He is laying beside her on soft, soft grass. She is laying on her her back, her eyes closed, enjoying the warm rays that redden her skin. He is propped on his elbow, the curves of his body fitting perfectly to the curves of hers. He has a strand of long, curly, chocolate hair between his fingers, and is using it to tickle her round, pink cheek.
"Hermione," he crows. "Hermione-Mione-Mione." He kisses her blushing cheeks, the same color as his hair.
Smiling, and still blushing, she swats him away. "Stop it. You're so..."
"So... what?" he asks, kissing her cheek again. And then he stops; he rolls onto his back, his muscular arms folded across his stomach, and faces the clouds with her, suddenly silent and thoughtful.
She bites her lips, her eyesbrows knitting together. "You are so... completely lovely," she says, rolling so that she is laying on top of him; she feels his toned stomach muscles beneath his hand-knitted sweater under her own soft belly. "Don't stop." She kisses the freckles on his nose and the one under his eyebrow before pressing her lips to his gently.
He rolls over gently; he hovers above her. He kisses her nose. Her cheek again, then her jaw, and her neck before pressing his lips against her own with calm, deep, love-filled passion.
"Hermione," he sighs, pressing his forehead against hers, and smiling.
She closes her eyes, and hums softly. "Oh, Charlie."
Ron awoke with a start, his breathing embarassingly heavy.
"What bloody kind of dream was that?" he asked himself gruffly, rolling over and punching the pillow before settling back down. He lay on his back, and stared up at the ceiling, where posters of orange-clad Quidditch players flew happily about their paper boundaries.
He sighed, and closed his eyes. This was not the first time he'd dreamt of Hermione; never had he dreamt of them together, but rather her with another man; Viktor Krum was the usual antagonistic man in his dreams, as was Harry, his best friend. But his own brother, that was a first. And then he remembered that earlier that day, Hermione had laughed a bit too long at a joke Charlie had told... She must fancy him....
Ron rolled on his side, pulling his knees together and toward his body. He shut his eyes before immature, sappy tears could fall, and drifted asleep with a familiar longing deep in his stomach.
I wasn't sure where I was going with this fic... and now I'm not sure if I should carry on writing it. There'll be R/Hr eventually... quickly. haha.
Flames are veryy accepted and extremely appreciated. As are nice lovely remarks. Please comment! Merci, loves.
-Rosie.