New Beginnings, chapter 2
As the residents of The Burrow shifted and changed, so too did their room assignments. Hermione had Fred and George's old room, Ginny had kept hers (although she'd redecorated extensively) and Ron had been moved into the room that Bill and Charlie had once shared, on the grounds that he'd had it with sleeping next to the ghoul. Harry, having holiday experience with the ghoul, had decided to share with Ron. It was, like many wizard's rooms, rather larger than one would expect, and besides a good big bed for each of them (Ron was a sprawler, and Harry a restless sleeper), the expected armoires and dressers for clothing, and a desk for each, there was a small sofa that looked like something that had been hijacked from the living room. It made a good place to flop down and listen to the radio, and that was just what Harry was doing when Ron came in.
"Who's playing?" said Ron, jerking his chin at the radio.
"Appleby and Caerphilly," said Harry, in a vague tone. "Arrows're winning, big surprise."
"Well, if you can't keep your cobbing and blatching out of sight of the referee, you're going to keep giving away penalty shots," Ron said. "When Caerphilly figures that out, they might have a chance." He decided he did want a new shirt, and stripped his off, turning to look at the radio as the commentator's voice rose in excitement, and meeting Harry's eyes.
The commentator was raving about a game-winning play, but neither Harry nor Ron were paying attention for a long moment. Hazel eyes had caught green, and they were looking at each other...differently. As if Harry had never seen Ron as an adult, all broad-shouldered, tan chested, and tall, and as if Ron had never seen a new and painfully nakedly obvious truth in the eyes of his best friend, a truth that fascinated him like a new charm to investigate. And then the ghoul in the attic thumped a pipe, and they both jumped, Ron turning hastily to the drawer for a new shirt, and Harry standing up and saying something about seeing a man about a dog, and hurrying out of the room.
Ron pulled on his new shirt and sat down on the couch, absently listening to the aftermatch commentary, and his inner voice.
That enough proof for you? Sylvia doesn't look at you with that much lust in her eyes when she sees you shirtless. And he had a hardon when he dashed out of here, or you don't know that walk or your best friend.
Okay, all right. Don't keep harping on it. It'll have to wait.
You might offer him a drink later tonight.
True. Go out?
He hates going out. The Famous Harry Potter problem.
Right. I suppose apparating down to the pub about now for supplies wouldn't be a bad idea.
Smart boy, his inner voice said with approval.
When Harry came back, Ron was gone. That was just as well. Harry dropped onto the couch and scrubbed his face with his hands. They had moved onto the postgame analysis show, and a failed Wronski Feint was being mercilessly picked apart. It was no less that what Harry was putting himself through.
Shit, shit, shit! You would think by now I'd learned some self-discipline! Watch Ron change in the bathroom from now on, stupid git, and avoid you.
Unwillingly, he was forced to a consideration of what he'd seen....seen before, yes, but not like this, not with that....intent? When had his best mate stopped being just his best mate, when had he started noticing how his muscles rippled when he moved, the way the golden tan from the summer had accented his copper hair and his greeny-brown eyes, the truly wonderfully beautiful line his back made up from where his shorts rode low on his hips...
You've always been susceptible to beauty, you know that, an inner voice said. And, let's be honest...you've known for a while you haven't cared what package the personality came in, male or female.
But it's RON! My God, he saw me looking at him like he was a snitch! How the hell am I going to face him!
In case you didn't notice, he was looking too.
The hell he was!
His inner voice bore on remorselessly. That wasn't revulsion. That was pure sheer fascination and curiosity. You better decide what you're going to do, Harold James Potter, because you're going to have to do SOMETHING.
He decided that a shower would be a good plan, either way, and took one.
When he stepped back into the room, feeling much more in control of himself, Ron had clearly been back. The radio was off, and there was a conversation drifting up from downstairs in which Ron's voice and his father's were united in complaint about the Ministry.
He smiled. Maybe they could just play it as though it never happened. He walked downstairs, ignoring the closed door of Hermione's room without even thinking about it. "Telling all my stories, Ron?" he said with a smile as he sat down on the couch next to where Molly was knitting.
"No way. The mutant slug bomb is YOURS."
Molly stopped knitting. "Do I want to know?"
"Oh, I heard rumors of this one Upstairs," Arthur said. He had an air of conspiratorial mischief in his face that proved exactly where Fred and George had gotten theirs. "I'm ALL ears."
And in the process of telling the story, Harry managed entirely to forget what had happened upstairs earlier.
Ron, for all that he was enjoying the laughing with his parents and Harry (the sight of his father choking with laughter at the verbal picture of the draconian secretary for the Head Auror being run over and slimed by a mutant slug was one he treasured) hadn't forgotten. He'd paid good money for both a case of butterbeers, and a bottle of Old Ogdens, and intended, one way or the other, to get Harry feeling better. Even if only for a while. What the hell, he knew hangover charms, too.
At length, as he'd known would happen, his father sighed, and rose. "I'm for bed, boys," he said. "Keep the radio down if you're staying up, but don't feel you're being chased off to bed. "
"Actually," said Molly, "I'm in the mood for a bath myself. Do remember you have to work tomorrow, Ron."
"I'm not thirteen, Mum, I'm able to remember little details like that," Ron said with a groan, but he rose and gave his mother a hug as she left the room.
"Well," said Ron, as his parents' footsteps receded up the stage. "I went shopping myself, earlier, and got something I think you'll like."
"Oh?" said Harry, politely.
Ron grinned conspiratorially. "Think you feel like helping me with a case of butterbeers?"
"Oh, butterbeer, that's different. I haven't had one for ages," said Harry, rising with alacrity from the couch.
"You don't go down to the pub?"Ron asked, though he knew the answer.
"It's bloody hard to drink a pint in peace when people want you to tell them how you did this or that," Harry said. "I don't like butterbeer that much, so I just said sod it and stay away. The grocery was bad enough." He flicked his wand at the lights to turn them out behind him, and followed Ron up to their room.
Ron managed to distract Harry long enough to cast a silencing spell on the room, so that no sounds would come out, and so that the door couldn't be opened from the outside. That done, he grabbed two bottles out of the desk drawer he'd charmed to be both deep and cold, and handed one to Harry.
"Cheers," said Harry, popping the cap and swallowing half the bottle in one smooth motion. He closed his eyes in bliss. "Damn, but I've missed really good cold butterbeer. It's the same kind Rosmerta had at the Three Broomsticks, isn't it?"
"I think so," Ron said. "I've got something a little stronger when you finish your beer, if you want it. Some days are beer days, and others..." he fished in another drawer, and pulled out the bottle of Old Ogden's, and two glasses, "Others require a stronger anesthetic."
"You sure that's a good idea?"
"I wasn't planning to drink it all tonight or by myself," Ron said reasonably, and Harry nodded.
"Toss me another, then. I want to see what's on tonight," said Harry, as he flicked his wand toward the radio on top of Ron's dresser.
"Does anyone listen to this shit?" Harry finally asked, waving his wand at the radio with some emphasis and cutting off a long and involved speech by the Bulgarian Minister of Magic in which he was discussing new export standards. It had been either that, a new experimental group that needed to go back and practice more, Celestina Warbeck, or an opera. The Wizarding Radio Network was clearly lacking tonight.
"I sure don't," Ron said, and took a swallow of his glassful of Old Ogden's with a sigh of pleasure. He was slumped on the couch, as was Harry, and Harry had already refilled his glass. He looked more relaxed now, eyes hooded in thought as he contemplated the far wall. He should be relaxed, Ron thought. He drank half that case, and that was before we switched to whiskey.
"Still upset?" Ron asked, looking over at the far wall. Harry laughed.
"Not as much...." he said lazily.
There was a pause, and then Harry spoke again, as if thinking aloud.
"I just wish it could be different."
"Mm-hm," said Ron, admiring the way he was flushing from the whiskey.
"Cause I don't fault any of you guys for wanting what I do, or for being in a position to go get it....it's just cold comfort to know you're right when you're going upstairs alone again to your right hand."
"I know."
"Somewhat, you know," Harry said tiredly. "At least Sylvia relieved you of the burden of your virginity at Valentine's Day. I haven't even got that far."
"You turn them down."
"Yeah, because I don't want anyone to get hurt." There were tears glimmering in his eyelashes."I keep dreaming about Voldemort,and I don't want to put anyone in harm's way. Even if I loved them...that's asking too much. So I can't."
"What if you could?"
"Whatcha mean?"
"You know, it doesn't always have to be about Relationships," said Ron.
"I know, but it's finding someone that causes the problem."
Now, Ron's inner voice said. He gathered up all his courage and kept his tone level.
"There's more than one of your friends who'd be glad to help you out, you know. I've done that once or twice when we were all still at school...just, you know, a friendly hand, nothing serious or anything. And we both felt better afterwards."
He took a swallow of whiskey, and looked at Harry. Who was assessing him, long and slow.
"Is that an offer of assistance?" His voice didn't shake, but as shy as Harry was on things like this, this HAD to be the whiskey talking.
Or giving him the courage to speak, anyway, Ron thought. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. He shrugged, and replied, "If you want it to be," striving hard for the right tone of casualness.
Harry swallowed hard, and was having problems with looking at Ron. "Um, I...ah..."
"Cause, you know," Ron said casually, "I'd be glad to help...was sort of hoping you'd ask."
And there it was, out there in the open. Harry drained his glass and set it aside. "I don't think I need any more of that."
"No," agreed Ron. And he very deliberately and carefully leaned close, and put a hand on Harry's shoulder, feeling him positively vibrate under his hand. "You're tense as hell. Lie down and I'll give you a backrub."
Slowly, Harry grinned. "All right."
Harry was tense, even with the whiskey in him, and when Ron began working on his upper arms where the tension from hanging onto a broomstick always gathered, he sagged into the bed and gave a long slow exhale of relief.
"Damn, that feels good," he said. He'd stripped to his shorts for the massage, and Ron paused and pulled off his own shirt. The room felt a little warm. Ron thought about the muscle groups as he worked, as Ginny had shown him...trapezius, latissimus dorsae, bicep, tricep, deltoid....and when Harry was relaxed, he changed the touch into something less clinical, until Harry rolled over.
"Don't tell me that's a standard part of the massage," he said with a smile.
"What's the problem, if you're enjoying it?" Ron returned, and slid down to the bed facing him.
"Um, Ron, you do realize, I have absolutely no idea...."
"That's okay," Ron said. "I do, and, what the hell, we all gotta start out sometime, right?"
Harry shrugged. "I suppose. Now..." his voice trailed off, and Ron smiled. He brought a hand up to stroke Harry's hair, and watched him try to decide how he felt about that before obviously giving up and thinking about analysis later. Ron gave him soft touches, the kind girls liked and some guys did too...Harry looked like a cat going melted in the sun. Hair and face and arms and hands and chest... He brushed his hands lightly over Harry's nipples, though, and watched Harry's eyes shoot open.
"What the hell?"
"Like that?" Ron said with a bit of a grin, doing it again.
"Shit, yes," said Harry, looking surprised.
"Then you'll definitely like this," said Ron, and lowered his head to tease one with his tongue. The strangled yelp he got made him grin. When he raised his head, Harry's eyes met him, absolutely hot.
"I think I'm overdressed," Harry said, with an ironic lift of his brows. From the look of things, he was running out of space in his shorts.
"Probably so," Ron agreed, reaching for the snap on his own cutoffs. When they were both naked, finally, Harry turned to Ron and began repaying the light touches, and, suddenly, pulling him close and kissing him with a kind of a clumsy passion that Ron didn't mind a bit.
It was very different kissing men, he thought. I don't have to hold back or be careful. Nice change. They shifted against each other, and their cocks bumped each other. They both shivered and moaned.
Ron slowly ran his hand down Harry's belly, not to startle him. and wrapped a hand around his cock, which was hard as a rock, a little smaller in the head and perhaps a touch slimmer in the shaft than his own, if a fraction longer. But it was pretty clear that all the familar tricks worked.
Harry, too, reached between them, and Ron shivered feeling a broad palm that wasn't his own skating tentatively over him. But Harry's technique was being affected by the fact that he was pretty clearly close to coming...had been for a while. Ron smiled, tightened his grip, and very deliberately bit the side of Harry's neck, and that did it.
The wrenching groan finally trailed off, and Harry sagged back against the bed.
"Fuck," he said with a bit of amazement in his voice.
"I wasn't going to go that far, although a helping hand would be nice," said Ron with a laugh. Harry startled and giggled, amazingly enough.
"Well, let's see what I can do, hm?" Harry said. He deliberately coated his hand with his own come, and once again wrapped it around Ron's cock. Ron shut his eyes and just enjoyed the feeling of someone who knew what they were doing bringing him up and over the edge of orgasm. As he fell over the edge, he clenched his teeth so he wouldn't scream.
"Merlin, we're a mess," Harry said after they both got their breath.
Ron grabbed his wand off the bedside table and did a cleansing spell, and then smiled at Harry. "Not a problem. You going to be okay?"
Harry laughed, stretching until his feet touched the footboard. "Okay is a bare description of how I feel. Wow. Thanks."
"Hey, no problem," Ron said, and clapped Harry companionably on the shoulder as he got off the bed. He yawned. "But I'm ready to go to sleep, myself. See you in the morning."
"All right," said Harry. He slid between the covers, and when he was going to consider the night's happenings in detail, he found himself too tired, and gave up and just went to sleep. For a change, he didn't dream.
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