JBF: Harry is unable to resist temptation when he sees Ron asleep one night
in their dorm.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I don't want to. This has turned out more weird than I expected it to, oh well.
Just Between Friends
Every night it was the same, until I saw him. He was asleep, as I should have been. You know what it's like. At Hogwarts I felt like I was home, like I finally belonged, but there was something missing. It seemed to be on the tip of my tongue but every time I tried to articulate it, whatever it was just slipped further back and out f reach like an unscratchable itch in the back of my mind.
When he rolled over onto his side, as I was sitting in my usual spot by the window, and I caught a glimpse of the ruffled red hair strewn over his pillow through a gap in his curtains, I finally realised what it was I had been missing. All this time and it had been right in front of my nose, all those years of wondering and I had been lying right next to the answer.
Ron.
It seemed bizarre at first, why would I have feelings for Ron of all people? Afterall wasn't I straight? I thought we were just good friends, but we had grown increasingly close over the years, sharing the good times and the bad. I had helped him through his bouts of depression when we were sixth years and he had always been by my side, time after time to help me battle for the light. That sacred bond between friends wasn't so strong as to last through what we had survived; it had to be love.
He looks beautiful, moonlight playing across the sculpture of his face. Red contrasting with the pale clarity of his skin, eyes locked chests of warmth. So peaceful, so pure, so vulnerable. I step over to his side, and kneeling beside his bed I sit all night until the yellow fingers of dawn push out the moons watchful gaze and I must retreat to my own cold bed and pretend to be just waking.
All day I long for the cover of darkness, the sweet anonymity of sleep. Then at night I take up my habitual stance, perhaps daring to move the heavy velvet screen further aside so as to get a better look, and gaze over that which for a split second could be mine.
My grades start to slip over the weeks because I think about him during lessons, and if I weren't so wrapped up in my thoughts maybe I would also notice how the object of my affections was starting to look at me differently as the bags under my eyes grow and my speech becomes a rarer and rarer occurrence in the common room.
Tonight I take a giant step towards what I want. His lips are slightly parted in silent invitation and ever so carefully, so as not to disturb a single amber hair on his head, I lean in towards him. His lips are feather soft and warm against my own and for a moment I think we are somewhere else, not really two seventh years still at school. Not friends but lovers, and everything is okay. But just for a moment. Too soon I draw away, though a part of me longs for him to wake up, most of me is terrified that should this happen I would lose him forever.
For the next few nights I push the boundaries. Every night I bend to kiss him and every night I let myself linger for a little longer. It's like an addiction, every night I need a little more to slake my lust, every night I take a little bit more and move closer to the edge. It becomes too much to bear to last the day. All I can think of is the night. When will it come? When will it come?
One night, towards the end of May and as the nights are growing painfully short, the cover of darkness no longer so certain, so loyal, something happens which I do not notice. As I lean in, drops of silver light tracing out lips, the object of my obsession wakes. Our lips are already touching, he has surely found me out and in my ignorance I do not notice the last delicate threads of our friendship dissolve and distort beyond what they should be.
I do not notice, for although Ron is awake his eyes remain closed. I return to my bed as day breaks and we wash and dress as usual.
In blissful ignorance I continue my nightly charade. I do not notice the purplish blush creeping under the lids of his eyes as he waits for me, nor do I notice the unnatural stillness of his body each time I lean down and let my hungry lips confess. Our agony is prolonged, as neither is strong enough, sure enough, to reach out and take what we need and want.
A few weeks later, and the intensity of our kisses has increased. The pressure of my lips is heavy on his, lack of discovery making me reckless. I am too much for him, my hands on either side of his head, pulling slightly at flyaway strands of bronze, make his heart quicken. His lips are forced to part and draw in breath, his eyes flash open, simmering liquid, and meet my gaze.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I don't want to. This has turned out more weird than I expected it to, oh well.
Just Between Friends
Every night it was the same, until I saw him. He was asleep, as I should have been. You know what it's like. At Hogwarts I felt like I was home, like I finally belonged, but there was something missing. It seemed to be on the tip of my tongue but every time I tried to articulate it, whatever it was just slipped further back and out f reach like an unscratchable itch in the back of my mind.
When he rolled over onto his side, as I was sitting in my usual spot by the window, and I caught a glimpse of the ruffled red hair strewn over his pillow through a gap in his curtains, I finally realised what it was I had been missing. All this time and it had been right in front of my nose, all those years of wondering and I had been lying right next to the answer.
Ron.
It seemed bizarre at first, why would I have feelings for Ron of all people? Afterall wasn't I straight? I thought we were just good friends, but we had grown increasingly close over the years, sharing the good times and the bad. I had helped him through his bouts of depression when we were sixth years and he had always been by my side, time after time to help me battle for the light. That sacred bond between friends wasn't so strong as to last through what we had survived; it had to be love.
He looks beautiful, moonlight playing across the sculpture of his face. Red contrasting with the pale clarity of his skin, eyes locked chests of warmth. So peaceful, so pure, so vulnerable. I step over to his side, and kneeling beside his bed I sit all night until the yellow fingers of dawn push out the moons watchful gaze and I must retreat to my own cold bed and pretend to be just waking.
All day I long for the cover of darkness, the sweet anonymity of sleep. Then at night I take up my habitual stance, perhaps daring to move the heavy velvet screen further aside so as to get a better look, and gaze over that which for a split second could be mine.
My grades start to slip over the weeks because I think about him during lessons, and if I weren't so wrapped up in my thoughts maybe I would also notice how the object of my affections was starting to look at me differently as the bags under my eyes grow and my speech becomes a rarer and rarer occurrence in the common room.
Tonight I take a giant step towards what I want. His lips are slightly parted in silent invitation and ever so carefully, so as not to disturb a single amber hair on his head, I lean in towards him. His lips are feather soft and warm against my own and for a moment I think we are somewhere else, not really two seventh years still at school. Not friends but lovers, and everything is okay. But just for a moment. Too soon I draw away, though a part of me longs for him to wake up, most of me is terrified that should this happen I would lose him forever.
For the next few nights I push the boundaries. Every night I bend to kiss him and every night I let myself linger for a little longer. It's like an addiction, every night I need a little more to slake my lust, every night I take a little bit more and move closer to the edge. It becomes too much to bear to last the day. All I can think of is the night. When will it come? When will it come?
One night, towards the end of May and as the nights are growing painfully short, the cover of darkness no longer so certain, so loyal, something happens which I do not notice. As I lean in, drops of silver light tracing out lips, the object of my obsession wakes. Our lips are already touching, he has surely found me out and in my ignorance I do not notice the last delicate threads of our friendship dissolve and distort beyond what they should be.
I do not notice, for although Ron is awake his eyes remain closed. I return to my bed as day breaks and we wash and dress as usual.
In blissful ignorance I continue my nightly charade. I do not notice the purplish blush creeping under the lids of his eyes as he waits for me, nor do I notice the unnatural stillness of his body each time I lean down and let my hungry lips confess. Our agony is prolonged, as neither is strong enough, sure enough, to reach out and take what we need and want.
A few weeks later, and the intensity of our kisses has increased. The pressure of my lips is heavy on his, lack of discovery making me reckless. I am too much for him, my hands on either side of his head, pulling slightly at flyaway strands of bronze, make his heart quicken. His lips are forced to part and draw in breath, his eyes flash open, simmering liquid, and meet my gaze.