Rating: PG-13 for non-graphic sensuality
Word Count: 100 x 4
Summary: Harry's button is undone.
A/N: First time doing a series of drabbles, so it took forever and turned out kind of awkwardly. Un-betaed, as per usual. Written for harryron100
I turn just as Ron comes up from behind me, reaching out to take my sleeve in his hands. He starts fumbling with my shirt cuff, but instead of buttoning it, he tugs my sleeve up to my elbows.
“What’re you doing?” I ask, frowning.
“Fixing it,” he says, grabbing my other arm to repeat the process.
“Looks too casual,” I protest, but he shakes his head.
“No,” he says, running his thumb across a vein on the inside of my forearm. “Looks better this way.”
I feel my face flush with equal parts pleasure and embarrassment. “Oh.”
Just as I am about to turn away from him, Ron puts a hand on my shoulder.
I frown as he reaches for my collar. “Another one?”
“Mmmhmm…” He pulls gently at the top button, fingers brushing my collarbone as he works. He’s standing so close that I can smell him – soap and washing powder and mint flavored toothpaste. “There,” he says finally. He lets go of my shirt but doesn’t move away.
“Too casual,” I repeat stubbornly, tugging at my loose collar.
“No,” he says warmly, eyes bright blue in the late afternoon light. “Looks better this way.”
“Button’s undone,” he says quietly, and his hands are already working the placket, popping the buttons open one at a time. He’s so close now that I can smell the sweat on his neck, see the sunlight trapped in his eyelashes. I lean forward so that our foreheads are almost touching and my glasses are just brushing the tip of his nose.
“Don’t tell me it looks better this way,” I say as he pops open the final button. Ron smiles and slips a hand inside my shirt, smoothing his callused palm over my ribcage.
“Trust me, Harry, it does.”
“We’re going to be late.”
Ron pushes my shirt away from my shoulders, and it falls onto the wooden floor next to the bed. He steps closer to me, and the backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress. His breath is warm against my cheek.
“Probably,” he agrees, and doesn’t sound the least bit sorry. He traces a line down my stomach until his fingers reach the hem of my trousers, pausing consideringly over the top button.
“Button’s undone,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Shut up,” I tell him, and lean forward to bring our mouths together.