This story is rated NC-17 (adults only). It includes explicit male/male sex. If this is what you came for, scroll down. If it isn't, hit the Back button.
The Hang Of It
by Resonant For Duckpuppy
He'd always imagined it would be more like doing it to himself.
And really, it wasn't that different, Harry told himself. It was just that the lack of direct feedback was throwing him off. The gap between him tightening his fingers and Ron hissing through his teeth was too long to be helpful. Plus he'd never thought about how hard it was to tell whether a noise meant "More of that" or "Get back to the good stuff, will you?" or maybe just "Ow."
And Ron didn't make a lot of noise either -- that was another thing that wasn't at all what he'd imagined. His fantasies, disjointed and implausible as they were, were full of moaning and dirty talk. But Harry supposed that a boy who grew up down the hall from the inventors of the Extendable Ear would naturally have had a lot of practice doing this with no noise at all.
Still, it made it tough to tell if he was doing it right. Surely if he was doing it right, it wouldn't be taking so long.
He wished he had let Ron come first, or at least held onto his resistance for a bit longer. But the minute Ron touched him, he'd lost all ability to coordinate his hands -- or think, or speak, or do anything but gasp and shiver and come almost instantly, before they'd even made it all the way onto the bed.
He hadn't been embarrassed at the time because it had looked like Ron was getting ready to do the same thing. But Ron had got hold of some restraint somewhere, or else he wasn't enjoying himself very much.
It had been Ron's idea in the first place. Harry would have been perfectly content to go along when Molly took Ginny out to look for a secondhand racing broom. It was Ron who'd said, "They'll only end up trying on dress robes for hours at Madam Hippolyta's and then talking about hemlines in some tea room. We'll stay here and see if we can unstop the upstairs drain."
Four seconds after Molly's low-heeled boot disappeared from the fireplace, Ron had unstopped the upstairs drain with an Expedio charm and a great flourish -- because even if Molly had forgotten that Ron and Harry had finally attained the age of Unrestricted Magic, Ron certainly hadn't. And four seconds after that, while the last of the backed-up water was still glubbing sluggishly down the newly cleared drain, Ron had taken Harry by the shoulders and shoved him across the landing and through the bedroom door and back against the side of the bed with an enthusiasm that had been more than enough to convince Harry to shelve any questions he might have had and come back to them later.
He was coming back to them now.
He shifted position to relieve the pressure on his elbow, and Ron hissed again, and this time it must have been a sign of discomfort, because he caught Harry's wrist and stilled his hand.
"Sorry," Harry said miserably, "I'm sorry, I'm rubbish at this -- never did it before, to somebody else, I mean --"
Ron looked as embarrassed as Harry felt, even though he wasn't the one who'd just proved he was a failure at the one thing that every teenage boy practiced the most.
"Maybe if we --" Ron gestured toward the pillow. Harry wasn't sure what he meant, but when Ron scooted up his bed and then stretched out, Harry hurried to lie down beside him, holding onto his unzipped shorts with one hand, just relieved that Ron didn't want to quit altogether.
It was hard to know what to do with the arms that were on the bottom, and Ron came within inches of elbowing Harry in the nose while they got sorted, but finally Harry tucked his arm under the pillow and Ron slid his under Harry's neck.
Harry had landed with his right hand free, and he reached down hesitantly, not sure whether Ron wanted to be touched any more or not. And when Ron caught his hand, he felt like an idiot for a second. But Ron, flushing even pinker than he already was, pulled Harry's hand up to his mouth.
And licked his palm.
Harry could feel his own mouth falling open as Ron licked his hand thoroughly. Ron's tongue was hot, and Harry was stunned to discover that his palm and fingers were covered with sensitive places. Ron's mouth on them felt good. Ron's mouth on his hand was turning him on again.
"What --" He couldn't even frame a question. Ron's tongue was running over the spot where his fingers met his palm.
"It's easier. Makes it easier." If Ron's face got any redder, it was going to be painful. Harry suddenly realized that Ron did this to himself, to his own hand, when he --
He took a quick breath. "All right," he whispered, afraid his voice would do something weird if he spoke out loud.
There was a rustling noise, and Harry looked down and saw that it was Ron tugging at his shorts and pants to make it easier for Harry to get at -- god! He closed his eyes, and it felt as though Ron's cock leapt into his hand, and Ron made a sort of noise through clenched teeth that Harry had no trouble interpreting, because Ron was panting and his chest touched Harry's with every breath and his cock pushed slickly through Harry's wet hand even though Harry was hardly moving.
Harry opened his eyes to find that Ron had closed his. His breath was loud, this close. Harry watched him, entranced by the shape of his mouth, by the way his gingery eyelashes brushed his cheeks, by the triangle of freckles in the thin skin at the corner of his eye. Ron.
He whispered it out loud -- "Ron" -- and tightened his fist. Ron's eyes flew open, and he made a strangled noise, and his cock jerked in Harry's hand. Harry's first, startled impulse when it started moving like that was to let go, but he held on while Ron came messily all over both of them, with a look on his face that almost looked as though he was hurting.
After a while Ron touched the back of Harry's hand to tell him it was too much, and he let go. He didn't quite know what to do about his wet hand -- what had Ron done? He'd been so stupefied by pleasure that he hadn't noticed. Eventually he wiped it off on the sheets, grateful that Ron hadn't bothered to make his bed that morning.
Ron was still breathing hard and smiling a little. Giving in to impulse, Harry leaned forward just enough to kiss him.
Ron made a startled movement and then leaned into it. His lips and the inside of his mouth were cool and dry from breathing through his mouth. Harry tried to warm them and wet them with his tongue, and Ron moved closer and wrapped his free arm tightly around Harry's back. Harry's glasses were badly in the way. He tossed them at the nightstand and went on kissing Ron, throwing his leg over Ron's hip to draw him closer.
"God, Harry," Ron said when they paused for breath. He put his hand under Harry's T-shirt and ran it up Harry's bare side, and Harry gasped. "D'you want me to --" He moved his hand downward. "Again?"
Harry gasped at the touch of Ron's hand on his cock. "Yeah." Then he felt selfish. "I mean -- if you want to --"
"Shove over," Ron said. "Can't do it lefthanded." He didn't wait for Harry to comply, just clambered over him, knocking him in the ribs with an elbow, and stuck his hand down Harry's pants as soon as Harry turned to meet him. "All my clothes are too small and all yours are too big," he said, enclosing Harry's cock in his big, warm fist.
"Maybe we should -- ah! -- swap," Harry said, and then, "God!" as Ron got a better grip. He was watching his hand, and Harry looked down, too, and got a slightly blurry view of the head of his cock peering redly through Ron's freckled hand, and his hips plunged forward involuntarily. Ron snickered.
"Nice?" Ron said after a while. "I hardly got a chance to see what you liked, before."
"Yeah," Harry said on a long outbreath. His voice was so low he could hardly recognize it. "Nice." Ron was moving a lot slower than Harry had, and Harry wondered vaguely whether it was the way he liked it himself, or whether he was just doing it differently because it was the second time around. It felt so good he didn't want to interrupt to ask.
"What I can't figure out," Ron said conversationally, "is why anybody ever stops doing this." On "this," he gave Harry's cock a sort of a twist that drove all the air out of Harry's lungs for a moment. "I mean, by the time I'm done with you, then I'll be ready again." He shoved his hips forward to illustrate. "Reckon you'd get hungry eventually, though."
"Oh, god, kiss me and be quiet," Harry hissed. "We've got the rest of the summer to figure it out."
-end-
Feedback me at resonant8@sbcglobal.net
Read the companion story, "Hanging"
May 5, 2004
http://trickster.org/res/hang.html
