Fic: Silky White
Feb. 4th, 2011 07:51 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
scarysnapey.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
hpkinkfestTitle: Silky White
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
scarysnapey
Prompt Number: #277 submitted by [Bad username or site: ”elainemalfoy” @ livejournal.com]elainemalfoy
Kink Showcased: Dirty talk.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Ron/Harry
Summary: Ron has a secret, and he knows exactly how he’s going to get away with it. But there is no such thing as a plan that the Boy Who Lived can’t foil.
Warnings: Some panty fetish, and, of course, dirty talk.
Word Count: ~2600
Author's Notes: Thanks to my beta D, and I hope that the dirty talk is up to par!
He takes his time deciding which one of their rooms to enter, not because there is much of a contest between them, but rather because he is terrified of getting caught.
If Harry were here, he would probably call Ron a coward.
Then again, if Harry were actually here, he would call Ron a load of other things first.
No one else is here, though. It’s just Ron, alone in Number 12, left behind along with Harry while the others go to St. Mungo’s again. Harry blamed his guilt, and everyone believed him. And Ron, well, Ron just couldn’t stand the awkward sorrow of the room at St. Mungo’s any longer. But Harry’s locked in his room now, presumably napping, and Ron is in the hallway, torn between action and anxiety.
In the end Ron chooses Hermione’s room. It’s a matter of comfort, really. Ginny’s are too small, and Tonks’s are too colorful.
Hermione’s are plain and white and silky and perfect.
Ron opens the door slowly even though he knows that no one is there, and he makes his way to the set of draws, opening the top one, the one where Hermione keeps her knickers.
There they are, folded and lined up in little rows, all shining in their clean, white perfection. Ron’s breath hitches.
He reaches toward a pair, but something catches his eye. There is a dirty clothes hamper in the corner; Ron has never noticed it before, but today it is nearly overflowing, and there, on the very top, is a pair of those plain, white panties.
Ron slams the drawer shut without a second thought. He closes the distance between himself and the hamper in a heartbeat, bending toward it and lifting the panties out carefully. He holds them to his nose and takes a deep breath in.
Oh, Merlin, they smell like cunt.
Ron shudders and scrambles to drop his pants, clutching the panties in his palm.
He kicks off his trousers and pants and pulls on the knickers without hesitation, forcing his hardening cock into the silken confines of the fabric, shaking as the fabric settles against his skin.
He cups his erection through the knickers, relishing the silky slide against sensitive skin. His eyes slip shut. And then—
“Hermione? Didn’t you go with the others? I thought—”
There isn’t time to react, to realize that he left the door stupidly open, which Hermione never does. Harry pushes through it, stopping dead in the threshold, staring at Ron. And Ron stares back, his cheeks uncomfortably flushed, his hand closed around his silk clad hard-on.
He swallows. Harry mirrors the action.
And then the whole world stumbles into motion. Ron dives for his trousers, attempting to force them on. He trips over them, though, falling flat on his silken arse on the hardwood floor. Harry is walking toward him, slowly closing the distance with eyes as wide as saucers. He still hasn’t said a word.
“This is weird,” Ron croaks, but he voice comes out all wrong. He scrambles backward, away from Harry, desperate to just sink into the wall and get out of this situation. But that isn’t happening.
Harry doesn’t say anything, but he stops, halfway into the room, and stares down at Ron, who is tangled in his trousers. His erection has not flagged but is straining even more forcefully against the white fabric.
Then Harry drops to his knees. “Let me help you,” he rasps, and the words come out all deep and disfigured. He reaches out, and for a second Ron thinks that he’s going to untangle his trousers and help him up, but Harry just pulls them away, chucking them across the room.
“You can’t,” Ron tries, but the strength he is looking for does not come. “You’re my—”
“Your what?” Harry asks. He’s on all fours now, his eyes still wide, his face still full of shock. But there is something else now. “I’m your what, Ron?”
This question sends Ron for a loop. Harry is his best friend, obviously. But Ron doesn’t want his best friend right now. He struggles stupidly, attempting to mentally drag blood back from his aching prick into his brain, to stop himself from blurting out all the nasty, stupid, dirty things that are clouding his mind.
In the end, Ron fails, mostly because Harry is still staring at him and because he’s sitting there in Hermione’s panties. Because there is no clean way out of this situation.
Ron answers the question with the truth.
“Harry,” Ron gasps, and Harry’s eyes go wider, and the world spins on its axis. There is nothing but movement, now, as Harry closes the distance between them with an absolutely animal growl. And he’s picking Ron up off the floor and dumping him onto the bed, onto Hermione’s bed.
Harry’s very firm, very clothed leg is pressing Ron’s legs apart, digging into the space between his thighs, forcing the silk of the panties to rub more forcefully against Ron’s bursting cock.
“Ung,” Ron groans, and Harry buries his face in his neck, breathing hot, moist air on the flesh there.
“What are you doing, Ron?” he asks. “What are you doing in here?”
Ron shakes his head, eyes shut tight, hands fisted in the bedsheets, hoping that this would all stop and never end at the same time.
“You’ve got to tell me,” Harry growls, and the vibrations tingle at the juncture of Ron’s neck and shoulder. “You’ve got to tell me so I can help you get what you need.”
And that’s the end of Ron’s resistance, because this cannot be happening, but Harry bites his neck and the words spill out.
“Wanted— Needed her knickers,” he babbles. Harry’s hand lands on his chest, sliding, open palmed, until it is splayed across Ron’s stomach between them, just barely touching the waistband of the silky knickers.
Ron makes a noise he didn’t know he was capable of making, but Harry has another question.
“Why?” he groans, and the answer to this is easy.
“It feels good,” Ron groans.
“You like it because it feels good,” Harry confirms. The tip of his index finger is peeking under the waistband of the panties now.
Ron nods frantically.
“Is that all you like, Ron?” Harry asks, and Ron doesn’t have any idea how to answer it, so he just shakes his head frantically.
“I— I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to show you?” And that thought shoots straight to his cock, and Harry nudges his cock with his thigh again, and Ron is nodding now.
Yes, yes, anything, yes. As long as Harry never, ever stops touching him.
Harry slides away, and Ron whines, opening his eyes and peeking down. Harry grabs his hips, yanking him to the edge of the bed so that his hips are just hanging over.
Ron’s head falls back; he can feel Harry’s breath warming his skin through the silk, and then Harry is touching him, and Ron can hear him sniffing the silk and skin.
There is silence for two long seconds, and then:
“You smell like pussy,” Harry growls, and the vibrations are everywhere now. Ron is nodding his head frantically, and even though they both know that these are Hermione’s panties, and Ron knows that he nicked them from the hamper, he can’t help himself.
“My pussy,” he bursts out. “They smell like my pussy.”
Suddenly he can hear Harry’s heartbeat pounding, and he can feel smooth cheeks sliding across the fabric and rubbing up against his cock.
“Your pussy,” Harry repeats slowly, and his nose comes to the top of Ron’s cock, trapped close to his abdomen by the tight, silk fabric. “You wet for me, Ron?” he asks, and the implications behind that are too mind-blowing for words.
“Oh my—” Ron groans, and Harry dips his tongue into the little wet spot on the panties, right at the tip of Ron’s leaking cock.
“You wet?” Harry mumbles again.
“Yes,” Ron manages this time. “So wet. So wet for you.”
Harry bites him. Not hard, just a bare, scraping of teeth against his cock, grinding through the silk as Harry glides downward again.
And then his fingers hook in the waistband of the panties, and Ron’s eyes snap open. “No,” he gasps, and Harry freezes.
“What?”
“Do it,” Ron gasps. “Do it with them on.”
Ron’s never seen pupils so big, but Harry’s expand so suddenly that his irises go all black. Ron swallows, and Harry removes his fingers from the waistband.
“They’re going to get all wet,” Harry warns, but Ron just nods again.
“I know,” Ron chokes out. “Just— Please, Harry. Please!”
And then Harry’s fingers are under the panties again, this time pulling the crotch to the side, revealing the cleft of Ron’s arse, and Ron can feel Harry’s breath, hot and unbearably light, on his naked flesh.
Ron is so ready to burst that he thinks he’ll come without Harry touching him, and the hot breath creeps a little higher, falling on his aching cock through the silken fabric. “I want you wetter,” Harry growls, and Ron goes off like a rocket.
His hips arch of the bed and knock against Harry’s chin, but Ron doesn’t feel a thing. He’s caught up in the tingling roar of his blood as it prickles and whirls beneath his skin. “Har-r-ry,” he croaks out through a spasming throat as Harry forces his hips back to the bed.
Ron is still gasping for breath when Harry stretches the elastic away from his stomach. He drags his fingers through the come there, which has already begun to soak a deep, dark stain into the crotch of the silken panties.
Harry scoops the sticky mess up with his fingers and lets the elastic snap back against Ron’s stomach. “So wet,” he mumbles absently, and Ron feels himself growing hard all over again as Harry pulls aside the crotch of the panties and begins to smear Ron’s own come around his pucker.
And then he stops, allowing the silk fabric to snap back into place. “Wha—at?” Ron groans, and Harry’s lips curve into a nasty smiles.
He murmurs against Ron’s thigh, “You like the feel of silk?”
Ron nods.
And then Harry’s hands are on him again, and his soft cheeks are nudging Ron’s thighs farther apart, and his index finger is running up and down the cleft of Ron’s arse over the silk.
And then his finger slides inside, just the smallest bit, forcing the silk cloth inside along with it. Ron chokes on air, gasping for breath as Harry pushes against him, stretching the fabric and fingering him with it.
“So wet,” Harry mumbles again, adding a second finger. Ron swears that he can feel the silk, sliding across his insides, but he’s too delirious to tell if he’s actually feeling anything at all anymore.
All of his concentration is going into not making have of the strangled grunting noises that are trying to push out of his throat, even as gives the length of his cock one long lick through the silky fabric.
“Fu-uck,” Ron rasps, and Harry freezes, his big green eyes suddenly appearing, wide and inquisitive, in Ron’s field of vision. There is something about those eyes that doesn’t quite fit with the smug, feral grin that is spreading across Harry’s face.
Ron notices for the first time that Harry is fully clothed, while he is lying in his back, shaking with complete abandon, slim hips bucking involuntary toward every movement of Harry’s fingers.
Somehow, this situation has gotten wildly out of hand.
“What do you want, Ron?” Harry asks, his fingers scissoring inside him, stretching the fabric of the panties more and more. “Do you want me to fuck you? Do you think I could do it with the panties wrapped around my cock? Do you think that the silk could stretching that far? I could try it, Ron,” Harry whispers against his twitching cock. “I could try it, and I could soak those knickers with my come, all bunched up inside you.”
“I—” Ron gasps.
“You what?”
“I want—” But coherent thought isn’t coming. Some part of Ron is telling him to take control, to rip Harry’s clothes of and take what he wants. But the rest of him, most of him, wants Harry to do the taking. So he just groans and arches his hips and prays that Harry will take pity.
“You want me to ruin these fucking panties inside you, don’t you?” Harry murmurs, and with one sudden thrust of his fingers, Ron is coming for a second time, tightening around the silk inside him, tightening around Harry’s fingers, knotting his hands in the bedsheets as all the sounds he’s been holding in come out in one strangled sob.
“Harry,” he groans, and the world twitches into darkness.
When Ron wakes up, he’s in his bed. Morning hasn’t crept through the frozen panes of glass yet, and he stares at the bottom of Harry’s bunk, watching for each shake of the slats when Harry rolls over as he sleeps.
Ron can barely breathe, so lost he is in the dream that he could have sworn was real, in the hot breath and sticky fingers and sore sense of completeness. And it was all nothing.
He is still thinking when the sun rolls in through the window, and Harry lurches from the top bunk with a groan, pulling on a pair of trousers and making his way out to brush his teeth as Ron watches with feigned sleep.
The room is silent, then, though the sounds of Hermione laughing at breakfast and Tonks screaming one thing or another creep into his ears.
Ron rolls over with a sigh, bracing himself with on hand on the mattress. His hand slides beneath the pillow by chance and just barely catches on something unfamiliar. Ron pulls his hand back, the silk panties clutched firmly in his palm.
They’ve been stuffed under his pillow, wadded up, yes, but unmistakably those same ones that he had worn yesterday. The silk is soft, but it is stiff in some places, where his own come has dried on the crotch.
Ron takes a deep breath and shoves them beneath his pillow, just as Harry pushes open the door.
“Hullo,” Harry says cheerily, flashing Ron a smile that can only be described as friendly.
“Hullo,” Ron says slowly back.
Breakfast is a dull affair, as Ron stares stupidly at his plate, as though anyone might guess his secret through eye contact.
Harry is nothing but cordial to everybody, and Ron find himself wondering it he didn’t imagine the whole thing after all, including the knickers stuffed beneath his pillow.
He clears his plate suddenly, lurching into the kitchen and leaving the jolly din of the dining room behind.
Ron is washing his plate when the door swings open and closed behind him, and Harry is there, stuffing his hand down the front of Ron’s pants, whispering one thing or another frantically in his ear, forcing Ron to his knees and—
No. This is all in Ron’s mind. Harry gives him a playful punch on the shoulder and drops his plate in the sink.
But Ron doesn’t imagine the wink that Harry gives him as he backs through the door out of the kitchen. It’s a wink that holds a promise, and Ron feels for a moment as though he can fly.
Author:
scarysnapey Prompt Number: #277 submitted by [Bad username or site: ”elainemalfoy” @ livejournal.com]
elainemalfoy Kink Showcased: Dirty talk.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Ron/Harry
Summary: Ron has a secret, and he knows exactly how he’s going to get away with it. But there is no such thing as a plan that the Boy Who Lived can’t foil.
Warnings: Some panty fetish, and, of course, dirty talk.
Word Count: ~2600
Author's Notes: Thanks to my beta D, and I hope that the dirty talk is up to par!
He takes his time deciding which one of their rooms to enter, not because there is much of a contest between them, but rather because he is terrified of getting caught.
If Harry were here, he would probably call Ron a coward.
Then again, if Harry were actually here, he would call Ron a load of other things first.
No one else is here, though. It’s just Ron, alone in Number 12, left behind along with Harry while the others go to St. Mungo’s again. Harry blamed his guilt, and everyone believed him. And Ron, well, Ron just couldn’t stand the awkward sorrow of the room at St. Mungo’s any longer. But Harry’s locked in his room now, presumably napping, and Ron is in the hallway, torn between action and anxiety.
In the end Ron chooses Hermione’s room. It’s a matter of comfort, really. Ginny’s are too small, and Tonks’s are too colorful.
Hermione’s are plain and white and silky and perfect.
Ron opens the door slowly even though he knows that no one is there, and he makes his way to the set of draws, opening the top one, the one where Hermione keeps her knickers.
There they are, folded and lined up in little rows, all shining in their clean, white perfection. Ron’s breath hitches.
He reaches toward a pair, but something catches his eye. There is a dirty clothes hamper in the corner; Ron has never noticed it before, but today it is nearly overflowing, and there, on the very top, is a pair of those plain, white panties.
Ron slams the drawer shut without a second thought. He closes the distance between himself and the hamper in a heartbeat, bending toward it and lifting the panties out carefully. He holds them to his nose and takes a deep breath in.
Oh, Merlin, they smell like cunt.
Ron shudders and scrambles to drop his pants, clutching the panties in his palm.
He kicks off his trousers and pants and pulls on the knickers without hesitation, forcing his hardening cock into the silken confines of the fabric, shaking as the fabric settles against his skin.
He cups his erection through the knickers, relishing the silky slide against sensitive skin. His eyes slip shut. And then—
“Hermione? Didn’t you go with the others? I thought—”
There isn’t time to react, to realize that he left the door stupidly open, which Hermione never does. Harry pushes through it, stopping dead in the threshold, staring at Ron. And Ron stares back, his cheeks uncomfortably flushed, his hand closed around his silk clad hard-on.
He swallows. Harry mirrors the action.
And then the whole world stumbles into motion. Ron dives for his trousers, attempting to force them on. He trips over them, though, falling flat on his silken arse on the hardwood floor. Harry is walking toward him, slowly closing the distance with eyes as wide as saucers. He still hasn’t said a word.
“This is weird,” Ron croaks, but he voice comes out all wrong. He scrambles backward, away from Harry, desperate to just sink into the wall and get out of this situation. But that isn’t happening.
Harry doesn’t say anything, but he stops, halfway into the room, and stares down at Ron, who is tangled in his trousers. His erection has not flagged but is straining even more forcefully against the white fabric.
Then Harry drops to his knees. “Let me help you,” he rasps, and the words come out all deep and disfigured. He reaches out, and for a second Ron thinks that he’s going to untangle his trousers and help him up, but Harry just pulls them away, chucking them across the room.
“You can’t,” Ron tries, but the strength he is looking for does not come. “You’re my—”
“Your what?” Harry asks. He’s on all fours now, his eyes still wide, his face still full of shock. But there is something else now. “I’m your what, Ron?”
This question sends Ron for a loop. Harry is his best friend, obviously. But Ron doesn’t want his best friend right now. He struggles stupidly, attempting to mentally drag blood back from his aching prick into his brain, to stop himself from blurting out all the nasty, stupid, dirty things that are clouding his mind.
In the end, Ron fails, mostly because Harry is still staring at him and because he’s sitting there in Hermione’s panties. Because there is no clean way out of this situation.
Ron answers the question with the truth.
“Harry,” Ron gasps, and Harry’s eyes go wider, and the world spins on its axis. There is nothing but movement, now, as Harry closes the distance between them with an absolutely animal growl. And he’s picking Ron up off the floor and dumping him onto the bed, onto Hermione’s bed.
Harry’s very firm, very clothed leg is pressing Ron’s legs apart, digging into the space between his thighs, forcing the silk of the panties to rub more forcefully against Ron’s bursting cock.
“Ung,” Ron groans, and Harry buries his face in his neck, breathing hot, moist air on the flesh there.
“What are you doing, Ron?” he asks. “What are you doing in here?”
Ron shakes his head, eyes shut tight, hands fisted in the bedsheets, hoping that this would all stop and never end at the same time.
“You’ve got to tell me,” Harry growls, and the vibrations tingle at the juncture of Ron’s neck and shoulder. “You’ve got to tell me so I can help you get what you need.”
And that’s the end of Ron’s resistance, because this cannot be happening, but Harry bites his neck and the words spill out.
“Wanted— Needed her knickers,” he babbles. Harry’s hand lands on his chest, sliding, open palmed, until it is splayed across Ron’s stomach between them, just barely touching the waistband of the silky knickers.
Ron makes a noise he didn’t know he was capable of making, but Harry has another question.
“Why?” he groans, and the answer to this is easy.
“It feels good,” Ron groans.
“You like it because it feels good,” Harry confirms. The tip of his index finger is peeking under the waistband of the panties now.
Ron nods frantically.
“Is that all you like, Ron?” Harry asks, and Ron doesn’t have any idea how to answer it, so he just shakes his head frantically.
“I— I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to show you?” And that thought shoots straight to his cock, and Harry nudges his cock with his thigh again, and Ron is nodding now.
Yes, yes, anything, yes. As long as Harry never, ever stops touching him.
Harry slides away, and Ron whines, opening his eyes and peeking down. Harry grabs his hips, yanking him to the edge of the bed so that his hips are just hanging over.
Ron’s head falls back; he can feel Harry’s breath warming his skin through the silk, and then Harry is touching him, and Ron can hear him sniffing the silk and skin.
There is silence for two long seconds, and then:
“You smell like pussy,” Harry growls, and the vibrations are everywhere now. Ron is nodding his head frantically, and even though they both know that these are Hermione’s panties, and Ron knows that he nicked them from the hamper, he can’t help himself.
“My pussy,” he bursts out. “They smell like my pussy.”
Suddenly he can hear Harry’s heartbeat pounding, and he can feel smooth cheeks sliding across the fabric and rubbing up against his cock.
“Your pussy,” Harry repeats slowly, and his nose comes to the top of Ron’s cock, trapped close to his abdomen by the tight, silk fabric. “You wet for me, Ron?” he asks, and the implications behind that are too mind-blowing for words.
“Oh my—” Ron groans, and Harry dips his tongue into the little wet spot on the panties, right at the tip of Ron’s leaking cock.
“You wet?” Harry mumbles again.
“Yes,” Ron manages this time. “So wet. So wet for you.”
Harry bites him. Not hard, just a bare, scraping of teeth against his cock, grinding through the silk as Harry glides downward again.
And then his fingers hook in the waistband of the panties, and Ron’s eyes snap open. “No,” he gasps, and Harry freezes.
“What?”
“Do it,” Ron gasps. “Do it with them on.”
Ron’s never seen pupils so big, but Harry’s expand so suddenly that his irises go all black. Ron swallows, and Harry removes his fingers from the waistband.
“They’re going to get all wet,” Harry warns, but Ron just nods again.
“I know,” Ron chokes out. “Just— Please, Harry. Please!”
And then Harry’s fingers are under the panties again, this time pulling the crotch to the side, revealing the cleft of Ron’s arse, and Ron can feel Harry’s breath, hot and unbearably light, on his naked flesh.
Ron is so ready to burst that he thinks he’ll come without Harry touching him, and the hot breath creeps a little higher, falling on his aching cock through the silken fabric. “I want you wetter,” Harry growls, and Ron goes off like a rocket.
His hips arch of the bed and knock against Harry’s chin, but Ron doesn’t feel a thing. He’s caught up in the tingling roar of his blood as it prickles and whirls beneath his skin. “Har-r-ry,” he croaks out through a spasming throat as Harry forces his hips back to the bed.
Ron is still gasping for breath when Harry stretches the elastic away from his stomach. He drags his fingers through the come there, which has already begun to soak a deep, dark stain into the crotch of the silken panties.
Harry scoops the sticky mess up with his fingers and lets the elastic snap back against Ron’s stomach. “So wet,” he mumbles absently, and Ron feels himself growing hard all over again as Harry pulls aside the crotch of the panties and begins to smear Ron’s own come around his pucker.
And then he stops, allowing the silk fabric to snap back into place. “Wha—at?” Ron groans, and Harry’s lips curve into a nasty smiles.
He murmurs against Ron’s thigh, “You like the feel of silk?”
Ron nods.
And then Harry’s hands are on him again, and his soft cheeks are nudging Ron’s thighs farther apart, and his index finger is running up and down the cleft of Ron’s arse over the silk.
And then his finger slides inside, just the smallest bit, forcing the silk cloth inside along with it. Ron chokes on air, gasping for breath as Harry pushes against him, stretching the fabric and fingering him with it.
“So wet,” Harry mumbles again, adding a second finger. Ron swears that he can feel the silk, sliding across his insides, but he’s too delirious to tell if he’s actually feeling anything at all anymore.
All of his concentration is going into not making have of the strangled grunting noises that are trying to push out of his throat, even as gives the length of his cock one long lick through the silky fabric.
“Fu-uck,” Ron rasps, and Harry freezes, his big green eyes suddenly appearing, wide and inquisitive, in Ron’s field of vision. There is something about those eyes that doesn’t quite fit with the smug, feral grin that is spreading across Harry’s face.
Ron notices for the first time that Harry is fully clothed, while he is lying in his back, shaking with complete abandon, slim hips bucking involuntary toward every movement of Harry’s fingers.
Somehow, this situation has gotten wildly out of hand.
“What do you want, Ron?” Harry asks, his fingers scissoring inside him, stretching the fabric of the panties more and more. “Do you want me to fuck you? Do you think I could do it with the panties wrapped around my cock? Do you think that the silk could stretching that far? I could try it, Ron,” Harry whispers against his twitching cock. “I could try it, and I could soak those knickers with my come, all bunched up inside you.”
“I—” Ron gasps.
“You what?”
“I want—” But coherent thought isn’t coming. Some part of Ron is telling him to take control, to rip Harry’s clothes of and take what he wants. But the rest of him, most of him, wants Harry to do the taking. So he just groans and arches his hips and prays that Harry will take pity.
“You want me to ruin these fucking panties inside you, don’t you?” Harry murmurs, and with one sudden thrust of his fingers, Ron is coming for a second time, tightening around the silk inside him, tightening around Harry’s fingers, knotting his hands in the bedsheets as all the sounds he’s been holding in come out in one strangled sob.
“Harry,” he groans, and the world twitches into darkness.
When Ron wakes up, he’s in his bed. Morning hasn’t crept through the frozen panes of glass yet, and he stares at the bottom of Harry’s bunk, watching for each shake of the slats when Harry rolls over as he sleeps.
Ron can barely breathe, so lost he is in the dream that he could have sworn was real, in the hot breath and sticky fingers and sore sense of completeness. And it was all nothing.
He is still thinking when the sun rolls in through the window, and Harry lurches from the top bunk with a groan, pulling on a pair of trousers and making his way out to brush his teeth as Ron watches with feigned sleep.
The room is silent, then, though the sounds of Hermione laughing at breakfast and Tonks screaming one thing or another creep into his ears.
Ron rolls over with a sigh, bracing himself with on hand on the mattress. His hand slides beneath the pillow by chance and just barely catches on something unfamiliar. Ron pulls his hand back, the silk panties clutched firmly in his palm.
They’ve been stuffed under his pillow, wadded up, yes, but unmistakably those same ones that he had worn yesterday. The silk is soft, but it is stiff in some places, where his own come has dried on the crotch.
Ron takes a deep breath and shoves them beneath his pillow, just as Harry pushes open the door.
“Hullo,” Harry says cheerily, flashing Ron a smile that can only be described as friendly.
“Hullo,” Ron says slowly back.
Breakfast is a dull affair, as Ron stares stupidly at his plate, as though anyone might guess his secret through eye contact.
Harry is nothing but cordial to everybody, and Ron find himself wondering it he didn’t imagine the whole thing after all, including the knickers stuffed beneath his pillow.
He clears his plate suddenly, lurching into the kitchen and leaving the jolly din of the dining room behind.
Ron is washing his plate when the door swings open and closed behind him, and Harry is there, stuffing his hand down the front of Ron’s pants, whispering one thing or another frantically in his ear, forcing Ron to his knees and—
No. This is all in Ron’s mind. Harry gives him a playful punch on the shoulder and drops his plate in the sink.
But Ron doesn’t imagine the wink that Harry gives him as he backs through the door out of the kitchen. It’s a wink that holds a promise, and Ron feels for a moment as though he can fly.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 03:59 am (UTC)I was torn right up until the end about whether it would be a dream or not, but I finally decided that Ron deserved a happy ending.
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Date: 2011-02-05 01:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-05 02:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 04:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-05 01:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 04:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-05 03:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 04:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-05 06:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-05 06:58 am (UTC)Mostly 'cause they didn't invite her to watch!
Such a hot little story!
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Date: 2011-02-06 04:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-05 08:06 am (UTC)I need a cold shower.
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Date: 2011-02-06 04:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-05 05:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 04:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-05 05:54 pm (UTC)*takes deep breath and tries to be coherent*
I was really excited when I saw that someone actually grabbed this H/R prompt! Then I found it was you and I was all OMGOMG! *Dies* That was some masterful smut even on the second...and third read... ahem what was I saying?
*quotes like mad*
“Your what?” Harry asks. He’s on all fours now, his eyes still wide, his face still full of shock. But there is something else now. “I’m your what, Ron?”
This question sends Ron for a loop. Harry is his best friend, obviously. But Ron doesn’t want his best friend right now. He struggles stupidly, attempting to mentally drag blood back from his aching prick into his brain, to stop himself from blurting out all the nasty, stupid, dirty things that are clouding his mind.
In the end, Ron fails, mostly because Harry is still staring at him and because he’s sitting there in Hermione’s panties. Because there is no clean way out of this situation.
Ron answers the question with the truth.
“Harry,” Ron gasps, and Harry’s eyes go wider, and the world spins on its axis.
I especially loved this part because not only was it hot but it was also perfect for them.
The characterization throughout was great and I don't know if I have to say it but the dirty talk was NOMNOMNOM! This is just wonderful thank you!! :D
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Date: 2011-02-06 04:05 am (UTC)Thank you so much! I was really worried that the dirty talk wouldn't be dirty enough. I'm so glad you liked it. :)
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Date: 2011-02-05 07:43 pm (UTC)Holy shit, I've never...even thought of that, let alone knew it would be hot! I don't even like Harry/Ron! Or Ron/Hermione!! Holy shit. Nice job.
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Date: 2011-02-06 04:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-05 11:16 pm (UTC)So hot! Harry is so wonderfully creative with the panties. ;-)
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Date: 2011-02-06 04:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 01:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 04:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-07 02:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-04 11:48 pm (UTC)OMG! THIS FIC BLEW MY MIND! So F***ing hot!!!!
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Date: 2011-03-15 08:23 am (UTC)"“My pussy,” he bursts out. “They smell like my pussy.”
My ex loved cross dressing and silk and lace. I was the one with the whip.
I love how these two manage to stay themselves rather than sex gods like so much slash is portrayed. ;) grinz