Title: My Heart Against Your Chest
Author: gracerene
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Ron, mentions of past Harry/Ginny & Ron/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Intercrural Sex & Claustrophilia (arousal by confined spaces)
Other Warnings/Content: Auror Partners, pining, forced proximity, hand jobs, dirty talk, intercrural sex
Word Count: ~4,100
Summary/Description: Harry and Ron get trapped in a closet.
Author's Notes:Title is from Kiss Me by Ed Sheeran. Thanks to capitu and _melodic_ for looking this one over.

They should have known better.

Four years as full-fledged Aurors meant this was hardly Ron and Harry's first mission, and the two of them, along with four other Aurors, had been working this particular case for ages; they knew what they were up against.

After months of investigative work, Ron, Harry, and the rest of their team had finally managed to bag the primary players in the latest illegal potions supply and distribution ring to set up shop in England. Unfortunately, they hadn't realised when they moved in on the baddies that they had been operating out of multiple locations. The derelict building the distributors had been squatting in hadn't had any potions supplies or ingredients at all, and they barely had enough product on hand for the Aurors to charge them for possession, let alone something more serious.

That was nearly twenty-four hours ago now, and the six of them had been working 'round the clock ever since, determined to find the primary location and the rest of the evidence that would allow them to send the bastards to Azkaban. A seven-year-old witch had died just last week when she accidentally got into her older sister's stash, and the number of people coming into the St Mungo's potions clinic had doubled in the past several weeks. The shit those arsehole were brewing was dangerous, and Ron wasn't going to let anybody else get hurt if he could help it.

They got their first big break around hour eighteen, when Auror Davis managed to cast an extremely complicated reverse-tracking spell on one of the detainees' wands. It took a few more hours to decode the garbled feedback, but eventually it led them all to a large and crumbling estate far out in the country. It looked empty and foreboding, and faint prickles of dark magic crawled across Ron's skin. He exchanged a glance with Harry, feeling his insides light up with anticipation and something else he quickly suppressed. It was time to get to work.

As expected, the house was heavily booby-trapped, and just getting through the front door took the better part of an hour. Ron felt antsy, anxious, and he could tell the feeling was shared by the rest of his colleagues. But they wouldn't be doing anybody any favours if they went too fast and got themselves killed. They all knew the score.

Despite the slow going, things went relatively smoothly at first. The house was huge, which meant it only made sense for them to break off into their pairs and canvas the place. Ron and Harry got the uppermost floor, and they moved slowly and cautiously up the stairs and through the musty, darkened hallways.

Ron blamed the fatigue for what happened next. It really wasn't healthy for people to go more than twenty-four hours without sleeping, especially before sending said people out to a dangerous house full of dark magic. They'd gone several minutes without experiencing any kind of traps, and given that they were at the very top of the house surrounded by mostly bedrooms, it seemed likely that this area had remained mostly untouched by hexes and curses.

The key word, of course, being mostly.

There was one final room at the end of the hall left to search, which was naturally when it all went to shit. Harry and Ron entered the room at the same time, and they both seemed to register the grimy feeling of dark magic a second too late. Ron tried to back out of the room, and to pull Harry with him, but it was no use. The moment they stepped inside—into a large, empty closet, by the look of it—they were stuck. There was a blur of motion as the room shrank down to something barely big enough to fit both him and Harry standing up, and the lights at the tips of their wands went out.

"Oh, fuck," Harry groaned. Their chests were plastered together, and his face was so close, Ron could feel the warmth of Harry's exhalation against his neck.

Ron shuddered, wishing he could back up and give them both a little space. Unfortunately, he could feel the hard line of wood at his back and sides, and he would bet money that Harry was experiencing the same. They were lucky they hadn't been crushed to death by the shrinking walls. He shuddered again, before groping along the sides of their prison.

"Looks like the door's gone," he said in a flat voice.

"Bollocks." He felt Harry move. "Lumos," Harry hissed. A bright light flared for a brief moment before quickly sputtering out. "Lumos." This time the tip of Harry's wand barely flickered.

"I take it our magic's been dampened, as well?"

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry bellowed, causing Ron to wince. Nothing happened. Not even a wisp.

"Merlin, Harry, you're two fucking inches from my ear. Can you maybe cool it with the shouting?"

"Erm, sorry," Harry said sheepishly.

"S'all right, mate. Don't worry, we'll be out of here soon enough. The others will know something's happened when we don't cast our check-in spell in the next ten minutes or so. Shouldn't take them too long to get us out. This spell was clearly designed to trap intruders alive."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

He probably was, but that didn't mean Ron wasn't worried. Of course, it wasn't being trapped he was worried about. It was being trapped with Harry.

The tiny space had them slotted together from head to toe, chests and hips and thighs snugly pressed up against each other. Every place they touched set Ron's skin on fire, even through their layers of clothes. He was doing his best to keep his breath slow and even, but his heart was galloping like a runaway Abraxan.

He'd touched Harry plenty over the years: a reassuring ruffle of his hair, a comforting arm over his shoulders, a manly hug on special occasions. But he'd never had this much of him this close for this long. Ron was a little drunk off it, off the intoxicating scent of Harry's cucumber shampoo, of the whisper of Harry's unsteady breaths. Harry was so solid against him, so real, and all Ron wanted to do was bury his nose in Harry's hair and pull him even closer.

He suppressed a growl, and, not for the first time, cursed Hermione for opening this particular can of worms. It had been six months now since they'd broken up, this time for good. Six months since that painfully awkward conversation where Hermione had pointed out some uncomfortable truths that Ron had been burying for a long time.

Ron had never seriously considered his passing, and very occasional, attraction to blokes, not like Harry had. Harry had been proudly waving the bisexual flag for ages now, but Hermione had been the only one for Ron, and there wasn't much point in thinking about anybody else in Ron's opinion. Only, apparently Hermione hadn't been the only one for him, not in the darkest recesses of his mind, and though he'd mostly managed not to consider blokes at all, there'd been one bloke that had managed to sneak past his defenses.

The final break-up had been platonic enough, a fact for which Ron was unendingly grateful, but he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't angry at Hermione for making him realise how deep his affection for his best mate ran. They lived together, worked together, and for the past six months, Ron had thought of little else besides Harry freaking Potter. Not that it was entirely new concept for Ron (clue number one, that), but the tone of these thoughts had decidedly changed. He hadn't been able to look Harry in the eyes for a week after Harry (and the communal Auror showers at work) made their debut in Ron's filthy dreams.

The past few months had been torture for Ron, realising what he wanted and knowing he couldn't have it. Sure, Harry liked blokes too, but Ron had seen the blokes he'd gone out with—Ron didn't hold a candle to them. Plus, Harry was Ron's best mate, and he'd dated Ron's sister. He thought of Ron as a brother, and where before that thought would have warmed him from the inside out, now it was like a knife in the gut. Still, Harry's friendship was the most important thing in the world to Ron, and he wasn't going to let some unrequited feelings fuck that up. He'd get over it, eventually. He'd be fine.

Of course, that was before he was trapped in a shoebox with Harry, so close he could feel the flutter of Harry's eyelashes against his cheek. Harry seeped into Ron's senses, clouding his mind. Every cell in his body screamed at him to press even closer, to seal their lips together in a hungry kiss. He wanted Harry with a desperation that had had his palms itching with the urge to touch.

A quiver ran through Harry's body, as a small, almost hurt sounding noise escaped his throat. Fuck, Ron was a total arse. Here he was, feeling sorry for himself and his unfortunate desires, and he hadn't spared a single thought for how his best mate was doing. Ron knew that Harry had a bit of a dislike for enclosed spaces—with good reason, given what his bastard family had done to him.

He shifted, wanting to offer Harry a comforting pat on the arm and a kind word to help him through his fear. That's when he felt it. An undeniable hardness pressed up against his upper thigh. Ron was quite positive it wasn't Harry's wand.

"Err, Harry?"

Harry groaned, a deep, embarrassed sound as his head thunked against the wall behind him. He moved, likely trying to make his state a little less obvious, but it only served to rub his hardness against Ron's thigh, causing Ron's own prick to take eager notice of the proceedings.

"I can explain," Harry blurted out, when it became obvious that the problem wasn't going away.

Ron blinked, his mind blanking out at the fact that he was feeling Harry's hard dick pressed up against him. Merlin, was he hallucinating?

"You know how I had kind of an issue with small spaces, yeah?" Harry asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, I was really nervous about it when we were in training, remember? I didn't want to be a liability in instances just like this one. I mentioned it to Hermione, and she explained this concept of positive association, and how there've been studies on sort of re-programming your brain's reactions to certain situations."

"Okay..."

Ron could practically hear Harry's blush as he continued. "I was still with Gin at the time and she, err, suggested we associate small spaces with something a bit more enjoyable. It, uhh, worked a little better than expected."

"Ah," Ron said, disappointment sliding through him as he realised what Harry was implying. "So you're thinking of my sister then." Great. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"No," Harry said slowly. "Definitely not. It's just that...well, enclosed spaces kind of have the opposite effect on me these days. They kind of…" There was some movement that Ron could only assume was Harry making some kind of hand gesture. He wondered what the hand gesture was for "small spaces get me hard".

Ron was glad to hear Harry wasn't pining for Ginny, but it didn't change the fact that Harry's hard-on was for the situation, not for Ron. Unfortunately, nobody had let Ron's dick know what that meant for him, and he'd begun to perk right up the second Ron felt the firm press of Harry's prick. He tried to will it away, to think of Snape in lingerie or their latest gruesome crime scene, but nothing did the trick. Every breath he took brought in lungfuls of Harry's intoxicating scent, heating his blood like a cauldron over the fire.

He knew the exact moment Harry felt his growing need, because he went completely, utterly still.

"Ron?" Harry asked softly. Ron bit back a frustrated scream.

"Friction," he said brusquely.

His eyes had adjusted somewhat to the darkness of the room by now, so he could just barely make out Harry's features and the intensity of his stare. Hot breath ghosted across Ron's neck in a nervous chuckle, and Ron shivered.

"I could...I could help," Harry whispered, so low that it was only just audible, even in the silence of the space. "You know, be a mate? If you wanted."

Ron's breath caught, his stomach somersaulting as Harry's offer hit him like a shot of straight desire to the heart. Merlin, it was a terrible idea. He wanted more than a friendly handjob in a darkened cupboard, and once he had a taste of Harry, Ron wasn't sure he'd be able to keep a lid on the feelings that had been slowly growing for months now.

"I…" Oh, who the fuck did Ron think he was kidding? He'd been making idiotic choices for years now, and there was just no way in hell he was strong enough to turn down Harry, not when he was real and in front of him and offering to literally get Ron off right the fuck now.

Ron blinked, swayed forward, and suddenly they were kissing, Harry's lips meeting his own with a ravenous hunger that surprised and thrilled him. The temperature of the air around them seemed to skyrocket as they kissed, hot and fierce, Harry's tongue and lips moving with a skill that had Ron's cock twitching and his pulse pounding.

His hands slid through Harry's hair, and he spared half a thought for how smooth and silky it was between his fingers, despite its often tangled appearance. Ron scratched his nails against Harry's scalp and Harry moaned into his mouth. It sent shivers cascading down Ron's spine and made him long for a mattress so that he could pin Harry to it and fuck him blind.

Harry rocked against him, that hard cock of his grinding into Ron's thigh, and Ron couldn't wait anymore—if this was his only time with Harry, Ron was damn well going to get a hand around his cock.

He ran his palm down Harry's firm chest, rucking up his shirt to feel hot skin over tight muscle. The training regime for the Auror Corp had been good to Harry's body, good for Ron's too, and Ron wished they were in a lit room, wished he could see all of Harry instead of just feeling him. Still, he was damn well going to take what he could get.

"Is this okay?" Ron asked when he got to Harry's jeans.

Harry nodded eagerly. "Yeah, more than."

Ron undid Harry's flies in a flash, half surprised that he managed the buttons so well in his eagerness. Harry moaned when Ron reached inside, fishing out his hard dick and exposing it to the heated air. Fuck, he felt so good, so hot and hard in Ron's hand. If they were anywhere else, Ron might take his time, might draw things out and watch Harry fall apart beneath him. But they weren't anywhere else. They were trapped in a small, dark, cramped room, and Ron couldn't remember ever being so turned on in his life.

Harry clawed at Ron's arms as Ron began to work him over hard and fast, his hips bucking eagerly into Ron's tight fist. It didn't take him long for Harry to spring into action himself, for Harry to reach for Ron with greedy hands, fumbling at Ron's flies until Ron's own cock sprung free.

"Fuck," Harry moaned as he got a palm around Ron's length. "Oh fuck, you feel huge," he babbled reverently. "God you're big, aren't you?" He mouthed at Ron's neck as his hand began to stroke. "Fuck, I'm so hot right now. Want it so bad."

"Yeah?" Ron asked as he wanked Harry harder. "What do you want?"

"Want your dick," Harry said frankly. "You should just—"

Harry spun around without warning, impressive given how little space there was to move around in, and pressed his arse back against Ron's erection. "Merlin, fuck, Harry!"

"Yeah, you should fuck me," Harry moaned as he arched back against Ron. "Fuck me with that big cock."

Ron's hands flew to Harry's waist, squeezing it in an attempt to steady himself against the wave of dizziness that washed over him. He wondered if they'd been hit with a lust spell when the room shrank, if that's why he felt so out of control with desire, why Harry was acting like every one of Ron's fantasies come to life. But no, Ron knew what it felt like to be under the influence of dark magic, and this wasn't it. This was him, this was them.

In the darkness, Ron could just barely make out the the pale skin of Harry's arse. He reached out tentatively, reverently, ghosting his fingers over the firm, lightly furred flesh. Ron wanted Harry. He wanted him badly, wanted to take what Harry was offering, what he was begging for.

But not like this.

Ron wanted Harry more than he could bear, but if they were going to take that final step, it wasn't going to be in some cramped closet when they could be found at any moment. Not when Harry was just doing this as a mate, when Harry was so turned on from the confined space that he'd probably get off with anybody.

Ron didn't think he'd recover from that. To have Harry, and then have to go back to normal, to pretend that everything was fine...it would kill him. It would be hard enough to face Harry after what they'd already done; Ron couldn't afford to make things any worse.

"Put your feet together," Ron commanded, before spitting into his hand. He could feel Harry complying, the sweet curve of his arse jostling against Ron's cock.

Harry breath hitched at the sound of Ron spitting. "You going to fuck my arse?"

"No," Ron groaned, before reaching down and slicking himself up.

"What? Why not?"

"Next time," Ron said, before his constricting chest reminded him that there wouldn't be a next time. He shook it off. "Too close." It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't a lie, either. "Gonna fuck your thighs."

"Oh." Harry breath hitched again as Ron began to guide his erection between the tight press of Harry's thighs. "Oh."

"Yeah. Fuck, yeah." Merlin, it felt good, that tight clutch of Harry's muscled thighs, almost like Ron was really fucking him. He braced a hand on Harry's shoulder, another on Harry's waist, and began to drive against him over and over.

Harry shuddered and moaned, his hand moving quickly as he began to wank himself off in time to Ron's moving hips. The room seemed to pulse and spin, the hot air clinging to Ron's skin, the heady scent of Harry filling Ron's lungs. Pleasure danced up the backs of his legs, pooling in his groin, promising a wonderful, glorious release.

He leaned forward, burying his nose in the silken tangle of Harry's hair, shuddering at the undiluted scent of him, of the impossible feeling of having Harry pressed up against him from head to toe. Ron came with a choked off cry, his face pressed into Harry's hair as he painted Harry's thighs with his come. Harry followed a few seconds later, groaning Ron's name, his body trembling in the aftermath of his release.

The sound of their heavy breaths in the tiny room felt suddenly deafening in Ron's ears without the heady thrum of lust fogging up his common sense. A familiar prickle scraped across his skin, and it took him a moment to realise Harry had cleaned them both off, albeit not entirely. Ron's skin still felt a little grimy, but it was better than it had been. It was impressive, especially considering how much the room was currently dampening their magic. Fuck, they'd been idiots, not even considering how they were going to clean themselves off after, well, getting off. They were damned lucky Harry was as powerful as he was.

Ron opened his mouth to say something, anything, but before he had a chance, he heard the sound of his name being called, as if from a great distance. The cavalry had arrived.

It took another twenty minutes before the others managed to work Harry and him free, and though Ron had never much minded small spaces, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been so happy to see a simple hallway. Instinctively, his eyes sought out Harry's, taking in the flush of his cheeks, the way his shirt clung to his sweaty chest. Ron could still smell the tang of his release, could still feel the hot grip of Harry's thighs squeezing around his cock.

Ron's heart panged and he turned away. There wasn't enough air. He needed to get out, get away. His hands itched to touch Harry, and he needed to escape before he fucked things up even worse than they already were. Harry didn't want him, and Ron needed some space, needed time to get his head on straight. He wasn't ready yet to pretend that what just happened didn't mean anything to him. He wasn't ready to go back to being just 'best mates', not when he wanted so much more..

He mumbled something about needing some fresh air to the others before taking off down the hall and practically flying down the stairs. He thought he heard something behind him but he didn't look back, didn't stop until he was at the crumbling gates surrounding the property. After a quick sweep to ensure the damned things weren't cursed, he leaned back against the hard iron, closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath. It was fine. It would all be fine. Harry and his friendship had survived worse things, and it would survive this. He just needed to—

"Did you mean it?"

Ron jumped half a foot in the air, nearly banging his head on the gate. He whirled around to face Harry, who was looking at him seriously from behind familiar round frames. God, Ron wanted to kiss him.

"Hmm?"

Harry's cheeks were tinged a dusky rose, and Ron could see the trepidation vibrating through him. His obvious nervousness put Ron on edge, sending his heart into vicious palpitations.

"Did you mean what you said earlier?" Harry asked again, his voice low, but steady. "About next time."

"I thought you were just helping me out, working through the...unintended side effect of being stuck in an enclosed space." Ron was attempting straight-forward nonchalance, but even he could hear the edge of bitterness in his tone.

Oddly, Harry seemed almost cheered by it, his body language perking up, like he'd swallowed some Pepperup Potion.

Harry took a deep breath, as if bracing himself, before he said, "I wasn't sure how you'd react if I told you how much I want you."

Ron's entire body went still. "What?"

Harry offered a self-conscious smile. "I'm sort of mad about you. Have been for ages. The past few weeks I thought...maybe you felt the same way." His smile faltered. "Do you?"

Ron didn't bother answering. Instead, he took two big steps towards Harry before pulling him close by his shirt and kissing him for all he was worth. Harry melted against him, wrapping his arms around Ron's neck and snogging him back with all the fury of a thunderstorm.

They were both breathing hard when they finally pulled apart. Harry's face was flushed, his glasses were askew, and Ron wanted nothing more than to drag him to the ground and have his wicked way with him. It was difficult, but Ron managed to resist him. They were still technically at work, and it probably would be a little awkward if their colleagues had to arrest them for public indecency.

"So, you were just making up the bit about being turned on by small spaces?"

Harry's flush deepened. "Err, not exactly no. I mean, the fact that I was trapped with you definitely sped things along a bit, but…"

Ron smiled. "Well, our flat isn't much bigger than a closet. Think that could do it for you?"

Harry's returning grin was absolutely filthy.

"I think I can make it work."