3 : Ends
Title: Ends
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Harry Potter / Ron Weasley
Prompt: Ends
Word Count: 400
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: Written for fanfic100 and posted at harryron.

The one hundred stories are inspired by Broke Back Mountain.

Ron looks back on one hundred memories of his life with and without Harry.

Enjoy.


Ends
****
We still never spoke about what was happening.

We still worked hard.

And we still got each other off every night.

And every afternoon.

And every morning.

It felt like time was running out.

That we had to fit in a lifetime of orgasms, an eternity of climaxes, a gallon of spunk.

The summer was coming to an end.

Hermione owled us to let us know that her research was looking good, that she was ready to go after Hufflepuff’s cup.

She thought we should break camp and return to Grimmauld Place in the morning.

Harry owled back an OK and went and lay down on our blanket.

I sat beside him. “Harry?” I murmured.

“Shush,” he hissed, pulling me down.

He was silent and desperate as we kissed and I could hear tears in the tiny hitched breaths that puffed against my ear as he unbuttoned and unzipped.

I stretched out naked on top of him, sliding one leg between his and rubbing slow circles against his hip.

“Inside me,” he choked, rare words spoken during our frantic sessions.

This was new. And scary. And our last chance.

As if the night realised it was the last night, clouds covered the moon and I could barely see him beneath me.

I scrambled to kneel between his parted thighs and I could feel him trembling as I reached for my wand among our discarded clothes and filled my palm with slippery lube.

He arched his back as I entered him, his breath catching in his throat, and I stroked his trembling muscles with my hands as I thrust inside him.

I didn’t know what I was doing. He was still shaking, his breath now coming in gulping sobs, and he was scaring me.

“Harry?” I whispered, but he shook his head and pulled me down to him, kissing me like a drowning man gasping for air.

I was more scared than aroused, even though his body was hot and slick around me. He grabbed his cock and wanked frantically as he writhed and his spasming climax drew mine out of me.

I rested my forehead on his chest, which still shook as aftershocks hit him, and carefully eased out of him, letting his legs fall.

The cool evening air dried the sweat on my back as he curled on his side away from me and pulled a corner of the blanket over himself.


Ends - art.

My Big Damn Table.