Spin [Harry Potter; Harry/Luna]
Title: Spin
Pairing: Harry/Luna, Harry/various
Rating: R
Summary: He loves the way the other women feel when he’s inside them and the way he knows, knows even before he’s with them, that none of them will compare to Luna.
Word Count: 1184
Genre: PWP, Romance
A/N: written for the erotic_elves Fantasy Fest for florahart’s request: Harry/Luna. They are a couple, but Luna likes to watch Harry with other women of her choosing, under her direction. Luna can masturbate or join in. H/L the focus, so not: 'H fucks lots of women with L as unwanted voyeur.' No bloodplay, scat, torture. I hope you enjoy this, Flora! (Thank you to lilithnaamah, savvyscamp, and sunblossoms for looking this over for me.)
~~~
The sheets twist between his fingers, his hands clenching into fists as he breathes, face turned to the side, into the pillowcase. The room feels sticky and royal blue. Harry's pulse quickens and he can feel his heartbeat thrumming in his chest. Time is spinning around him, against him, and with each movement, each arch and rock of his hips, he feels the world glaze over.
Ginny is riding him, her breasts swaying pendulously each time he thrusts up into her, each time she slides back down onto his cock. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is long, the tips clinging, sticking to the sweat on her back. Her spine curves and her shoulders jut out as she moves, angular and sharp as she arches her neck. She is skillful with her hands, and she latches onto Harry’s skin, clutching at his ribs, threading her fingertips through his hair. She watches him for a reaction, but Harry is looking elsewhere, and his vision is blurry without his glasses on. Ginny smells like crushed flowers trampled in the rain and sweat, and fucking her is like a blur, because he isn’t watching her. He’s hardly concentrating on what he’s doing, relying on her hips to set the pace.
He doesn’t kiss her, because Luna won’t allow it, and he only touches her when Luna tells him to, because it’s Luna’s voice that drags him over the edge and back, and it’s Luna’s eyes, those hazy deep-set portals of grey, that can blink, shutter-fast, and have Harry coming.
Ginny clutches at Harry when she comes, rocking against him, her mouth open in a silent cry, her hair splayed over her shoulders. A second later, Luna nods and Harry comes too, spilling into Ginny, his cock pulsing in time with his breaths.
“Luna,” he gasps, without hesitation, and it’s always Luna, and Ginny understands. She rides out the aftershocks of her orgasm as though he is her lover, because he’s close enough to be. He’s the one underneath her, matching her movements with his own, and he almost was hers, Ginny thinks. It’s funny though, even with his cock inside her and his body pressed tight and sweaty and hot against hers, they couldn’t be further apart. It would never have worked, Ginny tells herself, and Luna agrees, her eyes going soft as she rocks her own hand over herself.
The place on Harry’s shoulder where Ginny’s clung to him blossoms red, but his skin isn’t hers to claim. Harry’s eyes are on Luna as Luna’s fingers dig and move and rub, and he feels limp and boneless under Ginny’s fiery body, and Luna looks like a serene ocean wave. When she breaks, it is over, and Harry nods to Ginny, slips out of her, and onto his side, and tells her she can leave.
Luna’s voice is a tremble, a waver-whisper of breath that sounds staccato and broken as her orgasm courses through her. Her head is thrown back and Harry watches her, stares, can’t take his eyes off of her. He thinks this, right here and now, is why he’s with her. She looks so open when she comes, in a way he’d never thought possible. She is blunt when she speaks, saying things people don’t think should be said, but that’s not the same sort of open. She is transparent when she comes, and Harry can see through her, see everything in her, her veins and bones, all of her; a pin-point glimpse.
Harry climbs off the bed and kisses Luna, feeling the shiver on her lips. Her kisses are always electric, like Muggle light bulbs, or a thousand Lumos spells, and when he catches her as she’s falling, when she’s still racing and vulnerable, he can feel the sparks on her tongue.
Ginny is gathering her clothes, the Auror robes she should not have, and her socks and shoes. She moves clumsily, as if in a daze, and she knocks into the bedside table as she fishes for her underwear. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she dresses quickly, silently, and then she kisses Harry and Luna both on the cheek, out of affection, or formality, but never both. Luna looks up at her curiously, as if her eyes are tracing the line of her jaw, drawing a map in her memory of the way the freckles align and connect. Harry watches her, amazed at the way Luna notices everything, sees everyone as more than they are, to see them as transparent even when they aren't undone.
“I think I’d like Cho next week,” Luna says calmly, the distance ringing in her voice. Harry looks up at Ginny, waiting for agreement. His palm is flat against Luna's, and he can feel the pulse in her wrist, already slowed to normal. Cho, he thinks, remembering Cho from last weekend, and the month before, her lips around his cock, sucking meticulously, searching for clues, details, with the intellectual curiosity that would make her House proud. Cho was careful, calm, deft in her movements, and shallow in her breathing. She was so like the Cho Harry remembered from school, but so different now that the tears were dried from her cheeks and she wasn't mourning anyone. This Cho was never Cedric's girlfriend, and she sucked Harry off like he was the only one who mattered. Harry remembers Luna watching, her eyes wide and distant, and he remembers her telling them to kiss, for her, so she can know what Harry's first kiss looked like, even though this meeting of lips on lips isn't new to either of them. It isn't as awkward as the first time, but Luna tells Cho to cry - please cry, so she can frame the memory in her mind. She wants to know Harry inside and out, see his past and his future, and live every moment there with him.
She likes watching the way Harry reacts to other women, the way he closes his eyes with Hermione, because she’s his best friend; the way his nails claw at Bellatrix Lestrange’s skin as his eyes flare greener than usual with anger; the way he looks so much older than his age when it's Fleur, the way he looks alive and brand new when it's Luna. She is straightforward with their sex life because she is Luna, and Harry loves her for it, for every bit of it. He loves the way the other women feel when he’s inside them and the way he knows, knows even before he’s with them, that none of them will compare to Luna.
“Cho,” Ginny repeats, after a moment, and she nods calmly. She smiles, picks up her wand, and turns to leave. Luna and Harry kiss again, Luna’s tongue just as curious as her mind, and she interrupts his lips with nonsense words and questions, that he's learned to like. Neither one of them notices Ginny morphing back into Tonks as her fingers grasp the door handle.
Neither one sees the frown that marks her face after the red hair and freckles have disappeared.
~~~
Pairing: Harry/Luna, Harry/various
Rating: R
Summary: He loves the way the other women feel when he’s inside them and the way he knows, knows even before he’s with them, that none of them will compare to Luna.
Word Count: 1184
Genre: PWP, Romance
A/N: written for the erotic_elves Fantasy Fest for florahart’s request: Harry/Luna. They are a couple, but Luna likes to watch Harry with other women of her choosing, under her direction. Luna can masturbate or join in. H/L the focus, so not: 'H fucks lots of women with L as unwanted voyeur.' No bloodplay, scat, torture. I hope you enjoy this, Flora! (Thank you to lilithnaamah, savvyscamp, and sunblossoms for looking this over for me.)
~~~
The sheets twist between his fingers, his hands clenching into fists as he breathes, face turned to the side, into the pillowcase. The room feels sticky and royal blue. Harry's pulse quickens and he can feel his heartbeat thrumming in his chest. Time is spinning around him, against him, and with each movement, each arch and rock of his hips, he feels the world glaze over.
Ginny is riding him, her breasts swaying pendulously each time he thrusts up into her, each time she slides back down onto his cock. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is long, the tips clinging, sticking to the sweat on her back. Her spine curves and her shoulders jut out as she moves, angular and sharp as she arches her neck. She is skillful with her hands, and she latches onto Harry’s skin, clutching at his ribs, threading her fingertips through his hair. She watches him for a reaction, but Harry is looking elsewhere, and his vision is blurry without his glasses on. Ginny smells like crushed flowers trampled in the rain and sweat, and fucking her is like a blur, because he isn’t watching her. He’s hardly concentrating on what he’s doing, relying on her hips to set the pace.
He doesn’t kiss her, because Luna won’t allow it, and he only touches her when Luna tells him to, because it’s Luna’s voice that drags him over the edge and back, and it’s Luna’s eyes, those hazy deep-set portals of grey, that can blink, shutter-fast, and have Harry coming.
Ginny clutches at Harry when she comes, rocking against him, her mouth open in a silent cry, her hair splayed over her shoulders. A second later, Luna nods and Harry comes too, spilling into Ginny, his cock pulsing in time with his breaths.
“Luna,” he gasps, without hesitation, and it’s always Luna, and Ginny understands. She rides out the aftershocks of her orgasm as though he is her lover, because he’s close enough to be. He’s the one underneath her, matching her movements with his own, and he almost was hers, Ginny thinks. It’s funny though, even with his cock inside her and his body pressed tight and sweaty and hot against hers, they couldn’t be further apart. It would never have worked, Ginny tells herself, and Luna agrees, her eyes going soft as she rocks her own hand over herself.
The place on Harry’s shoulder where Ginny’s clung to him blossoms red, but his skin isn’t hers to claim. Harry’s eyes are on Luna as Luna’s fingers dig and move and rub, and he feels limp and boneless under Ginny’s fiery body, and Luna looks like a serene ocean wave. When she breaks, it is over, and Harry nods to Ginny, slips out of her, and onto his side, and tells her she can leave.
Luna’s voice is a tremble, a waver-whisper of breath that sounds staccato and broken as her orgasm courses through her. Her head is thrown back and Harry watches her, stares, can’t take his eyes off of her. He thinks this, right here and now, is why he’s with her. She looks so open when she comes, in a way he’d never thought possible. She is blunt when she speaks, saying things people don’t think should be said, but that’s not the same sort of open. She is transparent when she comes, and Harry can see through her, see everything in her, her veins and bones, all of her; a pin-point glimpse.
Harry climbs off the bed and kisses Luna, feeling the shiver on her lips. Her kisses are always electric, like Muggle light bulbs, or a thousand Lumos spells, and when he catches her as she’s falling, when she’s still racing and vulnerable, he can feel the sparks on her tongue.
Ginny is gathering her clothes, the Auror robes she should not have, and her socks and shoes. She moves clumsily, as if in a daze, and she knocks into the bedside table as she fishes for her underwear. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she dresses quickly, silently, and then she kisses Harry and Luna both on the cheek, out of affection, or formality, but never both. Luna looks up at her curiously, as if her eyes are tracing the line of her jaw, drawing a map in her memory of the way the freckles align and connect. Harry watches her, amazed at the way Luna notices everything, sees everyone as more than they are, to see them as transparent even when they aren't undone.
“I think I’d like Cho next week,” Luna says calmly, the distance ringing in her voice. Harry looks up at Ginny, waiting for agreement. His palm is flat against Luna's, and he can feel the pulse in her wrist, already slowed to normal. Cho, he thinks, remembering Cho from last weekend, and the month before, her lips around his cock, sucking meticulously, searching for clues, details, with the intellectual curiosity that would make her House proud. Cho was careful, calm, deft in her movements, and shallow in her breathing. She was so like the Cho Harry remembered from school, but so different now that the tears were dried from her cheeks and she wasn't mourning anyone. This Cho was never Cedric's girlfriend, and she sucked Harry off like he was the only one who mattered. Harry remembers Luna watching, her eyes wide and distant, and he remembers her telling them to kiss, for her, so she can know what Harry's first kiss looked like, even though this meeting of lips on lips isn't new to either of them. It isn't as awkward as the first time, but Luna tells Cho to cry - please cry, so she can frame the memory in her mind. She wants to know Harry inside and out, see his past and his future, and live every moment there with him.
She likes watching the way Harry reacts to other women, the way he closes his eyes with Hermione, because she’s his best friend; the way his nails claw at Bellatrix Lestrange’s skin as his eyes flare greener than usual with anger; the way he looks so much older than his age when it's Fleur, the way he looks alive and brand new when it's Luna. She is straightforward with their sex life because she is Luna, and Harry loves her for it, for every bit of it. He loves the way the other women feel when he’s inside them and the way he knows, knows even before he’s with them, that none of them will compare to Luna.
“Cho,” Ginny repeats, after a moment, and she nods calmly. She smiles, picks up her wand, and turns to leave. Luna and Harry kiss again, Luna’s tongue just as curious as her mind, and she interrupts his lips with nonsense words and questions, that he's learned to like. Neither one of them notices Ginny morphing back into Tonks as her fingers grasp the door handle.
Neither one sees the frown that marks her face after the red hair and freckles have disappeared.
~~~