Stardust: Ron Weasley, OC
Synopsis: Rough hands, cool turquoise eyes, thick wet tongue.
He immediately suppressed the magnificient urge to slam the door when he saw her lying there.
She was stretched across the monstrous couch, one arm slung over her face, the other dangling toward the floor. He quietly dislodged himself from his muddied boots and piled his splintered broomstick and cloak in a heap. Padding softly across the noisy floorboards, he gently scooped her legs as he pivoted and sank into the threadbare sofa, resting them across his lap. At his leisure, Ron studied the woman at rest.
He couldn't make out an expression from the dark hollow of her arm, but her lips were pursed in a manner which told him she was not dreaming, but deep in thought. Her chest rose and fell in slow, dragging cycles, her breasts and swollen stomach straining at the worn material of the hand-me-down sweater. His eyes lingered on the ever-growing mound pressing against the botton of her jeans, a puzzled excitement flaring briefly.
The anticipation of something he could not yet see, smell or touch held the promise of Christmas, something which he found both exhilarating and maddening. He wished in vain her stomach was a window so he could see this tiny creature that had already created such a fuss. Every so often he pondered things. What nose? Whose hair? Which eyes? He felt a twinge of sorrow for Chanel. She didn't stand a chance. If he knew his genes, the baby would have the clear stamp of WEASLEY all over it.
Of her body, he mapped planes and dips and curves, marveling in the differences which made him taller and muscular; those which made her soft and supple. He suddenly felt the deep crush of some feeling tighten in his chest. He slowed his breath; swallowed. He then carefully roved her ankles, prodding the joint of inflamed flesh and bone. She hissed softly.
Cupping her right foot in his callous-roughed hands, he slowly kneaded the tenderness. She inhaled sharply, then released a low guttural groan.
"Mmm...feels good, daddy."
He felt his entire body stiffen. His hands stopped.
"No, please, s'more," she mumbled, her arm remaining collapsed over her eyes.
He pressed with the pads of his thumbs, then smoothed away his fingerprints. She drifted into a hazy silence. After a moment he intensified the pressure.
"Practice?" she offered lightly, stirring.
He grunted. "Practice."
"How was it?"
"Complete and utter rubbish. Might as well've been scrimmaging with a bunch of window lickers."
She snorted. "Ron."
"Ettlesby -- the dumb fuck -- broke my sodding stick!"
She let out a tiny "Mm," slowly flexing the foot that remained in his lap.
He cleared his throat, speaking gruffly. "What did you do today?"
"Fed the chickens. The wand backfired, made a mess of the barn. Your mother tried to teach me a darning spell. I put an even bigger hole in one of your socks." She peeled her arm away, grinning sheepishly.
He felt a strange tug in his chest and his anger melted. "Sounds pretty domestic."
"Don't start," she growled.
He chuckled inwardly, pinching the tension in her calf. She rolled the ball of her left foot lazily against his thigh, sending a searing heat to his groin. He shifted, glancing at the Grandfather clock over his shoulder.
"...So where did you say everyone was?"
"I didn't." Chanel frowned up at him. "You okay, Ron? Your face...it's red."
His heart thundered in his ears. He suddenly became conscious of his every breath and a crisp sweet taste in the air. He lowered her leg back into his lap and slowly turned to face her.
"Yes, Nel, I'm very much okay."
He hesistated before slipping his right hand under her sweater and laying it to rest upon her stomach. The intense warmth of his palm radiated as he rubbed deep gentle circles across her belly, her eyes growing heavy and slowly closing. She felt herself floating back to sleep, her body lax and loose like Jell-o under his touch.
Then she felt the unmistakable release of pressure at her navel as the button of her jeans gave way and the low cool buzz of zipper filled the air.
She snapped her eyes open, rising with a jerk. Ron was no longer watching her, his fingers now fascinated with the swatch of white cotton at the opening of the denim. She grabbed his wrist firmly, meaning to stop him. He let his hand slip downward, rolling over the crest of nerves and flesh.
Her breath caught in her throat. "R-Ron, what are doing?"
He smoothly rolled his arm out her wristlock. "Just helping you get comfortable."
He hooked his fingers around the band of her loosened jeans and tugged roughly, freeing her hips. Her panties were now rolled in a twisted bundle of material, the dark curly thatch they secreted now revealed. His intentions hit her. She was thunderstruck.
"What -- are you CRAZY?! What if someone -- "
His cool turquoise eyes burned into hers. His tone deepened. It was now low and jagged. "There's no one here. Just us."
Before she could further protest, his softly pressed his lips to the crook of her thigh, his tongue briefly darting.
"Nel," he murmured plaintively, his voice buzzing against her skin.
She shut her eyes, her heart trembling in her chest like a bird in a cage. She felt the jeans slip steadily from her legs and thought faintly of a snake shedding its skin. She felt his fingertips as he patiently worked her panties past her knees and unhooked them from her ankles. Her body immediately pebbled into goosebumps as she felt the snap of cold air.
The next thing she felt was a heat which caused her to shiver for an entirely different reason.
A pressure of hot liquid silk suffocated her breath as his tongue lapped her dark folds, languishing torturously in three slow strokes. His mouth gently pulled and suckled the sensitive quivers of skin, the delicate nip of teeth sending delicious quakes throughout her body. Resistance puddled from her muscles, her legs slipping apart under his devine ministrations.
She clenched the battered cushions as his tongue fluttered and skipped about, teasing her slickened walls mercilessly. A sudden spurt of rapture poured from her cavern and he plunged into the glistening pool, his nose and throat thick with acetic juices. He dragged his flat heavy tongue across the pulsing mound of nerves and her head went into a tilt.
"...Fu-uck..." she gasped, coiling her fingers tightly in his thick coppery locks. She jerked her hips frantically, her hoarse whispery pleas drowned out under the powerful clamping of his jaws.
" -- RON -- "
Wet electric spasms fried her every thought as she shuddered in a damp, shaking heap against the couch. Her mind whirled dizzingly as she lay no longer at rest, still feeling Ron's exhaustive efforts. There was an unpleasant tingle as he gently lashed the oversensitive bud and she squirmed, pulling him away from her lap.
He stared at her in silent puzzlement, his eyes blue-green eyes anxious and confused. She suddenly burst laughter, startling him. She fiercely captured his red lips swollen, tasting for the first time her own smooth bitter essence. She gently cupped his face in her hands, wanting to shake him.
"Ron, you git, I love you! I love you."
A slow dawning expression warmed his face. The flush in his cheeks deepened as he gave her a lopsided grin. Without another word, they Disapparated, reappearing under the bundles of covers in his room several stories up.
Dream Analysis: Apparently I, the author, am hard-up and depraved. Or I just really like sex so much, everyone in Potterverse has go to get a whiff. WhoTF is Chanel? Only my favorite OC. She rocks Ron like none other. Take that, Smartest Witch of Her Year *smirkles*