Title: Deviating

Author: tarotgal

Fandom: Harry Potter

Time/Setting: Sixth or Seventh year

Rating: NC-17

Parings: Harry/Neville

Warnings: Slash and lots of self/mutual-gratification

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I write this only in fun and mean no harm

Summary: Neville has a special routine on Tuesday evenings. Harry has a head cold.

Deviating

     Neville Longbottom liked routines. There was something about the predictability of them that relaxed him. He liked taking meals at the same time every day whereas he hated when the password to Gryffindor tower was changed. He liked attending the same lessons every week but hated when exams broke the flow. And he liked Tuesdays at six in the evening as it always found him outside, rain or shine, sitting in the far stands of the Quidditch Pitch.

     Tuesdays at six was when the Hufflepuff Quidditch team had their practice sessions. Having been brought up in a wizarding household, enjoying a good game of Quidditch was second to breathing. While his gran never wanted to go see the big games, he remembered times in his childhood when she'd taken him to some of the smaller matches. And he'd gone with his aunts and uncles at times as well. Enjoying the thrill of the flying, the excitement of the scoring, the anticipation of the snitch catching, the roar of the crowds, and the deliciousness of the boys in their Quidditch robes.

     There were more women than men on the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team, but Neville preferred quality to quantity any day. He sat in the stands, gazing up at the flyers as they started their warm-ups with a few laps around the pitch and a few simple catches. He'd been coming to watch their practices every week for two years, and they'd never once noticed him, even as they flew their laps, only meters from where he sat in the stands.

     He's always thought he belonged most in Hufflepuff. The caring, the openness, the friendship. Not the bravest or the smartest or the slimiest. Hufflepuffs, he felt, were always looked down upon. But Neville could relate to that. And Neville really admired them. There had been no surprise when he'd been sorted into Gryffindor, considering his parents and entire family had been in that house. But he couldn't help admiring the Hufflepuffs and their many familiar qualities just the same. And if he couldn't be one, the closest he could do was lust after some.

     He looked up, watching the Hufflepuffs whiz around the pitch. He loved the way their black and gold robes flapped in the wind, the way their cheeks went rosy with the chill autumn air, the way their ass cheeks clung to their broom handles with perfect precision and balance. Their beautiful round asses that were usually hidden under robes were perfectly visible as they sat down tightly on their brooms. Their hands gripped the broom handles with great skill, sliding up and down. And when there was but one hand left on the shaft, the other used to catch a ball or swing a beater bat, that hand was clenched so hard that the knuckles went white.

     Neville sat and watched as they began drills and practicing formations. Soon they would progress to practicing certain plays, then start all-out game-play. That was their routine. And Neville liked routines. He liked hiding in the stands every Tuesday at six, knowing that the team would be practicing, knowing that they'd do the same things every practice. He liked knowing that they were reliable. Knowing that roughly seventeen minutes into practice, one of the beaters would pelt a bludger over the team's heads. Then one of the chasers would pass the quaffle to another, hidden by the bludger distraction. And then the chaser would aim the quaffle for the goal at which time the goalie would spin upside-down on his broom to block it, sending his robes up by his ears. It was difficult for Neville to hold back his anticipation for the moment, and difficult not to show his excitement after it occurred. As he caught a glimpse at the bulge in the seventh year boy's briefs, Neville had to bite his lip to contain his emotions. And, after taking a last look at the boys on brooms, he tore from the Quidditch Pitch and headed to Gryffindor tower, as was his routine.

     He entered the castle, passing by the great hall on the way in. There was a commotion at the Gryffindor table that seemed to have been caused by someone using a Weasley product. Even though Fred and George were no longer at the school, their mischief lived on through the products that were widely purchased by Gryffindors, especially. Neville recalled the many occasions he had been the butt of one of the twins' jokes, or the target of one of their pranks, and he had no desire to become involved in whatever situation their goods might have caused this time. He was sure he'd hear all about it later from the boys. Anyway, he had better things to do.

     He dared not touch himself in the hallways, for the paintings were always watching. Though he suspected they all knew he wanted to. Every Tuesday racing through the halls at top walking speed with a very noticeable hard-on. They had long since told him to slow down or learn to control himself. They had been on the walls so long that he was sure they understood how horny young boys could get and that it wasn't their fault. Though he hoped none of the paintings knew his was in response to watching those sexy boys practicing Quidditch. Neville could barely bring himself to attend matches when the Hufflepuffs were playing and he thought perhaps the paintings noticed his absences or hesitations on those days.

     Neville recalled the password on the way back, nearly shouting it at The Fat Lady to gain entrance. Bursting with anticipation, he raced through the empty common room and up the stairs to his dormitory. As he did every Tuesday around this time, he jumped up onto his bed, drew the curtains tightly shut and, kneeling, lifted up his robes in the front.

     The first touch to his hurting erection made a deep groan escape his lips. He tugged his underpants down to his knees, not wanting to change positions just to get them off. He had to do this now or he felt he might explode. One hand on his now bare thigh, the other stroking rhythmically, he closed his eyes. His hand stopped stroking to gentle massage his balls with his fingertips, then grip the head of his cock and give it a good rub with his thumb. Then it was back to stroking, hand closed around his cock, slipping up and down. "Assio lube!" he whispered, pointing his wand towards his nightstand. The bottle came flying out at him almost too fast to catch. His excitement seemed to have summoned it there faster than he'd counted on. After applying it to the head and then spreading it down the shaft, it was impossible to keep both hands off himself. One hand stroked, while the other teased the head, or his balls, or reached around beneath his robes to his ass. He rocked as he pumped himself, forwards and backwards, slow at first, then faster as his rubbings quickened. He was panting, sweating, moaning, but all in pleasure.

     Neville was bursting with urges, bringing to memory the sights of the Hufflepuff boys first with their tight asses against the broom, then images of others. Images of the slick, tight-assed young Slytherins. Images of shirtless Ravenclaws after that prank two years ago. Images of his fellow Gryffindors in the showers beside him. Images of a certain fellow Gryffindor. Images of the boys he wanted most but had not the courage to talk to, let alone ask for sex. But in his lust-filled imagination, moments before ejaculation, they never turned him down. In his imagination, they played with themselves, too, at the sight of him. In his imagination, they joined him and let him touch them. They smiled and offered themselves to him.

     A deep, shaking, loud moan escaped his lips as he doubled over, going rigid and ruining his sheets and robes with his orgasm. He panted, frozen in place for a few moments, sweat running down his cheek and dripping down to his knee. He was exhausted, warn out, but thoroughly pleased, taking comfort in even this part of his routine.

     "ahhCHIH-shmphhh! CHUHmphhh!" The sneezer had clearly tried to stifle them to no avail.

     A fierce shiver coursed through Neville. In all his haste to touch himself, in all his comfort in following the schedule, he'd forgotten about Harry. Harry, who, he recalled now, had not been down in the dining hall with the others. Harry, who had been sick in bed all day today. Harry, who had easily heard every lust-filled pant and breathless grunt.

     Absolutely terrified, Neville could now not bring himself to move. Not only was his routine completely ruined, but Harry had discovered him. Harry. It was no secret that boys his age did this sort of thing, whether they wanted to or not. There'd be a mess in the mornings if they didn't take care of it themselves. Neville had been woken many times to similar sounds coming from other beds in the room. Or heard strangled gasps in the showers some mornings. There was no shame in the act itself, even if Neville had very much meant it to be a private one. The problem was that the boy whose face had appeared in his mind just before shooting was even now in the bed just across the room, and had heard every bit of his display. Of all the boys, why did it have to be Harry?

     Neville sat upright as he heard the hangings of a bed slide to one side. Then he heard footsteps cross the room, coming straight towards him. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. This was something he couldn't handle. Harry, barefooted from the sound of it, in his handsome pajamas, coming to check on him. "Neville?" he heard, and the voice sounded as though Harry were nearly upon him. "You all right?"

     His voice caught in his throat, Neville nodded. Then swore silently at himself as Harry plainly could not see the gesture. "One second!" squeaked Neville. He grabbed his wand and muttered. "Scourgify!" The mess did not vanish. "Fuck!" Neville swore. Gran would have washed his mouth out with magical soap for that one, but it seemed highly appropriate at the moment. "Scourgify!" he said again. But his hand was weak and his voice trembling in fear. And the spell did not work. "Oh, come on!" he begged, nearly in tears. "Scour... scour..." but it was no use, and Neville broke down. Doubling over and shaking again, this time with sobs.

     "hahChishhh! Sniff!" A pause. "Hey, Neville. I'm coming in to help."

     Neville shook harder, wrapping one arm over the gap between his legs and face to hide his tears and his mess, and sliding the other arm beneath his legs to hug them closer to himself. He tried to tell Harry not to come, but only sobs came.

     Harry climbed up onto the bed beside him, and closed the curtains behind tightly so not a bit of light shown through the gaps. It was dark now, late in the fall evening when the sun was already setting and less light shown through their window. Had he peeked at Harry, he would have seen only a dark form kneeling on the bed beside him. Harry could not see him clearly, either, be reached out and pulled Neville up with hands on the boy's shoulders. "It's all right," Harry whispered comforting. He reached down with a handkerchief and wiped Neville's stomach and thighs and cock. He eased the robes over Neville's head and wiped at the bed sheets as well. "Nothing to be ashamed of," Harry said.

     Neville could not meet Harry's eyes. He looked away, tears still streaming down his face. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should have made sure no one was in here."

     Harry crawled to the head of the bed and pulled a blanket down. He crawled back down with it, wrapping it around Neville's shoulders to keep him warm, hoping that would stop him from shaking so much. "Look, I don't mind," Harry said. "I've been alone up here all day feeling sick and miserable and to tell you the truth... I rather enjoyed listening, actually." He smiled sheepishly, looking away from Neville who was still looking away from him. "Just wish I hadn't sneezed and spooked you like that. I was trying to be quiet."

     Was Harry really saying what it sounded like Harry was saying? Neville looked over, still avoiding Harry's face, and noticed a familiar shape in his pajama bottoms. He longed to reach over for it, to feel how hard Harry was. How hard he'd made Harry. But his hands were frozen still. He hadn't even managed to pull his underpants back up or off or anything.

     "Well..." Harry said awkwardly. "I guess I'll get back to bed..." He sounded as though he did not wish to leave. "ahhCHIHShhhhh! hahCHUHH! Sniff! I gotta get adother hadky adyway." He paused a moment, rubbing a finger under his nose boyishly, then climbed off the bed. Neville listened as the footsteps headed back across the room, and the curtains slid closed again. "ahhhCHIHH! ahhhCHESHHhhhh! hah-HA-CHIHShhhhhh!" It was silly for Neville, still trembling a bit beneath the blanket, to think that Harry would be aroused when he was so sick. Neville couldn't care less, especially when it came to Harry in those handsome pajamas, but Neville supposed Harry didn't feel up to doing anything more than lying down and blowing his nose right about now. "Oh-AH!"

     Neville's eyes widened at the gasp. He knew that gasp. It was the sound he replayed in his head sometimes when he was touching himself. It was the sound of Harry Potter. He knew he should leave the dormitory room to give Harry privacy. He knew he should, but he couldn't. He was spell-bound by the sound, and he simply wasn't a strong enough wizard to break out of it. It took him a few seconds more for the thought to occur to him that Harry might actually want Neville to hear him. Why else would he not have waited? Why else would he have said all those things to Neville and then gone over and immediately touched himself. At the thought of seeing Harry with his hand down the waistband of his flannels, Neville pulled himself out of bed, leaving his underpants behind but taking the blanket as the dormitory was bloody chilly.

     "Harry?" he called, standing outside Harry's bed. "You... you all right?"

     "Ahh... yeah... just..." Harry gave a soft, indescribably moan that made another shiver course through Neville. Harry was intentionally not keeping quiet. Neville took it as an invitation and climbed up onto Harry's bed.

     It was just as he'd pictured. Harry lounged like a god against a stack of pillows, on top of soft, fluffy blankets, his hand down his pants, rubbing himself. He even wanked off looking handsome and dignified. Harry looked up at him, sniffling. "Hey, I know I probably look and sound horribly unsexy but..."

     Harry didn't have to finish asking. Neville threw off his blanket and lay down beside Harry. "Don't say that," he whispered, breathing softly against Harry's neck. "You look fantastic."

     Harry smiled meekly and turned his head, sneezing freely. "hahKUHShhhh! ahhCHIHShhhh!"

     Neville found a handkerchief by Harry's pillow, just one of many that seemed spread around the bed. "This okay to use?" Harry nodded and turned his head back, sniffling as Neville rubbed his nose for him.

     Shrugging, Harry sniffled. "Sorry. This head cold... I've been sneh-hehCHUSHhhh! hahCHIHShhhhh! ahhChishhhhh! Sniff! sneezing all day."

     Neville reached up and pressed his hand to Harry's forehead. "You are a little warm. You sure you want to do this?"

     Harry grabbed Neville's wrist and pressed Neville's hand to his crotch. "I'm going to do it with or without you." He smiled, catching Neville's eyes finally. "It'll just be much easier with you here."

     Another shiver raced through Neville, and his hand tensed, feeling Harry through his pajamas. He was hard. Very hard. And while Neville couldn't do anything to help Harry's cold, he certainly could do something to help Harry's raging hard-on. His hand dove beneath the waistband, the top of his hand brushing against the flannel, the bottom sliding over Harry's erection. It was hard, yes, but the skin felt so soft and warm. Harry closed his eyes and smiled widely. "You have such a, sniff, tender touch, Neville. Sniff! Sniff!"

     Neville smiled, wiping Harry's nose with the handkerchief in his other hand. "I can be tender." His fingers swirled around Harry's cock from base to tip, getting a feel for it. He applied just enough pressure to let Harry feel it and that smile on Harry's face only widened. Then he tickled Harry's balls lightly, earning a pleasured gasp in reward. Harry liked that. Neville made a note to add it to the sequence. Rubbing, tickling. He took the cock in his hand, holding firmly, and began stroking. Swift, smooth movements, though slightly hindered by the pajamas rubbing against his knuckles.

     Neville tugged at the waistband, and Harry got the idea. "Oh, yeah, sorry," Harry said, pulling off his top, then wiggling out of his bottoms with Neville's help. Though Neville now had a clear shot at Harry's crotch, Harry now shivered. Neville recovered his blanket and threw it around both their shoulders, wrapping it tightly around them. "You're so warm," Harry said, reaching over and touching Neville's chest.

     "You'll warm up, too... just give it a few minutes," Neville said, scooting closer to Harry. He was lying sideways but lounging against the pillows to match Harry. His leg moved forward, resting, bent, on top of Harry's thigh, his chest pressed against Harry's side. Harry sighed and closed his eyes, smiling at the warm touch. Then the expression on his face grew serious and screwed up. "You've got a cold. Sneeze if you need to. Use the blanket if you want. Or my shoulder. I really don't care." He looked from Harry's eyes to his crotch, then back up. "I want you to release everything. Hold nothing back."

     Harry smiled meekly and turned his head into Neville's blanket-covered shoulder. "heh-hah-Chushphhh! ahhChummph-uhh! Sniff! Oh... Neville!" Neville's palm and fingers were twisting and turning around the head of Harry's cock, as though Neville were trying to unscrew something. The sensations were maddeningly wonderful. Neville began a pattern, stroking, rubbing, circling, tickling. Harry began wheezing, and Neville became concerned. "S'okay," he muttered, smiling. "Just go slowly or I'm liable to pass out." Neville's eyes widened. "Kidding, Nev-ille-hahCHISHhhhh! Sniff! Sorry!"

     "No apologizing, remember?" He wasn't going to live his dream by giving The Boy-Who-Lived a handjob just to have him apologizing through the whole thing. "Just relax and let it out."

     Harry nodded, sniffling. Neville smiled back, varying his pattern and rhythm just enough so that he kept Harry guessing, and panting for more. He felt Harry's hands race over him, one wrapping around Neville from behind, the other rubbing up and down Neville's forearm in reassurance. And just when Harry's cock began to get too sensitive from the rubbings, Neville draped a handkerchief over it and rubbed through it. "I can be tender... and I can be rough." He gave Harry's balls a tug.

Harry gasped in reaction, grabbing Neville's wrist hard. "Careful... I'm..."

     "You're close, I know," Neville replied with a grin. He reached up and brushed the sweaty bangs from Harry's forehead. He glimpsed the lightning bolt scar for a moment, then let the bangs cover it. Harry was just like every other boy right now, except that he was letting Neville touch him, something no other boy had ever done. Harry was special, and it didn't take this for Neville to see that. He was more than everyone thought he was. Neville took great care in stroking him in just the right way to let him enjoy it.

"Neville!" Harry called out, breathlessly. Then his voice caught and instead of sneezing again, he pitched forward then fell back, back arching, body tensing with a shudder. He groaned deeply, giving a great sigh at the release. Neville wasn't fooled as he felt Harry's hand caress his chest. This didn't mean they were dating, or that they'd even ever do this again. It was just the sort of thing that happens to horny boys when they're friends. Especially when one gets confined to his sick bed without visitors and excitement for a day or two. Neville patted Harry's cheek and made to pull away. "Do you have to go? Or, um, if you want to go..."

     Neville shook his head. "I thought you'd want me to. I mean, you're..." He was Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. "You're..." The star seeker on the Gyffindor House team. The Tri-Wizard Champion. "You're..." Harry Potter.

     "I'm the kind of guy who likes to cuddle after this kind of thing. Especially when I'm cold and feeling a little sick. Hah-KEHShhhhh! Chishhhhh! Sniff! Unless you'd rather go..."

     Neville wiped the handkerchief over Harry, cleaning him off. He pulled Harry closer wrapping his arms securely around him. "Got a handkerchief for your nose?" he asked. Harry nodded, locating one, holding it up. "Sitting up enough so that your head's not stuffed?" Harry nodded again. "All warm and comfy?"

     "I'm fine, Neville." He pulled himself up a bit and kissed Neville's chin. Neville blushed. "You're a cutie, you know? Thanks. I needed that tonight." He sniffled and closed his eyes. "I needed you."

     Neville grinned. He knew Harry was probably too sick and exhausted to know quite what he was saying. But it was nice to hear nonetheless. And Neville was exceedingly glad that he had been given the chance to deviate from his routine and, for once, it had paid off. One thing was for sure, he wouldn't be waiting until the next Hufflepuff Quidditch practice to treat himself again. Not with an experience like this one burned in his mind. He hugged Harry close as the boy fell asleep against him.