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It Was Wrong, But It was Love	By : Rettavex Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Bill Views: 9982 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The Potterverse is the intellectual property of JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Raincoat Books & Warner Bros. No money is being made and no copyright is intended.

Chapter List
- 1-It Was Wrong, But It was Love
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Back then he had been seventeen and fresh off the biggest win of his life. He had killed Voldemort shortly before his eighteenth birthday, and his life was finally his own. Almost immediately Harry saw the world with new eyes, a fresh perspective, unclouded by the shadow of prophecy and war. Somewhere in the midst of all the chaos of his late teens, he had become a man, a powerful one. Still, parts of him were barely developed. He had not dated much, had not traveled further than Scotland, had only kissed two girls, and had sex with one other (a hooker paid for by the twins a week before the final battle, as they didn�t like the possibility that Harry might die a virgin). Beyond that, Harry had previously had precious little time for sexual discovery and exploration.
The weeks and months following the war were simultaneously somber and jubilant. They had buried the dead, mourned their loss, toasted their courage, and managed to clear away most of the rubble usually left behind when wars ended. Harry, along with various other Order members who had lost their own homes in the war and needed a place of shelter, took refuge at the Burrow. He, like most of them, needed time to heal both his physical wounds and recharge his emotional and mental reserves. He had come out of battle better off than he had ever hoped. With the exception of some scarring from a magical burn across his lower back that would never truly disappear, he had few outward wounds to show for his part. Ron and Hermione had both been incapacitated for a full week post-battle, placed in magically induced comas to help speed their healing from a series of nasty hexes.
That had left Harry alone in a house wall-to-wall with the remaining Weasleys and the handful of others the family had provided sanctuary. Those were calm days for Harry. He�d wake at his leisure, shower, inhale the vast amount of food Molly would laden onto a plate for him, and then spend the rest of his day helping around the Burrow: weeding, de-gnoming, planting, cooking, laundering, rebuilding and resetting wards. The daily work was punctuated with the occasional pick-up game of Quidditch, or rounds of whiskey and ale at the tiny, local pub in Ottery St. Catchpole.
Harry had full expected the remainder of his time at the Burrow (however long it would be) to go in much the same vein. But it was not to be.
They had been sharing covetous looks, the occasional brief touch, smiles that held more than just platonic intentions. At first Harry thought it must have just been his imagination�perhaps he was simply reeling in some way from battle and needed to get his head on straight. Yet, he could hardly continue blaming his increasingly erotic thought process regarding the man on war; not when his cock would get hard and his heartbeat increased every time he caught sight of that broad, muscular chest as they worked in tandem in the Burrow�s garden, or when the two of them accidentally landed front-to-front after a Quidditch collision, their crotches and hip bones rubbing surreptitiously against one another.
Still, they had never gone beyond heated looks and the occasional accidental brush of a hand across a shoulder, or a playful stroke across the back of the neck; each touch leaving goosebumps of anticipation in their wake. This coy behavior, inarguably tense with their own denial of the sexual attraction that was steadily building between them, continued for almost two years. In that two years, Harry had entered Auror training, married Ginny, given number twelve, Grimmauld to Remus, and bought his own two-story home in a trendy suburb of Muggle London. Ginny liked living amongst the Muggles well enough, despite not really doing anything the Muggle way. Ginny had quickly signed on with the Holyhead Harpies after graduating, and was most always in the wizarding world, only coming to their home when she was off season or home for an unexpected break. And even then she tended to spend an inordinate amount of time back at the Burrow with her mother. Still, they had a good life, and if pressed, Harry could find nothing wrong with his marriage or his wife. But that had not stopped what he now knew to be the inevitable.
It had been the wedding itself that let Harry know that the �thing� between them was unstoppable. There he was in the receiving line, mere minutes after exchanging his vows with Ginny, thinking only of the man approaching to offer congrats. When their hands had clasped together in the customary greeting, followed by the manly one-armed hug, bringing their chests together, Harry felt a charge light through him that could only be explained by uncontrollable, undeniable lust. It was all he could do not to smooth his hand down the broad back he hugged, to that muscular ass, tragically hidden by expensive ash-gray wool trousers of the groomsman tux the man wore.
The man had smelled so good and felt so right, there in Harry�s embrace. He had a body built for a tuxedo, but looked equally as attractive in everyday wizard attire. Harry could feel the solid build of his muscles beneath the fabric of the tuxedo, and he had to suppress the instinct to push his pelvis forward when the man�s breath tickled along his jugular vein as he whispered in a deep, honeyed voice, �Be happy, Harry� into his ear.
When the embrace ended and the two of them pulled back, their eyes locked and the heat that passed between them in that look had been the start�the real start. They had both chuckled and smiled, careful to cover their tracks lest anyone else notice that their touches were just a little too gentle, that their hugs lingered just a tad longer than they should, that they each looked at the other like he was the last meal before death.
Later that night, the fucking night of his honeymoon, Harry had done the unthinkable. He had bedded his beautiful bride thinking of another man. He had drawn blood from his own tongue as he came, barely stifling the urge to scream the man�s name while buried deep inside his lovely wife. That had been the tipping point.
Still, another two years went by�two more years of thoughtful, needy looks and repressed desire. There were times when the two of them were in the same room that Harry was sure he was imagining the attraction; that it was some latent manifestation of the imaginary friend, only in this case it was a friend he so desperately wanted to fuck. Slowly, things began to escalate. There was the summer solstice party at Ron and Hermione�s, where the man insisted on sitting thigh to thigh with Harry for most of the night, and every so often casually brushing a finger along his outer thigh. Then came the Halloween Ball at the Ministry, where they had ended up in the men�s loo�luckily there were two other wizards inside. Still, it had not prevented them, as they both stood side by side at the urinals, from boldly looking at each other�s pricks while each took a piss. Hardest piss of his life, Harry thought. Literally.
It may have never gone further than that if left up to Harry. Yet, the man had other ideas, and finally made them known plain as day the night Ginny won her first World Cup. The game had been played in Italy, but unfortunately, Harry had been unable to travel due to a head injury sustained while in the field. Still, he had gone to the Burrow to listen to the game on the wireless with the rest of the clan who could not make the trip. His wife had scored the final game-tying goal before the Holyhead seeker snatched the snitch. The Burrow had erupted in massive cheers. Hugs and firewhisky followed in abundance. But, even now, neither of them could claim inebriation as a defense.
Harry, never one with a high tolerance for alcohol, had only enjoyed a few beers, leaving the whiskey to others. The man, who like his brothers could drink enough whiskey to fill the Black Lake and still remain standing, had defied his genetics and sipped mulled wine most of the night.
Still, once everyone else had left for their own homes, or passed out in upstairs bedrooms, Harry had found himself buried balls deep in the mouth of Ginny�s oldest brother, and it had felt damned good.
It had been quick and dirty, with more saliva than strictly necessary, but it had been brilliant all the same. They had shared no words, no explicit signal that they would engage in such activity at any point earlier in the evening. But the minute they were alone, Bill had launched himself at Harry, grabbing the younger man by the back of the head and trying to crawl down his throat. There was the shifting of furniture and the breaking of a knickknack in the form of a ceramic Merlin, as they battled to undo belt buckles and lower boxers. Lips were bitten and bruises left on tender neck skin as they gave into a lust built to boiling over the course of four years. Heavy breathing and grunts with timbre so low they could only be made by men filled the air around them, as they struggled to remain as silent as they could while they committed a sin in the home of their mother and mother-in-law respectively.
In the aftermath, after Harry�s knees had buckled from the force of climax and Bill had spent himself all over Harry�s lightly furred belly, they had held each other in front of the fire in the sitting room of the Burrow, alternatively laughing and crying, knowing that they had just started something from which there was no retreat.

A/N: Hey...you getting ready to move on...wait. Feed the muse, please :-) LOL! Review!! :-)
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It Was Wrong, But It was Love