Ronarry One Shots

Breathe

Summary: Harry knows Ron better than anyone.

Ships: RonWeasleyxHarryPotter

All credit goes to weasleyship on Ao3

-----------

Harry wasn't entirely sure why, or how it happened, all he knew was he didn't think he could live without it. Losing Sirius had been one of the lowest points in his life, and he had just barely stopped instinctively reaching for a quill and parchment to write to him. Getting to The Burrow that summer he still felt numb, and bitter. He spent his days usually holed up in his and Ron's shared bedroom, avoiding conversation with everyone.

Then the nightmares began again. At first he'd wake up in cold sweats, shivering. Ron often slept with the window open and the cool breezes would wash over him like a bucket of ice.

Then he'd began to wake up with Ron kneeling next to his cot, shushing him, evidently he'd been waking up screaming. Then on one night Harry couldn't fall back asleep, and he could feel Ron watching him. As if being controlled by something or someone he couldn't see, Harry had slowly made his way over to the side of Ron's bed. And wordlessly Ron had inched over, and Harry joined him, almost instantly falling asleep. And it hadn't felt strange.

A few nights like this passed, and they never spoke about it. Though there was nothing to say. They were just sleeping.

It happened so slowly. Harry had not been able to fall asleep. He turned to look at his bed mate, and saw that Ron wasn't sleeping either. And they just looked at each other for a moment. Some odd, longing feeling was creeping into Harry's stomach. Something he did not recognize. But it was warm, slowly kicking out the icy numbness that he had been overcome with for the past few months. He needed to touch someone. He needed to feel something. And Ron was right there.

Harry had propped himself onto one arm, and slowly reached out his other hand and touched Ron's cheek. Ron hadn't even blinked, just curled one arm under his pillow and adjusted slightly so his body was more angled toward Harry.

And it had kept going. For the first few nights it had just been simple. A stroke on the cheek, a hand on the shoulder. But Harry was addicted. He couldn't stop. During the day he could easily keep his mind off it. And he and Ron could carry on as usual. Playing quidditch, or chess, eat lunch with everyone, have conversations, playfully argue.

But at night it was like someone placed a glass box around them, silencing the outer world, and all Harry could think about was touching. And Ron just...let him.

Harry quickly became masterful, and could play Ron like an instrument. He knew exactly how Ron would react to each touch. If he stroked the curve of Ron's neck, Ron would give a slight shiver. If he caressed the side of Ron's face, his thumb running close to his mouth, he knew Ron's lips would part ever so slightly. A finger traced along his shoulder would cause goosebumps to pop up all along Ron's skin.

And Harry couldn't stop. Over and over again, a stroke on the cheek, on the shoulder, along his neck. It was like each touch took away more and more of his pain. And Harry would watch the way Ron reacted, his eyes closed, breathing heavily, looking just as at peace as Harry would feel in those several minutes they would spend doing this ritual before falling asleep.

They never spoke, only laying in silence enjoying the sensations. But Harry soon needed more. After about a week he was once again laying next to Ron, his thumb running along his jaw. Ron had his arm curled under his pillow, his blanket was just barely covering his chest, which was rising and falling, his eyes gently closed. Harry was propped up on one arm. He pulled his hand away from Ron's face, and Ron blinked his eyes open. They stared at each other for a moment.

Harry gently pulled the blanket down until it was settled on Ron's waist, then sat up so he was on his knees. Without breaking eye contact he explored his new territory. Starting with his hands on Ron's shoulders he trailed them down, feeling the muscles in Ron's chest, and down to his taut abs. Harry could feel Ron's breathing get heavier. They still hadn't broken eye contact, and Harry felt he knew exactly what Ron's eyes were saying: don't stop. And he knew his own were saying I won't.

Harry swallowed, it wasn't enough. The longing feeling in him was almost unbearable. He reached up and stroked Ron's cheek, then brought it back and swung one leg over his waist so he was straddling him. Ron still hadn't broken his gaze. Harry once again placed his hands on Ron's shoulders, but this time trailed them down his sides to his hips, where he squeezed. This was where their gaze broke as Ron closed his eyes, letting out a small sigh. He kept his eyes closed as Harry kept one hand on his hip and trailed the other back up his stomach and chest. He trailed a finger over Ron's collarbone and felt him shudder. He brought the hand down and his fingers grazed along Ron's waist.

"Harry..."

Harry stopped for a moment. Neither of them had ever uttered a word at night while Ron let Harry touch him. But Ron had murmured his name so serenely. As easy as letting out an exhale. Ron opened his eyes, his chest heaving, and they stared for a moment. A cloud shifted in the sky and a strip of moonlight lit the room for a brief second.

Ron propped himself up on his elbows and they stayed silent. Then, as if a seal had suddenly been broken, he sat up very suddenly, pulling Harry close. Their foreheads rested against each other. They both breathed heavily, holding on to each other. Harry basked in the warmth of Ron's breath against his face. Unspoken words floated in the air around them. Then Ron whispered again, barely audible but enough for Harry to hear the soft request.

"Kiss me."

Harry did not hesitate. He pulled back and they both looked up at each other. Harry leaned forward and pressed his lips against Ron's. They pulled closer together, Ron's hands gripping into Harry's sides. Harry held him back tightly, moving his lips against Ron's. Harry slid a hand up Ron's waist, up his side, and around the back of Ron's neck. He gripped it tightly and pulled him even closer. If he could, he would have pulled Ron into him completely. Ron's hips rocked forward, then pulled away for a brief moment, breathing heavily.

"Don't stop," he whispered, "Don't ever stop."

"Never," Harry replied, his fingers digging deep into Ron's neck, "I won't." He kissed Ron gently on the lips.

"Love me," Ron whispered, in a tone that Harry could clarify almost as desperate, a tone he had grown to know from Ron over the years. Pleading. Asking for attention. Anything.

"I do," Harry replied close to Ron's ear, then kissing him on the neck.

"Don't leave me," Ron said softly, tilting his head and giving Harry more access to his neck as Harry continued to place gentle kisses on it.

"Never," Harry murmured, squeezing his eyes closed as he pulled back, "I can't."

They rested their heads together again, hands on each other's waists. Silence settled. They listened to each other breathing for several seconds. Ron raised his head first, and Harry followed.

"I need you," Ron whispered, his voice cracking.

"Not as much as I need you," Harry replied.