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eruthrosI was attempting to distract a friend by writing fiction on Y!M which, as we all know, is sorta like Harlan Ellison's page-posting short story trick, in that you can't go back and change anything. This is the closest I get to actual writing, so I'm posting it for the curious.
Harry always tried not to look at Oliver in the shower.
He knew it was wrong -- it was one of the things the Dursleys hated, almost as much as they hated magic. But sometimes he couldn't help it, and he'd sneak a peak while pulling off his robes.
When Oliver left the school, he thought it was over; he'd be normal now, he'd be just like Ron and Dean and Seamus and Neville. He'd never have to go through a rejection like second year again.
Sixth year, Dumbledore let him rejoin the team. He insisted that someone else be Captain -- he couldn't take that much attention, couldn't spend that time thinking about strategy when he needed to keep up a good Potions grade.
So Ron was Captain, and Keeper, just like Oliver. He'd shower last, just like Oliver, running into the locker room at the last minute after doing important maintenance on the official set of balls.
And Harry found himself lingering at his locker again, changing back into his student robes slowly, watching Ron in the mirror on his locker door.
Sometimes he'd even skip the victory parties in the Common Room, claiming exhaustion. And he'd bite his pillow when he came, despite casting Silencio on the curtains -- terrified that someone would find out, that the Daily Prophet would publish interviews with Draco and Snape and anyone else who could say something horrible, that Ron would never speak to him again. And sometimes he thought he could take all of it, take anything, except for the last -- he'd give up the DA, let Snape say whatever he wanted in class, and it wouldn't matter, as long as Ron would still punch his shoulder, and grin at him, and play one-on-one Quidditch at any hour of the morning. He knew the sorts of things Snape would say, even in class where he was supposed to be impartial, and imagining them coming out of Ron's mouth kept him silent and careful.
He never forgot to cast Silencio, never looked too long in the locker room, never touched Ron any longer than anyone else, never dared to think about Ron's arms or Ron's back or the way Ron looked when his hair was drying except in the privacy of his bed.
Ron came to dinner late some days, sweaty from Quidditch practice, his robes clinging to his back and his hair sticking up in every direction. Harry never dared to meet Snape's eyes on those days -- no matter how much he practiced his occlusion, he remembered the sick feeling of Snape calling up his worst memories, and he was positive that even if he were good enough to block Voldemort, Snape would still get inside somehow. That Snape would call up all of Harry's guilty memories, like the time he pictured licking Ron's cock and came so hard he bit through his lip, or all the times he thought about taking off his robes and just walking into the shower, touching Ron's shoulder, and imagined Ron turning around with a smile, or even that he sometimes thought about what it would be like to feel Ron ... inside him, and if it was as good for boys as it was for girls, and if he'd always be Ron's if Ron just came inside him, and if Ron would bite his shoulder when he came.
And so he'd focus on his food, seeing nothing but roast beef or mashed potatoes or pudding, until Hermione asked him what was wrong, or Ron slung an arm over his shoulders and told him not to worry about anything. On those nights, he'd pretend to study, and then retreat to his bed again, biting his lip and closing his eyes and wrapping his hand around his cock and feeling guilty but picturing Ron in the shower or Ron in his Quidditch uniform or even just Ron grinning at him. And he'd imagine touching Ron, just tousling his hair or putting a hand on his naked shoulder, and come in silence.
After a brutal game against the Slytherins, Harry untied his boots as slowly as he could, waiting for Ron to come back into the locker room, picturing Ron telling off Draco for the brutal block that had nearly cost them the game, picturing Ron standing up for him, like he always did, and stabbing a finger at Draco's chest and yelling at Draco, wondering if Ron had worried about him when he saw the blood, or if he'd only been concerned about the game and the Snitch and the Cup.
Finally, when everyone else on the team was almost ready to leave, Ron stormed in, slamming his broom down on a bench so hard that Harry worried that he'd damaged the spells on the bristles. And Ron took advantage of his audience to throw his arms up in the air, to rant about Draco getting away with everything. Harry blushed and ducked his head when Ron pointed at the cut on his forehead and said that Draco wasn't even getting points docked for that, and that Madame Hooch had to be biased, and that Harry could have been really hurt. Harry realized that he didn't care about the points at all, didn't care about anything but the warm feeling he got knowing that Ron was worried about him, that Ron had been paying attention to him even when he should have been watching the Slytherin Chasers.
And maybe that made him a little careless, later, when everyone had left and Ron was cooling off in the shower, because he glanced up into his mirror just in time to see Ron looking over towards him.
He fell off the bench, his hands somehow tangling in the laces of his shin guards, and stared up at Ron in horror, babbling apologies, explanations, something, hoping Ron wouldn't hate him.
But he stuttered to a stop mid-sentence, because Ron's face was softening, because Ron was grinning at him, because Ron was holding a hand out to him, because Ron didn't look angry. And his heart was pounding so hard from the panic that he couldn't hear what Ron was saying, but when Ron came out of the shower, he let Ron untangle his frozen hands, and pull off his uniform, feeling the water from Ron's hair drip on his stomach and his shoulders and still not sure it was real.
And the world seemed to have sped up, left him behind, and he couldn't move and wouldn't have dared to reach out touch Ron's wet skin even if he could have lifted a hand, and Ron was talking to him, touching the skin he revealed as he drew off each guard, and he was still frozen, still didn't understand, until Ron stood up, and reached out a hand, and waited until Harry took it.
And Harry let Ron pull him into the shower with him, and stood silent and shuddering under the hot water while Ron ran a hand down his back, gasped when Ron kissed his shoulder
And Ron was still talking to him, still saying things Harry couldn't hear, when he took Harry in his arms. And Harry was suddenly breathless, gasping, leaning back on Ron's strong body, letting Ron hold his weight, letting Ron support him, feeling Ron's reassuring hands smoothing along his stomach and curving around his ribs.
And then Ron touched his cock, wrapped his hand around it just like Harry would after every Quidditch game, and his voice murmured in Harry's ear, and he came, sagging on Ron, his legs collapsing under him, and Ron held him tight while the water washed him clean, and time righted around him while he panted, and Ron was telling him about love and friendship, and he could hear again, and Ron was telling him that everything was okay.
And Harry believed him.
eruthros: The end!
eruthros: *goes to get dinner*
Harry always tried not to look at Oliver in the shower.
He knew it was wrong -- it was one of the things the Dursleys hated, almost as much as they hated magic. But sometimes he couldn't help it, and he'd sneak a peak while pulling off his robes.
When Oliver left the school, he thought it was over; he'd be normal now, he'd be just like Ron and Dean and Seamus and Neville. He'd never have to go through a rejection like second year again.
Sixth year, Dumbledore let him rejoin the team. He insisted that someone else be Captain -- he couldn't take that much attention, couldn't spend that time thinking about strategy when he needed to keep up a good Potions grade.
So Ron was Captain, and Keeper, just like Oliver. He'd shower last, just like Oliver, running into the locker room at the last minute after doing important maintenance on the official set of balls.
And Harry found himself lingering at his locker again, changing back into his student robes slowly, watching Ron in the mirror on his locker door.
Sometimes he'd even skip the victory parties in the Common Room, claiming exhaustion. And he'd bite his pillow when he came, despite casting Silencio on the curtains -- terrified that someone would find out, that the Daily Prophet would publish interviews with Draco and Snape and anyone else who could say something horrible, that Ron would never speak to him again. And sometimes he thought he could take all of it, take anything, except for the last -- he'd give up the DA, let Snape say whatever he wanted in class, and it wouldn't matter, as long as Ron would still punch his shoulder, and grin at him, and play one-on-one Quidditch at any hour of the morning. He knew the sorts of things Snape would say, even in class where he was supposed to be impartial, and imagining them coming out of Ron's mouth kept him silent and careful.
He never forgot to cast Silencio, never looked too long in the locker room, never touched Ron any longer than anyone else, never dared to think about Ron's arms or Ron's back or the way Ron looked when his hair was drying except in the privacy of his bed.
Ron came to dinner late some days, sweaty from Quidditch practice, his robes clinging to his back and his hair sticking up in every direction. Harry never dared to meet Snape's eyes on those days -- no matter how much he practiced his occlusion, he remembered the sick feeling of Snape calling up his worst memories, and he was positive that even if he were good enough to block Voldemort, Snape would still get inside somehow. That Snape would call up all of Harry's guilty memories, like the time he pictured licking Ron's cock and came so hard he bit through his lip, or all the times he thought about taking off his robes and just walking into the shower, touching Ron's shoulder, and imagined Ron turning around with a smile, or even that he sometimes thought about what it would be like to feel Ron ... inside him, and if it was as good for boys as it was for girls, and if he'd always be Ron's if Ron just came inside him, and if Ron would bite his shoulder when he came.
And so he'd focus on his food, seeing nothing but roast beef or mashed potatoes or pudding, until Hermione asked him what was wrong, or Ron slung an arm over his shoulders and told him not to worry about anything. On those nights, he'd pretend to study, and then retreat to his bed again, biting his lip and closing his eyes and wrapping his hand around his cock and feeling guilty but picturing Ron in the shower or Ron in his Quidditch uniform or even just Ron grinning at him. And he'd imagine touching Ron, just tousling his hair or putting a hand on his naked shoulder, and come in silence.
After a brutal game against the Slytherins, Harry untied his boots as slowly as he could, waiting for Ron to come back into the locker room, picturing Ron telling off Draco for the brutal block that had nearly cost them the game, picturing Ron standing up for him, like he always did, and stabbing a finger at Draco's chest and yelling at Draco, wondering if Ron had worried about him when he saw the blood, or if he'd only been concerned about the game and the Snitch and the Cup.
Finally, when everyone else on the team was almost ready to leave, Ron stormed in, slamming his broom down on a bench so hard that Harry worried that he'd damaged the spells on the bristles. And Ron took advantage of his audience to throw his arms up in the air, to rant about Draco getting away with everything. Harry blushed and ducked his head when Ron pointed at the cut on his forehead and said that Draco wasn't even getting points docked for that, and that Madame Hooch had to be biased, and that Harry could have been really hurt. Harry realized that he didn't care about the points at all, didn't care about anything but the warm feeling he got knowing that Ron was worried about him, that Ron had been paying attention to him even when he should have been watching the Slytherin Chasers.
And maybe that made him a little careless, later, when everyone had left and Ron was cooling off in the shower, because he glanced up into his mirror just in time to see Ron looking over towards him.
He fell off the bench, his hands somehow tangling in the laces of his shin guards, and stared up at Ron in horror, babbling apologies, explanations, something, hoping Ron wouldn't hate him.
But he stuttered to a stop mid-sentence, because Ron's face was softening, because Ron was grinning at him, because Ron was holding a hand out to him, because Ron didn't look angry. And his heart was pounding so hard from the panic that he couldn't hear what Ron was saying, but when Ron came out of the shower, he let Ron untangle his frozen hands, and pull off his uniform, feeling the water from Ron's hair drip on his stomach and his shoulders and still not sure it was real.
And the world seemed to have sped up, left him behind, and he couldn't move and wouldn't have dared to reach out touch Ron's wet skin even if he could have lifted a hand, and Ron was talking to him, touching the skin he revealed as he drew off each guard, and he was still frozen, still didn't understand, until Ron stood up, and reached out a hand, and waited until Harry took it.
And Harry let Ron pull him into the shower with him, and stood silent and shuddering under the hot water while Ron ran a hand down his back, gasped when Ron kissed his shoulder
And Ron was still talking to him, still saying things Harry couldn't hear, when he took Harry in his arms. And Harry was suddenly breathless, gasping, leaning back on Ron's strong body, letting Ron hold his weight, letting Ron support him, feeling Ron's reassuring hands smoothing along his stomach and curving around his ribs.
And then Ron touched his cock, wrapped his hand around it just like Harry would after every Quidditch game, and his voice murmured in Harry's ear, and he came, sagging on Ron, his legs collapsing under him, and Ron held him tight while the water washed him clean, and time righted around him while he panted, and Ron was telling him about love and friendship, and he could hear again, and Ron was telling him that everything was okay.
And Harry believed him.
eruthros: The end!
eruthros: *goes to get dinner*
no subject
Date: 2004-10-05 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-06 09:17 pm (UTC)