It was hot, sticky, and muggy.
Ron hated being hot, sticky, and muggy.
The summer sun beat down on his arms and legs, the skin trying to absorb any hint of breeze that they could find. It was unbearable. He lay outside, in the back areas near the woods, enjoying the passing of the lazy day at the Burrow, trying his best to keep to the shadows that the trees created.
The heat seemed to rise from the ground, creating a twisting sort of haze that danced before his eyes, that danced but couldn't be touched, that caught his eye and held it there. The sticky air was palpable, and perched on his shoulders, leaving him collapsed on the cool grass. He dug his heels in and sighed, letting an arm drape itself across his chest, squinting his eyes to block out the sun.
He didn't hear Harry approach, until the other boy was sitting down beside him - or rather throwing himself, in an attempt to reach the shade as quickly as he could. He stretched out lazily, reaching his long limbs into the air, looking like some sort of large cat. Harry's movements were graceful, a sort of grace associated with endless Quidditch practices, and finally growing into your limbs.
Ron sighed and rolled on his side, giving Harry a brief, tired smile. "Hey," he murmered, thinking that it took too much effort to even think the words, never mind say them aloud. Harry flashed him back a smile, before settling down on his back, his knees slightly bent in the air. They sat like that for a long while, Harry breathing steadily, eyes locked on the sky, a small smile playing across his lips, looking as though he were reflecting on happy memories, of times that he actually enjoyed living.
"Hot," he finally said, turning on his side to face Ron.
"Very," agreed Ron, playing idly with a few strands of grass.
"Glad to be here, though," said Harry, turning back to the endless expanse of sky above him. Ron studied his friend; the strong jaw, straight nose, black hair that hung along his cheekbones and edged into the corners of his eyes, their bright green color darkened by the whisps of hair. His skin tanned an olive color, which, Ron reflected, rather suited him. His chest rose and fell steadily, covered only by a thin white tee shirt, his tanned legs poking out of jean shorts, bare feet digging into the cool grass.
After awhile, Harry sat up slowly, hands gripping the edge of his shirt and pulling it off, knocking his glasses to the ground in the process. He smiled lazily and sat back down, tucking the shirt under his head as a pillow, gripping the glasses lightly and playing with the edges of the rim. His chest was as tanned as the rest of him, displaying whipcord muscles when he shifted.
Ron swallowed.
He itched to take his own shirt off, but a sense of inadequacy surged through him. He didn't want to appear less than perfect in front of his friend - an odd feeling, Ron thought vaguely, but a strong one nevertheless. He squirmed a bit into the grass, feeling beads of sweat begin to form along the lines of his stomach. He turned his head and caught Harry's amused gaze, one eyebrow arched.
"Problem, Ron?" he drawled.
Ron blushed. "No, just hot," he replied, feeling somewhat foolish.
"Take your shirt off," said Harry casually, grinning now.
"Uh," said Ron, feeling his cheeks grow even warmer. "It's okay, really, I'll be-"
Harry's hands silenced him, as they reached for the hem of his shirt, his fingers brushing against his skin.
"Come on, don't worry," he said, shifting closer to help get the shirt off. He pulled upwards, taking the shirt with him in one fluid movement. Harry handed the shirt back to Ron, letting his fingers trail over the other's.
"Thanks," whispered Ron, carefully watching his friend, who was still rather close to him.
"Mmm," said Harry, noncommittally, as his eyes wandered the exposed skin of Ron's chest, his hand moving to reach for his discarded glasses. Ron spotted them first and grabbed them, extending his hand and offering them to Harry.
Harry reached back over and again let his fingers trail along Ron's, but this time he didn't let go. He held onto the hand, gazing carefully at it, before raising it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the knuckles.
Ron made a sharp noise and held his breath.
Lazily, Harry licked the middle finger, running his tongue along the salty skin, before putting the entire finger into his mouth and sucking gently.
Ron gasped.
His finger was engulfed in heat, but it was good heat, the kind he could stand, the kind he wanted more of, rather than the sticky heat of the summer day. He slowly pulled his finger from Harry's mouth, and moved closer, feeling his knees bump against Harry's. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to the other boy's, feeling the cool fullness of them.
Harry's hand crept forward and wrapped around his neck, as he opened his mouth, inviting Ron inside. They kissed for what seemed hours, tongues meeting and dancing, forgetting the steady heat that soaked into their skin, caring only about the heat their mouths were creating.
When Ron finally pulled away he saw that Harry was smiling, a gentle sort of smile that he'd never seen on him before. Ron smiled back.
They both sat back down, propping their knees up and staring at the sky, but this time their hands were together, fingers entwined.
Ron hated being hot, sticky, and muggy - but he liked being with Harry.