Drabble (Ginny/Harry)
I really should be sleeping right now. Oh well.
Here's a little something:
Harry tastes like summer. When he bends over her, black hair haloed by the sun, he looks like a dream, and she whispers his name. He never whispers hers. And they lie on the grass with the lap lap of the lake water in the breeze, and she softly sighs, and he slowly smiles. Lap lap, lap lap. The Boy-Who-Lived, the savior child-he stares at the sky, clouds moving, moving, and Ginny studies his face. Once: there is a boy, a black-haired boy, waiting to be kissed. There is a boy, a green-eyed boy, who never will be missed. He saved wizarding kind from a horrible bind, he slew You-Know-Who by making it through. He’s waiting for you and your friendship too, waiting to be kissed. Now: Ginny wants him to leave. Ho-hum, balmy spring evenings, protective arms and soft caresses. She used to dream about him, nights, with her sheet twisted between her legs, thinking maybe. Now she wants to run, wants to cry, wants to give up wanting because she finally got what she wants, right? His head blocks out the sun when he leans over her. Chapped lips press against hers and both pairs part, automatically. He tastes like she always imagined he’d taste: like cool breezes and sunshine. She bites his tongue.
Here's a little something:
Harry tastes like summer. When he bends over her, black hair haloed by the sun, he looks like a dream, and she whispers his name. He never whispers hers. And they lie on the grass with the lap lap of the lake water in the breeze, and she softly sighs, and he slowly smiles. Lap lap, lap lap. The Boy-Who-Lived, the savior child-he stares at the sky, clouds moving, moving, and Ginny studies his face. Once: there is a boy, a black-haired boy, waiting to be kissed. There is a boy, a green-eyed boy, who never will be missed. He saved wizarding kind from a horrible bind, he slew You-Know-Who by making it through. He’s waiting for you and your friendship too, waiting to be kissed. Now: Ginny wants him to leave. Ho-hum, balmy spring evenings, protective arms and soft caresses. She used to dream about him, nights, with her sheet twisted between her legs, thinking maybe. Now she wants to run, wants to cry, wants to give up wanting because she finally got what she wants, right? His head blocks out the sun when he leans over her. Chapped lips press against hers and both pairs part, automatically. He tastes like she always imagined he’d taste: like cool breezes and sunshine. She bites his tongue.