
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/331801.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Ron_Weasley
  Additional Tags:
      Drabble_Collection
  Series:
      Part 11 of HP_Drabbles
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-02-02 Chapters: 9/9 Words: 1514
****** Hard Candy ******
by Cluegirl
Summary
     A series of drabbles featuring Harry Potter and Ron Weasley
***** Running hand in hand through a field of daisies *****
"Come on, Ron!" Harry screamed, lungs laboring, sweat flying as he pushed his
exhausted legs for more speed, "They're right on us!" The daisies thrashed and
crushed around their feet, scattering white petals like snow as they ran as
though the hounds of hell were hard on their heels.
Which actually, they were.
A shriek arose behind them, drowned under a chorus of triumphant laughter, and
then a shattering sizzle blazed a fiery swath through the flower-speckled
field. Colin was down!
Harry's stride faltered, and he started to turn, tears stinging his eyes, but
Ron snatched his elbow and hauled him back into a stumbling run.
"He's gone!" blood darkened the copperfire of his hair, streamed down the
freckled alabaster, "You can't save him, Harry, there's too many of them!"
Swearing because he didn't have the breath to cry, Harry ran, sucking the
sharp, desperate smell of the daisies deep into his lungs -- green, like the
killing curse that was already haunting his tongue. Just get to the portal! he
told himself as the standing stones came into view, Snape's towering black
shape just visible in the staticky blank space between them, Just get us both
out of here. Fall apart later!
But as they hit the rising ground, the hunters spotted them and set up the howl
once more. The air around cracked with apparitions, sizzled with curses and
screams and fluttering white petals. Harry ran, snitch-wild and seeker-quick,
clutching Ron's hand, dragging, hauling his best mate through the deadly chaos.
At last, the portal! Harry ducked low beneath a curse, and threw himself across
in a slide of crushed flowers and ozone-scorched air. "YES!" Triumph escaped
his throat as the portal snapped closed behind them.
But Ron made no reply. Made no sound at all. Harry started to turn, but Snape
swooped down on him, blocked his sight, tore loose the knot he and Ron had made
of their fingers. Arms like iron bands contained Harry's struggles, but not his
dawning terror. "What is it? Let me go! What's wrong?"
"Don't look, Harry," was all the man would say.
***** Ginny died in the Chamber of Secrets *****
Harry gasped, clenched his eyes and his teeth as the Ron's thrusts intensified.
It hurt -- it always hurt when he got like this, when his blue eyes lost their
sparkle and went flint-hard with memory. And then Harry knew there was only one
thing he could do to bring colour back to those whitened knuckles, to steal
some of the blame out of those hard-pressed lips.
They never spoke of it, or of her, but they both knew what this was, this thing
they did. They both knew what it meant when Harry buried his face in the
pillows, and Ron buried his cock in his arse. They both knew it hurt, and hurt
terribly, just like they both knew it had to be done. Because some sacrifices
demanded atonement. Because some failures demanded punishment. Because some
creeping agonies could only be banished by a sharper sort of pain.
***** Candyland *****
Harry was going to die. His heart was sure of it -- his brain was sure of it -
- his balls were lobbying to liquidate his assets and put everything into
canned foods and shotgun shells -- and all because of Ron's tongue.
"OhdearGodRondon'tstop!" His jaws, gummed, clenched and crystallized with sweat
and sweet ached around the groan. He thrust back against the plundering tongue,
smelling raspberry sauce with every panting breath.
"ThereyesthereohGODplease!!!"
Who knew Ron Weasley had giraffe ancestors? For how else could Harry feel the
effects of that tongue all the way up to his ears. He thrust against the
sheets, but suddenly, criminally, Ron stopped, and that amazing tongue
withdrew.
"Don't wanna cobe yet, Bate," Ron snuffled, smeared to the ears with raspberry
sauce, and grinning like a fiend, "Got to hode out for the Chocolate Frog. Ode
good jubp?"
Harry moaned. He was going to DIE!
***** Ornamental, taste, windowpane *****
"I think it's just for show, Ron."
"Pshh. From Fred and George? Nothing's just for show!"
"No, really, I've seen buttons like this before," Harry turned the badge toward
the light, but the purple, foursquare block on its surface did nothing
interesting. "Remember the 'Potter Stinks' badges from Third year?"
"Exactly! Those at least flashed," Ron snatched the badge, and tapped it with
his wand. A huge, sloppy tongue appeared mid air, and gave the badge a wet
lick. "Ah-HAH!" Ron crowed, "I knew it was candy!"
Three hours later, when everything that could possibly pass for lubricant in
their dorm room had been used up, Ron was still giggling, writing, debauched
and rampantly horny, and Harry found himself teetering between thanking the
twins for the ride of his life, and (assuming he survived till Ron came down
again) shoving this year's birthday present up their arses, each in turn.
***** "Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,/ In sleep a king, but,
waking, no such matter." *****
It was a mistake. He never should have done it -- Ron knew it even at the time,
when Harry's hand was clasping, hot and hard along his cock, when Harry's lips
crushed against his -- suckling, feeding, cracking Ron's secret fantasies out
of their marble catafalque. He wanted it so terribly. But it was So. Very.
Wrong.
Because he could smell dreaming on Harry's breath (before his own spunk
eclipsed it,) could see in those glazed green eyes that he was asleep, and the
name Harry whispered in his dreams didn't begin with R...
A mistake. A big one. A huge, hungry, desperately hushed, irredeemable,
unforgivable mistake. Because when morning came, it really *would* be all a
dream. Harry might wonder why his sheets were clean, but that would be all. No
big deal.
Harry would never remember this night.
And Ron... well Ron would never, ever forget it.
***** "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!" *****
"Ron?"
"Mm." The wind blew dancing flakes across the iron grey sky, and while Hermione
shivered, Ron didn't seem to notice.
"It's getting really late." She tried not to let the worry show in her voice -
- she was the calm one, the reasonable one, the one who didn't scream and cry
and beg her friends not to destroy themselves with grief and self-loathing.
"Mm. S'pose."
*Do you think he'd want this?* she screamed in her head, *He loved you too much
for you to do this in his memory!*
But aloud, she only said "Come inside before it snows."
He shook his head, and the icy wind ruffled his fringe. The lightning scar -
- Harry's parting gift, gleamed in the twilight.
"You go on," he smiled as though he knew, as though he could hear her heart
breaking, and was sorry he couldn't catch the pieces, "I'm okay here."
***** fertility ceremony *****
"So. Did it work then?"
Harry grimaced. "Yeah. You could say so."
Ron beamed, thumped him on the back, and fetched a cigar out of his pocket.
"Brilliant! I told you they knew what they were doing, Harry, didn't I? Luna
wanted a springtime baby, and I told you we'd get her one!" Ron lit his own
cigar and beamed, "So, you gonna name the sprog after me?"
Harry paled, remembering the event -- a welter of hair and limbs and sweat and
musk and sweet smoke and tart potions. Ron's cock stood out particularly well
in his memory. "Yeaaah, most likely." He fiddled with the cigar.
"Luna's okay with that, isn't she?" Ron asked anxiously.
Harry shook his head. "No, not really. Listen -- that ritual; you got it from
Fred and George, right?"
Ron nodded, confused. "What's she mad about then?"
"She thought SHE'D be the pregnant one."
***** The beauty is that everything changes *****
"You can DO that?" Harry goggled.
Ron, torn between pride and bashfulness, merely grinned.
"Yeah. It's kind of a twist on the animagus spell, really. Transfiguration,
only... subtle, you know? Tonks actually taught me last summer."
"Taught you!" Harry yelped, rolling the tall redhead over and straddling his
chest, "I swear, I am NEVER wasting a summer in Little Winging again! Now show
me!"
And suddenly there were breasts -- soft, smallish, and fascinating under
Harry's spread palms.
He caught his breath, ragged in his teeth as his cock surged to instant
attention. "Ron?"
A blush camouflaged his freckles as Ron bit his lip. "Yeah, Harry?"
The slight boy leaned back, sought behind him with a wicked hand that knew its
way round a zip. Ron whimpered to feel that seeker-strong grip curl around his
cock. "Show me something else..."
***** The devil is in the details. *****
"You're sure it's right?"
"It's a potion, mate, I'm as sure as I can be..."
"That's it! No way I'm using this!"
Come on now, don't look like that! You saw the ingredients, there's nothing
poisonous in it!"
"That doesn't mean anything!"
"Harry! I'm hurt!"
"Ron! It's Avada Kedavara green -- nothing that colour is supposed to go inside
you!"
"Alright, fine! It can go inside me then if you're so squeamish."
"Ron, no don't!"
"No, if you're going to be a prat, then I'm proving it to you one way or
anothooooh."
"Oooh?"
"Ooooooooohthat's nice. Really niiiice."
"Well... Maybe I'll-"
"Snarl!"
"...Ron? If you'll just put a little on my-"
"GrrrrrrrOOWR!"
"YOW! Gerroff! Stop biting, dammit Ron! Petrificus totalis!"
"Yipe!"
"...You do realize Hermione will never let us live this down, don't you?."
"Whimper."
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in darkness and in clumsy haste and you were astounded how burly his manhood
seemed up close.

“Please, don’t stare like that!” Marco’s thin voice from somewhere above
interrupted you in doing just that. He was looking at you pleadingly, in
obvious discomfort, helpless to move away even if he wanted to since his
crumpled pants were preventing him to take a single step.

“Sorry,” you automatically responded, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks to
match the color of his. You took his shaft, which was deflating visibly,
between your fingers and then slowly and tentatively fitted it inside your
mouth.

“Ahhh…” when he was fully inside your warm mouth, Marco’s sigh was only half
pleasure. The other half was distress. “Are you sure about this?”

You freed your mouth to answer, “Yes. And I can tell you like it too.” The
penis in your hand was throbbing in its full length again, as hard as a sword
hilt. Marco stared at his betraying member, then his eyes shifted to yours
apologetically.

“I cannot really lie to you in this position, can I?” he gave you a strained
smile and you began working your tongue again, erasing all expressions from his
face apart from pleasure that bordered with ache. You smacked your lips across
his flesh and ran your tongue alongside its length, feeling his body respond to
your caresses. Involuntary, suppressed moans that escaped his lips assured you
were on the right track, so you pressed on, cupping his scrotum and gently
squeezing.

“Mmmm, that is good…” Marco began to loosen up and enjoy the attention. He
leaned against the wooden wall because his concentration was rapidly narrowing
to a single point. His fingers got entangled into locks of your hair, keeping
it from your face, and caressed the sides of your face. When you looked up, he
wore an expression of a peaceful expectation, almost angelic, breathing deeply
through his mouth.

“Marco, are you there?” a sharp voice came from outside the boards Marco was
leaning against. His eyes went wide in terror.

“Oh, fuck!” he moaned from deep in his throat, “It’s Jean.”

“Marco!” persistent knocking came just a little bit to the left from Marco’s
head and he flinched, his hands attempting to still the movements of your head
but you shook them off.

“Get lost Jean!” Marco growled then held his breath, because your lips were
hastening up the tempo. “I’m busy!” He shouted between two sighs and urgently
whispered to you, “Stop, for heaven’s sake!”

You gave him an impish smile and brought up another hand to help you with
massaging of his inner thighs, feeling the tenseness in his muscles and his
resolve literally dissolve beneath your fingers. Marco shot you a pleading look
but had to look away, biting his lower lip, when your fingers disappeared into
the honey jar and came out dripping the sticky mess all over his cock and your
tongue.

“Busy with what?” Jean’s voice was closer to the wall now, he may have even had
an ear pressed to the board and only centimeters of wood separated him from
Marco’s back. “We have to report for the sentry duty.”

“Busy with things!” Marco shot back at Jean, pressing the back of his head
against the wall and painfully squeezing his eyelids as your tongue
mischievously danced over and around the sensitive tip of his shaft. “I will be
there… shortly…!”

You sucked at his cock hard, lubricated by the sweet honey, and Marco clasped
both hands across his mouth, unable to contain himself any longer. His heart
was pounding so hard you thought Jean will hear it through the wall.

“Oh, I see.” you could picture a snicker of realization on Jean’s face. “Well,
report to the commander when you won’t have your hands full of ‘things’
anymore.” He pointedly whistled a cheerful tune that waned as he walked away.

You managed a smile without missing a beat, when you heard Marco’s soft,
tormented voice from above your head.

“It is… too late…” he thinly squeezed through rigid fingers and before you knew
what was happening, a salty warmness mixed with the sticky sweetness on honey
in your mouth. He slowly slid down the wall and rested with his knees hitched
up and wide, the flustered, freckled face gazing at you between them. His brown
eyes were wide and moist, his expression repentant.

“I am sorry.” his fingers still half covered his mouth, so he mumbled the words
out, staring at you like he was caught committing a particularly villainous
deed. “It was too intense, I didn’t have the time to warn you.” he said softly,
desperately sweeping his eyes across your face for a reaction.

You leaned in and kissed him, calming the flutters in his chest, sharing the
last of the sweet residue from your tongue. His lips needed no sweetening
though; they swelled with blood like ripe cherries, still hot and trembling
from his climax, calling you to tenderly test them with your teeth.

“Are you kidding?” you breathed when your lips separated for a moment, looking
into his dark and gentle eyes, “I would choose you over honey any time.”
 
THE END
End Notes
     Marco is such a sweet thing, isn't he? :)
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