(no subject)
Title: Requiem
Pairing: Tonks/Cho/Ginny
Rating: R
Disclaimer: HP is not mine.
The first time Tonks touched Cho after Ginny's funeral, it was both beautiful and unnerving. As Tonks traced Cho's tan skin from her boney shoulders down the groove of her back, Cho closed her eyes.
When she reached Cho's lower back, Tonks slowly slid her fingers beneath the black blouse that Cho had bought for the funeral. Cho felt her pull it up and over her head and she raised her hands in order to ease the process. Against her neck, Cho felt Tonks smile at her submissiveness. Once Tonks had freed Cho from the black blouse, she let it fall to the floor and crumple between their feet.
Cho dropped one hand to her side and started to work her skirt off, but Tonks stilled her hand with a single, light touch. Patiently, Cho resumed waiting for Tonks to undress her, which she continued to do slowly, almost reverently. Her fingers sang a mournful requiem against Cho's skin.
The solemnity reminded Cho of their first time--
The skirt was treated with more care than the blouse; after Tonks had worked the zipper down, Cho stepped out of it and folded it over the edge of an armchair. Cho remembered how the armchair had been so often by Ginny on lazy Sundays and rainy afternoons when boredom had caused Ginny's hand to drift to one of the several books that Hermione had regularly sent her every Christmas.
When Cho's eyes fell upon the seat cushion and saw that it still bore a depression from the long hours that Ginny had spent slouched in it, idly flipping through her novel of choice--rarely reading, but rather skimming for all the interesting parts; those that involved sex and thievery and heroics--she felt her eyes blur.
except there was no Ginny to shake the formality of the situation up.
"I miss her," said Cho quietly as she stared transfixed at the seat cushion.
Tonks acknowledged the statement by turning Cho towards her and wrapping her arm around the other woman's waist. She pulled Cho close and Cho rested her head on Tonks's shoulder, suddenly overwhelmed by a strong sense of fatigue. As Cho closed her eyes, she felt Tonks's fingers unfasten her bra and work the straps free until the only thing keeping it from falling was their two bodies pressed together.
It reminded Cho of herself--
Without saying a word, Tonks reached down and pulled Cho's underwear off. When she had finished, Cho stood before Tonks, her body fully exposed and the cold prickling her skin uncomfortably. With a smile pulling at the edge of her lips, Tonks pressed Cho backwards and onto the bed.
As Tonks's somber fingers touched her skin, Cho twisted just far enough that she could see the chair in the corner, over Tonks's shoulder. As Tonks ran her lips over Cho's body, breathing softly and warmly and causing Cho to jerk and shiver in the too-cool air, Cho forced herself to keep staring at the chair.
She thought that if she looked at it long enough in the dim-lit bedroom, she might catch a glimpse of Ginny sitting there like she used to, legs folded and a book propped on her knees--rarely reading, but rather skimming for the interesting parts.
except there was nothing to break her fall.
Cho felt her eyes begin to blur and closed them. When Ginny had been dying, Cho did everything she had never had a chance to do with Cedric. She had walked herself through all the stages of mourning. She had strove to find acceptance in her heart. She thought that she had been prepared.
But then Ginny had died and Cho had realized for the second time in her life that mourning was a process that did not revolve around steps, but rather things--Ginny's chair, Ginny's books, Ginny's kiss, Ginny's touch--and their gradual dissemination--a chair, a book, no one's kiss, no one's touch.
Four weeks after the funeral, Cho ran away from everything for the second time, only this time she wasn't just leaving ghosts behind; this time, she was leaving behind Tonks.
For most people, denial is the first step of grieving. For Cho, the first step was escaping.
Pairing: Tonks/Cho/Ginny
Rating: R
Disclaimer: HP is not mine.
The first time Tonks touched Cho after Ginny's funeral, it was both beautiful and unnerving. As Tonks traced Cho's tan skin from her boney shoulders down the groove of her back, Cho closed her eyes.
When she reached Cho's lower back, Tonks slowly slid her fingers beneath the black blouse that Cho had bought for the funeral. Cho felt her pull it up and over her head and she raised her hands in order to ease the process. Against her neck, Cho felt Tonks smile at her submissiveness. Once Tonks had freed Cho from the black blouse, she let it fall to the floor and crumple between their feet.
Cho dropped one hand to her side and started to work her skirt off, but Tonks stilled her hand with a single, light touch. Patiently, Cho resumed waiting for Tonks to undress her, which she continued to do slowly, almost reverently. Her fingers sang a mournful requiem against Cho's skin.
The solemnity reminded Cho of their first time--
The skirt was treated with more care than the blouse; after Tonks had worked the zipper down, Cho stepped out of it and folded it over the edge of an armchair. Cho remembered how the armchair had been so often by Ginny on lazy Sundays and rainy afternoons when boredom had caused Ginny's hand to drift to one of the several books that Hermione had regularly sent her every Christmas.
When Cho's eyes fell upon the seat cushion and saw that it still bore a depression from the long hours that Ginny had spent slouched in it, idly flipping through her novel of choice--rarely reading, but rather skimming for all the interesting parts; those that involved sex and thievery and heroics--she felt her eyes blur.
except there was no Ginny to shake the formality of the situation up.
"I miss her," said Cho quietly as she stared transfixed at the seat cushion.
Tonks acknowledged the statement by turning Cho towards her and wrapping her arm around the other woman's waist. She pulled Cho close and Cho rested her head on Tonks's shoulder, suddenly overwhelmed by a strong sense of fatigue. As Cho closed her eyes, she felt Tonks's fingers unfasten her bra and work the straps free until the only thing keeping it from falling was their two bodies pressed together.
It reminded Cho of herself--
Without saying a word, Tonks reached down and pulled Cho's underwear off. When she had finished, Cho stood before Tonks, her body fully exposed and the cold prickling her skin uncomfortably. With a smile pulling at the edge of her lips, Tonks pressed Cho backwards and onto the bed.
As Tonks's somber fingers touched her skin, Cho twisted just far enough that she could see the chair in the corner, over Tonks's shoulder. As Tonks ran her lips over Cho's body, breathing softly and warmly and causing Cho to jerk and shiver in the too-cool air, Cho forced herself to keep staring at the chair.
She thought that if she looked at it long enough in the dim-lit bedroom, she might catch a glimpse of Ginny sitting there like she used to, legs folded and a book propped on her knees--rarely reading, but rather skimming for the interesting parts.
except there was nothing to break her fall.
Cho felt her eyes begin to blur and closed them. When Ginny had been dying, Cho did everything she had never had a chance to do with Cedric. She had walked herself through all the stages of mourning. She had strove to find acceptance in her heart. She thought that she had been prepared.
But then Ginny had died and Cho had realized for the second time in her life that mourning was a process that did not revolve around steps, but rather things--Ginny's chair, Ginny's books, Ginny's kiss, Ginny's touch--and their gradual dissemination--a chair, a book, no one's kiss, no one's touch.
Four weeks after the funeral, Cho ran away from everything for the second time, only this time she wasn't just leaving ghosts behind; this time, she was leaving behind Tonks.
For most people, denial is the first step of grieving. For Cho, the first step was escaping.