(no subject)
Title:I Miss You, (Obviously)
written for :
lunalovepotter
Pairing:Harry/Ginny
Rating: NC-17
Word Count :9359
Warnings: Anal, Masturbation, Dirty talk (is this really going to offend any of my flist?)
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Harry and Ginny are finding that long-distance relationships are even harder than they look. Harry is willing to do whatever it takes to bring them closer together.
Author's Notes: Prompts: fight!sex, voyeurism, toys, anal, half-clothed sex, masturbation, semi-public sex. Some of them were only hinted at, but I hope I got a few of them nailed. Thank you to Patty, Maple and Sarai for letting me bounce ideas off of them and to Jen for the (rapid) beta. To lunalovepotter: I wanted it to be right for you as I've enjoyed your stories so much. I hope it's up your alley!
The atmosphere of the Auror trainee's locker room, rowdy enough on a normal day, was positively humming with good spirits and excitement. Harry reckoned that was a good thing-at least better than those days after a particularly brutal training session, when exhaustion and frustration and adrenaline tended to make frayed nerves snap and fights break out over inconsequential things or perceived slights. Today, though, it was all smiles and backslapping and rude jokes. Everybody in the damn room got lucky last night, Harry thought grumpily. Everybody but him that was, and his back was still hurting from having to sleep on the sofa, unwilling to risk the ire of his supposed girlfriend. Voldemort was a cute and fluffy bunny in comparison to Ginny when someone got her back up, which Harry had managed to do, though he still wasn't sure how it had happened. The weekend started out well enough, but somehow he kept saying the wrong thing and doing the wrong thing and the two days of blissful sex he had imagined had turned into one mediocre shag after a seemingly endless birthday party (ah, relatives-hers, not his, obviously) a reluctant shopping trip (just how many shoes did a girl need, really?) and thirty Galleons wasted on a romantic dinner that had turned into a lump of coal in his stomach as Ginny grew more and more distant.
Harry slammed the door of his locker shut, wanting to punch the sappy grin off Ron's face. What sort of bizarre world as he living in where Ron and Hermione got on like peas and carrots and he and Ginny were reduced to dirty looks as a form of communication? He'd never had trouble talking to Ginny; that was one of the things he liked best about her.
The day didn't improve much as it went on. Harry kept making stupid mistakes, and nearly got in a fight that might well have ruined a friendship if Ron hadn't held him back. He stood in the shower long after everyone else had gone, his hand bracing the wall in front of him, his head buried in the spray, hoping that the pressure of the water would ease the tension in his neck (not that it did-stupid ancient pipes.) As he left, he noticed one of his trainers watching him carefully as he gathered up his things and went up to the dorms.
"See that you work out whatever is up your arse before tomorrow, Potter," she said,
"I'm sorry, ma'am," he mumbled, feeling more than a bit deflated as he made his way down the hall. She called his name when he was nearly at the door and offered to buy him a drink in the canteen. Not that they served anything stronger than beer, but Harry had planned on drinking quite a bit of it-enough to make him pass out and stop wondering whether he was going to lose his girlfriend after everything he'd been through.
They got their drinks and O’Riley lit up a cigarette, sitting back against her chair and looking intently at him. For one surreal moment, he wondered if this was some sort of a date and he'd missed the point entirely, so penetrating was her gaze. When he dismissed that as ludicrous, he considered the possibility of Legilimency, which horrified him. Bad enough that Snape caught him in a brief kiss with Cho-he didn't want one of the people who had a say in his future having intimate knowledge of him with his girlfriend, especially considering she worked with Ron, too. But apparently, she was waiting for him to talk, and when he didn’t she said, "I reckon its girl trouble. It's either that or money, and everyone knows that you're richer than all us poor sods put together. So what is it? D'you knock her up?"
Harry looked up, his mouth dropping open. "No! I mean, I don't think so. Err, maybe…?" Well that would have certainly explained Ginny's strange mood shifts, but he seriously doubted she would have let the entire weekend pass without telling him so. Besides, she'd had plenty of alcohol over the weekend, hadn't she? Quite a bit, actually. He shook his head more definitely this time.
"No, not bloody likely… hardly ever see her anyway, our free weekends don't always-" He held up his hands, locking his fingers together in demonstration.
O'Riley nodded her understanding. "Oh aye, I'd nearly forgot. Chaser, wasn't she? For Holyhead?"
"Yeah," he said, and grinned involuntarily. Not all of the Aurors-in-training could boast that their girls had such a cool job, could they?
"She any good?" O'Riley asked.
Harry sat up straighter at that. "Of course Ginny's good, she's bloody brilliant. They wouldn't have hired her otherwise, right?" He found himself launching into a play by play of her last game he'd attended, and his trainer had a funny look in her eyes as he reached the end of the tale. She looked almost satisfied, and as Harry caught his reflection in the window, he noticed that his face looked quite a bit different from the one he'd seen in the changing room mirror.
She signaled for a couple of refills and folded her hands together as she waited. "So it's like that, is it? You're utterly besotted."
Harry's eyes widened and he felt the blood rushing up his chest to his face. "Well…I mean, yeah. Reckon I am."
She smiled slightly, though her eyes still had a calculating look in them. Harry wondered again why she seemed so interested, and once more dismissed the idea that she was trying to pull him.
"So what happened?" O'Riley asked, and Harry sunk lower in his chair. He was certainly not going to discuss his sex life with his - well, she wasn't exactly a boss, but she was sort of in charge of him, and - for heaven's sake, this was going to make the next time she had him in a neck lock embarrassing. On the other hand, she hadn’t asked, 'What did you do?' which was what Hermione probably would have done. That had to mean something, right?
"It's just…I mean, we get so little time together, and when we finally get the same weekend off, I'm expecting it to be great, but we wound up fighting more often than not.
"Makes sense," O'Riley said, sipping at her drink. "High expectations tend to leave you doomed to failure."
"Is it doomed?" Harry asked, trying not to sound as miserable and pathetic as he felt.
"No, I wouldn't say you're doomed," she hastened to add. I'd just say that you're doomed to have your expectations disappointed. Seems to me that you're in a high-pressure situation and she's in a high-pressure situation so you're bound to lay a little bit of that stress on the other person. Unless you spend the entire weekend in bed, that is," she added, blowing out a ring of smoke.
Harry, certain that his face was the colour of the Gryffindor common room, looked away, muttering, "Don't I wish," under his breath.
"So why don't you? O'Riley said, and Harry's head snapped back to her. Oh, crap, she'd heard him.
"I can't-" he said, and, and before she could decide that he was physically incapable, he added, " I mean, it'd be great, but there's family, and friends, and by the time we got back to my house, I mean…we were so tired, and the place is a bit depressing, too."
O'Riley's chuckle was a little disconcerting. "You sound like an old married couple, not a pair of horny teenagers."
Harry scowled. "I'm not a teenager any more."
"Well, you know what I mean," she said, waving off his objection. "Anyway, you’re disappointing me, Potter. I'd have thought a strapping lad like yourself with a firecracker of a girl would never have made it as far as the house without tearing each other’s clothes off. Don't know what's wrong with the boys of your generation."
Harry's scowl deepened and he was about ready to tell her to mind her own bloody business when she continued, sitting back and lighting another cigarette. "When I was in training, I was seeing someone who trained dragons. Merlin, he was gorgeous. We only got a couple of good weekends over the course of my program, but…." She let out a low whistle. "Every letter I got I used to pounce on because he would tell me what he was going to do to me, in very great detail. By the time I let go of that Portkey or stepped from the fire-well, let's just say we rarely made it past the nearest broom closet.”
Harry felt as though his skin was going to erupt in flames, but he kept silent, oddly anxious to hear more.
"Damn, I loved those letters," she said, smiling and closing her eyes. "Kept a few of them too. One of them was so good I had to pass it around the squad. To the girls anyway. Not that he'd have minded. Reckon he got off on it, actually."
"What…" Harry asked, and then stopped himself, looking down at the hands folded on his knees. "What sort of things did he say?"
O'Riley winked, which got Harry thinking all sorts of things he shouldn't about her. "Just…I don't know, what he thought about doing to me, what we'd done the last time, how he was touching himself and thinking about me, thinking about me doing the same where I was. It made for some very interesting floo calls," she added and laughed heartily.
Harry's eyes widened. "You mean you…"
She grinned and nodded.
"No, I don't think Ginny would ever go for that."
"Wouldn't she? I don't know the girl personally, but I went to school with some of her brothers and...Well, that's no matter. I mean, it's not as if you picked a prim, proper Ministry type girl, is it? And you're not going to know unless you try. Sides…seems to me you could have a bit of fun even between visits these weekends, yeah? Take the pressure off, and you'd be in a better mood for the rest of us?"
Harry glared at her as much as he dared, but she'd got him thinking, and later when she chucked him on the chin and got up to leave, he wasn't nearly as embarrassed as he thought he'd be.
Late that night he sat in his dorm, trying to ignore the fact that Ron was in the next bed and would be horrified if he knew what Harry was thinking, let alone about to write down. There was a lot of scratching off words and head shaking, and once or twice Harry threw the quill down on the floor with disgust. This was a horrible idea. Bad enough he'd ruined their weekend somehow. He ought to be apologising, not saying something that would make her more mad, right?
Still, the next day he tied the note to the owl's leg (triple sealed, naturally) and hoped for the best.
Ginny,
I can't sleep for thinking about you. I'm lying here, remembering the way that you looked when I woke up on Saturday. Your back was turned to me, probably because I'd said something to hack you off, but I could still see the curve of your hip as it disappeared into the sheets and the beginnings of the line of your bottom. I wanted to slip in behind you, reaching around between your legs. I would have touched you until you were so wet that I could slip inside with a single stroke. It would have felt so good that I would have had to bite your shoulder to keep from yelling in your ear, and you'd have been moaning before you even woke up.
I can almost feel you there, moaning and arching back against me, so bloody tight around me, so perfect. I love the way your arse feels against me when I'm behind you. I'd have pulled you up on your knees, holding on to your hips and going deep and hard until you were screaming from it. I wish you could see how beautiful you look to me when I'm behind you, so strong, so soft and so gorgeous.
Just thinking about you has got me so hard I don't think I can stand it any more. I'm gonna have to take a cold shower, or a long hot one, one where I think about the time you snuck in to join me on the morning of Percy's wedding; when you were hanging on by the curtain rod and I had to cover your mouth to keep you from bringing the house down around us.
I do that sort of thing most nights, thinking about you and how it's going to feel when I see you next. I'm going to have to stop myself from dragging you into the nearest empty room and having you against the door. Sure as hell would beat another family dinner, yeah?
I reckon it's high past time I went to bed, or at least into that shower. It's got me thinking about you over there, wondering if you think these sorts if things, wondering if you're over there touching yourself and thinking about me, too.
I miss you, (obviously)
Love, Harry
Harry only had to wait for two days for a response, which was probably a good thing, because he didn't think he'd been this nervous facing Voldemort. Well, maybe not that bad. Anyway, Ron gave him a funny look when he greeted the owl with such excitement but didn't open the letter at the table. At least it wasn't a Howler-that was a good sign-but the thought of Ron looking over his shoulder to read something naughty that Ginny had written, or worse yet, to catch her upbraiding him for his cheek…
He didn't actually get to read the letter until later that night due to an unlucky run-in with Minister Shacklebolt on the way out of the canteen and a seriously painful training session. He'd wanted a shower to ease the aches, but here was the chance for privacy while Ron did just that and it was well worth a few aches and pains to satisfy his curiosity.
Harry,
You can't possibly imagine how hot it was-thinking about you writing that letter and picturing what you did after, because I'm quite certain you did what you hinted at. I wonder if it's easier for you to get lost in a fantasy with your dodgy vision. The lines of reality can blur and become something else because they are not quite as sharp. Though I have to admit; I don't need much to imagine you. I've seen your face in front of me nearly every day since I've been ten.
Of course, the fantasy was complete crap back then, and probably boring, too. There was no way I was going to be able to make up the way your skin actually feels under my hands; warm and soft with wiry muscle just under the surface, bits of springy hair, the odd callus or two. The way it feels to have your chin scraping against my neck when you kiss me there, the way your hair feels in my fingers, the way your arse clenches and unclenches under my hands as you move inside me. I'm even turned on by your feet, because I quite fancy the idea that I'm one of the few people you're relaxed enough to pad barefoot around the house with. I love waking up in the early morning and seeing them peeking out from the side of the covers.
It makes me want to slide my hands up your legs, spreading them open at the thigh. I'd follow the same path with my tongue, waiting to wrap my lips around you until your eyes flutter open so that it's the first thing you see all day, blurry enough to have you wondering if it's still a wet dream. You'd fumble for your glasses, trying to get a better look, and when you finally focused, your eyes would burn straight through me. You'd grip the sheets, and when that wasn't enough, you'd grip my hair, and I'd smile, feeling proud to know that I'd reduced the strongest person I know into a puddle just with my tongue and lips. After a while, you wouldn't be able to take it any more, and I'd find myself on my back, pinned by your body and bloody well dripping with wanting you so bad, and then you'd fuck me hard enough that I'd see stars.
Damn, I can practically see you here now, it seems so real, and my hands are down my knickers and I'm pretending that they're your fingers, your lips, your tongue. It's nowhere near good enough, so I'm thinking of taking up my team mate's offer to order up something from a particular shop in Knockturn alley. Would you like that? Would you like to picture me sliding something hard and big and purple (or maybe green, if they have it) in and out of me while I think of you? She said you can even make them vibrate with the right charm.
Oh, dear, now my sheets are a mess.
I miss you too, (obviously)
Love, Ginny.
Harry just about knocked Ron over in his haste to get out of their room and into the shower, where he could clean up the mess (and possibly make another one.) He thought for the rest of the next day about what he would say in reply, which occasionally made things a bit dodgy during training. Then there was the difficulty in finding a place to write where Ron wouldn't be likely to look over his shoulders. The only place that really worked was a quiet corner of the research library, though he could have sworn that the librarian knew what he was doing. She certainly glared at him often enough.
Dear Ginny,
You're going to kill me, you know that? They're going to find me on the bed with a stupid vacant look on my face, and the Daily Prophet will probably say, "Harry Potter - defeated the Dark Lord, done in by chronic masturbation.
And if that doesn't work, Ron would cheerfully kill me if he found that letter. Or this one, for that matter, because I can't stop thinking about what you might be doing to yourself at this very moment. I already know how amazing your hands are; how they feel as they run over my skin, as they go all soft and feathery when you first touch my cock, and then stronger, faster, harder, until it feels nearly as good as being inside you. Not that it could ever really compare, because it's not just hot and tight and wet, it's the way that you wrap your legs around me, pulling me deeper, and the way your hands are always moving, the way that your skin goes damp and flushed, the way that your breath feels against my neck once you start panting, the sounds that you make when you start to lose control, the way that your body shudders everywhere, and squeezes around me. You're bloody spectacular, you know that?
Of course, now you've given me a very clear picture, one that involves you and those amazing hands of yours and a toy, possibly bright green. I want to see it close up. I want to watch it slide in and out of you and when I can't stand it any more, I'd bend lower and taste you, taste you on it, suck on your clit. I'd use it on you, and you'd be so wet and slippery that I could draw it from your arse to your clit, back and forth, driving you mad because it wouldn't be long enough on any one place to do anything.
You'd pay me back though, eventually, when you couldn't take it any more, you'd flip me over on my back and while I was trying to catch my breath you'd climb on top of me, using my cock the same way I used the toy, back and forth until I was begging you to let me in. You'd smirk, too-I can just see it-you'd wink at me and bite your lip and I'd see in your eyes that you want it just as badly as I did, and then when you finally sank down on me and started to move, both of us would want to scream with the joy of it.
I love watching you move above me; the way your tits bounce, the way your hair tickles my nipples when you bend lower, the way that your thighs tighten as you straddle my hips, the way your arse feels in my hands, the way they leave a mark there for some time after that because I was gripping you so hard.
God, I wish I could see you now. I honestly considered sneaking out of here, just for a few hours. Not as easy here though as it was at school. Remember how easy it used to be in the middle of the night? Not that you ever let me do all that much then, but even so, I still count them as some of the best nights of my life. I'd never imagined that it could be so simple and easy; that there was somebody who saw through all the bullshit and liked what was inside.
It still amazes me; your warmth and generosity, the way that you will just touch me for no reason, the way that you turn into me when I touch you and your eyes soften and you get that smile that seems to drain all the stress out of me. I just wish it could have been so simple last weekend. Maybe we should think of locking ourselves in a hotel room next time, and I don't just mean that I want to spend 48 hours molesting you, though the idea has merit. I just hate having everything pulling at us, I hate that everyone seems to want something from us, prodding us, teasing us. I hate the fact that we almost have to sneak around to be alone.
It's not just the shagging, I hope you know it. I want to talk to you, or just be. I want this damn separation to be over with. I want my life to get started; I want us to get started.
I miss you, (obviously)
Harry
He had a moment of panic later that day when Ron offered to take his letter to the owlery along with his own, but generally, Harry spent the day (and the two following) with a big grin on his face, wondering what Ginny would think and even more, what she might do in response. Every now and again he would feel a twinge of embarrassment-this one seemed a bit more explicit than the last one, and he couldn't imagine what he would do if someone other than Ginny read it.
Her last letter to him was beginning to fall apart with the constant handling, and he carefully taped up the weak spots with Spello-tape. He couldn't imagine ever throwing it away.
Dear Harry,
Guess what I've gone and bought? Thank goodness for mail order, yeah? And in green, of course, 'green as a fresh pickled toad.' Now that's some sexy talk, what? Should show up tomorrow, Lizzie tells me. She thinks I'd be too embarrassed to tell you-little does she know.
Don't know what possessed me to tell you in the first place, but then, I don't know what possessed you to write that first letter. Glad you did, though. You've sure got me waiting for the post every morning, and I seem to have got over the losing streak I was having. Still missing you like mad, and now I'm looking forward to the 24th more than I ever have anything in my life.
In the meantime, though, I have that last letter of yours, which put some really wicked ideas in my head. Some of which will require the toy to put into effect. Thank goodness we get our own rooms here, miniscule as they seem. None of that sneaking about for me, no hiding under the covers, and your letter got me wondering what it is that you see when we shag. And I just happen to have a mirror in my room, don't I?
Merlin, I wish I could see your face at this very moment. Though I don't know if I could say these sorts of things in front of you. Why is that, I wonder? Seems to me that it should be the reverse, yeah? Something to work on, maybe.
Anyway, about that mirror. I can sit in front of it and if I turn the lights down low, I can pretend that the hands on my body are yours. If I squint, I can almost see you behind me, the way you cup my breasts, always so hesitantly at first, as if you're sure I'm going to tell you to get your filthy hands off me. I wish I could help you understand what you make me feel. With you, my body isn't just something to use to get through my day, or to push to do new things on the Quidditch pitch; it's something beautiful and sensual, and it's something to take pride in because it affects you so.
I can very nearly picture your eyes burning behind me as your hands grow bolder, skimming and then circling my nipples, and I feel as if my heart is going to burst out of my chest. I can feel you pressing closer behind me, and you're hard, and I can't believe that I have the power to do that to you. Your hands go lower, and I can't help arching back against you, resting my head on your shoulder and feeling your breath against my ear. It's hot and sweet and sends all my nerve endings into a frenzy, and by the time your fingers go between my legs, I'm wet and aching for you. You start to move them back and forth, and it feels so bloody good I can't keep silent. I'm moaning and writhing against you, desperate to feel you inside me, to feel your hands holding me steady, to watch your face as it goes all fierce and determined, to hear you shout because I've driven you over the edge of madness.
My fingers/your fingers are moving faster and faster on me, and I swear I can feel you inside me. My skin is on fire, my vision blurs, and I feel as if I am going to be split in two. And then it happens, and I cry out your name so loud I don't know how I'm going to face the rest of the team in the morning-I'm sure they can hear me. And then I collapse on the bed, laughing because I have no doubt that one or two of them (don't ask) have done nearly the same thing, thinking of you. As if their fantasies could ever live up to the reality.
No one could ever know what it means to see the love shining in your eyes afterward, the way that you touch me with such wonder, the way that you try so hard to make everything perfect when we are together. You don't have to, I hope you know that.
I'm not going to chuck you for being in a bad mood when we're together, I get it, believe me, and I am as prone to irrational emotions more than anyone. The thing is-I don't want to be someone who always puts on a happy face when we are together, even when it's been a long time. To me, it seems like lying. If you don't love me, bitchy moods and all, then we haven't got a chance, have we? If I'm being irrational, tell me to sod off, and if I'm trying to start a fight, either let me be or distract me, and I'll be the first to admit that a quick hard fuck behind the back garden might do me a world of good when I'm feeling overwhelmed.
Sometimes it's scary, Harry, suspecting that I'm supposed to be living up to this ideal (your mother at that, and someone who you never got the chance to see as human and fallible) and I hope you're not thinking that we are supposed to be some perfect romance on par with Romeo and Juliet just because we look like your parents. Actually, I always thought Romeo was a spineless prat who jumped from one girl to the other fairly quickly, and Juliet was a bit of a drama queen.
Anyway, I suppose this is me apologizing for being so irritable on our last weekend. I completely understand your wanting to hide away from everything together. I reckon the next time we ought to tell them to bugger off and spend the weekend in bed.
I miss you, (obviously)
Ginny
Harry was quite glad he was lying down when he finished the letter. She…and the…toy, and the mirror, and... He rolled over and groaned, his hand sticky as he buttoned his flies again. He had the best girlfriend on earth, clearly. She was likely going to kill him, but what a way to go.
He read the letter once more before Ron returned, and tried to freshen the air in the room and compose his features, though he was fairly certain that everything he was feeling was written plainly on his face. He was pleased that she had decided to talk about what happened on their weekend. It seemed strange that speaking about their fantasies had resulted in their opening up to each other in other ways, too, but Harry wasn't going to complain.
Dear Ginny,
First of all, let me set the record straight. I do not think of you as my mother. Just, eww. Don't worry about that at all.
And secondly, I can understand the moods, believe me. Just…maybe in the future don't leave me wondering what I did wrong? Unless, of course, I did do something wrong, in which case I'd appreciate you letting me know what I did so I can either defend myself or apologize and get on with it. If I'm getting on your nerves and you just want to be left alone, just tell me to bugger off and I'll do my own thing. But I'd rather you actually told me about it, you know?
And not that that's out of the way, I'm rather looking forward to your next letter, nearly as much as I am the next visit, where I'm hoping you'll let me see what it is that I'm trying to picture. Or rather what I can picture all too well but could never live up to the reality. Green, yeah? And you, lying on your bed, your hair spread over your pillow, your legs bent at the knee and open, just a bit. Your hands working like mad, one pushing it in and out, the other working your nipples the way you like, circling between your legs, your mouth open, your eyes all dark and focused, and the sounds that drive me mad when I hear them next to my ear echoing around the room. And I'd be touching myself, the way I always do when I think of you, except you'd be watching, licking your lips the way you sometimes do across the table at the Burrow when you're torturing me.
I wouldn't know what to do; because I'd want to be inside you so badly that it would nearly kill me, but I'd still want to see the show. So I'd move closer, and take it from your hands, moving it in and out of you myself, and I'd be so bloody jealous of an inanimate object-but so turned on. After a while, I'd set it down and use my fingers. I couldn't help myself, because you'd feel so amazing, so slick and hot and my fingers would slide all over, circling your clit, slipping in and out of you, teasing your arse. Would you like that? I've heard the blokes talking about that, but I didn't know whether they were full of shite. Would you like a finger moving in and out of both parts of you? I'd probably be so turned on I'd come all over the sheets. As I just did, apparently.
God, I miss you.
(Obviously)
Harry
He sent it off without even rereading it and correcting the mistakes. He supposed if he had he might have lost his nerve-as it was, he still considered heading over there to Obliviate her two or three times over the next few days, but the nights...
Good heavens, he had created a monster. Or she had. Every random nasty thought he had, he considered putting in his letters. In fact, he started keeping a spare bit of parchment in moleskin pouch to jot down notes throughout the day.
The fact that her response was delayed by a day nearly killed him.
Dear Harry,
'It' arrived the same day your letter did. I'm sorry about the delay, but I wanted to try it out before writing to you. It took about four glasses of wine for me to stop laughing at myself for doing something so ridiculous, but eventually I got the hang of it, and once I perfected the spell, I really didn't want to leave my room, not even to eat. I thought about what you hinted at, too, and I even tried it there, too. Just a bit at first, and then a bit more the next night.
Definitely something to research further, I'd say, and now I sound like Hermione. Some of the girls (and a boy) said that blokes like that sort of thing, too, but I reckon I'd better talk to you about before I try it. Anyway, sorry this is so short, but I imagine you're able to picture the reasons why well enough, you great bloody perv. And I'm growing to love that about you.
I miss you (obviously)
Love, Ginny (and Roger-that's what I'm thinking about calling him, or is that too obvious?)
*
Dear Ginny,
I fucking love you. Have I mentioned that? And I'm beginning to think a weekend won't be near enough. Any plans for the rest of your life? Let's just chuck this whole career idea and just run off to Brazil or something. Let's live in a mud hut or a shack and just spend all our time shagging.
On the beach, in bed, over the kitchen sink. (Do mud huts have kitchen sinks, generally?)
In the closet, in the shower, in a hammock...
Twenty-four hours a day, preferably.
And you must never, ever wear anything too complicated. In fact, I think we should be naked as much as possible. Though I wouldn't mind a loincloth-type thing on you, or perhaps one of those French maid uniforms. Or your Quidditch gear (but no actual robes) or your school uniform (but no knickers.)
Yeah, that's a good one.
It (the thought of you in that uniform) certainly kept me awake through those nights at school. And a fair few of those nights hiding in the forest. Did I ever tell you that? How much I thought about you that autumn and winter? How I would take out my map late at night just to be certain you were still moving around on it? I'd wonder what you were doing and if you ever were possibly thinking about me at the same moment. The story about you and Nev and that business with the sword got back to me when I overheard someone telling Dean about it, and it was the best news I'd had in months. On the other hand, it scared the crap out of me. I ought to have known that you wouldn't be content to keep your head down and be a good girl.
Which, of course has got me thinking about just how terribly naughty you can be. I'm afraid sleep is out of the question tonight, which means I ought to put down this quill and pick up the (rapidly diminishing) bottle of lotion I keep beside my bed.
Good night, Gin.
I love you (obviously)
Harry
*
Dear Harry
Naughty, eh? Not only naughty, but terribly naughty. And just what do you plan on doing about it, eh, Mr. Big Bad Auror-type? I can think of any number of things, some of which involve a smacked bottom. But only if you'd let me do it in return.
Well, now I've got your attention, I think we should make plans for next weekend. I've already written to Mum to let her know I'm feeling knackered lately and I just want a bit of rest and quiet. Hopefully, that will get her off my back, but there's always the danger of her assuming it's because you've gone and knocked me up, so fair warning. If my dad shows up with his wand blazing or a large Muggle gun, you'll know the reason why. If I have my way, though, no one will be able to find us.
So Roger and I are getting along splendidly, even if he is a poor substitute for you. I hope I'm not wearing him out, but he seems to be a fine, upstanding, durable fellow, and he takes the abuse with no complaints. Actually, I think I'm growing rather handy with him. I do hope you'll get along when you meet.
Have I mentioned that I miss you like mad? (Obviously)
Love, Ginny
P.S. Best be careful when you ask a girl what she's doing for the rest of her life. Some girls might consider that a proposal of sorts.
P.P.S. Did you know that WWW has been offering Roger-type items for years behind an age line? The prats. They could have told me and saved me a lot of trouble. Going to give George a piece of my mind the next time I see him.
*
Dear Ginny,
Please, please, please don't tell George. He'll never let me live it down. Probably take an advert in the Prophet letting the entire world I know can't keep my girlfriend satisfied. Though might be worth it to see George's face when you told him. You might be the only person on earth who could get him to shut his gob for a full fifteen minutes.
Anyway, that said, I got us a room. And hopefully somewhere no one will think to look for us. Less than a week, now, and I'm ready to burst with wanting you.
And then you would go and give me all sorts of terrible ideas that involve leaning some of those binding charms months before they were to be on the curriculum. So if you can see your way to bring along you Quidditch gear, I'd appreciate it. The school uniform might be a bit more difficult as it involves your mother, but I'm really hoping you'll drag it out one of these days. Preferably in the middle of something dreadful like Fleur's next birthday party. Maybe we can escape the madness for a few minutes, possibly in your room or the attic (I do hope the ghoul enjoys a good show.)
Can you imagine it? Me trying desperately to get away from Gabrielle, knowing you are up there, your skirt bunched up around your hips, your blouse half open, your tie thrown over your shoulder, your hand between your thighs. When I finally got there, I'd sit in a chair and you'd climb onto my lap and torture me as you moved over me, circling your hips, pushing your tits into my face but not letting me touch them. We could pretend we're still at school and apt to be caught at any moment.
I wouldn't be sure how far you'd let me go this time, so each thing would feel like a victory, of sorts. And then, when I finally felt you sink down onto my cock, I'd be terrified that you'd pull away at any moment, telling me we had to stop before it went too far.
And I'd grab your hips and buck up inside you and you'd scream and it would be bloody miraculous, because it would be so much more than I dreamed it would be. That's the way I felt the first time, you know? It was the best feeling on earth, more powerful than a Patronus. It felt like coming home. I'm never going to stop wanting you, Gin, I hope you know that.
I miss you like mad.
(Obviously)
Harry
P.S. A proposal? Don't know what you'd want with a nutter like me, but there's never been a doubt in my mind. (Once I knew I was going to live to see my eighteenth, anyway.) I'd drag you off to the registry tonight, if that was what you wanted.
*
Dear Harry,
I'll see you at the Atrium at four on Friday. And I hope you have plans to get us somewhere private in a hurry, because I'm about ready to knock you on your bony arse and ravish you. And I have no plans on wearing knickers, so think about that while you're waiting, yeah?
I'll see you soon,
I miss you (obviously)
Ginny
PS: I'll bring Roger and pray that my suitcase doesn't get singled out for inspection. If there were ever a time for you to use some of that ‘Saviour of the world’ clout you've earned, this would be it, yeah?
P.P.S. I wasn't hinting, you prat. I have no interest in repeating my mother's life, thank you very much. But yeah, orange blossoms, green-eyed babies...definitely in the cards for me. One of these days.
Harry barely slept the night before departure, and he was one of the first in line at the Floo the following day. Unfortunately, O'Riley was the next one in line after him, and as he stood in front of her, stiff as a board, he had to think about the conversation they'd had after the last visit and where it had led him-though come to think of it, he probably owed her one. Therefore, he decided to step aside and let her go first when the time came. She winked at him and told him to come back with a smile on his face this time as she grabbed a handful of powder. Then she called out "Dacia Dragon Reserve!" and something clicked in Harry's mind, something that clearly showed on his face because she was laughing as she was whisked off to Romania.
Then it was his turn, and as he stepped out of the fire and into the atrium, a blur of ginger hair and freckles nearly knocked him onto his arse. Godric, she looked good and smelled good and he was going to have to walk to the Apparition point with a hard-on, wasn't he? She was kissing him hard as they stood in place and felt the familiar squeeze of Apparition.
As Harry led her from the alley to a nearby building and looked with dismay at the registration line, he began to wonder if a Muggle hotel had been such a good idea after all. By the time they'd got through the check-in procedure, a lot of the built-up tension between them had begun to dissipate. He was actually feeling somewhat shy as he wondered what she was thinking, or maybe it was just nerves. Would they be able to talk as openly face-to-face? Would their expectations fizzle into disappointment and resentment the way they had the last time?
And then the damn bellboy seemed as if he was never going to leave the room he'd led them to. It belatedly occurred to Harry that he was waiting for a tip, so he thrust what turned out to be a twenty pound note into his hand and nearly pushed him out the door.
There was a seemingly endless moment of silence and then Ginny was in his arms again, and Harry didn't know if she had knocked him to the bed or if it was the other way around, but there they were. It was sort of desperate, and not at all graceful or even particularly romantic, but god, he just needed to touch and taste (and bite and claw, even) and before long, he'd pushed Ginny halfway off the bed and her skirt bunched around her waist. Good thing she'd gone with the no knickers idea, he thought, because they would certainly have gone the way of his shirt (which was missing several buttons and probably ripped beyond repair.) But it didn't matter because he was buried to the hilt inside her and she felt so fucking amazing around him, so much better than even the most realistic fantasies. He'd hardly had time to give her three good thrusts before he lost control completely, and it was the best feeling he could ever remember experiencing.
It was followed quickly by abject mortification, because she was surely as frustrated as hell. He buried his face in her neck, muttering an apology. Ginny laughed, and as Ginny's laughs went (all of which were brilliant) it was one of the better ones. It started out in her stomach and bubbled up her throat and Harry watched her in wonder.
"Damn, Harry," she said. That was quite possibly the hottest thing I've ever seen. Did you know you howled?"
"Did not," he said indignantly, and she laughed again.
"Did so." She pushed away from him, taking care not to land on her head as she disentangled herself. "Anyway, don't you dare apologise, Harry. I'm not done with you yet."
She disappeared into the bathroom for a bit, and when she returned, she'd managed to dredge up some knickers from her bag. Some rather tiny ones, actually-black lace with a matching bra, and Harry groaned in appreciation. "Don't worry, love. I've packed the Quidditch gear and even borrowed a uniform, though it's Slytherin. Of course, you might actually like that even more. But for now," she added, and he felt his body stirring impossibly at the tone of her voice. "I plan on taking advantage of you.
She pushed him back and climbed onto the bed beside him, straddling his thigh as she went to work on his clothes, taking a very long time about it, kissing and licking his skin as she went, sometimes even giving him soft nips that had him squirming and groaning under her, feeling as if was going to burst out of his skin. Gods, she was brilliant, he thought, and reached out to tug at the strap of her bra, only to have it swatted away.
"Don't make me tie you up, Potter," she said, and he grinned, settling back to enjoy the sweet torture. She took him into her mouth and he felt himself hardening in the wet heat.
"Love you, love you love you," he muttered, and he could feel her smiling around him and felt the laugh at the back of her throat. He wondered if she'd been practicing on the toy, because he didn't think she'd ever been quite this good at it, using her hands and fingers along with her mouth, stroking him, cupping his bollocks, reaching under them to trace his arse lightly. He still hadn't quite decided if he liked the idea of her playing around there, but it actually felt pretty good, and the fact that she was trying something new because of what they'd written about it made it all that much hotter.
She was teasing him, making those sounds that usually meant she was rather enjoying herself, and wiggling that bottom of hers in the air as she moved, knowing it was driving him mad not to be able to touch it.
Then she let go and started kissing her way back up his body, straddling his erection with her thighs and the lacy knickers, which felt bloody brilliant but didn't give him nearly enough contact with bare skin. She placed her hands on his chest and began to move, circling her hips and grinding into him. He could feel how wet she was through the fabric, and he was dying to get his hands on her, to free those breasts that weren't bouncing nearly as much as he liked but looked ridiculously hot under the sheer lace. He wanted to slip his fingers under the knickers and spread her wetness around, he wanted to grab her hips and press her down harder to give both of them some relief. He wanted back inside her again, and reckoned it was rather absurd to want her again so desperately after only a few minutes.
But she seemed determined to take her time, and he wondered for a moment if she actually wanted him to give her an excuse to tie him up. They'd only tried it the one time before, and it had been great until her mum had called out from the Floo downstairs, and then he had been left alone in his cold bedroom room, feeling his desire deflate as she tried to talk her Molly out of inviting herself over.
And that was probably the worst thing to think about at this moment, but he was trying to think of things that would stop him from knocking her flat on her back and pinning her to the bed. And then she reached between them to take hold of his cock and sat up a bit further, drawing it back and forth between her legs slowly and carefully. He could feel her heat through the fabric, and he was fighting for control, clenching the bedspread in his fists. She pushed her knickers aside and did it again, and her heat was right there, so close, so slick and soft and inviting, and even better yet, she closed her eyes and moaned at the contact. Back and forth, back and forth, until she lost patience with the knickers and shimmied out of them, throwing them onto the floor and climbing back on him to start the process again. Back and forth, circling her clit with the tip of his cock, drawing it ever so slowly past her entrance, pushing it in just a bit each time, making him whimper as she pulled him back out again.
"Ginny, god…feel so good…want you…want to touch you so bad, so beautiful…" he said, and she smiled, and the hand on his cock was beginning to shake with emotion or desire or something. He loved it when she got to this point-where her desires overwhelmed her strength of will and she became vulnerable. Biting her lip, she moved his cock back and forth again, shuddering every time she passed over her clit, gritting her teeth as she drew him past her cunt to her arse, which was wet and slippery with her juices and some of his, too.
"Is that what you did?" he asked and she grimaced and nodded, clearly concentrating on something, or maybe trying to resist the impulse to sink down on him.
Or maybe not, because then she did just that-took him all the way inside her in one motion and he cried out at the sensations, only to whimper as she pulled off him again and began the teasing all over again.
At this point, her skin was flushed with desire and there was a line of sweat running between her breasts, and he couldn't help but lean forward and lick it off. Another stroke back and forth, and he could have sworn that she pushed him into her arse, just the slightest bit, then away again. Then with a sigh, she did it again, this time remaining in place, letting herself sink ever so slowly down on him.
Harry groaned and tried to swallow the lump in his throat, wondering if his heart was going to burst out of his chest, it was thudding so hard. This was unlike anything he'd felt before, hotter and tighter than being inside her cunt, and a different angle altogether.
"Ginny, fuck," he hissed, and she exhaled as she sank down onto him fully, closing her eyes and biting her lip, her body shaking with nerves or discomfort or possibly pleasure-he couldn't be sure.
"Do you like it?" she asked, a smile spreading across her face as she opened her eyes and looked at him. Harry slid his hands over her thighs and rested them on her hips. Apparently the touching was all right now, he thought, as he tried to put what he was feeling into words.
"Hell yeah. It's like you, only different. Tighter, smoother. Fucking brilliant. Can I…?" He bucked up slightly in demonstration. Gods, he wanted to move more than anything, wanted to test this out, to feel her body clenching around him as he did so. But he didn't want to hurt her, either.
In answer, she began to move, though a bit slower and with more care than she usually did. Harry watched her face as she did it, watched the fierce concentration there, the wonder as she took it all in. She was beginning to get into a rhythm that she liked and Harry was trying to hold back, wondering if she was going to be able to finish off that way, nearly incapable of words.
But actions, that he could manage and he let his hands run free, playing with her nipples through the lace and then underneath, reaching lower to finger her clit and her cunt. "Right there," she muttered, and began moaning as he complied, and as her cunt began contracting around his fingers, her arse did as well around his cock, and he was fairly certain he'd be remembering this moment on his deathbed.
Harry worked his fingers more urgently, and she was crying out, moving faster and faster on him until he couldn't help it-he was spilling into her, shouting out her name, his fingers still moving as she tightened around them. For a moment, he was afraid he might pass out from the blood rushing out of his head and down to his cock, but he didn't, and then he began to wonder how she was feeling. Ginny seemed almost embarrassed as she climbed off of him, (a little gingerly, at that) but he pulled her close and kissed her soundly, rolling on top of her. "You," he said. "Are amazing."
And then she giggled, burying her head in his neck. "That was… fucking brilliant," he added and she lay back and smiled smugly, stroking his hair and his cheek.
After a while, she seemed to come to a decision. "Come on," she said, sitting up and taking off her bra-all business, apparently.
"Where are we going now?" Harry asked, having just decided the moment before that he never wanted to move from this spot.
"The shower, silly. We've both got to get cleaned up before I let you anywhere near my Quidditch gear."
Harry laughed and groaned, wondering how much trouble they could get up to in the shower.
"I love you," he said, and she laughed over her shoulder at him. Bloody hell, she had a fabulous arse.
"Obviously," she said, and a moment later he heard the water running
written for :
lunalovepotter
Pairing:Harry/Ginny
Rating: NC-17
Word Count :9359
Warnings: Anal, Masturbation, Dirty talk (is this really going to offend any of my flist?)
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Harry and Ginny are finding that long-distance relationships are even harder than they look. Harry is willing to do whatever it takes to bring them closer together.
Author's Notes: Prompts: fight!sex, voyeurism, toys, anal, half-clothed sex, masturbation, semi-public sex. Some of them were only hinted at, but I hope I got a few of them nailed. Thank you to Patty, Maple and Sarai for letting me bounce ideas off of them and to Jen for the (rapid) beta. To lunalovepotter: I wanted it to be right for you as I've enjoyed your stories so much. I hope it's up your alley!
The atmosphere of the Auror trainee's locker room, rowdy enough on a normal day, was positively humming with good spirits and excitement. Harry reckoned that was a good thing-at least better than those days after a particularly brutal training session, when exhaustion and frustration and adrenaline tended to make frayed nerves snap and fights break out over inconsequential things or perceived slights. Today, though, it was all smiles and backslapping and rude jokes. Everybody in the damn room got lucky last night, Harry thought grumpily. Everybody but him that was, and his back was still hurting from having to sleep on the sofa, unwilling to risk the ire of his supposed girlfriend. Voldemort was a cute and fluffy bunny in comparison to Ginny when someone got her back up, which Harry had managed to do, though he still wasn't sure how it had happened. The weekend started out well enough, but somehow he kept saying the wrong thing and doing the wrong thing and the two days of blissful sex he had imagined had turned into one mediocre shag after a seemingly endless birthday party (ah, relatives-hers, not his, obviously) a reluctant shopping trip (just how many shoes did a girl need, really?) and thirty Galleons wasted on a romantic dinner that had turned into a lump of coal in his stomach as Ginny grew more and more distant.
Harry slammed the door of his locker shut, wanting to punch the sappy grin off Ron's face. What sort of bizarre world as he living in where Ron and Hermione got on like peas and carrots and he and Ginny were reduced to dirty looks as a form of communication? He'd never had trouble talking to Ginny; that was one of the things he liked best about her.
The day didn't improve much as it went on. Harry kept making stupid mistakes, and nearly got in a fight that might well have ruined a friendship if Ron hadn't held him back. He stood in the shower long after everyone else had gone, his hand bracing the wall in front of him, his head buried in the spray, hoping that the pressure of the water would ease the tension in his neck (not that it did-stupid ancient pipes.) As he left, he noticed one of his trainers watching him carefully as he gathered up his things and went up to the dorms.
"See that you work out whatever is up your arse before tomorrow, Potter," she said,
"I'm sorry, ma'am," he mumbled, feeling more than a bit deflated as he made his way down the hall. She called his name when he was nearly at the door and offered to buy him a drink in the canteen. Not that they served anything stronger than beer, but Harry had planned on drinking quite a bit of it-enough to make him pass out and stop wondering whether he was going to lose his girlfriend after everything he'd been through.
They got their drinks and O’Riley lit up a cigarette, sitting back against her chair and looking intently at him. For one surreal moment, he wondered if this was some sort of a date and he'd missed the point entirely, so penetrating was her gaze. When he dismissed that as ludicrous, he considered the possibility of Legilimency, which horrified him. Bad enough that Snape caught him in a brief kiss with Cho-he didn't want one of the people who had a say in his future having intimate knowledge of him with his girlfriend, especially considering she worked with Ron, too. But apparently, she was waiting for him to talk, and when he didn’t she said, "I reckon its girl trouble. It's either that or money, and everyone knows that you're richer than all us poor sods put together. So what is it? D'you knock her up?"
Harry looked up, his mouth dropping open. "No! I mean, I don't think so. Err, maybe…?" Well that would have certainly explained Ginny's strange mood shifts, but he seriously doubted she would have let the entire weekend pass without telling him so. Besides, she'd had plenty of alcohol over the weekend, hadn't she? Quite a bit, actually. He shook his head more definitely this time.
"No, not bloody likely… hardly ever see her anyway, our free weekends don't always-" He held up his hands, locking his fingers together in demonstration.
O'Riley nodded her understanding. "Oh aye, I'd nearly forgot. Chaser, wasn't she? For Holyhead?"
"Yeah," he said, and grinned involuntarily. Not all of the Aurors-in-training could boast that their girls had such a cool job, could they?
"She any good?" O'Riley asked.
Harry sat up straighter at that. "Of course Ginny's good, she's bloody brilliant. They wouldn't have hired her otherwise, right?" He found himself launching into a play by play of her last game he'd attended, and his trainer had a funny look in her eyes as he reached the end of the tale. She looked almost satisfied, and as Harry caught his reflection in the window, he noticed that his face looked quite a bit different from the one he'd seen in the changing room mirror.
She signaled for a couple of refills and folded her hands together as she waited. "So it's like that, is it? You're utterly besotted."
Harry's eyes widened and he felt the blood rushing up his chest to his face. "Well…I mean, yeah. Reckon I am."
She smiled slightly, though her eyes still had a calculating look in them. Harry wondered again why she seemed so interested, and once more dismissed the idea that she was trying to pull him.
"So what happened?" O'Riley asked, and Harry sunk lower in his chair. He was certainly not going to discuss his sex life with his - well, she wasn't exactly a boss, but she was sort of in charge of him, and - for heaven's sake, this was going to make the next time she had him in a neck lock embarrassing. On the other hand, she hadn’t asked, 'What did you do?' which was what Hermione probably would have done. That had to mean something, right?
"It's just…I mean, we get so little time together, and when we finally get the same weekend off, I'm expecting it to be great, but we wound up fighting more often than not.
"Makes sense," O'Riley said, sipping at her drink. "High expectations tend to leave you doomed to failure."
"Is it doomed?" Harry asked, trying not to sound as miserable and pathetic as he felt.
"No, I wouldn't say you're doomed," she hastened to add. I'd just say that you're doomed to have your expectations disappointed. Seems to me that you're in a high-pressure situation and she's in a high-pressure situation so you're bound to lay a little bit of that stress on the other person. Unless you spend the entire weekend in bed, that is," she added, blowing out a ring of smoke.
Harry, certain that his face was the colour of the Gryffindor common room, looked away, muttering, "Don't I wish," under his breath.
"So why don't you? O'Riley said, and Harry's head snapped back to her. Oh, crap, she'd heard him.
"I can't-" he said, and, and before she could decide that he was physically incapable, he added, " I mean, it'd be great, but there's family, and friends, and by the time we got back to my house, I mean…we were so tired, and the place is a bit depressing, too."
O'Riley's chuckle was a little disconcerting. "You sound like an old married couple, not a pair of horny teenagers."
Harry scowled. "I'm not a teenager any more."
"Well, you know what I mean," she said, waving off his objection. "Anyway, you’re disappointing me, Potter. I'd have thought a strapping lad like yourself with a firecracker of a girl would never have made it as far as the house without tearing each other’s clothes off. Don't know what's wrong with the boys of your generation."
Harry's scowl deepened and he was about ready to tell her to mind her own bloody business when she continued, sitting back and lighting another cigarette. "When I was in training, I was seeing someone who trained dragons. Merlin, he was gorgeous. We only got a couple of good weekends over the course of my program, but…." She let out a low whistle. "Every letter I got I used to pounce on because he would tell me what he was going to do to me, in very great detail. By the time I let go of that Portkey or stepped from the fire-well, let's just say we rarely made it past the nearest broom closet.”
Harry felt as though his skin was going to erupt in flames, but he kept silent, oddly anxious to hear more.
"Damn, I loved those letters," she said, smiling and closing her eyes. "Kept a few of them too. One of them was so good I had to pass it around the squad. To the girls anyway. Not that he'd have minded. Reckon he got off on it, actually."
"What…" Harry asked, and then stopped himself, looking down at the hands folded on his knees. "What sort of things did he say?"
O'Riley winked, which got Harry thinking all sorts of things he shouldn't about her. "Just…I don't know, what he thought about doing to me, what we'd done the last time, how he was touching himself and thinking about me, thinking about me doing the same where I was. It made for some very interesting floo calls," she added and laughed heartily.
Harry's eyes widened. "You mean you…"
She grinned and nodded.
"No, I don't think Ginny would ever go for that."
"Wouldn't she? I don't know the girl personally, but I went to school with some of her brothers and...Well, that's no matter. I mean, it's not as if you picked a prim, proper Ministry type girl, is it? And you're not going to know unless you try. Sides…seems to me you could have a bit of fun even between visits these weekends, yeah? Take the pressure off, and you'd be in a better mood for the rest of us?"
Harry glared at her as much as he dared, but she'd got him thinking, and later when she chucked him on the chin and got up to leave, he wasn't nearly as embarrassed as he thought he'd be.
Late that night he sat in his dorm, trying to ignore the fact that Ron was in the next bed and would be horrified if he knew what Harry was thinking, let alone about to write down. There was a lot of scratching off words and head shaking, and once or twice Harry threw the quill down on the floor with disgust. This was a horrible idea. Bad enough he'd ruined their weekend somehow. He ought to be apologising, not saying something that would make her more mad, right?
Still, the next day he tied the note to the owl's leg (triple sealed, naturally) and hoped for the best.
Ginny,
I can't sleep for thinking about you. I'm lying here, remembering the way that you looked when I woke up on Saturday. Your back was turned to me, probably because I'd said something to hack you off, but I could still see the curve of your hip as it disappeared into the sheets and the beginnings of the line of your bottom. I wanted to slip in behind you, reaching around between your legs. I would have touched you until you were so wet that I could slip inside with a single stroke. It would have felt so good that I would have had to bite your shoulder to keep from yelling in your ear, and you'd have been moaning before you even woke up.
I can almost feel you there, moaning and arching back against me, so bloody tight around me, so perfect. I love the way your arse feels against me when I'm behind you. I'd have pulled you up on your knees, holding on to your hips and going deep and hard until you were screaming from it. I wish you could see how beautiful you look to me when I'm behind you, so strong, so soft and so gorgeous.
Just thinking about you has got me so hard I don't think I can stand it any more. I'm gonna have to take a cold shower, or a long hot one, one where I think about the time you snuck in to join me on the morning of Percy's wedding; when you were hanging on by the curtain rod and I had to cover your mouth to keep you from bringing the house down around us.
I do that sort of thing most nights, thinking about you and how it's going to feel when I see you next. I'm going to have to stop myself from dragging you into the nearest empty room and having you against the door. Sure as hell would beat another family dinner, yeah?
I reckon it's high past time I went to bed, or at least into that shower. It's got me thinking about you over there, wondering if you think these sorts if things, wondering if you're over there touching yourself and thinking about me, too.
I miss you, (obviously)
Love, Harry
Harry only had to wait for two days for a response, which was probably a good thing, because he didn't think he'd been this nervous facing Voldemort. Well, maybe not that bad. Anyway, Ron gave him a funny look when he greeted the owl with such excitement but didn't open the letter at the table. At least it wasn't a Howler-that was a good sign-but the thought of Ron looking over his shoulder to read something naughty that Ginny had written, or worse yet, to catch her upbraiding him for his cheek…
He didn't actually get to read the letter until later that night due to an unlucky run-in with Minister Shacklebolt on the way out of the canteen and a seriously painful training session. He'd wanted a shower to ease the aches, but here was the chance for privacy while Ron did just that and it was well worth a few aches and pains to satisfy his curiosity.
Harry,
You can't possibly imagine how hot it was-thinking about you writing that letter and picturing what you did after, because I'm quite certain you did what you hinted at. I wonder if it's easier for you to get lost in a fantasy with your dodgy vision. The lines of reality can blur and become something else because they are not quite as sharp. Though I have to admit; I don't need much to imagine you. I've seen your face in front of me nearly every day since I've been ten.
Of course, the fantasy was complete crap back then, and probably boring, too. There was no way I was going to be able to make up the way your skin actually feels under my hands; warm and soft with wiry muscle just under the surface, bits of springy hair, the odd callus or two. The way it feels to have your chin scraping against my neck when you kiss me there, the way your hair feels in my fingers, the way your arse clenches and unclenches under my hands as you move inside me. I'm even turned on by your feet, because I quite fancy the idea that I'm one of the few people you're relaxed enough to pad barefoot around the house with. I love waking up in the early morning and seeing them peeking out from the side of the covers.
It makes me want to slide my hands up your legs, spreading them open at the thigh. I'd follow the same path with my tongue, waiting to wrap my lips around you until your eyes flutter open so that it's the first thing you see all day, blurry enough to have you wondering if it's still a wet dream. You'd fumble for your glasses, trying to get a better look, and when you finally focused, your eyes would burn straight through me. You'd grip the sheets, and when that wasn't enough, you'd grip my hair, and I'd smile, feeling proud to know that I'd reduced the strongest person I know into a puddle just with my tongue and lips. After a while, you wouldn't be able to take it any more, and I'd find myself on my back, pinned by your body and bloody well dripping with wanting you so bad, and then you'd fuck me hard enough that I'd see stars.
Damn, I can practically see you here now, it seems so real, and my hands are down my knickers and I'm pretending that they're your fingers, your lips, your tongue. It's nowhere near good enough, so I'm thinking of taking up my team mate's offer to order up something from a particular shop in Knockturn alley. Would you like that? Would you like to picture me sliding something hard and big and purple (or maybe green, if they have it) in and out of me while I think of you? She said you can even make them vibrate with the right charm.
Oh, dear, now my sheets are a mess.
I miss you too, (obviously)
Love, Ginny.
Harry just about knocked Ron over in his haste to get out of their room and into the shower, where he could clean up the mess (and possibly make another one.) He thought for the rest of the next day about what he would say in reply, which occasionally made things a bit dodgy during training. Then there was the difficulty in finding a place to write where Ron wouldn't be likely to look over his shoulders. The only place that really worked was a quiet corner of the research library, though he could have sworn that the librarian knew what he was doing. She certainly glared at him often enough.
Dear Ginny,
You're going to kill me, you know that? They're going to find me on the bed with a stupid vacant look on my face, and the Daily Prophet will probably say, "Harry Potter - defeated the Dark Lord, done in by chronic masturbation.
And if that doesn't work, Ron would cheerfully kill me if he found that letter. Or this one, for that matter, because I can't stop thinking about what you might be doing to yourself at this very moment. I already know how amazing your hands are; how they feel as they run over my skin, as they go all soft and feathery when you first touch my cock, and then stronger, faster, harder, until it feels nearly as good as being inside you. Not that it could ever really compare, because it's not just hot and tight and wet, it's the way that you wrap your legs around me, pulling me deeper, and the way your hands are always moving, the way that your skin goes damp and flushed, the way that your breath feels against my neck once you start panting, the sounds that you make when you start to lose control, the way that your body shudders everywhere, and squeezes around me. You're bloody spectacular, you know that?
Of course, now you've given me a very clear picture, one that involves you and those amazing hands of yours and a toy, possibly bright green. I want to see it close up. I want to watch it slide in and out of you and when I can't stand it any more, I'd bend lower and taste you, taste you on it, suck on your clit. I'd use it on you, and you'd be so wet and slippery that I could draw it from your arse to your clit, back and forth, driving you mad because it wouldn't be long enough on any one place to do anything.
You'd pay me back though, eventually, when you couldn't take it any more, you'd flip me over on my back and while I was trying to catch my breath you'd climb on top of me, using my cock the same way I used the toy, back and forth until I was begging you to let me in. You'd smirk, too-I can just see it-you'd wink at me and bite your lip and I'd see in your eyes that you want it just as badly as I did, and then when you finally sank down on me and started to move, both of us would want to scream with the joy of it.
I love watching you move above me; the way your tits bounce, the way your hair tickles my nipples when you bend lower, the way that your thighs tighten as you straddle my hips, the way your arse feels in my hands, the way they leave a mark there for some time after that because I was gripping you so hard.
God, I wish I could see you now. I honestly considered sneaking out of here, just for a few hours. Not as easy here though as it was at school. Remember how easy it used to be in the middle of the night? Not that you ever let me do all that much then, but even so, I still count them as some of the best nights of my life. I'd never imagined that it could be so simple and easy; that there was somebody who saw through all the bullshit and liked what was inside.
It still amazes me; your warmth and generosity, the way that you will just touch me for no reason, the way that you turn into me when I touch you and your eyes soften and you get that smile that seems to drain all the stress out of me. I just wish it could have been so simple last weekend. Maybe we should think of locking ourselves in a hotel room next time, and I don't just mean that I want to spend 48 hours molesting you, though the idea has merit. I just hate having everything pulling at us, I hate that everyone seems to want something from us, prodding us, teasing us. I hate the fact that we almost have to sneak around to be alone.
It's not just the shagging, I hope you know it. I want to talk to you, or just be. I want this damn separation to be over with. I want my life to get started; I want us to get started.
I miss you, (obviously)
Harry
He had a moment of panic later that day when Ron offered to take his letter to the owlery along with his own, but generally, Harry spent the day (and the two following) with a big grin on his face, wondering what Ginny would think and even more, what she might do in response. Every now and again he would feel a twinge of embarrassment-this one seemed a bit more explicit than the last one, and he couldn't imagine what he would do if someone other than Ginny read it.
Her last letter to him was beginning to fall apart with the constant handling, and he carefully taped up the weak spots with Spello-tape. He couldn't imagine ever throwing it away.
Dear Harry,
Guess what I've gone and bought? Thank goodness for mail order, yeah? And in green, of course, 'green as a fresh pickled toad.' Now that's some sexy talk, what? Should show up tomorrow, Lizzie tells me. She thinks I'd be too embarrassed to tell you-little does she know.
Don't know what possessed me to tell you in the first place, but then, I don't know what possessed you to write that first letter. Glad you did, though. You've sure got me waiting for the post every morning, and I seem to have got over the losing streak I was having. Still missing you like mad, and now I'm looking forward to the 24th more than I ever have anything in my life.
In the meantime, though, I have that last letter of yours, which put some really wicked ideas in my head. Some of which will require the toy to put into effect. Thank goodness we get our own rooms here, miniscule as they seem. None of that sneaking about for me, no hiding under the covers, and your letter got me wondering what it is that you see when we shag. And I just happen to have a mirror in my room, don't I?
Merlin, I wish I could see your face at this very moment. Though I don't know if I could say these sorts of things in front of you. Why is that, I wonder? Seems to me that it should be the reverse, yeah? Something to work on, maybe.
Anyway, about that mirror. I can sit in front of it and if I turn the lights down low, I can pretend that the hands on my body are yours. If I squint, I can almost see you behind me, the way you cup my breasts, always so hesitantly at first, as if you're sure I'm going to tell you to get your filthy hands off me. I wish I could help you understand what you make me feel. With you, my body isn't just something to use to get through my day, or to push to do new things on the Quidditch pitch; it's something beautiful and sensual, and it's something to take pride in because it affects you so.
I can very nearly picture your eyes burning behind me as your hands grow bolder, skimming and then circling my nipples, and I feel as if my heart is going to burst out of my chest. I can feel you pressing closer behind me, and you're hard, and I can't believe that I have the power to do that to you. Your hands go lower, and I can't help arching back against you, resting my head on your shoulder and feeling your breath against my ear. It's hot and sweet and sends all my nerve endings into a frenzy, and by the time your fingers go between my legs, I'm wet and aching for you. You start to move them back and forth, and it feels so bloody good I can't keep silent. I'm moaning and writhing against you, desperate to feel you inside me, to feel your hands holding me steady, to watch your face as it goes all fierce and determined, to hear you shout because I've driven you over the edge of madness.
My fingers/your fingers are moving faster and faster on me, and I swear I can feel you inside me. My skin is on fire, my vision blurs, and I feel as if I am going to be split in two. And then it happens, and I cry out your name so loud I don't know how I'm going to face the rest of the team in the morning-I'm sure they can hear me. And then I collapse on the bed, laughing because I have no doubt that one or two of them (don't ask) have done nearly the same thing, thinking of you. As if their fantasies could ever live up to the reality.
No one could ever know what it means to see the love shining in your eyes afterward, the way that you touch me with such wonder, the way that you try so hard to make everything perfect when we are together. You don't have to, I hope you know that.
I'm not going to chuck you for being in a bad mood when we're together, I get it, believe me, and I am as prone to irrational emotions more than anyone. The thing is-I don't want to be someone who always puts on a happy face when we are together, even when it's been a long time. To me, it seems like lying. If you don't love me, bitchy moods and all, then we haven't got a chance, have we? If I'm being irrational, tell me to sod off, and if I'm trying to start a fight, either let me be or distract me, and I'll be the first to admit that a quick hard fuck behind the back garden might do me a world of good when I'm feeling overwhelmed.
Sometimes it's scary, Harry, suspecting that I'm supposed to be living up to this ideal (your mother at that, and someone who you never got the chance to see as human and fallible) and I hope you're not thinking that we are supposed to be some perfect romance on par with Romeo and Juliet just because we look like your parents. Actually, I always thought Romeo was a spineless prat who jumped from one girl to the other fairly quickly, and Juliet was a bit of a drama queen.
Anyway, I suppose this is me apologizing for being so irritable on our last weekend. I completely understand your wanting to hide away from everything together. I reckon the next time we ought to tell them to bugger off and spend the weekend in bed.
I miss you, (obviously)
Ginny
Harry was quite glad he was lying down when he finished the letter. She…and the…toy, and the mirror, and... He rolled over and groaned, his hand sticky as he buttoned his flies again. He had the best girlfriend on earth, clearly. She was likely going to kill him, but what a way to go.
He read the letter once more before Ron returned, and tried to freshen the air in the room and compose his features, though he was fairly certain that everything he was feeling was written plainly on his face. He was pleased that she had decided to talk about what happened on their weekend. It seemed strange that speaking about their fantasies had resulted in their opening up to each other in other ways, too, but Harry wasn't going to complain.
Dear Ginny,
First of all, let me set the record straight. I do not think of you as my mother. Just, eww. Don't worry about that at all.
And secondly, I can understand the moods, believe me. Just…maybe in the future don't leave me wondering what I did wrong? Unless, of course, I did do something wrong, in which case I'd appreciate you letting me know what I did so I can either defend myself or apologize and get on with it. If I'm getting on your nerves and you just want to be left alone, just tell me to bugger off and I'll do my own thing. But I'd rather you actually told me about it, you know?
And not that that's out of the way, I'm rather looking forward to your next letter, nearly as much as I am the next visit, where I'm hoping you'll let me see what it is that I'm trying to picture. Or rather what I can picture all too well but could never live up to the reality. Green, yeah? And you, lying on your bed, your hair spread over your pillow, your legs bent at the knee and open, just a bit. Your hands working like mad, one pushing it in and out, the other working your nipples the way you like, circling between your legs, your mouth open, your eyes all dark and focused, and the sounds that drive me mad when I hear them next to my ear echoing around the room. And I'd be touching myself, the way I always do when I think of you, except you'd be watching, licking your lips the way you sometimes do across the table at the Burrow when you're torturing me.
I wouldn't know what to do; because I'd want to be inside you so badly that it would nearly kill me, but I'd still want to see the show. So I'd move closer, and take it from your hands, moving it in and out of you myself, and I'd be so bloody jealous of an inanimate object-but so turned on. After a while, I'd set it down and use my fingers. I couldn't help myself, because you'd feel so amazing, so slick and hot and my fingers would slide all over, circling your clit, slipping in and out of you, teasing your arse. Would you like that? I've heard the blokes talking about that, but I didn't know whether they were full of shite. Would you like a finger moving in and out of both parts of you? I'd probably be so turned on I'd come all over the sheets. As I just did, apparently.
God, I miss you.
(Obviously)
Harry
He sent it off without even rereading it and correcting the mistakes. He supposed if he had he might have lost his nerve-as it was, he still considered heading over there to Obliviate her two or three times over the next few days, but the nights...
Good heavens, he had created a monster. Or she had. Every random nasty thought he had, he considered putting in his letters. In fact, he started keeping a spare bit of parchment in moleskin pouch to jot down notes throughout the day.
The fact that her response was delayed by a day nearly killed him.
Dear Harry,
'It' arrived the same day your letter did. I'm sorry about the delay, but I wanted to try it out before writing to you. It took about four glasses of wine for me to stop laughing at myself for doing something so ridiculous, but eventually I got the hang of it, and once I perfected the spell, I really didn't want to leave my room, not even to eat. I thought about what you hinted at, too, and I even tried it there, too. Just a bit at first, and then a bit more the next night.
Definitely something to research further, I'd say, and now I sound like Hermione. Some of the girls (and a boy) said that blokes like that sort of thing, too, but I reckon I'd better talk to you about before I try it. Anyway, sorry this is so short, but I imagine you're able to picture the reasons why well enough, you great bloody perv. And I'm growing to love that about you.
I miss you (obviously)
Love, Ginny (and Roger-that's what I'm thinking about calling him, or is that too obvious?)
*
Dear Ginny,
I fucking love you. Have I mentioned that? And I'm beginning to think a weekend won't be near enough. Any plans for the rest of your life? Let's just chuck this whole career idea and just run off to Brazil or something. Let's live in a mud hut or a shack and just spend all our time shagging.
On the beach, in bed, over the kitchen sink. (Do mud huts have kitchen sinks, generally?)
In the closet, in the shower, in a hammock...
Twenty-four hours a day, preferably.
And you must never, ever wear anything too complicated. In fact, I think we should be naked as much as possible. Though I wouldn't mind a loincloth-type thing on you, or perhaps one of those French maid uniforms. Or your Quidditch gear (but no actual robes) or your school uniform (but no knickers.)
Yeah, that's a good one.
It (the thought of you in that uniform) certainly kept me awake through those nights at school. And a fair few of those nights hiding in the forest. Did I ever tell you that? How much I thought about you that autumn and winter? How I would take out my map late at night just to be certain you were still moving around on it? I'd wonder what you were doing and if you ever were possibly thinking about me at the same moment. The story about you and Nev and that business with the sword got back to me when I overheard someone telling Dean about it, and it was the best news I'd had in months. On the other hand, it scared the crap out of me. I ought to have known that you wouldn't be content to keep your head down and be a good girl.
Which, of course has got me thinking about just how terribly naughty you can be. I'm afraid sleep is out of the question tonight, which means I ought to put down this quill and pick up the (rapidly diminishing) bottle of lotion I keep beside my bed.
Good night, Gin.
I love you (obviously)
Harry
*
Dear Harry
Naughty, eh? Not only naughty, but terribly naughty. And just what do you plan on doing about it, eh, Mr. Big Bad Auror-type? I can think of any number of things, some of which involve a smacked bottom. But only if you'd let me do it in return.
Well, now I've got your attention, I think we should make plans for next weekend. I've already written to Mum to let her know I'm feeling knackered lately and I just want a bit of rest and quiet. Hopefully, that will get her off my back, but there's always the danger of her assuming it's because you've gone and knocked me up, so fair warning. If my dad shows up with his wand blazing or a large Muggle gun, you'll know the reason why. If I have my way, though, no one will be able to find us.
So Roger and I are getting along splendidly, even if he is a poor substitute for you. I hope I'm not wearing him out, but he seems to be a fine, upstanding, durable fellow, and he takes the abuse with no complaints. Actually, I think I'm growing rather handy with him. I do hope you'll get along when you meet.
Have I mentioned that I miss you like mad? (Obviously)
Love, Ginny
P.S. Best be careful when you ask a girl what she's doing for the rest of her life. Some girls might consider that a proposal of sorts.
P.P.S. Did you know that WWW has been offering Roger-type items for years behind an age line? The prats. They could have told me and saved me a lot of trouble. Going to give George a piece of my mind the next time I see him.
*
Dear Ginny,
Please, please, please don't tell George. He'll never let me live it down. Probably take an advert in the Prophet letting the entire world I know can't keep my girlfriend satisfied. Though might be worth it to see George's face when you told him. You might be the only person on earth who could get him to shut his gob for a full fifteen minutes.
Anyway, that said, I got us a room. And hopefully somewhere no one will think to look for us. Less than a week, now, and I'm ready to burst with wanting you.
And then you would go and give me all sorts of terrible ideas that involve leaning some of those binding charms months before they were to be on the curriculum. So if you can see your way to bring along you Quidditch gear, I'd appreciate it. The school uniform might be a bit more difficult as it involves your mother, but I'm really hoping you'll drag it out one of these days. Preferably in the middle of something dreadful like Fleur's next birthday party. Maybe we can escape the madness for a few minutes, possibly in your room or the attic (I do hope the ghoul enjoys a good show.)
Can you imagine it? Me trying desperately to get away from Gabrielle, knowing you are up there, your skirt bunched up around your hips, your blouse half open, your tie thrown over your shoulder, your hand between your thighs. When I finally got there, I'd sit in a chair and you'd climb onto my lap and torture me as you moved over me, circling your hips, pushing your tits into my face but not letting me touch them. We could pretend we're still at school and apt to be caught at any moment.
I wouldn't be sure how far you'd let me go this time, so each thing would feel like a victory, of sorts. And then, when I finally felt you sink down onto my cock, I'd be terrified that you'd pull away at any moment, telling me we had to stop before it went too far.
And I'd grab your hips and buck up inside you and you'd scream and it would be bloody miraculous, because it would be so much more than I dreamed it would be. That's the way I felt the first time, you know? It was the best feeling on earth, more powerful than a Patronus. It felt like coming home. I'm never going to stop wanting you, Gin, I hope you know that.
I miss you like mad.
(Obviously)
Harry
P.S. A proposal? Don't know what you'd want with a nutter like me, but there's never been a doubt in my mind. (Once I knew I was going to live to see my eighteenth, anyway.) I'd drag you off to the registry tonight, if that was what you wanted.
*
Dear Harry,
I'll see you at the Atrium at four on Friday. And I hope you have plans to get us somewhere private in a hurry, because I'm about ready to knock you on your bony arse and ravish you. And I have no plans on wearing knickers, so think about that while you're waiting, yeah?
I'll see you soon,
I miss you (obviously)
Ginny
PS: I'll bring Roger and pray that my suitcase doesn't get singled out for inspection. If there were ever a time for you to use some of that ‘Saviour of the world’ clout you've earned, this would be it, yeah?
P.P.S. I wasn't hinting, you prat. I have no interest in repeating my mother's life, thank you very much. But yeah, orange blossoms, green-eyed babies...definitely in the cards for me. One of these days.
Harry barely slept the night before departure, and he was one of the first in line at the Floo the following day. Unfortunately, O'Riley was the next one in line after him, and as he stood in front of her, stiff as a board, he had to think about the conversation they'd had after the last visit and where it had led him-though come to think of it, he probably owed her one. Therefore, he decided to step aside and let her go first when the time came. She winked at him and told him to come back with a smile on his face this time as she grabbed a handful of powder. Then she called out "Dacia Dragon Reserve!" and something clicked in Harry's mind, something that clearly showed on his face because she was laughing as she was whisked off to Romania.
Then it was his turn, and as he stepped out of the fire and into the atrium, a blur of ginger hair and freckles nearly knocked him onto his arse. Godric, she looked good and smelled good and he was going to have to walk to the Apparition point with a hard-on, wasn't he? She was kissing him hard as they stood in place and felt the familiar squeeze of Apparition.
As Harry led her from the alley to a nearby building and looked with dismay at the registration line, he began to wonder if a Muggle hotel had been such a good idea after all. By the time they'd got through the check-in procedure, a lot of the built-up tension between them had begun to dissipate. He was actually feeling somewhat shy as he wondered what she was thinking, or maybe it was just nerves. Would they be able to talk as openly face-to-face? Would their expectations fizzle into disappointment and resentment the way they had the last time?
And then the damn bellboy seemed as if he was never going to leave the room he'd led them to. It belatedly occurred to Harry that he was waiting for a tip, so he thrust what turned out to be a twenty pound note into his hand and nearly pushed him out the door.
There was a seemingly endless moment of silence and then Ginny was in his arms again, and Harry didn't know if she had knocked him to the bed or if it was the other way around, but there they were. It was sort of desperate, and not at all graceful or even particularly romantic, but god, he just needed to touch and taste (and bite and claw, even) and before long, he'd pushed Ginny halfway off the bed and her skirt bunched around her waist. Good thing she'd gone with the no knickers idea, he thought, because they would certainly have gone the way of his shirt (which was missing several buttons and probably ripped beyond repair.) But it didn't matter because he was buried to the hilt inside her and she felt so fucking amazing around him, so much better than even the most realistic fantasies. He'd hardly had time to give her three good thrusts before he lost control completely, and it was the best feeling he could ever remember experiencing.
It was followed quickly by abject mortification, because she was surely as frustrated as hell. He buried his face in her neck, muttering an apology. Ginny laughed, and as Ginny's laughs went (all of which were brilliant) it was one of the better ones. It started out in her stomach and bubbled up her throat and Harry watched her in wonder.
"Damn, Harry," she said. That was quite possibly the hottest thing I've ever seen. Did you know you howled?"
"Did not," he said indignantly, and she laughed again.
"Did so." She pushed away from him, taking care not to land on her head as she disentangled herself. "Anyway, don't you dare apologise, Harry. I'm not done with you yet."
She disappeared into the bathroom for a bit, and when she returned, she'd managed to dredge up some knickers from her bag. Some rather tiny ones, actually-black lace with a matching bra, and Harry groaned in appreciation. "Don't worry, love. I've packed the Quidditch gear and even borrowed a uniform, though it's Slytherin. Of course, you might actually like that even more. But for now," she added, and he felt his body stirring impossibly at the tone of her voice. "I plan on taking advantage of you.
She pushed him back and climbed onto the bed beside him, straddling his thigh as she went to work on his clothes, taking a very long time about it, kissing and licking his skin as she went, sometimes even giving him soft nips that had him squirming and groaning under her, feeling as if was going to burst out of his skin. Gods, she was brilliant, he thought, and reached out to tug at the strap of her bra, only to have it swatted away.
"Don't make me tie you up, Potter," she said, and he grinned, settling back to enjoy the sweet torture. She took him into her mouth and he felt himself hardening in the wet heat.
"Love you, love you love you," he muttered, and he could feel her smiling around him and felt the laugh at the back of her throat. He wondered if she'd been practicing on the toy, because he didn't think she'd ever been quite this good at it, using her hands and fingers along with her mouth, stroking him, cupping his bollocks, reaching under them to trace his arse lightly. He still hadn't quite decided if he liked the idea of her playing around there, but it actually felt pretty good, and the fact that she was trying something new because of what they'd written about it made it all that much hotter.
She was teasing him, making those sounds that usually meant she was rather enjoying herself, and wiggling that bottom of hers in the air as she moved, knowing it was driving him mad not to be able to touch it.
Then she let go and started kissing her way back up his body, straddling his erection with her thighs and the lacy knickers, which felt bloody brilliant but didn't give him nearly enough contact with bare skin. She placed her hands on his chest and began to move, circling her hips and grinding into him. He could feel how wet she was through the fabric, and he was dying to get his hands on her, to free those breasts that weren't bouncing nearly as much as he liked but looked ridiculously hot under the sheer lace. He wanted to slip his fingers under the knickers and spread her wetness around, he wanted to grab her hips and press her down harder to give both of them some relief. He wanted back inside her again, and reckoned it was rather absurd to want her again so desperately after only a few minutes.
But she seemed determined to take her time, and he wondered for a moment if she actually wanted him to give her an excuse to tie him up. They'd only tried it the one time before, and it had been great until her mum had called out from the Floo downstairs, and then he had been left alone in his cold bedroom room, feeling his desire deflate as she tried to talk her Molly out of inviting herself over.
And that was probably the worst thing to think about at this moment, but he was trying to think of things that would stop him from knocking her flat on her back and pinning her to the bed. And then she reached between them to take hold of his cock and sat up a bit further, drawing it back and forth between her legs slowly and carefully. He could feel her heat through the fabric, and he was fighting for control, clenching the bedspread in his fists. She pushed her knickers aside and did it again, and her heat was right there, so close, so slick and soft and inviting, and even better yet, she closed her eyes and moaned at the contact. Back and forth, back and forth, until she lost patience with the knickers and shimmied out of them, throwing them onto the floor and climbing back on him to start the process again. Back and forth, circling her clit with the tip of his cock, drawing it ever so slowly past her entrance, pushing it in just a bit each time, making him whimper as she pulled him back out again.
"Ginny, god…feel so good…want you…want to touch you so bad, so beautiful…" he said, and she smiled, and the hand on his cock was beginning to shake with emotion or desire or something. He loved it when she got to this point-where her desires overwhelmed her strength of will and she became vulnerable. Biting her lip, she moved his cock back and forth again, shuddering every time she passed over her clit, gritting her teeth as she drew him past her cunt to her arse, which was wet and slippery with her juices and some of his, too.
"Is that what you did?" he asked and she grimaced and nodded, clearly concentrating on something, or maybe trying to resist the impulse to sink down on him.
Or maybe not, because then she did just that-took him all the way inside her in one motion and he cried out at the sensations, only to whimper as she pulled off him again and began the teasing all over again.
At this point, her skin was flushed with desire and there was a line of sweat running between her breasts, and he couldn't help but lean forward and lick it off. Another stroke back and forth, and he could have sworn that she pushed him into her arse, just the slightest bit, then away again. Then with a sigh, she did it again, this time remaining in place, letting herself sink ever so slowly down on him.
Harry groaned and tried to swallow the lump in his throat, wondering if his heart was going to burst out of his chest, it was thudding so hard. This was unlike anything he'd felt before, hotter and tighter than being inside her cunt, and a different angle altogether.
"Ginny, fuck," he hissed, and she exhaled as she sank down onto him fully, closing her eyes and biting her lip, her body shaking with nerves or discomfort or possibly pleasure-he couldn't be sure.
"Do you like it?" she asked, a smile spreading across her face as she opened her eyes and looked at him. Harry slid his hands over her thighs and rested them on her hips. Apparently the touching was all right now, he thought, as he tried to put what he was feeling into words.
"Hell yeah. It's like you, only different. Tighter, smoother. Fucking brilliant. Can I…?" He bucked up slightly in demonstration. Gods, he wanted to move more than anything, wanted to test this out, to feel her body clenching around him as he did so. But he didn't want to hurt her, either.
In answer, she began to move, though a bit slower and with more care than she usually did. Harry watched her face as she did it, watched the fierce concentration there, the wonder as she took it all in. She was beginning to get into a rhythm that she liked and Harry was trying to hold back, wondering if she was going to be able to finish off that way, nearly incapable of words.
But actions, that he could manage and he let his hands run free, playing with her nipples through the lace and then underneath, reaching lower to finger her clit and her cunt. "Right there," she muttered, and began moaning as he complied, and as her cunt began contracting around his fingers, her arse did as well around his cock, and he was fairly certain he'd be remembering this moment on his deathbed.
Harry worked his fingers more urgently, and she was crying out, moving faster and faster on him until he couldn't help it-he was spilling into her, shouting out her name, his fingers still moving as she tightened around them. For a moment, he was afraid he might pass out from the blood rushing out of his head and down to his cock, but he didn't, and then he began to wonder how she was feeling. Ginny seemed almost embarrassed as she climbed off of him, (a little gingerly, at that) but he pulled her close and kissed her soundly, rolling on top of her. "You," he said. "Are amazing."
And then she giggled, burying her head in his neck. "That was… fucking brilliant," he added and she lay back and smiled smugly, stroking his hair and his cheek.
After a while, she seemed to come to a decision. "Come on," she said, sitting up and taking off her bra-all business, apparently.
"Where are we going now?" Harry asked, having just decided the moment before that he never wanted to move from this spot.
"The shower, silly. We've both got to get cleaned up before I let you anywhere near my Quidditch gear."
Harry laughed and groaned, wondering how much trouble they could get up to in the shower.
"I love you," he said, and she laughed over her shoulder at him. Bloody hell, she had a fabulous arse.
"Obviously," she said, and a moment later he heard the water running