“If you’re uncertain, this is a good place to start,” Ron tells me as we’re in line.  We’re at a Muggle club in London.  We end up not waiting long; the doorman sees Ron and waves us in.

“How often do you come here?” I ask at the coat check.

Ron turns and flashes a smile.  “Often enough.”

I smack his shoulder.

We enter the club.  The music is so loud that I swear my teeth vibrate to the pounding bass.  The club is generally dark, but blue spotlights highlight the bar while multicolored lights burst on the dance floor.

Ron heads to the bar to order us drinks.  After glancing around, I grab a seat at a small, low table.  The empty spot next to me is taken before Ron returns.  While I’d like to say something, I know don’t the proper etiquette and would rather not be cursed at for saying the wrong thing.

Ron finds me – being a head taller than most of the patrons helps – and heads over.

I watch him move through the crowd.  For the last two years I’ve wondered if I wasn’t gay or bisexual.  I’ve found myself watching Ron at odd times; watching him sleep, watching him with weights, watching him swim.  Since I haven’t found myself watching other men with the same intensity, it did occur to me that maybe it’s just Ron.

Hence the reason we’re here.

When I asked Hermione about it, she just raised an eyebrow and asked if I wanted to have Ron kiss me until I didn’t know my name.  My furious blush answered that question.

Ron bends down, lips near my ear.  A shudder runs through me at his closeness.

“Don’t drink too quickly,” he warns.  While I might hope he’s warning me to stay sober for later with him, I know it’s more because I make an interesting drunk:  my control on my wandless magic becomes erratic.  That’s not to mention the fact I become quite randy.

He straightens and I have to look anywhere but him.  His denim-clad crotch is at eye-level.

The woman next to me is eyeing him as well.

Not dwelling on the possessiveness of the gesture, I lean over to her and say, “He’s gay.”

She sighs heavily.  “All the good ones are.”  Turning to look at me fully, she allows her eyes to rake me head to toe.  “What about you?”

I grin.  “Confused.”

“Hmm,” she purrs, taking a seat on my lap.  Startled, I grab her waist so she doesn’t fall.  Ron narrows his eyes at her.  “About men or women?”

I blink.  “What?”

She leans down to speak into my ear.  When Ron did it, I was aroused; when she does it, I’m amused.

“Confused about men or about women?”  She wriggles closer as she asks.

“Men,” I reply.

She seems startled.  Pulling back, she studies my face.  “I would have pegged you for gay and curious.”

I grin.  “Nope.”

Her comment should take care of my doubt.

“Well damn,” she murmurs.  Then with a lipstick-heavy kiss on my cheek, she leaps from my lap and melts back into the crowd.

Ron sips his drink and glares down at me.  Raising an eyebrow, he reaches down and thumbs the lipstick from my cheek.  It’s all I can do not to gasp at the lust that surges through me.

He wipes the lipstick on his jeans, shaking his head.  “You attract the strangest birds.”

I say nothing and down my drink in one go.  While I gasp for breath, Ron merely continues to shake his head at my stupidity.

He’s making me feel fifteen again.  And that’s not a good thing.

Shooting a glare at him, I stand and head to the bar.  Ron takes my seat, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankle.

I have to push my way to the bar.  The press of bodies is at once claustrophobic and erotic.  I order a Guinness and drink it as quickly as I can manage.

Pointedly avoiding Ron – and the temptation – I wade through the dance floor.  Halfway across, I’m stopped.

“Dance with me,” a man says in my ear.

I nod briefly then have to catch my breath when he pulls me back against him.  He’s about my height, so his crotch fits against my arse.  He’s hard, making me wonder if I made him that way or if he was hard before seeing me.  A thrill rushes through me at the thought he’s aroused by me.

His hands find their way to my hips, pulling me tighter against him.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he says in my ear.  Both his hair and his breath make my neck tingle.

“First time,” I answer, tilting my head back slightly so he can hear me.

“Really?”

Before I can reply, his lips are against my neck.  It’s either because I’m half-drunk or more than half-aroused that I’m willing for him to kiss me rather than the girl earlier.

“You’re eager, aren’t you?” he murmurs in my ear.

Eager?  No, not necessarily.  Curious.

Pushing back against him, I lay my hands over his.  I want to know if he can make me feel the same way Ron does.

I twist slightly, turning us on the dance floor.  I can see Ron between the dancers.  He’s talking easily to a blond who is practically in his lap.  I’m not prepared for the jealousy that rages suddenly inside me.

You're not sure about yourself, but you don’t want him to do anything with anyone else.

My own hypocrisy galls me.

“Trying to make him jealous?” the man behind me asks.

Am I?  Is this some twisted power play?  Do I want Ron?

“Possibly,” I allow.

Throwing caution to the wind, I turn in his arms.  He’s not much taller than me, perhaps two inches, so I’m able to rest my head on his shoulder without difficulty.  His hands encircle my waist and pull me snug against him.

“Living dangerously?” he asks, lips against my ear.

Like being the most powerful living wizard?  But I don’t say that.  Instead, I say, “You have no idea.”

We sway together for a second dance.  Though the pounding bass tries to lure me into moving, I don’t.  I might still be in denial about my feelings for Ron, but I’ll enjoy myself until I face them.

“I’m Robbie,” he says, flicking his tongue over the shell of my ear.  When I shudder, he sucks on my earlobe.

Fuck.

“Harry,” I manage to reply, though my legs are suddenly weak.

“Care to go someplace more quiet, Harry?”

Do I?

I glance over Robbie’s shoulder at Ron.  The blond is gone.  Instead, Ron is watching me.  His legs are still stretched out before him, but his arms are now crossed over his chest.  It’s a deceptively casual pose that radiates danger.

And arouses me further because I’m a sick bastard.

“Yes,” I answer.  At this point, I don't know if curiosity or stupidity is driving my actions.

Robbie releases me so he can take my hand.  With steady pressure, he tugs me toward a more private room.  I can almost sense Ron following us.  The room is even darker than the dance floor, the spotlights in here fewer and red rather than blue.  It makes the scene before me almost surreal.

The group in here is probably nine-tenths men.  The few women are watching the men.  And watching the men is a sight in and of itself.

The intense arousal that sweeps through me erases the last of my doubt.  Though only Ron has aroused me to this extent before now, my libido is alive in here.

No one is nude, but the groping and blatant display of exhibitionism is almost more erotic than I can handle.  While I’m still stunned, Robbie practically drags me to a velvet bench.

I’m not sure if I sit or fall down.  Before I can process the fact I’m sitting, Robbie turns us toward each other.  One of his hands tangles in my hair to exert pressure on the back of my head, drawing us together.

His tongue traces the seam of my lips, which melt apart at the attention.  I think I moan at the intrusion of his tongue into my mouth, but the sound is drowned by those in the rest of the room.  My gasp when his other hand splays across my lower back is swallowed by his mouth.

And if it were Ron kissing you?

It feels like something short-circuits in my brain.  Muffling a growl, I return Robbie’s kiss, threading one of my own hands in his hair and resting the other on his thigh.

Robbie takes this as encouragement and shift closer to me.  I can feel the heat and arousal pouring off him.  Though I should feel guilty for using him, I don’t.  His movement brings us in full-contact from knee to shoulder.  His hand slides from my back, over my hip and down to my thigh, kneading the muscle there.  Each pinch sends a jolt to my cock.

Finally, I have to gasp for breath.  He takes advantage and tugs my head back to ravage my neck.  My senses are swimming.  I’ve only felt arousal like this with two women, so I can’t exactly say I’m used to the sensations.

Rational though filters up briefly:  What happened to my inhibitions?  I’m usually more uptight.  Robbie’s tongue slides against my collarbone, effectively killing further high-level though.  Maybe I’m drunk.

It distantly registers that he’s moved closer yet, taken further liberties.  His hand has moved from my thigh to my stomach, brushing over my arousal in the process.  Shock jolts through my system, eliciting a guttural moan.

“Eager,” he repeats, this time in an appreciative murmur.

Stupid is more like it.

Suddenly, as if a switch has been flipped, I’m aware of Ron’s eyes on me.

I open my eyes and tip my head down just enough to see Ron.  He’s hovering and furious.  And what sort of twisted fuck does it make me that the sight sets me on fire?  No more denying the attraction.

“You’re done now,” Ron growls, tapping Robbie on the shoulder.

Robbie startles. only slowly releasing my neck.  I don’t blame him for the horrified shudder that moves through him when he turns far enough to see an enraged Ron Weasley.

“I...um...nice to meet you, Harry,” Robbie stammers then scrambles away.

I settle back against the velvet bolster.  Ron is close to full temper, but not completely there.  Interesting.

I smile lazily.  “What are you doing, Ron?”

“Preventing you from getting some Muggle disease,” he mutters.  “If you want to whore yourself, don’t do it when I’m watching.”

Very interesting.  Slowly, I stand, then take the half-dozen steps to close the distance.  There is something between us that’s almost palpable, a growing tension that’s entirely sexual.

I cross my arms over my chest.  “Whore myself?” I growl.  I can’t be as angry as I should be at his comment given that I’m distracted by the image of me as his whore.

Ron raises and eyebrow.  Learning at Hermione’s knee, I see.  “Let’s go,” he barks.

“Go where?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

He leans forward, almost touching me.  “I’m tired of the audience.”

His words make me suddenly aware that most of the room – which had been engaged in hedonism when I walked in – is watching us.

Great.  Harry Potter is the center of attention everywhere.

I motion with my arm for him to lead the way.  He frowns, but spins on his heel and leads me out of the room.  He says nothing, even to the few patrons at the bar who greet him.  He glances backwards once to verify I’m following like a faithful puppy.  His expression darkens when he sees the mischievous grin on my face.

He grunts at the doorman, refuses a return stamp and glares at me until I exit the club as well.

“Ron?”

He says nothing, merely storms down the sidewalk until he reaches the alley behind the club.  He turns and, with a mocking bow, makes the same arm motion I made for him to lead us out of the club; this time, he wants me to enter the alley.

I’m not worried about being in an alley.  I’m worried about Ron.

“Ron?”

He raises his eyebrow again.  I enter the alley.

Ron casts a blocking charm on the entrance, then a locking charm on the club’s rear door.  Before I can turn around and even say his name again, he shoves me face-first against the brick wall, pressing full-length against me.  I can feel the heat of his body and his cock digging into my arse.

“You are a tease, Harry,” he growls into my ear.

“I am?” I squeak.  The great and mighty Harry Potter reduced to squeaking like a first-year.  Then again, I doubt a first-year would be pressed against the wall like this by his best mate.  Well, not for anything sexual.

Ron bends his head until his lips are against my ear.  “You used that poor boy to make me jealous.”

“So what if I did?  It worked.”

He laughs, the sound dark and dangerous.  “Now I’ll show you what happens to boys who tease.”

I blink several times.  I can’t think any longer since all the blood has fled my brain to harden my cock even further.  The constriction of my jeans is almost painful.

“Please,” I moan.

Ron takes a half-step back, just far enough to spin me around to face him.  I only get a glimpse of his face – starkly aroused – before he bends his head to devour my mouth.  However arousing Robbie’s kisses were, Ron’s eclipses them.

I barely notice that my hands are on his back with a life of their own, scratching and rubbing.  His left hand grabs a fistful of my hair to hold my head still; his right hand dives downward to unbutton my flies.  A guttural moan escapes my throat as he releases my cock.

“Mine,” he snarls against my lips, wrapping his hand around me.

He jerks my head back, the sharp sensation of my hair being pulled adding to my arousal.  Because you’re a sick and twisted individual.  He feasts on my neck and throat, much like Robbie did but with one-hundred times more fervor.

I barely notice the fact my jeans are at my ankles until he orders, “Take them off.”  I hurriedly kick them off, not caring much about what condition they’ll be in after I pick them up from the ground.

He bites the juncture of my neck and shoulder just as he lifts my legs around his waist.  His jeans and lowered, his cock hard against mine.  I mewl like a half-starved cat.  Pitiful, Potter, just pitiful.

“Suck them,” he demands, pressing two fingers to my lips.  I open my eyes and gasp at the feral expression in his blue eyes.  He takes advantage of my gasp to shove his fingers into my mouth.

I suck them well, taking a wild guess that he’ll use them to prep me.  My tongue slides between his fingers and I use the tip to tease the sensitive skin at the base.  His groan elicits yet another from me, which then turns to a whimper when he yanks his fingers from my mouth to probe my arse.

Clutching his shoulders, I grit out, “Now, Ron, now.”

He doesn’t even ask if I’m sure, merely pulls his fingers away, grabs my thighs, presses me tight against the wall and pushes into me.  There is a burning sensation as he enters, but I’m beyond feeling pain as anything but pleasure.

He bends his knees to change the angle of his thrusts.  It also allows him to drive fully into me, balls-deep.

“Fuck,” I moan, dropping my head back.

“Yes,” he hisses.  Moving his hands so one is on my arse, holding me to him, he braces his other hand on the wall next to my head.

My cock feels ready to explode.  I reach down with one hand to grip it, wanking myself as Ron fucks me.  The brick is shredding my shirt and I can feel places on my shoulder blades where the friction is abrading my skin, but it doesn’t matter.

What matters is the redhead doing his level best to fuck my brains out.

“Harry, you bastard, come already,” he commands.

With my free hand, I grab a fistful of his hair and tug his mouth down to mine.  The kiss is sloppy and more tongue than lips, but it does what I need it to do.

Grunting so I don’t scream, I come, spilling on both our shirts and over my hand.  Before I’ve even begun to recover, Ron grips my arse with both hands once again, drives deep and hard into me, and comes with a muttered curse.

Both of us are panting, our heads on each other’s shoulders.  I’m sticky, sweaty and bloody; Ron is sticky and sweaty.  And it’s the best night of my life.

“Ron?” I begin, straightening.  My thighs are burning with the strain of being wrapped around Ron’s waist, so while I wait for him to acknowledge me, I pull my legs down and stand on them though they feel like rubber.

“Yes?”

I lean back against the wall and grin.  I’m sure I’m the poster boy for debauchery at the moment.

“I don’t think I’m confused anymore.”

Ron opens his eyes and stares at me.  I think it startles him and much as it startles me when he breaks into laughter.

“No, you’re not confused.  You’re mine.”