Title: Complete Perverts
Author: emiime
Characters: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Oh, god. Um. Mpreg.
Kinks chosen: Lactaphilia
Word Count: 1995
Summary: Milk—it does Ron's body good.
Author's notes: Um. I have absolutely no excuse for myself. Mpreg is a big squick for me, so I have no idea how this came out of my brain. Thanks upon thanks to eeyore9990 for being my Very Brave Beta and ensuring that that this might be squicky, but at least I didn't abuse any commas.

They had had nine months to grow used to the fact that they were going to be fathers. Well, seven and a half, really, which Ron didn't think was fair, though he supposed maybe a lot of couples didn't know about the pregnancy until a month or so into it.

He had, to his surprise, after his initial bouts of denial, revulsion, and eventually downright blubbering terror, grown to enjoy Harry's curving belly, the small mounds that swelled upon his chest.

"This is weird, Harry," he would sometimes mumble as he kissed his way over Harry's swollen belly, suckled at his—well, bloody hell, they were tits, weren't they? Not like Hermione's, or like Lavender Brown's massive ones, they were more like little puffy mouthfuls of nipple, but Harry had tits, and Ron thought he'd given up on those.

Maybe they were okay on Harry. It was Harry.

Still. Weird.

He thought of himself as a bit of a deviant, really, enjoying Harry's tits and his cock both at the same time. But Harry didn't mind—hell, Harry loved it, loved having them massaged and sucked on—and no one else knew, or needed to know, or would ever know, and so Ron eventually began to think of his latest sexual proclivities as (almost) normal.

And then, one morning, as he rose from the depths of sleep, he found himself nuzzling at Harry's chest, his lips seeking out a nipple.

"When will the milk come?" he murmured before he could process what he was saying. When he realised he'd said it, his eyes flew open. Bloody hell.

"Hunh?" asked Harry, clearly half-asleep himself. "Milk?"

"Never mind," Ron said quickly, and went for Harry's engorged nipple again, hoping to distract him, reaching for his morning erection at the same time.

But Harry squirmed away, probably not the easiest of feats in his (very round) shape, Ron decided.

"What about milk?" Harry asked, reaching out to caress Ron's shoulder, to trace a line in the freckles there.

"I was just curious, that's all," Ron protested, and he moved closer to Harry, kissing him on the temple, holding him close. "Just wondering."

"The Healers said there might not be milk at all," Harry said against Ron's shoulder, "They're not exactly sure. Not the most common of situations, ours. But if there's milk, I guess it'll probably come after the baby comes. There's no one here to drink it now, after all."

"…right," said Ron after what might've been too long a pause. He shifted, not wanting Harry to feel the stirrings of his erection. What a weird bloody thing to be aroused by, he told himself. You can stop that any time now.

---

The baby came, and she was amazing, and she was a miracle, and she was very carefully guarded by her two very protective fathers, her militantly watchful grandparents, and her aunts and uncles who would hex the bollocks off anyone who got a millimetre too close to her.

And with the baby came the milk, though Ron tried not to focus on that bit too much, for when he did, his trousers grew snug, and that wouldn't do. He tried to be out of the room when Harry fed Franny (short for Frances, named for Fred, and everyone thought this was wonderful). It turned out this was hardly a good idea.

Harry got cross. Ron had seen Harry angry before, definitely, a couple of times even at him, but not really ever quite in this same way before.

They fought. And Ron dug himself deeper and deeper into a hole, denying that he was trying to distance himself from the feeding, from the (still rounder than normal) sight of Harry, but not having any good explanation as to why he seemed to be doing so or what his fucking problem was.

And so Ron gave in.

"Okay. Let's put the baby to bed," he said, stroking her wisps of soft black hair. "I guess I have to tell you something."

When Franny was asleep, they lay together on the big bed they'd bought, and Ron ran his hand down Harry's side, over his (once again flat) belly, and up his chest, to where two small mounds were still apparent.

"It's these," he said, and he bit his lip. "I love them, Harry. Only because they're on you."

Harry smiled indulgently. "I know you do," he said. "You can hardly leave them alone." He covered Ron's hand with his own. "But why, why can't you be with me when I'm feeding Franny?"

Ron swallowed hard. "Fuck, Harry, I—" He couldn't say it. Oh, god. Harry was going to think him a freak, a pervert. He was going to rage at him for wanting to do something so wrong, so deviant. That milk was Franny's milk, Ron had scolded himself on multiple occasions, and he had no right to even a drop of it.

"Ron, say it, whatever it is, okay? Think about the day I got home from the Healer and had to tell you I was—shit, it's still hard to say, and we have a kid. You know. Pregnant."

Ron blew out a long breath. "Yeah. Um. Okay." He looked at their hands clasped together over Harry's chest. "It's these," he said slowly, "These—and what's inside them."

"The milk." Harry's voice was deadpan; Ron couldn't determine a bloody thing from it.

He nodded. "I want it," he said all in a rush, and his heart leapt into his throat. "Just—not to—I mean, fuck—I'm a complete pervert. Harry, I'm sorry."

Harry blinked at him. "No, you're not."

"No, Harry, I am." Ron started to sit up—it was too intimate there in the dim bedroom, their hands clasped, their faces so close. But Harry grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back down to lie next to him again.

"Ron, seriously—you're not. Um." It was Harry's turn to pause and cast his eyes downward. "Sometimes when Franny's nursing," he said, and paused again.

"Yeah?" Ron's heart was beating wildly against his ribcage.

"Sometimes it feels, um, good," Harry confessed. "And, I mean, if you think you're a pervert, think how I feel. I can't help it."

Ron put his hand back on Harry's chest, thumbing over the nipple, which quickly grew erect under the fabric of Harry's cambric shirt. "You're serious?"

"Deadly bloody serious, Ron. If you wanted to—" Harry left the end of the sentence hanging, and Ron hardly dared to breathe. He was hard in his pants and he wondered, oh god, if Harry might be, too.

"I want to."

"Okay." Harry's breath trembled, and Ron broke into a grin he hadn't expected.

"Fuck," he said in wonderment, then, "Um, but do you mind if maybe Franny goes into the other room? I don't think I could—with—you know."

Harry agreed with Ron's stuttering explanation, and Ron wheeled the bassinet containing their sleeping daughter into the living room, where they could still hear her cries if she woke, but where they couldn't see her.

They lay together on the bed again, and Ron took his time unbuttoning Harry's shirt, kissing each inch of skin as it was exposed. He started at the top, then went from the bottom, leaving only one button still fastened, the one right over his prize.

"This might be weird," he said just before he undid the last button.

"We've done weird stuff before," Harry reminded him.

"And if we don't like it, we'll stop," Ron said, but he doubted very much that he wouldn't like it. But there was Harry to consider, and Ron vowed to be gentle, and to listen.

"Right," said Harry.

"But—just—I feel a little bit guilty—um—this is separate from the pervert thing. I just don't want to take anything away from Franny, you know?"

There was a moment's silence, then Harry said "I don't know exactly how it works, but there's always more. You're not taking anything away from her." He propped himself up on his elbows and kissed Ron on the cheek.

"Okay," Ron said, and he undid the last button and parted the fabric of Harry's shirt. He kissed each rosy nipple, revelling in the soft smoothness of Harry's skin, the smell of him.

"Go ahead," Harry whispered, and his voice trembled, and Ron lowered his lips to Harry's right nipple and began to suckle.

At first, nothing happened, and Ron frowned, but he kept on, determined to drink from Harry.

And then Harry let out a little oh and Ron tasted something sweet, and he would have yelped had his mouth not been full of Harry.

"Ron," Harry breathed, and Ron moaned around Harry's nipple, suckling harder. Harry put his arms around Ron, holding him close, and Ron closed his eyes, letting himself drift.

It was bliss beyond anything he had imagined.

And, fuck, he was harder than maybe he'd ever been before in his life.

He took his mouth from Harry's nipple. "Harry, fuck—" he gasped, and Harry let out a little moan, but whether it was a moan of arousal or disappointment, Ron couldn't tell.

"Get undressed," Harry whispered then, and Ron nodded and shucked his clothing as quickly as he could, and Harry did the same.

When they were naked, legs entangled, cocks nudging each other, Harry paused and looked Ron in the eye. Ron bit his lip, still worried it was all just too weird, but he held Harry's gaze.

"Whether this makes us enormous perverts or not, I don't care, Ron, okay?"

Ron smiled. "Okay," he said, and he kissed Harry, and Harry opened his mouth into the kiss. They tangled their tongues together, and Ron pressed himself to Harry, rubbing his cock along the hot length of Harry's erection, droplets of precome coating their skin.

"We can't be the first ever to come up with that idea," Ron gasped when they broke the kiss. He kneaded one of Harry's small tits with one hand, reaching down with the other to fondle Harry's cock and bollocks.

"I want to do it again," breathed Harry, throwing his head back.

"Fuck, anytime," said Ron, as Harry reached down and reciprocated with his own hand on Ron's cock.

"No, now," said Harry, and Ron didn't need a second invitation. He ducked his head, taking Harry's left nipple in his mouth, and he swirled his tongue around and around it before he began to suckle in earnest. He was close, so close to coming, and he pressed himself to Harry's hand just as milk began to spurt into his mouth.

"Fuck," Harry cried, and he began to convulse, and Ron felt Harry's release coat his hand, and Ron wasn't far behind, letting himself go as he slurped greedily away at Harry's chest.

Ron didn't want to let go; he wanted to be a glutton, but Harry was saying oh in a not-entirely-happy way, and he was pulling away, and Ron let the nipple go with a little pop.

"Just—it's a bit tender," Harry said with an apologetic smile, and Ron smiled back, lazily, his eyes half-lidded and his lips plump.

"'S okay," he said. He disentangled his legs from Harry's and flopped onto his back, his cock slapping against his belly. He wiped Harry's come from his hand onto the bedclothes. "Fuck," he said, "Harry, that was brilliant."

He could hear Harry's breath slowing, then Harry's hand clasped his.

"Brilliant," Harry agreed.

Ron began to laugh. "We're complete perverts."

Harry laughed, then, too, and rolled over to take Ron in his arms. "Yeah, probably. Hopeless. Good job we ended up with each other."

"Definitely," said Ron, and he nearly kissed Harry, but turned away at the last moment. "The—my mouth might taste like—" he fumbled, but Harry pressed forward and kissed him anyway.

Yep, complete perverts, Ron decided as he melted into the kiss.