Fic: Not Your Usual Christmas Exchange (Harry/Ron, NC-17) for goneoffthelump Author:coffee_n_cocoa Recipient:shes_gone Title: Not Your Usual Christmas Exchange Rating: NC-17 Pairing(s): Harry/Ron Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older. Summary: What better time than Christmas Eve to show love and trust to the one you love? Warnings: Frottage, rimming, fisting Word Count: ~2700 Author's Notes: Thanks to those who offered advice, and to my beta. Happy Christmas, shes_gone! I hope this pleases.
Not Your Usual Christmas Exchange
Saying good-byes at family gatherings usually took a long time, Harry had found. This was doubly true when it was a Weasley family gathering. When it was a holiday Weasley family gathering, greeting everyone upon arrival could take half an hour, at the very least. Harry didn’t mind, in fact, he looked forward to Christmases at the Burrow, the light and warmth and laughter; Molly’s cooking and the eggnog George had usually spiked before the end of the evening; the brightly wrapped packages beneath the tree Arthur handed out to children, grandchildren, and significant others alike. It was all the Christmases he’d never really had while growing up, until he’d met Ron.
Leaving a Weasley holiday gathering, on the other hand, could take upwards of an hour, between finding cloaks and gloves and scarves; using Shrinking Charms to contain the presents received; saying good-bye, promising to visit again soon; promising to come for Sunday dinner after the first of the year; saying good-bye, acceding to Victoire’s demand for another kiss; saying good-bye, congratulating Angelina yet again for her pregnancy; saying good-bye, and saying good-bye. It was a marathon of farewells nearly as gruelling as a professional Quidditch match where the Snitch continually eluded the fingers of both Seekers.
Listening to Ron whisper in his ear all evening hadn’t helped, images of the things he’d promised to do to Harry once they got home whirling through his head. Ron’s hand on his leg throughout dinner, his thumb stroking along his inner thigh higher and higher until it had been all Harry could do to not wriggle in his seat, had been torture. Molly, busy ensuring no one at her table went hungry, had no idea of the entirely inappropriate dinner topics Ron poured into Harry’s ear, continuing to tease him for the remainder of the meal and the opening of gifts following dinner.
Finally, finally, Ron had taken advantage of his height and size, bellowing that he and Harry had to go now, otherwise they’d never get out and Father Christmas wouldn’t be able to come. It had made the adults laugh, but succeeded in spurring the children into hurrying a bit faster into their caps and mittens.
Successfully bidding their final farewells, along with a last few promises to come again soon once the holiday madness was over, Harry and Ron headed out into the cold, starlit night. They’d barely made it past the gate and into the lane before Ron pulled Harry to him, capturing Harry’s lips beneath his, nibbling on his lower lip, one hand snaking between them to rest on the rapidly hardening erection barely concealed beneath Harry’s robes and cloak.
“Ready for your early Christmas pressie?” Ron murmured, his breath warm against the shell of Harry’s ear. “What we talked about? You still want it, yeah? Still want to?”
“Yes,” Harry whispered back against his lips. “I do. Been thinking about it all night, thanks to you.”
Ron grinned and hauled Harry against him until they stood pressed chest to chest, hip to hip. He ran his fingers through Harry’s messy black hair, down the knobs of his spine to cup his arse through his trousers, bringing them even closer. Harry moaned softly, need unfurling through his limbs as their cocks rubbed together, the friction maddening through the layers of clothing.
“I’ve been thinking about it all night, too,” Ron breathed. “I’m going to love having you spread out for me like another Christmas feast, tasting you, touching you, watching you take it all in for me. Think you can handle it?”
“I can handle anything you throw at me,” Harry said on a soft moan, his lips brushing against Ron’s. His hands moved around Ron’s waist, grinding their hips together, fingers tracing the contours of Ron’s arse. “I’m tired of talking about it. I want you to do it.” He shifted his hold, preparing to Apparate them both back to the house in Godric’s Hollow as Ron gave him a wicked grin.
“Trust me, I will.”
“I do,” Harry replied, and Apparated them directly into their bedroom, not wanting to waste a moment. The crack announcing their arrival hadn’t even faded before his mouth found Ron’s again, hands lifting to unfasten Ron’s robes.
After several moments of testosterone-fuelled fumbling Ron muttered, “Screw this,” and grabbed twin handfuls of Harry’s robes, yanking them up and over his head. It meant breaking off the kissing momentarily, but the results were worth the sacrifice. Harry followed suit, pulling Ron’s robes and the shirt underneath off together, grinning widely before leaning forward again, eager to resume kissing, mouth slanting across Ron’s, barely aware of his jeans and underpants as they were pushed down past his hips, because he was doing the same with Ron.
A small, awkward shuffle later, and they had their shoes and socks off also, leaving both of them fully naked and rampantly hard. Ron wrapped both cocks in one large hand, eliciting moans from two throats at the friction created between them.
“You really are looking forward to it, aren’t you?” Ron whispered, biting down gently on Harry’s earlobe.
“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” Harry asked, drawing back slightly, peering up at Ron with anxious green eyes. “We’ve talked about it, prepared for it. I know it’ll be incredible.”
Ron kissed him again, making it impossible to speak, tongues curling and weaving in a sensuous dance. Releasing their cocks, his hands dropped onto the curves of Harry’s arse, kneading the taut muscles before slipping one long forefinger between the cheeks, seeking and finding his entrance and teasing it with his fingertip just long enough for Harry to moan into his mouth in yearning and widen his stance. Ron chuckled low in his throat and stood back.
“Bed. Now,” he said, pointing toward it. Bending, he fetched his wand from the jumble of clothing on the floor. Harry complied, stretching out atop the brightly coloured quilt Molly had sewn for them when they’d first moved in together, watching as Ron summoned a towel from the adjoining bath and a jar of lubricant from the bedside table.
Ron joined him a moment later, the items close to hand as he leaned in for another kiss, one hand grazing down the column of Harry’s throat and progressing toward his chest. Harry’s breath caught as Ron began circling a nipple with the tip of his finger, exhaling on a soft moan. Lips followed hands as Harry wriggled beneath the teasing caresses, whimpering when Ron tweaked the nipple, pinching it lightly, rolling it between his fingers before breaking off the kiss and lowering his head to take the tight nub into his mouth, his teeth grazing at the tip. Harry gasped and pressed upward against Ron’s mouth, and Ron obliged his unspoken demand, taking the nipple between his teeth and tugging gently. Harry groaned his appreciation, fingers tightening in the quilt.
“Harder,” he whispered, writhing when Ron bit down for a brief, rough moment, pulling back to lick away the throbbing ache left behind until Harry relaxed, only to switch over and tease and torment the other nipple. His hand slipped down, cupping Harry’s balls, rolling them in his palm, one finger moving behind his sac to press on the sensitive spot hidden there.
“Turn over,” Ron murmured, fingertips ghosting once more across the fragile skin of Harry’s scrotum. “Don’t forget the towel.”
“Who do you think I am? Neville?” Harry rolled his eyes and rolled over onto his hands and knees at the edge of the bed, careful to make sure the towel lay flat beneath him. “Don’t forget the lube, yeah?”
“Prat.” Ron slapped one arsecheek playfully. “Ginny says he’s good at remembering what’s important. I didn’t ask for details, believe me.”
“Thank you! No sense ruining the rest of the evening before it gets started!”
Now that it was getting started, however, Harry couldn’t stifle the sudden nervousness fluttering his stomach. He and Ron had talked about it, fantasised about it, even read up on it, doing enough research to make even Hermione proud; but research and preparation was one thing. Actually going through with it was quite another. What if something went wrong? What if Ron got stuck? He could just imagine explaining things to the staff at St. Mungo’s. He didn’t even want to think about what Ron’s family might say.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out, Harry spread his knees wider and laid his head on his crossed arms, lifting and spreading his arse further. He felt Ron behind him, leaning over to kiss him between his shoulders, warm hands stroking down the length of his back. His lips followed, tracing a path along Harry’s spine to its base, kissing and touching in a long, soothing caress, helping him to relax.
He made a soft sound of amusement when Ron’s knees popped as he knelt behind him, a sound that quickly became an eager moan as Ron began kissing and nibbling at his flank, one hand rubbing his thigh, settling him further for what was to come. He heard a metallic scraping sound as Ron unscrewed the lid of the pot of thick cream he’d purchased especially for the occasion, listening despite the nice distraction of Ron’s lips moving across one buttock, drifting ever closer to his cleft.
Lips still brushing over soft skin and taut muscle, Ron set down the jar in favour of using his fingers to gently pry apart Harry’s cheeks. He let out a hiss of anticipation as those lips kissed the base of his spine, warm hands spreading him open, and gasped when Ron licked, a long wet stripe from the top of his crack to the base of his balls and back.
Ron chuckled again at the hitch in Harry’s breathing, tongue dipping between his cheeks, finding and tracing the tight and wrinkled pucker of his opening, tickling and teasing at it with the tip of his tongue. Harry’s hands gripped the bedsheets, hips pressing back against Ron’s mouth, thighs spreading more widely without thinking, breath rasping in his throat as Ron’s tongue delicately coaxed him open enough to push the tip inside.
Harry whimpered at the intrusion, moaning softly as Ron’s tongue pressed further into him, thrusting a little deeper each time, the passage eased with the slick of his saliva. Nothing like this should feel this good, he thought, even as he pushed back against Ron, urging him without words to delve even deeper. Ron obliged, his mouth sealing over his opening, lips suckling at the sensitised flesh, his tongue moving and thrusting in him, fucking him with it until Harry’s breath sawed in and out of his throat, his hips rocking back into each push of Ron’s tongue in mindless need, thighs trembling from the strain even though he’d widen them further if he could.
“Please, Ron, please,” he gasped, aware of nothing other than the hot, swollen sensation of Ron’s tongue buried inside him, filling him, the trickle of Ron’s saliva sliding further down his crack, proof of how slick he was already. His hoarse cries of pleasure filled the room as Ron continued tongue-fucking him, probing as deep as he could go, making him ready and receptive and aching for more, whining when Ron’s thumbs pried him apart even further. “God, Ron…”
Harry let out a soft cry of loss when that wicked tongue finally retreated from his channel, hips humping at empty air for a moment, cock bobbing uselessly, his stomach painted with sticky strands of precome. Ron patted his rump, resuming his earlier task of kissing along the curves of Harry’s arse. He heard Ron reach for the jar of cream, listened to the soft, slightly wet sounds as he readied himself.
Ron’s fingers slid into him, replacing his tongue, thrusting in and out, curling and wriggling and slicking his inner walls with the heavy lubricant before finding and stroking the nub of his prostate. Harry’s breathless sobs bounced from the walls, his hips pumping frantically against Ron’s hand, his cock leaking continuously as he rutted at the air.
“Fuck, Ron,” he panted, his head thrown back as those fingers rubbed over his prostate again, ratcheting the sensations surging through his limbs another notch. “You’re driving me mad!”
“That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?” Ron’s voice was none too steady, his breathing faster than before. “Making you feel brilliant?”
Harry started to reply, the words becoming a lustful mewl when Ron chose that moment to add a third finger, also slick with cream, curling and criss-crossing inside of him, widening him further as they slid in and out of his hole, before lacing together into a tight wedge. Harry rocked back in growing impatience, and Ron growled low in his throat, the sound going straight to Harry’s throbbing prick.
“Dammit, Ron, you’re enjoying this!”
“Oh, yeah,” Ron answered honestly, and added a fourth finger.
The addition stretched Harry painfully wide, his mouth falling open on a loud moan at the increased ache and burn, his entire body shuddering. This was as far as they’d ever gone before, the furthest they’d managed. Panting, he clenched convulsively around the invading fingers, trying to acclimate to the extra fullness because only then could he relax and accept.
“Too much?” Ron asked, stilling, and Harry shook his head frantically.
“ ‘S okay,” he gasped. “Don’t…stop…”
“You know, you can still touch yourself,” Ron said, another waft of scented cream assailing Harry’s nose.
Harry seized on the suggestion, lifting one hand from the bed to wrap around his prick and stroke, just as Ron folded his fingers around his thumb and pressed inside.
Harry howled, Ron’s knuckles pulling him wider than he’d ever been, throwing his head back, his eyes squeezed shut. Ron’s hand pushed into him in an excruciatingly slow rate until the widest part of his hand was securely ensconced within the aching tightness of Harry’s arse. His entire body quivered with strain, breath sawing in and out of his chest, catching occasionally on a dry sob. Ron’s hand felt enormous, larger than usual, the raw-boned knuckles sharp against his inner flesh as he curled his hand further into a fist, pulsing and loosening rhythmically inside of him.
His hand flew up and down his swollen cock, stroking hard and fast, barely aware of the sensation of his balls constricting, a faint warning compared to the huge throbbing burn in his arse, the knifepoint between intense pleasure and intense pain; he screamed as he came, the sound primal, spraying the towel beneath him with hot semen, some of it missing the towel to land on the quilt with the force of his climax.
He was barely aware of Ron’s hand leaving his body, using the spasms contracting around it to help push it from his channel. He heard Ron grunt, and a moment later felt wet warmth from Ron’s orgasm splashing over his arse, some of it leaking down into his crack to seep into his widened hole, and Harry finally allowed himself to collapse, rolling to one side at the last instant to avoid the mess on the towel.
Ron joined him, pulling him back against his chest, hands moving in soft, soothing caresses over his skin, gentling him as Harry quivered through aftershock, relaxing further as Ron pressed open-mouthed kisses to his bare, sweat-slick shoulder.
“All right?” he murmured. “It wasn’t…it wasn’t too much?”
“Too much?” Harry let out a breathless laugh. “Ron, that was fucking fantastic. Intense, definitely not something we should do every night, but Merlin, that was amazing.” Craning his head back to meet Ron’s eyes, he grinned.
“If you say so…” Ron didn’t sound entirely convinced.
“Trust me. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced.” Harry sobered, one hand reaching up to slide his fingers into ginger hair, pulling him down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Let me get my breath back, and then it’s your turn. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”
Ron scowled at the challenge before letting out a snort. “I haven’t changed my mind. I trust you. Besides,” he added, returning the grin, “your hand’s smaller.”
“Happy Christmas, Ron.”
“Happy Christmas, Harry.”
“Oh, it has been. And it’s about to get better. Roll over.”
“Can’t we at least get a clean towel first?” Ron asked plaintively.