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Two o'clock in the morning, 26 September 1996, Gryffindor dormitories. Harry James Potter and Ronald Bilius Weasley, both smelling faintly of alcohol—perhaps Weasley more than Potter—were lying on their backs on the floor of the room, staring at the ceiling in complete silence. They were alone; they had been alone for a while. Dean and Seamus had gone to a party in the Hufflepuff common room, but, to be honest, neither of them felt like going to a party lately, so they refrained and preferred to stay in, smoke, and have a bit of gin and a few other drinks, which they managed to do, as Ron had successfully sneaked into Hogwarts with a few bottles from his house and a couple of packs of cigarettes he'd stolen from one of his brothers.
Besides the aforementioned Dean and Seamus, Neville wasn't there either, and why? Well, Neville was just that—Neville—and who could care where he was? Maybe he was practicing having his first kiss with a plant or something, probably. No one cares.
Ron and Harry had been staring at the ceiling for at least five minutes since they decided to put the bottles aside, both without saying a single word. The silence was killing, and it was killing Weasley violently. If neither of them uttered a coherent sound that included words in the next ten seconds, Ron would explode. One, two, three, four... fuck it. "Psst," the redhead snapped to attention, getting no response, so he made the same sound louder and for a while longer, "Pssssssst!" Finally, Potter reacted, looking at him in confusion. He could have said something to him instead of that insistently obnoxious sound he had preferred to use, which had thus pierced his ears. "What's wrong?" he asked, turning his head and looking at Ron, who had already turned to look at him.
The room was dark; the only thing that illuminated it was the moonlight that fell ever so slightly on Harry's face but didn't quite hit Ron. "You know how..." he stopped speaking, rambling in his head about what his next word would be. He had spoken without quite processing what he would say, though that probably wasn't the alcohol's fault; it was Ron being his natural self. "You know how we both agree that Cho and Lavender are hot." Okay, that was coming from absolutely nowhere and for no reason, but it was a thought any pubescent boy would have at his age. "Yeah," he stretched out the word, waiting for Ron to continue with his thought, which was slowly becoming harder and harder for him to convey. "Well, Hermione's ugly as a kick in the bollocks, isn't she?”
"Where are you going with this?" Let's see, Ron wasn't wrong; Harry certainly didn't find Hermione attractive in any way, and if she weren't his friend, he wouldn't touch her with a stick. "I want to snog Hermione," he blurted out, looking up at the ceiling again. After all? Yes, after all, Weasley is still infatuated with the only woman in his trio of friends, the girl he swears he's never been attracted to and currently has a crush on, failing to prove his claim at every possible opportunity. "What's that got to do with me?" Harry also looked up at the ceiling again, thinking of a minimally coherent response to his friend's admittedly impulsive words. "Haven't you ever wanted to snog her?" He had to be joking; I mean, who, besides Ron, would want to have a passionate kiss with Hermione's teeth? Because you have to admit, trying to snog her, you'd be more likely to be snogging her teeth. "No, it would be like kissing my sister." Potter replied very clearly, and they fell silent again, staring at the ceiling. But this time, Ron wouldn't let the time pass silently and torturously again; he opened his mouth to blurt out another stupid thing. Only a few seconds had passed.
"Look, I know this is pretty insensitive because he died a few months ago and stuff, but... Cedric was kinda hot. Like, I understand Cho the same way I understand Cedric... I mean, understood." “Pretty insensitive” was an understatement; I mean, hadn't he seen how the dark-haired boy had cried at Diggory's horrific death? In what head could he have said such nonsense months after the tragedy?
"Cedric was so hot." But Harry was still Harry. "Wasn't he!? And not to be gay or anything—I'm not gay—but he was just too good-looking." Ron practically jumped up from where he was and sat up, looking at Harry, who was still lying down. This didn't last long, as immediately after, Harry jumped up as well, sitting up and clearly excited to be able to talk about the topic: the topic of how attractive his late partner, Cedric Diggory, was. A subject, by the way, that Harry would have wanted to talk about before he had died. "Sure, it's not about being gay; it's just that we can admire a man's physical beauty."
"Exactly, because we are so comfortable with our sexual orientation that we can admit when a man has a good body and face, just as we do with women to whom we are sexually attracted." They both nodded, very sure of their heterosexuality. I mean, who hasn't jerked off to Cedric Diggory? May he rest in peace.
Harry's eyes were fixed piercingly on the red-haired boy's, wide open, as if he were watching his thoughts and reading his whole being. Ron was uncomfortable. "What happened?" he asked, breaking the silence and acknowledging his friend's disturbed, incessant stare. "Now that we're on the subject of people we find attractive and stuff... haven't you ever been attracted to people that maybe the other would disagree with?" He was blinking more than usual now, as if his eyes were getting dry as soon as he opened them. At the question, Ron let out a "pffft," thinking that the doubt was silly. "Of course."
"Who?" he leaned in a little closer, interested in who Weasley might be thinking of as an answer to his original and current question. "Well, there's sure to be something I envy about Malfoy.”
"His money?" he blurted out quickly, going straight to the first thought his mind could process. "No! I mean, besides that! You know, it's a nightmare having them around, but I can't not want them at least once; though ideally, in silence." Harry's eyes grew slowly wider and wider as the opposite kept adding things without saying any names. They looked at each other; they knew the other was thinking the same thing. Ron would have been wrong to assume that Harry wouldn't be on the same page about that person. They both sighed in unison and, convinced they were in agreement, spoke, "Pansy..."
"Draco…”
"What?" Silent again, both of their faces suddenly pale: Harry's, at that terribly wrong conclusion that made him admit it to Ron, and Ron's, in turn horrified at what Potter had just uttered. The red-haired boy didn't know if he wanted a detailed explanation justifying what Harry had said or if he didn't want an explanation at all. The tension could be cut with a knife because time really did stop when the bespectacled one blurted out such a thing, and now he was the one who was being ghoulishly killed by the silence. "Your sister is hot." What? Why? He didn't know; he panicked. Maybe then Ron would forget what he'd just admitted he thought of Malfoy. "Harry!”
"But not just your sister, your brothers too!" Saying that as if it made things better was, of course, something only Harry would think could work. "HARRY!" He started babbling stupid things, looking for an excuse, while Ron looked at him with a lowly annoyed expression. "I meant that your mum... I mean, your dad—no, not like that, it's just that—for example, you too—I mean, it's not like you're hot." He stumbled over his own words, almost saying that the opposing parents were just as physically attractive as his siblings. Every word the bespectacled one uttered left him going from bad to worse, and if he hadn't uttered the latter, maybe Ron would still want to hear Potter's poor excuses. "Wait—I'm not hot? What do you mean I'm not hot?!”
"It doesn't matter! But you know what I mean... I just meant that your family is pretty; it was a compliment..." Finally, he was able to explain himself, though it was most likely that the red-headed boy had completely ignored his words and was instead looking at him, deeply offended. Before Harry could ask what was wrong, Ron spoke again, protesting the same thing, "Don't you think I'm hot?" His eyes, wide open, were intent on the bespectacled one's every move, as if he somehow wished he'd break down and admit that he masturbated all night thinking about his freckled chest. Of course, only because he wanted to feel attractive, not because he wanted his friend to be sexually attracted to him; not at all, that's gay, and he's not gay. "Well, you don't find me hot either! It doesn't matter!”
"How do you know I don't?!!! What's more, I think you're better off than many of our generation!" The exclamations were offended and angry, and Weasley's ego was deeply bruised. Harry, for his part, could only react with a small jump at what his friend had said; he felt his chest quicken at the last thing that had been said, now aware that Ron thought him attractive. Harry was obviously ignoring the fact that Ron found Hermione Granger decent enough to look at to want to snog her, even after admitting that she was ugly as a kick to the testicles, so he wouldn't be the most reliable to rate beauty. "Fine! Yeah, I think you're hot, but it's a little weird to say that to my best friend! Don't you think?" he shouted in more or less the same way the other had, both of them having moved closer as the strangely goofy discussion had begun. "No weirder than what you said about Malfoy!" Hey, that had nothing to do with it! "That has nothing to do with this!”
And the shouting stopped; once again, silence. They stared at each other, and their expressions gradually softened as they moved away from each other and returned to the way they had initially sat.
Silence, so much silence. Again, silence stabbed. "Have you ever snogged anyone?" Finally the silence broke. Ron replied, "Yes... You?" Harry quickly and tersely asked, "Do you think you wouldn't know if I had?" To be fair, it was pretty impressive that Harry, being who he is, by that point hadn't; it was a valid question. "Er, you're right..." Merlin, again, silence!
…
"Do you want to?" Harry looked at him with no specific expression—had he heard right? I mean, he knew Ron could sometimes be desperate, but he didn't know he could be that desperate. "Fuck yeah!" Oh, right, Harry Potter was desperate too. The sigh Ron let out was clearly one of relief at his friend's response. What would have become of him if Harry had told him no? Well, he didn't have to think about that because right now he was seconds away from making out with the boy who lived. Ron moved in quickly, grabbing Potter's face, wanting to press their lips together. However, with his hands on the redhead's arms, Potter stopped him. "Wait, wait."
"What now?"
"Let's start slow." Weasley rolled his eyes and removed one of his hands from Harry's face, leaving only one on his cheek and looking down at him, perhaps making the situation a little awkward. "Do you think this will be weird later?"
"Does it matter?” He moved closer again, and at last, their lips met in a deep, slow kiss. Initially small, given that Harry broke away every so often, Ron would bring them back together as soon as they parted. The small kisses stoked the heat of the situation, eliciting sounds of their saliva and lips colliding, as well as excited breaths from hormonal teenagers echoing around the room.
Of course, Weasley had already been trying to get his tongue into Harry's mouth cavity, but that hadn't worked initially. Harry still wanted to keep it slow, but as he felt Ron's hands venture close to or directly above his waist, that was when Harry increasingly let himself go, becoming aroused quickly, having never experienced anything like it before.
Saying anything would feel out of place; now they were both just enjoying the lewdness of their kisses. Ron's thoughts were invaded by Harry's every thought, and Harry's thoughts were invaded by his best friend's name: Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron. Their bodies pressed against each other, both feeling each other stir, Ron's hands going down and down, and "Ron!"
"Sorry!" Weasley's hands practically leapt from where they were previously resting: Potter's ass. Sure enough, Weasley had gone through the routine he followed when he was snogging someone, always with the goal of ending up rubbing against each other, at the very least, with the other person. Of course, he'd forgotten that the one he was snogging was Harry and not a pretty girl. "I got carried away! You know I'm not gay. It was automatic because I always do it," he explained quickly but received no response from Harry, who just looked at him with a shocked, perhaps slightly puzzled face. "I only touched your arse; I didn't stick my dick in you for you to look at me like that either."
"What?"
"I got a hard-on."
"What?"
"I'm hard.”
And boy, was he! With one touch, Potter's wand flared, probably a product of not having had this kind of contact before. They were both silent for a good while... maybe only a few seconds, but it felt like a long time. "I'm straight."
"Me too," they nodded unanimously. "We're friends," Ron continued, and again they both nodded. "Friends help each other." "Yes, they help each other," they thought in unison.
Ron moved closer to Harry again and kissed him; they kissed and went back to the same thing. Now the redhead could feel Potter hard against him, and whether he wanted to or not, as much as he liked tits, he was getting more aroused than he'd like to admit. His hands explored Harry again, this time from the front, in the same area. From the front, yes, he was groping his penis, hard and erect. Helping, that's what he was doing. The kiss was now much more intense than it had been at first. Harry, between the few moments they had to breathe, gasped at Ron's hand movements.
"Shit..." the redhead exhaled. The situation was hotter than he would have ever thought—not that he thought about it, of course! Ron was very straight; he would never think about being like this with his best friend, but right now, as he was with his best friend, he could admit that it was hot. When he exhaled, he and Harry broke the kiss, Harry clinging to Ron, who was still well immersed in pleasuring him with his touch and movement. "Harry, this is so hot," he admitted, attacking the boy who lived's neck with lustful kisses. "It is, it is," Potter sighed, enjoying something that maybe, or maybe not, had crossed his mind before.
They were still rubbing against each other, and now the one who could feel himself getting excited was Weasley. Hard as a rock, Ron despaired at every second that passed without being pleasured. He unbuttoned his trousers and hurriedly pulled his manhood out, jerking himself off, while Harry took the cock in his hand, also beginning to jerk. Ron's head became clouded with thoughts, so many thoughts and so much curiosity. "Harry..." he sighed, as they both masturbated simultaneously.
Moans flooded the room, each wanting more and more. Between touches and kisses, Harry began to feel more sensitive, almost as if he were capable of cumming on his best friend's hand. "Ron, Ron," Potter's breathing became more agitated, and with his free hand, he clung to Weasley's arm. It felt as if he had never masturbated before; Ron's hand was expertly moving up and down his dick, no doubt an expert in the discipline of wanking. "Oh, ah, ah... I'm coming, I'm coming, Ron," he said almost as a whimper, feeling sensitive to the touch, his member rubbed well by his friend. It took one, two, three more jerks, and finally, Harry gave in to the pleasure, cumming on Ron's hand. Harry collapsed onto Ron's shoulder, releasing his already tenuous grip on Ron's cock. Weasley had never had anyone else's sperm but his own on his hand; it was a little uncomfortable. But what was he going to say? Obviously, jerking him off would result in that. It's not as if he could complain to Harry; moreover, luckily, it only fell into his hand and not elsewhere.
Ron was still hard, and his member was again beginning to be treated with neglect as it was not being attended to. "Harry," the named one said nothing coherent, just snorted something in a questioning tone, still very focused on his closeness with the redhead. "Go on."
"My hand is tired."
"I jerked you off until you came! Stop fucking with me and keep going, man!"
Harry rolled his eyes and reluctantly continued, making awkward, unmotivated movements, almost as if he were disgusted by touching Ron's cock now. "Harry, you son of a-".
"Wait," he stopped himself, expectant of how the black-haired man would resolve this. He let go of his grip on his penis; bad start. He kissed his lips again and moved from his mouth to his cheek, from there to his jaw, down to his chin, and from there to his neck and down, down, down, down, down. Now his penis was in front of the face of the boy who lived; he looked up, catching his eyes. "This position is uncomfortable." Ron moved quickly and sat down on Dean's bed, which was closest to them. Once he had sat up, Harry found his cock in front of him again. He pulled his friend's trousers down further and grabbed the member from the base with one hand. "Really?" Ron was incredulous. "I was always curious what it would be like."
"You always?—Aah, shit!"
Before he could raise an eyebrow at Harry's statement, Potter didn't wait three seconds and took a lick from his testicles to the glans of Ron's penis, sucking the glans after he'd done that. Ron had never felt anything like that; he'd always wanted to, but he'd never had the chance to experience it, and to be experiencing that now through Harry Potter's mouth was certainly something to brag about... of course, he wouldn't, as it would let everyone know that Harry (not him) bats for the other side, but it was a source of pride for his own conscience.
Harry licked from the bottom up several times, fluctuating between that and the occasional focus on Ron's glans, sometimes jerking him off again. As he licked the tip again, he got a taste of his friend's pre-cum, which honestly wasn't very tasty. What's more, if he had to choose, he wouldn't taste it; but if he wanted to keep licking, he had to endure it. Speaking of licking, he didn't, and rather started to suck it, taking it into his mouth and making his motion from bottom to top, only tasting the head of the penis.
Ron's sounds were a mixture of ecstasy and insults, still almost in disbelief that it was happening. Harry ventured in for more and tried to push his cock deeper, which he did, almost halfway in, and so he continued his motion. He was concentrating on the blowjob, on not burying his teeth, and on masturbating what didn't fit in his mouth, doing it clumsily but with all the knowledge that Muggle porn had given him—probably what he had missed most when he stayed in the magical world. As if he were one of the actresses or actors he saw performing such an action, he thought he could take more; he could even take the entire penis down his throat. When he tried, as soon as the penis hit the back of his throat, Harry gagged. "Harry! What the fuck? Don't do that, watch out." Harry pulled the penis out relatively quickly, but not roughly. "That was a bit fun," he assured, before popping the member back into his mouth.
"Ah, shit, I could get used to this," Weasley gasped, realizing the heat both their bodies were emanating and the sounds of saliva that Harry's mouth made while sucking his cock. "Me too," said Harry, pulling the cock out of his mouth and approaching his head to it as he jerked him off, looking at Ron lasciviously. Though strangely, there was still a friendly vibe over the sexual action. Harry went back to licking the shaft of the penis and then moved down to lick and suck Ron's testicles.
One of the first things Harry thought when he saw Ron's dick was that indeed his pubic hair was red, which was a bit funny for some reason, and now he couldn't help but think about it from time to time.
Anyway, he soon took the cock back into his mouth after a while of stimulating it, licking his balls. Ron felt like he was up in the sky, so close to touching it. "Harry, I'm coming. Shit, Harry, I'm going to cum in your mouth," he said. No sooner had Weasley finished his warning than it seemed Potter would not remove his member from his oral cavity. Ron began to release his seed, cumming as he had said, in his friend's mouth. Harry pulled the penis out of his mouth and stared at Ron, who was also looking at him, straight into his eyes in silence. "Swallow it." As he said that, Potter began to spit the semen into his hand. "Fuck no."
"Why not?"
"It tastes horrible; it's too bitter! I'm not drinking that shit!"
The red-haired man looked offended. How dare he insult the taste of his semen? "So what!!!?"
"That's disgusting! It's not like you drank mine."
"And if I had, would you swallow it?"
"Yes, because I'm fair.”
Ron held up his hand, which was still stained by Potter's cum from earlier. He had accidentally dropped a couple of drops on Dean's bed and maybe some on the floor since he had no way to wipe it off. "You're not going to.”
"Watch me," said and done, he began to lick the semen off his hand. Shit, Harry was right; it tasted horrible, but his taste buds had endured nastier things than that, definitely. Besides, his pride was at stake; if he didn't do it, it would be worse. "You're disgusting."
"Do it."
Harry grunted and, in a bad way, eyed the thick liquid in his hand. He looked up, seeing Ron once more, and began to lick what was in his hand as well. Once he was done, they both looked at each other again in silence.
"I'm still horny," Harry said. "What do you want to do?" Potter hesitated before replying, "I want to try something." There was some nervousness in his words. Ron gestured for him to go on, but Harry just stood there. "What is it?" he asked, but Harry didn't answer. "Harry, we're helping each other, friend to friend; just tell me." Harry stood up; his knees red from rubbing against the floor. He walked over and climbed onto the bed; his penis, not fully erect, was still visible because his lower garments were slightly down. As he climbed onto the bed, he pulled them down even further, to his knees. "I'm curious."
"Curious about what?" Harry really didn't want to say. He rolled over and stood with his back to Ron, pausing for a moment before leaning forward, lifting his rear end slightly, trying to convey with his body what his mouth was embarrassed to say. "Oh, wow, you want me to stick it in you?”
"No! I mean, not that, just your fingers." Potter turned around as soon as he heard Ron. "Ah, well, have you already done it alone? That's kind of gay; I'm not going to lie to you."
"No, no, I haven't; maybe I've thought about it, but I've never tried it." Of course, he hadn't; he was very straight; he'd just been bitten by some curiosity today, probably all fault of the alcohol.
"Well, honestly, it's not like I know much about what I have to do either, but I can figure it out." He took two of his fingers in his mouth, coating them nicely with saliva, which made Harry look nervous. "Two?" Ron rolled his eyes, somewhat amused. "Just in case." Once Weasley deemed his fingers wet enough, he proceeded, "Make yourself comfortable." Harry flopped down on his bed, propped on his side with his legs bent. It wasn't the most comfortable pose, but if that was the position he wanted to take, Ron wouldn't say anything about it. "Here I go." One, two, three... he couldn't; I mean, he tensed for entry, but honestly couldn't even get the whole tip in. "I can't." They fell silent again. Ron looked at Harry for a few seconds before speaking again. "Get on all fours or something." Harry, not too thrilled by the idea, settled himself, standing with his torso high and his head resting on the bed, as he lifted his ass, leaving it in better view and available to Ron.
Ron did it and just a few moments later, he asked: "Harry, do you want me to put the other one in?" He was already tantalizing the entrance with his finger, applying some pressure without managing to get in. "Okay... okay, do it," Harry replied, his throat a little dry. Ron spat by way of lubrication, receiving an unpleasant grunt, which didn't last long before the red-haired man slipped the second digit in.
It was an awkward stretch, a startled expression on the green-eyed boy's face, and a whimper escaped his lips; but the sensation wasn't bad; it was unusual and exciting. His own arousal increased, his movements became more eager and desperate, and he was nearing the peak of the pleasure he could already feel.
Ron watched Harry with concentration. He wanted to make sure his friend was at ease, that he wasn't hurting him. "Everything okay?" he whispered, and Harry's panting breath was the answer he was looking for. "Yeah, I'm... I'm... Aahh…”
Moving into action, Ron began to move in a slow and steady rhythm, giving Harry a chance to get used to the sensation of being penetrated by two fingers. Harry gritted his teeth, his eyes closing as the penetration became more and more intense and the pleasure began to grow inside him. His hands tangled in the sheet, trying to contain the urgency of his own desire, which was already too difficult to control.
With Ron's every movement, Harry felt the pressure inside him become unbearable; the sensation was so intense that he caught himself gasping softly. His legs shuddered and his eyes widened. Ron was staring at him with serious eyes full of determination, his mouth half open in a concentrated grimace.
"Does it hurt?" Ron paused, his finger on the crest of the movement.
"No... no, it doesn't hurt," Harry said, appreciating his friend's genuine concern. "It's... it's just... intense."
Ron nodded slowly, understanding that Harry didn't want him to stop. He began to move his fingers again at a slightly slower, more cautious pace, giving Harry a chance to feel every inch. The sensation was still strange, unfamiliar, and yet incredible.
Watching Harry's reaction, Ron was filled with confidence and began to speed up slightly, observing the other's face at every turn, looking for any clues that he was about to go over the edge. Harry, for his part, surrendered to the sensation; his breathing deepened, and each thrust of Ron's fingers inside him made him shiver slightly.
"Oh, Ron... more... please," Harry whispered, thrusting his hips in response to the redhead's movements. The room was filled with the sound of Potter's labored breathing and the soft creaking of the bed.
With an effort, Harry concentrated on controlling the sensitivity that threatened to overwhelm him and instead began to enjoy every movement, every inch his friend offered him. With each thrust, he felt his own member harden further, the tip red and dripping. The thrill at the thought that he would soon burst was overwhelming, and he knew he couldn't hold out for much longer.
The thought that he would come a second time at the hands of his best friend, that boy he'd met on the train who was now a man (in Harry's eyes), generated a feeling he didn't know how to describe with anything but "fucking hot."
"Ah, Ron!" he stretched out the 'o.' It wasn't an alert; it was more like Harry wanted to hear himself scream his friend's name before finally coming. Harry gave up, slumped on the bed, once Weasley had pulled his fingers out from inside him. "How's it going? Did it satisfy your curiosity?"
"Definitely.”
Ron laughed at his friend's obvious exhaustion, though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't tired and sore; his wrist was weak and felt a twinge between his bones.
As Ron cleaned himself up better and Harry was still lying with his arse exposed, face down on the bed, a couple of voices, clearly a little drunk, were heard in the corridors. There were some Gryffindors on their way back from the party—probably Dean and Seamus as well. They'd better smarten up and pretend none of that ever happened.