keelywolfe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
keelywolfe) wrote2004-03-21 02:23 pm
keelywolfe) wrote2004-03-21 02:23 pm
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FIC: A Lacking of Foresight: Chapter Seventeen
A Lacking of Foresight: Chapter Seventeen
by Keely
Fandom: Harry Potter
Harry/Ron
NC-17
Notes: This will make exactly zero sense if you haven't read the first 16 chapters. They are available HERE for enjoyment or refreshing your memory. Thanks. ^_^
~~*~~
In which thoughts percolate; we learn to appreciate a fine shower; and unwanted realizations are made when they are most needed.
~~*~~
One thing that Ron had always hated about himself was that he was a drooler. Not out in public, of course, like some kind of animate red-headed water fountain. Just during the night when he didn't have an option in the matter. It was his pillow that took the soggy brunt of the punishment.
He had cause to regret it this morning, when he woke to the feeling of his pillow clinging rather disgustingly to his cheek. His internal clock was squawking that it was far too early to even consider creeping out from beneath sheets as nice as these so instead, Ron rolled over and sleepily sought a drier spot for his head. Only to find the other side of his pillow was damp as well.
Just lovely, that. He'd managed to soak an entire pillow in one night. He'd always known he'd do something special in life and now he'd discovered it was to be a champion producer of saliva. Probably be able to drench a whole bed by the time he was thirty. As if to protest his too-loud thinking, a large shape next to him made a noise of distress and shifted closer. Ron sighed in appreciation of the happy warmth, wrapping an arm around it to keep it close. His brain was just starting to percolate enough for him to remember that it wasn't just someone who wasn't a threat and therefore, allowed to touch him in his sleep.
"Harry," he mouthed silently against that same person's shoulder. Not to wake him, just to be able to say the name while they were sharing the same sheets. Him and Harry Potter. Ron and Harry, in bed together. And they'd had sex.
This was probably the better part of insanity although at this particular moment Ron was having a hard time remembering why it was such a terrible idea. Certainly he'd had worse ones and if a little sex was too much to ask out of life, then he wanted a refund. He wasn't asking for more than that, just a little something to take with him, a memory to think about sometimes when he was cold or alone. Or wanking.
The only dent in the morning was the stickiness of his pillow clinging to his cheek and the low rumble of his belly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten yesterday when he'd gotten back to Hogwarts. He scrunched deeper into the blankets, trying to hold onto the sleepy contentment of early morning. Yesterday had been a disappointment that he didn't want to remember. He'd spent the whole day in the wooded outskirts of Hogsmeade on his guard waiting for the contact, only to have him send a late owl to cancel their meeting. And all right, it wasn't that he didn't understand that this was life and death but after spending a day in the bloody cold weather with his brains all but hanging out trying to keep track of anyone who might come close he thought he was entitled to a little irritation.
At this rate, his brain was going to crawl out of his skull and make a go of it on its own if he didn't stop. Somehow though, seeing Harry on his bed last night, even surrounded with a pile of charms that he shouldn't have ever seen much less touched, had eased his headache in a way not much else had. Good thing he'd come back when he had though. If he'd held on to the hypnos ball much longer the theft charm would have kicked in and Harry would've had to carry what was left of his arm to the infirmary, the prat.
Sleep didn't seem as eager to return as Ron would have hoped, not with his thoughts churning around in his head like so much butter. With a wistful sigh, Ron carefully extracted his arms from around Harry and sat up, wondering if he could coax an early breakfast out of the house elves.
He sat on the edge of the bed, faintly dizzy, and imagined what Harry might do to him if he vanished again even if it were just for breakfast. Just the mental image made him wince. Right then, probably better to wake him up and let him know what was what. Yawning, Ron turned back towards the bed and hoped Harry was more a morning person now than he had been years ago.
The amount of blood on the sheets slapped shock into him like a blow, damp, crimson puddles of it covering the pillow and trailing into long, distended arms like some sort of blown up picture of an amoeba. Ron crammed a hand against his mouth to stifle the shriek that nearly escaped, biting down hard on the knuckle of his first finger to keep quiet and fucking hell there was so much of it. Hysteria was a thin squeal in his thoughts warbling that Harry was dead, had to be dead with that much blood, so much blood, and how, how could they have gotten through Hogwarts defenses it was fucking impossible, please, no.
He scrambled off the bed and fell hard, dizziness and nausea fighting for control, and Ron struggled to swallow it back, resting his forehead against the icy stone floor. The first violent tide of terror ebbed enough for him to feel the grittiness against his face, the dull ache in his sinuses. His blood, he realized, his relief so great it was almost sickening. Just another nosebleed, then, nobody dead. Not yet, anyway.
Ron stayed on the floor a bit longer, breathing slowly as he waited for the dizziness to pass before carefully getting to his feet. He considered the amount of blood on the bed soberly. This was getting serious. If this was the result of one day on guard he was worse off than he'd thought. Harry was still asleep, breathing deeply and evenly, and the sound of it eased the last of Ron's panic. Just the thought of Harry laying there dead...he shuddered silently. It was a tiny stroke of luck that Harry hadn't woken up during his impromptu calisthenics, Ron thought grimly as he carefully pulled his wand out from under the pillow.
The outer edges were already drying to a sickening maroon, flecks of blood that must have fallen when he'd sat up gleaming wetly on the lower portion of the sheet. It was just as well that he was well acquainted with how to cast spells when the inside of his skull felt like it was filled with old oatmeal and the knowledge served him in good stead today. A silence spell first, better not to take his chances with how deeply Harry slept. The cleaning spell took a bit more out of him and Ron leaned heavily against one of the bedposts, eyes closed as he concentrated on breathing until the dizziness passed again. When he finally managed to look at the bed he saw it hadn't worked perfectly; there was still a pinkish tinge to the sheets, faintly darker in the middle of the pillow.
Fuck it. He couldn't work up the energy to care. Instead, he flipped the pillow over so the clean side was up and decided to count on Harry's lack of glasses to hide the light stains on the sheets. Ron tugged the blankets up just a little further and froze as Harry murmured in his sleep. He rolled over onto his back and flung an arm over his eyes, blocking out whatever grayish light had managed to creep in from the window.
Looking at Harry now, his hair in sweaty clumps and a thin layer of stubble dusting his cheeks made an ache climb up from Ron's gut into his chest. He suddenly realized he couldn't feel him anymore, their connection from the night before callously severed by his mental shields. That hurt as much as the growing ache in his head. It hadn't been much of a connection but it had been more of one than he'd ever been able to get from Harry before. Something about Harry always blocked him out, whether Harry was just good at keeping other people from prying into his thoughts or if he was just too nervous about touching Harry's mind to be able to do it well, Ron wasn't sure. He just knew that last night he'd been able to feel Harry wanting him, could see it sitting there right behind his eyes. The prickly sense of nervousness with just plain horny thrown in like a whiskey chaser and it was a sensation he'd wanted to keep for a long, long time.
Well, he'd learned a long time ago how it felt to want.
His headache was steadily growing worse, a brutal throb that radiated from his forehead and settled down into his sinuses. Ron managed to sit carefully on the chair by the desk and pressed the knuckles of his first fingers against his eyes, still not entirely sure he wasn't going to vomit into his own lap. This couldn't continue. Ron rubbed a tired hand over his face and it came away wet. He looked at it with some disgust, a combination of blood and snot. The bed was clean but he still looked like he'd stepped out of an accident in which three people and a broomstick had plowed into a very large tree. Chances were that Harry would notice that when he woke up. With some effort, he shuffled off in the direction of the toilet and was very grateful that he never bothered to sleep in a nightshirt. Just the thought of cleaning anything else magically this morning made his stomach turn over again.
The shower in the Hogwarts guestroom was just about half the size of Ron's old room back at the Burrow and he had every intention of using all of it. When he'd first arrived he'd spent nearly an hour in it, turning on each of the gold-handled knobs and delighting like a child in the various soapy waters that poured out, so he knew exactly which tap would spout clouds of warm, bubbly-white suds. It was a pure pleasure to stand beneath the thick spray and let it sluice away the drying streaks of blood. The comforting warmth eased his growing headache into something bearable and made it easier for him to think. He scrubbed his hair briskly, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do.
This couldn't go on and not just because he couldn't keep counting on waking up before Harry to clean the sheets. Even if he had remembered to use his dream catcher last night he doubted it would have helped very much; the once-glossy black beads had already faded into a dull gray and those things were bloody hard to find. The one he'd had should have lasted years and it probably would have if he'd been anywhere but in this school with literally thousands of thoughts trying to creep in when he wasn't prepared. A brand new one probably wouldn't do much to help him now. He was too sensitive from shutting his Sight down for long periods of time. Wasn't supposed to work like that and he bloody well knew it which was why he took assignments that put him out of the country so often.
Plus, he was virtually useless to Harry like this. Ron couldn't help a mental smirk. Except for the obvious purposes, of course, but he wasn't actually here to keep Harry Potter well shagged, no matter what either of them thought about it. Some protector he was turning out to be. It wasn't completely his fault, he supposed, the Minister of Magic and Hermione were the ones who'd sent him here.
Of course, they hadn't known that his brains were going to start leaking out of his nose when he arrived so sending blame in their direction wasn't quite useful.
Ron snorted bitterly and winced at the sharp pain that reward him. Just how stupid are we going to play this morning, he thought, tiredly. This wasn't just about keeping secrets from Harry or nosebleeds. Bit by bit, this was slowly killing him. One of these nights some overstressed vein inside his head was finally going to break with a wet little snap and he'd bleed out everything he had on those nice, white sheets. He wondered if the house elves would have to clean it up. He wondered if they would tell his family, if his mother would cry.
"Oh, stop it, you moron," he muttered to himself. Soon he'd be writing out wills and weeping for his poor, pathetic life. As if dying were the only option available.
He stiffened automatically when he heard soft footsteps outside the curtain, already reaching for his wand before he stifled the urge. The only ones it could be were Harry or one of the house elves and he doubted they would have any urge to sneak into the shower with him.
His nerves were still jangling angrily at him and Ron finally gave in and peeked around the curtain to see Harry leaning sleepily against the wall while he pissed into the toilet. Ron watched a moment longer, the curve of Harry's arse undeniably tempting, before he decided getting caught staring while Harry took a piss would probably not be his best moment.
Ron turned the faucet to plain water and rinsed his hair, already smiling by the time a shadow fell across the curtain. "Ron?"
"You were expecting maybe the queen?" he called cheerfully, wiping water out of his eyes.
"Something like that," Harry agreed, twitching aside the curtain to peer inside. He stood there, watching, until Ron shifted uncomfortably, very aware that he was quite naked and getting rather happy to see Harry. Even without glasses, he was fairly sure Harry would notice that.
"You could step in, you know. I don't really bite."
Harry's lips twitched into a smile. "What a pity."
Having a wealth of sleek, damp skin pressing against his own while warm water poured down on them from above had to be one of the closest things to bliss that Ron Weasley had ever felt, especially when it was Harry Potter's naked skin. Not that he'd had much of an opportunity to shower with anyone else; he could count the number of relationships he'd had on one hand, even if he'd had two of his fingers cut off.
The incessant jabbering in his head was cut off abruptly as Harry slithered down his body to kneel on the hard tiles. His mouth was sweet and clumsy as he carefully wrapped it around Ron's cock, and all fucking hell, he couldn't look away from it, the sight of Harry's mouth on him and when he started to suck he felt it like a shock straight to his spine. Even better when he slid his fingers into Harry's dripping hair and rocked into that silky-wet heat, felt Harry moan around him and he only sucked harder, his tongue sliding insistently over the tip in a way that drained the strength from Ron's knees. He leaned against the cool tiles and tilted his head up into the spray while Harry sucked him off and wondered how he was going to tell him he had to leave.
~~*~~
End Chapter Seventeen
by Keely
Fandom: Harry Potter
Harry/Ron
NC-17
Notes: This will make exactly zero sense if you haven't read the first 16 chapters. They are available HERE for enjoyment or refreshing your memory. Thanks. ^_^
~~*~~
In which thoughts percolate; we learn to appreciate a fine shower; and unwanted realizations are made when they are most needed.
~~*~~
One thing that Ron had always hated about himself was that he was a drooler. Not out in public, of course, like some kind of animate red-headed water fountain. Just during the night when he didn't have an option in the matter. It was his pillow that took the soggy brunt of the punishment.
He had cause to regret it this morning, when he woke to the feeling of his pillow clinging rather disgustingly to his cheek. His internal clock was squawking that it was far too early to even consider creeping out from beneath sheets as nice as these so instead, Ron rolled over and sleepily sought a drier spot for his head. Only to find the other side of his pillow was damp as well.
Just lovely, that. He'd managed to soak an entire pillow in one night. He'd always known he'd do something special in life and now he'd discovered it was to be a champion producer of saliva. Probably be able to drench a whole bed by the time he was thirty. As if to protest his too-loud thinking, a large shape next to him made a noise of distress and shifted closer. Ron sighed in appreciation of the happy warmth, wrapping an arm around it to keep it close. His brain was just starting to percolate enough for him to remember that it wasn't just someone who wasn't a threat and therefore, allowed to touch him in his sleep.
"Harry," he mouthed silently against that same person's shoulder. Not to wake him, just to be able to say the name while they were sharing the same sheets. Him and Harry Potter. Ron and Harry, in bed together. And they'd had sex.
This was probably the better part of insanity although at this particular moment Ron was having a hard time remembering why it was such a terrible idea. Certainly he'd had worse ones and if a little sex was too much to ask out of life, then he wanted a refund. He wasn't asking for more than that, just a little something to take with him, a memory to think about sometimes when he was cold or alone. Or wanking.
The only dent in the morning was the stickiness of his pillow clinging to his cheek and the low rumble of his belly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten yesterday when he'd gotten back to Hogwarts. He scrunched deeper into the blankets, trying to hold onto the sleepy contentment of early morning. Yesterday had been a disappointment that he didn't want to remember. He'd spent the whole day in the wooded outskirts of Hogsmeade on his guard waiting for the contact, only to have him send a late owl to cancel their meeting. And all right, it wasn't that he didn't understand that this was life and death but after spending a day in the bloody cold weather with his brains all but hanging out trying to keep track of anyone who might come close he thought he was entitled to a little irritation.
At this rate, his brain was going to crawl out of his skull and make a go of it on its own if he didn't stop. Somehow though, seeing Harry on his bed last night, even surrounded with a pile of charms that he shouldn't have ever seen much less touched, had eased his headache in a way not much else had. Good thing he'd come back when he had though. If he'd held on to the hypnos ball much longer the theft charm would have kicked in and Harry would've had to carry what was left of his arm to the infirmary, the prat.
Sleep didn't seem as eager to return as Ron would have hoped, not with his thoughts churning around in his head like so much butter. With a wistful sigh, Ron carefully extracted his arms from around Harry and sat up, wondering if he could coax an early breakfast out of the house elves.
He sat on the edge of the bed, faintly dizzy, and imagined what Harry might do to him if he vanished again even if it were just for breakfast. Just the mental image made him wince. Right then, probably better to wake him up and let him know what was what. Yawning, Ron turned back towards the bed and hoped Harry was more a morning person now than he had been years ago.
The amount of blood on the sheets slapped shock into him like a blow, damp, crimson puddles of it covering the pillow and trailing into long, distended arms like some sort of blown up picture of an amoeba. Ron crammed a hand against his mouth to stifle the shriek that nearly escaped, biting down hard on the knuckle of his first finger to keep quiet and fucking hell there was so much of it. Hysteria was a thin squeal in his thoughts warbling that Harry was dead, had to be dead with that much blood, so much blood, and how, how could they have gotten through Hogwarts defenses it was fucking impossible, please, no.
He scrambled off the bed and fell hard, dizziness and nausea fighting for control, and Ron struggled to swallow it back, resting his forehead against the icy stone floor. The first violent tide of terror ebbed enough for him to feel the grittiness against his face, the dull ache in his sinuses. His blood, he realized, his relief so great it was almost sickening. Just another nosebleed, then, nobody dead. Not yet, anyway.
Ron stayed on the floor a bit longer, breathing slowly as he waited for the dizziness to pass before carefully getting to his feet. He considered the amount of blood on the bed soberly. This was getting serious. If this was the result of one day on guard he was worse off than he'd thought. Harry was still asleep, breathing deeply and evenly, and the sound of it eased the last of Ron's panic. Just the thought of Harry laying there dead...he shuddered silently. It was a tiny stroke of luck that Harry hadn't woken up during his impromptu calisthenics, Ron thought grimly as he carefully pulled his wand out from under the pillow.
The outer edges were already drying to a sickening maroon, flecks of blood that must have fallen when he'd sat up gleaming wetly on the lower portion of the sheet. It was just as well that he was well acquainted with how to cast spells when the inside of his skull felt like it was filled with old oatmeal and the knowledge served him in good stead today. A silence spell first, better not to take his chances with how deeply Harry slept. The cleaning spell took a bit more out of him and Ron leaned heavily against one of the bedposts, eyes closed as he concentrated on breathing until the dizziness passed again. When he finally managed to look at the bed he saw it hadn't worked perfectly; there was still a pinkish tinge to the sheets, faintly darker in the middle of the pillow.
Fuck it. He couldn't work up the energy to care. Instead, he flipped the pillow over so the clean side was up and decided to count on Harry's lack of glasses to hide the light stains on the sheets. Ron tugged the blankets up just a little further and froze as Harry murmured in his sleep. He rolled over onto his back and flung an arm over his eyes, blocking out whatever grayish light had managed to creep in from the window.
Looking at Harry now, his hair in sweaty clumps and a thin layer of stubble dusting his cheeks made an ache climb up from Ron's gut into his chest. He suddenly realized he couldn't feel him anymore, their connection from the night before callously severed by his mental shields. That hurt as much as the growing ache in his head. It hadn't been much of a connection but it had been more of one than he'd ever been able to get from Harry before. Something about Harry always blocked him out, whether Harry was just good at keeping other people from prying into his thoughts or if he was just too nervous about touching Harry's mind to be able to do it well, Ron wasn't sure. He just knew that last night he'd been able to feel Harry wanting him, could see it sitting there right behind his eyes. The prickly sense of nervousness with just plain horny thrown in like a whiskey chaser and it was a sensation he'd wanted to keep for a long, long time.
Well, he'd learned a long time ago how it felt to want.
His headache was steadily growing worse, a brutal throb that radiated from his forehead and settled down into his sinuses. Ron managed to sit carefully on the chair by the desk and pressed the knuckles of his first fingers against his eyes, still not entirely sure he wasn't going to vomit into his own lap. This couldn't continue. Ron rubbed a tired hand over his face and it came away wet. He looked at it with some disgust, a combination of blood and snot. The bed was clean but he still looked like he'd stepped out of an accident in which three people and a broomstick had plowed into a very large tree. Chances were that Harry would notice that when he woke up. With some effort, he shuffled off in the direction of the toilet and was very grateful that he never bothered to sleep in a nightshirt. Just the thought of cleaning anything else magically this morning made his stomach turn over again.
The shower in the Hogwarts guestroom was just about half the size of Ron's old room back at the Burrow and he had every intention of using all of it. When he'd first arrived he'd spent nearly an hour in it, turning on each of the gold-handled knobs and delighting like a child in the various soapy waters that poured out, so he knew exactly which tap would spout clouds of warm, bubbly-white suds. It was a pure pleasure to stand beneath the thick spray and let it sluice away the drying streaks of blood. The comforting warmth eased his growing headache into something bearable and made it easier for him to think. He scrubbed his hair briskly, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do.
This couldn't go on and not just because he couldn't keep counting on waking up before Harry to clean the sheets. Even if he had remembered to use his dream catcher last night he doubted it would have helped very much; the once-glossy black beads had already faded into a dull gray and those things were bloody hard to find. The one he'd had should have lasted years and it probably would have if he'd been anywhere but in this school with literally thousands of thoughts trying to creep in when he wasn't prepared. A brand new one probably wouldn't do much to help him now. He was too sensitive from shutting his Sight down for long periods of time. Wasn't supposed to work like that and he bloody well knew it which was why he took assignments that put him out of the country so often.
Plus, he was virtually useless to Harry like this. Ron couldn't help a mental smirk. Except for the obvious purposes, of course, but he wasn't actually here to keep Harry Potter well shagged, no matter what either of them thought about it. Some protector he was turning out to be. It wasn't completely his fault, he supposed, the Minister of Magic and Hermione were the ones who'd sent him here.
Of course, they hadn't known that his brains were going to start leaking out of his nose when he arrived so sending blame in their direction wasn't quite useful.
Ron snorted bitterly and winced at the sharp pain that reward him. Just how stupid are we going to play this morning, he thought, tiredly. This wasn't just about keeping secrets from Harry or nosebleeds. Bit by bit, this was slowly killing him. One of these nights some overstressed vein inside his head was finally going to break with a wet little snap and he'd bleed out everything he had on those nice, white sheets. He wondered if the house elves would have to clean it up. He wondered if they would tell his family, if his mother would cry.
"Oh, stop it, you moron," he muttered to himself. Soon he'd be writing out wills and weeping for his poor, pathetic life. As if dying were the only option available.
He stiffened automatically when he heard soft footsteps outside the curtain, already reaching for his wand before he stifled the urge. The only ones it could be were Harry or one of the house elves and he doubted they would have any urge to sneak into the shower with him.
His nerves were still jangling angrily at him and Ron finally gave in and peeked around the curtain to see Harry leaning sleepily against the wall while he pissed into the toilet. Ron watched a moment longer, the curve of Harry's arse undeniably tempting, before he decided getting caught staring while Harry took a piss would probably not be his best moment.
Ron turned the faucet to plain water and rinsed his hair, already smiling by the time a shadow fell across the curtain. "Ron?"
"You were expecting maybe the queen?" he called cheerfully, wiping water out of his eyes.
"Something like that," Harry agreed, twitching aside the curtain to peer inside. He stood there, watching, until Ron shifted uncomfortably, very aware that he was quite naked and getting rather happy to see Harry. Even without glasses, he was fairly sure Harry would notice that.
"You could step in, you know. I don't really bite."
Harry's lips twitched into a smile. "What a pity."
Having a wealth of sleek, damp skin pressing against his own while warm water poured down on them from above had to be one of the closest things to bliss that Ron Weasley had ever felt, especially when it was Harry Potter's naked skin. Not that he'd had much of an opportunity to shower with anyone else; he could count the number of relationships he'd had on one hand, even if he'd had two of his fingers cut off.
The incessant jabbering in his head was cut off abruptly as Harry slithered down his body to kneel on the hard tiles. His mouth was sweet and clumsy as he carefully wrapped it around Ron's cock, and all fucking hell, he couldn't look away from it, the sight of Harry's mouth on him and when he started to suck he felt it like a shock straight to his spine. Even better when he slid his fingers into Harry's dripping hair and rocked into that silky-wet heat, felt Harry moan around him and he only sucked harder, his tongue sliding insistently over the tip in a way that drained the strength from Ron's knees. He leaned against the cool tiles and tilted his head up into the spray while Harry sucked him off and wondered how he was going to tell him he had to leave.
~~*~~
End Chapter Seventeen