Routine - PG - R/Hr, R/G
Warnings: Implied, perhaps unrequited, incest.
Rating: PG
Summary: This is how it goes.
Pairing: Ron/Hermione, Ron/Ginny
ROUTINE
For G itsbeenvery
This is how it goes:
He sleeps with his eyes open sometimes, burning fractured lights and jangled stars in the deep blue that are his irises. Sometimes he'll awake in the hours of early morning -- traces of sunbeams climbing up hills and mountains -- and he'll perch himself on the edge of his bed, hands clasped together as he counts the number of freckles that he can see.
He stays like this while everyone gathers in the commons, and he takes advantage of this time alone to think about nothing and everything. The thoughts that run rampant in his head are too much to really identify -- to specify. When he collects himself, he walks downstairs with a lethargic gait, stretching his arms across his chest until he can hear the alarming crack in his joints. Everyone looks at him -- the girls squeal in disgust, and the boys simply laugh -- and when they realise everyone has congregated, they exit the portrait and chatter all the way to the Great Hall.
And there he is, left all alone with the pretty girl and her dusty book. He saunters in that swaggering sway of his -- lazy and with ease -- and looms over her, his shadow darkening the pages littered with text.
When she looks up, her cheeks are rosy and her eyes are bright. Her hair is wild and soft, and he finds himself tangling his fingers in them, strands curling and slipping away.
"Good morning, Ron." She says.
"Morning," he mumbles in reply.
This is their routine, followed closely by:
"Where's Ginny?" he asks.
And she answers, "With Harry."
He drops his hand by his side and he stands there, almost awkwardly, and sighs. The electricity that they had built from day one of their first year is slowly beginning to wither away; he can feel it humming in his bones. He wonders, sometimes, if she feels the same way.
Curious, he bends down and touches her lips with his. The spark is subtle, but when he closes his eyes it ignites. He can see red waves and a smatter of freckles on peach-skin, and he has to swallow the excitement building inside of him and the blood that roars in his veins.
He doesn't realise what's happening until she pushes him away with a sharp gasp. He gazes at her, her eyes wide with shock and her lips parted slightly. She looks flushed and scared and confused -- a swirling mess of emotions are flickering in the dark depths of her eyes, and he can't help but wonder.
"Hey, are you two coming or what?"
The sweet, gentle voice floods him and he looks toward the portrait hole, where his younger sister is waiting for them. She's beaming -- her eyes twinkling and her skin so very lovely.
He smiles back and jogs over to her until he's just a foot away. He looks over his shoulder at his best friend, his girlfriend, and cocks his head to the side.
"Coming?"
She stares at him, a dawn of understanding settling in her features. She stands.
"Of course."
• •
Rating: PG
Summary: This is how it goes.
Pairing: Ron/Hermione, Ron/Ginny
ROUTINE
For G itsbeenvery
This is how it goes:
He sleeps with his eyes open sometimes, burning fractured lights and jangled stars in the deep blue that are his irises. Sometimes he'll awake in the hours of early morning -- traces of sunbeams climbing up hills and mountains -- and he'll perch himself on the edge of his bed, hands clasped together as he counts the number of freckles that he can see.
He stays like this while everyone gathers in the commons, and he takes advantage of this time alone to think about nothing and everything. The thoughts that run rampant in his head are too much to really identify -- to specify. When he collects himself, he walks downstairs with a lethargic gait, stretching his arms across his chest until he can hear the alarming crack in his joints. Everyone looks at him -- the girls squeal in disgust, and the boys simply laugh -- and when they realise everyone has congregated, they exit the portrait and chatter all the way to the Great Hall.
And there he is, left all alone with the pretty girl and her dusty book. He saunters in that swaggering sway of his -- lazy and with ease -- and looms over her, his shadow darkening the pages littered with text.
When she looks up, her cheeks are rosy and her eyes are bright. Her hair is wild and soft, and he finds himself tangling his fingers in them, strands curling and slipping away.
"Good morning, Ron." She says.
"Morning," he mumbles in reply.
This is their routine, followed closely by:
"Where's Ginny?" he asks.
And she answers, "With Harry."
He drops his hand by his side and he stands there, almost awkwardly, and sighs. The electricity that they had built from day one of their first year is slowly beginning to wither away; he can feel it humming in his bones. He wonders, sometimes, if she feels the same way.
Curious, he bends down and touches her lips with his. The spark is subtle, but when he closes his eyes it ignites. He can see red waves and a smatter of freckles on peach-skin, and he has to swallow the excitement building inside of him and the blood that roars in his veins.
He doesn't realise what's happening until she pushes him away with a sharp gasp. He gazes at her, her eyes wide with shock and her lips parted slightly. She looks flushed and scared and confused -- a swirling mess of emotions are flickering in the dark depths of her eyes, and he can't help but wonder.
"Hey, are you two coming or what?"
The sweet, gentle voice floods him and he looks toward the portrait hole, where his younger sister is waiting for them. She's beaming -- her eyes twinkling and her skin so very lovely.
He smiles back and jogs over to her until he's just a foot away. He looks over his shoulder at his best friend, his girlfriend, and cocks his head to the side.
"Coming?"
She stares at him, a dawn of understanding settling in her features. She stands.
"Of course."
• •