Notes: I wanted to give shocolate something I knew she'd really enjoy; something that would take her mind off her absent hubby (if ever so briefly!), but now I hear that he's off again for several weeks! So, my dear shocolate, I really hope you like my illustration from your own fic, Mirrors, and that it keeps you inspired while hubby is away. *hugs*
Ron had glared at his breakfast and, as usual, moved his sausages out of the way to leave room for a lake of ketchup. Too late he realised that Ron would have to reach across him for the ketchup and he leapt backwards ridiculously. This had to stop.
But then, God. Ron held the bottle in his right fist and shook it. With fast, jerking strokes. Exactly the rhythm he used when wanking. He was wanking the fucking bottle. This was just unfair. He glanced at the girls, but they didn't seem to have noticed. But then he supposed – and hoped – that they were unfamiliar with Ron's wanking patterns. And, yes, now the lake of ketchup, spreading beyond the prescribed boundaries, and he was prodding his sausage glumly with one finger, nudging it to safety. And his fingertip was covered in ketchup, and he was bringing it up to his mouth.
And Harry's hand was stretching out in front of him and he frowned at it, having no way to recall it as it grasped Ron's wrist and stopped him from licking his finger clean. And Ron was left looking at him, mouth slightly open, as he pulled his arm towards him.
Harry knew at some level that Ron and the girls were watching him, but he couldn't stop. He opened his mouth and took Ron's finger in, up to the knuckle and swirled his tongue around it as he licked it clean. Ron's eyes opened comically wide and he dropped the ketchup bottle with a crash.