HP Smutfic: Lost and Found
Title: Lost and Found
Rating: Mature
Words: 3,205
Summary: One week after Hagrid's death, Harry's disappeared again. Ginny goes looking for him--and finds more than she'd hoped.
Harry had discovered all the best hiding places in Hogwarts in his sixth year, after Sirius' death. Ginny had discovered them as well, in process of looking for him (aided and abetted by Dobby). Consequently, it was nearly impossible for him to hide from her and not be found, Invisibility Cloak or no Invisibility Cloak. She always knew.
In fact, hiding had almost become a plea from him to her, the plea he could never quite vocalise: I need you. Come find me. And she always did.
When the news had come last week, she'd managed to place herself next to Harry so that he could grip her hand tightly as the bier with Hagrid's huge, lifeless body had been borne past them. And when he'd tried to release her to melt away into the crowd, she wouldn't let him; she'd held onto his hand and he'd taken her with him to the balcony on the South Tower and cried into her shoulder as she held him and cried too.
Now, a full week since that dreadful day, he'd disappeared again. They'd been at supper, where he'd spent fifteen minutes toying with his steak-and-kidney pie, then stood up and muttered something about the library before nearly running out of the Great Hall. She'd not followed him then, though several pairs of eyes had fastened on her as though expecting her to. There was a ritual to the way these things worked. She'd go when it was time.
***
Ginny left dinner about twenty minutes after Harry had, while most of the school was still eating and talking. Hermione had watched her go, a worried look in her eyes. Ginny knew Hermione was well aware that Ginny would find him; was well aware that Ginny was the only one Harry would let find him. As Hermione and Ron had grown closer over the past two years, Harry had drifted farther away, and Ginny knew it pained both of them to have him so distant. They all knew why he was, of course; they knew he believed he attracted trouble, that his friends were in danger precisely because they were his friends, and so he tried to keep his distance from them, so they'd be safe.
Only Ginny had been able to convince him to let her in.
Standing at the foot of the main staircase, with the noise of the Great Hall only a murmur through the wooden doors behind her, Ginny considered. Where would he have gone this time? Sometimes she just knew where he was and could go straight to his hiding place, no matter how obscure, as if following a clearly-marked trail. Other times it took searching, sometimes for an hour or more, before she found him. Dobby was a last resort; he could generally find Harry no matter where he'd hidden himself, but Ginny felt vaguely that to use the house-elf would be cheating, and that part and parcel of being Harry's-whatever she was; "friend" didn't seem enough, and he'd never asked her to be his girlfriend-being with Harry was to put in the effort.
Tonight would not be one of the easy ones, she could tell already; there was no "pull" in any direction. Tonight she would simply have to look.
She began with all the obvious or previously-used places: empty classrooms; store rooms; broom cupboards; the niches behind statues and tapestries; she even tried the Room of Requirement. But it was not until she walked past a window and glanced out through the curtain of rain and gathering night that it hit her. She knew where he was. Without bothering to get her cloak, she ran for the front doors.
Hagrid's hut was dark, its curtains drawn, its garden silent. But a telltale wisp of smoke rose from its chimney, and she thought she saw a flicker of light through the keyhole. Very carefully she turned the knob, and the heavy door opened beneath her touch.
Harry was sitting cross-legged and barefoot in front of the fireplace, staring blankly into the flames. His shoes and socks, both damp, sat drying to one side. He didn't acknowledge her presence, but she knew he knew it was her; if he hadn't she'd have had to duck a series of curses that might very well have killed her. It had never been easy to sneak up on Harry Potter; now, in his seventh year, not only was it well-nigh impossible, it was likely to be deadly even to try.
Ginny shut the door behind her and made her way over to him, sitting close to, but not quite touching, him. She was quite wet after running through the storm, but she said nothing-only sat beside him in the warmth and the silence, and let the rain cry for them.
She didn't know how long they sat there in silent communion, but she was nearly dry before he moved. He reached over without looking at her and took her hand in his. She laced her fingers with his and squeezed very gently.
"Thank you," he said.
"For what?"
"For coming."
She glanced over at him. At last he was looking at her, his face sad and drawn, his eyes bright. She smiled softly. "You knew I would," she said.
"I hoped you would." He looked away again, down at the rug. "I'm afraid sometimes that you'll get tired of-this. Of me. Of finding me and comforting me and-" He broke off, as though he feared he'd said too much, released her hand, and scrubbed fiercely at his eyes with his fingertips. He dropped his hands to his lap, then sighed, still not looking at her. "And I'd not blame you," he added, almost too quietly for Ginny to hear.
She shifted, turning toward him, and placed two fingers beneath his chin, gently raising his head. "I will always find you," she said simply.
He looked into her eyes as if trying to read her thoughts, to see if she meant what she said. She tried to put all her love for him into her gaze, to tell him silently how much he meant to her. His eyes darkened suddenly, and one hand reached up to brush a lock of hair from her face, then slid to wrap around the nape of her neck. He leaned toward her, bent his head, and, for the first time, kissed her.
She'd dreamt for years of being kissed by Harry. Always, in those dreams, the kisses had been passionate, fiery, a mutual battle of tongues as they sought to devour each other. This was soft-soft and gentle and warm. His lips pressed against hers once, twice, three times, then she sighed and opened her mouth beneath his and discovered, not a battle, but an utter peace; not a frenzy, but a slow, warm delight; not a blaze, but a cosy hearthfire.
She discovered home.
Somehow they had moved from sitting to lying on the rug, from being beside each other to Ginny on her back and Harry on his side, his hand gently stroking across her stomach as hers curled over his shoulders. He pulled back for a moment, staring down at her, desire still blazing in his eyes but uncertainty in his face. "Ginny-" he began hesitantly. "I want-I mean, do you-"
"Yes, Harry," she whispered, and ran her fingers through his hair. "Yes, I do."
He groaned and shifted so that he lay half on top of her, one leg between hers and his weight on an elbow. She could feel his arousal against her thigh. He bent to kiss her neck and rasped, "Have you ever-before?"
"Yes," she moaned, though her fifth-year fumblings with Dean had never felt like this. His hand had closed over her breast, and he was stroking the nipple with a thumb. "Have-you?"
"Yes," he whispered into her ear, and gently bit her earlobe. She gasped. "Ginny, are you sure-?"
"Please, Harry," she begged, shifting her hips against him.
He growled and she felt his lips and tongue on her neck, hot and wet. She felt him fumbling at the clasps of her robes, undoing them, and she sighed with pleasure as his mouth followed his hand, kissing down her body until her robes were open. He pushed them gently off her shoulders, and she sat up to let them slide down her arms, then tugged them out from under her and tossed them aside. Naked now except for her bra, knickers, shoes, and socks, she looked at Harry with some trepidation as well as desire.
"Merlin," he breathed, "you're beautiful." He reached out a hand to caress her breast again, but tentatively this time, almost reverently-then froze as Ginny, greatly daring, reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. With shaking hands, he took hold of the shoulder straps and pulled them slowly down her arms, sucking in a breath as he saw her revealed before him. As if in slow motion, he leaned forward, cupping a breast with his hand as he took the nipple into his mouth. She cried out at the sensation and felt a surge of wetness between her legs as his tongue gently swirled around the hardened nipple. He suckled hard for a brief moment, then the tongue again, flickering rapidly.
"Oh, God," Ginny moaned. One hand reached up to curl around Harry's head, holding him to her as she leaned back on the other hand, arching upward to give him better access.
He took his time, switching between both breasts and bringing her to such a fever pitch that she thought she surely couldn't bear another moment. Suddenly he stopped and pulled away. She opened her eyes, surprised and a little disappointed, but he was moving to kneel between her feet. "Lie back," he said softly.
She complied as he gently removed first one shoe and sock, then the other, setting them with his next to the fire. He caressed her calves, then her thighs, running his hands up and down them as he gazed down at her nearly-nude body. His hands slid farther upward yet, and he made as if to pull her knickers off, but she placed her hands atop his, stopping him.
He looked up at her in surprise, and she licked her lips. "I want to see you," she said. He looked at her for a brief moment, then nodded and rose to his feet. Rather than bothering with the clasps, he reached behind his head and grabbed hold of his robes, hauling them off and tossing them aside.
He stood there for a moment, letting her look her fill. He had the lean, wiry lines common amongst Seekers, but his muscles were toned, his chest well-defined, his stomach flat. A light sprinkling of hair formed a dark patch in the centre of his chest, and a dark line trailed down into the waistband of his boxers. Ginny got up onto her knees and looked up at him, sliding her hands inside the legs of his boxers. He groaned. "Ginny-" he began.
She slid her hands up a little higher and around the backs of his thighs to brush the lower curves of his buttocks. "Uh-uh," she said teasingly, but with more than a note of passion in her voice. "You got to tease me earlier. It's my turn." She pulled her hands out and slid them over the silky material instead, kneading his arse as she bent forward to press a kiss just below his navel, letting her tongue flicker over the downy line of hair.
He groaned again, sliding a hand over her hair. "Merlin-Ginny, you-you don't have to-"
"But I want to." She pulled the waistband of his boxers down a little farther and tasted the skin there. He whimpered.
She was beginning to feel heady with power. Harry had been so miserable for so long, and she had wanted so very badly to find a way to help him, to comfort him. What she was doing, what she was about to do, she'd only ever read about. Dean had tried to talk her into this when they'd been together, but she'd been too nervous, too unsure of herself.
And admit it, Ginny: you weren't in love with him.
She had never felt this way with Michael, or Dean, or even Blaise (the only Slytherin who was even remotely worth anything, and whom she'd seen on the sly for a few months after Dean). Being with them had been nice, but she'd never felt this need to pleasure them-the way she felt now with Harry. All she wanted was to give him pleasure, to hear him moan and gasp and call her name.
With one swift movement she pulled his boxers down, helped him step out of them, and tossed them aside with the rest of their clothes. Harry's cock was before her now, erect and beautiful. Remembering what she'd read (Hermione wasn't the only one who could do research), she wrapped her hand round him and stroked gently.
Harry tilted his head back, his breath hissing in through his teeth. "I-oh, fuck-oh, God, Ginny-" he grated.
She'd never heard him use that kind of language before, and it made a thrill pass sharply through her. Without hesitation, she bent forward and swirled her tongue around the head of his cock.
"Oh, FUCK!" he moaned, and moved his other hand to her head, touching her as lightly as though she were made of spun glass. It was as if he were afraid that touching her would make him lose control.
Slowly, tentatively, Ginny began to slide her mouth up and down his cock. The sounds he was making were causing her blood to boil, as well as soaking her knickers even further. She began to lose herself in what she was doing: in the velvety texture of his cock, the spicy scent of his skin, the salty, musky flavour in her mouth, the rock-hard muscles of his body where her free hand caressed in small circles-and always the sounds: throaty, masculine, needy, and all for her.
At last he pulled her away, looking down at her with eyes that blazed with lust and nearly burned in their intensity. "My turn," he rasped.
He dropped to his knees and kissed her hard. She moaned as he wrapped his arms round her and laid her back, moving to lie on top of her, pressing her to the soft, thick rug. She pulled her knees up to either side of his hips, arching up into him. "Harry, please," she moaned, "please, I need you so badly-"
"Not yet," he whispered. He slid down her body, dropping a kiss on each nipple as he went, until he knelt between her legs. This time she didn't stop him as he slid her knickers off and gently caressed her, his fingers exploring her hidden folds. He slid one inside her and she gasped at the sudden pleasurable invasion even as he groaned. "Merlin, you're so wet," he groaned, withdrawing his finger.
She was about to protest when a sudden sharp lance of liquid fire shot through her as his slick finger found her clit. He pressed again, and she couldn't restrain a keening cry. "Mmm-there we are," he murmured, and suddenly he was lying between her legs and his warm, wet tongue was taking the place of his finger.
Ginny scrabbled at the rug as she arched into him, pleading. He swirled his tongue round her clit, stroking it, then sucked it into his mouth and flickered his tongue over the tip rapidly and rhythmically. She keened again, arching into him and twining her fingers in his hair. Something was there-something she needed so badly-hovering just out of reach, but close, so close-
He slid his finger into her again and she splintered into a million pieces, crying out her release. He caressed her through it, prolonging it, until at last she collapsed bonelessly against the carpet, sweaty and panting and satisfied.
Harry looked up at her as she gasped for air, his expression somewhere between proud and hopeful. She looked down at him and smiled, holding out her hand. He came to her, lying atop her once more kissing her with gentle, warm kisses. It was odd to taste the tangy muskiness that she thought must be herself, but the oddness was mitigated by the warm solidness of Harry's body against her, and particularly his cock, still hard and pressing against her belly. She shifted her hips and he moaned into her mouth, his arms tightening around her. She broke the kiss to breathe into his ear, "Harry, please-take me-please, I want you inside me."
She felt a shiver run through him, and he licked his lips. "Are you sure, Ginny?" he asked, his voice low and hoarse. "There's no turning back after this."
She caressed his hair back from his face. "Harry, I've always been yours, heart, mind, and soul," she said quietly. "I've just been waiting for you to know it."
He looked in her eyes for a long moment again, then she gasped in surprise as he rolled them both over so that she lay atop him. "Then make me yours," he whispered.
Does he mean…?
Slowly she sat up, kneeling astride his hips, and reached down to take his cock in her hand again. He groaned as she positioned it at her entrance, then groaned again, louder, as she sank down onto him, taking him fully into her warmth. She threw back her head, revelling in the feel of him within her, of being filled and stretched and joined with him. Then she looked down at him, and met his gaze as she began to move.
He rested his hands on her hips but did not guide her; he simply stared into her eyes and let her move as she would. It was slow at first, slow and languorous and smooth; but as they fell deeper into each others' eyes the pace quickened, until she was leaning forward, her hands braced on either side of his head as she rocked back to meet him, and he pulled his knees up and thrust upward into her. Their faces were only inches apart, their breath ragged, their skin gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat, and still their eyes were locked together, and as Ginny felt her orgasm approaching, she whispered to him: "Mine."
"Yours," he agreed, his voice tight with need. "Yours. Forever." And with those words she was pushed over the edge, and Harry fell with her, shuddering their release together, and when at last the spasms had passed, she disengaged from him and sank down into his embrace; and they held each other in silence.
Rating: Mature
Words: 3,205
Summary: One week after Hagrid's death, Harry's disappeared again. Ginny goes looking for him--and finds more than she'd hoped.
Harry had discovered all the best hiding places in Hogwarts in his sixth year, after Sirius' death. Ginny had discovered them as well, in process of looking for him (aided and abetted by Dobby). Consequently, it was nearly impossible for him to hide from her and not be found, Invisibility Cloak or no Invisibility Cloak. She always knew.
In fact, hiding had almost become a plea from him to her, the plea he could never quite vocalise: I need you. Come find me. And she always did.
When the news had come last week, she'd managed to place herself next to Harry so that he could grip her hand tightly as the bier with Hagrid's huge, lifeless body had been borne past them. And when he'd tried to release her to melt away into the crowd, she wouldn't let him; she'd held onto his hand and he'd taken her with him to the balcony on the South Tower and cried into her shoulder as she held him and cried too.
Now, a full week since that dreadful day, he'd disappeared again. They'd been at supper, where he'd spent fifteen minutes toying with his steak-and-kidney pie, then stood up and muttered something about the library before nearly running out of the Great Hall. She'd not followed him then, though several pairs of eyes had fastened on her as though expecting her to. There was a ritual to the way these things worked. She'd go when it was time.
***
Ginny left dinner about twenty minutes after Harry had, while most of the school was still eating and talking. Hermione had watched her go, a worried look in her eyes. Ginny knew Hermione was well aware that Ginny would find him; was well aware that Ginny was the only one Harry would let find him. As Hermione and Ron had grown closer over the past two years, Harry had drifted farther away, and Ginny knew it pained both of them to have him so distant. They all knew why he was, of course; they knew he believed he attracted trouble, that his friends were in danger precisely because they were his friends, and so he tried to keep his distance from them, so they'd be safe.
Only Ginny had been able to convince him to let her in.
Standing at the foot of the main staircase, with the noise of the Great Hall only a murmur through the wooden doors behind her, Ginny considered. Where would he have gone this time? Sometimes she just knew where he was and could go straight to his hiding place, no matter how obscure, as if following a clearly-marked trail. Other times it took searching, sometimes for an hour or more, before she found him. Dobby was a last resort; he could generally find Harry no matter where he'd hidden himself, but Ginny felt vaguely that to use the house-elf would be cheating, and that part and parcel of being Harry's-whatever she was; "friend" didn't seem enough, and he'd never asked her to be his girlfriend-being with Harry was to put in the effort.
Tonight would not be one of the easy ones, she could tell already; there was no "pull" in any direction. Tonight she would simply have to look.
She began with all the obvious or previously-used places: empty classrooms; store rooms; broom cupboards; the niches behind statues and tapestries; she even tried the Room of Requirement. But it was not until she walked past a window and glanced out through the curtain of rain and gathering night that it hit her. She knew where he was. Without bothering to get her cloak, she ran for the front doors.
Hagrid's hut was dark, its curtains drawn, its garden silent. But a telltale wisp of smoke rose from its chimney, and she thought she saw a flicker of light through the keyhole. Very carefully she turned the knob, and the heavy door opened beneath her touch.
Harry was sitting cross-legged and barefoot in front of the fireplace, staring blankly into the flames. His shoes and socks, both damp, sat drying to one side. He didn't acknowledge her presence, but she knew he knew it was her; if he hadn't she'd have had to duck a series of curses that might very well have killed her. It had never been easy to sneak up on Harry Potter; now, in his seventh year, not only was it well-nigh impossible, it was likely to be deadly even to try.
Ginny shut the door behind her and made her way over to him, sitting close to, but not quite touching, him. She was quite wet after running through the storm, but she said nothing-only sat beside him in the warmth and the silence, and let the rain cry for them.
She didn't know how long they sat there in silent communion, but she was nearly dry before he moved. He reached over without looking at her and took her hand in his. She laced her fingers with his and squeezed very gently.
"Thank you," he said.
"For what?"
"For coming."
She glanced over at him. At last he was looking at her, his face sad and drawn, his eyes bright. She smiled softly. "You knew I would," she said.
"I hoped you would." He looked away again, down at the rug. "I'm afraid sometimes that you'll get tired of-this. Of me. Of finding me and comforting me and-" He broke off, as though he feared he'd said too much, released her hand, and scrubbed fiercely at his eyes with his fingertips. He dropped his hands to his lap, then sighed, still not looking at her. "And I'd not blame you," he added, almost too quietly for Ginny to hear.
She shifted, turning toward him, and placed two fingers beneath his chin, gently raising his head. "I will always find you," she said simply.
He looked into her eyes as if trying to read her thoughts, to see if she meant what she said. She tried to put all her love for him into her gaze, to tell him silently how much he meant to her. His eyes darkened suddenly, and one hand reached up to brush a lock of hair from her face, then slid to wrap around the nape of her neck. He leaned toward her, bent his head, and, for the first time, kissed her.
She'd dreamt for years of being kissed by Harry. Always, in those dreams, the kisses had been passionate, fiery, a mutual battle of tongues as they sought to devour each other. This was soft-soft and gentle and warm. His lips pressed against hers once, twice, three times, then she sighed and opened her mouth beneath his and discovered, not a battle, but an utter peace; not a frenzy, but a slow, warm delight; not a blaze, but a cosy hearthfire.
She discovered home.
Somehow they had moved from sitting to lying on the rug, from being beside each other to Ginny on her back and Harry on his side, his hand gently stroking across her stomach as hers curled over his shoulders. He pulled back for a moment, staring down at her, desire still blazing in his eyes but uncertainty in his face. "Ginny-" he began hesitantly. "I want-I mean, do you-"
"Yes, Harry," she whispered, and ran her fingers through his hair. "Yes, I do."
He groaned and shifted so that he lay half on top of her, one leg between hers and his weight on an elbow. She could feel his arousal against her thigh. He bent to kiss her neck and rasped, "Have you ever-before?"
"Yes," she moaned, though her fifth-year fumblings with Dean had never felt like this. His hand had closed over her breast, and he was stroking the nipple with a thumb. "Have-you?"
"Yes," he whispered into her ear, and gently bit her earlobe. She gasped. "Ginny, are you sure-?"
"Please, Harry," she begged, shifting her hips against him.
He growled and she felt his lips and tongue on her neck, hot and wet. She felt him fumbling at the clasps of her robes, undoing them, and she sighed with pleasure as his mouth followed his hand, kissing down her body until her robes were open. He pushed them gently off her shoulders, and she sat up to let them slide down her arms, then tugged them out from under her and tossed them aside. Naked now except for her bra, knickers, shoes, and socks, she looked at Harry with some trepidation as well as desire.
"Merlin," he breathed, "you're beautiful." He reached out a hand to caress her breast again, but tentatively this time, almost reverently-then froze as Ginny, greatly daring, reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. With shaking hands, he took hold of the shoulder straps and pulled them slowly down her arms, sucking in a breath as he saw her revealed before him. As if in slow motion, he leaned forward, cupping a breast with his hand as he took the nipple into his mouth. She cried out at the sensation and felt a surge of wetness between her legs as his tongue gently swirled around the hardened nipple. He suckled hard for a brief moment, then the tongue again, flickering rapidly.
"Oh, God," Ginny moaned. One hand reached up to curl around Harry's head, holding him to her as she leaned back on the other hand, arching upward to give him better access.
He took his time, switching between both breasts and bringing her to such a fever pitch that she thought she surely couldn't bear another moment. Suddenly he stopped and pulled away. She opened her eyes, surprised and a little disappointed, but he was moving to kneel between her feet. "Lie back," he said softly.
She complied as he gently removed first one shoe and sock, then the other, setting them with his next to the fire. He caressed her calves, then her thighs, running his hands up and down them as he gazed down at her nearly-nude body. His hands slid farther upward yet, and he made as if to pull her knickers off, but she placed her hands atop his, stopping him.
He looked up at her in surprise, and she licked her lips. "I want to see you," she said. He looked at her for a brief moment, then nodded and rose to his feet. Rather than bothering with the clasps, he reached behind his head and grabbed hold of his robes, hauling them off and tossing them aside.
He stood there for a moment, letting her look her fill. He had the lean, wiry lines common amongst Seekers, but his muscles were toned, his chest well-defined, his stomach flat. A light sprinkling of hair formed a dark patch in the centre of his chest, and a dark line trailed down into the waistband of his boxers. Ginny got up onto her knees and looked up at him, sliding her hands inside the legs of his boxers. He groaned. "Ginny-" he began.
She slid her hands up a little higher and around the backs of his thighs to brush the lower curves of his buttocks. "Uh-uh," she said teasingly, but with more than a note of passion in her voice. "You got to tease me earlier. It's my turn." She pulled her hands out and slid them over the silky material instead, kneading his arse as she bent forward to press a kiss just below his navel, letting her tongue flicker over the downy line of hair.
He groaned again, sliding a hand over her hair. "Merlin-Ginny, you-you don't have to-"
"But I want to." She pulled the waistband of his boxers down a little farther and tasted the skin there. He whimpered.
She was beginning to feel heady with power. Harry had been so miserable for so long, and she had wanted so very badly to find a way to help him, to comfort him. What she was doing, what she was about to do, she'd only ever read about. Dean had tried to talk her into this when they'd been together, but she'd been too nervous, too unsure of herself.
And admit it, Ginny: you weren't in love with him.
She had never felt this way with Michael, or Dean, or even Blaise (the only Slytherin who was even remotely worth anything, and whom she'd seen on the sly for a few months after Dean). Being with them had been nice, but she'd never felt this need to pleasure them-the way she felt now with Harry. All she wanted was to give him pleasure, to hear him moan and gasp and call her name.
With one swift movement she pulled his boxers down, helped him step out of them, and tossed them aside with the rest of their clothes. Harry's cock was before her now, erect and beautiful. Remembering what she'd read (Hermione wasn't the only one who could do research), she wrapped her hand round him and stroked gently.
Harry tilted his head back, his breath hissing in through his teeth. "I-oh, fuck-oh, God, Ginny-" he grated.
She'd never heard him use that kind of language before, and it made a thrill pass sharply through her. Without hesitation, she bent forward and swirled her tongue around the head of his cock.
"Oh, FUCK!" he moaned, and moved his other hand to her head, touching her as lightly as though she were made of spun glass. It was as if he were afraid that touching her would make him lose control.
Slowly, tentatively, Ginny began to slide her mouth up and down his cock. The sounds he was making were causing her blood to boil, as well as soaking her knickers even further. She began to lose herself in what she was doing: in the velvety texture of his cock, the spicy scent of his skin, the salty, musky flavour in her mouth, the rock-hard muscles of his body where her free hand caressed in small circles-and always the sounds: throaty, masculine, needy, and all for her.
At last he pulled her away, looking down at her with eyes that blazed with lust and nearly burned in their intensity. "My turn," he rasped.
He dropped to his knees and kissed her hard. She moaned as he wrapped his arms round her and laid her back, moving to lie on top of her, pressing her to the soft, thick rug. She pulled her knees up to either side of his hips, arching up into him. "Harry, please," she moaned, "please, I need you so badly-"
"Not yet," he whispered. He slid down her body, dropping a kiss on each nipple as he went, until he knelt between her legs. This time she didn't stop him as he slid her knickers off and gently caressed her, his fingers exploring her hidden folds. He slid one inside her and she gasped at the sudden pleasurable invasion even as he groaned. "Merlin, you're so wet," he groaned, withdrawing his finger.
She was about to protest when a sudden sharp lance of liquid fire shot through her as his slick finger found her clit. He pressed again, and she couldn't restrain a keening cry. "Mmm-there we are," he murmured, and suddenly he was lying between her legs and his warm, wet tongue was taking the place of his finger.
Ginny scrabbled at the rug as she arched into him, pleading. He swirled his tongue round her clit, stroking it, then sucked it into his mouth and flickered his tongue over the tip rapidly and rhythmically. She keened again, arching into him and twining her fingers in his hair. Something was there-something she needed so badly-hovering just out of reach, but close, so close-
He slid his finger into her again and she splintered into a million pieces, crying out her release. He caressed her through it, prolonging it, until at last she collapsed bonelessly against the carpet, sweaty and panting and satisfied.
Harry looked up at her as she gasped for air, his expression somewhere between proud and hopeful. She looked down at him and smiled, holding out her hand. He came to her, lying atop her once more kissing her with gentle, warm kisses. It was odd to taste the tangy muskiness that she thought must be herself, but the oddness was mitigated by the warm solidness of Harry's body against her, and particularly his cock, still hard and pressing against her belly. She shifted her hips and he moaned into her mouth, his arms tightening around her. She broke the kiss to breathe into his ear, "Harry, please-take me-please, I want you inside me."
She felt a shiver run through him, and he licked his lips. "Are you sure, Ginny?" he asked, his voice low and hoarse. "There's no turning back after this."
She caressed his hair back from his face. "Harry, I've always been yours, heart, mind, and soul," she said quietly. "I've just been waiting for you to know it."
He looked in her eyes for a long moment again, then she gasped in surprise as he rolled them both over so that she lay atop him. "Then make me yours," he whispered.
Does he mean…?
Slowly she sat up, kneeling astride his hips, and reached down to take his cock in her hand again. He groaned as she positioned it at her entrance, then groaned again, louder, as she sank down onto him, taking him fully into her warmth. She threw back her head, revelling in the feel of him within her, of being filled and stretched and joined with him. Then she looked down at him, and met his gaze as she began to move.
He rested his hands on her hips but did not guide her; he simply stared into her eyes and let her move as she would. It was slow at first, slow and languorous and smooth; but as they fell deeper into each others' eyes the pace quickened, until she was leaning forward, her hands braced on either side of his head as she rocked back to meet him, and he pulled his knees up and thrust upward into her. Their faces were only inches apart, their breath ragged, their skin gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat, and still their eyes were locked together, and as Ginny felt her orgasm approaching, she whispered to him: "Mine."
"Yours," he agreed, his voice tight with need. "Yours. Forever." And with those words she was pushed over the edge, and Harry fell with her, shuddering their release together, and when at last the spasms had passed, she disengaged from him and sank down into his embrace; and they held each other in silence.