fics_by_maple | (no subject)

Written for

violet_quill’s Make The Yule Tide Gay Holiday Challenge

Title: No Fairy Lights
Prompt: Stockings
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Word Count: 500
Rating: NC-17
A/N: It turned out not to be my usual fluff, especially since its Christmas smut. It’s a bit …blunt.
Thanks to

this_is_kelly for the beta!

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“Harry? Harrrr-ry … Morning.” His voice breaks through my heavy layer of dreamless and comfortable sleep.

“S’not morning, Ron. It’s still dark,” I murmur into my pillow. I can feel the cool air in the room so I nestle lower under the heavy quilt.

“But it’s Christmas,” Ron says.

“It was already Christmas when we came to bed at 1am. You drank more whisky than I did, don’t you want to sleep?”

“I want to open our stockings.”

He is still such boy sometimes.

“Our stockings will still be there in a few more hours.”

I hear him make a disappointed “humph” behind me and he flops back onto his pillow.

He’s quiet for just long enough that I fade back to into sleep when I feel something poke me in the lower back. I can’t be quite sure it’s a finger or a cock.

“You awake, Harry?” Ron asks, arching into me …so definitely a cock, then.

“What, Ron?” I ask, trying not to sound to frustrated, and as if I don’t know what.

“Do you wanna fool around before we go downstairs?”

I realize he isn’t wearing anything and apparently it doesn’t matter how old I get, having Ron behind me, naked, and tugging my pajama bottoms down is still all it takes to get me hard.

Funny how even though I’m still wearing a t-shirt and my sweats are on but pushed down to my knees, that I feel so exposed. Ron squeezes my arse and slides into me, hot and slick I remember how good “quick and dirty” used to be.

I vaguely think about how it’s Christmas morning and there’s a tree downstairs and we’ll be sitting to dinner with his family later. I suppose right now this sex should be sweet, and slow, underneath fairy lights, but it’s not. It’s rough and fast and already sweaty and I can hear the muffled sound of our skin slapping together under the quilt. Ron squeezes my hip hard as he pounds into me, and I love knowing that I’ll have his finger marks on me and have to shift in my seat just to be comfortable at dinner.

I furiously stroke myself, until I come all over the bedclothes and as soon as I do, Ron pushes me forward onto my stomach and fucks me into the mattress. He grunts over my shoulder as he comes, snarling my name, and it’s not romantic; but it’s perfect.

And I love it.

I love him.

I love us like this.

“Happy Christmas,” Ron says, stating it as a fact rather than a wish to me. He cleans us with a charm and then curls around me, spooning me. Feeling sated and content, I start to drift off to sleep again.

“Harry, wanna go open our stockings now?”

Maybe I can pretend I’m sleeping.

“Harry, come on, please? ... Please? … Please? …Please? …Please?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Ron. Let’s go on, then.”

I never can deny him anything.

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