Too Close, Too Far

[mugglemama]

Sometimes this tent is too small.

Harry’s on watch; Ron thinks I’m asleep.

He thinks I can’t hear him; thinks I don’t know what he’s doing.

I hear his faint grunts, repetitive strokes.

I can’t help my self; my hand dips into my knickers, matches his rhythm.

I consider moaning Harry’s name but I’m not that cruel.

He reaches his climax and I shudder as I hear him groan my name in ecstasy.

I follow quickly with my own release.

“Ron,” I allow myself to softly cry; he doesn’t hear me, he’s already asleep.

Sometimes this tent is too big.