springsmutfairy (springsmutfairy) wrote in hp_springsmut, @ 2009-03-27 00:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | fic, ron/neville, slash |
Happy springsmut, coffee_n_cocoa!
Author: j_lunatic
Recipient: coffee_n_cocoa
Title: Redhead in Bed
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Neville/Ron; background George/Lee
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Neville learns much more than he expected about the power of scent.
Warnings: Dubcon?
Word Count: 2,300
Author's Notes: 1) In the days before modern hygiene, redheads traditionally were said to have a characteristic body odour; one 19th-century aficionado described it as "amber and violets." 2) Demeter makes a fragrance called Redhead in Bed, but it's based on a cocktail combining strawberries, lemon juice, and gin.
Neville frowned at the extensive and explicit instructions Lavender and Parvati had given him. Well, this operation was close enough to Potions to give him problems, or a complex. He measured into the first prelabelled bottle a quantity of freshly milked Mimbulus mimbletonia sap, added enough rectified spirits to make the requested concentration, and stirred.
Lavender and Parvati had asked Neville to make solutions, of several different strengths, of the sap from his Mimbulus mimbletonia. Supposedly they wanted this stinking substance as a possible ingredient of the new perfume they were making for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' WonderWitch line. "I don't expect it'll ever really replace Tonquin musk as a base note, but good-quality musk is getting harder to source, and I know I don't like thinking of just what part of the deer the musk comes from," Lavender had exclaimed. At this point Parvati had started pulling out small bottles from her supply cabinet. Their contents smelled worse than Harry's socks, but apparently when used in the right proportions made the difference between a banally pleasant smell and a subtle yet affecting perfume.
The sap was dispersing into the alcohol without needing much stirring. Neville corked the first bottle, containing a 10 percent solution of sap (almost as odorous as the stuff straight from the plant). He then took a fresh bottle and measured out enough sap to make the 5 percent solution, topped it with alcohol, and stirred.
This proportion didn't smell as much like the pure Mimbulus mimbletonia sap. Neville racked his unreliable memory, trying to think what this smell evoked. He nearly snapped his stirring rod when he realized just what he was remembering.
Redheaded people generally have a characteristic body odour, hinting at something unwashed, something less human, more animal-like. During his years at Hogwarts Neville had smelled it on Percy Weasley (despite his faithful twice-daily showers), Ginny Weasley (lurking beneath her insipid, heavily applied flowery perfume), and the Weasley twins (especially when they came back from Quidditch practice without showering first). But above all Neville had smelled it on Ron Weasley--after all, the two had roomed together for 6 years.
Neville had never let himself look at Ron when he was lounging on his bed in only his shorts, or was coming back from the showers covered in just a towel. (When had Neville told himself it would be wrong to look at Ron that way? Third year? Second year?) But Neville's traitorous memory recalled snippets of speckled flesh seen out of the corner of his eyes, and assembled a composite figure. A lanky, freckled young man, with a thicket of bright red hair on his head, and a thatch of slightly darker red hair--well!
Struggling to ignore the excitement rising in his crotch, Neville corked the 5 percent solution, and hastily measured out sap and spirits to make a 2 percent solution. Mercifully, its scent did not call to mind half-dressed adolescent lads.
After corking the 2 percent solution, Neville unstopped the bottle of 10 percent solution--yes, it smelled almost as offensive as the pure sap. Then he uncapped the 5 percent solution.
The blood rushed back to Neville's groin, and images of freckled flesh rebounded. In hopes of suppressing the impermissible images, he undid the fly of his jeans and reached in, remembering the unnamed, fair-haired man he'd--well, met at the Trou Normand during his last visit to Paris's Wizarding district. He could almost smell the melange of aphrodisiac potions and rough red wine.
Neville gripped his hard prick, shuffled his hand up and down the shaft, and focused on the memory of the stranger's skilful tongue and lips. But instead Neville kept imagining a head of redder hair and ruddier cheeks, imagining a more familiar face greedily licking his balls, sucking on his cock, swallowing his come.
"No!" Neville exclaimed, as he ejaculated onto his workbench. As soon as he could focus his eyes, he immediately began mopping up. After all, if Lavender and Parvati wanted--well, a different pungent substance to play with, they'd have asked specifically for that.