"Did you remember the orange juice?"
Ron closed the door harder than was strictly necessary, bespelling it and throwing the deadbolt with quick, automatic gestures. "No, I didn't. And why you can't just drink pumpkin juice at breakfast like everyone else in the world is completely beyond me."
"Hey." Harry looked up from his book, frowning at him. "In the first place, it's only everyone in the wizarding world--and for that matter, not even all wizards drink pumpkin juice. And in the second place, you offered to pick my juice up from the store. So don't act like I'm being unreasonably demanding, here."
Ron sighed heavily. "Sorry. It's just been a long day."
"A long day?" Harry asked in a polite tone. "So that wasn't you who tried to pick a fight with me yesterday over the type of laundry soap we use? Or--"
"Yes, well, it's a long day coming after a long week."
"Oh, really," Harry said, trying to hide a smile, and Ron shrugged sheepishly.
"I'll be glad when you finish with these night practices. It's hard coming home from work and knowing that you'll have to leave in only a few hours for Quidditch training."
"Well, you do of course realize that 'seventeen percent of professional Quidditch matches run into the night,'" Harry said in a barely passable imitation of the coach's bark.
"I had heard mention of that once or twice," Ron said wryly.
Harry reached up to twine his fingers with Ron's. "If it makes you feel any better, I made dinner for you."
"Mmm, and that would make me feel much better, if it weren't for the fact that it was your turn to make dinner anyway!"
"No..." Harry frowned slightly. "My turn's tomorrow."
"Your turn's on Wednesday. That's today."
Harry groaned. "Is it Wednesday already? Well, it's a good thing I did decide to surprise you with dinner, then, or your day would be even worse than it already is."
"Now there's a comforting thought. I suppose I should also be grateful that you didn't immigrate to South Africa or paint the flat fuchsia or...or offer to babysit any of Hagrid's pets, while I'm at it."
"You certainly should," Harry said, and laughed when Ron made a face at him. "Come on, then, help me up."
Ron pulled him up off the couch by their joined hands, tugging a little too hard at the end so that Harry overbalanced and fell against his chest.
"Hallo," Harry said, amused. Ron just leaned down and kissed him. Sometimes--the best times--words weren't necessary at all.
Harry's lips were warm and slightly chapped, and he'd had a butterbeer at some point in the afternoon, and Ron could feel the tension he'd carried all day easing with each soft, wet stroke of Harry's tongue in his mouth.
His hands slid down Harry's back to cup his ass. "Mmm," Harry murmured into their kiss, pressing closer to Ron for a moment before pulling away. "Dinner," he said breathlessly.
Ron blinked at him uncomprehendingly. "Bugger dinner. Harry..."
"I have to eat before practice, and if I put it off until...after, then I won't have time to digest and I'll probably be sick all over the Quidditch pitch."
This was unfortunately true. "All right." Ron sighed. "What did you make, anyways?"
"You know that one of us is going to have to learn to actually cook, one of these days."
"What, you're objecting to having pasta for the third time this week?"
"Actually, I think I'm objecting to having pasta for the six-hundredth time since we moved in together," Ron said.
"Is that how many times it's been?"
"Well, that's only a rough estimate. It might be more."
"Sorry," Harry offered, smiling at him.
"Oh, don't apologize. In fact, don't talk at all. Let's just eat."
"Why, is there something on the telly that you wanted to watch afterwards?" Harry asked innocently.
Ron growled and shoved him towards the kitchen.
"So, what got you so upset at work today?" Harry asked as he dished up the spaghetti and ladled tomato sauce over it.
"Just the regular bureaucratic nightmare. The new regulations since the defeat of Voldemort state that the wands of all government officials have to be registered with the Ministry and random prior incantato checks conducted, but of course that only applies to current wands. So there's a group trying to claim that the rule's discriminatory and that any previous wands a wizard might own should also be registered--despite the fact that in many cases that's completely impossible, if the wand's been lost or destroyed--and of course a wizard could use another wizard's wand if he wanted to cast a spell behind the Ministry's back, and it's all just a mess. Are you done eating?"
"Yes," Harry said, who was just licking the last of the sauce of his spoon. "But what about you?" Ron had eaten only a couple of bites in the brief pauses during his diatribe.
"All right," Harry said dubiously, and picked up both their plates, taking them to the sink.
"Harry, if you don't leave the fucking washing-up for later, I swear I'll hex you."
"I was just putting the dishes in the sink," Harry said, his expression much too guileless to be believed.
Ron snorted. "Yeah, well, see how much you like it when I tease you when you're all horny from your next Quidditch victory."
"You'll have forgotten by then," Harry said dismissively.
Ron took hold of his chin and leaned in. "Make me forget," he whispered half an inch from Harry's lips, and kissed him.
They stumbled into the bedroom still kissing, and pulled each other's robes off hurriedly before tumbling onto the bed in a press of warm, delicious skin. "Lie back," Ron said, pushing Harry down, and he gently removed Harry's glasses and placed them on the bedside table before resuming their kiss. He toyed with Harry's nipples as their tongues glided together. Harry rocked upwards, his erect cock brushing against Ron's stomach, hot and damp against his skin.
It felt good--amazing--but not quite what Ron wanted, and he pulled away to sit back on his heels. Harry made a small noise of protest, and then lay still before him when Ron shook his head.
He took hold of Harry's legs and pulled him forward and up until he was splayed open across Ron's kneeling thighs, utterly exposed to Ron's gaze. Harry sucked in a shaky breath, and his spread thighs trembled slightly. Ron ran his hands up their length and met Harry's wide, green eyes with his own.
He brushed the backs of his fingers along the length of Harry's cock, which twitched at his touch.
"Oh, please," Harry moaned, as Ron played with the tip, rubbing the sticky head with his thumb and fingering Harry's foreskin. "Please."
"Shh." Ron's other hand stopped caressing the soft, inner skin of Harry's thigh to roll Harry's balls delicately in his palm. Harry moaned again.
Ron grabbed the jar of lubricant off the bedside table. Spells were easier, but doing it by hand was better, and they weren't that rushed for time.
Two fingers dipped shallowly into Harry's body--enough to stretch him, but not enough to reach anywhere near his prostate--and Ron pressed into him in a series of short, unsatisfying jabs.
"Soon," Ron promised. He reached over with his free hand to rub Harry's stomach soothingly. His wrist bumped against Harry's erection, and he pulled away quickly. The muscles of Harry's ass clenched deliciously tight around his fingers, and he lost himself in the sound of Harry's mewling cries and in the rub of warm, damp skin against his own. Finally, though, the ache of his own erection became too much to ignore. "All right, I think you're ready."
"Yeah, for the last fifteen minutes," Harry grumbled. "Sadist. How do you want me?"
"Just like this."
Harry's forehead crinkled in confusion. "What? But how--" and he broke off as Ron slipped his hands beneath him and lifted until Harry was held poised over Ron's cock, and then slowly, carefully eased him down the hard length.
Harry's face went blank with surprise and pleasure as Ron raised and lowered him in a quickening rhythm. "Wrap your legs around my waist," he grunted, when the muscles of his forearms began to burn with the strain, and Harry complied.
Harry had twin fistfuls of blanket in his hands, Ron noticed through a haze of lust. He was already tossing his head restlessly from side to side, and his cock left streaks of wetness on his stomach with each jounce.
"Faster," Harry said, his voice shaky. Ron sped up the press of his arms.
"Faster," and Ron raised Harry's lower body off his thighs and held him there, thrusting into him hard until Harry whimpered and came, then fucking his shuddering body again and again until his own orgasm rolled over him and he let his tired arms drop Harry back down onto his thighs, still impaled on his softening cock.
He breathed deeply, trying to catch his breath. Harry twitched restlessly on top of him, and Ron lifted him with now screaming muscles just enough to pull out. He flopped forward to lie beside Harry on the bed, reaching a hand over to rub the streaks of come into the warm skin of Harry's chest.
"Fuck," Harry breathed, low but heartfelt.
"How am I supposed to do well at Quidditch practice when you've just melted every bone in my body?"
"I rather think that's your lookout, isn't it?"
Ron snickered unrepentantly, and Harry punched him in the shoulder. "You'll just have to use the thought of me lying here in our warm, cozy bed as inspiration."
"I hate you," Harry said, and rolled onto his side to kiss him.
It was soft and warm, and the lazy stroke of Harry's fingers along his arms and sides was more soothing than anything he could remember.
After long minutes, Harry pulled away reluctantly. "And now I really have to get ready."
Ron turned over onto his stomach and watched sleepily as Harry located his glasses and dug in the closet for his uniform and got dressed.
"Harry?" he called, when Harry was in his Quidditch uniform and ready to go out the door.
"There's pepper-up potion in the bathroom, you silly git. It's not only good for hangovers, you know."
"Oh, right." Harry grinned at him. "I think I'm okay now, but thanks."
"See you in the morning."
"Good night, Ron."
The bedroom door clicked quietly shut, and Ron breathed in the lingering scent of Harry and sex before he curled his arms around his pillow and went to sleep.