"Shut up, Ron." Muttered.

Ron wasn't actually saying anything. He was, however, practically shaking with laughter, his cheeks puffed out to keep any noise from escaping.

"Shut up, Ron!" Louder.

The freckles on Ron's skin practically blended in with red flush of his face. Tears streamed down his face in silent agony.

"Shut up, Ron!" Shouted. Cross.

The dam burst. Ron doubled over and laughed so hard the walls practically shook.

"Honestly, Ron, it's not that funny." Harry could almost hear Hermione rolling her eyes, but he was too busy glaring at his friend to care. "It's like you've never seen Harry in dress robes before."

Ron finally managed to pull himself together, though he was wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Hermione, those are not normal dress robes."

"Oh, get out, man." Harry put one hand on his hip, gesturing at the exit with the other. "You're lucky I have Hermione because you don't know how close you came to wearing a bridesmaid's gown."

This sobered Ron, the colour immediately draining from his cheeks.

"Oh, yes, Neville's best man. So easily could have been my man of honour!" Harry was enjoying this; he had to get some enjoyment while in this get-up, after all. "And while one Weasley looks lovely in green, I suspect you don't have Ginny's body to pull it off." Ron had the gall to look indignant at this. "Get out. Don't you have usher duties to attend to? Seating the guests and all."

"Guess so." He gave Harry another once over. "You do look lovely, though, Mrs Longbottom." He ducked out just before the hall's half-eaten complimentary croissant hit the wall. It stuck briefly, leaving a buttery trail as it descended.

"Gonna kill him."

Hermione tutted over Harry, smoothing out the front of his robes. "He's just not used to seeing you like this."

"Like I'm used to it? I understand that Mrs Longbottom has only one grandson and she wanted a 'traditional ceremony, with all the trimmings,'" -- Harry's voice rose an octave, accuratelly imitating his soon-to-be-grandparent-by-proxy -- "but does that really mean I have to wear the dress?"

"Dress robes, Harry," Hermione gently corrected.

"Women's dress robes, Hermione. Dress robes made of satin with shiny buttons and a big poufy skirt. Dress robes to be worn with heels I can't walk in, silk knickers, stockings, and...and, what did you call them?"

"Garters," said Hermione. "And a veil." Hermione waved her wand, securing the veil in place, while Harry, frustrated, blew his fringe out of his eyes. Hermione took a step back and eyed her friend critically.

"What?"

Hermione closed one eye, cocking her head to the side. "You need make-up."

"NO!" said Harry, drawing the line. "No makeup. I'm a natural beauty."

"Of course you are," Hermione said blandly. "But you look all washed-out without..." Hermione trailed off, realising Harry's attention was no longer on her. Following his gaze, she rolled her eyes and smiled a bit -- the besotted expression on Harry's facee explained away by the groom now framing the doorway.

Neville and Harry stared at one another, both of their mouths hanging slightly open.

"Hi," said Neville, taking a step towards Harry.

"Hi," replied Harry, taking a step of his own.

Hermione watched both men and shook her head slightly. "Neville, you have to go. It's bad luck to see--"

"Hermione, get out." Neville didn't look away from Harry.

"But--"

"Out. Now." After a moment, Neville tore his eyes away long enough to glance in her direction. "Please." He smiled at her. Hermione threw up her hands in defeat and exited, shutting the door behind her as she went, figuring it was best for all in attendance.

Neville quickly closed the distance between them, locking his lips over Harry's. "God," Neville breathed, "you look so sexy. You'd almost think I liked girls."

"Good thing you don't," Harry said, just as breathily. "I'd be all dressed up with no place to go." Harry licked Neville's lower lip. "Love it when you get all forceful like that, even if it was directed at Hermione."

Neville nudged Harry backwards until he was pressed up against the wardrobe door. "How much time do we have?" God, Harry loved it when Neville did that little panting thing.

Harry shrugged, causing one sleeve of his robe to loosen, exposing a shoulder. Neville promptly bit down. Gasping, Harry said, "Don't know. Half an hour, maybe?" The predatory stare with which Neville granted him made his cock twitch, reminding him of their unfamiliar silk surroundings. "Don't tell me you're going to undo this get-up! Your gran would never forgive us."

Continuing to look at Harry like he was a very choice cut of meat or, perhaps more appropriately, the last slice of wedding cake, Neville bit his lower lip; Harry marvelled over how innocent and debauched he seemed all at once. "Not exactly," Neville said lightly. Using Harry's hips for leverage, he dropped to his knees, lifted the hem of Harry's gow -- dress robes -- and crawled underneath.

"Neville!" Harry hissed insistently.

Neville's feet disappeared completely from view.

"We can't do this now!"

Hands caressed Harry's thighs, deftly undoing the fastenings connecting his garter belt to his stockings. Merlin, where had he learned that? It had taken Hermione and him a good twenty minutes of figuring out where everything went and Neville undid it in five seconds flat.

"Neville!" More urgently.

One hand that had previously been moving over his legs began stroking his prick through the silk knickers, while the other gently kneaded his sac.

"Neville..." A moan, this time, as Harry's knees buckled and he grabbed the edge of wardrobe, trying desperately to steady himself.

A throaty chuckle emerged through the layers of fabric. Muffled though it was, Harry could make out Neville saying, "Sorry for doing this to you. Had to make up for my nutter of a guardian some way."

Harry closed his eyes, relishing the feel of the combination of Neville's fingers and the material against his skin. "Thought that was what the honeymoon was for," he managed to say.

Lips moving against Harry's thigh, Neville said, "I plan on making it up to you an awful lot of times." Harry groaned as Neville tugged the knickers to his knees, quickly replaced by a hot, wet mouth coaxing him to hardness -- not that he hadn't already been well on the way. Harry whimpered, leaning his head against the wardrobe's side, as Neville flicked his tongue against sensitive spot where the head and shaft met; the spot his fiancé knew drove Harry absolutely insane. Two of Neville's fingers were pressing behind his balls, causing little flashes of light in front of his eyes.

Neville's hands moved then, roaming all over his stockings and bare arse, as his mouth swallowed as much of Harry's cock as he could. "Fuck, Neville. We shouldn't be doinnngghh..." Harry's protest was cut off when Neville ran his tongue along his entire length. When Neville took him completely into his mouth again, Harry began thrusting lightly, a pant punctuating each movement as a bead of sweat rolled from his forehead to his chin. Harry felt triumphant in his earlier protest to go without make-up -- it would have been completely ruined.

Neville's hands cupped the curve of Harry's arse and thrust him further down his throat, causing Harry to groan loudly. "Oh, please, love. Just like tha--"

"Harry, dear, are you decent?" Harry's eyes went wide as Mrs Longbottom barged in without waiting for an answer, an aged wizard at her heels. He felt Neville go rigid, mouth still hot around him, breathing soft puffs of air onto Harry's pelvis. Trying really, really hard to resist the urge to thrust, Harry checked to see if Neville's feet were visible. They weren't, thankfully.

"Uh, hi!" Harry greeted as cheerfully as he could manage, his voice rather higher and huskier than he would have liked.

"Judge Oxbridge, here's the blushing bride." Mrs Longbottom snorted, showing exactly what she thought of the whole affair. She peered at Harry's face carefully. "Blushing a bit too much, actually. Are your robes too tight?" She reached out as though to adjust his bodice. "I know they're not really meant for men, but--"

"I'M FINE!" Harry shrunk way from her touch, which only caused him to slide against Neville's tongue, eliciting a gasp and a groan he couldn't hold back. To Harry's absolute mortification, Neville took this as a cue to start up again, carefully licking every bit of Harry's erection. "Oh!"

Mrs Longbottom scrutinised him for a second longer, but didn't touch him again, instead changing the subject to the ceremony. As Neville sucked Harry's brain out through his prick, he nodded stupidly as Mrs Longbottom prattled on about the wedding march and the line-up of Harry's attendants, while the judge explained the order of the ceremony. Clutching the side of the wardrobe with a white-knuckled grip, Harry thoroughly chewed the inside of his cheek, finally breaking when it seemed like they were never going to leave.

"Shouldn't you make sure Neville's ready," Harry blurted, knowing he was teetering on the edge of climax. In reply, Neville gently slapped Harry's bottom and increased the speed on his cock, his teeth very lightly scraping the underside. Harry whimpered, unable to hold back that little sound and wondering how exactly Neville managed to lick and suck at the same time. Talented, talented mouth on his husband-to-be, but he'd rather not come with Neville's grandmother in the room.

Luckily for him, Mrs Longbottom examined her pocket watch and gasped, Harry gasping right after her. The judge sent him a peculiar look, but when Mrs Longbottom rushed out, the officiate was right behind her. Door slammed behind them, Harry let loose with a string of profanities, grabbing the wardrobe, and thrusting in earnest again. "Oh, fuck, Neville, please. Please let me come. God." Neville, now free to make noise again, too, moaned around Harry's cock, immediately preceding Harry's orgasm. "Shit, I love you, never do that to me again, yes!" He came, shuddering his release down Neville's throat.

Neville slowly, slowly licked Harry clean, smoothly pushed the knickers back into place, and refastened the clasps to Harry's stockings in seconds. How does he do that? Harry wondered again. Lifting the skirt, Neville emerged, quite red in the face, and sweaty. Fanning himself, he grinned widely at Harry, still obviously turned on.

Standing up, he brushed dust off and grabbed Harry about the waist, pulling him into another kiss. Harry languorously kissed Neville, relishing the taste of himself -- salty and slightly bitter -- mixed with the flavour that was distinctly Neville. "Mmm," said Neville, licking the corner of his mouth. "Too bad we don't have more time."

Harry smiled, pushing his hands into Neville's robes and hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of the trousers he wore underneath. He pulled Neville close and grinded up against him, smile becoming a grin when Neville groaned. "Not enough time," Harry said ruefully as Neville pushed him up against a wall.

Neville leaned in, sucking on Harry's collarbone. "That's what the reception is for," he practically growled. "We'll escape halfway through, so I can hitch up that skirt and fuck you through the floor."

Despite feeling completely spent, Harry felt a pleasant shiver travel up his spine. He nipped playfully at Neville's bottom lip. "Your grandmother's definitely panicking now."

"Definitely. I should go, then." Instead, he sucked briefly on Harry's earlobe, causing Harry's eyes to flutter shut. "Going, yes." Neville looked pained as he pulled himself away.

"I'll see you in a few minutes," Harry reminded him.

Neville's grin was genuine. "True enough. Let's get married, then?"

"Let's get married. Now, go, go, before your grandmother kills me for further corrupting her heir!" Neville bussed him once more before leaving, humming 'Here Comes the Bride' under his breath. "Already did that!" Harry called after him.