Title: Your Laughter Is Your Own
Author: songquake
Characters/Pairings: Harry Potter/Ron Weasley
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Coulrophilia: sexual attraction to clowns, mimes, or jesters; sexual arousal from clowning, miming, etc.; incorporation of clown play into sex
Other Warnings: Inappropriate erections, blow job, balloon porn.
Word Count: 2262
Summary/Description: Nothing, it seems, turns Harry on like a good laugh.
Author's Notes: Unbeta'd and late. Hope you enjoy!

Your Laughter Is Your Own

Harry had always known Ron was the best mate he could ask for. What astonished him is how much more amazing he was as a boyfriend.

Take, for instance, Ron's desire to make up for all that had been lacking in Harry's childhood. Harry didn't need toys or board games or trips to the football pitch, but Ron had made an effort to let Harry try out all these things. He'd taken Harry to the zoo and bought him whatever ice cream Harry had desired. He'd had a decadent-but-quite-grown-up Magnum fudge-covered ice cream bar on a stick. Ron made a joke about extra-large rubbers, but that was fine as well; Ron wasn't known for the maturity of his humour, and that was one of the things Harry loved about him.

The piece de resistance, however, was when Ron took Harry to the circus. Though Harry'd had the opportunity to go to a zoo and a park as a child, the circus had been an activity that was reserved for Dudley exclusively. Aunt Marge had taken him each year, but never even took Dudley's little friends along. Harry wouldn't even have got that much consideration.

The circus was astonishing. Harry laughed with glee at the acrobats, amazed at the aerial feats they managed without broomsticks or even the back-up of levitation spells. He shrank back from the roars of the lions, though he soon giggled at the way he'd done so—giggled because he and the other members of the audience were utterly safe, after all.

And the clowns. The clowns. Even having known Fred and George Weasley as long as he had, Harry was astonished by these people who had made laughter their calling--and, as far as he could tell, their sole life's work.

Harry laughed until his sides ached, but something deep in him clenched as well.

Harry was utterly moved by the work of the clowns. Watching them, laughing at them, made him feel warm, comforted, and unbelievably aroused.

***

Back at their flat, Harry pushed Ron up against a wall. "Thank you," he breathed into Ron's ear, knowing how much Ron responded to the feeling of moist air against the side of his face. He kissed Ron beneath the ear, canted their hips together so that his hardened cock pressed against Ron's thigh. "You have no idea how much that meant to me."

Ron huffed a chuckle against Harry's shoulder. "I'm getting one," he responded, looping his arms around Harry and squeezing his arse. Harry felt his cock twitch in his pants at the possessive gesture. "What was the best part?"

Heat spread from Harry's ears across his face and down to his chest. He bit his lip, embarrassed. "Everything," he said, hoping to evade the question.

"Everything?" teased Ron. "So was it the big, Gryffindor lions that got you this worked up?" Ron reached between them to fondle Harry's cock. It throbbed in his hand.

Harry pushed his hips forward again, his body pleading for contact even though his mouth wasn't begging yet. "No..." he moaned.

"Was it the aerialists? Were you thinking of how hot you get at the end of a hard-fought Quidditch win?"

"Yes, but..." Harry whimpered a bit as Ron slid his leg up between Harry's and used the leverage of his height to spin them around. Harry's head knocked lightly against the wall and he closed his eyes, showing Ron the arch of his neck. As Ron bit down near his shoulder, Harry gasped. "It wasn't just the flying," he bit out.

Ron's laugh was almost dark, though whether with desire or wickedness, Harry couldn't tell. "I know what it was," he murmured into Harry's ear as he unzipped Harry's jeans and wiggled the cock out. "But it'll be our secret."

And with that promise, all talking was done for the moment.

***

Harry had tried to forget about how much the circus clowns had turned him on because, really? Who was turned on by circus clowns? And it wasn't as though he could even imagine what they looked like with their costumes off, what sorts of bodies they had.

Ron's body was fit enough for Harry, thank you.

Still, it was hard. Or, rather, Harry became hard when he was watching the telly and saw a circus promotion, when he went to Muggle London and saw a painted juggler entertaining the tourists, when Andromeda had invited a clown to entertain at Teddy's fourth birthday.

There he was, celebrating with his favourite child while he tried in vain to repress a threatening hard-on.

And Ron wasn't even there to help him out with it.

When the clown started making balloon animals, though, Harry had enough. He needed some relief.

"Harry!" The voice followed after him just as he got to the back door of the house.

Harry groaned inwardly. "Yes, Andromeda?" he replied.

"Be a dear and arrange the gifts, won't you?"

"Of course," he said, grimacing. At least the task would provide a distraction.

Not enough of one, of course. Harry could easily hear the peals of laughter as the clown made silly animals and also cast spells on them so they chased the children around the garden. He could hear the protests as the clown's flower spit water into the faces of any children curious enough to sniff it.

At each of these moments, Harry could feel his pants tighten. He would look around before discreetly adjusting his trousers.

Finally, he caught Andromeda's eye and nodded. She gestured to him to make the announcement.

"Time for presents!" he said, and an avalanche of children and their adults poured toward him. He had Teddy sit down at the picnic table. "Alright, which would you like to open first?" Harry asked.

"Mine! Mine!" all the children chorused, and Harry groaned again.

Andromeda was laughing. "Why don't you let me handle this part," she said, and Harry gratefully stepped into the background once more.

And bumped into the clown. "Oh, er, excuse me—" Harry said, blushing and backing away.

In response, the clown bowed at him with a flourish. Harry chuckled a little. "No, no problem, please—" and he gestured for the clown to move ahead of him. Soon the two were gesticulating back and forth, bowing like house-elves intent on outdoing one another in obsequiousness.

Harry laughed, the bright peal attracting attention from the birthday boy and causing him to blush.

The blush, of course, had nothing to do with Harry's rather-interested cock. Of course it didn't.

The clown bowed again before pulling the flower out of his lapel and offering it to Harry. He took it and brought it to his nose. Funny; it didn't seem to have a hose or a straw or anything that would allow it to—

Harry sputtered as the flower spit water in his face. He looked up at the clown, whose blue eyes sparkled at him. Blue eyes that seemed awfully familiar. Harry sniffed the flower again; he laughed in delight as the spray hit his nose. And mouth. Harry coughed.

"I suppose I ought to go inside and dry off," he said to the clown.

The clown nodded—emphatically? Eagerly? It didn't matter. Harry started walking, a bit bowlegged from trying not to knock his swollen cock around too much.

He glanced behind himself as he opened the door. The clown was following him, imitating Harry's gait. Harry snorted and held the door open behind him.

In the sun parlour, Harry found himself pressed against the wall, six foot of clown grabbing his shoulders and shoving a thigh between Harry's legs. "You have no idea," the clown said in Ron's voice, "how hot it's been making me, knowing that you've been trying to control yourself in the presence of a clown."

"Fuck yeah," Harry moaned. "I really didn't know it was you, either. Been feeling so guilty..."

Ron chuckled. "None of that," he murmured. "I just want to make your dreams come true, yeah?" He slid to his knees.

"Here?" Harry squeaked. Anyone could walk in, at any time.

Ron stood and dug in his pocket, pulling out his wand and two rubbers. "Colloportus," he said, sealing the door.

"What are those for?" Harry asked, indicating the square packets. The square packets with a Magnum logo on them.

"I think you know what they're usually used for," Ron said, ripping one open with his teeth. "But look what else we can do with them." He blew it up like a balloon, somehow fashioning it into something like a giant latex cock and balls. "And how about this?" He inflated the other one and twisted it into a pair of lips pursed together. "Wingardium Leviosa," he incanted, and the two began chasing each other around the room.

"Ron!" Harry had started giggling again. He watched them, and watched his boyfriend use his wand like a conductor's baton.

"Vesica suge vesicam!" Ron commanded, and the cock-shaped balloon began thrusting into the tight aperture of the lips-shaped balloon.

Even as Harry laughed, grabbing his side, he felt the effects of Ron's clowning around. "Fuck, Ron," he said. "Between the clowning and the balloon porn..."

Ron turned back to him, his eyes dark, his breath quickening. "It turns you on, doesn't it."

Harry nodded.

"I want to hear you say it," Ron said, crowding Harry against the wall again. "I want you to say it, and then maybe I'll give you what you want."

"What I want?" Harry said breathlessly.

"Mm-hm." Ron's voice rumbled against Harry's neck, even as he rubbed the small of Harry's back with one hand and Harry's arsecheek with the other.

"They turn me on, so much," Harry whispered.

"What do?" Ron's hands stilled.

Harry trembled in anticipation. "You do. Clowns like you, balloon porn, getting drenched by a trick flower, the laughter... God, all this laughing has got me so fucking hard."

Ron pulled back and sank to his knees once more. "And you're all mine, right?" he said, palming Harry's cock. "Look at you. You're as red as a clown's nose."

"Fuck..." Harry groaned. "I'm all yours. My cock is yours, my body..."

"Your laughter?" Ron asked, and then wrapped his lips around Harry's cock.

Harry moaned, nodding enthusiastically. "All yours," he said, in a tone usually reserved for incoherent babbling.

Ron pulled off Harry's cock and looked at him seriously. "Harry. Your laughter. It's yours. Okay?"

Harry merely groaned in response and canted his hips forward again.

Ron looked down at Harry's cock. "Well, would you look at that?" he said.

Harry blinked and looked down. "You've got lipstick on m'cock," he said.

Ron grinned. "That I do," he said, "but not nearly enough." He pressed Harry's hips back against the wall and dove down again.

Harry thought he was losing his mind. His cock had been screaming for attention for hours, it seemed, and was finally getting some, and from a clown. He looked down and saw the purple curls bobbing up and down along his cock where usually there was a mass of straight ginger locks. Harry reached down, buried his hands in those curls—and pulled Ron's wig off.

He felt the vibration of Ron's laughter around his cock and his hips jerked forward as if under their own power. They very well may have been; Harry knew he'd not made any conscious decisions since Ron had coaxed those incriminatingly honest words from his lips.

And now Ron's tongue was tracing up and down the vein under his cock and occasionally sticking itself between Harry's foreskin and shaft, stretching it painfully. Harry loved it, though, loved the feeling of being at Ron's mercy, loved the feeling of being stretched like that, loved what Ron's tongue could do to the parts of his shaft that were usually protected.

Then Ron pulled the foreskin all the way back, bit lightly at Harry's crown, and began to suck heavily as he pulled Harry's cock to the back of his throat.

Harry lost control of himself utterly, and fucked Ron's mouth with enthusiasm, feeling the tight, tight heat of his throat contracting around him, feeling the sticky-slick locks of Ron's hair between his whitening knuckles. Harry banged his head against the wall with gusto as his hips snapped forward, his balls snapped up, and he came like a Portkey down Ron's throat.

As dazed as Harry felt, it was reflected in Ron's face as he came up for air.

"Fuck," Harry said as he slid down the wall and took Ron into his arms. "That was amazing."

Ron coughed. "Yeah," he rasped. "Glad I don't have to talk as long as I'm in this costume though."

Harry chuckled, but frowned as he looked at his boyfriend.

He looked amazingly sexy with his sweaty hair giving off a "just-shagged" impression and the makeup on his face and around his mouth smeared with sweat, tears, saliva, and come. But he didn't look like a clown ready to return to a child's party. "You're a mess," Harry said.

"You reckon?" Ron asked. He shrugged. "I've got a problem that could easily become a mess," he commented, gesturing at his polka-dotted clown pants, which were noticeably tented.

"I could take care of that," Harry said, the corner of his mouth twisting impishly.

Ron kissed it. "You better," he said, "and quick. And then we can magic me back into a respectable clown again."

Harry's smile lit up the room. "That," he said, stretching out the elastic of Ron's trousers, "sounds like an excellent plan."