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The Favor, H/R, R - NC-17. - And you'll ask yourself
Where is my mind?
The Favor, H/R, R - NC-17.

The Favor, H/R, R.
Title: The Favor
Author: Sabine - sabine91175
Rating: R.
Genre: Romance, Humor.
Warnings: None that I know of.
Summary: Harry and Ron need to ask Hermione for a favor.
Author’s Note: In response to harry_and_ron's First Lines Challenge. I used number four. This is my first slash, so I’d love comments and constructive criticism. Huge amounts of gratitude go out to richardsheather and xazis for excellent betas.

There really wasn't going to be an easy way to tell Hermione. Telling her was the only way to get her help, but it wasn't going to be fun. It was wrong on so many levels to go to her with a problem like ours. However, she was the only person in the world that Ron and I trusted to Obliviate us.

Our problems started with two teenage boys doing what they do best--thinking about sex and talking about sex and thinking about talking about sex. It was our best subject and we spent a lot of time on it, Ron and I. We'd talk about various girls, various things we'd heard the other boys talk about, various body parts--well, you get the idea. We're best friends, no subject was taboo and though he'd be likely to deny it, Ron started it.

"What do you suppose a blow job feels like?" he asked one day while we were doing homework in the privacy of our dorm. The other boys were out playing Quidditch, which is what we should have been doing on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon. Instead, we were doing homework, like the best friends of Hermione Granger, professor/slave-driver-in-the- making should.

"How would I know, Ron?" I asked, trying to sound irritated at his interruption. Truth be told, his question had not only derailed my train of thought ("Describe, in no less than two rolls of parchment, how the use of Transfiguration in daily life has changed in the past 300 years"), it had also sent my state of arousal from zero to sixty in less than a second.

"You don't have to bite my head off about it...."

I gave him a look that probably would've caused McGonagall to piss her pants.

"Yeah, bad choice of words. Sorry."

"I don't know who I'd do it with. All the girls I like seem to be dating some other guy or something," I replied, feeling bad about being so harsh. We'd often had this discussion and had decided that girls looked their best hanging off another bloke's arm.

"Or they're locking us in our dorm and making us do homework," Ron said with a laugh. I chuckled with him, though I was surprised at this first real admission of his infatuation with Hermione. We were quiet a few seconds before Ron brought both the question and my instant hard-on back up.

"So what do you suppose a blow job's like?"

"Hot is the only word I can think of."

"Yeah, and wet."

It wasn't the most intelligent discussion in the world, but we were 17 years old and horny as hell. We weren't capable of our best thought. At the time, that’s what I tried to blame it on anyway.

I don't remember who moved first, or whose bed we ended up on but next thing I knew, we were snogging like there was no tomorrow. Before too long we were starkers and Ron was trying to suck my brain out through my cock. It was more than hot and wet, it was heaven. I returned the favor and we fell asleep curled up together, comfortable and sated.

The next morning though, all trace of comfort was gone. Waking up naked and sticky next to your best friend is not something most guys do very often. We jumped apart as fast as we could without letting our roommates know what was going on; luckily we’d had the privacy curtains closed.

We didn't look each other in the eye for the rest of the week. We tried to pretend it hadn't happened, but were all too aware that it had. Hermione obviously knew something was up, as she tried to draw it out of me at every opportunity. Ron and I didn't talk about it between the two of us, much less with anyone else, so she came up empty.

Two days after our little encounter, we both had dates set up for the weekend following. It was as if we were trying to prove our heterosexuality to ourselves as much as to each other, and as quickly as possible. It was a noble effort anyway. I can't speak for Ron, but my date was abysmal from the beginning. I met Parvati Patil on the front steps 20 minutes late. I'd slept late after a fitful night, waking every hour or so from a dream of kissing a red-haired, freckled-faced, long-nosed someone-I-didn't-want-to-admit-to-myself.

Parvati gave me a look that said the rest of the date had better go up from there. She then took my arm possessively in hers, leading me towards the gates and into Hogsmeade. An hour later I was chasing after her in the opposite direction as she headed back towards the castle, having angered her enough that she ran out on our date. I'd spent more time watching Ron and Lavender across the Leaky Cauldron than listening to her prattle on and on about Divination and Professor Trelawney.

Finally giving up on catching Parvati, I went to the Quidditch pitch to work out some of my stress and confusion and was soon joined by Ron. We tossed a quaffle back and forth for a bit and were generally more comfortable around each other than we had been in days. That's probably what led to us wanking each other in the changing rooms underneath the stands just before dinnertime. Or possibly it had something to do with rutting in the showers after dinner, or rimming before bedtime. It all had to do with frustration and tension. For girls.

At least that's what we tried to tell ourselves once we were finally able to talk about it.

"When we find girls we can get along with enough to sleep with, we'll forget about each other," Ron declared in a confident voice.

"It's only natural to get comfortable enough with a friend to do things like this," I agreed. "We've been closer than brothers since we were 11 years old, for crying out loud."

Too bad blatantly lying to ourselves didn't work very well. We tried dating other times, other girls, but we ended up gravitating back to each other through the entire term. It became an addiction, what we were doing, there's no other word for it. I can even pinpoint the moment I got hooked.

Ron started it this time, too. We were in the Room of Requirement, where we'd required a large bed. The moment we had the door locked with a spell, I slammed Ron against the wall and proceeded to snog the life out of him. We were one article of clothing away from naked by the time we made it to the bed. Instead of our usual messing around, Ron slathered something oily onto my cock, then turned and presented his arse to me. Ron had a gorgeous body even then, half man and half boy though he was. He was lanky and broad-shouldered and I knew then and there that I'd have to be forced to give him up.

I worshipped him that day, there's no other way to describe it. It was hot and urgent but slow and lazy at the same time. When I finally entered him, we were both half-crazy with lust. He told me to 'go slow', but needless to say, that was nearly impossible. Ron, who never read for pleasure, had apparently been studying up for just this moment, evidenced by the lube. To know he wanted to be with me enough to find information on how to do it right was the biggest turn-on; I lasted all of a dozen strokes.

Just after Christmas hols something momentous happened: it became clear to us that we could get girls if we tried.

All three of our roommates were flushed and sweaty, but Neville had a look of satisfaction on him I'd never seen before. Ron and I looked at each other and exchanged a look that said 'Neville? Neville got some?' before we joined in the cacophony of noise that had accompanied our friends.

"Details, Neville, I want details!" Ron demanded over Seamus and Dean's loud congratulations.

"No, I really can't--"

"Yes, he really can!" Seamus assured us. "We saw him!"

"I knew the Quidditch stands were a bad idea," he muttered, turning red as a beet. This surprised even me, and I thought I could be surprised by nothing after having watched Ron and Hermione orbit around each other for the past six and a half years.

After much cajoling, pestering and whining, we got some details out of Neville, who was dating a pretty sixth year Hufflepuff by the name of Violet Vandersloot. They'd been rather serious for the majority of our seventh year, and now that the end of term was close to hand, Violet was beginning to fear that Neville would forget her after he graduated. For this reason, she decided to give him something to remember her by--his first time. As he'd said, the Quidditch stands were a bad idea, as Seamus and Dean had happened upon them as they were on their way to the broom shed.

Ron and I were forced to realize that most best friends weren't also fuckbuddies. Our roommates would think we were poufs if they knew, which was the last thing we considered ourselves to be. That's when things got really awkward. I got too self-conscious to sit on the same side of the table as Ron at meals and careful not to sit directly across from him. We didn't walk close together in the halls, nor sit next to each other in classes. We had to forget it had ever happened.

But the biggest problem was actually giving each other up. I'd wake up at night right at the best part of a wet dream and wish Ron was there to make it come true. Or I'd see his face all flushed after Quidditch practice and suddenly remember how he looked as he was coming. I wanted him and I wanted him badly, but I didn‘t want to want him. I wasn't ashamed of what we'd done, after all it was only sex.

One night, I woke myself climbing into Ron's bed. He was awake and staring at me. We shared a look that seemed to say 'this has to end' before he grabbed me and practically threw me down on the bed. He fucked me for the first time that night. It was as if we knew it had to be the last time so we were going to make it something worthwhile.

The next day was when we decided to bring our problem to Hermione. The only solution we could think of was Obliviating ourselves. We knew there was no other way to keep from wanting each other. It was going to be downright horrific to bring up something so personal with someone we were as close to as Hermione, but we knew her well enough to know she'd be understanding of our dilemma.

And she did understand, but she also was not surprised by our request. Quite the contrary, as a matter of fact. It was something that made us instantly forget about Obliviating ourselves, as well as our problems with girls and being poufs. The day after we asked Hermione to Obliviate us, we held hands all the way to the Great Hall. People stared, but we knew Hermione was right.

"Not again," she’d said on a sigh. "How many times am I going to have to do this before you realize what you have is something special?"

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