Drabble: Big, Stupid, Clumsy Hands, Teen
Title: Big, Stupid Clumsy Hands.
Rating Teen
Word count: Under 500
Summary: After an unfortunate glimpse of them on someone else's backside, Hermione finds herself obsessing over Ron's hands.
Pairing: R/Hr, Ron/Lavender (HBP era)
Inspired by shocolate 's prompt of 'Ron's Hands' and grownupron 's prompt of 'Ron's not the only one jealous and possesive.'
That winter, the image had been impossible to escape. She saw it in her nightmares, she saw it when she closed her eyes in the shower, she saw it every time she averted her eyes walking past him, whether he was with her or not.
It was an appalling exhibit of bad taste, but having known him for as long as she had, it shouldn’t have surprised her. When had he ever had any manners, any self-discipline, any sensitivity to the feelings of others, anyway?
It wasn’t that she was jealous; she never would have let him do something like that in public. And besides, it had been obvious to anyone with eyes that he was terrible at it, all clumsy and over-enthusiastic. It was obvious to anyone with ears that he had no idea what he was doing as he slurped and grunted like an animal.
Disgusting.
There was no way she could enjoy being groped publicly like that. Those happy little sighs and giggles Lavender was making had to be for the benefit of the audience--everybody knew she craved attention.
So why was the image of Ron’s hands spanning Lavender’s bottom seared into her brain? Why could she see it in such vivid detail every time her eyes closed? Ron’s long fingers, curling into Lavender’s ample flesh, his dirty fingernails, bitten to the quick, his wrists already peeking out of the cuffs of a threadbare jumper that was obviously cut for someone shorter and stouter than he was.
She didn’t want his stupid, clumsy, freckled hands anywhere near her bum.
Really.
Lavender could have him.
Well, maybe she had wondered (in a moment of madness, of course) what it would feel like to have those long fingers stroking her skin, buried in her hair, or caressing her cheek as he kissed her reverently. But it was just...idle curiosity. It was just that they spent so much time together, really. It was bound to happen, what with teenage hormones being what they were. Never mind that she hadn’t thought of Harry that way. It wasn’t as though she liked Ron or anything. In fact, he drove her completely spare, most of the time.
It was just...oh, why couldn’t they be discreet, for heaven’s sake? Why did they have to...flaunt it like that? It wasn’t that she was jealous--he could suck face with anybody he liked, for all she cared. She was just embarrassed for them.
Really.
Big, stupid clumsy hands.
They probably felt dreadful.
If only she could get them out of her mind.
Rating Teen
Word count: Under 500
Summary: After an unfortunate glimpse of them on someone else's backside, Hermione finds herself obsessing over Ron's hands.
Pairing: R/Hr, Ron/Lavender (HBP era)
Inspired by shocolate 's prompt of 'Ron's Hands' and grownupron 's prompt of 'Ron's not the only one jealous and possesive.'
That winter, the image had been impossible to escape. She saw it in her nightmares, she saw it when she closed her eyes in the shower, she saw it every time she averted her eyes walking past him, whether he was with her or not.
It was an appalling exhibit of bad taste, but having known him for as long as she had, it shouldn’t have surprised her. When had he ever had any manners, any self-discipline, any sensitivity to the feelings of others, anyway?
It wasn’t that she was jealous; she never would have let him do something like that in public. And besides, it had been obvious to anyone with eyes that he was terrible at it, all clumsy and over-enthusiastic. It was obvious to anyone with ears that he had no idea what he was doing as he slurped and grunted like an animal.
Disgusting.
There was no way she could enjoy being groped publicly like that. Those happy little sighs and giggles Lavender was making had to be for the benefit of the audience--everybody knew she craved attention.
So why was the image of Ron’s hands spanning Lavender’s bottom seared into her brain? Why could she see it in such vivid detail every time her eyes closed? Ron’s long fingers, curling into Lavender’s ample flesh, his dirty fingernails, bitten to the quick, his wrists already peeking out of the cuffs of a threadbare jumper that was obviously cut for someone shorter and stouter than he was.
She didn’t want his stupid, clumsy, freckled hands anywhere near her bum.
Really.
Lavender could have him.
Well, maybe she had wondered (in a moment of madness, of course) what it would feel like to have those long fingers stroking her skin, buried in her hair, or caressing her cheek as he kissed her reverently. But it was just...idle curiosity. It was just that they spent so much time together, really. It was bound to happen, what with teenage hormones being what they were. Never mind that she hadn’t thought of Harry that way. It wasn’t as though she liked Ron or anything. In fact, he drove her completely spare, most of the time.
It was just...oh, why couldn’t they be discreet, for heaven’s sake? Why did they have to...flaunt it like that? It wasn’t that she was jealous--he could suck face with anybody he liked, for all she cared. She was just embarrassed for them.
Really.
Big, stupid clumsy hands.
They probably felt dreadful.
If only she could get them out of her mind.