Rating: NC-17 for sexual content
Word Count: 857
Summary: Ron remembers the love that he and Harry shared so long ago. One-shot.
A/N: Written in about an hour, completely and utterly unbetaed. And I’m just really sorry for what you're about to read, but I couldn’t help myself.
Written for my 100quills Harry prompt table, found here. (I do have some Harry gen fics in the works too, but this just fit so I couldn’t pass it up.)
I miss you. I miss your laugh and the way your eyes would crinkle up when you’d smile at me. I miss the way your hair would stick up in the morning before you’d combed it (and the way it would continue to stick up even after). I miss kissing you in the moonlight and making love against the kitchen table. I miss you – full stop.
Sometimes when I think about you (us), I think about the time we went camping two summers ago. Do remember that night by the lake, beside the campfire? You were talking about what we were going to do the next day, and how you wanted to hike out to the river a few miles east, and I was too distracted by how beautiful you looked to even think about arguing with you about the no-Apparition rule. I leaned over and put a hand on your thigh, and before you could even look over properly my mouth was on yours.
We ended up in a tangled heap in the dirt, with my hand down your trousers and your fingers working the buttons of my shirt. It’s really a wonder we didn’t get our hair singed off or that we didn’t roll straight into the fire. It’s even a wonder we managed to take off as many items of clothing as we did. As it is, I ended up with my shirt half-undone, and we both had our trousers unbuttoned just enough so that we could rub our cocks together through our underwear. It was cold that night, but you were so warm, and I could feel the sweat on your skin, the blood pulsing through your cock as you called out my name, over and over again until you came. Seeing you lose control like that, I couldn’t help but follow.
I miss making love with you under the stars, Harry. I miss you.
Do you remember the time we went to Paris and got drunk in that little restaurant by the river? I remember that your cheeks were flushed and rosy and that your hair was sticking up even more than usual because of the humidity and that you kept licking the alcohol from your lips, slowly, like you knew I was watching and wanted to drive me crazy. Because it did.
I remember that we were halfway back to the hotel when I dragged you into an empty alleyway and pushed you up against the stone wall. You acted surprised, but I think you knew I was going to do it because you didn’t even protest. You let me slither down to my knees and unzip your trousers, and when I slipped your cock into my mouth, you didn’t even make a noise, just pushed your fingers through my hair and let out a quiet little moan. It didn’t take long either. Maybe it was the novelty of being in a city you’d never been in before, or maybe it was the excitement of possibly getting caught, or maybe it was because I’m really, really good at giving blowjobs. But either way, it wasn’t long before you were pushing your hips up desperately, almost fucking my mouth, moaning so loudly that you were almost whimpering. It really is a wonder we didn’t get caught when you finally did come in my mouth, crying out so sharply that it sounded like you were being murdered.
I miss the sounds you made when we’d have illicit sex in strange cities, Harry. I really do.
Sometimes I think about the last time we were together, when you woke me up with a soft kiss that turned into so much more. Do you remember that? You brushed the hair from my forehead and kissed my throat, and then you reached down below the covers and took my cock in your hand, kneading it gently until I was right on the edge, pushing recklessly into your palm. Then you did that thing with your wrist, and I couldn’t help it, I came all over your fingers.
When I was finally able to open my eyes, you were staring down at me, your mouth curved into that gorgeous smile of yours, and I saw it there in your eyes, as much that morning as I ever had before. Love.
And then I asked you to stay, told you that I needed you, more than anyone in the world. And I still remember what you told me. “Ron,” you said, looking deeply into my eyes, “I have to go. I don’t have a choice.” And then you left, taking my heart with you.
Please come back, love. Never a moment goes by that I don’t think of you and the passion we shared.
Yours Forever and Ever Until the End of Time,
Please stop sending me owls while I’m at work. And you’re in big trouble when I get home, I don’t care how sick you are, you bloody faker.
P.S. It was Madrid, not Paris.