It Means You're Completely Relaxed

As always, I'm writing for the Cookie Jar. prix_etoile said "I'm in the mood for some Ginny/Ron...NC-17...and the plot is up to you. :)". So here it is.

It Means You're Completely Relaxed

After a month of solid work, Ron Weasley had finally mastered the Silencing Charm. The Cone of Privacy, he'd read, was easy once you had got the Silencing Charm off pat, and so it turned out. You could shout and scream and blow things up inside the Cone, and no-one outside would hear so much as a whisper. Now was the time. It was no good leaving it till he went home; his mother would be instantly suspicious if he went all quiet.

Of course there were even better uses that could be made of the Cone, and he let himself play with the idea of borrowing Harry's Invisibility Cloak and then asking Hermione if she... but he would have to be going out with her first, and that didn't seem likely to happen any time very soon. And she might not agree anyway.

Ron would be safe once the Cone was up, but he'd still waited till the dormitory was empty. None of this operation must ever be found out by anybody.

He pulled the curtains around his bed so that nothing could be seen, then reached a hand under the mattress. There was nothing there. Having established that it wasn't within reach of a quick sweep, Ron lifted the mattress up — it wasn't there at all. Panicking, he leapt off his bed and crawled underneath. Had it fallen through the boards? Had he forgotten to stash it there in the first place? It wasn't anywhere. It wasn't even in his trunk.

Someone had found it, and stolen it.

"Looking for something?"

Ron whirled around so fast he tripped over the open trunk, bruising his shins painfully in the process. Ginny stood between his bed and Harry's, obviously suppressing a laugh, holding up the missing painting. The Veela twins huddled coyly on their divan, covering each other's breasts with suggestive hands.

Ron managed an inarticulate noise.

"You do know they'll take your badge off you if anyone ever finds this, don't you?"

Ron managed another inarticulate noise.

"So what was the idea?"

"What do you fucking think?" said Ron at the edge of audibility.

"I'm sorry?" Ginny turned her head slightly. "Didn't catch that."

"'M not fucking repeating myself. What did you come in here for anyway?"

"Look — Ron," Ginny handed him the painting, but he wouldn't take it, "I haven't told anyone, if that's what you're worried about." She pressed it into his hands and let go, so that he had to grab it quickly. "Of course I found it, I saw you buy it. I was curious, OK?"

"Well then," the burning feeling on Ron's face went all the way to his brain, "why didn't you fucking well leave it alone?"

"Because I'm still curious. What exactly is the attraction of a painting like this?"

The Veela twins artfully unwound out of their coy pose; somehow, never at any point did they seem any less suggestive — or any less posed.

"Us, darling, what do you think?" said the left-hand one, gyrating her torso and batting her eyelids.

"Shut up," said Ginny calmly. Sitting down on the bed, she took the painting back and set its face against the headboard. Mutterings of "How rude!" were heard from the other side.

"I mean," Ginny began, but changed it to "Ron, you were about to do the Cone of Privacy, weren't you?

"Y...yeah." Ron felt lost. He'd dreaded being found out, but he'd dreaded mockery or anger. Ginny's serene rationality threw him right off balance.

"Well, then, do it, please."

Ron had to take several deep breaths, and then close his eyes and pretend he was alone, before he could manage the spell. He and Ginny climbed up on the bed, behind the curtains. Ginny kicked her boots off and laid them neatly behind her at the foot of the bed. She wore no socks underneath. Ron hunched up in a protective ball; it made him feel safer somehow.

"I mean," Ginny resumed, "I've been trying to understand what it is about lesbianism that turns blokes on. I can't see how it can be attractive."

"L...lesbians?" Ron felt, acutely, how stupid his lack of words made him look, and it didn't help.

"Yeah." Ginny wriggled her toes thoughtfully. "You do know there's no part for you, don't you?"

"Well, yes." Ron tried to force more words to the top of his mind. It wasn't working.

"So what is it, then? Hermione reckons it's because homophobic blokes feel threatened by watching paintings of a man having sex, and enjoying it."

"Um..." Ron, still wretchedly speechless, wracked his brain in silence for what felt like five minutes. "Balance," was what finally rose to the top.

"Balance?"

"Yeah, balance." At last, a proper sentence! "It's like, a bloke and a girl, that's unbalanced. Symmetry, that's what I mean. A girl and another girl, that's simmer, simm—"

"Symmetrical." Ginny crossed her ankles and uncrossed them again.

"Yeah."

"OK, I think I do get that." She smiled. Ron felt a small, but very welcome, wash of relief that she'd stopped asking him questions. Then she asked another one.

"So what about incest?"

Nobody Petrified Ron at that point, but you wouldn't have realized it.

"Those two are meant to be sisters, aren't they?" Ginny pointed a toe at the back of the painting.

"Y...y...yes."

"So what's the attraction?"

The words had all gone again. Ron realized dully, and helplessly, that Ginny was doing all the work in this dialogue.

"Is it," she suggested, "the whole forbidden fruit thing? It's bad, so let's fantasize about it?"

Ron thought hard. "No," he said. "No, 'cause rape's bad and I don't fantasize about that."

"Rape's bad." Ginny was prompting him, he knew.

"Rape's disgusting." Ron was on firmer ground now. "What's even the point of... getting with..."

"Fucking," Ginny put in.

"...of... yeah... someone who doesn't want you? They're not going to feel what you feel. You're not sharing anything. Anyway it's the whole consent thing."

"Right, so are you saying incest isn't bad?" Ginny stretched one leg out flat and drew the other foot up level with her knee, pulling her robe back a little.

"Well, it is if it's an adult and a kid," said Ron. "Kids can't say no to adults."

"But two adults who both want it can fuck each other's brains out regardless of how close they're related?" Ginny waved her outstretched toes in time to her words, tapping Ron repeatedly on the ankle.

"Well, I don't think they're doing anything wrong." Ron squeezed his knees tighter to his chest. Somehow he didn't want her to stop touching him, and that was frightening.

"I agree." Ginny smiled again. "But what's the attraction?" She stopped tapping him and let her foot rest against his instead.

"Um..." said Ron desperately. How could you possibly answer a question like that?

"Maybe," he began and stopped.

"I think..." he began and stopped.

"Well, it's kind of daring," Ginny suggested, "which is a forbidden fruit thing even if it isn't actually bad, it's because everybody thinks it's bad." She was definitely stroking him with her toes now. "But there's kind of the opposite feeling too. It's like, if you fuck someone you know like, as family, it means you're completely relaxed about fucking. You don't have to go through the whole getting-to-know-someone, what-are-they-like, will-they-get-pissed-off-and-leave-forever-if-I-mention-hedgehogs-or-something-stupid-like-that kind of stuff that you do with an actual partner. I mean, a partner that isn't family."

She understood. "Yeah." Ron felt an enormous grin wash over his face; he couldn't help it. Fondling Ginny's foot with both hands, however, was a freely chosen course of action. Ginny grinned as broadly as him, and tipped her head back: "Mmmmmmmmmmm." Then she lifted it and looked him in the eye. The air was thick with unspoken imaginings.

And then Ginny said, with an off-hand air, "Speaking of which, do you want to fuck me?"

Ron tried to answer, and found he had already shouted "Yes!"

Suddenly Ginny was all over him. She scrambled forwards and he un-hunched, stretching back onto the pillow so smoothly he barely noticed it. Her hair hung all around his face. She clamped her lips over his and, without preamble, pushed her tongue deep into his mouth. Ron felt her working away hungrily, and kissed back so hard their teeth clashed. Ginny lifted her head away, panting hard, then grabbed him by the front of his robes and hauled them both into a sitting position.

From there there was no going back. Ginny kept pulling on his robes, and once they were off she grabbed his shirt and yanked that off too. Ron didn't bother mucking about with buttons or straps, or even stop to sort out what was his clothing and what was Ginny's; he just grabbed and pulled at the bits of fabric in front of him, Ginny doing the same, until they were both naked, skin to freckled skin, staring into each other's eyes and shivering with anticipation. The Weasleys had gone naked together quite comfortably when Ron was a child, because with a family of nine in a house built for five there was no help for it. But that had changed since Bill and Charlie left, thanks to Percy's tearful shame; and Ginny hadn't had neat, round breasts, or that little tuft of ginger hair, back then.

Ginny had noticed him staring. With a gentle hand on the back of his head, she guided him down to her left nipple; and whispered "Bite."

Ron did. He heard, and also felt, her gasp; with his teeth still clenched on the little nub of flesh, he flicked his tongue from side to side. Ginny whimpered. Her hands, roving over his back, curled inward, and then he was in delicious pain as her fingernails scraped him up and down.

They came up for air, and Ron kissed her again, this time putting his tongue in. He leaned forward, pushing her down onto the bed, so that her head lay on her neatly arranged boots, then shifted over until he was between her legs. Ginny half-curled up, raising her arse off the bed, to rub his thighs with her feet. Then Ron felt the gentle touch of her hand on the tip of his cock. "Oh, God!" he shouted.

Ginny began stroking him up and down, her fingers feather-light. "Where do you want to go from here?" she purred.

Ron's capacity for the right words had in no way improved. "Wha, whateh?" was his reply.

"Mouth," said Ginny, raising her head and making an O with her lips; "tits," settling down on her hips so that she could raise herself up on her elbows, "cunt," shifting the balance back again, "or arse?" turning slightly to one side to indicate that she could roll right over if necessary.

"Cunt," said Ron hoarsely. "But from behind."

"Cunt it is," said Ginny, and with astonishing grace withdrew her knees right up to her chest and rolled over — brushing his cock with her toes in the process. She raised herself on all fours, her legs on either side of his (and still touching them very lightly), her mass of fiery hair falling off the freckled expanse of her back, her smooth round buttocks right against his hips. Ron was upright on his knees, gazing down in mute awe. Ginny reached a hand between her legs and guided his cock between her oozing cunt-lips.

"Ron?" she said to the curtains, her voice breaking slightly as he slid in his whole length.

"Ye?"

"Talk to me. Say dirty things."

"Wha?"

"Just say what you're thinking. Whatever it is."

That was easy enough.

"Oh God, I'm fucking my sister. Oh God, I'm fucking my sister."

"Yes," she said, "fuck me, brother. Fuck me."

The painted Veela twins heard their voices, muted a little by the back of the picture, but rising louder and louder, chanting those words in harmony — Oh God, I'm fucking my sister! Fuck me, brother, fuck me!; and if they had been listening very carefully, they would also have heard the bedsprings clinking and creaking, ever so quietly, but getting subtly louder as the mattress pumped harder. And they certainly heard the slap, slap, slap of skin on skin. But they did not feel the heat, nor smell the indescribable smell: part hair, part skin, part sweat, part juices, part breath, all body.

Then Ginny shrieked, flailed her head about, and her cunt-muscles, gripping Ron's cock, went into spasms. They slid apart, and she rolled over to face him. Now it seemed she had no more words than he had. With a little squeal she plunged downward and wrapped her lips and tongue around his swollen organ, sucking him up. Only a couple of licks, and he boiled over too. He groaned urgently, his eyes rolling, and watched her mouth overflow, a stream of white trickling down her chin.

They sat back, legs apart, stroking each other with their feet, panting, gazing into each other's eyes. Reality began to return.

"Er," said Ron, "you've got —" he gestured towards his own chin with its two days' growth of orange beard.

"Cum on my face?" said Ginny contentedly. "Good. Can you do a Scourgifying Spell?"

"Not... not very well."

"Just as well I can then, isn't it?" She leaned back further, with a broad grin, and suddenly pissed all over the sheets, her feet, and Ron's bedraggled cock. The warmth of it felt oddly pleasant, and Ron was almost disappointed when she fished her wand out of one of her boots and said "Scourgify."

"Handy," he said.

"Yeah," said Ginny. "Makes you wonder why we've still got plumbing, doesn't it? Will I see you in the Prefects' Bathroom tonight?"

"Er — oh yeah, you're a prefect now, that's right. Yeah, why not? Oh, wait, what about the mermaid? She might tell on us."

"Oh, I think I know how to deal with her." Ginny turned the Veela painting around again. "How would you two feel about a threesome?"