Pairing(s): Ron Weasley/Ginny Weasley (mentions of Ron/Hermione, Dean/Ginny, Harry/Ginny and Harry/Romilda)
Summary: As far back as Ron could remember, he'd thought of Ginny as his. There are some feelings you never outgrow.
Warnings: Incest, incest and incest.
Written for smutty_claus 2009. As for the pairing, I'd never written this particular flavour of Weasleycest before, so it was a fun challenge to pull off. Bonus points to anyone who gets the literary reference to the book Luna lent Ginny.
As far back as Ron could remember, he'd thought of Ginny as his. She had belonged to him in the same way that Charlie belonged to Bill, or Fred and George belonged to each other. Of course, all of Ginny's big brothers were protective of their baby sister, but Ron had been the one to be there for her while the others went off to school and later more exotic climes. He had been her protector and her playmate from the day she was born.
To Ron, Ginny had been just another brother until he learned the difference between boys and girls. At the age of three, he'd been puzzled by the fact that she had no willie — of course, Fred and George had determined that she'd been born tragically disfigured. Luckily, their mother had overheard the conversation and tactfully explained the difference between "boy-bits" and "girl-bits". Later games of Healer between Ron and Ginny had let him discover the details for himself.
Healer wasn't the only game they'd played, of course. Ron had dutifully consented to play House with Ginny, taking on the role of husband to Ginny's wife. They usually wound up mimicking their parents: kissing, holding hands and cuddling while taking care of a family of seven "children" (an ever-changing cast of teddy bears and other soft toys). Occasionally, they'd tried to make babies the way Fred and George had explained it, with Ron lying on top of Ginny, the two of them wriggling around for a few minutes. Of course, it had never worked.
However, that part of the game had ended the day their mum had caught them at it, and promptly gone into an inexplicable fury. She'd sent both Ron and Ginny to their respective rooms without dinner, demanding they never do such naughty things again. Upon discovering who had given her precious (and innocent) little lambs the information, she'd made certain neither Fred nor George could sit down for an entire week. It had taken Ron years to suss out exactly why his mother had reacted so strongly.
Eventually, Ron and Ginny had become too old for that sort of play, turning their attention to Quidditch and tree climbing and other rough and tumble pursuits. Ginny wasn't like most girls her age, preferring mud puddles to dolls, torn jeans to frocks. With Bill and Charlie off at Hogwarts, Percy, and the Twins wrapped up in their own respective worlds, Ginny became Ron's closest and dearest ally.
Circumstances changed dramatically once Ron went off to school. His friendships with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, and their fight against He Who Must Not Be Named began to dominate his life. Ron was reluctant to share his new friends with his kid sister, especially after she showed signs of fancying Harry. Ron definitely didn't like the thought of that one bit. He also didn't want Ginny involved in anything related to the Dark Lord; she needed to be safeguarded from all things dark and dangerous.
Ginny, of course, had other plans.
Over the next few years, his sister integrated herself into Ron's social life, getting along famously with his friends. Sometimes, Ron thought, she got on with them a bit too well. He couldn't have explained why if anyone had asked, but it irked him to see Ginny with his mates, especially the other boys in his dorm: Seamus, Neville, Dean, Harry. He didn't mind her friendship with Hermione at all — that was different somehow. But seeing her talking, giggling, flirting with his dorm mates at every given opportunity, seeing them flirting back and looking at her like that, made him want to whack them repeatedly with a Beater's bat until they left his little sister alone.
She was his, and the last thing Ron wanted was a bunch of randy, hormonal teenage boys ogling her or thinking about her. Especially when he had to live with them night and day. It was just brotherly concern, he assured himself over and over. At least until one day, when Ron came to the realisation that it might be something more.
Ron came into the Gryffindor boys' dorm, bone tired and muddy. Quidditch practise had run late, and Harry had worked the new team long and hard. Exhausted, Ron flopped on his bed, still in his muddy uniform, unable to move.
"So, what's she like?" Ron heard Seamus ask as he presumably entered the room.
"None of your bloody business," Dean replied testily. There was the sound of his school bag hitting his mattress.
"Oh, come on, mate," Seamus urged. "I'm your best friend. You've got to tell me all about her."
She had to be Ginny, Ron realised. She had been dating Dean since sometime last summer. Ron wasn't crazy about the idea. In his mind, Dean was a slick git, but then again, no one he knew was good enough for his sister. Taking the utmost care, Ron shifted, hoping to remain obscured by the red velvet curtains surrounding his bed.
"She's got great tits, hasn't she?" Seamus continued, oblivious to Dean's warning tone. "Has she let you touch her up yet? What do they feel like? Lavender once let me—"
"A gentleman never kisses and tells. Or," Dean let out a low, throaty chuckle, "touches and tells for that matter."
Ron could practically hear Seamus's eyebrows shooting up into his hairline.
"Brilliant!" There was a momentary pause before Seamus added, "So, has she let you go any further, then? Given you a bit of finger pie? Is she a screamer? I bet she is..."
Ron began to seethe; he could feel his ears starting to burn. It took all his resolve to stay where he was hidden rather than coming out swinging.
"Not talking, mate," Dean repeated. "Besides, I know anything I tell you will just be used to help you toss off later tonight. And you don't need any more motivation, if you ask me."
"Oi!" Seamus exclaimed.
Dean snorted. "C'mon. We've got to get to the library and get that Transfiguration essay done. Besides, if Ron catches you talking about his sister like this, you're a dead man."
"Heh. I'm not afraid of him," insisted Seamus.
Balling his fists, Ron considered giving Seamus plenty of reason to be — but at that point, the other two boys shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind them. He lay there, waiting until he was certain they were gone before he made any attempt to move.
Disgusted with his crass dorm mates, Ron shook his head and stomped off to the Prefect's bath, intent on cleaning up. Perhaps a good soak would soothe away his anger. He muttered the password, flinging the door open as it unlocked, then slammed it shut with a loud 'bang'. Locking the door with a quick spell, Ron stripped off his filthy clothes and then got into the large tub, ignoring the giggles and stares from the Mermaid portrait which hung on the wall above.
The sensation of steaming, soapy water against his skin did work to calm him down considerably, but he still couldn't get Seamus's words out of his head. "Great tits! Finger pie! Bet she's a screamer!"
Ron flushed, and not just because he was up to his neck in scalding hot water. He was well aware of Ginny's breasts — it was rather hard to ignore them given their prominence on her petite frame, especially when she wore tight, form fitting Quidditch tunics. For a moment, he wondered how they'd feel in his hands, how well they'd fill them...
He shook the thought off. This was his sister, not some tart in one of Seamus's dirty mags.
Still, he couldn't get the picture of Ginny's bare breasts out of his mind, considered what it would be like to touch them, to fondle them, to suck on them until she squirmed and cried and sighed in delight. Ron could feel his cock springing to life as he tried to make himself stop thinking about them.
He failed miserably.
Down deep, he knew how wrong it was to even consider Ginny in that light, but he couldn't help himself. His cock ached as it bobbed against his bare belly; he wrapped his fingers around the base of his shaft and began to stroke.
It had been two years since the War had ended, two long and eventful years. The long nightmare of the Dark Lord's reign was over, and Ron's whole world had changed. He had realised his lifelong dream to become an Auror, working with Harry to clean up the entire Department at Kingsley Shacklebolt's request. He lived alone in a cozy flat off of Diagon Alley, and overall, his life was quite content. Except for his love life, or lack thereof.
That was a complete and utter shambles. Try as Ron might, relationships were things that eluded him. He and Hermione had made a brave attempt to get together, but in the end, it had fallen apart. Hermione had gone back to Hogwarts after their arduous year of Horcrux hunting, and within months, things had gone completely pear-shaped between them. Hermione got involved with Neville Longbottom, who'd proven himself to be quite the hero while they'd been gone, and Ron found himself happy for her. At least they'd remained friends, in spite of everything.
Ron had made vague and fruitless attempts at dating after that, but none of the women he went out with seemed to be his type. And when he was alone, he found himself thinking about a petite girl with long red hair, dark brown eyes and freckles. A girl who looked just like his little sister. A girl who was his little sister.
He could never have admitted that to Hermione — or anyone else — that he'd missed Ginny far more than anyone else during their year long quest, or while she was away for her last year of school. It was even further complicated by the fact that Ginny was involved with his best mate in the whole wide world, and he had to pretend to be thrilled for the pair of them when in actuality, it was tearing him apart.
At least Harry had the wherewithal to be discreet about his sex life with Ginny. That would have been more than Ron could have borne.
Ron settled on his sofa, perusing The Daily Prophet for the day's Quidditch scores. To his dismay, his beloved Chudley Cannons were still in the bottom of the League, having been summarily trounced by Falmouth yet again. He groaned with frustration. It didn't matter that he knew the Cannons were a crap team; somehow, he still held out hope that some day, they would emerge victorious.
A gentle rapping at his window distracted him from the Sport page and the disappointing scores. Ron looked up to see a familiar owl standing on the windowsill, its beak hitting the streaky pane in a staccato rhythm. "Oh, for fuck's sake," he muttered, throwing the paper on top of the coffee table and heading to let the bird in.
Ginny's brown and grey barn owl looked about as thrilled to see him as he was to see it. Which was to say not at all. The owl hooted in annoyance as Ron grabbed it and pulled it into the flat, nipping at him as he tugged at the roll of parchment tied to its leg. "Oi!" he exclaimed; the bite was superficial, but it stung.
He couldn't imagine what his sister could possibly want from him at this time of night. Perhaps she wanted to gloat about the Cannons, especially when the Harpies were due to play them later in the week. A Harpies win would relegate the Cannons to dead last for the rest of the season. It would be just like Ginny to take the piss over something like that, especially now that she'd landed a position as the Harpies' newest Chaser straight out of school.
To Ron's surprise, the note had nothing to do with Quidditch in the least. In Ginny's neat handwriting, it read:
Are you free tonight? I really need to talk to someone. Please let me know if you're around.
"Huh," he said, staring at the note, puzzled.
The owl clacked its beak in expectation, causing Ron to scowl.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm going to answer. And no, I haven't got any treats for you." He ran and found a working quill, hastily scribbling a reply before attaching it to the owl. He pitched the bird out the window, then set about tidying up the flat before Ginny came round, hoping to make it presentable before she arrived.
She was there within the hour. Her hair was mussed, her eyes swollen, and her nose red. Even Ron, who Hermione had once proclaimed had "the emotional range of a teaspoon," could tell that his sister was extremely unhappy.
"Hey, Gin," he said as he ushered her into the flat. "What's wrong?"
Ginny worried at her lower lip, inhaling deeply. Ron could see tears welling up in her eyes as she looked up at him. She let out a breath, then murmured, "It's Harry."
"Harry?" he echoed. "Has something happened to him?" Come to think of it, his friend had been acting a bit odd lately, seeming a bit distant and preoccupied whenever Ron ran into him at the Auror's department. Ron had just written it off as Harry being overly involved in a case, as he was wont to do, but now his friend's behaviour seemed suspicious in retrospect.
Sniffling, Ginny shook her head. "He...," she angrily wiped a stray tear away with the back of her hand. "He...I...we broke up tonight."
"Harry said he needed his space," Ginny sneered. "That as much as he cared about me, he realised he was only twenty years old, that he'd hardly dated anyone, and that he didn't want to rush into anything with the first person he'd got serious about."
Ron stared at his sister in disbelief, trying to remember if he'd heard about Harry being hit by a particularly strong Stunning Spell or a rogue Bludger. "Harry said all that?"
"H-he did," Ginny replied. "And then I hit him with a Bat Bogey Hex. A big one. He'll be leaking snot for days." The corners of her mouth curled up into a slight smile. "From every orifice imaginable."
Ron made a mental note to give Harry wide berth until further notice. "Sounds like he deserved it, good and proper."
Ginny nodded, her smile vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "He deserved a lot more than that. He's lucky I didn't turn him into a Puffskein and use him as a Bludger... after all the time we've been together, after everything we've been through, he just...just...!" She let out a roar of frustration. "How could he do this to me? Are all men this thick when it comes to relationships?!"
"Erm..." Ron didn't think he was the best person to answer that question. Luckily, Ginny didn't wait for an answer; she stormed around the room, still ranting.
"Do you know how much time I spent waiting for him to come back? A whole bloody year! Did he honestly think that pretending I didn't exist was going to make the Death Eaters forget we were together before then? Or bloody Malfoy for that matter?"
"I don't think he actually—"
"I took him back after that, Ron. I did! Even after he treated me like some sort of ridiculous fairy princess during the final battle — as if I couldn't fight too! He was worse than Mum, but did I say anything? Of course not!" Ginny fumed. "Instead, I took him back and never said a damn word. Because I loved him and I thought...I thought..." Suddenly the fight was out of her. She looked at Ron, defeated. "Oh, Ron, I can't believe he—" she choked back a sob, her fists tightening as she clutched at herself.
He flew to her side, draping an arm around her shoulders. "Don't cry, Gin. He's not worth it."
"I-I know," she replied, although she didn't sound very convinced.
"Here, let's go into the kitchen for a cuppa." A cup of tea was his mother's cure-all for everything and anything wrong in the world. It was as good a time as any to see if it really worked. Without waiting for a response, Ron led his sister into the tiny, cramped kitchen, letting her sit in a creaky wooden chair while he heated the kettle and found a tin of tea.
As he set about getting down a pair of clean cups, he heard Ginny weeping softly. He turned around to see her slumped in her chair, her face buried in her hands. The cups landed on the counter with a clatter; Ron sprinted over to her, wrapping his arms around her. "Aw, c'mon, Gin, it's not that bad."
"Yes, it is," Ginny moaned in protest, then buried her face into the crook of Ron's neck, hot tears splashing against his collar. "It really is."
"No," he insisted, "it isn't." He tightened his embrace, rocking her gently. "He's just a bloke, Gin. Trust me. He's my friend, I ought to know."
She let out a hiccupping sob in response.
"We'll get him back, Gin. Do something really wicked to Harry when he least expects it."
"I dunno yet, but I reckon we'll need to talk to George about this," Ron continued, one hand absently stroking her hair. "He's brilliant at coming up with ways of getting revenge on people he doesn't like."
To Ron's relief, Ginny managed a laugh. "But George likes Harry!"
"He won't when he hears you've been dumped by him. Here, take this." Ron offered her a napkin, allowing her to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.
"Ron, thank you."
"Ah, it's what big brothers are for." Ron leaned down, intending to kiss her on the cheek, but precisely at that moment, she turned her head, his mouth landing directly on hers. Her lips were soft and wet beneath his; Ron found he could not stop himself from kissing her. The result was immediate and visceral — a jolt of arousal coursing through his entire body, leaving Ron feeling as if he'd been struck by lightning.
Ginny gasped, then pulled away, staring at him in what Ron could only assume was shock. He steeled himself for a blow which never came. The next thing he knew, she'd pulled his head down to hers and they were kissing again, heated, desperate, and furious.
He lifted her up from the chair, yanking her flush against him as they stumbled, landing against the wall. Ginny was trapped between Ron and the wood panelling; she moaned against his lips as he slid one leg between hers, his painful erection straining against the flies of his jeans as it pressed against her hip. Her tongue was in his mouth, her fingers in his hair as she ground against his thigh.
Ron's hips jerked up as he did the same, rubbing shamelessly, the fabric of his pants rough against his skin. He worked one hand between them, burrowing under Ginny's shirt, feeling her warm and smooth beneath his fingertips. He heard her mewl at his touch, her movements growing more frantic, her kisses becoming increasingly urgent.
And then, without warning, Ginny broke off, shoving him away violently. Ron flew back into the counter top, the edge smashing into his lower back, causing him to yelp in pain.
"What the—?" he started, dazed, confused and gasping for breath. He reached for her, Ginny's hands flying up to block him, stopping him in his tracks.
"Don't you touch me!" she exclaimed. "For Merlin's sake, Ron, how could you?"
"I can't believe you kissed me like that!"
"Me? You were the one who—"
Ginny cut him off immediately. "But you started it!"
"Well, you weren't exactly stopping me, were you now?" he countered, then took a step forward. "You wanted it as much as I did!"
Ignoring him, she continued, "This can't happen. This isn't happening."
"But, it did. You can't just—" Ron reached out to her, only to be swatted away as if he were some pesky fly.
"Just stay away from me, you pervy git!" She shouted, glaring daggers at him. "And don't you ever try anything like that again! The only place you'll ever have me is in your dreams. Your filthy, disgusting dreams!" With that, she tore out of the kitchen.
Bewildered, Ron didn't bother to follow. "Don't worry, I wouldn't dare!" he shouted at the empty kitchen, then kicked the counter in frustration. The only response he got was the shrill, piercing whistle of the tea kettle as it began to boil over.
The following weeks were absolute, excruciating torture. Ron was miserable, moping around at both the loss of his sister and his own foolishness. The last thing he'd wanted was to push Ginny away; after Fred's death, Ron had come to realise just how important his family was to him. Even Percy, although he'd never actually admit it to the prat.
Ron purposely avoided a few family functions, knowing Ginny would be there and wanting to avoid any unnecessary contact with her. Unfortunately, he knew he couldn't hide forever, especially when there was no way to explain to his parents or siblings why he was unable to come round. Eventually, he ran out of excuses and decided that Ginny would just have to endure his presence or be the one to stay home.
Being a perfect example of a Gryffindor, Ginny chose the former. At first it was awkward as hell; she wouldn't even look at Ron, let alone acknowledge his existence. It made Ron miserable. Finally, at a birthday party at Shell Cottage for their niece, Dominique, the ice finally broke. Ginny had consumed more than a few drinks, and her words were terse, her demeanour distant, as if he were someone she'd just met, but at least she was talking to him again. Ron was hopeful for further improvement.
From then on, things grew slightly less uncomfortable. Ron was able to exchange a few pleasantries and jokes with Ginny when he saw her, something he was infinitely grateful for. Of course he wanted to do more. Whenever he saw his sister, memories of their time in the kitchen together came flooding back; her touch, her taste, her scent... it was enough to drive a man spare.
He wondered if Ginny ever thought the same. He thought he caught her staring at him when she thought his attention was focused elsewhere, and from time to time, her jokes seemed a little bit more flirtatious than they ought to. But he couldn't tell if it was fact or just wishful thinking. He found himself blaming Harry for the current dilemma. If the bastard hadn't thrown over his sister, then none of this would have happened and Ron could've kept his dirty little secret to himself.
Harry, of course, was completely oblivious to the havoc he'd wreaked. When he and Ron went out, they just talked about blokey things like Quidditch and work. However, Harry had admitted to the break-up over drinks one night, letting it slip that he was now seeing Romilda Vane, who was now working as personal assistant to Rhys Williams, the new head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.
Upon hearing the news, Ron wondered if Harry was under the influence of a love spell or some other enchantment, but Harry seemed to be his usual self in every other way. Plus his friend didn't sound particularly besotted with Romilda, admitting to Ron that he was just exploring his options while he decided what he really wanted. Ron, of course, had very strong suspicions that "options" were not exactly what Harry was exploring, especially when it came to the voluptuous and accommodating Romilda.
The strange and unfathomable limbo with Ginny lasted over the span of a few more months; they were neither friends nor enemies, although Ron longed for the day when they could just be again. They occasionally socialised with the same friends, were invited to the same parties. The odd longing looks and ambiguous comments continued, leaving Ron frustrated and aroused in equal measure whenever he saw her.
It was past ten when Ron arrived home from the Leaky Cauldron after a night with Neville and Harry and a never-ending round of drinks. As he pulled out the key to unlock the door, he realised it was already open, his security spells all seemingly disarmed. Drawing his wand, he crept into the flat cautiously, unsure of what or who he'd find waiting there.
"I know you're in here!" he announced as he inched into the sitting room.
"Honestly, Ron, you really need to work on those defensive charms," Ginny said, then tutted at him in dismay. She was sprawled on his sofa, as bold as brass, as if she owned the place. "It was all too easy to break in."
Ron scowled. "I don't need you of all people telling me how to cast spells."
"You are an Auror, aren't you? I could have sworn you said you'd passed your training—"
"Of course," he snapped in annoyance. The sense of well-being that he'd experienced all evening had now completely dissipated. "But the war's over! I can afford to be a little lax now and then."
"Tonks used to say that an Auror could never ever be too careful —" Ginny
continued, clearly trying to suppress a smirk, as if she was enjoying winding him up.
"Well, she would have, wouldn't she? Especially with Mad-Eye Moody as her bloody mentor. Constant vigilance, my arse," Ron hissed. "More like constant paranoia." He crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. "What the hell are you doing here anyway?"
Ginny looked up at him soberly. "I decided that things couldn't go on the way they've been going between us. Pretending as if nothing happened, as if there's nothing between us."
"Oh, you did, did you?"
"Ron, don't be like that. I know you're as unhappy about the situation as I am." There was a momentary pause as she seemed to choose her words carefully. "Probably even more so."
"Might be," he replied, knowing he probably sounded like a petulant child, but not particularly caring at this point. "So, what do you reckon we do about it?"
"Well, I've been trying to suss that out for a while now. It can't continue this way — people are starting to notice how weird things are between us, aren't they?"
"Yes," she said. "They are, and I haven't got any answers for them. Anyway, I think I've found us a solution. If you're willing, that is."
Ron braced himself for whatever Ginny was about to say, certain he wasn't going to like what he heard.
"Luna lent me this book, a Muggle novel. She said I'd find it quite illuminating."
Quirking an eyebrow, Ron stared at his sister, wondering just how some Muggle novel was going to change anything. "Why would Luna give it to you?"
Ginny wrinkled her nose. "I think she might suspect there's something off about us. You know how intuitive she is. Anyway, in it, there's a brother and sister. Just like us. Well, they were Muggles, and Americans at that, so not really like us, I suppose. But their relationship...they had feelings for one another and..." she let out a sigh of frustration, as though realising that she wasn't make very much sense. "And the way they got it resolved was to lock themselves in a room. A bedroom, determined not to come out until they'd got it all out of their system."
"So, what did they do, murder each other?"
"No." A slow flush spread across Ginny's freckled cheeks. "They shagged each other rotten."
"Ah." Ron's mouth was suddenly very dry, his tongue thick in his mouth. "And did that resolve things for them?"
"Yes. They shagged and shagged until they'd got over each other and could move past it."
"So, that's your brilliant idea, is it?"
She nodded slowly, then got to her feet, picking up her bag from the floor. Pointing to a brightly coloured brochure lying on the coffee table, she said, "Look, I've booked a room for us at a bed and breakfast in Portsmouth this weekend. The information's all here."
"How do I know this isn't some wind up?"
Wounded, Ginny frowned. "Because it isn't. I don't want to deal with this mess anymore, Ron. I want to have done with it already."
"And what about me?" he asked. "What if this isn't the way I want to handle this?"
"Well, you'll just have to." Her stubborn expression told Ron she would brook no argument, that it was her way or nothing. "I will see you there."
Gobsmacked and tongue-tied, he could only nod in agreement as she swept out of the room, her long red hair flying behind her.
Ron reached the Apparation point in Portsmouth, checked his gear to make sure nothing had been lost somewhere between There and Here, and then pulled the crumpled brochure out of his pocket. "Mermaid House is a delightful and historic Bed and Breakfast designed for the most discerning Witch and Wizard built in 1585. With rooms overlooking the sea, we offer a romantic getaway for Wizarding folk from all over the world..." The address was printed on the bottom in glowing green ink, and seemed to be only a few minutes walk from where he was now.
Ginny had promised to meet him there, checked in under the name Gwen Prewett and wearing some sort of disguise to avoid any undue publicity. No doubt someone like Rita Skeeter would love to get their hands on something as salacious and scandalous as a member of the Harpies going off to shag her brother in a remote corner of the country. This was assuming that Ginny was actually there when he arrived.
The bed and breakfast proved to be an impressive old house, designed in the typical eclectic Wizarding style; a hodgepodge of architecture old and new stuck together with no particular rhyme or reason. Inside, it was homey, clean and bright, filled with an eclectic mixture of ornate wooden furniture covered in rich velvets and satins, the windows hung with white eyelet curtains and heavier damask drapes.
Glancing down at the register as he signed in, Ron caught sight of his sister's pseudonym written in her familiar handwriting. He sighed in relief, then took the offered key from the desk clerk, who gave Ron a conspiratorial wink as he handed it over.
"Lovely lady, that Miss Prewett is," the clerk – a short plump older Wizard with a bald pate and a beard— said with a cheeky grin. "I've always had a soft spot for a pretty brunette. You're a very lucky geezer."
Ron snorted in response. "You're not her bloody type," he muttered.
The walk up to the second floor room was interminable, the staircase never-ending. Finally, he reached Room No. 23 and let himself in.
The sight that met his eyes stopped Ron in his tracks; thankfully Ginny had the presence of mind to wave her wand at the door and shut them away from the prying eyes of any other occupants. Placing the wand down beside her on the bed, she lay back against the mound of pillows and gazed at him through her upraised and parted knees.
Ginny was wearing a pale green negligee made of some filmy material, low cut to reveal generous cleavage, and split down the middle, exposing the flat expanse of her freckled stomach and a pair of skimpy, matching knickers. Ron's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the tantalizing sight.
"Don't just stand there," she said huskily. "Come here."
Ron dropped his bag and bolted to the bed. Gathering her up in his arms, he kissed her hard, clinging to her as if he feared she'd turn to smoke at the first touch. But she was warm and solid and here, kissing him back with equal fervour, her small, deft fingers unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off him in haste.
Ron's cock sprung to life, his trousers already unbearably tight. He pushed forward, pressing against Ginny's warm, bare thigh, groaning as she cupped him through the thick fabric. She trailed her kisses over his chin to his throat, dragging her tongue along the side of his neck before sucking greedily. A guttural moan escaped his lips, the awareness that she was marking him only making him harder.
"Want you," he breathed, his hands finding their way to her breasts, kneading them through the lacy top of her negligee, her nipples taut beneath his palms as he caressed her. "I want to f-fuck you so badly."
Ron felt his cheeks heat with more than arousal as the words sprang from his lips. He'd never said anything like that to a woman before. Hermione had hardly been the type to talk dirty to, and he'd never been comfortable enough with any other girl he'd seen to make the attempt.
Ginny raised her head, her face partially obscured by the curtain of her copper hair as she flashed him an enigmatic smile. "Not yet. We don't need to rush."
He whimpered in protest, which turned to approval as Ginny tightened her hand over his crotch, squeezing lightly. Taking in a deep breath, he leaned forward, brushing her hair off her face and then cupped her chin in his hands. He drew her in for another kiss, long, lingering and infused with as much passion as he could muster.
Ginny responded in kind, her fingertips stroking down the length of his spine before burrowing their way under the waistband of his trousers and his pants. Ron gasped as she grabbed his bare arse, her nails sharp as they cut into his skin. His hips bucked forward as his hands found her breasts again.
Withdrawing one hand, Ginny reached between her breasts, releasing the catch on her negligee. There was a rustle of fabric as the baby doll nightgown fell away, her breasts freed from their confines of chiffon and lace. Ron broke off the kiss to gawk; Ginny had the most perfect breasts he had ever seen.
"Go on then," Ginny said huskily, giving him a light nudge which broke him out of his reverie. Ron dipped his head down, closing his lips around one rosy nipple, and began to suck.
She moaned in assent as he began to lavish her with lips and teeth and tongue, licking and kissing and sucking her pale, freckled breasts, working his way to the undersides and then back up again, refusing to stop until he'd covered every last inch of her sweet flesh. Ron had never been given free rein in his ministrations by any other partner, and he wasn't about to squander the opportunity.
Ginny's hands were in his hair as she whispered words of encouragement, undulating against him and crying out as he bit down on her nipple and tugged at it. He began to range his kisses lower, swirling his tongue in slow, languid arcs along her rib cage and the line of her belly until he hit the satin-trimmed edge of her knickers.
With shaking hands, he untied the small bows at her hips, then peeled the knickers away entirely. Ginny lowered herself back on the bed, legs splayed wantonly. This time, Ron needed no further prompting. He settled between her knees, hands firmly on her thighs, and leaned in for a tentative lick.
"Mmmm. Yeeeeeees," Ginny moaned.
He swiped his tongue along her folds again, savouring the taste, the scent, the feel of her. She was unbelievably wet, and her moans urged him to keep going, assuring him that he was doing things right. Emboldened, he buried his face between her legs and threw himself into it, worshipping his sister the way he'd dreamed about doing for years.
Ginny writhed beneath him, clutching at his hair as her moans grew increasingly louder. Suddenly, she yanked Ron's head up, stopping him cold.
"Did I do something wrong?" he blurted.
"N-no," she panted. "You were brilliant. I just want..." Her face lit up in a wicked grin as she struggled to sit up, propping herself up on her elbows. "I want to see you naked." She gave Ron a playful shove with her bare foot.
Ron felt his cheeks colouring and his ears burning as he scooted away from her, then rose from the bed. His trousers were tented by his entirely too obvious erection, which only made his blush deepen. He knew it was ridiculous to be embarrassed by that now, especially given the reason he was here in the first place, but he couldn't help it. At least Ginny seemed pleased by it, watching him with interest, rather than pointing and laughing at him.
It was something of a relief to unzip his painfully confining trousers and take them off. By force of habit, he turned his back on his sister to wriggle out of his pants, although he was certain he could feel her eyes fixed on his arse. Finally, he turned back toward her, his face hot with embarrassment. He knew he was pasty and weedy, and even though he was twenty-one, he still felt like an awkward teenager, his arms and legs too long and gangly to control. He glanced down at his rampant cock, swallowing hard, wondering how he compared to Ginny's past lovers.
To Ron's relief, Ginny's dark eyes roved down the length of his body, her lips curving up in an appreciative smile.
"So, how do you want to, erm...?" Ron rasped, his voice cracking slightly, adding to his mortification.
Ginny patted the mattress beside her. "Lie down here. I'll take care of the rest."
He shuffled to the bed, fighting the urge to cover his erection with his hands, then lay back on the mattress, stretching out to his full height. Ginny leaned down and kissed him in reassurance, resting her palms flat against his chest.
Shifting closer, she draped one leg over his thighs, then pulled herself upright so she was straddling him. Ron groaned as Ginny rubbed herself against him, her cunt hot and slick as it slid along the length of his aching cock. It was exquisite torment to see her from this angle, looming over him, her pert breasts hovering over his face. He didn't think it could get much better than this.
Until she took his cock in her hand and began to stroke him with surprising expertise. She raised herself up on her knees, shifted slightly, and then eased herself down again, inch by inch. As Ginny constricted around him, Ron's head flew back, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, and he moaned in ecstasy.
No other girl had ever done it like this, not even when he'd begged. They'd all insisted on missionary position. But his sister — his magnificent, incredible, gorgeous sister — was on top of him, riding him like a brand new Nimbus. It was better than anything he could ever have imagined.
His hips jerked up of their own accord as Ginny moved, up and down, up and down. Ron grasped her arse, trying to control the pace, wanting to make it last for as long as he possibly could. He watched Ginny in rapt fascination: noting the way she bit her lip as she rose up and sunk down again, the way she flung her hair back off her face, the way her breasts bounced and heaved.
Ginny's breath was coming out in long, ragged pants and moans, her fingers curling against his chest. Ron could feel her beginning to tremble, then shudder as her orgasm overtook her. That was all Ron needed to lose control; he spasmed and shook beneath her, spilling hot and strong inside her.
She collapsed on top of him, her skin warm and damp from exertion. Ginny buried her face into the crook of Ron's neck and nuzzled him. Ron pulled her closer, enveloping her in his arms, kissing her on the top of the head. It was comforting just to hold her like this, snuggling with her like they had when they were small. Only they were definitely not children anymore.
The rest of the weekend continued on, neither Ron nor Ginny able to get enough of the other. There was no thought of sleep or food, just the never-ending quest for satiation. Occasionally they would drowse in each other's arms. Then one would shift, disturbing the sleep of the other, and the heated activities would resume.
Eventually, the weekend came to a close. They packed their meagre things in silence, Ginny leaving first, then Ron himself. He stopped at the front desk to pay in cash, ignoring the well-meaning but overly chatty commentary by the elderly desk clerk, then bolted for the Apparation spot.
He had agreed to meet Ginny later in the day at the Three Broomsticks. It would not raise anyone's suspicions to see the pair of them talking and having a drink together in a public place, a public place where they would not be able to give in to their baser instincts and continue the debauchery of the past few days. At least, that was the plan. Ron prayed could keep his hands to himself.
When he arrived, Ginny was already safely ensconced in a corner table, out of the hearing range of most of the other patrons. He had no doubt that she'd made sure to cast a few discreet Muffliato spells to protect their privacy further. She was nursing a girly-looking drink, rolling the pink paper umbrella absently in her fingers, then she caught sight of him, giving him a quick wave.
"H-hi," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. For reasons he couldn't explain, Ron suddenly felt as anxious and awkward as a fifth year student on his first date. He knew he was being ridiculous — this was Ginny. There was no reason to be afraid, and yet, he was. "You get home all right?"
She replied with a short nod. "Of course." Managing a smile, she added, "You really ought to sit down. You're making me nervous just looming there like that."
Ron pulled out his chair and took a seat, noticing the tall mug of Rosmerta's best ale for the first time. "Thanks for that."
"Ah, well," her grin grew wider, "after all these years, I'd like to think I know what you like."
"Well, you do now," Ron murmured, before burying his face in his drink.
"About that..." There was a sharp intake of breath as Ginny glanced around nervously, then continued, "we're done, aren't we? This weekend was incredible, but we can't do it again. You know that, don't you, Ron?"
He started to cough as his mouthful of ale went down the wrong way. Finally, it stopped, and he frowned, giving her a pointed look. "I don't know about that. I could certainly go for more. I might need one more go-round. Just to make certain, of course."
Ginny just rolled her eyes at him.
"Oh, c'mon, Gin. I'm just larking about." He took another swallow of ale. "Well, mostly."
"Ron, we can't. If nothing else, because it would kill Mum and Dad if they ever found out. Not to mention the rest of the family—"
"I reckon Bill would be on our side," Ron countered. "His precious Pharaohs always married their sisters, didn't they? I bet plenty of Purebloods got off with their sisters and no one said a word about it—"
"Okay, fine." Ron heaved an exaggerated sigh, attempting to give her his most wounded look. "But if I don't find a girlfriend in the next few weeks, I will be bothering you again. A bloke's got needs, you know."
"If you actually made an effort, you'd get one. A proper one. It's not like that blonde over there," Ginny cocked her head in the direction of a pretty witch sitting by the window, "hasn't been checking you out from the moment you walked in the room, you know. You ought to try chatting her up."
"Might do," Ron replied. The witch was pretty. But she wasn't Ginny. No one ever could be. He lowered his voice and leaned in close, then whispered in her ear, "You do realise that I'll be thinking of you while I fuck her, don't you?"
Ginny raised an eyebrow, shaking her head in disbelief. "Of course. I wouldn't expect any less from you. Make sure not to call her by my name though. That would be a disaster."
"I'll do my best," he promised, then managed a smile as Ginny put her hand over his and gave it a light squeeze. Despite her words, Ron got the distinct feeling that Ginny wasn't quite as past things as she claimed. He hoped he was right. Only time would tell.