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Shatter To Pieces	By : starstruck86 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Ron Views: 6601 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
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- 1
Title: Shatter To Pieces

Pairing: Harry/Ron

Prompt: 079: Midnight

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Attempted suicide, language, hurt/comfort, angst, rough sex.

Word Count: ~2,249

Summary: Sometimes, you need to break to feel.

Authour's Note: This burst out of me today after becoming very emotional reading a Harry/Ron I recced in my meme. I simply don't know why. Apologies for the maudlin nature.
Not for the first time in his life, Harry hoped that he was dreaming. Whenever there was blood, he hoped that he was tossing and turning in his bed, drenched in sweat, and that the nightmare would be over with a light touch to his shoulder and a caring face coming slowly into view.
The usual caring face, however, seemed unlikely to rescue him, given that he was the cause of Harry's waking nightmare.
“Ron...” Harry threw himself onto his knees beside the redhead, unable to keep the horror out of his expression as he looked at the small pools of blood which had collected beneath Ron's limp wrists. “What've you done?”
Hearing his voice crack with his question, Harry swallowed and picked up one of Ron's hands. It was too cold.
“Sorry,” Ron answered simply. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was.” Harry shifted closer, putting his wand tip to the cut in Ron's flesh. It was jagged. “What the fuck did you do these with?” he breathed, before muttering the incantation to knit the skin back together.
He watched it do so until all that was left was a faint pink scar. He picked up Ron's other hand and performed the same action, scrutinising the vertical cut until he was sure that not even a tiny prickle of blood was going to escape it. His stomach wobbled as he glanced down at the blood, bright and vivid on the tiled kitchen floor. He summoned a bottle of All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover and a cloth and charmed them to clean by themselves. Finally he dared to look at Ron's face.
“I'm sorry,” Ron repeated, shaking his head slightly. “I don't know why... this isn't...”

“Shh.” Harry leant forward, screaming on the inside, and gently kissed Ron on the mouth.

“Why did you get up?”

“To stop you from doing something stupid, clearly.”
Ron simply stared at him.
“You know I notice when you leave the bed,” Harry explained. “Or at least you should by now. Especially after midnight, because you sleep like the dead and nothing wakes you up before the alarm clock. And even that has trouble most days.”
He was babbling, his calm veneer beginning to outwardly crack. He took a deep breath and banished the spray and cloth when he saw that the vile blood had vanished. As the first tingles of pins and needles started in his toes, Harry eased onto his bottom and sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor. He picked up one of Ron's hands and laced their fingers together.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly, not really knowing where to start.
He knew Ron wasn't himself. Everyone had seen as much; Harry hated to see him so dejected, but he had tried everything he could think of to try and help Ron back to normality, and nothing had worked. He had been afraid, but never dared to consider, that Ron might try to hurt himself or even worse. With the reality in front of him, Harry vaguely recognised himself as being in shock, and that was where the calmness was coming from.
“I don't want to talk about it,” Ron confirmed, his voice heart-wrenchingly low, and Harry repressed a shiver as he saw a tear working its way down a freckled cheek. “But I do want you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” Harry confirmed.
He was dismayed as Ron got unsteadily to his feet and held out a hand to help Harry up. He let himself be guided upright and then pulled from the kitchen. Ron left the lights on as they proceeded back to their bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed and, finally dropping Harry's hand to do so, proceeded to worm out of his pyjama bottoms, the only thing that covered his slender frame. When they were gone, all he had was the darkness of the room to protect his modesty. He shifted back on the bed, spreading out so that his toes dangled over the end. He pushed aside the duvet that Harry had thrown back in his search for his bedmate.
“What?” Harry asked, completely confused, his head beginning to catch up with the fact that he had just found his lover trying to kill himself on the kitchen floor, and now he was naked.
“I want you to fuck me.”
Ron's tone was every bit as unnervingly calm as Harry had felt only minutes before. He watched with thickening confusion as Ron parted his own legs and lifted them, holding them just behind his knee, and spreading himself open for Harry to see.
“Ron, I don't think that now is really the time to... to discover whether you like being on the bottom or not,” Harry half-laughed, unable to tear his eyes from the pale globes of Ron's arse.

“Harry.”
Finally, some strain sounded in Ron's tone.
“Harry, I need you to do this for me. Don't make me beg.”

“But-”

“Please.”
Before he could protest again, Ron's long fingers were at his entrance and, making Harry wince, one slipped inside without lubrication. Harry watched it sink to the knuckle before he knelt on the bed.
“Stop it,” he said, snatching hold of Ron's wrist. He felt sick as his fingertips grazed the recently-healed scar on the underside. “You'll do yourself a damage.”

“Don't care,” Ron grunted, his fingers contorting as he tried to push another into himself.
Well aware that he could leave Ron even more psychologically troubled, Harry persistently pulled the man's hand back so that his sphincter suddenly clenched when nothing filled it. Ron stilled and looked at him.
“Accio lube.”
The drawer in his bedside cabinet opened obediently and the tube soared through the air and landed with a silent thump next to Harry's thigh. He let Ron go to pick it up and then realised that he had a problem.
“Ron... I can't... not after this...”
He gestured to his flaccid cock and wondered if it would ever wake up again. Ron looked at him only briefly before he sat upright, putting one hand to his own groin. Harry watched with reluctant eyes as the redhead began to wank, jerking his wrist back and forth to work his cock into life.
“Fuck you,” Harry breathed, feeling his body's natural reaction to his position as voyeur; he'd always been a fool for watching Ron touch himself. In the shower, in their joint office at work -it never failed to get him hard, no matter what was going on, and Ron obviously knew the power he held.
Removing his own pyjamas, Harry cast a sly look over his shoulder at Ron, whose features had contorted into a grimace as he pumped away at his erection, his actions rough and probably painful.
“Stop,” Harry instructed, putting out his hands to push Ron back down on the bed; he was grateful when there was no fight.
He picked up the tube by his leg and opened the cap, drizzling a small amount over Ron's once-again exposed hole. He gently caressed his finger over the opening, spreading the silkiness about before he pressed inward. As always, Ron was tight as a vice around him, searingly hot and clenching with his muscles. Harry was surprised with the ease at which his finger became fully sheathed; Ron seemed to be sucking him in with eagerness he had never really experienced before. When he inserted a second finger, he closed his eyes and tried not to think about everything that was wrong with what he was doing.
He tried to kill himself.
Harry's throat burned.
“That's enough.” Ron's rough rasp cut through the air and Harry froze, eyes popping open as if guilty of something, and found his lover staring at him. “Fuck me.”

“Ron, I don't think that we should...”

“DO IT!” Ron shouted, his voice choking with emotion.
Harry didn't know what else to do but to give Ron what he wanted. He allowed his fingers to slither free and positioned himself between the redhead's thighs. He didn't look up as he put the tip of his cock to Ron's entrance, and pushed in. Just like his fingers, his erection was thirstily drunk into Ron's body and he gasped at the blissful feeling while his mind and guts were twisted with pain.
The only thing that he could hear was Ron's breathing, harsh in their quiet bedroom; he couldn't bring himself to move. Only when Ron's legs came up about his waist and Harry fell forward did his hips realise their task; he began a rhythm which was gentle and sweet, imagining that Ron needed to be softly loved, to feel better.
“Faster,” Ron grunted, reaching up to grip Harry's shoulders. His fingernails quickly began to hurt as they dug into the skin there. “Fuck me, Harry, come on. Fuck me.”

“I am,” Harry breathed, lowering his face for a kiss, which Ron did not give.
“I don't want to be made love to,” Ron spat, rolling his hips in a short, hard circle. “I want you to fuck me raw. I don't want to be able to walk tomorrow, do you understand?”

“Why do you want this?” Harry half-cried, as Ron made the move with his hips again.
Ron was, mostly, a gentle lover, who loved a fast pace but had never, ever held Harry as painfully as he was currently.
But then he's never slit his wrists before, either. Vertically.
Harry frowned for a moment, wondering why the cuts made were vertical and not horizontal.
“Harry.” Ron interrupted him by squeezing with his thighs. “Please. Please.”
Reluctantly, Harry began to move, quickening his pace after every few thrusts.
“More!” Ron cried desperately, throwing his head back, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.
Harry gasped as a continual growl burst out of Ron's lips, heightening when their bodies crashed together. It was the most sexual thing he had ever heard and it drove straight into the pit of his balls, urging him to go faster and faster until Ron was sobbing beneath him, his head flopping like a rag doll's every time that Harry pounded into him.
He had never fucked anybody so hard before, and certainly not his beloved, scruffy Ron, who was close to breaking beneath his touch. Harry knew his own end wasn't far, rapidly approaching, even, from the way his rhythm was beginning to falter. He bent his head and mouthed a kiss into Ron's neck, just below his ear, and tasted the sweat he'd tasted so many times before. It was odd that the familiarity was what sent him sailing over the edge.
He rammed his cock into Ron nce more and left it buried deep as he went into spasm, unable to stop himself from spilling into the pliable body beneath him despite the desperate situation. Ron's mouth parted, with lips which were reddened for no reason, and a timid, almost frightened cry escaped him.
Harry felt their bellies flood with warmth and knew that Ron had come. He dropped his forehead into Ron's shoulder and tried to catch his breath, but was unsuccessful as aftershocks seized him and stole it away every time he thought he was getting somewhere. Ron panted next to his ear and Harry took solace in the sound: He's still alive... still here with me...
It was only after they had both quietened down that Harry began to shake, allowing the horror of his discovery and their recent actions to claim him as he lay, naked and sweaty, on top of Ron. He found the courage to lift his head and peer at his lover. He saw silent tears dampening the bedsheets beneath Ron's head.
“Why?” he whispered. “Why did you want me to do that?”
Ron's eyes drifted to him; they were out of focus. When his voice came, it was quiet.
“I needed you to break me,” Ron answered. “I needed you to shatter me into pieces. I needed to...”
Ginger eyelashes swept downwards and chased a fresh wave of tears down Ron's cheeks. Harry held his breath, waiting for more.
“That was the first thing I've felt in months,” whispered Ron. “I need to break.”
Harry felt himself lift as Ron sucked in a lungful of air and sank again as they deflated. He found himself lost for words.
“I'm so sorry.” Ron sniffed and licked his lips. “Harry...”

“Shh.” Harry shook his head. “Not tonight.”
Carefully, he extracted himself from Ron's body and laid down on his side next to him. He knocked the lube onto the floor with his arm and wrapped himself around Ron's bones. He clutched for the duvet and managed to drag it over them both. Ron snuggled his face into the small of his throat and all Harry could smell was Ron. He kissed his forehead.
“Go to sleep,” he whispered, and kissed him again.
It seemed like only seconds before Ron's breathing had evened out. Harry let a tremor rock his body and clutched at Ron tightly.
He didn't know how he was ever going to shut his eyes again.
-fin-
- 1
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Shatter To Pieces