A/N: A huge thank you to QueenB23 for the super speedy beta she did on this! I appreciate your careful eyes and your awesome feedback on the story!

This was originally written for The Quidditch Pitch .org's June 2008 Gluttony Challenge... this fic won the challenge that month, which was really exciting! :o)

Disclaimer: The characters and the universe are still not mine- darn it! They belong to the talented JKRowling- no infringement intended.

Watching Ron

Watching Ron eat is an indecent act. I know several people, myself included, have told him to slow down or to close his mouth while eating. One would think that seeing a half-masticated piece of sausage rolling around between his teeth would turn off any wanton sexual desire I'd ever had for him, but it doesn't. If anything, it makes me want him more, which is why I shake my head slightly and smirk a bit and turn my head. It wouldn't do for anyone to know I can't stop thinking about him and dreaming what his lips would do to my skin, how his teeth might bite at the juncture of my neck before travelling lower, how his tongue could lick down my trembling stomach. No, it wouldn't do for anyone to know that I feel an electric zing flow through my veins when he pulls his sticky finger into his mouth and sucks hard to get every last bit of sauce from his skin.

I squirm in my seat, trying to look away and yet mesmerised by the look of pure pleasure on his face. I'm not the only one who notices either. Our mutual best friend acts as though everything is normal and pretends that watching Ron eat is uncomfortable or disgusting. Disgusting- ha! The very idea is laughable. We both notice and we both want and neither of us have the strength or the courage to admit it. A bit pathetic, really, when I think about it, but I can't bring myself to tell him that thoughts of him are starting to consume my fantasies and are bleeding into the rest of my life. He kissed both of us at the Battle of Hogwarts: kisses of survival, of happiness, of desperation, of fruition, of victory. Nothing is secret between the three of us, but I know two of us keep our true feelings from the third. We're both afraid of what giving in to these feelings might mean- surrender, forever.

A year ago, we all had to worry about surviving our quest, vanquishing Voldemort, and bringing to a close the war outside the Burrow's wards. A year ago, we all obsessed about plans for the upcoming hunt and contingency plans and how on earth we were going to live to see a better tomorrow. A year ago, July 31st was just an excuse for Death Eaters to challenge us and for us to fight back with everything we had. A year ago, birthday celebrations were the last thing on anyone's minds.

Now, everything is different. We won, good over evil, and we are trying to sort our lives out. It is everything and nothing like I had imagined it would be. For one thing, I had thought that when the war was over, it would be me and Ron, against the world. I mean, the three of us- the three of us with a new world of possibilities. It is somewhat like that now, and yet Ron spends most of his time these days with George and I have to push my jealousy aside, because his brother needs him more than I do right now. I can't be selfish and demand his time and attention, because, frankly, I've had most of it for the last year.

Ron is the same as ever, but he is somehow more than he ever was, more than he's ever needed to be. Before, he was Ron and that was always enough. Now, he is sensitive, a bit more quiet, grateful for everything. Growing up without much, Ron had always tried to be appreciative of everything he had, but I suppose it was difficult with his two best mates who could afford so much more than him. It was probably hard to be grateful for hand-me-down robes and second-hand books, when we both had shiny new things and didn't worry about how much things cost.

Yet, here he is, happy with the simple things in life and not complaining about what we don't have. When we first started at Hogwarts, I remember thinking his Mum must not be much of a cook, because he ate at the Welcoming Feast as though every bite was the best he'd ever had in his life. Of course, the food really was some of the best I'd ever had in my life as well, so I don't suppose I thought all that much about it. However, as time went on, it was easy to see that Ron simply appreciated all of the material things we had at Hogwarts, jokes about house elves aside, and didn't want to see the food go to waste anymore than he was willing to give up his comfortable bed with plush pillows and inviting sheets.

I recall the first time I looked at Ron eating and saw something different. He wasn't just my best mate who loved to stuff himself full at every meal and talk with his mouth full. In that moment, I felt something that I had never felt for him before, but I was woefully under-equipped to understand what the feeling was. His eyes rolled back into his head and he moaned at a particularly delicious bit of fish he was chewing. He wasn't talking much, just concentrating on the food in front of him: the taste, the textures, the smells of it all. Food was at the top of his list of indulgent, yet simple, pleasures and it was never more apparent than the nights when all of his favourite foods were spread on the table in front of him. My stomach flipped again when Ron slurped a bit of vinegar off his palm and I closed my eyes at the white-hot sensation that followed. The funny, queasy feeling in my stomach had nothing to do with the greasy fish fry-up that was sitting in front of me, but it wasn't until years later that I understood what the feeling meant.

The answer? It's so simple, I'm a bit surprised I didn't know it right off, but I had been a little under-educated and naive at that point in my life- at least in one area. Ron had yet to induct either of his two best mates into the fascinating education his older brothers had provided him over the years and I had no one else to talk about such things with. The truth of the matter is, watching Ron arouses me. I fight that for a long time, because I'm certain that I'm better suited to someone else, though I haven't a clue who that might be.

When Ron eats, it's like watching him wank himself, at least I imagine that's a bit of how he looks when he gives himself a pull. Ron doesn't just chew his food, he practically makes love to it. He takes mouthfuls that are too big and then he rolls them around in his mouth, his tongue shifting the morsels around his taste-buds. He smells the food, allowing the aromas to waft into his nostrils, and he closes his eyes when he breathes the scents in. On more than one occasion, Ron tells me to listen to his food; he insists that the soft sizzle of the freshly cooked blood sausage is speaking to him. His eyes take in the plate in front of him- the colours, the arrangement, the portion. His fingers test the consistency of sauces, coating his fingers with warm saltiness before he plunges those same fingers into his mouth and whimpers lightly at the richness he tastes. Eating, for Ron, uses all of his senses and I can't help but imagine the parallels. I picture the look of concentration on Ron's face as he labours over me, the slightly-calloused feel of his fingers dragging across my skin, the sensation of his warm breath against my thighs as he leans into me, the dip of his tongue as he reaches out to taste me.

A loud moan from Ron brings me out of my reverie and my mouth drops open at the sight in front of me. I've never been more jealous of a banger in my whole life than this moment, and I determine that I can't eat bangers and mash around him anymore. The irony isn't lost even on me. It's funny when I think about it, since I'm fairly certainly that I've never before experienced penis envy, but I have banger envy.

I snort out loud when this realisation hits me and he looks up from his plate and smiles a goofy grin at me. I want to melt when he smiles like that at me. I smile back at him and he goes back to his plate of food. I look across the table and am met by a raised eyebrow. Our best mate has a talent for understatement in these situations and it's clear we both want the same thing. Next, Ginny smirks at me and I know I am caught- no chance to pretend I wasn't nearly drooling over her brother. Bugger.

"Harry? Hermione?" Ginny crooks her neck in the direction of the door, showing she wants to have a word with both of us. I stand up to follow them, only stopped by Ron's hand on my arm.

"Where're you going?" he asks around another bite of sausage.

"Inside for a moment, I won't be long," I respond, unsure what to expect when I go inside.

"Good. Can't have a celebration without the birthday boy," he says with a smile and turns back to his plate of food.

Maybe this year I'll get my wish.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to hear your thoughts... -Risie :o)