FIC: "Moving Forward" by LadyChi
To: Deadwoodpecker
Title: Moving Forward
Author/Artist: ladychi
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Rating: Adult. So Very.
Word Count: 2905
Summary: After a rough day at work, Harry needs Ginny to remind him why he keeps moving forward.
Author/Artist's Notes: Beta'd by the very fabulous gbtso. Thank you for all of your hard work and your reassurance as I worked my way back into the fandom.
Thanks to r_becca for hosting the challenge. The theme of motion is here -- it's more symbolic and subtle than I had originally intended to to be. I hope you don't mind!
Ella -- this is for you. It was a pleasure to write for such a talented authoress. You definitely made me step up my game.
Moving Forward
Her dark auburn hair against the stark white of the pillow is so reassuring it nearly takes his breath away. He hates days like today, when it feels like nothing in the world can ever be right again. He longs for the time when he thought the end of Voldemort would mean the end of it all, when he believed he'd be able to turn his back on the voice that whispered that he had to keep fighting until the entire world was right again. He drops his cloak to the floor and slips out of his shoes, padding across the hardwood of her flat to lay a hand against her cheek.
"Harry?" she whispers, blinking up at him, half-lit by the light filtering in from the bathroom.
He pushes the hair off of her cheek and smiles. "Yeah. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."
"Rough day?" she asks, pushing herself up to lean against the headboard, taking his hand in hers. He can't bear to look at her face-her pretty, perfect face when he's just come from such a terribly ugly place.
"Yeah." He swallows against the rising swell in his eyes. "You could say that."
"Harry?" She turns the bedside lamp on and Harry's breath catches. She always looks best like this to him -- somewhere between awake and asleep, her nightdress clinging to her body, her cheeks flushed with the warmth of sleep. He feels so cold inside and she's radiating heat he wishes he could steal. "What happened?"
He opens his mouth and closes his eyes. He knows if he tells her, it will ease some of the burden from his heart, but why should she have to bear part of this? Why can't she remain untouched? He sighs. "It's really not --"
"Harry," she cuts him off, and pushes the duvet off of her. "Come here. Tell me about it."
He crawls in the bed, sitting against the headboard, and she crawls in his lap, legs sprawled across his knees, her head against his shoulders. He breathes in the scent of her hair, feels the steady rise and fall of her chest against his, and it's almost more than he can take. Even through the thick fabric of his jumper, the cotton of her nightdress is so tempting. He can't decide where to put his hands -- in her hair or against her body. He wants to bury himself inside of her and claim her mouth for his. He wants to feel alive. He wants to not have these feelings.
"Her name is Miranda," he says finally, laying his head back against the cool wood. "I don't think I'll forget that. She's a little girl, Ginny. Twelve, maybe thirteen years old, and she's got a little brother named Ian who can do fantastic things. He can jump off the swing set and land ten feet away; he can turn his vegetables different colors if he doesn't want to eat them." He can feel her stiffening in his arms, but he can't stop himself. "She's just a little girl. She was babysitting him tonight. Her mum and dad went out for dinner, after she put him to bed she settled down to watch telly."
"Oh, Harry..." Ginny's voice trails off, her breath hot against his neck.
"They broke down the door." His voice cracks. "And they Petrified her. But she could hear everything. She could hear her brother scream. And she could hear when he stopped." Tears are streaming from his eyes now. "We had no idea, Ginny. No idea that they would attack tonight. No idea that this little Ian would be the target. And I had to stick around and explain to his mother and his father that someone killed him because he was different, because he was special. I couldn't not let them know the truth. Kingsley'll kill me when he finds out. But..."
"I understand," Ginny whispers, pulling away from him and wiping her own eyes.
"Then I had to Obliviate them," Harry says softly. "I had to lie to them about their little boy, and Miranda knew. I couldn't wipe that memory from her mind without breaking it. It was too dramatic, too intense. Here's this fantastic world, Miranda, where I can move objects with a thought, travel great distances in an instant, do wonderful things -- and it killed your brother before he got a chance to step inside it."
"Harry..." Ginny shifts so she's facing him, her thighs braced on either side of his legs. She takes his face in her hands. "We're so close. You keep telling me that. They're just barely holding on, Harry."
"Yeah. We're close. But how many more little Ians have to die before I can close my eyes at night? How many more Mirandas?" Harry closes his eyes so he doesn't have to face her when he confesses his darkest fear. "What if we never really win? What if I never get to put my ring on your finger and promise you forever and a life together with kids and everything we've talked about? Voldemort's dead, but he's sure as hell still winning."
"No, he's not." Ginny shakes her head fiercely. "He's not. George has his shop open. Diagon Alley is coming back to life. Hogwarts is being rebuilt without fear of attack. It's one little band of fighters, Harry. You can't let them get to you like this."
"I'm so tired," Harry's voice breaks as he says it. "I can't do this anymore. I’m numb. I'm so cold. It's like being around a Dementor… all the time." One of his hands drops, tracing her body with his thumb. "I can't get warm."
Ginny leans forward and takes his mouth with hers. At first, it's as chaste a kiss as they've ever shared. A comforting, promising kiss, just lips touching; then her tongue flicks out against his bottom lip and he opens for her immediately. She's burying her hands in his hair and her tongue invades his mouth, and she tastes so good, like lemons and strawberries and spice. She tastes like summers at the Burrow and Weasley jumpers and something so indefinably Ginny it makes him think of the way her neck tastes just below her collar bone, the way her sweat feels as it rolls down his body. He groans, lifting his hips against hers.
He slides his tongue along her lip, and they dance together in a well-practiced rhythm. Her hands go to his neck and she loosens his tie, flinging it to the side and unfastening the top button of his shirt. Her hand slides around his neck, and its pressure there is somehow so reassuring. This is his woman, this is their bed, this is their love. Suddenly emboldened, he cups one of her breasts in his hand through the cotton of her nightdress and squeezes gently. She hums in his mouth and he smiles. He pulls the hem of her nightdress up on one side to cup her bottom and feel the lace of her panties. He's already so hard he can't think straight and all he wants is to be in her. He drops his left hand and tugs insistently, and Ginny lifts her arms as Harry removes it over her head.
When it's gone, all he can do is stare. Her hair is mussed -- half-curly, half-straight, hanging like a waterfall down her back, and she's on her knees in white-lace panties with her breasts hanging free. Even now he can taste the dark brown of her nipples in his mouth, can feel the wet silk of what lies between her thighs against his fingers. He knows, intimately, the sound she'll make when he enters her the first time; something between a squeak and a sigh, and yet somehow he can't imagine ever being bored by this. He leans forward, kissing her deeply, her skin against his clothed body.
"Lay down," he says huskily, and he helps her arrange herself on the bed. He thinks, sometimes, that he would just be content to look at her when she's aroused -- nipples tightened proudly, her legs brazenly spread open, her body his to touch and taste and feel. But then, oh -- he bends over, taking one of her nipples into his mouth and sucking ever-so-gently -- then he would never get to hear the noises she made when he pleased her in just the right way.
He can feel the ice around his heart start to melt, can feel numb fingers start to come back to life as she moves deliciously underneath him, writhing and begging him for more. A voice at the back of his head starts to shout that he shouldn't be feeling this, shouldn't be doing this when there's a little girl without a brother and parents without a son, but he can't stop himself. He shoves her knickers to the side and his index finger slips inside of her, rubbing the moisture he finds there, from her center to the front, down and back. Ginny moans in frustration.
His erection is throbbing, his brain is thick and he forces himself to focus on bringing her pleasure first. He may need this, but he needs to feel like he's not using her. Ginny throws her head back against the bed, arching into his touch.
"Harry, please --"
He knows she likes when he's firm and doesn't hesitate, so he doesn't exactly go slowly when he slips his finger into her. She keens and arches her back, trying to force him deeper inside. He searches for the spot he knows will send her over the edge before he slides it slowly back out and in. Her fingers are wrapped in the blanket, he notices. She's biting her lip and he feels her throb around his hand just like he knows she will when he enters her, and Harry draws in a shuddering breath before working another finger inside. She's small and tight but willing to take everything he'll give her. His Ginny, so beautiful and wet and perfect. He works his way up her body and kisses her deeply while his fingers rest inside of her. It hurts, a little, to stretch like this but it's so worth it to feel her start to spasm around his fingers while he's tasting her mouth. He wishes he could have everything -- his tongue in her mouth, his fingers inside of her, his hand around the breasts that press insistently against his chest.
Suddenly, she pulls away from his mouth, pumping her hips to take him further inside, and he curls the tips of them up. She shouts, just a single syllable, and comes. He can feel her shake and writhe and squeeze him and he closes his eyes against the urge to let himself go. As quickly as she calms, he removes his hand and brings it to his mouth, tasting her and shuddering.
She's watching him through half-lidded eyes when she sits up and removes her knickers, tossing them aside as she sits on the edge of the bed. "Come here," she says, her voice gravelly from all the noise she's been making.
He stands up and moves between her thighs. She starts works on his shirt, pushing the little round buttons through their holes slowly, stroking his skin as it appears. Her hands are rough from throwing and catching a Quaffle and he thinks he likes that, the slight coarseness of her hands, because it's so very Ginny.
She's finally got his shirt undone and she pushes it from his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. The diamond on her finger sparkles in the light of the lamp as she turns her attention to his black trousers. Her expression is so serious as she releases the clasp and slides the zipper down that Harry's breath catches. She pushes them to the floor and says firmly: "Step out."
He feels somewhat exposed, standing in front of her in his boxer, but all he can think about is the way her fingers are running up down the front of them, sending little sparks of electricity through his body and making his knees a little weak. She slides off the duvet and falls to her knees in front of him and his mind blanks. He can feel nothing, see nothing, hear nothing as she pushes his pants down and studies him, bobbing in front of her, as he steps out of them. Her hands wrap around behind him and he closes his eyes just as she takes him in her mouth.
She's wet and hot, and oh so brilliant at this. Her mouth is firm on his erection as she sucks deeply, her tongue wrapping around his shaft. Her teeth rest at just the right place, and if she were to scrape them gently, just against his tip -- his whole body shudders. "Ginny --"
She looks up at him, and the lust in her eyes is almost enough to make him come. "I'm going to..."
She shakes her head and releases him with a faint pop. "Hang on, Harry. I know you can."
Then she puckers her lips and blows cold air along the trail of wet she's just left, and Harry clenches his fist, trying not to grab hold of her hair and yank her mouth back onto him. It's painful to be left out in the open like this -- painful and arousing and as cliché as it sounds, he's throbbing, aching for some release.
Her thumbs rests against his tip and slides the seminal fluid seeping from him around and around. "Ginny." His voice is strangled. "Enough."
She looks up at him and sees that he's serious. He helps her to her feet and then they're kissing, and he can taste himself in her mouth, mingled with the taste of her from before. It's the most perfect combination of flavors; his erection is poking her stomach. He walks her backwards, away from the bed, until her arse is resting against the dresser. Understanding without being told what he wants, Ginny wraps her legs around his waist and leans back.
Sliding inside of her is the best part of this. She surrounds him and the last of the ice melts as he thrusts roughly into her. Her ankles are wrapped around him, pressing into the small of his back, and her hands are thrown over her head, gripping the back of the dresser. They don't talk, the sounds of their bodies meeting and the grunts of effort filling the silence of the room. He knows she won't come again so soon, but he reaches down, his thumb circling her clit. She moans, arching up just a little higher, squeezing him just a little tighter. And the feeling starts in his testicles, and he closes his eyes as it tingles through him, coming with a shout. He releases into her, standing on his toes until the last of it shoots from him and he falls back on his heels.
Slowly, he comes back to reality. He pushes his glasses up his nose -- sweat has made them slip until they're almost hanging off his face. Ginny is panting on the dresser. He holds out his hand, and she takes it, sliding off the furniture and standing in his arms. He thinks he could sleep like this, standing with her in his arms. He wants to cry, he's so grateful to be alive and with her.
"Ginny," he begins, but he trails off. He can't work out what he wants to say.
"It's going to be all right." She kisses his neck, burying her head against his shoulder as they sway together. "We're moving forward, Harry. It's not always going to be like this. Our children aren't going to have to live in a world like this."
"Yeah," he agrees. "Thanks -- for being here."
"I'm not going anywhere," Ginny says steadily. "It's going to be okay. Sooner or later, it's all going to be okay."
Harry bends his head until his cheek is resting on the top of her head and rocks side to side with her. Although he still hasn't slept, although he still hasn't had anything to eat -- he feels ready to go back into the world. He feels alive.
Title: Moving Forward
Author/Artist: ladychi
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Rating: Adult. So Very.
Word Count: 2905
Summary: After a rough day at work, Harry needs Ginny to remind him why he keeps moving forward.
Author/Artist's Notes: Beta'd by the very fabulous gbtso. Thank you for all of your hard work and your reassurance as I worked my way back into the fandom.
Thanks to r_becca for hosting the challenge. The theme of motion is here -- it's more symbolic and subtle than I had originally intended to to be. I hope you don't mind!
Ella -- this is for you. It was a pleasure to write for such a talented authoress. You definitely made me step up my game.
Moving Forward
Her dark auburn hair against the stark white of the pillow is so reassuring it nearly takes his breath away. He hates days like today, when it feels like nothing in the world can ever be right again. He longs for the time when he thought the end of Voldemort would mean the end of it all, when he believed he'd be able to turn his back on the voice that whispered that he had to keep fighting until the entire world was right again. He drops his cloak to the floor and slips out of his shoes, padding across the hardwood of her flat to lay a hand against her cheek.
"Harry?" she whispers, blinking up at him, half-lit by the light filtering in from the bathroom.
He pushes the hair off of her cheek and smiles. "Yeah. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."
"Rough day?" she asks, pushing herself up to lean against the headboard, taking his hand in hers. He can't bear to look at her face-her pretty, perfect face when he's just come from such a terribly ugly place.
"Yeah." He swallows against the rising swell in his eyes. "You could say that."
"Harry?" She turns the bedside lamp on and Harry's breath catches. She always looks best like this to him -- somewhere between awake and asleep, her nightdress clinging to her body, her cheeks flushed with the warmth of sleep. He feels so cold inside and she's radiating heat he wishes he could steal. "What happened?"
He opens his mouth and closes his eyes. He knows if he tells her, it will ease some of the burden from his heart, but why should she have to bear part of this? Why can't she remain untouched? He sighs. "It's really not --"
"Harry," she cuts him off, and pushes the duvet off of her. "Come here. Tell me about it."
He crawls in the bed, sitting against the headboard, and she crawls in his lap, legs sprawled across his knees, her head against his shoulders. He breathes in the scent of her hair, feels the steady rise and fall of her chest against his, and it's almost more than he can take. Even through the thick fabric of his jumper, the cotton of her nightdress is so tempting. He can't decide where to put his hands -- in her hair or against her body. He wants to bury himself inside of her and claim her mouth for his. He wants to feel alive. He wants to not have these feelings.
"Her name is Miranda," he says finally, laying his head back against the cool wood. "I don't think I'll forget that. She's a little girl, Ginny. Twelve, maybe thirteen years old, and she's got a little brother named Ian who can do fantastic things. He can jump off the swing set and land ten feet away; he can turn his vegetables different colors if he doesn't want to eat them." He can feel her stiffening in his arms, but he can't stop himself. "She's just a little girl. She was babysitting him tonight. Her mum and dad went out for dinner, after she put him to bed she settled down to watch telly."
"Oh, Harry..." Ginny's voice trails off, her breath hot against his neck.
"They broke down the door." His voice cracks. "And they Petrified her. But she could hear everything. She could hear her brother scream. And she could hear when he stopped." Tears are streaming from his eyes now. "We had no idea, Ginny. No idea that they would attack tonight. No idea that this little Ian would be the target. And I had to stick around and explain to his mother and his father that someone killed him because he was different, because he was special. I couldn't not let them know the truth. Kingsley'll kill me when he finds out. But..."
"I understand," Ginny whispers, pulling away from him and wiping her own eyes.
"Then I had to Obliviate them," Harry says softly. "I had to lie to them about their little boy, and Miranda knew. I couldn't wipe that memory from her mind without breaking it. It was too dramatic, too intense. Here's this fantastic world, Miranda, where I can move objects with a thought, travel great distances in an instant, do wonderful things -- and it killed your brother before he got a chance to step inside it."
"Harry..." Ginny shifts so she's facing him, her thighs braced on either side of his legs. She takes his face in her hands. "We're so close. You keep telling me that. They're just barely holding on, Harry."
"Yeah. We're close. But how many more little Ians have to die before I can close my eyes at night? How many more Mirandas?" Harry closes his eyes so he doesn't have to face her when he confesses his darkest fear. "What if we never really win? What if I never get to put my ring on your finger and promise you forever and a life together with kids and everything we've talked about? Voldemort's dead, but he's sure as hell still winning."
"No, he's not." Ginny shakes her head fiercely. "He's not. George has his shop open. Diagon Alley is coming back to life. Hogwarts is being rebuilt without fear of attack. It's one little band of fighters, Harry. You can't let them get to you like this."
"I'm so tired," Harry's voice breaks as he says it. "I can't do this anymore. I’m numb. I'm so cold. It's like being around a Dementor… all the time." One of his hands drops, tracing her body with his thumb. "I can't get warm."
Ginny leans forward and takes his mouth with hers. At first, it's as chaste a kiss as they've ever shared. A comforting, promising kiss, just lips touching; then her tongue flicks out against his bottom lip and he opens for her immediately. She's burying her hands in his hair and her tongue invades his mouth, and she tastes so good, like lemons and strawberries and spice. She tastes like summers at the Burrow and Weasley jumpers and something so indefinably Ginny it makes him think of the way her neck tastes just below her collar bone, the way her sweat feels as it rolls down his body. He groans, lifting his hips against hers.
He slides his tongue along her lip, and they dance together in a well-practiced rhythm. Her hands go to his neck and she loosens his tie, flinging it to the side and unfastening the top button of his shirt. Her hand slides around his neck, and its pressure there is somehow so reassuring. This is his woman, this is their bed, this is their love. Suddenly emboldened, he cups one of her breasts in his hand through the cotton of her nightdress and squeezes gently. She hums in his mouth and he smiles. He pulls the hem of her nightdress up on one side to cup her bottom and feel the lace of her panties. He's already so hard he can't think straight and all he wants is to be in her. He drops his left hand and tugs insistently, and Ginny lifts her arms as Harry removes it over her head.
When it's gone, all he can do is stare. Her hair is mussed -- half-curly, half-straight, hanging like a waterfall down her back, and she's on her knees in white-lace panties with her breasts hanging free. Even now he can taste the dark brown of her nipples in his mouth, can feel the wet silk of what lies between her thighs against his fingers. He knows, intimately, the sound she'll make when he enters her the first time; something between a squeak and a sigh, and yet somehow he can't imagine ever being bored by this. He leans forward, kissing her deeply, her skin against his clothed body.
"Lay down," he says huskily, and he helps her arrange herself on the bed. He thinks, sometimes, that he would just be content to look at her when she's aroused -- nipples tightened proudly, her legs brazenly spread open, her body his to touch and taste and feel. But then, oh -- he bends over, taking one of her nipples into his mouth and sucking ever-so-gently -- then he would never get to hear the noises she made when he pleased her in just the right way.
He can feel the ice around his heart start to melt, can feel numb fingers start to come back to life as she moves deliciously underneath him, writhing and begging him for more. A voice at the back of his head starts to shout that he shouldn't be feeling this, shouldn't be doing this when there's a little girl without a brother and parents without a son, but he can't stop himself. He shoves her knickers to the side and his index finger slips inside of her, rubbing the moisture he finds there, from her center to the front, down and back. Ginny moans in frustration.
His erection is throbbing, his brain is thick and he forces himself to focus on bringing her pleasure first. He may need this, but he needs to feel like he's not using her. Ginny throws her head back against the bed, arching into his touch.
"Harry, please --"
He knows she likes when he's firm and doesn't hesitate, so he doesn't exactly go slowly when he slips his finger into her. She keens and arches her back, trying to force him deeper inside. He searches for the spot he knows will send her over the edge before he slides it slowly back out and in. Her fingers are wrapped in the blanket, he notices. She's biting her lip and he feels her throb around his hand just like he knows she will when he enters her, and Harry draws in a shuddering breath before working another finger inside. She's small and tight but willing to take everything he'll give her. His Ginny, so beautiful and wet and perfect. He works his way up her body and kisses her deeply while his fingers rest inside of her. It hurts, a little, to stretch like this but it's so worth it to feel her start to spasm around his fingers while he's tasting her mouth. He wishes he could have everything -- his tongue in her mouth, his fingers inside of her, his hand around the breasts that press insistently against his chest.
Suddenly, she pulls away from his mouth, pumping her hips to take him further inside, and he curls the tips of them up. She shouts, just a single syllable, and comes. He can feel her shake and writhe and squeeze him and he closes his eyes against the urge to let himself go. As quickly as she calms, he removes his hand and brings it to his mouth, tasting her and shuddering.
She's watching him through half-lidded eyes when she sits up and removes her knickers, tossing them aside as she sits on the edge of the bed. "Come here," she says, her voice gravelly from all the noise she's been making.
He stands up and moves between her thighs. She starts works on his shirt, pushing the little round buttons through their holes slowly, stroking his skin as it appears. Her hands are rough from throwing and catching a Quaffle and he thinks he likes that, the slight coarseness of her hands, because it's so very Ginny.
She's finally got his shirt undone and she pushes it from his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. The diamond on her finger sparkles in the light of the lamp as she turns her attention to his black trousers. Her expression is so serious as she releases the clasp and slides the zipper down that Harry's breath catches. She pushes them to the floor and says firmly: "Step out."
He feels somewhat exposed, standing in front of her in his boxer, but all he can think about is the way her fingers are running up down the front of them, sending little sparks of electricity through his body and making his knees a little weak. She slides off the duvet and falls to her knees in front of him and his mind blanks. He can feel nothing, see nothing, hear nothing as she pushes his pants down and studies him, bobbing in front of her, as he steps out of them. Her hands wrap around behind him and he closes his eyes just as she takes him in her mouth.
She's wet and hot, and oh so brilliant at this. Her mouth is firm on his erection as she sucks deeply, her tongue wrapping around his shaft. Her teeth rest at just the right place, and if she were to scrape them gently, just against his tip -- his whole body shudders. "Ginny --"
She looks up at him, and the lust in her eyes is almost enough to make him come. "I'm going to..."
She shakes her head and releases him with a faint pop. "Hang on, Harry. I know you can."
Then she puckers her lips and blows cold air along the trail of wet she's just left, and Harry clenches his fist, trying not to grab hold of her hair and yank her mouth back onto him. It's painful to be left out in the open like this -- painful and arousing and as cliché as it sounds, he's throbbing, aching for some release.
Her thumbs rests against his tip and slides the seminal fluid seeping from him around and around. "Ginny." His voice is strangled. "Enough."
She looks up at him and sees that he's serious. He helps her to her feet and then they're kissing, and he can taste himself in her mouth, mingled with the taste of her from before. It's the most perfect combination of flavors; his erection is poking her stomach. He walks her backwards, away from the bed, until her arse is resting against the dresser. Understanding without being told what he wants, Ginny wraps her legs around his waist and leans back.
Sliding inside of her is the best part of this. She surrounds him and the last of the ice melts as he thrusts roughly into her. Her ankles are wrapped around him, pressing into the small of his back, and her hands are thrown over her head, gripping the back of the dresser. They don't talk, the sounds of their bodies meeting and the grunts of effort filling the silence of the room. He knows she won't come again so soon, but he reaches down, his thumb circling her clit. She moans, arching up just a little higher, squeezing him just a little tighter. And the feeling starts in his testicles, and he closes his eyes as it tingles through him, coming with a shout. He releases into her, standing on his toes until the last of it shoots from him and he falls back on his heels.
Slowly, he comes back to reality. He pushes his glasses up his nose -- sweat has made them slip until they're almost hanging off his face. Ginny is panting on the dresser. He holds out his hand, and she takes it, sliding off the furniture and standing in his arms. He thinks he could sleep like this, standing with her in his arms. He wants to cry, he's so grateful to be alive and with her.
"Ginny," he begins, but he trails off. He can't work out what he wants to say.
"It's going to be all right." She kisses his neck, burying her head against his shoulder as they sway together. "We're moving forward, Harry. It's not always going to be like this. Our children aren't going to have to live in a world like this."
"Yeah," he agrees. "Thanks -- for being here."
"I'm not going anywhere," Ginny says steadily. "It's going to be okay. Sooner or later, it's all going to be okay."
Harry bends his head until his cheek is resting on the top of her head and rocks side to side with her. Although he still hasn't slept, although he still hasn't had anything to eat -- he feels ready to go back into the world. He feels alive.