Harry shivered slightly. He had such a buzz from what they were doing. He felt pumped to the gills with adrenalin.
That didn't really equate to having to be completely silent and graceful whilst being at Ron's beck and call. When Ron had confessed what he wanted, after months of awkward conversations and a lot of blushing, Harry had been bowled over. He just hadn't seen Ronald Weasley – his Ron - as the sort of man who would enjoy such a blatant power play with someone he loved.
They had a relationship which Harry was excessively proud of. Equal, strong, tooth-rottingly doting. That was he and Ron all over.
So that he stood in there in nothing but a pair of loose fitting, black silky trousers and a leather collar around his neck was a major departure from reality.
I think that's the point, you idiot.
Both his feet and back ached like all hell. He'd been mostly standing by Ron's side since being woken up by the redhead at half past nine that morning. Darkness was falling outside the windows of Grimmauld Place and he was officially tired and quite chilly. He wanted to ask Ron to light the fire but he'd been expressly forbidden from speaking unless spoken to.
It had been rather liberating to be consigned to silence for the day.
He shivered again. Ron suddenly shifted with a groan, stretching out his spine and folding the paper up. He lobbed it on the floor, where it landed with a slap. Ron then looked at him pointedly.
Harry swallowed and stepped forward to pick up the paper.
“Uh-uh,” Ron said, his voice low but commanding. “Properly, please, Harry.”
Stepping in front of the armchair where Ron was sat, Harry bent over 'properly'. The silky fabric of his trousers felt good across his bare arse as it stretched. Ron hadn't opted to give him underwear.
“Stay,” Ron instructed, as Harry made to straighten up again. “Keep your head down.”
Harry heard him get up and swallowed a few times to try and calm down. He jumped slightly as Ron's long middle finger started to massage between his arse cheeks, sliding down to his perineum before trailing a line through the middle of his sac.
The sensations through the silk were exquisite. Ron slid back up to gently press against his hole, making circling motions with the pad of his finger.
“So then, Mr Potter...” Ron's fingers pushed past the waistband of his trousers and resumed rubbing without the silk barrier between them.
Harry wished he was lubed up. It would have made everything so much easier. He'd offered to go the whole hog – anal plug, beads – anything Ron wanted to put up there, he would have taken it.
Ron, however, only seemed interested in putting three things up Harry's arse – his cock, his tongue and his fingers, in that order.
“Do you think you've been a good enough boy today?” Ron asked, adding a second finger to the delicious massage he was performing around Harry's entrance. “I think you've been naughty myself. And I certainly don't think you deserve anything that feels this good...” He pushed in a little with one finger and Harry's breath hitched.
Ron laughed and pulled his hand out. “No. Definitely not been good enough. In fact, I think you deserve to be punished.”
If Harry's heart rate crept any higher, he thought he might actually fall over. As it was there were tiny white sparks in his vision. He stumbled slightly as Ron grabbed hold of the ring on the front of his collar and pulled him upright.
Squinting in the dim light, Ron stepped close and assessed Harry with calculating eyes.
“Just what punishment to give you...” he released his hold on the ring and smoothed his hands down Harry's arms. “So cold. Poor boy. So mistreated.”
Harry closed his eyes and tried not to purr with pleasure as Ron crowded into him to share some warmth.
“Go to the kitchen,” Ron muttered directly into his ear. “I want you to take off your trousers and sit on one of the kitchen chairs.”
Harry hesitated, fully enjoying the filthy look Ron was giving him.
“NOW!” Ron barked into his face.
Jumping to, Harry scurried out of the sitting room, along the hallway and down the stairs into Grimmauld's kitchen, where the fire had been roaring all afternoon. It was gloriously warm as he shoved down his pyjama bottoms and kicked them out of the way. He pulled out a kitchen chair and waited.
Ron didn't appear for several minutes. When he did, it was with slow, lazy steps and a slight swagger which came from having his hands rammed into his pockets. He was also wearing the sort of smirk which both thrilled and scared Harry – one that had thus far only delivered delicious, dirty fun.
“Tut tut, Harry. Such a messy boy.” Ron snatched the silk trousers off the floor where Harry had left them. “That's another punishment. You'd best be remembering all these.”
Harry hung his head and looked at the floor. Ron laughed and then pushed his fingers back through Harry's hair.
“Incarcerous.” Ron's spell was whispered and Harry sucked in a breath to hold as his ankles were tied to the chair legs and his hands were drawn together behind the back. Ron nudged his knees open wider and then did the spell again, creating more ties just below his kneecaps which allowed only the smallest amount of movement in his legs.
Harry couldn't help but shift against the binds to test them, to check he was really helpless. Or as helpless as he could be when he could perform wandless magic.
Even with that little dash of pessimism, there was something thrilling about having no control over his freedom of movement. That he was at Ron's mercy made it even more elating.
He watched with interest as Ron crossed to the larder and disappeared into it. Harry heard him clattering around and winced at a particularly loud crash. Ron swore loudly. When he wasn't strapped to a chair and forbidden from talking, they'd be discussing that.
But Ron was quickly back and carrying a cardboard box. Harry opened his mouth to ask what he had but caught it at the last minute. Ron arched his eyebrows and gave him a knowing smirk.
“I've been thinking about this for a long time, Harry. Had a long time to think about exactly what I wanted to do to you when I had you like this...” He peeled off the sticker sealing the box. “And what I really wanted, I realised, was to control your every move. Every breath. Every bodily function. Just tiny little things like that...” Ron grinned to himself.
He reached out and palmed Harry's cock with his huge hand, giving it a little squeeze before sitting back.
Harry couldn't help the way his eyes widened in surprise.
“For these,” Ron said with a roll of his eyes as he gestured at the box. “I'm not going to stab you to death with a fork, Harry.”
Harry didn't release the breath he was holding. Ron showed him what was in the box. Two massive cream cakes, with icing and pastry and everything which Ron loved but made Harry feel quite sick after a few bites.
“So... yeah. I've thought about this so much I didn't know where to start. But I figured I like cake, and I love you, and if there was anything fun I could do in this kitchen it would be tying you down and forcing you to eat this cake because I can.”
Nearly forgetting himself again, Harry choked down his query as to whether Ron was drunk. The redhead had gone out for a while that afternoon, leaving Harry with a long list of household tasks he expected to be completed on his return. He was being extremely blunt about something which had taken him years to confess.
“So...” Ron pressed into the cake with the fork and speared some on the prongs.
Harry couldn't help but watch it as it came towards his mouth.
“Open,” Ron instructed, seeming pleased that Harry had waited for him to do so.
The cake was gently placed on his tongue.
Harry chewed, holding Ron's gaze.
Dutifully obeying, Harry swallowed, only for Ron to begin the entire process all over again. Open. Chew. Swallow. The chunks of cake grew larger and Ron demanded that Harry ate faster several times, until the first of the two cakes had gone.
Harry felt nauseous but also maddeningly aroused by the whole debacle. His prick bobbed in the air between them, but Ron completely ignored it. He looked so serene, Harry thought, as he sucked some cream from a finger. Harry chewed obediently again when Ron started on the second cake, even though it was growing harder and harder to do so. He felt so full, probably due to the dinner he'd made them both earlier in the evening, which he'd been made to eat on the floor by Ron's feet.
He broke out into a pant as he really began to struggle with accepting the mouthfuls. Ron paused, looking over him with intense curiosity. Harry blushed when blue eyes trailed down his body, taking in his heaving chest and belly and proud dick standing up out of his pubes.
“Enough?” Ron asked, almost threateningly.
Harry chose not to answer.
“I asked you if that was enough. You've just earned yourself the rest of this. It's not hard, Harry, to follow rules. I know you've never set much store by them, but you said you'd obey me and you've broken that promise several times today.”
It took Harry some time to realise that the feeling coursing through him was shame; he didn't like that he'd let Ron down. He didn't like that he'd disappointed him. He wanted immediately to be better – to right the wrongs he'd committed. He opened his mouth, hoping to signal he was willing to carry on, but Ron just laughed.
“Nope. You've ruined it,” Ron said, his voice far too cold.
Harry watched as the redhead picked up the rest of the cake in his fingers and then without hesitation, mushed it over his dick. The cream was cool against his flesh and Harry gasped as Ron really worked it all around him, spreading it over his balls and down between his legs. Then long fingers came up, collected some more cream, and started smearing it all over his nipples. They grew hard under Ron's touch.
When he was done there, Ron grabbed some spilt cream from inside the box and shoved his hand into Harry's face. Cream clogged his nostrils and stuck to his glasses. He let out a little moan of surprise.
“Did I say you could do that?” Ron hissed at him, pinching Harry's nipples firmly between his finger tips in retaliation.
Unable to help himself, Harry moaned again and rocked his hips forward.
“Oh, yeah, right. Like that's going to happen.” Ron snorted.
Harry nearly mewled as there was a light, delicate tongue swipe over the head of his cock before Ron stepped back from him.
“Incarcerous,” Ron said.
There was nothing demure about his shout that time and Harry immediately started to shake. Ron had bound the base of his dick and his balls with tight cord.
“I think you can just stay here and think about how much you've disappointed me,” Ron mused. “And maybe then you'll be prepared to behave.”
Harry didn't want to be stuck in the kitchen on his own, tied to a chair, for any length of time.
“And you can damn well sit there and think of me upstairs, having to sort out my own cock because you look fucking delicious right now and I want you more than I've ever wanted you. But you have to learn...”
He really didn't want to think of Ron in the upper levels of the house, masturbating without him. He loved watching Ron wank. It was one of his favourite things in life, because Ron was loud and crude and he had the most amazing long digits with which to finger himself.
“It's your own fault,” Ron pointed out.
Harry couldn't see very well thanks to the cream on his glasses, but he knew Ron was smirking.
“I'll have sweet dreams,” the redhead informed him, before departing the kitchen without a further touch to Harry's desperate body.
Something hot and stinging trickled out of his slit and Harry whimpered to himself.