Title: Come, Be Alone With Me in a Crowd
Author: tryslora
Characters/Pairings: Neville/self, Neville/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: sacofricosis
Other Warnings: agoraphile (arousal by crowds/in a crowd), sex in public places, voyeurism
Word Count: 2,817
Summary/Description: The first time Neville rode on the tube was an eye-opening (and extremely pleasurable!) experience, so he kept going back.
Author's Notes: To whoever it was who told me to write this kink with Neville, um, thank you. It buried itself in my subconscious and came back as this. Many thanks to my alpha and beta readers; you are so wonderful to me. As always, I don't own the world or characters of Harry Potter, but I do love to play with them (and definitely do things the author never intended!).


Neville used to be timid.

He used to be happy, living in the small world of Wizarding Britain, knowing that the same few people he’d always known would always be in his life. He loved that the people he saw when he went out might be the same folks he saw the day before, or the month before. It was comfortable. Easy.

But it wasn’t exciting.

After the war ended, for a little while, it was very exciting. Everyone knew exactly who he was, and the Daily Prophet published an article about the heroes of the battle, complete with a drawing by Dean Thomas depicting Neville beheading Nagini. People would come up to him on the street and talk to him. Congratulate him. Stop him to tell him little stories, or ask about their plants.

After so many years of being invisible, it was gratifying to be seen.

But after a few months, it became cloying.

After the first year, Neville was desperate to leave it behind. Just for one night, he wanted to be able to slip into complete anonymity.

He caught up with Harry and asked him to have dinner with him one night. He made it sound like it was just a part of the meal when he added, “And I don’t want to have you being bothered if we go out. Where… where do you go when you don’t want to be known?”

“Into Muggle London, of course,” Harry replied. And Neville didn’t know what to say because it had never occurred to him. It should have, but it hadn’t… and there was his solution, wrapped up neatly with a bow.

The Muggle world.

Harry collected Neville at half six and together they walked down the road, Neville following Harry and trying not to think about the crowds of strangers that pressed in on him from all sides. It was so different. Not one of these people knew how much danger they had been in, and not one of them cared that it was Harry and Neville (well, mostly Harry, Neville just did a little bit) that had saved them.

Neville kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets, feeling the way his legs moved as he walked along. He liked these Muggle trousers, and the way they fit so neatly. He rather liked the way they showed Harry’s arse, too, or the girls as they passed by some on the street. They were quite nice, and better than robes in his opinion.

When Harry stopped and gestured for Neville to descend on some whining beast into the darkness, he hesitated.

“It’s just an escalator and the tube,” Harry said. “Trust me, you’ll like it. We could apparate to where we’re going, but then you’ve got to try not to be noticed. And this way you’ll get to see more of how the Muggle world works.” When Neville continued to hover, uncertain, Harry grinned and stuck his hand out. “You trust me, don’t you, Nev?”

Neville reached out to grip Harry’s hand, trying not to show how nervous he was and knowing he failed miserably. “Course I do,” he replied, and he followed Harry into the underground.

It was a shock to get into the train that day, listening quietly while Harry explained what the tube was, where it would go, and how it would take them to the restaurant. It was noisy, smelly, and crowded. A nose trained for gentle subtleties in herbology caught overpowering perfumed scents, and Neville had to close his eyes, clinging to the bar as he stood and swayed with the gentle motion of the train.

“Everyone uses it to get around,” Harry said. “Particularly now, when work’s just got out.”

They were packed in tight, and it seemed as if more folks got on at every stop than left. Soon Neville could see Harry in the distance, leaning against a pole and chatting with a woman. They were separated by a half-dozen people, and when Neville shifted to look around, someone pressed back against his front, fit tight right against his hips.

It was rude to stand like that, the movement of the train letting him press and sway, rubbing against her bum. But she didn’t seem to notice, and he couldn’t exactly step away.

By the time the train slid to a halt at the next station, Neville ached. He pushed his hand deeper into his pocket, twisting the fabric inside, trying to adjust himself without anyone noticing.

Except someone noticed.

The bloke was a complete stranger, slouched down on the bench along one side. He was older than Neville, but still decently fit, and he was watching Neville. When he caught his eye, the bloke grinned.

The bloke had his hand in his pocket, and as Neville watched he saw the faint signs of movement, fingers sliding over a hard ridge beneath the loose pleated front of the bloke’s trousers. He was reaching further than his pocket could go, and he seemed to have a range of movement that Neville couldn’t manage. His attention remained glued to the bloke, his own hand pressed against his own aching hardness as he watched this bloke quietly wank, right there in public.

“Hey, mate, next stop’s ours!”

Neville jerked his attention away from the stranger. He looked at Harry and nodded once quickly to show that he’d heard. Heat rose to his cheeks and he knew he was flushing brightly. He shuffled a few steps, trying to make everything comfortable, but just the memory of the bloke was enough.

As Neville tried to make his way through the crowd to Harry, someone jostled his elbow. When he glanced over, the bloke was there, not looking at him, but he had his pocket turned out.

Neville could very clearly see that the pocket had been cut, a hole neatly taken out, just big enough for fingers to slip through.

Much later that night, when Neville finally got home from dinner, he cut a hole in his right pocket. He slid his hand in, let it go through that hole and straight on down to his prick. Lower lip caught in his teeth, he trailed fingers along the length until he groaned.

He didn’t want to make things messy (not tonight, anyway), so he quickly stripped down and folded the trousers neatly. As he lay back on the bed, he let the images from the night wash over him, from the girl who’d pressed up against him in the tube, to the bloke quietly wanking there in public, right up to the way Harry had smiled when leaving him here at the end of the night.

Neville came hard and quick, and for the first night in a long while, he was able to relax and sleep easily.

#

It took Neville a week to go back to the tube by himself. He made sure to get on at just the right time, while the crowds were packing in after a long day of work. He didn’t actually want to go anywhere, he just wanted to stand there, surrounded by people. None of them really seemed to notice him other than as something to brace against when the train went around a corner. He found himself catching people when they stumbled, his large hands grazing against hips and shoulders, helping put folks to rights as he kept himself steady.

He wondered, sometimes, whether they knew what they were doing. There was the girl who kept turning to talk to her friend behind her, large breasts brushing against his shoulder over and over, and when he looked, her nipples were peaked and taut beneath her thin jumper. Neville made the mistake of catching her eye, and when she grinned, he flushed brightly. Her hand grazed his rigid cock as she stepped past him when the two girls reached their stop.

He shoved his hands deep in his pockets then, right hand sliding through that hole he had so neatly cut. Fingers curled against the hard length of his prick, quietly stroking.

It almost hurt by the end of the trip, the way he had been hard for hours. There were moments where he thought he would lose control and come right there in his trousers, but he managed to hold back by twisting away, clenching down on his prick, fingers twisted through the hole in his pocket.

He didn’t want it to end to early. He wanted to stay there, swaying to the motion of the train, letting people pin him in on all sides. He wanted to watch people, like the couple who thought no one could see the way his hand was up her shirt, or the pair of blokes where one had his hand in the other bloke’s pants, fly slightly open so Neville could see.

But the crowds thinned as the hour grew late, and Neville knew he would lose the anonymity of the crowd. As seats became available, he collapsed into one at the back of the train car, his coat pulled around himself to hide the signs of his hand in his trousers. Eyes closed as his fingers drifted along his length; he was teetering on the edge, and knew it wouldn’t take much. He let his eyes drift open again, just a slit, watching that thin view of the world around him. Two seats down and across the aisle, a girl read a magazine, and just a bit further on from that, a young man slept on his boyfriend’s shoulder, their hands entwined. Neville drank it all in, this normal life that surrounded him, as he stroked himself and tried not to groan when the orgasm rolled through him.

His wand was up his sleeve, and he cast a drying spell for his trousers. He could still feel the sticky spunk inside his pants, as he stood and drew his coat tight around him to hide any evidence. It squished as he walked, and he couldn’t help the slow smile over what he’d done.

Neville knew he’d be back. It was too good not to do it again.

#

He didn’t tell anyone about his trips to the tube. Neville tried not to go too often; he didn’t want anyone to notice or remember him. The important thing was to be anonymous, just another face going from one point to another in London. But he saw the way Harry gave him a surprised look when he had his ticket out and put it through the Muggle machine easily. It hadn’t occurred to Neville that his comfort might give him away, and he flushed when Harry budged up close to him on the crowded platform.

“Been avoiding apparition, mate?” Harry asked, voice low so that Neville had to tilt his head down to hear him.

The flush warmed. “Er. Thought I’d go out among the Muggles on my own sometimes, too,” Neville said, which wasn’t a lie, even if Harry probably took it differently than he meant. Harry shouldered him lightly in response, and Neville nudged him back, comfortable there among the crowd.

When the train pulled up and the doors opened, Neville let the surge of people carry him into the car. He was separated slightly from Harry as they found their space in the standing room only. His attention was caught by Harry talking to a trio of young blokes, convincing them to move and give up their space to an older woman, and Neville smiled. Harry couldn’t resist saving anyone, even from having sore feet.

The train swayed as it began to move, and Neville spread his feet slightly, widening his stance to keep himself steady. It was routine, by then, an easy set of motions to find his way to stand as he held onto the pole with one hand, the other neatly tucked in his pocket.

It was routine, by then, to let his fingers slip through the hole and lightly stroke against his length, which was already hard as he looked at the crowd around himself.

A woman jostled him, sliding in close behind him, breasts against his back. He turned slightly, elbow teasing her nipple on the way by, and she smiled at him as she reached up for the bar overhead. He couldn’t help the way his gaze dropped to the low neckline, the skin revealed there, and her smile only grew. She knew he was looking and he didn’t care, so Neville looked his fill, careful to keep his breathing even as his fingers slid along his prick.

The game only worked if no one knew, so he couldn’t let anyone know.

He didn’t have long this time; no hours long random ride to nowhere. The woman left a few stops later, and Harry squeezed in behind Neville, one arm wrapped around Neville’s waist to hold himself upright. He felt the way Harry pressed in close, tilting up on his toes so his mouth was close to Neville’s ear. “Seems like you’re a good deal more comfortable than you were last time, Nev,” Harry murmured. “What’s so fascinating in your pocket, there?”

Neville froze, not even daring to breathe. “Nothing,” he whispered.

Harry’s laugh was a warm puff of air. “I doubt that, Nev. Here, hold my jacket.”

The jacket pressed against his stomach, and Neville took his hand out of his pocket just in time to capture it before it slid. It covered them, hiding Neville’s crotch from view as Harry slipped his hand into the warmth of that pocket. Another soft laugh when Harry discovered the hole and pushed through it. He tugged one leg of Neville’s pants aside and pushed his hand inside, gripping his prick firmly.

“Is this what you’ve been doing?”

Neville couldn’t find words to answer, his entire body hot and flushed. He nodded once, quickly.

“How often have you been doing this?” Harry stroked the hard length, tone thoughtful. His hips rocked against Neville as the train moved around a gentle curve, and Neville felt an answering hardness behind him.

He had to bite back a moan, lip caught in his teeth for a moment as he shuddered. “Once a week or so,” Neville said quietly. “More sometimes, less others. Don’t want to get caught.”

“Of course you don’t want to get caught.” Harry’s touch was rougher than Neville usually was, harder. He wasn’t trying to make this linger. His hand moved slowly but firmly, a quick wank between stops. “But you like this, I can tell. I can just imagine you standing here in a crowd, pulling yourself off with a quick tug, no one the wiser.” Harry’s breath was rough, mouth pressed against the back of Neville’s shoulder. “C’mon, Nev, show me how you do it. Show me how you get off and no one even notices.”

It was so much harder to be quiet like this, with the warmth of Harry’s body wrapped around him, those fingers tugging roughly at his prick. He almost whined, wanting to whimper and moan, wanting to shift his hips and fuck that hand. It was so strange and different and good to feel someone else’s touch, and it didn’t take long before Neville came silently, spilling sticky spunk into his pants.

He cast the drying charm automatically, just in time as the train pulled up to a stop.

Harry withdrew his hand and took his jacket back, holding it in front of his tented trousers; Neville drew his coat around himself to hide the stains. Harry jerked his head at the door, but didn’t say a word until they were on the platform, a sea of humanity moving around them.

“I’m thinking we don’t go out,” Harry said.

Neville flushed again, cheeks hot with the knowledge that Harry was probably embarrassed by his behaviour. “Of course. Yeah. We’ll just…” he waved his free hand at the track. “Go back and head home. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up, Nev.” Harry fisted his hands in Neville’s collar and pulled him down, kissing him, quickly at first, then wet and deep and sloppy as Neville’s arms went around his back. “We’re going back to mine. Only question I see for tonight is whether I’m going to wait until I get home before you get me off the first time. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Neville’s grin flashed brightly. “Yeah. That sounds brilliant.”

The only thing he could think would be better than being anonymous in a crowd was being alone with Harry in that same crowd. In fact, it sounded downright fucking perfect.

And when they settled into the sway of the train, heading back home, Neville slid his hand into Harry’s pocket and heard him moan. “Maybe we don’t have to go home at all,” Neville murmured in his ear. “Maybe we could just ride all night.”

Harry only nodded as Neville teased him, and the train swayed along the track.