Bury Your Diamonds; Destroy Your Rubies
Title: Bury Your Diamonds; Destroy Your Rubies
Pairing: Ginny/Luna
Rating: PG
Word Count: 775
Summary: Everyone wanted more of Luna Lovegood's scripture. But I had the rest of her.
Note: The inspiration for this drabble comes from a daydream I had just yesterday. The title comes from a song by The Devil Wears Prada, but I can't quite remember which one it is at the moment. Goats on a Boat, maybe? Bah. Who knows.
It was quiet. The sun was dimming through the windows, changing into its silky pajamas and preparing to settle down into a routine night's rest. The lights were off in my flat; she preferred natural lighting and I never hesitated to oblige. I took a candle from the cupboard and muttered a spell. The scent of honeysuckle floated across the room.
She mumbled a protest to the minute glow but I only smiled. She was curled on the sofa, legs drawn to her chest, her mind clogged with sleep. She was often tired these days, always napping in the afternoon and taking to bed early; meals were becoming my favourite part of the day. She traveled on weekends and made her scribbles in a notebook become elegant articles that sold more and more every month. Everyone wanted more of Luna Lovegood's scripture.
But I had the rest of her.
She was mine when she was in the kitchen fixing tea, when she was in the shower washing her hair, when she was reading anything she could get her hands on to improve upon herself, when she was talking through her chicken and mumbling through her peas. It was then that I could press kisses to the back of her neck, that I could tell her about the new scouts I was seeking for the Harpies, that I could braid her long hair as she fell asleep in my lap late at night. She couldn't help that her time for me was scarce, but she always made enough time in the smallest of ways.
She woke up late more than she woke up on time (I tried my best to fix this problem, but she was so good at hiding in the covers) and I knew she had to be running. Most mornings, I expected only short kisses on goodbyes. But there were times when she climbed out of sleep early just so she could climb on me; she would kiss my forehead, my cheek, my eyelids, my jaw line, slip her tongue between my lips to delve and taste. If she decided to surprise me early enough, she would let me relish in her as I had done so many times over the years; she'd let me dive and drown, resurface and breathe. She'd be the reason I'd drowned in the first place.
But it wasn't always possible; she was simply too tired. So I had to always have enough energy for her, had to have enough of the tender touch she craved more than the rough, had have enough of the tea she liked to stock in the top cupboard above the fridge. I worked around her and on weekends went to visit the rest of my family. The distance created between us allowed me to continue rebuilding what was broken. If Luna didn't travel so much, I think that I would spend most of my time waiting for her to return home to me.
(I do enough of that anyway.)
It's lovely when she's home, though; the flat is warm and the tea is always brewing when she's napping. She tries to stay awake for me but I gave up on it long ago. Instead, I put her head in my lap and idly play with the locks while she sleeps; our kitten likes to join. I've sat for hours like that, and though Luna leaves it unmentioned, I see her smile every time she wakes up with her head pillowed on my thighs.
She curled into the sofa every time, as she did now. Her spine curved, her hips seemed wider. Her skin was radiant in the sun's departure from day, glowing a pale golden colour. It was beyond me, how she managed to look like a goddess in a half-slumber. (She did it every time.)
I placed myself behind her, tracing her spine. She adjusted slightly (she was ticklish, my Luna) and I saw her arms curl tighter into her small breasts. She went about in a pair of my old pajama pants, without a shirt; I was in the middle of bringing her one from our bedroom. I was becoming distracted.
She sighed when my lips pressured her shoulder blade, when they traced down her spine. Her body arched when they encountered her bony hips and her fingers sought my mine when she felt my kisses on the shell of her ear. I buried my face in her hair, breathed deeply. The nook was familiar. I muttered, "I love you," into blonde locks and pulled her closer to me.
She turned and when she kissed me, I felt her smile.