Ron and kneading his arse firmly. He reached up, licking the shell of Ron’s ear. “And the fur…love you just the way you are.”

"Aww, Harry," Ron breathed, pulling him in close. "You have to admit, it’s a little disconcerting when I imagine you with all those lovely boys in the locker rooms, sweaty, naked, and then the showers, all soapy, steamy..."

Harry was moaning quietly, grinding his hips into Ron's thighs. "Hmmmm, yeah, just like after Quidditch practice at school. Keep talking like that, and I'll never get you upstairs to bed." He brushed his lips to Ron's, who accepted them greedily. Harry pulled back, smiling. "All I want is you."

"But your magazine," Ron murmured, feeling himself blush.

"Bah!" Harry snorted. "Don’t be daft. I really was reading an article about the Bats. And one thing lead to another, and before I knew it, well. I was just getting ready to call you to join me."

"Really?"

Harry sighed. "Yeah! Who do you think it is that I imagine when I'm in the showers? When I peruse Un-Robed!? Who is it that occupies my thoughts and my heart every minute of every day?" He waggled his eyebrows.

Ron snuffled. "Me?" he asked sheepishly.

Harry nodded. "Don't ever doubt that.” He snuggled closer, wiggling his hips into Ron. “Bloody git."

"Well," Ron replied softly, "I guess I am a git."

"My git," Harry breathed, leaning up and smothering Ron's lips with his own. He slid his fingers inside the waistband of Ron's boxer briefs, slowly pushing them down. Without breaking their kiss, Ron kicked off his shorts, sending them through the doorway and into the kitchen. The pair moaned as Ron bent his legs so that their erections ground together, their breath now hot and ragged.

Ron hugged Harry fiercely, his tongue shamelessly invading and tasting Harry's willing mouth. He thrust into Harry with increasing intensity, his desire a bloom of fire in his chest. He was just about to start backing them out of the loo and up the stairs when he heard the applause.

He reluctantly pulled away from Harry and looked up.

The entire miniature Ballycastle Quidditch team hovered in the doorway, clapping and whooping up a storm. While Ron turned several shades of red, Harry craned his neck and laughed heartily.

"Go on, you pathetic broom jockeys! Nothing to see here! Beat it!"

Six of the seven players waved and zoomed away. One remained, bobbing up and down lazily and smiling at them.

Harry waved him off. "You too!"

Ron couldn't be sure, but he swore the charmed toy actually winked at Harry before reluctantly turning about and flying away. "Which one was that?" he asked warily.

Harry chuckled. "Tony Laurello. Good kid. Beater. Sort of has a thing for me."

Ron raised an eyebrow.

"Now don't start, love," Harry warned. "How about we finish this before our guests arrive?"

"Sounds good to me," Ron murmured. He smiled for a moment before his expression paled. "Hey! That Laurello guy. He's the one on the magazine!"

"Ron."

"Yeah?"

"Shut it.”

Before Ron could formulate a suitable reply, Harry had dropped to his knees. The next instant, Ron felt Harry’s hot mouth close over the head of his cock. He gasped as Harry raked his teeth along the underside of his rigid shaft, and he clamped a hand on the rim of the sink for stability.

“Fuck yes,” Ron whimpered as Harry swallowed him whole, Harry’s hands clamping both of his arse cheeks firmly. He rocked his hips back and forth slightly as Harry worked his cock with a controlled precision. Harry slowly pulled back and then down again, worshipping his erection with hungry lips, tongue and teeth. At the top of each stroke, Harry swirled his tongue about the head of Ron’s now aching cock before plunging down along its length once more.

“Fuckharryfuckharryfuckharry,” Ron gibbered, sliding sideways to brace against the sink. Harry had always displayed an admirable and energetic attitude when it came to sucking his cock; he’d had many blowjobs previously, of course, but they all paled in comparison to Harry’s ministrations. Harry was, in Ron’s mind, a virtuoso, and he was going for broke this time.

Harry brought one of his hands around to cup and squeeze Ron’s balls, gently at first, but with an increasing intensity that was mirrored in his attentions to Ron’s prick.

“Guuuuuuuunnnnnnhhh,” Ron grunted with pleasure, his breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps.

Harry sensed his bondmate’s nearness to release, instantly slowing his movements. He languidly suckled and pulled on Ron’s cock, making loud, wet noises as he worked his way back up Ron’s member. He stopped at the very head, his lips and tongue mounting a final assault while one hand curled about the slick shaft, stroking it firmly.

Ron yelped as Harry’s tongue teased the slit of his dick; that was it, the final straw. He dug his fingers into Harry’s tangled hair, tilting his head back and moaning as his release poured out of him.

Harry took the first moments of Ron’s ejaculate before pulling his lips away and allowing the remainder of the pearly release to spurt across his chin. He then buried his head into Ron’s groin, wrapping his arms about Ron and hugging him tightly.

Ron gulped in air, sated and spent, but utterly at peace. He carded his fingers through Harry’s hair gently, finally looking down at his lover.

“Bloody hell, Harry,” he murmured. “You’re incredible.”

Harry slowly stood up, grinning from ear to ear. “All for you, love,” he replied as he stood on tiptoe, head tilted, his red, swollen lips glistening.

Ron bent down, eagerly crashing his lips to Harry’s. They kissed hungrily, tongues dancing and sparring. Ron felt as though he couldn’t kiss enough of Harry, no matter how long or hard he tried. His bondmate just felt and tasted so damn good! He felt Harry’s erection pressing into his thigh, barely touching his own softening cock with each upstroke of Harry’s hips.

Ron pulled away. “Your turn, mate,” he whispered as he kissed and licked his way along Harry’s spunk covered chin and jaw. He dropped to his knees and turned Harry around, one of his big hands clasped about Harry’s erection.

Harry braced both hands on the rim of the sink while Ron kissed and suckled the small of Harry’s back. Ron paused a moment before he teased the top of Harry’s crack with the tip of his tongue. He licked along the length of the crevice, each twitch and gasp from Harry a confirmation that he should continue. Ron’s probing tongue delved further and deeper while he rhythmically stroked Harry’s cock.

Harry’s musk was nearly overwhelming, at once sweet and tangy, but also overridden by the intoxicating redolence of sex. Ron balanced himself and spread Harry’s arse cheeks apart allowing his tongue better access. Harry gasped and bucked as Ron ploughed deeper, the tip of his tongue finally grazing Harry’s entrance.

“Gods, Ron!” Harry whined through clenched teeth. “Merlin!”

Ron doubled his efforts, plunging his tongue into and through the tight ring of muscle, while ensuring to maintain his attentions to Harry’s cock

Harry bucked once more, and Ron slid his hand up Harry’s shaft just in time to catch the stream of slick seed. Ron captured most of the thick release, coating his palm and fingers and succeeding in completing a few more strokes to Harry’s spent cock before the spunk cooled and became hopelessly sticky. He gave Harry’s arse one last swipe with his tongue before standing up and wrapping his arms about Harry’s torso.

“How was that?” he asked blithely.

Harry opened his eyes and stared back at him from the mirror. “Bloody brilliant,” he rumbled, his voice heavy and thick. “And to think that when we first got together, you’d never heard of rimming.”

“Yeah,” Ron replied, nuzzling the crook of Harry’s neck. “You’ve corrupted me, Harry James Potter.”

“You’re an amazingly quick study,” Harry shot back.

“I had a great instructor.”

Harry wiggled his arse against Ron’s groin. “So I trust this is more than enough proof that I belong to you and that I don’t want anyone else?”

Ron grinned as Harry turned around to face him. “Pretty much, yeah,” he replied hesitantly. “I could do with a bit more convincing, though.”

“Git,” Harry observed.

“Your git,” Ron answered quickly before smothering Harry’s lips with his own.

“Oy, get a room,” the mirror murmured to itself.

~~~~~~~~~~


Sunday, 19 October, 2003

Ron threaded his way through the packed corridor. Excited fans and reporters jostled for position, making the going rather slow. He really couldn’t blame them. It had been nearly one hundred and twenty years since Ballycastle had made the National Quarterfinals, so naturally the fans were whipped into frenzy due to the Bats’ victory over Montrose a few minutes ago. It had been a close game, with Montrose heavily favoured to have an easy win. Harry had played his heart out, as he always did, but it was most definitely a team effort that sealed the victory.

Ron finally pressed to the head of the milling, shouting throng, a host of miniature action figures and Barnys circling about like locusts. The toys were normally banned from the pitch, and for good reason, but in light of recent events, the appropriate ward had been dropped.

“Hey, Fabrizio!” Ron yelled out to the nearest security wizard, who immediately nodded and moved to where Ron was standing.

Fabrizio studied Ron for a moment, one eyebrow arched high. He then extracted his wand and waved it in short, circular motions in front of Ron’s face and chest. He nodded again, reaching out and examining the All Areas pass clipped to Ron’s shirt. Fabrizio tapped the pass twice with his wand. It glowed green briefly, and then faded.

“Okay, Ron,” the beefy guard bellowed, motioning him forward with a wave of his massive hand.

“An extra charm there, yeah ?” Ron asked as they moved to the Locker Room doors.

“Yeh,” Fabrizio grunted. “Some right good glamours out there nowadays. You’d be surprised the lengths some folks would go through to get through these doors,” tapping them with his wand and murmuring a series of incantations. The locks clicked, and he opened the door for Ron. “Looking good, mate. Off ya go, now. Got work to do.”

Ron grinned and slapped his palm to Farbizio’s. Something called a ‘high five’. The security guard winked and moved back to the barricades.

The scene in the locker room was that of barely controlled chaos. It amazed Ron how a sports team with seven members could swell to such proportions. Of course there were the players themselves, and their spouses; the various trainers and coaches; then the office and promotional staffs, and finally the owners. But on top of all those individuals were the elite media, sticking the new-fangled, Muggle based Record-O-Phones into everyone’s faces. Also some corporate sponsors milling about, looking for testimonials.

Ron smiled as he walked into the fray, being careful not to slip on the champagne-soaked floor. He found Harry almost immediately. His bondmate was shirtless, wearing only his flannel trousers and shinguards. He was completely soaked, and flinched as another parabola of champagne arced across the room to splash him directly in the chest.

And Harry was wearing the most ridiculous hat Ron had ever seen. It resembled a black Muggle ball cap, save for that it sported a pair of foot long bat’s wings that flapped back and forth slowly. The words “2003 Divisional Champions” hovered above the wings, the red lettering pulsing on and off. Looking about, Ron noted that every team member had been saddled with a similar hat.

“Bloody hell,” he snorted to himself.

As if on cue, Harry looked right at him and smiled. He waved for Ron to come over, and that’s when he noticed who was chatting with his mate.

Anthony Laurello stood there in all his glory, the skimpiest towel in the wizarding world barely clinging low on his hips. His perfectly toned and muscled body glistened, small droplets of water (or champagne) dotting his tanned skin. He was taller than Ron, and though he must have just stepped out of the shower, his mane of blond hair was perfectly styled. His Bat cap was on backwards, the bill pointing almost straight down his back. He turned to look at Ron then, his pale blue eyes taking the redhead in from head to toe. A crooked smile formed on his lips as Ron walked up to them.

They’d pulled out all the stops when choosing his wardrobe for the game. Harry had insisted that he wear his old black leather trousers. They were skin tight, and left nothing to the imagination. He also sported a sleeveless white shirt made of some slippery, shiny fabric that Harry called lycra. Or something. It also clung to every contour of Ron’s upper body, with a few stray wisps of ginger hair poking up from the collar. Harry had accessorized him as well, adding a studded leather belt with a skull buckle, thick leather bracelets, and a choker necklace. They’d gone into London to find the calf high cycle boots.

He felt utterly ridiculous, but Harry had insisted that he looked hot. He had to admit that he was getting more than a few looks. Just like the one Laurello was giving him right now.

Harry immediately wrapped his arms about Ron’s waist, leaning up and kissing him with wild abandon. Ron steadied himself, feeling as though Harry were trying to suck his gall bladder out through his mouth. Ron returned the kiss as best he could, unable to stop the inevitable blush as Harry’s groping hands squeezed his arse. Ron nearly cried out as Harry began to slowly but surely grind his hips into his thighs.

The next instant, Harry pulled away, snaking an arm about Ron’s waist. “Tony, this is Ron Weasley, my bondmate. Ron, Tony Laurello.”

Ron cleared his throat and offered his hand. “Good game.”

Laurello smiled thinly, shaking Ron’s hand with vigour. He squeezed with increasing intensity, prolonging the handshake beyond the limits of politeness.

Ron increased the pressure as well, gauging Laurello’s reaction and not wanting to be the first to back down. Laurello snorted and released Ron’s hand. “Nice to meetcha. First time in the locker room, yeah?”

Ron shook his head. "No, I've been here before."

Laurello shrugged. "Oh."

Harry’s hand trailed down the centre of Ron’s chest and stomach, his fingers coming to rest on the huge skull belt buckle.

Laurello pulled a face. “What are ya, in a band or something?”

Harry sniggered as Ron cleared his throat.

“No, no, I’m a healer at St. Mungo’s. Dark curses. Worse luck.” He smiled nervously as Harry’s hand strayed lower. He noticed that all the wings on the Bat caps beat in unison.

Laurello’s eyes seemed glued to Harry’s probing hand. “Yeah, well, that’s nice, mate, really.”

“Well, I’ve been telling Ron all about you, Tony,” Harry offered brightly. He nudged his hip into Ron.

Ron jumped. “Yeah, I feel as though I know you,” he blurted out, narrowing his gaze and staring at the muscled Beater intently. “Wow. Amazing.”

“What?” Laurello asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Oh, nothing, really,” Ron replied. “It’s just amazing how perfectly detailed those action figures are. I mean, it’s almost scary.”

Laurello smirked then, actually throwing his shoulders back and puffing out his chest. “Yeah, took a few hours for ‘em to get all the measurements down. And I insisted on final approval before they went into production.”

Ron nodded. “Well, they did a bang up job, from what I can see. Although I don’t think that they made your chest and arms big enough on the action figure.”

Harry cleared his throat loudly while more whoops and hollers went through the locker room. Laurello grinned widely, actually turning halfway about and flexing his arse.

“Yep,” Ron observed sagely. “They got every detail. Every proportion. Of course, nothing compares to the life-sized version.”

Laurello waggled his eyebrows. “That’s what they all say.”

“Really? I suppose…”

Harry elbowed Ron. “Okay, that’s enough.”

“What?” Laurello queried, his brow knitting together.

Harry shook his head. “Nothing, really. Just this habit Ron had when he was a kid.”

“Harry, c’mon,” Ron whinged. “Let’s not bring that up.”

Laurello looked as if he were about to cough up a lung.

“Well, Tony, it seems that Ron would always undress his sister’s dolls and then hide the clothes. Especially the male dolls.” Harry paused for emphasis. He bumped Ron again.

“Yeah, well, you know. I just wanted to see if they, um, got the bits right.”

“So naturally Ron took it upon himself to inspect the action figures of the team.”

“Old habit, ya know. I was pretty shocked, um, how correct they were.”

Laurello paled noticeably.

“They were limited editions, Ron,” Harry added helpfully.

Ron grimaced. “Right, well, sure.“ He nodded to Laurello. “Sorry, mate. That’s a rough lot. But you know what they say. It‘s not the size that matters.”

Harry looked up at Ron. “Is that what they say?”

Ron shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.” He grinned at Laurello, who had unconsciously clasped his hands over his crotch.

“Well, nice to meet ya, Tony. Cheers!”

Harry waved cheerily. “See you at the hotel, mate.”

They turned and headed to Harry’s locker. Ron leaned down to Harry.

“Was that really necessary? Sort of mean, yeah?”

“I told you he refused to take a hint. I even told him flat out to lay off. This was the only way. Don’t worry, he’ll recover,” Harry replied as he opened his locker. “He’s a decent bloke, but he’s got an ego the size of a hippogriff.” He reached over and cupped Ron’s leather-clad bulge. “And I prefer…”

Ron held up his hand. “Please, don’t say it! Anybody would look, well, large in these things,” he grinned sheepishly, glancing down at his leathers.

Harry rolled his eyes as he unbuckled his guards. “You’re hopeless, you know? I suppose you’ll never get it through your head how bloody hot you are. Merlin, Ron, nearly every queer bloke and bird was eyeing you like a case of deluxe, dark-chocolate frogs.”

“Fine, whatever,” Ron sighed. “Just get your shower and let’s get out of here, okay?”

Harry pushed down his flannels. An evil grin ghosted across his face.

Ron cocked his head to one side. “Now what?”

Harry looked about; the crowd in the locker room had thinned out considerably. “Fancy re-living a post-practice, shower room memory?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Ron glanced about furtively, his hand covering his mouth. “Here? Now?”

Harry nodded, kicking off his flannels. “Why not? C’mon!” He grabbed two towels, flipping one to Ron.

“Brilliant,” Ron whispered, grinning widely as he followed Harry toward the showers.


~~fin~~