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thrihyrneDialogue, plot momentum, and general vampire/wizarding world musings before the pr0n. Have discovered that JKR is not a fan of Anne Rice, as one of the few named HP vampires is The Vampire Lestoat, lol. This chapter references my Draco/Seamus one-shot, 'These Hot Days,' just because. Language, boysex, probably too many adjectives.
"You're a bloody fucking shark, you are!" Seamus swore in defeat.
"I knew you'd played a lot, but even I didn't realise how good you were." Harry echoed the sentiments, leaning against the nearby fireplace lintel.
"Aren't you supposed to let the host win, at least once?" Seamus joked, tossing back a shot of Bitter Banshee before slamming it on the side of the pool table.
"I thought I was the host," Draco said imperiously, enjoying the fire's heat next to Harry.
"We're both hosts, we're just at your house."
"I'd hardly call Malfoy Manor just a house," Ron observed, taking a wide-legged stance, staring down the line of his cue stick. "And you're not bad yourself."
"I know," Seamus grinned cockily as Ron aimed and took his shot. "I was the one who bought the table. Draco could care less."
"That's not at all the truth," Draco said defensively. "I've played dozens of games with you."
"Now that's the truth," Seamus quipped, his sandy eyebrows raised.
Draco looked haughtily at him. As the tense seconds ticked by, Ron gave Harry a panicked glance. While it had taken him months to believe that the two were really a couple, Ron had been under the impression that Seamus and Malfoy were rather enamoured of each other. He wasn't at all comfortable at observing what appeared to be a spat, especially given Ron's first-hand experience with their respective volatile personalities.
"It's rather gauche for you to bring up our sex life in front of guests," Draco finally said, the ghost of a smile drifting to his lips.
Harry choked on his wine as he watched Seamus wink and make kissy-lips toward his partner. "Well, sure as shite you don't keep me around for my manners."
"Look," Ron said, making stopping motions with his hands, "I know we're all mates, but feel free to keep your private life private."
"Loosen up, Ron," Seamus said, patting him on the back. "Don't worry. I'll not be sharing any details of how absolutely fucking brilliant Draco is at—"
"Seamus. Shut up," Draco warned, though he looked secretly pleased about whatever it was that Seamus had been about to say.
"I think it's time for us to go," Harry said authoritatively. Ron looked down at the table, then back up at Seamus.
"Oh, go on, you bollocky show-off," Seamus said in mock exasperation.
Seamus poured himself another two fingers full of the beverage he'd created that had made him the Eighth Wealthiest Wizard Under 40, according to Witch's Weekly. Ron readied his cue stick and took a last shot. The balls ricocheted off one another and the bumpers until the last one dropped neatly into a corner pocket.
"That was impressive," Draco said with an appreciative nod.
"Thanks." Ron turned to shake Seamus' hand. "Thank you for the rounds. It's good to see you."
Seamus smiled widely. "Same here. I'm a night owl meself, so fire call anytime. You're only up nights now, right?"
Ron felt a rush of gratitude to his former housemate for dealing with Ron's new status so matter-of-factly. "Yeah. Haven't tested it yet, but the evidence says that sunlight will do me in."
"You're not going to test it," Harry said emphatically. He finished his wine and strode over to Ron's side, snaking his arm around Ron's waist.
"Still can't work at St. Mungo's?" Draco asked, elegantly plucking an almond from a ceramic bowl and popping it into his mouth.
"No. I've quit trying," Ron said, trying to mask the dejection he felt in admitting that.
"We're deciding what to do," Harry said, squeezing Ron's hip in reassurance.
"Can you come up with catchy slogans?" Seamus asked, swirling his shot glass and its chrysoprasic contents. "I'm always looking for a new way to sell me Banshee."
"Doubt it," Ron replied. "I'll figure something out, but thanks regardless."
"Draco. Seamus," Harry said, nodding to each in turn. "Thank you for the excellent meal and company. We'll have you over soon."
"It's our pleasure," Draco drawled, the reediness of his voice irritating Ron as it had when they were far younger.
"I don't care if you are a ruddy vampire, I'm going to thrash your arse next time we play pool," Seamus threatened, though his impish smile suggested otherwise.
"Don't bet on it," Ron smiled in challenge. "Take care of yourself."
"Will do. Oh!" Seamus bounded to the other side of the sitting room and came back with two brightly-coloured bits of folded paper. "Can't go without some origami."
"These are really complex," Harry said in awe, turning the fuchsia creature in his hands.
"Yeah," Seamus said proudly. "Hey love, 've you opened the Floo?"
Draco's ears turned a delicate shade of pink as he went to the fireplace, ensuring that Ron and Harry could use the network to get home.
"See you later," Ron said, a handful of Floo powder in his hands.
"Cheers!" Seamus called with a wave as Ron threw in the granules.
"Lion's Den!"
Harry followed shortly thereafter and they brushed the soot from their clothes. "That was fun," he said, looking to Ron for affirmation.
"Yeah. Still can't bring myself to like Malfoy very much," Ron admitted with a small grimace. "Of all blokes that Seamus could fancy—"
"They were tentmates in the War. That's where it all started, I'm pretty certain," Harry interrupted, a mischievous smile appearing on his lips. "From what Tonks told me, despite the danger, there were all sorts of activities going on between the least likely of people."
Ron shook his head. "For the love of Merlin, don't name names," he said, walking to the couch and sitting heavily, rubbing his eyes. "I'll be up for hours yet, and the last thing I want to think of is something—"
"Like Remus and Snape?"
Ron's eyes snapped open. "No, Harry. Absolutely not. Oh, I'm going to be ill. You're a mean bastard," he moaned. "Snape. With anyone. Anything."
Harry smirked as he walked behind Ron, pressing his hands on to Ron's shoulders and beginning to rub into the muscles. Ron allowed himself to ease into Harry's ministrations like a night-blooming plant luxuriating in the moon's placid rays. Just as Harry had honed in on a resolute knot on his left shoulder, there was a sharp rap on the door. Ron turned up his head as Harry looked down.
"Were you expecting anyone?" Harry asked cautiously.
"No. Suppose you weren't either."
Harry shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe we left something at the Manor," he said, walking into the entrance hall. He pulled open the door, but didn't move. "Yes?" Harry asked, his tone strangely distant.
In an instant, Ron was off the couch and behind Harry in the doorframe.
"Ronald."
"Yeah. Who in blazes are you?"
Ron knew it innately, as fluidly as his somewhat shrunken veins could carry the obvious to him. It was another vampire, not a Wizard, and not the one who had Changed him. He was as pale as Ron, his hair an unassuming brown, and wearing an expensive Burberry trench. Despite his composure, he appeared out of sorts, some mild trepidation held in check under his calm exterior.
"Martin. Martin Fawlkes."
"Martin Fawlkes?" Ron subsumed a laugh into a more appropriate cough. "You sound as British as they come."
"Was once, yes." The resonant baritone traversed the room, returning to Ron's ears with a soothing comfort. "Mind if I come in?"
Harry stiffened and Ron chastised himself for having been so self-absorbed. "Of course. This is Harry. Harry Potter," Ron fumbled on, feeling the need to explain.
"Pleasure," Harry said stonily, thrusting out his hand. "You're a vampire. Did you do this to Ron?"
Ron had to admire Harry for asking such a thing. Granted, he'd faced down Voldemort, but this was different, and they'd just invited the vampire into their house. Shards of sentences he'd read from his books bombarded Ron's mind. Never invite a vampire into your home. Invitations are deadly. The vampire thrives on hospitality.
"Ronald. Give pause — your thoughts are enough to give me a wretched headache," Martin said in disdain. "You're already a vampire, and I have no intentions of attacking you or Changing this one. I've come to invite you to meet some of your brethren. We're all, what do you call us?" He scowled for a moment, his pointed chin akimbo as he turned his head, searching for a word. "Muggles. But immortal, as you are." Head righted, he looked like the most normal, middle-aged gent Ron could imagine, except for his eyes. Martin's erstwhile pale blue eyes held behind them a steely, fearless cognizance. He could be sixty, or three hundred and sixty. The incongruity of demeanour to reality shook Ron to his marrow.
"Where are they?" he asked, pulling Harry closer to him.
"Let's discuss this by the fire," Martin suggested.
"But it's not—" Harry began.
Martin angled his hand toward the fireplace and snapped his fingers. A merrily crackling blaze appeared, its cheery light chasing away the shadows in the sitting room. Before Ron even knew what was happening, Harry had stepped two paces forward to eye Martin, his wand jabbing above the vampire's heart.
"How did you do that?" he asked, incredulous. "You're a vampire, not a Wizard. Or so you said."
Martin looked down pointedly at the wand against his ribcage and slowly raised his hands.
"I'm not. Our kind are bequeathed certain powers, regardless of our abilities prior to the Change," he countered, his gaze patient as he stood, statue-like.
"Excuse me," Ron interjected, defensive anger goading him to say something. "Let me get this straight. Martin, you've come here to tell me where to meet other vampires. Is it a coven? Because I thought we'd done our level best to break those up. Wizards consider vampires to be Dark Creatures," he said, his words slowing to a trickle.
Martin blinked owlishly. With supernatural speed, he swept his hand down his chest to remove Harry's wand. "Word had reached us that another had been made. Vampires are usually solitary by nature, but we do congregate on occasion. Do you wish to bring the mortal with you?"
Ron's eyebrows knit together as he frowned. "Harry is my bondmate. My partner. Lover," he said defiantly. He raised his gaze to bore into Martin, now leaning against the wall. He was apparently amused, given the dimpled crease in his right cheek.
"Of course. Bring him." With unexpected grace, Martin peeled away from the wall and put his hand on the doorknob. "Come to the Golden Monkey. Go through the main pub to the back. There will be a fetching woman in green. The keyword is Oliphaunt."
With a wide grin showing his crooked front teeth, Martin opened the door and went out into the night.
As the door shut, Ron looked at Harry in a panic. "What the fuck was all that?"
"I'm not sure, but I know we're going out. Together," Harry emphasised. "Look, it's not as though you were going to sleep anyway. And well," Harry shrugged, "we did used to like this sort of thing, going out socially. I think we should both wear our leather."
"Our leather," Ron said disbelievingly. "We're about to go to a vampire club and you're talking about what to wear."
"Yes." Harry gave Ron a passing kiss on the cheek, a soft peck of affection before he clomped up the stairs. "It's our life, Ron. Going to a club sounds like fun, if only you'd get your head out of your arse."
After counting to ten, Ron bounded after Harry, taking the steps two at a time.
* * * * *
A half hour later, Ron's head was spinning. He glanced over to the next table to see Harry engaged in an in-depth conversation with one of the few other non-vampires in the room. As though feeling Ron's eyes on him, Harry looked up and smiled encouragingly. Harry's companion, a man in his mid-twenties with a hair colour that rivaled Tonks' and more metal bits in his face and ears than Ron cared to count, turned and gave a small wave. Ron raised his fingers in response before returning his focus to his tumbler of scotch, and Martin.
"You needn't worry about Miles," Martin said warmly, his standoffish persona having vanished once he saw Ron and Harry make their way through the crowded room. "He's hopelessly smitten with Antoine, poor sod."
Ron tossed back his scotch, wishing it would burn his throat as it used to. "I'm not. I reckon Harry's really glad to find someone else to talk to about his situation. Our situation." He circled the glass on its rounded bottom. "Actually, he's probably grateful to be somewhere that he's not a celebrity."
Martin nodded, taking a sip of wine. "Well, now that you're here, I suspect that you must have a few questions to ask."
"That's an understatement," Ron muttered. "For starters, why aren't there any other Wizards here? How'd you read my mind, back at the flat? And start the fire? What powers do we have besides being able to climb up things and float down rather than fall? Why the hell was I turned into this? Why didn't you come to me sooner, and why are you being so nice? How old are you, anyway?"
Martin settled comfortably in his chair as Ron's barrage slowed to a stop. "I'll try to answer you in as timely and thoroughly a manner as possible. While the night is your realm, that's not the case for your mortal, and I—"
"Harry. He's not my mortal, he's my… Harry," Ron said, anger beginning to spark in his gut.
"Harry. My apologies. I haven't had a mortal companion in many decades. While of course I live and associate with humans, my preferred company has been our kind, or solitude. Please forgive what you see as insensitivity on my part."
Ron noticed a wistful tone in Martin's voice and began to feel badly for having such a quick temper. "It's okay. It's just that of all the changes that I've had to come to terms with, the fact that I'll live forever, look like this forever, and he'll live a normal, way too short life… it's enough to make me want to break stuff. Hit things. Or leave," he said, his voice strangled. "It'd be for the best. Harry could find someone else." He hated saying the words, and they came out harshly, as though not wishing to pass his throat and become audible.
"Ronald, you're stronger than you know." Why Martin's measured tones were so soothing, Ron couldn't articulate, but he was grateful when the unassuming vampire laid his equally pale hand on Ron's. "Let me talk for a while and explain what I am able. You're a fledgling, and you've had no guidance. Please reassure me that you'll refrain from doing anything rash."
"Like hunting down Muggles, scaring them to death and sampling them like they're different flavoured Bertie Botts' beans or something?" Ron said in disgust.
"Before I go on, let me remind you that you're a vampire. You must drink blood to survive. You've been in your new form for less than two months and you've yet to actually kill a victim, is that correct?"
"Yes." Put in those terms, Ron felt less self-revulsion and more of the excitement he'd had when he'd held each of the people on whom he'd fed.
"Think on that, then, and don't let unnecessary guilt cloud your conscience. You'll forgive my being blunt, but you are now, by nature, a killer. Within your world, however, it appears that you've overriden this, perhaps by some potion, but your instincts will never change. This brings me to your question about wizards." He paused, taking a deep draught of wine, his gestures fluid and compelling. Ron sat rapt as Martin appeared to coalesce his thoughts behind his deceptively mundane exterior.
"I'm one of the elders in this part of the world," Martin explained, interlacing his solid fingers around the stem of the glass. "Nearer to four hundred years old than not, and younger than many. We older ones tend to become far more territorial with age; I was made in these Isles and this is where I prefer to remain. Being here also means that I've come into contact with myriad denizens who have purported magical powers: witches, wizards, druids, selkies, banshees, priests. I've kept my distance and noted what seemed to be of importance. I've seen enough to recognise that just as we vampires are separate and yet an integral part of humankind, so are you who have powers of your own, living longer than most mortals but hiding out of their sight in your own realms. Some vampires don't believe you really exist, but I'm not so blind. Consider me a voluntary liaison, if you wish; I have no desire to walk in your world, but I do know of it, your secretive cities, schools, and wars. Your kind, however, are mostly irrelevant to us."
"Irrelevant?" Ron spluttered. "We were hunting down—"
"The ones you sought are far more nearly kin to you than us. Look around."
Ron did, grudgingly admitting to himself that the vampires the Order had disbanded at the end of the War were nothing like the worldly creatures here in this sequestered part of the pub. Intelligence, suavity and an undercurrent of eroticism emanated from the vampires. They were mostly men, though there were a few females. 'Compelling' was the only word Ron could think of to describe the small multitude; most certainly they were nothing like the desperate, savage entities they'd ferreted out and chased off when dismantling the ragged remains of Voldemort's less savoury minions.
"We have our own realms," Martin went on, "and our own magic, if you will. I've not seen many like you, a hybrid, to use a rather crass term."
Ron looked up as his empty tumbler was refilled. "Thanks," he said to the server, lifting the crystal to toast Martin before downing the contents. "If there weren't many like me, you must know who did this," he said, licking the remnants of the fiery fluid from his lips.
"Actually, I don't, though to be sure I have my suspicions." Martin softly ran his palm across the back of Ron's hand and up his forearm, the gesture shockingly intimate. Oddly enough, Ron didn't mind; it seemed fraternal, something a dear friend would know to do, not at all a lover's touch. "You'd asked about my mind reading." A smile tugged at the corner of Martin's lips. "I can hear your thoughts because they are open to me. To anyone here who is interested in knowing them, in truth."
Ron began to panic. "Does that happen all the time? Have you all been knowing what's going on in my head for weeks?" His thoughts of rage at the world, bottomless self-pity and intimate acts with Harry all rushed to his memory and he cringed. "That's bloody intrusive. Worse than Legilimency," he fumed. "Even Harry doesn't do that, not without asking."
"Ronald, calm down."
Ron heard the words directly, though Martin hadn't spoken aloud. He had sat back in his chair, however, and seemed distant in spite of the direct way he was communicating. Ron felt warm arms encircle his neck, Harry's chest possessively pressed against Ron's back.
"You're not getting ideas are you, Martin?" Harry asked politely, though his body language bristled with restrained anger.
"He's not, he's just explaining," Ron insisted, pulling out the chair next to him so Harry could sit at his side. "Harry can pry into people's minds and block people from doing it to him," he told Martin, who nodded knowingly.
"Before I say anything further, let me allay your fears. No, none of us that I know of have been listening to your thoughts. Except in rare cases, we require proximity to do so, hence my comment to you at your home. With little effort, you can choose to erect a barrier over your mind, preventing other vampires from sensing you so wholly."
"You all are Legilimens and Occlumens?" Harry asked skeptically. "Mind readers?"
"If I think I understand your terms, no," Martin said carefully. "Our skills have similar manifestations and ends, but are incongruous. I'm unsure about Ronald, inhabiting two worlds as he does."
"Are you listening to my thoughts now?" Ron asked, genuinely at a loss.
"Not intentionally, I'm not."
"I can tell when Harry does it, but he asks first," Ron said. "It's like he's poking around, but it's gentle."
"I'm doing that on purpose, for sure," Harry said candidly. "Otherwise it feels terrible."
Martin steepled his fingers. "You're not restraining them right now. Take a moment to concentrate, Ronald. Focus on the blood traveling throughout your body. See your wisdom in your mind's eye, the thoughts and memories coursing in your brain. Imagine that energy is hovering about your head, a shimmering halo that extends a few inches from your scalp."
Eyes closed, Ron did as Martin suggested, barely noticing when Harry placed his hand on Ron's thigh.
"Very good. Now visualise a shield, a permeable layer you've made that covers your thoughts but doesn't trap them."
Ron felt instantly singular. He was aware of a soft tapping around his envisioned barrier, as though tender fingers were caressing it, seeking entrance. His eyes flew open and he saw Martin beaming at him from across the table.
"Well done," he said proudly.
"I can't sense you anymore!" Harry exclaimed, panic edging his voice. "Ron, don't do that, please. It's awful."
Perplexed, Ron turned to Harry. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know!" Harry said, flustered in a way that made Ron worried. "I've just, well, since we—" He glanced over at Martin, before focusing his wild-eyed gaze back to Ron. "Since we pledged ourselves to each other, I've felt a really faint hum, but that's not it. Fuck. Stupid words. I can feel you, sense any major, no, catastrophic mood swings, things like that. Your mind's sometimes a whirlwind, Ron, and I don't dare enter without your permission. But you've never been shut off from me like you are now. Even when you were gone, and I couldn't find you, I knew you were alive because I could feel you."
His black pupils were alarming, nearly overwhelming the vivid green. Ron leaned forward, trying to reassure Harry with his physical presence. Ron's perception of the change was far more subtle, though he still felt a persistent kneading against his mind.
"You're right in front of me, but you're not there!" Harry said, his voice rising in pitch and volume. Ron could only too easily imagine pint glasses shattering left and right if something didn't happen to pacify Harry, and soon. No matter that he was in a den of vampires, Harry was an incredibly powerful wizard, and he was distraught.
"Visualise the cover over your thoughts," Ron heard clearly in Martin's calming timbre, though again he hadn't spoken out loud. "See it as mesh, as a strong but porous film. Allow it to let out the superfluous, mundane paths, the meandering courses your mind takes without you even realising you're doing so."
With pointed focus, Ron concentrated, letting most of his thoughts hover atop the barrier. The more convoluted, messy and scattered dark smatterings of his inner core he kept submerged, grateful to separate them from the rest.
A massive weight seemed to slough from Harry as he relaxed, nearly tumbling into Ron's lap. "That was a nightmare," he murmured into Ron's neck. Harry’s pulse was a caged bird flapping against his torrid skin, nearly scalding against Ron's cold flesh.
"Thank you," Ron sighed in relief, only recognising that he'd communicated telepathically after the words had flown directly to their recipient.
"You're welcome, Ronald of the in-between," Martin replied. He bestowed his unspoken approval as Harry grasped Ron's hand and pulled it to his chest. "I know you still have unanswered questions, but I think it best that you return home with your Harry," he said silently, a capricious delight dancing in his sky-blue eyes. "Since I didn’t make you, you have the ability to seek me at any time through conscious thought. I have no designs on you; you merely remind me of one I made nearly three centuries ago, and I do not wish any malice to befall you."
Ron nodded gratefully at Martin, the resoundingly British vampire who kept more secrets than Ron was willing even to guess at.
"Let's go home," Ron murmured into Harry's disheveled hair. "Okay with you?"
"Yes, please."
* * * * *
Harry had regained nearly all of his composure when they returned to the flat. He’d also channeled his temporary anxiety into physical need, unwilling not to be touching Ron in some manner as they’d made their few goodbyes at the Golden Monkey. He practically attacked Ron once they Apparated into their bedroom.
"Want you, now," he moaned along Ron’s jaw, pulling off his glasses and kissing Ron so ferociously Ron’s breath was taken away. Harry’s whole mouth was alive, his tongue sliding possessively around Ron’s, thrusting into the wet heat before pulling back to suck Ron’s lower lip into his mouth. He bit lightly, nibbling the soft lip while grinding his hips against Ron’s. Neither of them was very aroused yet, but given Harry’s determination, Ron could tell it wouldn’t be long. Harry stumbled back against the wall, pulling Ron to him. Harry’s desire for Ron was an alembic for his own passion; he focused intently on the residual taste of beer in Harry’s mouth, how the smooth texture of Harry’s tongue as it parried against Ron’s made his pulse quicken. The slow burn of anticipation flared in Ron’s groin, his cock inevitably beginning to harden in its leather-clad confines.
Ron rocked into Harry, grasping the back of his head to better control his assault on Harry’s mouth. Harry twisted his head to break the kiss, panting for breath. "No clothes," he growled, pulling his wand from its slender holster at his waist. Seconds later they were naked and Harry had slid partially down the wall, mercilessly laving and pulling at Ron’s hard nipples.
"Fuck, Harry, you’re amazing," Ron gasped. He arched his chest into Harry’s conquesting mouth, mumbling phrases of love and profanity as the nubs were pinched and bitten. He placed his hands against the wall for purchase, glorying in the musky, slightly sour smell rising around them as their bodies reacted to one another. He pulled Harry up, mashing their lips together to taste his own scent before engaging in his own sensual barrage against Harry’s torso. Ron was so focused on nipping and sucking hard enough to bruise that the fact that he was hearing not only Harry's audible adulations but also his unspoken pleadings, took him by surprise.
"I can hear you," he said raggedly, looking up at Harry's face and glazed expression.
"Do you want…" Harry said, taking a deep breath. He looked at Ron so openly Ron felt as though Harry had seen inside of him, at the roiling need and passion and that if he stared long enough, he would see the same in Harry.
"Okay," Ron whispered, concentrating as he had before to open his mind, inviting Harry and willing him access to his thoughts.
It was a maelstrom of desire, gratitude, need and fear. Their thoughts tumbled around each other until settling into a less frantic, open exchange. Ron sank to his knees, resting his forehead against Harry's abdomen, the hard shaft at Ron's breastbone. Their intertwining perceptions were weave and weft, a roaring, silent lexicon that resonated in him as though he were a struck bell.
"Ron."
Ron knew. The word fervidly throbbed in his own body and he leaned down to lick the head of Harry's cock.
"Oh gods."
With tongue and lips, Ron made love to Harry's cock, drowning in the words of praise and ardor that rained down on him. He felt the spell Harry wandlessly cast on himself and sent his fingers to caress Harry's perineum, knowing he would find the entrance behind slick and clenching.
"Take me. Fuck me, here, nownownow."
Despite his lover's desperation, Ron took his time tormenting him, slowly pushing three fingers into the tight muscles. In and out, he thrust and retreated against the strong, hot channel. Harry made animalistic, snarling sounds as Ron flicked his tongue around the tip of Harry's cock, savouring the musky fluid when it leaked out. Ron's own passion began demanding attention, his hard cock as of yet untouched.
"Want you so much, gods you're tight, I'll fuck you into the wall, mine, all mine, want to hear you screaming when you come."
"Ron," Harry moaned, "Careful— don't want to come yet."
Ron slowly withdrew his fingers and stood at full height before looking around for their lubricant. Moments later his right palm was filled with a fragrant oil, more of Harry's impatient, wandless magic. Ron slicked his erection, keeping his gaze locked on Harry who licked his lips, dry from his wide-mouthed breathing. Making love standing up was decidedly not the most comfortable manner in the world, but Ron didn't care. Besides, it was what Harry wanted. They communicated beyond barriers; Ron knew even before Harry put his hands on Ron's shoulders that he'd cast a levitation spell, allowing him to wrap his legs around Ron's waist. Ron held his cock and groaned at the sight of it, poised at Harry's slippery, relaxed hole.
"Ready?"
"I'll die if you don't."
The pressure was exquisite around Ron's cock, the intimacy of it all the more daunting with their enmeshed emotions. Ron thrust hard into Harry, pulling back to sheathe himself again and again, angling to hit Harry's prostate each time, his hands anchored to Harry's hips. The back of Harry's head knocked against the wall, his heels jabbing into the flesh above Ron's arse as Ron pummeled him. He knew Harry's body could take it, that he wanted to be fucked roughly, to be claimed.
"Fucklovefucklovegodswanttocomefeelsogoodsothickfuckmefuckmelove"
The delicious squeezing around his cock pushed Ron rudely to his orgasm. Eyes shut, his legs shook, the uncontrolled release shattering through him, fierce and molten. Harry's hand slid roughly up and down his own shaft and he came with a wail, the fluid spurting over his fingers and up onto the trail of black hair on his abdomen. A flickered thought spun in the space between them as Harry caught his breath, one so inconceivable Ron hoped that he’d imagined it.
"You can’t leave me. Make me like you."
You guys saw that coming, didn't you?
"You're a bloody fucking shark, you are!" Seamus swore in defeat.
"I knew you'd played a lot, but even I didn't realise how good you were." Harry echoed the sentiments, leaning against the nearby fireplace lintel.
"Aren't you supposed to let the host win, at least once?" Seamus joked, tossing back a shot of Bitter Banshee before slamming it on the side of the pool table.
"I thought I was the host," Draco said imperiously, enjoying the fire's heat next to Harry.
"We're both hosts, we're just at your house."
"I'd hardly call Malfoy Manor just a house," Ron observed, taking a wide-legged stance, staring down the line of his cue stick. "And you're not bad yourself."
"I know," Seamus grinned cockily as Ron aimed and took his shot. "I was the one who bought the table. Draco could care less."
"That's not at all the truth," Draco said defensively. "I've played dozens of games with you."
"Now that's the truth," Seamus quipped, his sandy eyebrows raised.
Draco looked haughtily at him. As the tense seconds ticked by, Ron gave Harry a panicked glance. While it had taken him months to believe that the two were really a couple, Ron had been under the impression that Seamus and Malfoy were rather enamoured of each other. He wasn't at all comfortable at observing what appeared to be a spat, especially given Ron's first-hand experience with their respective volatile personalities.
"It's rather gauche for you to bring up our sex life in front of guests," Draco finally said, the ghost of a smile drifting to his lips.
Harry choked on his wine as he watched Seamus wink and make kissy-lips toward his partner. "Well, sure as shite you don't keep me around for my manners."
"Look," Ron said, making stopping motions with his hands, "I know we're all mates, but feel free to keep your private life private."
"Loosen up, Ron," Seamus said, patting him on the back. "Don't worry. I'll not be sharing any details of how absolutely fucking brilliant Draco is at—"
"Seamus. Shut up," Draco warned, though he looked secretly pleased about whatever it was that Seamus had been about to say.
"I think it's time for us to go," Harry said authoritatively. Ron looked down at the table, then back up at Seamus.
"Oh, go on, you bollocky show-off," Seamus said in mock exasperation.
Seamus poured himself another two fingers full of the beverage he'd created that had made him the Eighth Wealthiest Wizard Under 40, according to Witch's Weekly. Ron readied his cue stick and took a last shot. The balls ricocheted off one another and the bumpers until the last one dropped neatly into a corner pocket.
"That was impressive," Draco said with an appreciative nod.
"Thanks." Ron turned to shake Seamus' hand. "Thank you for the rounds. It's good to see you."
Seamus smiled widely. "Same here. I'm a night owl meself, so fire call anytime. You're only up nights now, right?"
Ron felt a rush of gratitude to his former housemate for dealing with Ron's new status so matter-of-factly. "Yeah. Haven't tested it yet, but the evidence says that sunlight will do me in."
"You're not going to test it," Harry said emphatically. He finished his wine and strode over to Ron's side, snaking his arm around Ron's waist.
"Still can't work at St. Mungo's?" Draco asked, elegantly plucking an almond from a ceramic bowl and popping it into his mouth.
"No. I've quit trying," Ron said, trying to mask the dejection he felt in admitting that.
"We're deciding what to do," Harry said, squeezing Ron's hip in reassurance.
"Can you come up with catchy slogans?" Seamus asked, swirling his shot glass and its chrysoprasic contents. "I'm always looking for a new way to sell me Banshee."
"Doubt it," Ron replied. "I'll figure something out, but thanks regardless."
"Draco. Seamus," Harry said, nodding to each in turn. "Thank you for the excellent meal and company. We'll have you over soon."
"It's our pleasure," Draco drawled, the reediness of his voice irritating Ron as it had when they were far younger.
"I don't care if you are a ruddy vampire, I'm going to thrash your arse next time we play pool," Seamus threatened, though his impish smile suggested otherwise.
"Don't bet on it," Ron smiled in challenge. "Take care of yourself."
"Will do. Oh!" Seamus bounded to the other side of the sitting room and came back with two brightly-coloured bits of folded paper. "Can't go without some origami."
"These are really complex," Harry said in awe, turning the fuchsia creature in his hands.
"Yeah," Seamus said proudly. "Hey love, 've you opened the Floo?"
Draco's ears turned a delicate shade of pink as he went to the fireplace, ensuring that Ron and Harry could use the network to get home.
"See you later," Ron said, a handful of Floo powder in his hands.
"Cheers!" Seamus called with a wave as Ron threw in the granules.
"Lion's Den!"
Harry followed shortly thereafter and they brushed the soot from their clothes. "That was fun," he said, looking to Ron for affirmation.
"Yeah. Still can't bring myself to like Malfoy very much," Ron admitted with a small grimace. "Of all blokes that Seamus could fancy—"
"They were tentmates in the War. That's where it all started, I'm pretty certain," Harry interrupted, a mischievous smile appearing on his lips. "From what Tonks told me, despite the danger, there were all sorts of activities going on between the least likely of people."
Ron shook his head. "For the love of Merlin, don't name names," he said, walking to the couch and sitting heavily, rubbing his eyes. "I'll be up for hours yet, and the last thing I want to think of is something—"
"Like Remus and Snape?"
Ron's eyes snapped open. "No, Harry. Absolutely not. Oh, I'm going to be ill. You're a mean bastard," he moaned. "Snape. With anyone. Anything."
Harry smirked as he walked behind Ron, pressing his hands on to Ron's shoulders and beginning to rub into the muscles. Ron allowed himself to ease into Harry's ministrations like a night-blooming plant luxuriating in the moon's placid rays. Just as Harry had honed in on a resolute knot on his left shoulder, there was a sharp rap on the door. Ron turned up his head as Harry looked down.
"Were you expecting anyone?" Harry asked cautiously.
"No. Suppose you weren't either."
Harry shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe we left something at the Manor," he said, walking into the entrance hall. He pulled open the door, but didn't move. "Yes?" Harry asked, his tone strangely distant.
In an instant, Ron was off the couch and behind Harry in the doorframe.
"Ronald."
"Yeah. Who in blazes are you?"
Ron knew it innately, as fluidly as his somewhat shrunken veins could carry the obvious to him. It was another vampire, not a Wizard, and not the one who had Changed him. He was as pale as Ron, his hair an unassuming brown, and wearing an expensive Burberry trench. Despite his composure, he appeared out of sorts, some mild trepidation held in check under his calm exterior.
"Martin. Martin Fawlkes."
"Martin Fawlkes?" Ron subsumed a laugh into a more appropriate cough. "You sound as British as they come."
"Was once, yes." The resonant baritone traversed the room, returning to Ron's ears with a soothing comfort. "Mind if I come in?"
Harry stiffened and Ron chastised himself for having been so self-absorbed. "Of course. This is Harry. Harry Potter," Ron fumbled on, feeling the need to explain.
"Pleasure," Harry said stonily, thrusting out his hand. "You're a vampire. Did you do this to Ron?"
Ron had to admire Harry for asking such a thing. Granted, he'd faced down Voldemort, but this was different, and they'd just invited the vampire into their house. Shards of sentences he'd read from his books bombarded Ron's mind. Never invite a vampire into your home. Invitations are deadly. The vampire thrives on hospitality.
"Ronald. Give pause — your thoughts are enough to give me a wretched headache," Martin said in disdain. "You're already a vampire, and I have no intentions of attacking you or Changing this one. I've come to invite you to meet some of your brethren. We're all, what do you call us?" He scowled for a moment, his pointed chin akimbo as he turned his head, searching for a word. "Muggles. But immortal, as you are." Head righted, he looked like the most normal, middle-aged gent Ron could imagine, except for his eyes. Martin's erstwhile pale blue eyes held behind them a steely, fearless cognizance. He could be sixty, or three hundred and sixty. The incongruity of demeanour to reality shook Ron to his marrow.
"Where are they?" he asked, pulling Harry closer to him.
"Let's discuss this by the fire," Martin suggested.
"But it's not—" Harry began.
Martin angled his hand toward the fireplace and snapped his fingers. A merrily crackling blaze appeared, its cheery light chasing away the shadows in the sitting room. Before Ron even knew what was happening, Harry had stepped two paces forward to eye Martin, his wand jabbing above the vampire's heart.
"How did you do that?" he asked, incredulous. "You're a vampire, not a Wizard. Or so you said."
Martin looked down pointedly at the wand against his ribcage and slowly raised his hands.
"I'm not. Our kind are bequeathed certain powers, regardless of our abilities prior to the Change," he countered, his gaze patient as he stood, statue-like.
"Excuse me," Ron interjected, defensive anger goading him to say something. "Let me get this straight. Martin, you've come here to tell me where to meet other vampires. Is it a coven? Because I thought we'd done our level best to break those up. Wizards consider vampires to be Dark Creatures," he said, his words slowing to a trickle.
Martin blinked owlishly. With supernatural speed, he swept his hand down his chest to remove Harry's wand. "Word had reached us that another had been made. Vampires are usually solitary by nature, but we do congregate on occasion. Do you wish to bring the mortal with you?"
Ron's eyebrows knit together as he frowned. "Harry is my bondmate. My partner. Lover," he said defiantly. He raised his gaze to bore into Martin, now leaning against the wall. He was apparently amused, given the dimpled crease in his right cheek.
"Of course. Bring him." With unexpected grace, Martin peeled away from the wall and put his hand on the doorknob. "Come to the Golden Monkey. Go through the main pub to the back. There will be a fetching woman in green. The keyword is Oliphaunt."
With a wide grin showing his crooked front teeth, Martin opened the door and went out into the night.
As the door shut, Ron looked at Harry in a panic. "What the fuck was all that?"
"I'm not sure, but I know we're going out. Together," Harry emphasised. "Look, it's not as though you were going to sleep anyway. And well," Harry shrugged, "we did used to like this sort of thing, going out socially. I think we should both wear our leather."
"Our leather," Ron said disbelievingly. "We're about to go to a vampire club and you're talking about what to wear."
"Yes." Harry gave Ron a passing kiss on the cheek, a soft peck of affection before he clomped up the stairs. "It's our life, Ron. Going to a club sounds like fun, if only you'd get your head out of your arse."
After counting to ten, Ron bounded after Harry, taking the steps two at a time.
* * * * *
A half hour later, Ron's head was spinning. He glanced over to the next table to see Harry engaged in an in-depth conversation with one of the few other non-vampires in the room. As though feeling Ron's eyes on him, Harry looked up and smiled encouragingly. Harry's companion, a man in his mid-twenties with a hair colour that rivaled Tonks' and more metal bits in his face and ears than Ron cared to count, turned and gave a small wave. Ron raised his fingers in response before returning his focus to his tumbler of scotch, and Martin.
"You needn't worry about Miles," Martin said warmly, his standoffish persona having vanished once he saw Ron and Harry make their way through the crowded room. "He's hopelessly smitten with Antoine, poor sod."
Ron tossed back his scotch, wishing it would burn his throat as it used to. "I'm not. I reckon Harry's really glad to find someone else to talk to about his situation. Our situation." He circled the glass on its rounded bottom. "Actually, he's probably grateful to be somewhere that he's not a celebrity."
Martin nodded, taking a sip of wine. "Well, now that you're here, I suspect that you must have a few questions to ask."
"That's an understatement," Ron muttered. "For starters, why aren't there any other Wizards here? How'd you read my mind, back at the flat? And start the fire? What powers do we have besides being able to climb up things and float down rather than fall? Why the hell was I turned into this? Why didn't you come to me sooner, and why are you being so nice? How old are you, anyway?"
Martin settled comfortably in his chair as Ron's barrage slowed to a stop. "I'll try to answer you in as timely and thoroughly a manner as possible. While the night is your realm, that's not the case for your mortal, and I—"
"Harry. He's not my mortal, he's my… Harry," Ron said, anger beginning to spark in his gut.
"Harry. My apologies. I haven't had a mortal companion in many decades. While of course I live and associate with humans, my preferred company has been our kind, or solitude. Please forgive what you see as insensitivity on my part."
Ron noticed a wistful tone in Martin's voice and began to feel badly for having such a quick temper. "It's okay. It's just that of all the changes that I've had to come to terms with, the fact that I'll live forever, look like this forever, and he'll live a normal, way too short life… it's enough to make me want to break stuff. Hit things. Or leave," he said, his voice strangled. "It'd be for the best. Harry could find someone else." He hated saying the words, and they came out harshly, as though not wishing to pass his throat and become audible.
"Ronald, you're stronger than you know." Why Martin's measured tones were so soothing, Ron couldn't articulate, but he was grateful when the unassuming vampire laid his equally pale hand on Ron's. "Let me talk for a while and explain what I am able. You're a fledgling, and you've had no guidance. Please reassure me that you'll refrain from doing anything rash."
"Like hunting down Muggles, scaring them to death and sampling them like they're different flavoured Bertie Botts' beans or something?" Ron said in disgust.
"Before I go on, let me remind you that you're a vampire. You must drink blood to survive. You've been in your new form for less than two months and you've yet to actually kill a victim, is that correct?"
"Yes." Put in those terms, Ron felt less self-revulsion and more of the excitement he'd had when he'd held each of the people on whom he'd fed.
"Think on that, then, and don't let unnecessary guilt cloud your conscience. You'll forgive my being blunt, but you are now, by nature, a killer. Within your world, however, it appears that you've overriden this, perhaps by some potion, but your instincts will never change. This brings me to your question about wizards." He paused, taking a deep draught of wine, his gestures fluid and compelling. Ron sat rapt as Martin appeared to coalesce his thoughts behind his deceptively mundane exterior.
"I'm one of the elders in this part of the world," Martin explained, interlacing his solid fingers around the stem of the glass. "Nearer to four hundred years old than not, and younger than many. We older ones tend to become far more territorial with age; I was made in these Isles and this is where I prefer to remain. Being here also means that I've come into contact with myriad denizens who have purported magical powers: witches, wizards, druids, selkies, banshees, priests. I've kept my distance and noted what seemed to be of importance. I've seen enough to recognise that just as we vampires are separate and yet an integral part of humankind, so are you who have powers of your own, living longer than most mortals but hiding out of their sight in your own realms. Some vampires don't believe you really exist, but I'm not so blind. Consider me a voluntary liaison, if you wish; I have no desire to walk in your world, but I do know of it, your secretive cities, schools, and wars. Your kind, however, are mostly irrelevant to us."
"Irrelevant?" Ron spluttered. "We were hunting down—"
"The ones you sought are far more nearly kin to you than us. Look around."
Ron did, grudgingly admitting to himself that the vampires the Order had disbanded at the end of the War were nothing like the worldly creatures here in this sequestered part of the pub. Intelligence, suavity and an undercurrent of eroticism emanated from the vampires. They were mostly men, though there were a few females. 'Compelling' was the only word Ron could think of to describe the small multitude; most certainly they were nothing like the desperate, savage entities they'd ferreted out and chased off when dismantling the ragged remains of Voldemort's less savoury minions.
"We have our own realms," Martin went on, "and our own magic, if you will. I've not seen many like you, a hybrid, to use a rather crass term."
Ron looked up as his empty tumbler was refilled. "Thanks," he said to the server, lifting the crystal to toast Martin before downing the contents. "If there weren't many like me, you must know who did this," he said, licking the remnants of the fiery fluid from his lips.
"Actually, I don't, though to be sure I have my suspicions." Martin softly ran his palm across the back of Ron's hand and up his forearm, the gesture shockingly intimate. Oddly enough, Ron didn't mind; it seemed fraternal, something a dear friend would know to do, not at all a lover's touch. "You'd asked about my mind reading." A smile tugged at the corner of Martin's lips. "I can hear your thoughts because they are open to me. To anyone here who is interested in knowing them, in truth."
Ron began to panic. "Does that happen all the time? Have you all been knowing what's going on in my head for weeks?" His thoughts of rage at the world, bottomless self-pity and intimate acts with Harry all rushed to his memory and he cringed. "That's bloody intrusive. Worse than Legilimency," he fumed. "Even Harry doesn't do that, not without asking."
"Ronald, calm down."
Ron heard the words directly, though Martin hadn't spoken aloud. He had sat back in his chair, however, and seemed distant in spite of the direct way he was communicating. Ron felt warm arms encircle his neck, Harry's chest possessively pressed against Ron's back.
"You're not getting ideas are you, Martin?" Harry asked politely, though his body language bristled with restrained anger.
"He's not, he's just explaining," Ron insisted, pulling out the chair next to him so Harry could sit at his side. "Harry can pry into people's minds and block people from doing it to him," he told Martin, who nodded knowingly.
"Before I say anything further, let me allay your fears. No, none of us that I know of have been listening to your thoughts. Except in rare cases, we require proximity to do so, hence my comment to you at your home. With little effort, you can choose to erect a barrier over your mind, preventing other vampires from sensing you so wholly."
"You all are Legilimens and Occlumens?" Harry asked skeptically. "Mind readers?"
"If I think I understand your terms, no," Martin said carefully. "Our skills have similar manifestations and ends, but are incongruous. I'm unsure about Ronald, inhabiting two worlds as he does."
"Are you listening to my thoughts now?" Ron asked, genuinely at a loss.
"Not intentionally, I'm not."
"I can tell when Harry does it, but he asks first," Ron said. "It's like he's poking around, but it's gentle."
"I'm doing that on purpose, for sure," Harry said candidly. "Otherwise it feels terrible."
Martin steepled his fingers. "You're not restraining them right now. Take a moment to concentrate, Ronald. Focus on the blood traveling throughout your body. See your wisdom in your mind's eye, the thoughts and memories coursing in your brain. Imagine that energy is hovering about your head, a shimmering halo that extends a few inches from your scalp."
Eyes closed, Ron did as Martin suggested, barely noticing when Harry placed his hand on Ron's thigh.
"Very good. Now visualise a shield, a permeable layer you've made that covers your thoughts but doesn't trap them."
Ron felt instantly singular. He was aware of a soft tapping around his envisioned barrier, as though tender fingers were caressing it, seeking entrance. His eyes flew open and he saw Martin beaming at him from across the table.
"Well done," he said proudly.
"I can't sense you anymore!" Harry exclaimed, panic edging his voice. "Ron, don't do that, please. It's awful."
Perplexed, Ron turned to Harry. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know!" Harry said, flustered in a way that made Ron worried. "I've just, well, since we—" He glanced over at Martin, before focusing his wild-eyed gaze back to Ron. "Since we pledged ourselves to each other, I've felt a really faint hum, but that's not it. Fuck. Stupid words. I can feel you, sense any major, no, catastrophic mood swings, things like that. Your mind's sometimes a whirlwind, Ron, and I don't dare enter without your permission. But you've never been shut off from me like you are now. Even when you were gone, and I couldn't find you, I knew you were alive because I could feel you."
His black pupils were alarming, nearly overwhelming the vivid green. Ron leaned forward, trying to reassure Harry with his physical presence. Ron's perception of the change was far more subtle, though he still felt a persistent kneading against his mind.
"You're right in front of me, but you're not there!" Harry said, his voice rising in pitch and volume. Ron could only too easily imagine pint glasses shattering left and right if something didn't happen to pacify Harry, and soon. No matter that he was in a den of vampires, Harry was an incredibly powerful wizard, and he was distraught.
"Visualise the cover over your thoughts," Ron heard clearly in Martin's calming timbre, though again he hadn't spoken out loud. "See it as mesh, as a strong but porous film. Allow it to let out the superfluous, mundane paths, the meandering courses your mind takes without you even realising you're doing so."
With pointed focus, Ron concentrated, letting most of his thoughts hover atop the barrier. The more convoluted, messy and scattered dark smatterings of his inner core he kept submerged, grateful to separate them from the rest.
A massive weight seemed to slough from Harry as he relaxed, nearly tumbling into Ron's lap. "That was a nightmare," he murmured into Ron's neck. Harry’s pulse was a caged bird flapping against his torrid skin, nearly scalding against Ron's cold flesh.
"Thank you," Ron sighed in relief, only recognising that he'd communicated telepathically after the words had flown directly to their recipient.
"You're welcome, Ronald of the in-between," Martin replied. He bestowed his unspoken approval as Harry grasped Ron's hand and pulled it to his chest. "I know you still have unanswered questions, but I think it best that you return home with your Harry," he said silently, a capricious delight dancing in his sky-blue eyes. "Since I didn’t make you, you have the ability to seek me at any time through conscious thought. I have no designs on you; you merely remind me of one I made nearly three centuries ago, and I do not wish any malice to befall you."
Ron nodded gratefully at Martin, the resoundingly British vampire who kept more secrets than Ron was willing even to guess at.
"Let's go home," Ron murmured into Harry's disheveled hair. "Okay with you?"
"Yes, please."
* * * * *
Harry had regained nearly all of his composure when they returned to the flat. He’d also channeled his temporary anxiety into physical need, unwilling not to be touching Ron in some manner as they’d made their few goodbyes at the Golden Monkey. He practically attacked Ron once they Apparated into their bedroom.
"Want you, now," he moaned along Ron’s jaw, pulling off his glasses and kissing Ron so ferociously Ron’s breath was taken away. Harry’s whole mouth was alive, his tongue sliding possessively around Ron’s, thrusting into the wet heat before pulling back to suck Ron’s lower lip into his mouth. He bit lightly, nibbling the soft lip while grinding his hips against Ron’s. Neither of them was very aroused yet, but given Harry’s determination, Ron could tell it wouldn’t be long. Harry stumbled back against the wall, pulling Ron to him. Harry’s desire for Ron was an alembic for his own passion; he focused intently on the residual taste of beer in Harry’s mouth, how the smooth texture of Harry’s tongue as it parried against Ron’s made his pulse quicken. The slow burn of anticipation flared in Ron’s groin, his cock inevitably beginning to harden in its leather-clad confines.
Ron rocked into Harry, grasping the back of his head to better control his assault on Harry’s mouth. Harry twisted his head to break the kiss, panting for breath. "No clothes," he growled, pulling his wand from its slender holster at his waist. Seconds later they were naked and Harry had slid partially down the wall, mercilessly laving and pulling at Ron’s hard nipples.
"Fuck, Harry, you’re amazing," Ron gasped. He arched his chest into Harry’s conquesting mouth, mumbling phrases of love and profanity as the nubs were pinched and bitten. He placed his hands against the wall for purchase, glorying in the musky, slightly sour smell rising around them as their bodies reacted to one another. He pulled Harry up, mashing their lips together to taste his own scent before engaging in his own sensual barrage against Harry’s torso. Ron was so focused on nipping and sucking hard enough to bruise that the fact that he was hearing not only Harry's audible adulations but also his unspoken pleadings, took him by surprise.
"I can hear you," he said raggedly, looking up at Harry's face and glazed expression.
"Do you want…" Harry said, taking a deep breath. He looked at Ron so openly Ron felt as though Harry had seen inside of him, at the roiling need and passion and that if he stared long enough, he would see the same in Harry.
"Okay," Ron whispered, concentrating as he had before to open his mind, inviting Harry and willing him access to his thoughts.
It was a maelstrom of desire, gratitude, need and fear. Their thoughts tumbled around each other until settling into a less frantic, open exchange. Ron sank to his knees, resting his forehead against Harry's abdomen, the hard shaft at Ron's breastbone. Their intertwining perceptions were weave and weft, a roaring, silent lexicon that resonated in him as though he were a struck bell.
"Ron."
Ron knew. The word fervidly throbbed in his own body and he leaned down to lick the head of Harry's cock.
"Oh gods."
With tongue and lips, Ron made love to Harry's cock, drowning in the words of praise and ardor that rained down on him. He felt the spell Harry wandlessly cast on himself and sent his fingers to caress Harry's perineum, knowing he would find the entrance behind slick and clenching.
"Take me. Fuck me, here, nownownow."
Despite his lover's desperation, Ron took his time tormenting him, slowly pushing three fingers into the tight muscles. In and out, he thrust and retreated against the strong, hot channel. Harry made animalistic, snarling sounds as Ron flicked his tongue around the tip of Harry's cock, savouring the musky fluid when it leaked out. Ron's own passion began demanding attention, his hard cock as of yet untouched.
"Want you so much, gods you're tight, I'll fuck you into the wall, mine, all mine, want to hear you screaming when you come."
"Ron," Harry moaned, "Careful— don't want to come yet."
Ron slowly withdrew his fingers and stood at full height before looking around for their lubricant. Moments later his right palm was filled with a fragrant oil, more of Harry's impatient, wandless magic. Ron slicked his erection, keeping his gaze locked on Harry who licked his lips, dry from his wide-mouthed breathing. Making love standing up was decidedly not the most comfortable manner in the world, but Ron didn't care. Besides, it was what Harry wanted. They communicated beyond barriers; Ron knew even before Harry put his hands on Ron's shoulders that he'd cast a levitation spell, allowing him to wrap his legs around Ron's waist. Ron held his cock and groaned at the sight of it, poised at Harry's slippery, relaxed hole.
"Ready?"
"I'll die if you don't."
The pressure was exquisite around Ron's cock, the intimacy of it all the more daunting with their enmeshed emotions. Ron thrust hard into Harry, pulling back to sheathe himself again and again, angling to hit Harry's prostate each time, his hands anchored to Harry's hips. The back of Harry's head knocked against the wall, his heels jabbing into the flesh above Ron's arse as Ron pummeled him. He knew Harry's body could take it, that he wanted to be fucked roughly, to be claimed.
"Fucklovefucklovegodswanttocomefeelsogoodsothickfuckmefuckmelove"
The delicious squeezing around his cock pushed Ron rudely to his orgasm. Eyes shut, his legs shook, the uncontrolled release shattering through him, fierce and molten. Harry's hand slid roughly up and down his own shaft and he came with a wail, the fluid spurting over his fingers and up onto the trail of black hair on his abdomen. A flickered thought spun in the space between them as Harry caught his breath, one so inconceivable Ron hoped that he’d imagined it.
"You can’t leave me. Make me like you."
You guys saw that coming, didn't you?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-12 09:16 pm (UTC)Head righted, he looked like the most normal, middle-aged gent Ron could imagine, except for his eyes. Martin's erstwhile pale blue eyes held behind them a steely, fearless cognizance. He could be sixty, or three hundred and sixty. The incongruity of demeanour to reality shook Ron to his marrow.
^ That is perfectly hot. Oooooh, I want a Martin.
This chapter is gorgeous. Remind me again why you aren't writing erotic neo-goth fantasy novels?
♥
(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-13 03:31 pm (UTC)Thankee! That's all in reference to "These Hot Days," that one Seamus/Draco.
That is perfectly hot. Oooooh, I want a Martin.
You know, I do, too. He came to me one way when he first showed up, and now I have a different vision of him, far more mentor-like. But I wouldn't mind having him around. ;)
This chapter is gorgeous. Remind me again why you aren't writing erotic neo-goth fantasy novels?
Thank you again. :blush: Um, because I'd never thought about it until now??
((hugs you tight))