Author's Notes: Written on a whim three years ago, unfortunately m only foray into Harry/Ron. Betaed by florahart and lardencelover.
"Ugh, no – stop it!" Ron cried and threw his hands over his eyes, leading Harry into their dormitory.
"Ron, why are you so upset? It's only Ginny and Neville," Harry laughed at Ron's distressed facial expression at the unpleasant reminder.
"It's not just Ginny and Neville, Harry," Ron informed him miserably. "That's my sister. I walked in on my sister…" he trailed off, his eyes going blank as his face took on a greenish tinge.
"You can say it, Ron," Harry chided. "You caught your 16-year-old sister fooling around on the couch. No big deal."
"No, she wasn't just fooling around, Harry. She was making out with… Neville Longbottom. In the Common Room, where anyone could have seen!"
"So? I saw…" Ron gulped. "Skin." His nose wrinkled, looking as if he was trying very hard not to picture Neville in any state of nakedness.
"It's not like they were shagging or anything, Ron."
Ron sighed laboriously, looking at Harry as though he was completely missing the point. "You don't get it, Harry. I have a… thing, you know, with images, like a…mental images policy," he finished firmly.
"A mental images policy?"
"Yes. I don't… I prefer not to think of people I know… sexually."
"Not at all?"
"Nope. Find it weird."
Harry seemed to find this a bit distressing. "But... how do you... y'know. Wank?"
"Harry!" Ron looked horror-struck.
"What? It's a perfectly valid question."
"Well, I don't do it thinking of you, that's for sure," Ron laughed awkwardly, his voice sounding funnily strained and hollow.
"Oh," Harry said quietly. "Really?"
"Um, even talking about this makes me uncomfortable. Puts images in my head that… I just don't like them."
"You're weird, mate."
"Don't I know it," he answered sadly, shaking his head.
"So... if I were to, say, mention Hermione," Harry began, once again fighting a grin and thinking immediately of the nasty romance novels his Aunt Petunia used to read. "Heaving breasts and undulating hips and sweet treasure troves and all that--"
"Ugh!Harry!" Ron let out a strangled cry as he desperately tried to cover his ears and eyes at the same time. "Stop it now!"
Harry stifled a laugh. "You're stark raving loony, Ron!"
"I can't help it! You say those… things, and the pictures just pop into my head!"
"What about your mental images policy, eh?"
"That's the whole point of the policy, mate. I have a very vivid imagination… the littlest thing and…" he shuddered visibly. "It's bloody uncomfortable, that's what it is."
"So it really bothers you when I say those things?"
"When anybody says them, Harry."
"Then how…" he trailed off, looking like a light bulb had gone off in his head. "Is that why you always run off when we talk about sex and wanking and the like?"
Ron looked to the floor.
"Oh," Harry said softly. "Seamus swore up and down that you were afraid of sex, or something. He said you must think it was evil, the speed with which you'd go running from the room, ranting about decency."
"It makes me… uncomfortable."
"What? A bunch of boys talking about their wanking habits?"
"It's bloody weird!" Ron flailed his arms about dramatically. "Imagining Seamus's bloody twist-and-pull method or your -" he cut himself off, blushing. "It's just weird."
Harry peered at his blundering best mate with an uncharacteristically calculating gaze, slowly seeming to click the final pieces together and coming to a conclusion.
"And I can't help it – they just come to me, uninvited. Like my mind's trained itself to spite me!"
"So," Harry said loftily, wearing a tight, reluctant smile, "if I said… 'pumping,' what would you see?"
"Or 'throbbing.' Wet. Humping, thrusting, slick, faster, hot…" he railed on and on, finding odd enjoyment as the green tinge returned to Ron's face.
"Stop it, Harry, please," he pleaded quietly, refusing to look Harry in the eyes.
"Or if I…" Harry trailed off, stepping closer to the trembling boy. He had intended to touch his friend and shock him a bit, but the quiet shudder he got as he lay a hand on the Ron's shoulder only confirmed Harry's suspicion and gave him a desperate ache in the pit of his stomach.
He lay a finger on Ron's down-cast jaw and gently coaxed it upwards, leaning forward gingerly and covering the other boy's lips with his own, feeling the need in his belly begin to dissipate and spread warmth throughout his body. Ron tensed up and relaxed all in one movement, tightening his shoulders in shock but allowing his lips to slack against Harry's, letting out a shaky breath that ghosted over Harry's lips.
"Harry…" Ron mumbled against the Harry's lips, caught somewhere between frustration and the need to give into the onslaught of feelings coursing through his body.
Harry, though the initiator of the kiss, was equally at a loss. He'd seen the fear in his best friend's eyes and the bulge straining in his trousers and guessed at their meaning, but he hadn't truly comprehended what it would mean were he right. He let all these feelings he'd suppressed about his best friend rise up and overtake him, leaving him breathless.
There was a soft smack as Harry drew himself away from Ron, who immediately fell forward, crashing heavily against Harry and resting his head in the crook of Harry's neck, pushing hot puffs of air against Harry's skin as he desperately drew for air.
"Harry," he panted, "I told you not to… I didn't want you to know."
"Know what?" Harry queried quietly.
"That -" Ron stopped, drawing up his strength and pulling away from Harry, who then rubbed absently at the spot on his neck now hot and moist with Ron's breath.
"That I have this… problem," Ron finished miserably, plopping down on his bed and burying his head in his hands.
"Problem?" Harry repeated softly, his heart falling into his stomach. He felt as though his lung had been punctured with a sharp object.
"I – I'm sorry, Harry," Ron mumbled into his hands. "I'm a pervert and I shouldn't have… not with you. I'm so sorry."
Harry bit his lip and tried to sound reassuring, despite his palpitating heart and clammy hands. "You're not a pervert, Ron. It's not perverted to like men, really."
Ron finally emerged from his hands and peered up at Harry blankly, his eyes red-rimmed. "I didn't mean that, Harry. I meant… that it was wrong to think of you that way, my best mate, and then kiss you like that. I'm really, really sorry I did that to you."
"But I kissed you, Ron," Harry said delicately, torn between worry and amusement.
"You… you did?"
Harry couldn't help but laugh, smiling for the first time since the emotional onslaught of their kiss. "Yes, you idiot! Did you think I just tripped and fell onto your lips or something?"
"I… I don't know," Ron gave a feeble smile. "I'm just so used to all these… wrong thoughts and I guess I just didn't notice."
"Is that why you came up with this… policy? Because you didn't want to think about me?"
"It was part of it."
"Seemed wrong, somehow, to think about your best mate that way. And you were interested in girls, like Cho. Wait a minute," Ron paused, his eyes lighting up, "you like girls… why the hell did you kiss me?"
"I don't have to like girls all the time, do I?"
"Well, no, but I thought…"
"I don't know," Harry shrugged, "kissing Cho was rubbish, and I haven't liked anyone since then. Except…"
Ron looked at him anxiously.
"There was always my Wheezy," Harry smiled goofily.
"Your what?" Ron questioned, looking at him like he was mad.
"It's nothing, just… something Dobby said once, about you."
"He called me your… Wheezy?" Ron paused, mouthing the word again, as if trying out the feel of it. "Makes me sound like a head cold or something."
Harry smiled at him. "You were the thing I'd miss most… my best mate."
"Your bloody Wheezy, Harry?" Ron rolled his eyes, "You couldn't have corrected him or something?"
"I thought it was cute."
"Cute? I am not cute!"
"Yeah, you are," Harry said with cheerful certainty, pulling Ron up from the bed. "Even if you are a Wheezy."
Ron rolled his eyes and finally cracked a smile.
"A really stupid name, that."
"Almost as stupid as your silly policy."
"Hey!" Ron pulled away in mock upset, "It's a bloody good policy!"
"Please – depriving yourself of mental images is rubbish. What else do you have to bring yourself off with?"
Ron simply gaped at him, at a loss for words.
"Oh, that's right," Harry said, pulling Ron close to him and nuzzling his ear, "you have me for that."
"Harry!" Ron laughed and batted at Harry as he tickled his earlobe with his exploring tongue. "That's so… wrong!"
"It's not so wrong," Harry pulled back and pouted at his friend. "After all, you've just seen Neville Longbottom, mostly naked, fooling around with your little sister. This isn't even in the ballpark of wrong after that."
"Fair point, but just the same, don't remind me," Ron grimaced.
"So…" he stared, transfixed, at Harry's mouth. "do you think I could, maybe, keep the policy and just… apply it selectively?"
"Sure," Harry smiled, "as long as I get to..." He trailed off, mouth meeting Ron's in a kiss that was wet in all the right ways. "... Do that without you freaking out."
"No," Ron bit his lip, flushing crimson, "I won't freak out. Just… I think I may need a cold shower now."
Harry laughed. "A hot shower with the two of us sounds more productive."
Ron flushed again, even darker than before. "Ehm..."
"You're having mental images right now, aren't you?"
"Yeah, lots," Ron peered at Harry sheepishly. "It's… nice."
"Told you," Harry answered matter-of-factly. "So, how about that shower?"
Ron simply nodded mutely, incapable of coherent speech. Harry grinned in triumph and grabbed hold of his hand, dragging him toward the bathroom. There was only one thing better than mental images – acting on them, and Harry intended to be rather thorough in demonstrating this to Ron. He'd have to congratulate Neville later for landing a Weasley. And thank him for helping Harry land a Weasley of his own.