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Ron’s been thinking about it all day, since Harry arrived at the Burrow with Dumbledore’s help. When Harry hugged him, his fragrant curls tickling Ron’s nose; when Harry ducks around him or a stray gust of wind darts by.
His scent.
It’s like nothing Ron has ever smelt before.
He’s met other omegas before, even after presenting last year, and while they were all appealing, none of them were like Harry. Not even Fleur, one of the most beautiful omegas Ron has ever seen, with a scent like freesia and freshly fallen snow, could compare. Harry smells like the first storm after a long drought, or a tree of orange blossoms, or the vanilla pudding his mum makes—or all three, all at once. Everytime he catches a whiff of it, it stuns him, leaving him struck dead. He’s been hit in the face with a quaffle because he stopped flying when Harry shot past him.
And, as if that isn’t enough, with Harry’s new scent, comes his new appearance. It’s like he’s bloomed over the summer. His eyes—already mesmerising—are bright and clear and green, like sparkling jade, and the way he moves is oddly graceful. He’s slender, and the sliver of skin Ron sees under the boy’s baggy clothes makes his mouth water. He wants to pick Harry up and set him in his lap, just to have all of the omega to himself.
But he can’t, so he keeps his hands to himself and grabs any distraction by the bollocks. He even helps his mum make Harry’s favourite, treacle tart. The idea of providing for his omega—the omega with something he enjoys is really appealing.
But, despite his attempts to keep his attention firmly away from Harry, it all comes to a head when they’re sent to bed. No matter how much he wheedles his mum for more dessert (he starts to feel queasy around the third slice, because no one but Harry can eat that much treacle tart without a sore stomach) or the twins for another game of Exploding Snap, he’s eventually forced up the stairs to his room, where Harry is already climbing into his magically-expanding mattress on the floor.
The sight of the omega cocooned in a nest of blankets and pillows, eyes sleepy and warm, is too much for him, and he stutters out: ‘I’m going to have a shower, Harry,’ then gathers his stuff and books it out of the room.
He doesn’t waste time getting in the shower, but he finds himself lingering long after he’s washed. Harry is waiting for him upstairs, soft and lovely, his scent filling the attic until it smells like RonandHarry.
The thought makes his cock jump, and Ron bites back a groan. Before he knows it, he has his cock in hand and jerks himself, chasing the memory of Harry’s sweet, honeyed scent in the steam. He can almost picture Harry here with him, his small, callused hands stroking Ron’s thick cock, squeezing his knot, milking him.
‘Do you like that, Ron? Do you want to put me on my knees and fill my mouth?’
It sounds ridiculous, Harry would never say something like that, something so … lewd, but it still makes him unbearably turned on.
He brings a hand up to tweak a nipple, hissing at the extra stimulation as he steadily pumps his cock. He’s sure Harry would enjoy this. Most omegas have really sensitive tits. He’s heard from a few older alphas how they’ve gotten an omega to come only from touching their tits, playing with them, licking their nipples. Would Harry let Ron do that to him?
It isn’t long until he feels his orgasm coming, and while one hand speeds up along the shaft, the other wraps around his knot and tightens, imitating having a nice, tight hole for him to fuck. He reckons Harry has the tightest virgin pussy, just as he does the best scent. Harry would moan so prettily for him, try to get Ron’s knot deeper inside of him, want to be filled with Ron’s seed.
Without warning, spunk shoots out of his cock, spraying the tiled wall white. He goggles at it, momentarily forgetting that he produces a lot more come as an alpha now. He moans, hand still squeezing his knot for all its worth, loud enough he’s scared someone’ll hear him.
He quickly washes the come off the wall and steps out of the shower, but finds that, even after that wicked orgasm, he still feels pent up, like he could explode at any minute. He really doesn’t want to—or rather, he wants it too much— but his mum will have his hide if he avoids going to bed for much longer.
He makes the trek up the stairs, each step more impossible than the last, until he’s standing in the doorway, looking down at Harry, who’s tucked himself under his blankets. Adorable. The thought comes, unbidden, and Ron flicks it away.
‘Mate, you haven"t gone to bed yet?’ He asks, more concerned than he ought to be.
‘No,’ Harry mumbles. ‘I was waiting for you.’
Another thing he didn’t think would appeal to him: Harry’s consideration.
‘Oh,’ Ron says intelligently. He hops into bed to avoid standing there like a loon.
He says the phrase to turn off his light.
‘Goodnight, Harry.’
‘Goodnight, Ron.’
~
Try as he might, he can’t fall asleep, too preoccupied with thoughts of the boy in bed next to him. He reckons Harry can’t fall asleep either, although for different reasons probably.
"Mate, you"re cold," Ron says finally, holding up the end of the duvet. He can see Harry"s slight silhouette shivering on the small mattress on the floor. The cold doesn"t weaken Harry"s scent, though. Ron can still smell it—sweet and lovely, with a slight tang. He wants it closer. "Get in here. I can"t sleep with all your teeth-chattering."
Harry slowly gets up from his foetal position and slinks over to his bed, crawling under the raised blanket and laying down, his back to Ron. Rolling his eyes, he curls an arm round his mate"s waist and pulls the boy flush against his chest. The sensation of Harry"s petite body encased in his larger one, arms curved around him possessively, is a million times better than Ron thought it"d be.
"You"re alright,’ he whispers into Harry"s hair, eyes fluttering shut as he inhales that addicting blend. ‘You"re alright. Calm down, omega. Your alpha"s with you.’
Harry doesn’t seem to hear that part, thankfully, snuggling back further into Ron’s arms, body warm with sleep. A part of Ron—the bizarre, animalistic part that doesn’t let him forget how perfect Harry is for him, how he should be Ron’s omega—rumbles contentedly.
They pass a few minutes in the silent attic, Ron breathing in Harry’s delicious scent as the omega slumbers. Then, Harry says: ‘You smell good … why do you smell so good?’
‘You smell good too, Harry. I never want to let go of you.’
Harry shivers in his arms, this time from delight. Or at least Ron thinks so.
He gets an idea in his head, a crazy, outlandish idea, but there’s not much he can do to dissuade it. Hesitantly, as one would calm a spooked animal, he brings his hand—the one wrapped around Harry’s waist—to one of Harry’s nipples. He can feel it, pebbled and hard under his thin nightshirt. Harry gasps as Ron tweaks it, in a mimicry of what he did to himself in the shower.
‘Do you like that, omega? Do you want me to keep touching you?’
He moves his hand to Harry’s other nipple. Harry twists around in Ron’s arms, until he’s settled higher on the pillow, his neck within biting distance. Ron doesn’t hesitate to put his mouth on the warm, flushed skin there, tasting Harry’s sweat and that unique, beguiling scent he’s been producing all day. His fingers don"t stop teasing Harry’s nipples.
‘Ron! Please!’ Harry whimpers.
He tries to move Ron’s hand away from his sensitive chest, but Ron is almost twice Harry’s size, and he’s had an entire summer to bulk up. He doesn’t move. ‘Please … alpha!’
Growling in pleasure at hearing the omega acknowledge him as his alpha, he trails his hand down the boy’s torso, until it comes to rest over the hot place between his skinny thighs.
He uses a thumb to put pressure against it, and Harry bucks up into his touch. He whines, loud and desperate. A gush of slick dampens the front of his pants.
‘You want me to fill you up with my fingers. Don’t you, Harry?’ Another whimper, this one louder. Ron growls in answer.
He circles his fingers around his wet cunt lips, not stopping no matter how much Harry begs and whines. It isn’t until they’ve completely soaked the fabric of Harry’s pants that he pries his fingers under the waistband, groaning as he comes into contact with Harry’s sweet, virgin quim. It’s so warm and inviting. He doesn’t waste any time shoving two fingers inside. Harry gasps and writhes against him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
Ron thinks he looks beautiful. To hell with Fleur, this is the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen: Harry, caught in his pleasure as Ron fills him up.
The omega tales them so well, too. Ron’s always had large hands, with long, thick fingers, but Harry doesn’t wince as Ron plugs him up to the knuckle, stroking the soft, fleshy walls of his cunt. He can feel them trying to milk him, like they’re a cock instead of his fingers and they want his come, they want Ron to stuff Harry’s fertile womb with seed and give him a baby.
Ron’s fingers speed up subconsciously, pulling out of Harry’s wet heat and plunging back in with a squelch. Harry lets out sweet, little noises almost on beat, a whimper as Ron presses against his swollen g-spot, a groan as Ron recedes from his tight hole. It’s addictive, like manipulating a doll to make it do what you want. It makes Ron feel … powerful, important, like he is Harry’s universe, the one who can give and take away his pleasure.
‘Harry. Omega, I want you to come on the count of three,’ he growls into Harry’s ear, and halts his fingers inside the boy. The walls tighten down on them. Harry grips his arm desperately. ‘If you don’t, I’m going to turn over and go to sleep.’ He won’t, but Harry, in his feverous state, doesn’t know that.
‘No, please, Ron, don’t be an arse. I really want to come,’ he cries.
‘One.’
He starts fingering Harry again, going harder and faster than before, twisting and stretching his digits as far as Harry’s walls will let him. Even as widens them, he feels the omega’s cunt clench down on him.
‘Two.’
He presses his thumb down on Harry’s hard, engorged clit, feeling it pulse and shake as Hary seizes in his arms.
‘Three.’
A rush of wetness covers his already-drenched fingers, flowing out of Harry’s pussy and staining the fabric of his pants. Ron growls as Harry’s scent intensifies, surrounding them in a lusty haze.
‘Good omega. That was … brilliant.’ He slowly pulls his fingers out, relishing in Harry’s whimpers, then pets his cunt lips teasingly. Harry twitches in his arms.
Curious, he takes his fingers out of Harry’s pants and raises them to his mouth, sticks them in to taste. He groans around them at the flush of musk and oranges that floods his tongue. He needs to have more of it.
‘I want to do that again.’
‘No, Ron, I can’t—’
Ron shoves Harry onto his back, pulls himself on top and holds the boy’s wrists above his head with one hand.
‘Yes, you can, omega. Because you want to please me, don’t you, Harry? Don’t you want to be a good omega?’
In the moonlight, Harry’s eyes glimmer like shiny gemstones. A tear escapes one, and Ron chases it with his tongue.
‘Don’t you?’ He whispers.
‘Y-es, I do. I do, Ron, please make me feel good.’
The words ignite something in the alpha. ‘Don’t move your hands.’
He releases Harry’s wrists, and to his satisfaction, they stay put. He begins to rip Harry’s pyjamas off, groaning as more of Harry’s skin is exposed. The mattress groans as Ron leans back to admire the view.
Harry’s warm, tan skin is even lovelier than he thought, stretched over lean muscle. His limbs are thin, and his waist is slender. The knowledge that he’s so much bigger than Harry is overwhelming.
Suddenly overcome with desire, he shoves himself down the bed until he’s lying between Harry’s thighs, his pussy wet and red and right in his face. He draws his hands up to rub the skin surrounding it, leaning forward to lap at the place where thigh meets crotch, and Harry jerks. He licks it again, laving his tongue over the hot, sweaty skin, his nostrils filled with Harry’s musk. He growls into the spot, teeth nipping at the flesh, then he licks the opposite divot, directing his tongue over the skin until it glistens just as much as Harry’s cunt. By the time he’s satisfied, Harry is a twitching, moaning mess on the bed, and Ron finds that he can’t wait any longer. He spreads Harry’s red pussy lips, admires the way the small hole winks at him.
‘Ron, what are you—?’
He darts forward, a man starved, to lick from the bottom of his juicy cunt to his clit. Harry’s thighs try to clamp down on him, but he uses his hands to hold them apart.
‘Try that again and I’ll bite you, Harry,’ he threatens, teeth scraping Harry’s pussy.
He doesn’t wait before going back in, moaning as Harry’s rich taste coats his tongue. Having so much of that scent so close to him is near maddening, and Ron eats Harry out like a starved beast, all lips and teeth and tongue, devouring the omega.
Harry’s thighs don’t clamp up again, but he does shake. When Ron pushes his tongue past the entrance, fucking the omega with it, he feels the walls grip desperately on him. He repeats this, until Harry’s loose enough for him to add a finger alongside his tongue, then another finger, fucking him with them as his tongue lavishes attention of the omega’s sensitive cunt lips.
‘Ron, Ron, I’m going to—’
‘It’s okay, omega, you can come.’
And like that, the boy gushes again. Ron growls as slick fills his mouth, and he keeps working the boy with his mouth despite his attempts to squirm away.
Finally, when Harry starts to beg loudly, he pulls away. The cunt in front of him, red and swollen and glistening with spit and slick, is beautiful. He almost wants to dive back in to taste it again, lick the orgasm from Harry’s inviting body, but he resists. Barely.
‘How was that?’ he asks, more eager than he should be. Like he’s a pup getting his first taste of omega pleasure.
‘Mm, good,’ Harry purrs. When Ron raises his eyes, he finds his friend sunken into the pillow, smiling lazily. A hand comes up to stroke Ron’s hair, and a low grumble builds in his chest.
‘Did you come?’ Harry asks.
‘I—’
His erection, forgotten in the face of Harry’s recent orgasm, jerks as if aware they’re talking about it. Ron can feel himself throbbing against the sheets, a puddle of precome between him and the duvet. His knot feels swollen, heavy.
‘Can I fuck you?’
Harry hums, which is enough for Ron, and he climbs back up the omega’s body to slot his prick between his thighs. He takes himself in hand, and carefully brings the head to Harry’s entrance. It looks so big in comparison to Harry’s small hole, but there’s almost no give as he ruts forward, Ron’s earlier attentions making the omega all loose and sloppy, perfect for taking an alpha’s hard prick.
He groans as his cockhead enters Harry’s sweet quim, accidentally jerking forward harshly so that half of his cock fills Harry all at once.
The omega groans.
‘W-wait, Ron, stop for a minute. It hurts.’
Reluctantly, he does, biting his lip as Harry repeatedly clenches down on him. It takes every ounce of willpower not to pound into the omega with all his strength.
Then, thank Merlin, Harry says, ‘O-okay. You can move.’
Ron immediately slams his hips forward, unable to slow down as he buries himself to the hilt. Harry throws his head back, moaning helplessly as Ron pounds into the omega. It feels … indescribable. It’s so warm and wet and Harry tightens around him perfectly, gripping his cock as if he wants to keep it inside.
‘Ugh, Ron, you’re so deep inside me. It’s like I can feel you in my throat,’ Harry whines. Now, there’s an idea.
‘You’re so tight. You’ve never had anyone here before me, have you? Filling you?’
Harry shakes his head. ‘No, I haven’t. Just you, Ron. Just my—my alpha.’
Ron growls and leans his body forward, his hands on the mattress for balance, Harry’s thighs wrapped around his waist, so that he’s covering the boy completely, his hips jerking down into the omega. Like this, their faces are inches apart.
‘You feel so good, mate,’ he whispers raggedly, looking into Harry’s hazy, unfocused eyes. They can barely see each other in the darkness, but the omega’s green eyes practically glow. ‘Take me deeper, Harry, your alpha wants to touch the deepest parts of you. He wants you to take his knot.’
Harry whines, throws his neck back into the damp pillow, and Ron latches his mouth onto his pretty neck, nipping at his delicate skin as he rams his cock into his mate. Harry’s sweat is intoxicating, sweet and salty and Harry. He feels Harry’s cervix, his cockhead kissing the entrance. Knowing that he is so close to the omega, to where he’ll make a baby, sets his blood on fire. His hips speed up, driving ruthlessly into him, trying to fuck himself into harry’s womb.
As if sensing how close he is, Ron’s knot swells, trying to shove into the boy. Harry whimpers under the onslaught, but Ron pays him no mind, too entranced by the way Harry’s pussy stretches, Ron’s knot catching on his cunt lips. The omega’s cervix dilates under his battering, his prick forcing it wider and wider, until Ron feels it give, and his knot is taken by the sweet heat of his omega, and his cockhead has entered Harry’s special place.
His whole body seems to tense, like a statue, and suddenly he’s coming. A wave of seed enters Harry’s bullied womb, filling him up. Ron, knowing that he can’t bite his omega—yet—pulls his mouth away from Harry’s neck to bite the pillow. Harry’s cunt clenches down on him painfully, gushing with slick, and Ron knows his omega has come from having his womb stuffed. Their moans fill the room, Harry’s breathless and Ron’s pained.
He’s never felt so good, it almost hurts.
His orgasm seems to go on forever. But, eventually, it ends, but his knot stays tied inside Harry. They likely won’t be able to move from each other’s embrace for the next hour.
Ron manoeuvres his and Harry’s spent bodies, so that he’s on his back with Harry splayed out on his chest. Harry blinks sleepily at him. Ron shifts, feeling all the come and slick in Harry’s pussy squelch addictingly around him. Their thighs and the mattress under them are soaked.
‘Was that … was that good, mate?’ He asks, all of a sudden feeling shy.
Harry hums, snuggling into Ron’s chest. He, instinctively, wraps his arms around the boy, pulling him even closer, if that were possible.
‘Merlin’s beard, Ron, that was beyond good. Even better than your mum’s treacle tart.’
‘That’s pretty good.’
‘Isn’t it?’
Ron didn’t realise it, but he can feel the purr slowly building in Harry’s chest, travelling down his body until it vibrates around his cock. He jerks inside the omega and groans, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.
‘I’m not going to be able to get any sleep with you like that, mate.’
He opens his eyes to see Harry asleep, his green eyes hidden. Ron decides that he can put up with it, if this is the view he gets.
Then, almost like magic, his eyes close, and he drifts off to his omega’s low, pleasant purr.
~
‘Ronaly Bilius Weasley, what have you done!’