drabbly whatnot
OK, it's been forever since I've finished anything at all, but I'm excited about bestmates_xmas and hp_yule_balls (and the other several fics currently languishing on my hard drive), so I've been trying to get some finishy-type momentum going. On my way to bed on Thursday, I saw that shocolate was asking for kisses, and I woke up on Friday morning and this happened. Then I went to St. Cloud and forgot about it for a while, oops, but tailoredshirt liked it, so I guess I will get around to posting it now. ♥. I just miss Harry/Ron a lot, you guys. :( BUT HEY LOOK I FINISHED SOMETHING. It's only 370 words, but still.
Oops, it has no title. D:
Title: untitled
Author: shes_gone
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: PG
Word count: 370
It's Ron's mouth against his throat that does it, every time.
It doesn't happen as quickly as it used to, because when they kiss, it's so much more familiar; so much smoother. They're hardly experts, and it's not perfect or slick or even particularly talented, probably, by anyone else's yardstick, but they like it. It's strong and it's purposeful and it's sure, now. Harry doesn't hesitate, and Ron's fingers don't tremble, and when they pull apart, neither of them is wearing a wide, disbelieving expression.
And sometimes, Harry misses that.
There was a lot about seventeen that he doesn't miss: the danger, the grief, the unspeakable responsibility. But there was also this. The raw, swooping thrill of discovering the wet slide of Ron's lips and the perfect scrape of two chins with day-old stubble. The possessive heat of moments stolen in broom cupboards and dark corners, because they were still alive, somehow, and this belonged to no one but them.
It's not that it's any less thrilling, now, but it's different. There's a lot of warm and comfortable mixed in with the hot and exciting, and the swoop of it isn't quite as frequent or quite as sweeping, because Harry never doubts it. He's not surprised anymore by what he feels, or what Ron gives him. And it's not a secret, either: they have friends and family who love them all the more for what they are to each other, and it's perfect. Harry couldn't ask for more.
But when Ron slides his mouth down to Harry's throat, following the trail of his pulse right to the spot where it beats the strongest, Harry has to hold his breath. Ron breathes for him, and presses his tongue against that spot, nips at it gently with his teeth, and suddenly Harry's right back there, seventeen and unsure and afraid, but somehow safer than he's ever felt in his life.
His fingers tighten in Ron's hair, and maybe Ron can feel Harry's pulse quicken under his tongue, because he expels a hard breath against Harry's throat and pulls him closer, and Harry gasps as it swoops inside him, and it's Ron's mouth against his throat that does it, every time.
Oops, it has no title. D:
Title: untitled
Author: shes_gone
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: PG
Word count: 370
It's Ron's mouth against his throat that does it, every time.
It doesn't happen as quickly as it used to, because when they kiss, it's so much more familiar; so much smoother. They're hardly experts, and it's not perfect or slick or even particularly talented, probably, by anyone else's yardstick, but they like it. It's strong and it's purposeful and it's sure, now. Harry doesn't hesitate, and Ron's fingers don't tremble, and when they pull apart, neither of them is wearing a wide, disbelieving expression.
And sometimes, Harry misses that.
There was a lot about seventeen that he doesn't miss: the danger, the grief, the unspeakable responsibility. But there was also this. The raw, swooping thrill of discovering the wet slide of Ron's lips and the perfect scrape of two chins with day-old stubble. The possessive heat of moments stolen in broom cupboards and dark corners, because they were still alive, somehow, and this belonged to no one but them.
It's not that it's any less thrilling, now, but it's different. There's a lot of warm and comfortable mixed in with the hot and exciting, and the swoop of it isn't quite as frequent or quite as sweeping, because Harry never doubts it. He's not surprised anymore by what he feels, or what Ron gives him. And it's not a secret, either: they have friends and family who love them all the more for what they are to each other, and it's perfect. Harry couldn't ask for more.
But when Ron slides his mouth down to Harry's throat, following the trail of his pulse right to the spot where it beats the strongest, Harry has to hold his breath. Ron breathes for him, and presses his tongue against that spot, nips at it gently with his teeth, and suddenly Harry's right back there, seventeen and unsure and afraid, but somehow safer than he's ever felt in his life.
His fingers tighten in Ron's hair, and maybe Ron can feel Harry's pulse quicken under his tongue, because he expels a hard breath against Harry's throat and pulls him closer, and Harry gasps as it swoops inside him, and it's Ron's mouth against his throat that does it, every time.