Harry stands under the hot water, humming to himself and not moving, for
as long as he can. He wills the muscles in his shoulders to relax, the tension
in his arms to flow away with the water that runs over and off of him. He
tries to move his mind back toward the elation he was feeling twenty minutes
ago, Snitch in his hand, Ron at his side, all of Gryffindor cheering madly.
He smiles slightly as he turns his face up into the spray. He's glad they
won their first game with Ron as Keeper. The new team works together beautifully.
And flying with Ron is the best feeling Harry can imagine.
Ok, well, maybe not the absolute best. But Harry doesn't want his mind to
go there right now. Not with Ron showering a mere ten feet away. And no,
that wasn't a great place for his mind to go either. Thinking about Ron,
flushed like he was as the ran off the field, but without his Quidditch robes
now, with hot water coursing over his body and... Right. He wasn't going
there.
He often wonders how obvious it is to Ron and to people around them when
he thinks about these things. His face feels hot, but does it turn red?
Robes hide a lot, but he knows that his breath quickens and sometimes he
feels his eyes get watery. He hopes that Ron's not looking at him now, just
in case.
A quick glance over his shoulder tells Harry that no, Ron isn't looking.
He's toweling off and he looks distracted. Maybe hurried. Maybe he's meeting
Hermione. Harry frowns slightly at the thought. It's not like it was any
big surprise, the two of them dating. He just... hoped. Not even hoped,
really. That would imply he actually thought there was some possibility
that he and Ron would... that Ron would...
Harry can never finish those thoughts. Not that his imagination doesn't
run wild with him, he just never knows what to call what it is he wants.
He can picture it well enough. He can picture Ron toweling off quickly
to meet him instead of Hermione, coming out of the locker room with
his hair wet and messy, his school robe slung over his shoulder. Ron after
Quidditch reminds Harry of Ron at the Burrow - thoroughly happy and completely
at ease. He would look that way coming through the doors, and he would smile
his big, goofy grin at Harry. Harry would reach for him, put his fingers
into that damp hair and pull him in. Kiss him. Hard. Harry can feel himself
responding to the thought and he thinks Ron would too. They'd know because
they would be pressed so close together.
A slamming sound from the locker room echoes through the showers and distracts
Harry. He can’t hear running water anymore and he listens for the sound
of voices or movement around him. "Hello?" he calls out tentatively. No
one responds.
Harry looks down at his soapy hands and then closes his eyes. He sees Ron
in the shower again, Ron outside the locker room, Ron under the Quidditch
stands. He sees himself push Ron up against a pillar, press into him and
touch him all over. As he imagines it, Harry slides a soapy hand over his
stomach and touches himself. But in his mind he sees Ron's hand. They're
still there, pressed against that pillar, kissing, and Ron is moving his
hand against the front of Harry’s trousers. And then unbuttoning the trousers
and turning them around so that Harry's the one against the pillar. He pushes
his hand into Harry's pants and wraps it around him. The thought is almost
too much and Harry leans forward and braces one hand against the tile of
the shower wall. Ron is slowly falling to his knees in the grass and suddenly
Harry can feel himself engulfed in warmth and wetness. The vision and the
sensation fit perfectly together and Harry can't help but thrust forward
into his own hand. He thinks of looking down at Ron from above, about the
color of Ron's cheeks when he's flying, about all the possible places Ron
might put his hands.
"Ron, oh god, Ron, please," he whispers over and over, eyes squeezed shut.
And Ron can hear and he quickens his rhythm and sucks and licks and with
a sudden spasm Harry comes.
His eyes open and he blinks at the mess on the tiles in front of him and
all over his hand. It’s still silent in the showers but he looks quickly
around him to make sure he's alone. He waits a minute for his legs to stop
shaking and his breathing to return to normal before he cleans up.
He dresses quickly and then stands at his locker for a minute, deciding where
to go next. If he sees Ron now, he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep himself
at a safe distance. Some days, not touching Ron is the hardest thing he
has to do. But they have a victory to celebrate and Harry decides to take
a risk and go find Ron. He heads out through the locker room doors. When
he glances out at the field, he freezes for a moment at the sight of someone
under the stands. Harry squints. It's Ron – Harry can pick him out at any
distance. And Hermione is with him. They’re so close together they’re barely
distinguishable as separate people. Harry knows it shouldn’t hurt and he
wishes it didn’t. The weight of defeat settles about his shoulders as he
turns and trudges toward the castle.
read the companion story