You said you're in the mood for angst, so my prompt is: Ron witnessing Harry fall in love with Draco. He has never seen his best friend so happy before, so he buries his own feelings for his mate's sake
NC-17
Explixit sex, misuse of alcohol, unhappy ending
“Oh, fuck,” Ron moans, unable to hold the sound back as Harry opens him up with skilled fingers. He usually tries to be quiet, even more so recently.
“Feel ok?” Harry asks without looking up from his task of fucking Ron with two fingers, moving them in and out in a determined pace that has Ron panting with want in seconds.
“Yeah,” he breathes. He considers saying he’s ready, that he want’s Harry to fuck him now, before he becomes too loose. That he wants to be fucked so hard he’ll feel it for days. Instead he pulls back so Harry’s hand slips out of his arse and turns over so his face is flush to the pillow and his arse is in the air. Harry prefers him like this more and more these days.
“You sure?” Harry ask, because he can’t help being careful. Ron doesn’t think he knows how to be anything but considerate.
He wants to say, again, that he likes it when it hurts a little. When the sensations become too much for him to think, and he has no choice but to lose himself in it all and just feel. It won’t matter what he says though, Harry will always ask.
“Yes,” he says, opting for simplicity. Consent is what is needed here, and he’ll give his consent as long as Harry wants to ask him for it.
Ron bites the pillow to hold back his scream as Harry breaches him in one swift push of his hips. He wants to cry with relief at the intense flood of sensations running through him, but he doesn’t. He just pushes back against Harry and lets the pillow swallow up his moans and gasps.
Ron isn’t quiet during sex, his mouth can’t help making sighs, moans and gasps of appreciation. He can grab the pillow with both hands and make sure his face is buried in it though, in an effort to make as little sound as possible. To make it as good for Harry as possible.
Harry’s never said it bothers him, and probably never will. Ron knows though, that Harry never fucks him with his eyes open anymore. Ron knows his eyes are closed now, as he pushes his pulsing cock into Ron again and again. He knows Harry imagines it’s Malfoy.
***
The first time it happened was a few years after the war, Ron was a mess of trying to cope with the losses his family had suffered. He was a mess, period.
“Please,” Ron begged, “I need to feel something else. I can’t feel just this anymore. It’s too much Harry, please.”
Harry looked unsure, and Ron couldn’t blame him. He was a mess after spending all day every day at George’s side, trying desperately to fill the void Fred had left behind. But it felt like no matter how much he gave, the void only kept growing. He couldn’t fill the hole Fred had left in his family, and nothing could fill the piece inside him that was just aching. He’d tried of course, but the only thing that even came close to making a difference was alcohol.
“Ron, you’re drunk,” Harry said. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I’m not that drunk, it takes more than a pack of beers to get me drunk these days,” Ron insisted. “And I’m asking for sex. You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I know I’m a mess.”
Harry suddenly looked angry. “We’re all a mess Ron, I don’t give a shit. It’s just – You’re my best mate, I don’t want to fuck things up between us.”
“You won’t, I swear. Please, I just need to feel something that’s not pain or this all-consuming numbness.”
***
Ron comes before Harry does, biting hard on the pillow to keep as quiet as possible. He relishes in the feeling of Harry’s cock moving in and out of him at an erratic pace, and at the bruising grip on his hips. Harry forgets to be careful when he’s close to coming, and lately that’s Ron’s favourite part.
Harry didn’t use to be quiet either, but he is now. Ron imagines him biting down hard on his bottom lip in an effort to keep his mouth occupied with something other than forming words. He’s not sure if he appreciates the effort or hates that it’s necessary.
***
Harry had been clear the first time, that there were no feelings. That Ron was his best mate, and though there was a sexual attraction there wasn’t a romantic one. Ron had agreed, mostly because he was too messed up to properly realise his own feelings went way beyond the sexual. They’d been fucking for a couple of months before Harry felt the need to clarify again.
“Listen mate,” Harry said, handing Ron a washcloth to dry the come off his belly, “the sex is great, but that’s all it is, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Ron agreed, “I’m not looking to have a relationship with anyone right now, but that doesn’t mean we need to be deprived of sex.”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief, “great, because I genuinely don’t know what I’d do if I lost you as my best mate.”
“Me neither,” Ron said, already aware he wanted more. That he wanted everything, but that he’d accept what he had lest he lose it.
***
After five years of being flat-mates and fucking several times a week Ron started to let himself hope. Neither he or Harry had dated anyone since the war, content to have their group of friends and their frequent ‘benefits’. Harry hadn’t brought up the it’s-just-sex conversation since the first year, and Ron was beginning to hope it meant more to his best friend too. Things were good, Harry was working as a fully trained Auror, and Ron actually enjoyed his work at WWW now that his brother wasn’t such a grieving mess.
He was working up the courage to ask Harry out on a date, and figured a blowjob was as good a way as any to warm his mate up to the idea.
“Fuck, that feels good,” Harry moaned as Ron swallowed him down, letting the cock slide as far down his throat as he could manage without gagging. He grabbed Harry’s hands and placed them in his hair, begging with his eyes for Harry to just grab hold and fuck his face.
Ron didn’t think he’d let anyone else control him like this during a blowjob, but Harry was so endlessly careful that he had absolute trust his limits wouldn’t be pushed. When Harry grabbed hold of his hair Ron let his jaw go slack, and closed his eyes to better enjoy the sensations. The sounds Harry was making were absolutely filthy, and Ron couldn’t stop himself from rubbing his own erection through his jeans.
“Fuck, Draco,” Harry gasped. Ron and Harry both jumed at the name, and Harry’s cock jammed into Ron’s gag-reflex.
Ron pulled off with a gasp. His eyes were watering and he wasn’t sure if it was from emotional pain, or his body rejecting having something shoved so far down his throat. He couched a few times though, to convince Harry it was all a physical reaction.
“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Harry said. He reached out, but took a step back at the same time so his hand never reached Ron.
“’s alright,” Ron insisted, relieved when his voice came out sounding more horse than devastated, “just took me by surprise.”
“I’m still sorry,” Harry said, “I know it’s just sex with us, but it’s still not cool to go around calling out other people’s names in the middle of it.”
“Other people is one thing, but mate, Malfoy?” Ron asked, trying to sound incredulous. He didn’t think it mattered much who’s name Harry was saying, when it wasn’t Ron’s.
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Harry sighed, “turns out I’ve managed to fall hopelessly in love with my work-partner.”
***
In the year since Harry hadn’t called out Malfoy’s name once, but Ron knows it’s on his mind.
He knows it’s the reason Harry prefers it if Ron is face-down when they fuck. That it’s why he seems to enjoy himself more when Ron is quiet and he has his eyes closed.
Ron sighs in contentment as Harry pushes into him with a final groan and he feels hot come spilling into his arse. Harry’s favourite part might be imagining he’s fucking Draco, but this is Ron’s favourite part. When they’re both spent and sticky, and too tired to move. When he gets to lie here next to Harry and feel his come slipping slowly out of his arse. It feels more intimate than the fucking, and for the little while it lasts Ron allows himself to pretend Harry loves him too.
“I, er – asked Draco out today,” Harry says from where he’s flopped down on the bed next to Ron.
Ron thanks Merlin and whatever Muggle gods he can think of that his face is still buried in the pillow, because he can’t stop the grimace of pure anguish that flashes across his face. He doesn’t think he can speak, but Harry is clearly waiting for him to say something.
He attempts a noise, hoping the pillow will muffle it enough that Harry can interpret it in whatever way he needs.
“He said yes, if you can believe that,” Harry says, and Ron can hear the pure joy in his voice. “I think he actually likes me back, and I’ve just been too stupid to realise.”
Ron takes a breath through his nose, because this is it. This is the moment where he manages to turn around and be supportive of his best mate, so that Harry can go off and be with the man he loves without feeling bad. It’s the moment where Ron pushes his heartbreak that he’ll lose this down, so he doesn’t lose Harry as a friend entirely. Or it could be the moment where he breaks down and confesses his feelings. And Harry is so kind, maybe he’d give it a go. Maybe he’d sacrifice his own happiness to try and be with Ron. Or maybe he’d realise what a terrible idea it would be to try to force himself into loving Ron in a way he doesn’t, and go off with Malfoy anyways, just feeling like shit about it. Either way, their friendship would be ruined.
Ron pastes on a smile, and turns around. “That’s brilliant mate.”
He loses Harry slowly after that. They stop having sex, and Ron copes because Harry still comes home to their flat every day. He tells Ron about his dates with Malfoy, and his work. They eat dinner together sometimes still, and listen to Quidditch on the radio. Then Harry starts spending more time at Malfoy’s flat, or worse, brings Malfoy to stay at theirs. Ron doesn’t know how to cope the nights they forget the silencing charms and the moans and questions of ‘are you sure?’ that Harry used to reserve for him are used on Malfoy.
Then Harry moves out of their flat to go live with Malfoy. Ron grins and helps him move, and then locks himself in his flat that’s too big and to empty and doesn’t let himself get sober for a week. Harry still visits, comes over for beer and Quidditch, or to bitch about Malfoy when they fight.
When Harry and Malfoy adopt a beautiful baby girl Ron cries with happiness for them, and utter devastation for himself. He’s lucky now if he sees Harry once a month. He’s learned to cope mostly. He goes to work and makes other people smile, he watches Ginny’s quidditch matches, he visits Hermione and her two kids every other month or so. He has dinner with his parents sometimes.
It’s not perfect by any means, but it’s what he has. With a bottle of fire-whisky in his belly he can even pretend it’s enough.
