FIC : Tongue - Harry/Ron
Title : Tongue
For : maple_mahogany
Pairing : Harry/Ron
Prompt : set in your 50smutlets universe. They argue about something to do with Seamus, and then make up. And with torn denims. :D.
Words : 925
Rating : NC-17


"Ah, that tongue," Seamus whispered to me, as he dropped a pile of reports on my desk.

"What the fuck are you on about, now, Seamus?" I demanded, glancing at the top folder, but it was about a coven of wanna be witches who'd been dancing naked at Midsummer: one had been found tied to a maple tree near Hampton Wick.

Seamus crouched down, his breath hot in my ear.

"Look at yer man," he whispered.

Harry was frowning as he read a report, the tip of his tongue running back and forth across his bottom lip.

I'd bitten him, hard, that morning, but I wasn't gonna tell Seamus that.

"What about him?" I asked wearily.

"Ah, yer have more self-control than I have, Ronald."

"Oh, just go away, you Irish git."

"So talented."

I raised an eyebrow. "OK, talented, how?" I asked reluctantly.

"How you can sit here, without wanking under yer desk, I don't know," he smirked. "Just the thought of where that tongue was, this morning."

"It was at home," I said firmly, trying to turn away.

"Ah, last night, then."

"Seamus, how immature is it to try and get me to admit I snogged Harry, last night?"

He tsked.

"Not snogged," he said. "The Harry I knew and fucked couldn't go twenty-four hours without that luscious tongue up my arse; don't tell me yer deny him his greatest pleasure!"

"Fuck off, Finnigan," I said. "You're not gonna get to me like that, either."

He dipped a finger in the glass on my desk and ran it round and round the rim, till it sang.

Then he smirked and sucked his finger clean.

"Excellent," I said. "That's not iced tea, Seamus, it's a urine sample from a hag who's been peddling drugs in Knockturn Alley."

Seamus swore colourfully and stormed out of the cubicle.

I turned to see Harry watching me, his eyebrows raised.

"What did poor old Seamus do to deserve that?" he asked mildly.

"Yes, we must never upset poor old Seamus, must we?" I spat and Harry recoiled.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Not here."

"Ron?"

"Not. Here. Harry."

By the time we got home, my jaw ached from grinding my teeth.

Harry, of course, had forgotten all about it and looked surprised when I only got one beer and slumped on the couch.

He'd held his hand out for his drink, and he sat and looked at it, blankly, as I wiped the brick dust off my bottle and drank.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you still upset?"

"Yes."

He rolled his eyes. "And are you gonna tell me what the matter is?"

"Your friend, Seamus, is the matter… is," I finished lamely.

"Just don't let him wind you up, Ron!" he said. "Haven't we known Seamus long enough to take a joke?"

"Some of us know him better than others," I said darkly.

"That's not fair," Harry said quietly; he moved to sit next to me on the couch. "Everyone has a past, don't they?"

I grunted.

Harry sighed and put his hand on my knee, fiddling with the loose threads round the hole in my jeans and running his thumb soothingly over my skin.

"What was I supposed to do?" he asked me. "You were straight; you were with Hermione."

I flopped back on the couch.

"So you did all this filthy stuff," I muttered.

"You like filthy stuff," Harry protested.

"I like you doing it with me."

"Ron, I'm not gonna apologise for stuff that happened before we got together," he said, sliding his hand inside the ripped knee of my jeans.

I grunted.

"What did he say?" he asked, his fingertips running in circles.

"You were poking your tongue out, as you concentrated," I muttered. "And he said 'The Harry I knew and fucked couldn't go twenty-four hours without that luscious tongue up my arse'."

He blinked.

"Oh," he said. "He…"

"I don't wanna know," I interrupted. "I know it's true."

"Stop pouting," he said, both hands sliding into the rip and jerking suddenly, tearing my jeans up to my groin.

I gawped.

"And it's not true, anyway," he said, one hand sliding up the leg of my boxers.

"No?" I whimpered.

"No," he said, leaning over me and cupping my balls. "It was his idea, and we tried it, but just the once, and it was him on me."

"Oh," I said, in a small voice, gazing up at him. "But you…"

"I do it with you because it's you," Harry said, tearing my jeans right up to the waist. "Because I love you; because there is nothing I wouldn't do to turn you on. Now, turn over."

"Harry?"

"Turn." He ripped my boxers in half. "Over."

I scrambled over, onto my knees, and rested my arms on the back of the couch.

Harry tugged hard, tearing my jeans further and baring my arse to him.

I sighed as his hands ran over me, straining to spread my thighs against what was left of my jeans.

"GodHarryyes," I hissed as he pulled my balls towards him, over the ruined denim, and lowered his head. "Pleasepleaseplease."

He hummed as he sucked on me and my cock twitched and I thrust back against his face.

He laughed, all low and sexy in his throat and I moaned. "Please, Harry."

He turned his hands, pulling my cheeks apart as his tongue licked a broad path, from my balls and over my hole.

I whined. No self respect, at all.

"Only for you," he murmured against my skin.


My Table.