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Instructions	By : starstruck86 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Ron Views: 26901 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1-Instructions
- 1
Title: Instructions
-Written for LJ's harryronholiday fest!
Rating:
NC-17
Word Count: 4,020
Summary: Ron takes his
sexual exploration just a little too far for Harry.
Warnings:
Toys, spanking, public humiliation, embarrassing familial situations,
language.
Author's/Artist's Note: I had so much fun with
this. It really has been a joy to write.

Who the hell is
banging?

Harry groaned into his pillow. Opening his eyes
proved difficult, as if somebody had glued them shut in the few short
hours he had been asleep. The banging continued while he
struggled.

Getting drunk, Harry surmised, had been a really
bad idea.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The words ran
on a loop in his aching brain, swooping to assault him in between the
unidentifiable bangs.

Stupid. Bang. Stupid.
Bang. Stupid. Bang.

"Fuck off!" he cried
aloud, rolling onto his back to blink at the ceiling.

Splashes
of the evening before began to converge on him, and his overwhelming
impression was of Seamus dancing on the bar and Neville throwing up
into a fake yucca plant. When he remembered Dean bringing back a
round of shots and then setting each of them alight, he stopped
thinking altogether.

Don't think. Thinking hurts.
Thinking's stupid.

"Ron's stupid!" he proclaimed
aloud, and then Harry wondered if he might not just still be a little
bit drunk. He grunted as he thrust one hand into his pants and
scratched his balls. "Stupid Ron..." he breathed, feeling
sleep tugging at his senses once again.

As he slipped under
the current of darkness, his fingers clenched into the duvet, when
they would normally have held onto Ron.

***

 "Go
away!" Harry shouted at the bangs, which were becoming louder
and were a klaxon straight into his poor water-deprived brain. "What
do you want from me?"

When he heard how much of a sob his
last sentence was, an element of shame crept in. Gingerly he cracked
open one eye. He caught sight of the dark curtains and something
fluttering through the crack between them.

Owl... owl...
who's owling me?

It was then that the banging was
interrupted by a blast of song from outside the window. A Christmas
carol floated up, but it didn't deter the owl trying to break the
glass of their bedroom window.
 
"Fine," Harry
snarled, throwing himself out of bed and crashing his leg into the
dresser. "Ow, fuck! Shit! Bollocks! WHAT?!" he
roared at the owl, as he finally thrust the window open.

He
recognised the twittering ball of feathers instantly. Pig flew four
times around the room and then settled on top of the wardrobe,
looking indignant.

"I was sleeping," Harry explained
sheepishly.

The owl gave a low, mournful hoot and stared at
him.

"C'mon Pig, what've you got?"

There was
no point in asking, but Harry did anyway. Ron only used Pig to send
correspondence to him and nobody else because the mad fluffball
couldn't be trusted to deliver anything of higher importance. A sense
of eagerness crept into his blood as he waited for the bird to
forgive him for his laziness.

The whole reason for his mad
bout of drinking the night before had been because of Ron's absence.
Feeling guilty, Harry plopped down on the end of their bed and rubbed
at one eye. It wasn't really Ron's fault that they had an
important mission going on in the Auror department, one which wasn't
going to wait for the festive season to be over. Furthermore, it
wasn't Ron's fault that Kingsley had elected to have two pairs
of Aurors on duty for Christmas day. It was completely and utterly
not Ron's fault that he and his work partner had picked one of
the two short straws from their boss' palm three days before. It was,
however, entirely Harry's fault that they'd had a blazing row
about the whole situation on returning home that particular evening,
and that Ron had left the day before, still angry.

Well I
can sulk too, you ginger tosser.

His conviction, however,
had seemingly melted into his hangover. Harry found that he didn't
mean the words he thought at all. Glumly, he looked up at Pig who
ruffled his feathers and finally flew down to rest on Harry's knee.
His grip was somewhat tighter than necessary, but Harry didn't bother
to moan.

As he untied the parcel from Pig's leg, Harry vaguely
tried to remember what the main thread of his argument had been, but
came up with two -the one that he had spoken aloud to Ron, and the
one that he had been secretly afraid of in his mind.

Ron had
never been anything but faithful to him. Since their first fumblings
just after the war, when they had headed back into school uniforms to
get their qualifications, Ron had been unwavering. To be brutally and
somewhat unfairly honest, he had surprised everyone with his
acceptance of the situation and unwillingness to lead anybody -namely
Hermione- along with a lie about his sexuality.

So why am I
so fucking nervous about him cheating on me with Roberts?
 
"Roberts
looks like a foot," Harry announced to the room at large, and
glared at Pig, just daring the owl to contradict him. "A really
ugly foot that's got verrucas."

Harry knew that if, by
some extremely long shot, Ron was cheating on him with his
professional workmate, then it would say very little for the
redhead's taste, and in turn, very little for Harry himself.

"I
just don't like it," Harry told Pig, who stared back with wide
eyes. "He's mine. Why does bloody Roberts get to spend Christmas
in a tent with him when it should be me? He should be here, burning
the turkey and getting pissed on hot cider and fucking me by the
lights of the Christmas tree..."

If it had been possible,
Harry thought that Pig would have looked disgusted.

"Alright,
just give me the present," Harry huffed.

He pulled the
string and the box finally came loose. Pig took off immediately,
narrowly avoiding a collision with the window as he pelted towards
the tiny owl station they had set up in their back garden. Harry tore
off the brown packing paper and rolled his eyes at the festive Snitch
wrapping around a smallish box. A red envelope sat on top. Ripping it
open with half-drunken fingers, Harry ignored the design on the front
to read Ron's handwriting.

'Harry,

Merry
Christmas, sexy. I want you to wear this all day. I'll know if you
haven't. I want you to insert it and enchant it with a locomotor
spell. It will do the rest. My last rule is that you can't touch
yourself, or come.

Merry Christmas!
Ron.'

Baffled,
Harry stared at the box in his lap.

Insert it where?
Locomote what?!

He peeled away one end of the wrapping
paper, slightly scared. A harmless black box met his eye, and he
slipped it from the papery cage. He turned it over, frowning
slightly.

"What?" he choked, nearly dropping the
box.
 
Resting in velvet cushioning was a shiny metal
anal plug, in which he could see his own shocked reflection. It was
overly large, tapered at the top and near the base, where it fanned
out again into a round circle.

"He's gone mad,"
Harry whispered to himself, looking back at the note. "Wear it
all day? Put it in myself? What the fuck, Weasley!?"

Despite
his lover's sure descent into madness, Harry stared at the plug, his
fingers still wrapped around the box. His instructions were clear. He
and Ron hadn't played much with instructions, but since Ron had
admitted to him a nervous kink for sex toys and a penchant for the
idea of spanking, Harry had encouraged him to explore. He had been
willing to offer up his backside for a round of spanks, to feel the
power in Ron's arm as it swung through the air and stung his cheeks.
Even just thinking about it caused his cock to give a hopeful twitch
in his pants.

"Down boy," he muttered.

It
was at moments like that one that Harry imagined having parents would
have been useful. Not because he would have asked their advice on
insertion -he shuddered at the thought- but because they would have
given him a good lecture on submitting to peer pressure. He tried
hard to imagine his mother screeching something along the lines of
"If Ron told you to put your head in the oven, would you do
it?"

Snorting, Harry acknowledged that he might
have thought about it. He was by no means whipped, or under any form
of control from his partner, yet he trusted him implicitly. He
trusted that Ron would never give him such a dangerous order, nor
expect him to follow it.

But he expects you to follow this
one...

Decided, Harry got to his feet and slid the inner
box from the outer, and let his forefinger trail over the cool
metal.

"Lube. Where's the lube?" he muttered
nervously.

*** 

"I hate you,
Ronald Bilius Weasley, and I hope a really fucking big gnat crawls
into your sleeping bag and bites you somewhere painful!" Harry
hissed with discomfort and tried to stand up straight.

He had
showered first, making sure he was presentable enough for lunch at
Molly's, and then he had dumped a load of lube over the metal object
and set about inserting it. Never before had he found appreciation
for Ron's skill in estimating exactly the right amount of lube during
sex. He had dropped the plug a total of three times and his hands
were so slippery he might as well have had at himself,
bypassing the toy altogether.

Five unsuccessful attempts
later, with aching teeth from clenching his jaw so tightly, Harry was
there. Nothing had ever felt stranger -not even when he had
dressed as a woman as a decoy for the Auror force. He realised that
he would take the frilly lace any day to the feeling of being prised
apart. He wondered what the purpose of the plug was -whether it was
to remind him how warm and soft Ron's cock actually was, or to act as
a substitute for it. He knew without thinking which he
preferred.

The clock in their living room chimed loudly and
Harry jumped, then hissed at the oddness in his body, realising that
he was about to be late for lunch.

Hurriedly he threw his
clothes on, falling slightly as he wormed into his jeans. The plug
pressed against something sensitive and he gasped, one hand flying to
his backside, for all the good it did him.
 
"This
is going to be hell!" he moaned, looking down at his crotch,
where a hard column of flesh showed through his jeans. He'd been hard
throughout the insertion, even though it had ached in places and made
his eyes water.

As he was heading for the door, Harry
remembered the second part of Ron's instructions. With a huff he
pulled his wand from his jeans pocket and thrust it down into the
seat of his jeans.

*** 

It was
extremely hard to sit and hold a normal conversation, Harry found,
whilst once of his bum cheeks twitched constantly, and the plug made
him feel erotically full. Squirming in his seat, Harry regretted that
he had not charmed the toy with his jeans off -the badly aimed spell
and consequently spasm-racked muscles in his left buttock made it
stupidly hard to concentrate.

"It's such a shame Ron has
to work today," Molly said sadly, as she heaved a turkey big
enough to feed the whole of Hogwarts onto her kitchen table.

No,
he's bloody lucky -I would have murdered him by now if he was
here.

As he reached for his wine glass, which, considering
his hastily medicated hangover was probably a mistake, Harry felt the
plug shift within his body.

When he righted himself, he felt
fuller, his passage more stretched, and more flesh touched by the
heated metal.

"You must be missing him?" Molly gave
Harry a smile. 

"Loads," Harry tried to unlock
his jaw to get the word out.

"Well tuck in, everyone,
there's more where it came from and all the rest..." 

"Thanks,
Mum," the present Weasley children chorused, and Harry added a
meek,

"Thanks Molly," at the end.

Leaning
forward for the potatoes, Harry choked. Inside of him, the plug was
growing, spreading his cheeks further apart as he sat, and pushing
further up into his body. Tell-tale tingles crept through the
surrounding tissue -the sort of tingles which happened when Ron was
searching out his prostate to try and make Harry come quicker and
harder. It always worked when he found it.

"Alright?"
George threw him a weird look.

"I'm..." About to
come at a dinner table full of people I love and adore... Oh shit...
shit... shit...

Bracing his feet shoulder width apart on
the floor, Harry sat still, unable to do anything but concentrate on
the gathering storm within his body. Orgasm coiled in the pit of his
belly, pushing out into his upper thighs and through his cock and
balls. The prior was painfully squashed against the zip of his
jeans.

"Excuse me," he squeaked, throwing himself
from his chair and rushing from the room.

The bathroom seemed
too far away to make.

All I need is privacy...

But
Harry didn't make privacy. He ducked into the sitting room just as
his body reached boiling point; his hips jerked and he clenched,
spilling hot and hard into his underwear without touching anything.
Shivering, he bit deep into his lip and tried to keep quiet as the
orgasm rolled through him. Where he normally would have gasped and
moaned, he had to hold back, trapping the noise in his throat.

"I
hate you," he whispered weakly, leaning one hand against the
wall to support himself.

*** 

"Here."
Charlie thrust a cracker his way and Harry reached up to take the
other end. As he moved, the still-swollen plug jostled his insides,
pressing directly into his prostate. Eyes flying wide, he felt his
face colour.

After the first unfortunate incident, he had
made a point of sitting completely still. Then, the fullness was
bearable and he could function -he'd even managed to eat a plateful
of food. He'd forgotten his grand plan as he moved for the cracker,
however. Charlie stared at him curiously.

"What's got up
your arse today, Harry?" he laughed, waving the cracker. "You're
being really weird."

Unable to answer for the laughter
bubbling in his chest, Harry simply tugged on the end of the cracker.
Charlie's thick muscles put up a fight and Harry leant back to throw
more weight to his pull.

Oh sweet
Morgana's-

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh," he moaned
helplessly beneath his breath, as the tightness came again and
torched his insides. Much more quickly, and thankfully not as
lengthily, Harry came into his underwear once again. It seared right
to his core for being shorter. His eyes snapped open when he heard a
laugh.

"I win," Charlie smirked in his
direction.
 
There was a twinkle in Charlie's eye that
Harry really didn't like. In fact, he more than didn't like it
-he downright detested it; the thought of someone knowing the
embarrassing hell that he was going through, sitting there going
through the motions when all he wanted to do was lock himself away
and wank himself into the new year, was galling.

He told
you not to come.

Harry didn't see how he was supposed to
have resisted the urge. He'd had no control over either event.

"I'm
feeling a bit sick," he put one hand to his stomach. "I was
out late last night with the boys... mind if I go home, Molly? Just
for a sleep, and I'll come back for tonight?"

"Why
don't you sleep here?" she suggested. "Ron's bed is made up
like it always is."

"No, I need to..." Harry
floundered for something he needed, rather than wanted. "I need
to get George's present! I left it behind this morning..."

Easing
up from the table, he steeled himself for the oddness that motion
would create.

"Oh, okay then dear. We'll see you later.
Have a good rest... you look... tired."

Shattered?
Just shagged? Stretched to my limit?

Harry felt all three
as he waddled for his coat, hoping that nobody was watching his odd
gait as the plug remained tightly wedged in his
backside.

***
 

Kicking roughly out
of his jeans, Harry moaned as he reached down to palm his cock. It
was hard again, though he couldn't believe it. All he wanted was to
reach around and pull the plug on his suffering, and his fingers got
as far as curling around the base.

"Hi."

Head
snapping up, Harry felt his jaw fall open as he took in the sight of
Ron leaning back against the headboard, his socked feet crossed at
the ankles. He was smiling.  "Were you going to take
that out?" Ron asked coolly.

"N-No," Harry
stammered, shocked to see him sitting there. "What are
you-"

"We were relieved early. Kingsley's Christmas
present to us... now, how are you enjoying mine to you?"

"Um..."
Harry looked down at the floor, where he had flung his jeans and
boxers, which were messy.

Ron laughed and climbed off the bed,
walking towards Harry until he had to look up to meet Ron's eye. When
large hands came up and brought with them a length of black silk, his
heart began to pound. The fabric settled around his eyes and tied at
the back of his head. He went as Ron bent him over, wobbling slightly
when his head became level with his knees.

"I thought I
told you not to come?" 

"I couldn't help it,"
Harry said meekly.

"Naughty boy."

There was
no warning as a large palm landed across the bottom of his cheeks,
nearly clipping his balls. The hand fell again, centrally over one
cheek for a difference, and it stung. Harry let out an unmanly
whimper of pleasure as Ron paused to reach between his legs and cup
his bollocks and gave them a gentle tug.

"Miss me?"
Ron asked softly, kissing a path up Harry's back. 

"I
had to go out and get blind drunk to get over you," Harry
moaned.

Ron didn't answer that, but his fingers began fiddling
with the end of the plug, and he began to work it back and forth,
fucking Harry with the thing that had tormented him all day.

"I
came at your parents' dinner table!" Harry breathed.

"Naughty
boy."

"All your fault..."

"Mine?"
Ron teased, speeding up his actions.

"Yours!" Harry
cried, arching his back as the plug crashed into his prostate three
times in a row.

Suddenly, the fullness was gone. The abrupt
removal brought Harry to his knees, panting to the carpet. He barely
registered as Ron's body heat met his own and then, as quickly as the
plug had gone, he was full again, but with something hot, and much
better than the plug.

"Just wanted you to be ready for
me..." Ron thrust forward.

"You k-knew?"

"I
guessed we'd be allowed off early..."

"You prick,"
Harry cursed, shoving back and evoking a rough grunt from Ron's lips.

"A little warning next time?" 

Ron
didn't answer but devoted all of his breath to rocking in and out of
Harry's body, pushing them quickly towards completion. Harry was
failing, his muscles weak and his knees knocking -he'd already had
enough exertion. When Ron finished, he would. Luckily for him Ron was
steaming along, huffing and grunting in his usual delicious way,
calling Harry's name deep in his throat, so low that he might not
have been speaking it at all.

"Harry..."

"Come,
you bastard," Harry groaned.

Ron shuddered behind him,
cramming his body forward into Harry's, holding him tightly about the
waist as he emptied himself. Harry let out a moan of relief and came
with him, suddenly aware of the carpet burning his knees and the ache
in his bowels.

"Merry Christmas," Ron murmured
dozily against his spine, kissing it between the words. "I
missed you so much."

Unable to speak for the tiredness
crashing down around his head, Harry just nodded, and when Ron
released him he collapsed forward, landing face-first into the
carpet. He expected Ron to drag him up, but was surprised when the
redhead's body heat cuddled into his right side. Rolling, Harry
hooked one leg over Ron's hip and snuggled into him.

"So
how drunk did you get?" Ron whispered.

"Wouldn't
have found my way out of a paper bag," Harry answered
honestly.

"Why? That's not like you, Harry..." 

"I
missed you... and the way you left... kind of upset me."

"Why?"
Ron asked, his eyes widening. "It was just a fight. I didn't
mean it, you didn't mean it..." 

"Yeah but
still... if something had happened, and we'd left it like that..."
Harry shook his head and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry... I
didn't think..." 

"I love you," Harry
said pointedly.

He opened his eyes to view Ron's reaction. He
looked almost comical in his shock.
 
"You've not
said that before," Ron whispered.

"No," Harry
confirmed.

"Really?" 

"Have you
left your brain on duty?" Harry snorted.

"I'm not
sure."

"It doesn't matter... I kind of like you
oblivious." 

"It's been two years... why
now?"

"I don't have expectations, Ron... all I want
is for you to care for me back, that's all." 

"Well
I've loved you for years, but you weren't saying it... I wondered if
maybe you didn't want to... go there."

"You knob,"
Harry shook his head. "I loved you enough to go through hell
today because you wanted to play."

"Hell is coming
three times these days, is it?" Ron smirked.

"Hell
is that two of those times were in your parents' house!"

"Six
boys, the walls are used to it, Harry."

"Seven, I
cracked loads off when I stayed with you when we were at
school."

"Not to mention whatever Ginny got up
to."

Harry stared at him. They had made a pact not to
mention their failed relationships.

"Sorry," Ron's
face caved into a sheepish grin. "I love you, Harry." 

"You'd
better, I'd punch you for the day I've had if you didn't," Harry
leant forward, and kissed Ron on the lips.

"And your real
present is under the stairs." 

"What is it?"
Harry switched into excited child mode.

"New broom. Sexy.
Fast. Perfect."

"All is forgiven." Harry kissed
him again. "Seeing as you crashed my last one into the apple
tree." 

"That wasn't me," Ron said
sheepishly. "It was... someone that kind of looked like
me."

Harry snorted defiantly and raised his
eyebrows.
 
"Really looked like me..."
Ron reiterated with wide eyes and a solemn nod.

"I love
you, you silly bastard." Harry found himself laughing, tacking
kisses to Ron's lips through his words.

They rolled slightly
on the floor and Harry pushed Ron into the carpet, keeping them lip
to lip until breathing became an unwelcome requirement.

"I
suppose we should go back to your Mum's..." Harry said quietly.
"She's sad you're not there."

"Not yet,"
Ron wrapped his arms protectively around Harry's waist and held on
tightly. "We'll go... just not yet."

Harry nodded
and tucked his head into the crook of Ron's neck.

"Harry?"
Ron whispered.

"Yeah?" 

"Did you
really come at my Mum and Dad's dinner table?"

The sound
of their conjoined laughter hit the ceiling.
- 1
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