Ronarry One Shots

| The Curse of Wanting PT. 2

Ron doesn't see Harry until the night of the stag party, with his mum preoccupying any and all of Harry's free time with wedding planning—even though the entire charade is already planned. Ron knows it's all for the appearance of Ginny and Harry having some say in the matter.

Ron barely greets Harry when they arrive at the club, his collar feeling too tight. When they step inside, Ron bolts directly for the bar.

"Shot of vodka, please," he blurts to the barman, who raises his eyebrow.

"Alright there, sailor," he chuckles, setting a crystal shot glass in front of him and pouring the shot.

Ron throws it back, then says, "Another."

"Shall we open a tab for you, sir?"

Ron looks at the man, confused, but Harry rescues him. "Harry Potter. And I'll take two pints of whatever you recommend."

Ron gawks at him and sputters. "But this is your party. You shouldn't be paying—"

Harry waves him off. "Don't worry about it. We can settle up later."

They won't. Harry never lets Ron pay him back. Even when he hid a sack of Galleons in Harry's pants drawer, it ended up in the fruit bowl at Ron's flat.

"How'd you find this place again?" Harry asks into Ron's ear, the music thumping through the establishment.

"Er... Welp* said this was the best Muggle club with no cover and cheap drinks, so..."

"Not that it's a problem, but..." Harry turns to glance around the room, then back at Ron. "I think this is a gay bar."

Ron's eyes widen, quickly scanning the dance floor—at all the men grinding up against one another. The only females in attendance were clearly spectators, sipping on cocktails and living their BL fantasies—or whatever Hermione calls those Muggle smut comics she loves so much.

Ron is such an idiot.

"It's fine," says Harry, squeezing Ron's shoulder and smiling reassuringly. "It'll be fun."

Ron raises an eyebrow as Harry hands him a pint, then settles up with the bartender. When Harry turns around, he leans against the bar beside Ron. Harry's gaze wanders the room as he sips his beer, and then his grin broadens as he gestures with his glass towards the dance floor.

"Looks like Neville's already having a great time."

Ron follows Harry's line of sight to where Neville is sandwiched between two men, grinding up against them with a drink in each hand. He catches sight of Ron and Harry and winks, waving them over.

"Blimey," Ron huffs, shaking his head. "How's Longbottom got more action than us?"

"Well, we got to get out there if we want in on the action," says Harry, taking another drink.

"You... in there?" asks Ron, pointing from Harry to the rutting band of blokes.

"Why not? We're here to get pissed and dance, right? And you still have to show me those moves." Harry mimics Ron's awkward body wave, but it's far sexier when standing... and when it's Harry.

Ron swallows the last of his beer, his palms sweating as he waves down the bartender. "Six more shots of vodka, please," he called over the music, and Harry's eyes bulged in their sockets.

"That's a bit—"

Six empty shot glasses appear before them, the bartender filling them one by one in a single smooth motion. Ron slides three over to Harry, then picks up one of his own, lifting it to 'cheers' Harry.