#rormac

I know Roarmac isn’t really your jig, but since you gave me the option to write whichever pairing I wanted…I took the opportunity haha. 

This drabble is heavily inspired by this video of two drunk men. I recommend you watch it to maximize the hilarity of this drabble. 

49. “I’m really drunk, please help me.”

In a relationship, there was a time for everything. One had to be prepared to love and fight and forgive and laugh and cry. Cormac knew that. One had to be ready to stick through everything. Cormac was always ready. Up till now. Now, however, Cormac was, for the first time, supposed to be the responsible boyfriend. The sane one. The rational half of the duo.

If Cormac had to compare his and Ron’s relationship to anything, he would compare it to a set of nice, evenly sized balls: each testicle pulling equally heavily to its side - sometimes stubbornly and selfishly trying to one-up the other nut - but still making a perfect unit together.

Today, however, Cormac felt immense heaviness on his side of the family jewels. The scrotum of his testicle was stretched tight with the burden of responsibility.

“Rooon,” he moaned, looking at the dishevelled state his boyfriend was in.

Ron looked up, confused and disoriented, seeming to have trouble focusing.. “What?” he slurred.

Merlin’s hairy chest, he was as drunk as a goblin on Beltane night. Cormac sighed. He had managed to get Ron’s attention for all of five seconds but it slipped as fast as it came and he was once again focused on the task he’d been trying to (hopelessly) achieve for the past fifteen minutes.

He picked up the bicycle, which had fallen to the ground for the third time in a row now, and leant it against the lamp post. He then bent down towards a long tree stump, took hold of it and tried lifting it up. Although Ron was strong, he was also currently completely uncoordinated; he managed to lift the stump but had put so much force into lifting it that he toppled backwards into the soft grass. Hugging the stump.

Cormac felt like the ballsack that represented him in the relationship was about to burst.

For a reason unknown to him, Ron was bent on taking this random tree stump he found by the road home. He also insisted he take it home on the bicycle he came to the pub with. How he thought he was going to do that was beyond Cormac’s mental abilities. And beyond Ron’s physical ones, it seemed.

“I’m really drunk, please help me,” Ron cried from under the log that he refused to let go of.

“I’m not helping you. I told you competing with Draz in who will drink more vodka was a stupid thing to do. You knew he was going to cheat.” Cormac had been the sane one the whole evening. He didn’t drink. He couldn’t. He was driving. A bike, yes, but safety first. Besides, alcohol just about ruined muscle regeneration. He wasn’t about to risk his biceps for a few shots of vodka, thank you very much.

“Cor. My wonderful muscly god of iron. Lord of dumbbells- and like- gym stuff.” Ron hiccuped. “Please, help.”

Ugh. With compliments like that he could barely stand by and watch Ron suffer. He gave in and helped him to his feet, but insisted that Ron first let go of the dirty stump. He wasn’t dirtying his new white Nike jacket for this.

“Let’s go home,” he said. (Responsibly.) “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

“Ok.” Ron nodded and all but folded onto Cormac, nuzzling into his neck. “But you need to help me take the log home.”

“You don’t need that tree stump.” Cormac was simply not ready for this. How did one use logic to convince people what they were doing was stupid?

“I do,” Ron all but mewled into his neck.

“Why?” Cormac was getting exasperated and Cormac never got exasperated. Other’s got exasperated with Cormac, not vice versa.

“Because.” Well, great. Now Ron sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Because-” it was barely a whisper against his neck, “- because I love it.”

Cormac groaned.

Pairing: Ron/Cormac 

Rating: M (for suggestive language)

Word Count: 

Summary: Cormac is ridiculous, but maybe so is Ron.

A/N: For @synonym-for-life & @aibidil I dont know how I ended up writing Roarmac. OMG. Thank you @restlessandordinary for the quick beta. If you want to see the meme that inspired it that @synonym-for-life showed me then look under the cut

There were a lot of things about dating Cormac that Ron had to get used to. The first was being involved with someone who was even louder than he was, the second was dating someone whose idea of a good Friday night involved perusing the newest line of protein shakes at Magee’s Magical Muscle Mart in Diagon Alley—wiseley sandwiched between Florean Flortescue’s and a new get fit quick gym where the equipment was enchanted to do half the work for you—and dating someone who had absolutely no desire to change a single thing about Ron.

That last one was the one Ron liked best. Especially because, as shocking as it would’ve been to Ron two years prior, he had no desire to change Cormac either. He liked the way he’d changed—more humble, less of a complete and utter prick, less a sexist arse really—but he liked the ways he hadn’t changed—still competitive, still loud and still stubborn. It meant that Ron never felt the need to tone himself down, to be less or more than he was.

But sometimes, sometimes, he was reminded of how completely and utterly ridiculous Cormac could be.

“It was supposed to be lettuce wrapped. I don’t want all my carbs yet,” Cormac told the cashier who looked like he was fresh out of Hogwarts, still dewy eyed and under the impression he might one day leave this five sickles an hour job. Ron wasn’t sure what Cormac liked about Bowtruckle Burger’s so much. Maybe because they usually let you get extra cheese for no extra charge, or maybe because, despite his protests, Cormac secretly liked a man in uniform. Ron wondered how long it would be before the cashier resigned himself to wearing the hideous purple and green striped robes the rest of his life. “And look,” Cormac all but yelled, leaning on the counter to pull the hamburger apart. “You left off the cheese. Cheese doesn’t have carbs. You’ve got it all wrong.” Cormac was still smiling but he was the only one.

The cashier sighed, straightening his bowtie—the tiny rainbows on it began to shimmer—and plastering on a smile as fake as his hair. “Perhaps you should be more clear when you order next time.”

Cormac made a choking noise, rising up off his elbows to stand up tall in all of his six feet three inch glory. “Perhaps you should listen a bit better next time. I clearly said no bread, mate. It doesn’t take an O in Transfigurations to know what that means.”

The cashier slammed his hands on the table and Ron sighed. He looked exactly like Hermione when he and Harry told Hermione there was no difference between the original edition of Hogwarts a History and the new revised Edition they’d put out on the five year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts last year—he’d clearly snapped.

“See, this is the reason all you straight men are fucking trash, always think you’re right,” the cashier snapped

Ron wished he could see Cormac’s face, and also wished he wasn’t sitting in the booth at the front of the restaurant for whatever was about to happen.

“Straight men? Straight men?” The pitch of his voice increased and Ron could see the vein in the side of his neck pop out exactly like the vein in his cock did when he was close to coming. “I will have you know I like dick!” Ron could feel every eye swivel to Cormac, not that he ever noticed when people were staring. “His dick!” Cormac added even louder, turning to point at Ron.

Ron felt the tips of his ears burn as everyone turned their eyes on him. His face felt like it was on fire and he wished desperately he had Harry’s invisibility cloak.

“I like his dick and everything else about him,” Cormac said, and this time instead of addressing the wide eyed teenage cashier he was clearly addressing Ron.

Ron’s stomach flipped. It was ridiculous. This was ridiculous. Cormac was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. Ron’s feet seemed to be moving of his own accord as he ignored the stares and whispers and wrapped his arm around Cormac’s waist and hooked his thumb under the waistband of his joggers. The warmth of Cormac’s strong stomach muscles gave him courage.

“Come on then let's go home and eat.”

Cormac looked confused but pleased. “We don't have burgers at home,” he said slowly.

Ron plastered on his best fuck you smile, the one he wore when one of the customers at Weasley’s Wizard Wheeze’s made him want to transfigure himself into a pin cushion. “No but we've got arse and dick and I'm suddenly ravenous.”

The cashier spluttered in shock and without waiting for further reaction Ron apparated them both to their flat, directly in the middle of the bed. Ron really had been craving a hamburger, but then again Cormac's cock was enough of a snack he didn't think he minded.

OMG Estrella I can’t believe you made me write this I hate you but I love you lmao 😂😂😂

Prompt 12: Spandex.

*******

Today was the day Ron would ask Cormac out. The decision was made, and nothing would distract him from his goal.

He walked into the gym, shoulders squared and chin up, hands in his trousers’ pockets to stop himself from fidgeting. Ron had made an effort to choose his best fitting clothes, but now he felt out of place with everyone wearing joggers and sweatshirts. He headed straight for the lifting area, passing by the spinning and zumba classes and ignoring the shouts of their respective instructors.

Ron searched for a blond head among the several leg press, lat pull-down and rowing machines with no success. But when he looked over to the mirror-covered wall to his left, his mouth fell open.

Cormac had his back to him, his eyes strictly on his reflection. Ron had seen him doing barbell squats before, but never while wearing the obscenely tight, fluorescent green spandex shorts he had on in that moment. Ron swallowed hard, watching Cormac’s muscles flex and his arms glistening with a sheen of sweat. He could’ve been stared for a minute or an hour, he wasn’t really sure. Only the clanking sound of the barbell hitting the floor snapped him to reality.

“Alright there, Ron?” said Cormac, looking at him through the mirror. He had a mischievous smirk on his lips that made Ron’s face go hot.

“Yeah, er.” He cleared his throat and looked away, scratching the back of his neck and too flustered to notice the snickering blokes around him.

“That’s a pretty uncomfortable outfit to work out in,

Ron looked up to see Cormac walking toward him, and holy fuck, you could clearly see the defined lines of his entire cock against the spandex. Ron’s mouth watered, his own cock twitched with interest as he imagined himself running his tongue over the fabric until it was completely wet.

“Unless you’re here for something else?”

“Fuck,” Ron whispered, barely aware that the word had left his mouth.

Cormac took a final step closer and, with a soft touch on Ron’s chin, he tilted his head up until their eyes met.

This is for @synonym-for-life​ and @frnklymrshnkly​ and everyone who has ever said 🤔🤔🤔 when reading smut.

Ron’s nose scrunched in bemusement as he studied the book resting on his legs, When Wands Collide. “Can scrotums be muscled?”

Behind the sofa, Cormac paused mid-squat and peered down at his crotch apprehensively. His blue eyes shone with what Ron thought was self-consciousness as he asked, “What?”

“This erotica,” Ron said, waving the book in the air, “just described the Unspeakable’s bollocks as muscled. ‘Fernando’s balls are firm, virile, and muscled, never wrinkled or saggy, and Lucretio needs to feel their weight in his hand’.”

Cormac paused his workout, and Ron made a mental note that one way to get Cormac to take a break from his circuits, apparently, was to raise the semantics of balls. Generally, Cormac just talked through his exertion, peppering his conversations with grunts and heaves. Ron could do without the grunts and heaves—he didn’t even like the grunts and heaves mid-fuck, much less in the middle of a discussion about renewing their Muggle identities with the Ministry because they were about to expire (a conversation that had happened while Cormac was doing burpees, just yesterday).

Cormac peered over Ron’s shoulder, his sweaty hair brushing Ron’s cheek. “Where?”

Ron pointed, holding the book up to give Cormac a better view. “Is it scrotums?” Ron asked, thoughtful.

“Is what?”

“Two scrotes. Is it ‘scrotums’?”

“Yah, I think,” Cormac said. “Or could be scrota. Is it, like, Latin?"

“I just don’t understand how it could be muscled,” Ron said, and it’s not as if he didn’t have plenty of first-hand experience with scotums. Scrota.

“I mean, it has to have muscles, though,” Cormac said. “It moves.” He paused. “Sometimes.”

“Well, fuck, yeah but my eyelids also have muscles—because reflexes and shit—and you wouldn’t describe my eyelids as muscled.” Ron heard a strange noise and turned to see what Cormac was doing. “Why are you dropping trou?”

“Research, bro,” Cormac said, pulling his beefy legs out of his shorts.

Ron moved away slightly, concerned about what this scrotum research might involve. If it involved weights, Ron wanted to be a good distance away. “Please don’t try to hang weights off your balls,” Ron pleaded. “I don’t have the wherewithal to explain that at St Mungo’s.”

Cormac honked a laugh and slapped Ron on the shoulder. “Nah, mate, that’s not what I meant by research. I’m just going to see how strong your scrote is, despite its wrinkles.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you want me to go back to my circuits?”

The Bro Whey

6.7k, Explicit 

When Ron and Cormac become flatmates a lot happens at once. A lot of wanking, a lot of sexual frustration, and a lot of figuring it all out. Such is the way of a bro gay.

Tags: bros, flatmates, Sexuality Crisis, Bisexual Male Character, Protein, Protein Everywhere, Singing to Silly Songs, 2000s Hits Bby, Anal Sex, wanking, Lots of abs everywhere