Harry Slash Hogwarts

A/N: This story was inspired by The Wizarding World's Whore, by Nocturne, and After Lights Out, by Dracos slut. I assume the latter is unfinished, but I always wanted to know how Ron started having sex with Harry, and what happened after Harry became his dorm-mates' slut. While this fic isn't set in that universe, it was definitely inspired by it.

*

Harry had listened to Ron pull off several nights in a row, but that was the first night he heard Ron call his name.

Harry loved to listen—the slow, heavy breathing of his best mate gradually developing into quick pants, even sometimes developing into needy little cries. If Harry concentrated, he could sometimes hear the sound of Ron’s hand on skin. Sometimes the sound was wetter than others, and Harry wondered whether Ron used oil or jelly, or maybe there was some kind of lubrication spell.

Each time Harry heard those sounds, he felt himself get hard. The second night he heard those sounds, his hand slid down his chest, avoiding the hard nipples, straight down to his cock. His fingers wrapped around his own full, engorged prick, and squeezed.

What Harry thought about, with his hand around his prick, was taking control. He would take control of Ron; he would control the speed of Ron’s breath, the urgency in his cries. He would take control of Ron’s hands, and replace them with his mouth. He would suck Ron off until Ron held his head still and fucked it, fucked Harry’s mouth until he came and came and came in it, right down Harry’s throat.

The trouble with his life, Harry thought, was that he was always being used. Ever since Trewlawny’s prophecy, people had wanted to shape his life for him, tell him what to be. He could never be just what he wanted—which was nothing, really. Of all the things that Harry would have liked to have been, he would have liked to be nothing most of all.

He didn’t want to be big and important. He didn’t want to have to stand up and do what was right all the time; he didn’t want to have to save the world.

Harry knew he had to, though. It was his destiny. Not to follow his destiny would be wrong.

He knew that it was wrong to beat off to his best friend’s breathing and sounds of masturbation. It was wrong, and he was so ashamed. He was so ashamed—shameful—disgusting, really—such a slut; he was such a worthless, cock-hungry, come-loving, wet and fuck-starved whore—not a hero at all—he came.

*

The next night after the first night that Harry heard Ron say his name, Harry snuck over into Ron’s bed right as Ron started to get hot and heavy with his hand.

“What the—bloody hell, Harry. Can’t you knock?” he said, even though Ron was shrouded just by curtains.

“I heard you wanking,” Harry said.

“Was—was not.” Ron flushed red, the coloring staining down his bare chest in the dim moonlight shining through the curtains. He’d pulled up the sheets around the rest of him as soon as Harry had poked his head through the curtains.

“Yes, you were,” said Harry.

Ron glowered. “Well, what if I was? A bloke can wank, can’t he? Has to get his end of somehow in this bloody school.”

Harry sat down beside Ron’s knees on the bed, facing him. “You mean you haven’t slept with anyone yet?”

“What?” Ron glowered harder. “No! I didn’t say that.”

“So you have?”

“Well.” Ron looked around shiftily. “I may have done.”

Harry pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I haven’t.”

Ron glanced back up at him, startled. “You haven’t?”

Harry shook his head.

“Oh.” Ron seemed to relax. “I haven’t either.”

“I haven’t even kissed anyone,” said Harry.

“You haven’t?” said Ron, mouth falling open. “Blimey, Harry. There’s half the girls in the school’d want to kiss you.”

Harry shook his head again. “I don’t think so.”

“What?” Ron started glowering again. “You’re bloody fit, Harry. I mean, all the girls say so. Even the Beauxbatons ones. With the . . .” He gestured vaguely. “And the . . .” He did it again.

Harry looked at his knees. “I don’t think they want to because I’m Harry Potter.” He looked at Ron again. “You know?”

Ron started picking at the blanket. “You stopped me in the middle of a wank to tell me that?” he said finally.

“You’ve made out, haven’t you?”

“What?” Ron appeared to be distracted by Harry’s hands.

Harry pushed up his glasses again. “You’ve kissed a girl. Haven’t you?”

“What? Yes. I mean, Lavendar a few times—okay, once. It was—Valentine’s Day.”

“Well,” said Harry. “I thought since you’ve made out, and I haven’t, that you could—” For the first time, Harry got pretty nervous. He looked down. “You could . . . show me how,” he mumbled.

“Bollocks,” Ron breathed. “You . . . you want me to show you how to snog?”

Harry nodded.

Ron looked at him stupidly. “But I’m not gay.”

“You don’t have to be,” Harry rushed to assure him. “I mean, I’m not either. Of course. I just want to—you know.”

“Merlin, Harry.” Ron still sounded as though he were in shock. “You just—put your lips together, maybe move your tongue a bit—”

“Never mind. It was stupid.” Harry started getting off the bed.

Ron’s hand locked around Harry’s wrist, and then he was pulling him, back, back onto the bed. Then it was confusing, because Ron was all warm, soft lips, and warm, hard chest, and all the blood was leaving Harry’s brain to beat dully in his cock.

Then Ron’s tongue was in his mouth, and it felt big. It felt big and warm and strong, and Harry felt like his mouth was very small, and Ron was just taking it over, invading it. Ron’s tongue moved like it was the tongue that belonged in Harry’s mouth, not Harry’s own; Ron owned that mouth; he was perfectly in control. It was perfect, exactly what Harry wanted—he’d got Ron to do exactly what he wanted. Losing control, Harry was perfectly in control.

Harry moaned a little, and Ron pressed against him, hips rising up to press against Harry’s. Harry felt a hardness there, and Ron pulled away. “Shit, Harry,” he said.

Harry licked his lips. “I liked that.”

“Yeah?” Ron looked really surprised, and then really eager. Lunging at Harry, he kissed him again.

Harry didn’t want to do anything but lie on top of Ron and get his mouth utterly fucked by his best mate’s tongue—because that was what Ron was doing now, thrusting in and out, in and out. But then Harry started to think about what he had imagined Ron’s cock doing—thrusting in and out, in and out, fucking Harry’s mouth while Ron just held his head and fucked—and he pulled away. “Can I,” Harry breathed, breath wet, feeling flushed with heat—“can I suck your cock, Ron? Please, I—I really really want to.”

“Shit, Harry.” Ron held him down and pushed his hips up, hard cock brushing against Harry’s. “This isn’t—you know—you’re my best mate.”

“I know,” said Harry. “That’s sort of why I want to.”

“Best mates aren’t supposed to . . .” Ron scratched the back of his neck.

“I heard you,” Harry said.

“What?”

“The other night.” Harry pushed his glasses up again. “You were wanking. You called out my name.”

“Bugger, you—you—you were listening?” Ron pushed him off, yanking the sheet farther up, over his bare chest. “You were listening to me wank?”

Harry shuffled away, but remained sitting on the bed. He nodded, frowning down at the blanket. “I always do.”

“Bloody—why?”

Harry gulped. Now it came to it. “I want—sometimes I want to do things.”

“Like . . .” Ron was just staring at him, mouth open a little, as though he couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. “Like suck my dick,” he said finally.

“Yeah.” Harry started picking at the blankets just like Ron had. “Like . . . I imagine you’ve got this big enormous prick, right, and you want to—”

Ron squeaked.

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “You—you said my name when you—when you, you know. I thought we could—I thought you might want to.”

“With my enormous prick, Harry?”

“Oh.” Harry shrugged. “I don’t really care if it’s enormous. I mean, that’s just what I imagined. Anyway, I bet it’d feel—”

“You imagined?” Ron squeaked again. “You imagined my cock.”

“Yeah. I thought, that since we’re best mates and all that, and you said my name, that we could—”

“We could what?” Ron kept talking in this high-pitched voice.

“Well, I was going to tell you, if you’d quit interrupting me.” Ron stared at him, wide-eyed. “I’d thought, you could, you know, put your cock in my mouth, and maybe fuck me with it, and—”

“Oh, right.” Ron flopped down on his pillow, and suddenly sounded normal again. “This is a dream.”

Harry made a sound of annoyance. “I know it’s all kinds of messed up, but I thought since you said my name and all—”

“Right,” Ron said again. He squinched his eyes shut, then opened them again. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah,” Harry said.

“You still want to suck on my cock.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, and pushed his glasses up.

“Take those damn things off.” Ron sat up suddenly, plucking the glasses from Harry’s face.

“Hey,” said Harry.

“They’re real.” Ron turned the glasses over in his hands.

“Of course they’re real,” Harry said, and tried to get them back.

They tussled a bit, then Harry was on top of Ron again, distracted by the hot strong press of him. “You want to suck my cock,” Ron said again suddenly, glasses dangling from his hand.

“Yeah.” Harry sort of pushed against him. He thought that maybe if Ron could feel he was hard too, he would feel better about it.

“Hey.” Ron shifted away, suddenly looking uncomfortable. He put Harry’s glasses through the curtain on the table beside the bed, then looked back at Harry. “D’you want . . . are you going to want me to . . . you know . . . yours, too?”

Despite the broken question, Harry eventually figured out what Ron was asking when he glanced down at Harry’s hips. “Oh,” said Harry. “Um . . . not really. What I was going to say is I like imagining a big prick down my throat. Like . . . a really big cock, and it’s just pushing and pushing, and I can’t get away. You know, like that.”

Ron’s mouth dropped open again, and he had to kind of breathe through his nose. “You,” Ron was back to squeaking, “you can get it in your throat?”

“Well, no.” Harry wished he could have his glasses, so he could look at Ron’s chest some more. Ron had hair there already. Harry didn’t have much on his yet, just some dark ones around his nipples. “But I want to do that. Kind of. I mean, I think it’d be nice.”

“Nice?”

“You don’t want to?”

“Have a todger down my throat?” Ron looked appalled.

Harry shrugged.

“I said it, Harry.” Ron was tugging at the sheets again. “I’m not gay.”

“Whatever,” said Harry. “I thought, since you said my name and all—”

“I was wanking! I mean, it just—it—you shouldn’t even have been listening!”

Harry picked at the blankets some more. “So, that’s a no, then?”

“What?”

Lifting his head, Harry said, “You don’t want me to suck it?”

Ron gulped. “Well, I didn’t—I didn’t say that.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No, you just made fun of me for wanting to—”

“I did not!”

“Whatever.” Harry started to get out of the bed again, but Ron pulled him back.

“No. You can . . . you can suck it. I mean . . .” Ron let go of Harry’s wrist. “If you want.”

Harry almost rolled his eyes again. “I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. I mean, you’re my best mate.”

“But best mates don’t—”

“Right,” said Harry. “Whatever. But you called out my name and I’ve been thinking about . . . about sucking it for so long, I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal.” He looked out toward the curtains, thinking about leaving anyway. As soon as he had heard Ron say his name the night before, he’d felt sure Ron would help him. He was so certain Ron would be perfectly willing to do some of the things that Harry wanted so very badly, and yet didn’t know how to ask for.

For one thing, Harry didn’t want to be the only fourth year at Hogwarts who hadn’t got a shag yet. But for another thing, Harry knew he wanted some—well, put it this way—it wasn’t exactly normal, what he wanted. He knew it was all kinds of embarrassing and shameful—or anyway, it really should’ve been—but if there was anyone who wouldn’t rat him out about it or make him feel like a freak, it’d be his best mate Ron.

Or Harry had thought it might be, when Ron had said his name while wanking off.

“Okay,” Ron was saying. “It’s not. No big deal. Here, I’ll just . . .” He pulled down the sheet, then started pulling down his pajama bottoms. His cock did look bigger than Harry’s—thick and hard, and quite a deep red. Seeing it there, Harry couldn’t help licking his lips. “Here.” Ron lifted his hips a little. “You can . . . do stuff. But only if you want.”

“You don’t actually have to,” Harry said.

“No.” Ron lifted his hips again, as though to show Harry it was all okay. “It’s—it’s fine. I mean, I want it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean . . . do I have to . . . what do you want me to do?”

Harry tilted his head, still admiring Ron’s cock. It curved up quite pleasingly, as though just begging to be touched. The top glistened with clear fluid. Looking at it, Harry’s mouth began to water. “Uh,” he said, pulling his eyes away from temptation. “I think you just sort of—lie there.”

“Okay.” Watching him warily, Ron lay back. “Okay.”

Tentatively, Harry moved forward. Then he leaned forward and gave Ron’s cock an experimental lick.

It was way better than he had expected. He’d thought it might be kind of—he didn’t know, gross, but that was part of what made it so good. Here he was in his best friend’s bed licking the top of his best friend’s cock, and his best friend was leaking for him, getting the top of his prick all wet and slippery. Ron was right; best mates weren’t supposed to do this—were they?—anyway, blokes weren’t supposed to like how cock tasted, but Harry liked it. It was warm and sort of salty, and he couldn’t resist going back for another lick.

“How—” Ron propped himself up on an elbow. “How is it? I mean, is it okay?”

“It’s good,” said Harry. “It’s really good. I sort of want to—keep licking it. Is that . . . is—”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “It’s okay.”

“You like me doing it?”

“What?”

Harry licked Ron’s cock again, this time swirling his tongue around the head. “You like me licking it, I mean.”

“Yeah.” Ron’s hips gave a funny little jerk. “Bloody hell, Harry. What do you expect?”

Well, when you save the world, you expect people would appreciate it, but it just wasn’t true, was it. “I’m going to try sucking it.” Harry opened his mouth, then when down on Ron’s prick. Just as he had imagined, it felt nice to have his mouth be full of it. Just that—the fact that he liked it so much, having his best friend’s cock in his mouth—made him like it even more. As he started to suck, Harry thought that it might be hard to get enough.

He wanted all of it—all of Ron. He wanted Ron inside of him until his mouth wasn’t his mouth any more, just a warm place for Ron to fuck, a warm place for Ron to keep his nice hot prick. That reminded Harry of what else he had imagined, so he pulled off, trying not to scrape with his teeth.

He hadn’t really thought about how his spit was on Ron’s prick now, or about how coming off the length of it, he’d still have saliva in his mouth. Harry drooled a little, then had to lick it up. It almost distracted him into licking all the spit off Ron’s cock so he could taste it thoroughly all over again, but Harry just kept thinking about what he’d imagined, so he stopped licking.

“Er, Harry,” Ron said.

Harry wrapped his hand around the base of Ron’s prick and squeezed a little.

“Oh,” breathed Ron, and fell back into the pillows.

“So,” Harry said, feeling a little reluctant in case Ron changed his mind. “I kind of . . . I think I was wrong about you just lying there.”

“Feels okay.” Ron’s words were a little slurred.

“Okay,” said Harry. “I just—I sort of imagined, like, you pushing it into my mouth? Like you were just stuffing it down there?”

Ron gave a little shudder, and Harry knew suddenly he had to hold on tighter to Ron’s cock or he could come.

“Like you’re fucking my mouth,” Harry clarified.

“I get it.” Ron breathed shallowly for a while, apparently thinking about it. Then he frowned. “Couldn’t you gag, though?”

Harry thought about it too. “I s’pose. I mean, I think I’d kind of like gagging on it.”

Ron’s jaw dropped open a third time.

“You think I’m weird.” Harry slowly let go of Ron’s cock.

“Well.” Ron swallowed. “Don’t you think it’s a little strange, to want to be gagging on—”

“But you’re my best friend. I mean, you know I’m—I’m not a freak.”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “I just . . .”

“Forget it.” Harry let go of Ron’s cock, and bent back to lick the head of it.

“Wait.” Ron pulled up Harry’s head. It was the first time Ron had tried to force him to do anything at all, and it was exactly what Harry wanted. He came up. “I can,” Ron said. “I can do it. I can put it in your mouth and . . . you know. Shove it down.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry said again.

“No. I . . . I want to.”

“Really?” Harry said again.

“Yeah. I think we better . . .” Ron sat up some more. “We better, kind of . . . here.” He started moving the pillows. “This would work better if you were just kind of lying there, and I could like . . . get on top of your head. That way I could just . . . you know. Kind of shove it in.”

“Sounds good.” Trying not to sound too eager, Harry shimmied down on the bed so that Ron could straddle his head. Then Ron’s prick was in his face, bobbing right near Harry’s lips where he wanted it.

“You sure?” Ron said, kneeling above him.

“You said I like it when I tell you stuff?”

Ron sat back a little. “Yeah. It . . . well, then I know you want it. And it’s . . . you’re so . . .”

“What?”

Ron’s face was almost as red as his cock. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said.

“What?” Harry said again.

Ron looked abashedly down at the cock near Harry’s face. “You’re sort of slutty,” he mumbled.

“Slutty?” Harry couldn’t help the little twitch of his hips at that.

“Yeah.” Ron still wasn’t looking at him. “I mean, just the way you thought about it, and you wanted it to be big—stuff like that. It’s like you’re . . . you’re not, though. I mean, I don’t mean it in a bad way.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said. He put his hands on Ron’s thighs. “I like it. I mean, I imagined . . . that maybe I kind of . . . am. Like, I’m a slut. And you just sort of . . . use me and take what you want.” He tried not to feel shy when he added, “I think that’d be really nice, actually.”

“I’m not using you,” said Ron.

“I know, but I just want to . . . hold my mouth open, so you can fuck it, you know? And my lips are wrapped around your prick, but there’s nothing I can do, and you just fuck it deeper in me, and I just take it and like it. Like a slut.”

“God,” said Ron. “I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna fuck your mouth.”

“Are you?” Harry said.

“Yeah.”

Harry waited. “Are you sure?”

“What?”

Harry almost snorted. “Ron, your prick is in my face, practically, and it’s been waving there, and it’s so nice and fat and thick, and you’re not doing anything. My mouth is like, watering.”

Ron huffed a laugh. “Damn it, Harry. That’s so fucking hot.”

“Can you smear it on my lips?” At Ron’s look of incomprehension, Harry clarified, “It’s all covered in your—you know, when you get hard, how it gets wet. I want my lips to be all shiny with it, stretched around that big fat prick.”

“Yeah, Harry.” Ron took a hold of his cock, then smeared the fluid at the tip all over Harry’s mouth. “Yeah.” Then Ron was pushing it in, and there was that full-yet-hungry sensation from before. Harry tried to suck as Ron guided it further in. “You’re so slutty. You’re like, so slutty for a nice big cock.”

Harry closed his eyes, then Ron began to thrust. Harry gagged on the fourth one, and then Ron pulled out.

“Sorry,” Ron said—“I—”

Harry pulled it into his mouth again, and gradually Ron started thrusting. On each thrust, Harry worked on opening his mouth wider and wider, hoping that would help him open his throat. He couldn’t wait until he could take it down to the balls.

“Yeah,” Ron was saying. “Yeah. God, you just take that cock.”

Hearing that was so nice that Harry’s hand went down to his own cock, stroking it as Ron thrust into his mouth. He gagged again, but this time Ron only gave him a second, then was pushing back in.

“Literally gagging for it,” Ron marveled. “I didn’t think you were into this kind of thing.”

Harry just closed his eyes and sucked.

“Umm.” Ron gripped the headboard in front of him, starting to thrust harder into Harry’s face. “Mm,” he groaned again. “Mm, I’m gonna come. Gonna come so hard—right in your mouth—fuck, in your mouth—fuck, Harry, come in your mouth—”

Then he came, but Harry couldn’t manage to keep it in his mouth. He came and came, all over everywhere, all over Harry’s face, getting it smeared on his cheeks, his mouth, his chin. Harry thought about how dirty he probably looked—best friend’s spunk all over his face, and loved it. He was filthy with it, come all over his face, and he loved it.

At last Ron was done. He got off of Harry and rolled over, flopping beside him on the narrow bed.

“Wow,” Ron said finally, when his breathing was at last slowing down.

Harry touched some of the come on his face. It was rapidly cooling. Putting his finger in his mouth, Harry tasted it. The taste was a lot like Ron’s cock, only concentrated—salty, sort of like sweat, with this sort of bitter tang.

Harry loved it. It was really dirty and wrong, lying there with come all over your face—your best mate’s come, no less. It was even more dirty and wrong to suck his come off your fingers. Harry wondered what he looked like then—he probably looked really shameful, really filthy—like a slut, Ron had said. He probably looked like the worst kind of slut, and that tasted best of all.

“Are you . . .” Ron began, and Harry jerked his hand guiltily away from his mouth. “Are you tasting it?”

“I was just curious.” Defensively, Harry looked around for something to wipe his face with.

“No.” Ron grabbed his wrist again to prevent him from leaving. “I didn’t mean . . . I mean, does it taste good?”

“Yeah. Well . . . kind of like . . . like sweaty Galleons. But you know, good.”

Ron got a funny look on his face; then he looked at Harry’s hips again. “Do you want me to . . . should I taste yours?”

Harry shrugged. “You can taste yours if you want.”

The look on Ron’s face got funnier. He reached out and swiped a finger across Harry’s cheek, then looked at it for a while.

“You know you don’t have to, if you don’t want,” Harry said.

“No,” said Ron. “I mean, you seem to like it. I’ll try it.” He squinched his eyes closed tight, opened his mouth, and tasted come for the first time. “Ugh.” His tongue came out, and he made a sound. “Oh, ugh. You like that?”

Harry frowned. “Well, I know it tastes a little dirty.”

“Too right.”

Harry’s frown deepened.

After a long moment, Ron creaked an eye open in the midst of his exaggerated reaction to his first taste of come. “You actually like it?”

Harry turned away. “Did you like—I mean—did you like what I did? When I sucked you.”

“When you—oh. Bloody hell, Harry.” The wince on Ron’s face fell away. “You were—I mean, that was—it was . . . I mean you were great.”

“Great?”

“Yeah. It was bloody brilliant.”

“Oh,” said Harry.

“Did you like it?” Ron’s eyes searched his face. “I mean, you said you . . . like, imagined it. Sucking cock, I mean. Was it what you . . . ?”

“It was better.”

Ron looked pleasantly surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “That part where you said I was—you know, a slut. That was . . . here’s the thing. I keep imagining, like, sucking all these cocks. I even imagine, you know, like taking it up the arse. But I don’t know how to—like, I want to do all this stuff, but I don’t know if anyone wants to do it with me, and I don’t know how to tell. So when I heard you say my name when you were wanking, I thought maybe you wanted to do things to me too, so we could—you know. Help each other.”

“Help each other.”

“Yeah,” Harry said again.

“Harry,” Ron began, then stopped, as though he didn’t know what to say.

“Jesus Christ, Ron.” Harry sat up. “I just sucked you off. You’re not going to honestly call me a freak now, are you? Because I liked it, and you liked it, and now I’m saying like we could be mutually beneficial, and honestly I don’t see what the problem is!”

Ron sat up too. “Mutually beneficial?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It means—”

“I know what it means,” Ron said quickly. “It just doesn’t sound like you.” He played with the sheet for a little while. “You really liked me calling you a slut?”

“You think I’m a freak?”

Ron shrugged, not looking at him. “No more’n me, I guess. What about . . . you know. Having my—you know, dick. In your mouth. Was it . . . did you like that?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “It makes me feel all full. And like, owned, you know? So I don’t have to do anything. Like, you’ll fuck my mouth, and I’ll just lay there and get used—you know, like I said?”

“But why do you want to get used?”

Ron honestly sounded curious, and this was why Harry had come to him. It didn’t sound like Ron thought he was a freak at all. At least, not any more. Putting his head to one side, Harry thought. “I don’t know. It has to do with what I said, though—about being a slut. And what you said, too. I like how you were like, telling me what you were doing, and what I was doing, and what you were going to do. Like it was all really dirty. Filthy, even. Like all I am is just this, this hungry little slut, like all I want to do all day is just get filled with cock.”

“Shit, Harry.”

“What?”

Ron looked up again. “When you talk like—” Then he burst out laughing.

“What?” Harry said again, recoiling reflexively. It was unexpectedly hurtful, having Ron laugh at him now—now that they’d come so far.

“No.” Ron grabbed his wrist again. “No. It’s just—you still have come, like, all over your face.”

“Oh.” Harry started leaning toward the table beside the bed. “I was going to do a Cleaning Ch—”

Ron yanked back on his wrist. “No.”

“Wha—?” Harry toppled back, looking at Ron inquiringly.

“You know how you said . . .” Ron let go of his wrist, scratching the back of his neck again. “You said you like being all, like slutty and dirty and stuff, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry frowned, half expecting Ron to laugh again.

“Well . . .” Ron’s eyes darted away. “It was really slutty and dirty when you were . . . you know. Eating that off your face.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He laughed a bit, too. “Yeah. I guess. I mean, it felt pretty dirty.”

“What I mean is . . .” Ron scratched the back of his neck again. “If you could just . . . it’s making me kind of . . . horny, you know. Thinking of watching you . . . you know, do it again.”

“Oh!” Harry looked at him, then swiped his hand across his forehead. Ron really had got it all over. Then he brought his fingers to his mouth. The come was sort of dry, but that was dirty too. Then Harry thought about how Ron liked watching him eat come, and how filthy that was. It made Harry so hot, he had to close his eyes to savor the taste of it.

“You really like it,” Ron breathed.

“I like that me tasting your spunk gets you hot,” Harry said.

Ron made a low, tight sound. “God, Harry. Keep eating it. Get it all. Get all that spunk off your face. Merlin. You’re so dirty.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, starting to get hard again. He hadn’t even come the first time, and his cock had finally softened back up all the way when Ron had laughed at him, but now, hearing Ron say those things and tasting the filthy taste of come in his mouth again, he was getting hard. “I’m really dirty. Love the taste of your come.”

“You want more?” Ron wrapped his hand around his growing cock.

“Yeah,” Harry said again. “I need more. Get it all over my face, Ron. Get it all over me.”

“Gonna have to be patient,” Ron said. “First this is going in your mouth.”

Harry moaned. Most of the come was gone from his face—as far as he could tell, anyway, and now he really wanted that cock Ron was promising; he wanted it in his mouth, filling it up all over again.

“You want it, don’t you.” Ron was catching on. “You want this nice, thick prick in your mouth, don’t you?”

Harry reached out for it, but Ron clasped his wrists together, and held them away.

“You just can’t wait to get it in you, can you Harry, you little slut. God, who knew you were such a greedy little cocksucker? Can’t even go five minutes without a fat cock in your mouth.”

In lieu of the cock, Harry scraped the rest of the come from his face, and began sucking on his finger. He needed something in his mouth; he needed Ron’s wonderfully full, hard prick shoved right in his mouth; he needed—

“Look at you.” Ron was slowly stroking his cock now. “You want it so bad, maybe I’ll just . . . tease . . .” Then he was straddling Harry’s neck again. Harry took out his finger, opening his mouth hungrily to take the cock, but Ron did exactly what he’d promised: he teased.

Instead of shoving in the beautifully big, hard prick of his, he stroked it beside Harry’s mouth. He dragged the tip of it up Harry’s face, painting his forehead with leaking fluid. Then the cock was dragging over his eyes, so Harry had to close them, and Harry couldn’t believe it—what he must look like. He had cock in his eyes.

He must look like such a wonderfully, horribly dirty slut, lying there with this big cock leaking all over his face, leaving a wet little trail of dirty wanton desire. He must look practically rotten with lust—debauched, that was the word, as though he wasn’t worthy of anything but getting cock dragged all over him.

It was perfect, Harry loved it, except that he wanted—he needed that cock in his mouth. He needed to learn how to work it deep down within his throat; he needed to swallow around it until he was gagging, until his breath and life were nothing, nothing but his best mate’s big, long, beautiful prick.

“Say you want it,” Ron said.

Harry moaned.

“Say you want it.”

Harry turned his head, trying to trap the cock with his open mouth, but Ron pulled away. Harry was too wrecked to say he wanted it; he was nothing but just a mindless slut for it; he couldn’t even talk—couldn’t Ron see that, that he was nothing but like, a desperate, started slut, couldn’t even talk, that’s how desperate it was for cock—

“Say you want it,” Ron said, “or you’re not getting it.”

“I want it,” Harry said immediately.

“What do you want?”

Ron’s cock was waving in Harry’s face, but he knew he couldn’t have it, knew the treat wasn’t his, not until he said. “Cock,” Harry said. “I want cock.”

“Yeah, Harry,” Ron said. “But what kind of cock?”

“Yours,” Harry said. “I need a big, thick cock, like yours.”

“And what do you want this big thick cock to do, Harry?”

Ron was lazily jacking in his face, now, and Harry was watching avidly, tracking hungrily with his eyes. “I want it to go in my mouth. I want my lips all stretched around it, and it keeps stuffing itself in there, and I have to keep opening my mouth wider and wider. And I have to try and relax my throat, because I want it to keep fucking deeper and deeper inside me. I want it so far down inside me, like—like it owns me.”

“You want to be owned by cock. You’re a depraved little slut. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” Harry burbled happily. “I know that. I know that—I want it, Ron. I want to be a slut so, so bad.”

“Okay, Harry,” Ron said, and made him one. “Open that sweet little mouth of yours.”

Harry opened his sweet mouth, and Ron pushed inside as though it was exactly where his cock belonged. Harry at last felt like he could breathe easy, even though he had to do it through his nose. Ron was fucking him, fucking his face, and he finally understood how wonderful everything could be. Harry could not have asked for a better best friend.