“You two really need to stop bothering me with these things,” Hermione mutters as she stirs her drink.  I don’t know if I should be worried or not since this is her third and lunch hasn’t been served yet.

“What do you mean?”

She glares at me.  “Ronald, you must have some idea.”

I cross my arms and lean back in my chair.  “If I knew, I wouldn’t be here.”

Another glare, this time with a huff.  “Boys.”

She’s maddeningly silent until halfway through our meal.  As if we’d never paused our conversation, she shakes her fork at me and lectures, “I’m tired of being the go-between when things aren’t working out between you two.  You need to talk to Harry and tell him what’s bothering you.”

My glowering doesn’t faze her, so I settle for pushing my food around on my plate.  “You make it sound like we’re dating or something.”

Now I’ve done it.  She’s smiling.  Bugger it all.  She doesn’t say anything else.  She knows she’s caught me.  Sometimes I hate Hermione.

“I think it’s time to own up to having more than just brotherly feelings for Harry,” she says, her smile firmly in place.

Shite.  You see, I’ve known for quite a while that my feelings for Harry were more than brotherly.  I haven’t ever wanted to slam any of my brothers to the wall and suck their soul out through their cock.  Some days it’s all I can think about doing with Harry.

There are several problems with that, unfortunately.  It’s not that Harry is straight, but more that he’s indiscriminate.  Men, women, magical, Muggle, even a nearly human looking high fae...Harry has had them all.  On a rare night a month or so ago in which we were both home without dates – or, I should say, a rare night Harry was without a date because I haven’t dated since last spring – we sat in our living room watching some movie with lots of explosions, sharing silence.  Well, silence everywhere but inside my head.

I kept running things to say to him through my head, trying to figure out why he’d take anyone with a pulse to bed except me.  And except Hermione, too, but she doesn’t want to sleep with him.

I ended up saying nothing about it to him that night.  The next night, I followed him to a Muggle club in a neighborhood on the edge of dangerous.  It was there that I discovered I must be a masochistic voyeur as I watched Harry be sucked off by a willowy blonde as her stocky boyfriend cleaned his tonsils.  I Apparated home after he came, more than willing to pay the fine for performing magic around Muggles, and wanked in the shower until the water was icy enough to make my teeth chatter.

Now, however, at the knowing look in Hermione’s eyes, I can’t decide if I’m merely pathetic or am now desperately needy.  Probably both.

“I don’t need to own up to them, Hermione,” I mutter.  She raises an eyebrow.  “I’ve known for a while.”

“I knew it!” she crows.

“Gloating is unbecoming of a lady,” I murmur, horrified to hear my mother’s frequent words to Ginny escaping my mouth.

“But you know I’m no lady,” she replies, grinning.

To that, I have no reply.

I’m still awake at dawn a week later – why didn’t I figure out how much paperwork the Ministry required before Percy went mental? – when Harry stumbles in.  His clothing is incredibly rumpled, his shirt misbuttoned and his hair is even more atrocious than usual.

Laying my quill down, I raise my eyebrows at him.

He grunts as he flops into a chair across from me.  A negligent wave of his hand conjures a cup of strong tea for himself.

“Well?” he mutters, cradling his teacup in two hands, elbows on the table, so he can inhale the steam curling from the top.

There is so much I want to say but shouldn’t say any of it.  My brain knows that but my mouth has a mind of it’s own.

“Why?”  My voice is soft, the word gently spoken and laced with confusion.

Harry flinches as if I hit him, but says only, “What do you mean?”

Fine.  He wants to play stupid, I’ll let him.  My grin makes his eyes widen.

“Why do you sleep with anything that breathes?  Why do you not respect yourself more than that?  Why won’t you say no to someone who wants to sleep with you?  Why – ”  My diatribe abruptly ends when he holds a hand up to stop me.

The look in his green eyes is something I’ve not seen there in a long time:  hurt and anger in a roiling mess.  A knot of tension builds in my stomach.

“I would think you’d understand.”

Deliberately, I flatten my hands on the tabletop.  If I don’t, I’ll hit him.

“Why would I understand, Harry?  I watch you whore yourself out and I don’t understand.”

The temperature in the kitchen drops, all centered on Harry.  Chill bumps erupt on my arms.  It’s been a long time since he’s lost control enough to affect room temperature.  I know I’m shaky ground, but can’t resist poking at him.

“Whore myself out?” he repeats, breath visible as he speaks.

I refuse to back down.  This is Harry.  Even if I weren’t jealous, I would feel the need to protect him from himself.  Forcing myself to meet his eyes despite the cold and distant expression in them, I say, “Yes, that’s what I said.”

Something dark flares in his eyes, something I don’t think I’ve ever seen.

Slowly, as if he’s holding onto control by the thinnest margin, he stands.  The temperature drops again.  His voice is just as cold when he spits, “Jealous?”

Fuck.  Well, hell, let me throw all caution to the wind.

Baring my teeth in what might loosely be termed a smile, I answer, “Yes.”

His fingers twitch as his breath explodes in a shocked almost-gasp, then his eyes narrow.

“Really?” he drawls.

I swallow hard.  It’s Harry, therefore I’m not afraid, but I’d be an idiot if I said I wasn’t wary.  I haven’t ever seen him like this and it’s more than a little disconcerting.

He moves around the table, stalking me with the grace of an angry panther.  I turn in my chair to follow his movements until he’s nearly in my lap.  He braces one hand on the back of my chair and the other on the tabletop before leaning down.

Inches from my face, he asks in a dark, slow drawl, “Do you trust me?”

What the hell kind of question is that?  I want to feel offended, but something in his manner and the fact he’s asking when he knows the answer means it’s not an idle question.

“Yes,” I answer, meeting that blazing green gaze without hesitation.

He smiles, a dark and dangerous smile nearly as cold as the room was earlier.  In fact, it’s become almost uncomfortably warm, now that I think about it.  And, Merlin help me, that smile arouses me.

He pulls his wand from its holster and, with one flick, clears the table.  I don’t dare protest about my paperwork, not with him meeting my eyes with that fire in his.  Another flick of his wand covers my eyes with an impenetrable blindfold.

I make a move to reach up and pull it off, but drop my hands back to my thighs when Harry murmurs, “You said you trusted me.”

I swallow hard once again.  At this rate I’ll have sores in my throat from that motion.

It takes a conscious effort to relax.  I’ve never been good with giving up control in the way Harry is demanding – well, in any way, really – but it’s Harry.  For him, I’ll do this.  I think it’ll be worth it.  In for a Knut, in for a Galleon, after all.

There’s a small rustle of clothing and the clink of chain before he speaks again.

“Relax,” he whispers in my ear.  The feel of his voice, his breath against my skin, sends a shiver down my spine.

I have no warning before I’m levitated upward to the tabletop.  Chains wrap around my wrists and ankles, pinning me spread-eagle to the table.

When I open my mouth to protest, Harry growls, “No talking.”

I shut my mouth so quickly that I nearly bite my tongue.  Could it be that this is what Harry’s been doing, working as some sort of dominant?

The brush of a hand over my thigh both has me shuddering and melts my clothing away.  A few other brushes over my arm and hip melts away the remainder of my clothing until I’m nude.  I can’t decide if I’m embarrassed or not.  My cock apparently doesn’t care and is standing at attention begging for attention.

“You wanted to know what I’ve been doing at night,” Harry says, his voice a rough purr that somehow both grates upon and soothes my nerves.  Though I haven’t exactly asked what he’s been doing, I don’t dare contradict the statement.  He moves from my right to left as he continues.  “You want to know what I’ve been doing with all those dates.”  His voice curls contemptuously around the last word.

I gaps as he circles my nipple with his finger.

“What if I told you I’m a professional escort?”  Before I can answer or even process that, he leans down to whisper in my ear, “A paid professional escort who caters to my client’s every whim.”  As he moves away, his hair brushes against my skin, sending another shudder through me.

Then my sluggish brain begins to process his words.  An escort?  If my eyes were uncovered, they’d be opened wide and astonished.  Every whim?

The moan that escapes wracks my body and makes Harry laugh darkly.

“I see you like the idea.”  He murmurs a few words I can’t quite make out.  Something like a ribbon, feather-light and soft, is dragged across my skin, across my cock.  “I’m allowed to use a bit of Legilimency to discern my client’s fantasies.”

Oh fuck.  I twist slightly on the table.  He can read my fantasies?

I can hear the soft susurrus of his clothing, then nothing.  The ribbon is drawn over my skin again, making me shudder.  A finger follows the ribbon, his fingernail occasionally catching my skin.

The table creaks slightly as it takes Harry’s weight as well when he climbs up between my knees.  I can feel his body heat against the skin of my thighs and it’s driving me mad.

He leans down – I can sense the shift of his body mass and the sensation of his body heat atop me – until his hair brushes my face and his lips are just above my ear again.

“You have some pretty kinky fantasies, Ron,” he purrs.  I moan.  “Next time we can try that locker room one.”

Next time?  Locker room?  I want to melt.  I thought I was strong, thought I could handle whatever Harry dished out, but I can’t process the next time.  I reckon that means he wants me, too, without being too girlish about it.

But the locker room idea?  That involves having him at my mercy in the showers with the rest of the team ready to enter at any moment.

My cock twitches violently, coming into contact with Harry’s directly above it, making me gasp.

“But, for now, you’re mine.”  His words are possessive and harshly spoken to match the near-brutality of the kiss that follows.  I feel like I’m being devoured and I don’t care.

His right hand moves from next to my left side to my left hip.  I think that, if I could see him, he’d have a predatory smile on his face.  Without preliminaries, he slips that hand from my hip to my bollocks.  I moan and shudder, arching slightly.  I can almost feel his laugh when he slips lower to stroke my perineum.

“Fuck,” I whisper like a prayer.

“Yes, I will,” Harry responds, “but I told you not to talk.  Do I have to gag you?”

A violent shudder races through me at the idea, though more because I’d want to gag him.  I shake my head.

“Good,” he purrs.  With that, his finger slips lower to stroke my opening.

I bite my lip to the point of blood to keep from crying out.  The chains at my wrists jingle with that renewed tension in my arms.  He strokes my opening again, sending all four sets of chains jingling.  That seems to please him because he inserts his index finger into me, making me moan deeply.

“So responsive,” he murmurs, whispering a lubrication spell, he inserts a second, then third finger.

I want to whimper.  I want to writhe.  I want to beg.

Instead, I grit my teeth and take it.

“So obedient,” he says softly.  “So aroused.”

He pulls his fingers from me.  I want to moan at the loss, but am not given the chance.

Harry captures my lips in another brutal kiss just as he positions his cock at my arse and presses inside.  I gasp into his mouth, moaning.

Fuck, he feels good.  He drives into my violently.  Distantly, I can hear the table scrape the floor as it moves with the violence of Harry’s thrusts.  Still using his left hand to brace himself, he shifts to grip my aching cock with his right hand.

Though I feel like I want to melt, the sensations are not at all feminine.  I want to dissolve into him, fully at his mercy.

He breaks the kiss to murmur, “I know you’re on edge, Ron.  Come.  Don’t hold back.”

I try to hold back, despite his order, try to resist, but can’t.

A strangled moan and gasp are all the warning Harry has before I come all over his hand, my stomach and his, clutching his cock with my arse.  He gasps and follows me over the edge.

The chains disappear, freeing me to wrap my arms around him.  I wonder why he hasn’t removed my blindfold until I realize it’s still dark because my eyes are closed.

Harry collapses atop me, cheek against my sweaty chest, as he slips out of me.

I lick my lips, unaccountably nervous.

“Why now?” I ask, voice rough.

He laughs, the vibrations making me moan softly since he’s using me as a mattress.  “I could say that you were broadcasting more than usual this morning.”

“More than usual?” I repeat stupidly.  “You mean you’ve known?”

He lifts his head, those green eyes vulnerable for the first time since he came home.  “For a few months,” he admits.

“I see.”  He looks nervous now, not in control any longer.  “Again, why now?”

He smiles, one corner of his mouth turning upward in almost a smirk.  “Hermione might have said something.”

I sigh.  I should be annoyed with her, but can’t bring myself to work up the energy for it.  “Of course she did.”  Then I grin.  “As much as I like you on top of me, this table is bloody uncomfortable.”

He snaps his fingers and sends us to my bedroom in the same position.  I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to his casual power, but I can get used to having him in my bed.

I tangle my hands in his hair, bringing his mouth to mine, and roll us over so he’s underneath me.

When I break the kiss to slide my mouth along his jaw, he asks, “Another fantasy?”

I grin and bite his earlobe.  “Yes.  You in my bed underneath me.”

He arches upward.  “I can live with that.”

So can I.