"Listen, no bloke in his right mind’s going to fancy Tonks when Fleur’s around. I mean, Tonks is okay looking when she isn’t doing stupid things to her hair and her nose, but –" is what Ron said to people to throw them off the scent when asked about his opinion the pink-haired Auror. Besides, it wasn't a total lie really. It wasn't as if Ron actually fancied Tonks, for Merlin's sake. It wasn't as if he wanted to take her to Hogsmeade on a date or anything like that. No, it wasn't like that at all.
What Ron really wanted to do with Tonks was shag her. Desperately. She wasn't the prettiest woman he'd ever seen, or the cleverest. She was incredibly annoying with her funny noses and her vivid hair, but when he was all alone in his borrowed bedroom at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, lying in the dark with only his thoughts for company, Tonks was all he could think about. Her nose, when not being turned into a pig's snout or a hideous great House Elf's hooter, was rather cute, and her mouth...well, her lips just seemed to be made for kissing. Ron wanted to know what it would be like to kiss her hard on the lips, to feel his tongue thrashing against hers.
He didn't have a lot of experience with snogging — alright, if he was being honest with himself, he had absolutely none — but he'd caught his brothers at it with assorted girls often enough, and then there were the couples at school with no real discretion. Ron knew what snogging looked like, even if he had no idea of what it actually felt like. And he wanted to snog her.
Besides, who wouldn't want a woman who could change her entire appearance with just a little bit of concentration? She could make her tits bigger if she wanted — although her normal, everyday tits were rather perky and cute on their own. Ron had often noticed them beneath those ratty rock-n-roll t-shirts she tended to wear, usually without a bra. He had seen her nipples pushing against the thin fabric of those stupid shirts in the drafty old house, especially in the early days of the Order moving in, when the heating had been particularly dodgy.
Ron didn't have any experience with real tits either, but he'd seen them often enough in the magazines he'd purloined from Bill and Charlie, as well as the ones that Seamus and Dean had passed around in their dorm room at school. He wondered what it would be like to touch Tonks' incredible tits, to hold them in his hands and squeeze them and play with them for hours. He wanted to take those pert nipples into his mouth and suck on them long and hard, to lick and kiss and bite at them until she was begging him to stop.
Ron bet she could change her arse too — making it even fuller and rounder if she wanted to. However, he liked the way her faded jeans showed her bum off. He could hardly miss it, he noticed it often enough: when she tripped over that bloody troll leg umbrella stand and sprawled onto the foyer floor face down, or when she bent over some manky wooden box, digging through a pile of Black family heirlooms, or when she frequently danced about one of the rooms at Grimmauld Place, wiggling her arse blatantly while Wizard rock music blasted out of the wireless.
Ron longed to reach out and grab that amazing arse, to fondle it through the rough denim of her jeans, before peeling them down to expose her knickers and the tantalizing curves beneath. Did she wear cotton knickers or silk? Lace or something wispier like the girls in those dirty magazines? Sometime Ron imagined giving Tonks' bottom a smack. Not enough to hurt her, of course — only to feel the firm flesh pressed beneath his finger, just enough to give her a bit of sensation and to hear her gasp in surprise.
What Ron really wanted to do with Tonks was shag her. Desperately. She wasn't the prettiest woman he'd ever seen, or the cleverest. She was incredibly annoying with her funny noses and her vivid hair, but when he was all alone in his borrowed bedroom at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, lying in the dark with only his thoughts for company, Tonks was all he could think about. Her nose, when not being turned into a pig's snout or a hideous great House Elf's hooter, was rather cute, and her mouth...well, her lips just seemed to be made for kissing. Ron wanted to know what it would be like to kiss her hard on the lips, to feel his tongue thrashing against hers.
He didn't have a lot of experience with snogging — alright, if he was being honest with himself, he had absolutely none — but he'd caught his brothers at it with assorted girls often enough, and then there were the couples at school with no real discretion. Ron knew what snogging looked like, even if he had no idea of what it actually felt like. And he wanted to snog her.
Besides, who wouldn't want a woman who could change her entire appearance with just a little bit of concentration? She could make her tits bigger if she wanted — although her normal, everyday tits were rather perky and cute on their own. Ron had often noticed them beneath those ratty rock-n-roll t-shirts she tended to wear, usually without a bra. He had seen her nipples pushing against the thin fabric of those stupid shirts in the drafty old house, especially in the early days of the Order moving in, when the heating had been particularly dodgy.
Ron didn't have any experience with real tits either, but he'd seen them often enough in the magazines he'd purloined from Bill and Charlie, as well as the ones that Seamus and Dean had passed around in their dorm room at school. He wondered what it would be like to touch Tonks' incredible tits, to hold them in his hands and squeeze them and play with them for hours. He wanted to take those pert nipples into his mouth and suck on them long and hard, to lick and kiss and bite at them until she was begging him to stop.
Ron bet she could change her arse too — making it even fuller and rounder if she wanted to. However, he liked the way her faded jeans showed her bum off. He could hardly miss it, he noticed it often enough: when she tripped over that bloody troll leg umbrella stand and sprawled onto the foyer floor face down, or when she bent over some manky wooden box, digging through a pile of Black family heirlooms, or when she frequently danced about one of the rooms at Grimmauld Place, wiggling her arse blatantly while Wizard rock music blasted out of the wireless.
Ron longed to reach out and grab that amazing arse, to fondle it through the rough denim of her jeans, before peeling them down to expose her knickers and the tantalizing curves beneath. Did she wear cotton knickers or silk? Lace or something wispier like the girls in those dirty magazines? Sometime Ron imagined giving Tonks' bottom a smack. Not enough to hurt her, of course — only to feel the firm flesh pressed beneath his finger, just enough to give her a bit of sensation and to hear her gasp in surprise.