A/N: Ah, so it's been a while since I've written one of these. It's refreshing. Warning: This is a RON/GINNY story. There are hints of INCEST. If it makes you in any way squeamish, or grosses you out, or whatever, DO NOT READ THIS STORY. There. Now you can't say I didn't warn you. Don't leave me flames saying you don't like Ron/Ginny; I'll know because you didn't leave a REVIEW.
Wow. Sorry about that. Frustration. I'm usually a very nice person/
Summer days were Ginny's favourite. Lazy days when you didn't have to worry about school work, and Quiddtich practices, and waking up in time for classes, or actually going to classes … the sun shone on those summer days, and relief came with cool breezes from the north. Behind the Burrow, there was an old maple tree, its branches hanging limply after years of showing them off to the world, leaves dropping tiredly to the faded green grass below.
Ginny lay on her back, her eyes closed and her breathing ragged. Ron sat with his back against the tree trunk, grinning affectionately at her.
"Dizzy?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'd nod," Ginny answered, "but it'd only make my head spin more."
"Told you," Ron said matter-of-factly, shifting smugly.
Ginny stuck her tongue out in the direction she hoped her brother was sitting in, refusing to open her eyes. She could still see the unforgiving glare of the sun through her closed lids, and was reluctant to face it.
"Well, I did," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "You run around a tree enough times, you're going to get dizzy."
"I already knew that."
"You're a jerk."
"I already knew that," he teased. Ginny's eyes flew open; the brilliance of the noontime sun stung for a moment; but the world around her no longer spun, threatening to throw her off balance again.
Ron's blue eyes, glittering in the light of the day, met hers. He widened them a little at her, mockingly.
"Well, aren't you a resilient one," he said. She sprang at him, on her feet in seconds, with the quickness and elegance of a cat; but before she could touch him, he grabbed her wrists … and suddenly, he was on top of her, pinning her body beneath his.
"Not fair," Ginny said.
"Point?" he replied absently; he arranged it so he was holding both her wrists in one hand, and used the other to tickle her mercilessly. She gave a shriek of laughter, squirming to free herself.
"Not … fair …." She gasped, wriggling beneath him. A smirk touched his lips.
"Yeah, well …"
Her tank shirt rode up, just a little; just enough to expose the ivory skin beneath. His fingers dug into her skin, tickling mercilessly.
He wondered at the softness of her skin, why his skin tingled at the feel of her beneath him. You weren't supposed to feel that way, not toward your little sister.
Ginny unwittingly arched against him, emitting a little gasp; Ron froze above her. It was wrong, to be feeling this way.
In an instant, he back off of her, seeking the refuge of the tree trunk again. Ginny, sensing something was wrong, sat up; laughter had gone from her eyes, and concern filled her pretty face. Yeah, she was pretty … when had she grown up so much, started looking so much like a girl?
Oh, God, he couldn't look at her. Couldn't look her in the eyes. She'd know if he did, she'd know and she'd surely hate him for it. What sort of big brother had these … these thoughts? These feelings, these urges to touch her…
He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the ground.
"Are you okay?"
She had the sweetest voice, full of innocence.
"Why won't you look at me?"
He was hurting her; among that innocence was the hint of wounded feelings.
"Did I do something wrong?"
She touched his shoulder; he closed his eyes, bowing his head.
"You think it's wrong too, don't you?"
"I thought if I ignored it, it would go away." Her voice dropped to a whisper, and the hurt grew bigger than just a hint.
He opened his eyes, but still couldn't quite look at her. She took his hand, lacing his fingers through her own. Her hands were so smooth …. He'd always heard that, and he'd known it from accidental brushes from other girls; but this was so much nicer. So much sweeter.
"G-Ginny …" he was alarmed and a little embarrassed at the stutter in his voice. What sort of strong, brave brother stuttered?
What the hell did that mean? How was that supposed to help anything?
She curled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, their hands still lightly linked. He squeezed her hand; she bit her lip.
He didn't know what to do. When Harry had finally clued on to the fact that he was in love with Hermione, he'd kissed her. Wasn't that what people did? Of course he loved Ginny; she was his kid sister. It was sort of an obligation. He thought, maybe, she understood; but there was always the chance she'd been talking about something else the moment before.
You couldn't see them from where they sat behind the old, drooping tree, hidden by its fat, dying trunk. The sun couldn't touch them while they hid beneath the failing leaves. It was their place, their moment. He held her hand tightly, pulling her closer against him.