Fling Wide- the missing smut scene
Apr. 21st, 2006 03:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thrihyrneI posted the last chapter a bit hasily. This scene continues directly from here and has- sex. Surprise!
Ron found Seamus alone, playing pool. He’d been muttering to himself, going on with colourful obscenities about how horrible of a person and friend he was to get Ron very nearly killed. It took Ron a full half hour to calm Seamus down and convince him that it hadn’t been Seamus’ doing. Ron had acted like a world-class wanker, and he was much better now but needed to go talk to Harry.
"He Floo’ed to your place a while back," Seamus said helpfully. "Looked pretty awful, but I suppose that’s to be expected." As though just realising that Ron had been talking and reassuring him for thirty minutes, Seamus gave him a stunned once-over. "You’ve recovered right quick, haven’t you?"
Ron was terribly antsy by this point, anxious to get home. "Yeah. Martin had me drink from him. His blood’s old and really powerful. Look, we’ll chat about it later. Thank Malfoy for me, okay? I’d’ve been a goner without all three of you."
Seamus nodded, giving Ron a strong hug before stepping back and pointing at his own neck. "Any time, mate, right? Whenever you need it. If it’s okay with Harry."
"I don’t think anything’s okay with Harry," Ron said, his thoughts and emotions a jumbled, snarled tangle. "I’ve got to go. Martin made himself scarce a while back. I think you and Malfoy will probably get some kind of gift from him for your keeping him safe during the day. Is your Floo still open?" he asked, jerking his head toward the fireplace.
"Yep. Take care of yourself, right?"
"Right. Bye, Seamus."
Moments later Ron stepped out of his own fireplace, pleasantly surprised that a few lights were on and the flat was reasonably warm. The truth was, he’d figured that Harry would be in some kind of bleak funk, sitting in the dark and brooding. Ron wasn’t scared per se, but he was worried, and he felt an inexplicable shame burrowing into his marrow. It wasn’t his fault he was like this, nor Harry’s. Seemingly their ability to cope with Ron’s relatively new reality had switched, however; now it was Ron who had reconciled himself more and more to being a vampire, helped in no small part by Martin’s appearance and responsive empathy. Harry, who had been so stalwart and almost plucky about Ron’s Changing when it had first happened, had now become inconsolable and a vexing combination of standoffish and desperately needy. Something had to happen, but it made Ron’s skin flash with heat and feel as though moths were in his stomach, clamoring to get out.
He was nervous.
While going upstairs, he opened his mind. He felt Harry’s presence, but it was tentative, as though awaiting an invitation. As best he could, Ron made his thoughts visible so Harry would know he was welcome to them. Ron knocked on their closed bedroom door.
After a pause, Harry said, "Come in."
Taking a deep breath, Ron opened the door. Their room had been transfigured and now looked just like the Gryffindor common room, though a bit smaller. Harry sat against the couch in front of the fireplace, wearing a t-shirt and boxers, looking all the world like the Hogwarts student he had been years ago. Only the few grey strands in his hair and crystalline silver specks in his beard stubble told the true tale.
Ron divested himself of his jacket and shoes and sank down next to Harry. "Hey there." He glanced around, noticing the details, aware of how cozy and comforting it all was. He could well imagine why Harry had recreated this haven from their past. "This is nice."
Harry turned to look at him, his expression morose. "I apologise. I acted like a total fuckwit."
With a snort, Ron put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. "No, I think that I did. Add in brainless and royally bollixed, and you’ve got me covered."
"Not true." Harry slumped down a bit to be able to rest his head on Ron's shoulder. He slowly ran his hand down Ron's thigh to rest on his knee. "I've been thinking. If this had happened to me, after the initial shock of it, I probably would've done all kinds of reckless, crazy things and been arrested within a week."
"Except that hopefully I would've been able to have talked some sense into you, avoiding an embarrassing story in the Prophet— 'Harry Potter: Locked Away for His Own Good.'"
There was a small, huffed laugh. "Something like that. I guess I thought I'd cope with you being a vampire with no problem, or at least no major problems. Given that rush of anger magic from before, and this out of control jealousy, I think I'm wrong."
Ron gave Harry a squeeze. "Well, for what it's worth, even Martin said he feels sorry for us. Vampires are mostly loners, but deep down they crave companionship. He says the problem is that even if they Make another vampire, even with their consent and everything, out of love, or passion, or if the mortal is dying, there's no guarantee what the person will be like once they're a vampire. An outgoing, cheerful person might become a cynical vampire and have forever, literally, to be miserable. And vice versa, though that doesn't seem to happen very often. It's all pretty depressing."
He ran his cheek against Harry's soft hair, slowly moving his face against Harry's skull, absorbing his myriad scents. Harry's fingers caressed back and forth along the inside of Ron's lower thigh, like lapping waves on a beach of denim.
"It's not that I feel sorry for myself," Harry said thoughtfully, "or thought that I'd never lose anyone else. I'm an adult; I'm not going to suddenly become a blubbering mess. I've been to my share of funerals, and for all that Dumbledore said about death being an adventure, it's not one I'd care to know about any time soon. But this—" With his right hand, he pulled Ron's hand to his lips to kiss the bronzed, seared skin. "This is worse. I can bear it; I can, and will. But it's really fucking hard."
Ron turned to press his lips to Harry's scalp. "I know," he said into the fragrant mop of black.
For a long while they sat in silence, watching the flames in the fireplace, lost in their interwoven thoughts. Eventually the swirling question and response of silently spoken fears and reassurances slowed to a murmur.
"Is this couch as comfortable as the one in our real common room was?" Ron asked, gently strumming his fingers against the curve of Harry's elbow.
"Hope so."
They crawled up on the couch, Ron lying on his back with Harry stretched out on top of him. Ron splayed his legs, propping his ankles on the arm of the couch. Harry shifted to get comfortable, resting his head in the crook of Ron's neck and clasping their hands together. Ron breathed deeply, drinking in the musky aromas that hovered around Harry. He was truly surprised to feel a flush in his groin, that initial heat that inevitably led to stirrings of independent action by his penis. There was no hurry, however. Ron's desire for Harry slowly throbbed in his arousal. As far as Ron was concerned, it could do so for ages, as long as he could breathe in Harry's warmth and complex mysteries, all summed up in one pure, distilled word: mate.
Harry began to undulate above him, deliberately sensual as he slid as much of his skin against Ron's as possible. Ron was at a distinct disadvantage, wearing jeans and a near vintage long-sleeved Cannons t-shirt. At the first feeling of Harry's erection on his, Ron let out a scudding sigh, its unevenness reflecting his body's jerky enthusiasm. Harry's lips suckled on his neck before traversing his jaw, to Ron's waiting mouth.
"Yes."
Ron's mind was still exposed, any barriers unfurled. Harry's tongue danced around Ron's lips before Ron sucked it in, stretching out his own tongue to stroke alongside the savoury muscle. Each thrust and parry intensified the stiffness of Ron's erection, chafing against his pants. He clutched Harry's fingers, devouring Harry's demanding, possessive kisses.
"Wantneedwant you so much."
Harry sat up and back, allowing Ron room to pull of his shirt as Harry did the same. There was no humour in Harry's eyes as he unbuttoned Ron's flies and pulled down the denim, but there was promise — verdant, grasping and willful. Ron's eyes rolled back as his lids closed, arse clenched and hips raised upward as Harry swallowed his cock. Harry was a demon, all wicked tongue and lips sucking and teasing, teething Ron's pulsing, sensitive skin until Ron gasped, his hands latched on to the couch arm behind his head.
There was a cold smear of emptiness around his erection. Ron's eyes flew open, looking down his body at his ivory cock, bobbing in exposed air. Harry had padded over to a small chest of drawers Ron knew had never existed in their Hogwarts common room when they were in school. He rummaged around before selecting a small pot and shutting the drawer. He tossed a cushion against the wall of the fireplace before sitting down and resting against it, legs unabashedly wide and his feet planted on the floor. Ron was utterly captivated. Still holding on to the couch, he watched as Harry unscrewed the lid to the unguent and scooped a healthy dollop with his middle three fingers.
Harry played with himself, running his fingers around his entrance. Ron's moan was raw and ragged as he focused on Harry's self-ministrations. Their minds were still open to each other, so Ron knew full well that Harry was toying with Ron, both putting on a show as well as satisfying himself while Ron watched. Harry ensnared Ron's gaze as he eased all three fingers in at once, pushing them in and pulling out partway several times. Ron let his right hand go down to grasp at his cock, fisting himself in time to Harry's slow self-fucking. His fangs nipped his lower lip as he saw Harry crook his fingers inside his tight channel, nudging his prostate as he let his left leg drop to the floor. In and out Harry massaged his muscles, stretching himself out as Ron pushed his leaking cock into his own palm.
"Come here."
Harry pushed his fingers as far as they could reach, closing his eyes as he wriggled them around.
"Gods, come here NOW. I want to be inside you, so deep."
"You will." Harry's eyes flashed open, the desire radiating off of him so that his neck and chest grew pink. After removing his fingers, he walked over to Ron and put a hand at the base of Ron's erection, tugging on it with purpose. "Floor. No room for my legs on the couch."
Ron complied quickly, noticing as he did that magically there was now a plush, maroon carpet on which to lie. Harry hovered over his lap, the knowledge of over a decade of lovemaking infused in every motion as he leaned over, placing his hands on the floor near the hollows of Ron's arms. With love and lust he stared into Ron's eyes, daring him to look away. Ron didn't. Harry made sure the head of Ron's cock was poised at his slicked entrance, loosened enough so there would be no pain. He lowered himself inch by sweetly tortuous inch until he sat, his softly furred sacs resting on Ron's pelvis, his legs folded alongside Ron's thighs. With a contented smile, Harry tensed his inner muscles. Ron groaned at the tight heat constricting around his shaft. Harry raised himself up before pushing down again, sheathing Ron in his welcoming body.
"So good, so fucking good, Harry, so tight, love you, oh fuck." Ron thrust his overwhelming thoughts into Harry even as he strained physically to do the same. His hands on Harry's backside, he let Harry take his own pace. Harry rode Ron vigorously, his narrow arse crashing against Ron's groin again and again as he took Ron's erection to the hilt. He paused, panting, to drape over Ron, kissing him deeply. "I want to be on your lap, and for you to fuck me from behind," he said in a husky voice before sucking on Ron's tongue. "And I want you to drink from me when you come. Please, Ron."
"Love you more than anything, Harry, anything," Ron said silently as he kissed Harry with renewed passion.
Harry eased away from Ron so they could get resituated on the couch. This was a position they'd not come up with on their own; from time to time one or the other would buy a titillating magazine to add some spice to their intimacies. Harry had been struck by the blokes going at it in this manner, and it well suited their differences in height.
"Not long, you're so hot and wet," Ron warned as he pushed his hard cock back into Harry.
"Fuck me, Ron, wank me, want your hands all over me, want you to take me, need me, need me, need me." The last two words became grunts of supplication as Harry egged Ron on. Ron pounded into him, throwing his hand in front of Harry's mouth for him to lick the palm before Ron grasped Harry's turgid cock. He wasn't gentle— none of this was, but neither was it brutal, or desperate. They were focused, their minds locked as their impending orgasms flew at them, unable to be staved off given the intensity of their coupling.
"I’m gonna come, Ron, fuck!" Harry yelled.
His right hand milking Harry's shuddering release, Ron pulled Harry into him, his left arm crossing Harry's chest as he sank his fangs into the salty flesh.
"Delicious love mine oh Harry, oh Harry, comingcoming." Ron was a geyser, his orgasm erupting into Harry's body even as he drew in Harry's blood. The rusty wine taste of it filled his mouth and flowed down his throat. Overcome by the emotions that had been charging through his heart, Ron felt tears prickling his eyes, but they didn’t fall. Harry grew very still, curled against Ron's chest like a piece of damp parchment. When Ron felt he’d quaffed all he should, he eased away from Harry’s neck, making sure the puncture wounds were closed. In front of him, Harry took deep breaths, sated and probably tired, his softening penis still cradled in Ron’s hand.
Ron rested his chin over Harry’s shoulder, pulling them as close together as possible. Harry was so warm; droplets of sweat slid down his back over his phoenix tattoo to diffuse into Ron’s fiery chest hair. "I love you so much, Harry," Ron murmured above Harry’s collarbone.
Harry stretched backward, reaching behind him to grab at Ron’s back, his palms splayed against Ron’s shoulder blades. "I love you too, Ron," he said wistfully. "We’re meant to be together. You’ve always been there, always been my best mate."
Ron’s spent cock picked that least opportune moment to begin its inexorable exit from Harry’s arse. He held Harry as they adjusted their positions, not minding at all the warm rush of fluid that seeped into his lap. Sex held a sacred scent unto itself, and Ron marveled at it with a temporarily untroubled spirit.
"I always will be."
Ron found Seamus alone, playing pool. He’d been muttering to himself, going on with colourful obscenities about how horrible of a person and friend he was to get Ron very nearly killed. It took Ron a full half hour to calm Seamus down and convince him that it hadn’t been Seamus’ doing. Ron had acted like a world-class wanker, and he was much better now but needed to go talk to Harry.
"He Floo’ed to your place a while back," Seamus said helpfully. "Looked pretty awful, but I suppose that’s to be expected." As though just realising that Ron had been talking and reassuring him for thirty minutes, Seamus gave him a stunned once-over. "You’ve recovered right quick, haven’t you?"
Ron was terribly antsy by this point, anxious to get home. "Yeah. Martin had me drink from him. His blood’s old and really powerful. Look, we’ll chat about it later. Thank Malfoy for me, okay? I’d’ve been a goner without all three of you."
Seamus nodded, giving Ron a strong hug before stepping back and pointing at his own neck. "Any time, mate, right? Whenever you need it. If it’s okay with Harry."
"I don’t think anything’s okay with Harry," Ron said, his thoughts and emotions a jumbled, snarled tangle. "I’ve got to go. Martin made himself scarce a while back. I think you and Malfoy will probably get some kind of gift from him for your keeping him safe during the day. Is your Floo still open?" he asked, jerking his head toward the fireplace.
"Yep. Take care of yourself, right?"
"Right. Bye, Seamus."
Moments later Ron stepped out of his own fireplace, pleasantly surprised that a few lights were on and the flat was reasonably warm. The truth was, he’d figured that Harry would be in some kind of bleak funk, sitting in the dark and brooding. Ron wasn’t scared per se, but he was worried, and he felt an inexplicable shame burrowing into his marrow. It wasn’t his fault he was like this, nor Harry’s. Seemingly their ability to cope with Ron’s relatively new reality had switched, however; now it was Ron who had reconciled himself more and more to being a vampire, helped in no small part by Martin’s appearance and responsive empathy. Harry, who had been so stalwart and almost plucky about Ron’s Changing when it had first happened, had now become inconsolable and a vexing combination of standoffish and desperately needy. Something had to happen, but it made Ron’s skin flash with heat and feel as though moths were in his stomach, clamoring to get out.
He was nervous.
While going upstairs, he opened his mind. He felt Harry’s presence, but it was tentative, as though awaiting an invitation. As best he could, Ron made his thoughts visible so Harry would know he was welcome to them. Ron knocked on their closed bedroom door.
After a pause, Harry said, "Come in."
Taking a deep breath, Ron opened the door. Their room had been transfigured and now looked just like the Gryffindor common room, though a bit smaller. Harry sat against the couch in front of the fireplace, wearing a t-shirt and boxers, looking all the world like the Hogwarts student he had been years ago. Only the few grey strands in his hair and crystalline silver specks in his beard stubble told the true tale.
Ron divested himself of his jacket and shoes and sank down next to Harry. "Hey there." He glanced around, noticing the details, aware of how cozy and comforting it all was. He could well imagine why Harry had recreated this haven from their past. "This is nice."
Harry turned to look at him, his expression morose. "I apologise. I acted like a total fuckwit."
With a snort, Ron put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. "No, I think that I did. Add in brainless and royally bollixed, and you’ve got me covered."
"Not true." Harry slumped down a bit to be able to rest his head on Ron's shoulder. He slowly ran his hand down Ron's thigh to rest on his knee. "I've been thinking. If this had happened to me, after the initial shock of it, I probably would've done all kinds of reckless, crazy things and been arrested within a week."
"Except that hopefully I would've been able to have talked some sense into you, avoiding an embarrassing story in the Prophet— 'Harry Potter: Locked Away for His Own Good.'"
There was a small, huffed laugh. "Something like that. I guess I thought I'd cope with you being a vampire with no problem, or at least no major problems. Given that rush of anger magic from before, and this out of control jealousy, I think I'm wrong."
Ron gave Harry a squeeze. "Well, for what it's worth, even Martin said he feels sorry for us. Vampires are mostly loners, but deep down they crave companionship. He says the problem is that even if they Make another vampire, even with their consent and everything, out of love, or passion, or if the mortal is dying, there's no guarantee what the person will be like once they're a vampire. An outgoing, cheerful person might become a cynical vampire and have forever, literally, to be miserable. And vice versa, though that doesn't seem to happen very often. It's all pretty depressing."
He ran his cheek against Harry's soft hair, slowly moving his face against Harry's skull, absorbing his myriad scents. Harry's fingers caressed back and forth along the inside of Ron's lower thigh, like lapping waves on a beach of denim.
"It's not that I feel sorry for myself," Harry said thoughtfully, "or thought that I'd never lose anyone else. I'm an adult; I'm not going to suddenly become a blubbering mess. I've been to my share of funerals, and for all that Dumbledore said about death being an adventure, it's not one I'd care to know about any time soon. But this—" With his right hand, he pulled Ron's hand to his lips to kiss the bronzed, seared skin. "This is worse. I can bear it; I can, and will. But it's really fucking hard."
Ron turned to press his lips to Harry's scalp. "I know," he said into the fragrant mop of black.
For a long while they sat in silence, watching the flames in the fireplace, lost in their interwoven thoughts. Eventually the swirling question and response of silently spoken fears and reassurances slowed to a murmur.
"Is this couch as comfortable as the one in our real common room was?" Ron asked, gently strumming his fingers against the curve of Harry's elbow.
"Hope so."
They crawled up on the couch, Ron lying on his back with Harry stretched out on top of him. Ron splayed his legs, propping his ankles on the arm of the couch. Harry shifted to get comfortable, resting his head in the crook of Ron's neck and clasping their hands together. Ron breathed deeply, drinking in the musky aromas that hovered around Harry. He was truly surprised to feel a flush in his groin, that initial heat that inevitably led to stirrings of independent action by his penis. There was no hurry, however. Ron's desire for Harry slowly throbbed in his arousal. As far as Ron was concerned, it could do so for ages, as long as he could breathe in Harry's warmth and complex mysteries, all summed up in one pure, distilled word: mate.
Harry began to undulate above him, deliberately sensual as he slid as much of his skin against Ron's as possible. Ron was at a distinct disadvantage, wearing jeans and a near vintage long-sleeved Cannons t-shirt. At the first feeling of Harry's erection on his, Ron let out a scudding sigh, its unevenness reflecting his body's jerky enthusiasm. Harry's lips suckled on his neck before traversing his jaw, to Ron's waiting mouth.
"Yes."
Ron's mind was still exposed, any barriers unfurled. Harry's tongue danced around Ron's lips before Ron sucked it in, stretching out his own tongue to stroke alongside the savoury muscle. Each thrust and parry intensified the stiffness of Ron's erection, chafing against his pants. He clutched Harry's fingers, devouring Harry's demanding, possessive kisses.
"Wantneedwant you so much."
Harry sat up and back, allowing Ron room to pull of his shirt as Harry did the same. There was no humour in Harry's eyes as he unbuttoned Ron's flies and pulled down the denim, but there was promise — verdant, grasping and willful. Ron's eyes rolled back as his lids closed, arse clenched and hips raised upward as Harry swallowed his cock. Harry was a demon, all wicked tongue and lips sucking and teasing, teething Ron's pulsing, sensitive skin until Ron gasped, his hands latched on to the couch arm behind his head.
There was a cold smear of emptiness around his erection. Ron's eyes flew open, looking down his body at his ivory cock, bobbing in exposed air. Harry had padded over to a small chest of drawers Ron knew had never existed in their Hogwarts common room when they were in school. He rummaged around before selecting a small pot and shutting the drawer. He tossed a cushion against the wall of the fireplace before sitting down and resting against it, legs unabashedly wide and his feet planted on the floor. Ron was utterly captivated. Still holding on to the couch, he watched as Harry unscrewed the lid to the unguent and scooped a healthy dollop with his middle three fingers.
Harry played with himself, running his fingers around his entrance. Ron's moan was raw and ragged as he focused on Harry's self-ministrations. Their minds were still open to each other, so Ron knew full well that Harry was toying with Ron, both putting on a show as well as satisfying himself while Ron watched. Harry ensnared Ron's gaze as he eased all three fingers in at once, pushing them in and pulling out partway several times. Ron let his right hand go down to grasp at his cock, fisting himself in time to Harry's slow self-fucking. His fangs nipped his lower lip as he saw Harry crook his fingers inside his tight channel, nudging his prostate as he let his left leg drop to the floor. In and out Harry massaged his muscles, stretching himself out as Ron pushed his leaking cock into his own palm.
"Come here."
Harry pushed his fingers as far as they could reach, closing his eyes as he wriggled them around.
"Gods, come here NOW. I want to be inside you, so deep."
"You will." Harry's eyes flashed open, the desire radiating off of him so that his neck and chest grew pink. After removing his fingers, he walked over to Ron and put a hand at the base of Ron's erection, tugging on it with purpose. "Floor. No room for my legs on the couch."
Ron complied quickly, noticing as he did that magically there was now a plush, maroon carpet on which to lie. Harry hovered over his lap, the knowledge of over a decade of lovemaking infused in every motion as he leaned over, placing his hands on the floor near the hollows of Ron's arms. With love and lust he stared into Ron's eyes, daring him to look away. Ron didn't. Harry made sure the head of Ron's cock was poised at his slicked entrance, loosened enough so there would be no pain. He lowered himself inch by sweetly tortuous inch until he sat, his softly furred sacs resting on Ron's pelvis, his legs folded alongside Ron's thighs. With a contented smile, Harry tensed his inner muscles. Ron groaned at the tight heat constricting around his shaft. Harry raised himself up before pushing down again, sheathing Ron in his welcoming body.
"So good, so fucking good, Harry, so tight, love you, oh fuck." Ron thrust his overwhelming thoughts into Harry even as he strained physically to do the same. His hands on Harry's backside, he let Harry take his own pace. Harry rode Ron vigorously, his narrow arse crashing against Ron's groin again and again as he took Ron's erection to the hilt. He paused, panting, to drape over Ron, kissing him deeply. "I want to be on your lap, and for you to fuck me from behind," he said in a husky voice before sucking on Ron's tongue. "And I want you to drink from me when you come. Please, Ron."
"Love you more than anything, Harry, anything," Ron said silently as he kissed Harry with renewed passion.
Harry eased away from Ron so they could get resituated on the couch. This was a position they'd not come up with on their own; from time to time one or the other would buy a titillating magazine to add some spice to their intimacies. Harry had been struck by the blokes going at it in this manner, and it well suited their differences in height.
"Not long, you're so hot and wet," Ron warned as he pushed his hard cock back into Harry.
"Fuck me, Ron, wank me, want your hands all over me, want you to take me, need me, need me, need me." The last two words became grunts of supplication as Harry egged Ron on. Ron pounded into him, throwing his hand in front of Harry's mouth for him to lick the palm before Ron grasped Harry's turgid cock. He wasn't gentle— none of this was, but neither was it brutal, or desperate. They were focused, their minds locked as their impending orgasms flew at them, unable to be staved off given the intensity of their coupling.
"I’m gonna come, Ron, fuck!" Harry yelled.
His right hand milking Harry's shuddering release, Ron pulled Harry into him, his left arm crossing Harry's chest as he sank his fangs into the salty flesh.
"Delicious love mine oh Harry, oh Harry, comingcoming." Ron was a geyser, his orgasm erupting into Harry's body even as he drew in Harry's blood. The rusty wine taste of it filled his mouth and flowed down his throat. Overcome by the emotions that had been charging through his heart, Ron felt tears prickling his eyes, but they didn’t fall. Harry grew very still, curled against Ron's chest like a piece of damp parchment. When Ron felt he’d quaffed all he should, he eased away from Harry’s neck, making sure the puncture wounds were closed. In front of him, Harry took deep breaths, sated and probably tired, his softening penis still cradled in Ron’s hand.
Ron rested his chin over Harry’s shoulder, pulling them as close together as possible. Harry was so warm; droplets of sweat slid down his back over his phoenix tattoo to diffuse into Ron’s fiery chest hair. "I love you so much, Harry," Ron murmured above Harry’s collarbone.
Harry stretched backward, reaching behind him to grab at Ron’s back, his palms splayed against Ron’s shoulder blades. "I love you too, Ron," he said wistfully. "We’re meant to be together. You’ve always been there, always been my best mate."
Ron’s spent cock picked that least opportune moment to begin its inexorable exit from Harry’s arse. He held Harry as they adjusted their positions, not minding at all the warm rush of fluid that seeped into his lap. Sex held a sacred scent unto itself, and Ron marveled at it with a temporarily untroubled spirit.
"I always will be."
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