Membership fic, "Shades of Gold and Green"
...with my apologies to our anonymous author for late posting, we have a new story for the July challenge (it was submitted during the month of July, just... we're late.) Anyway! As usual, only members can vote but I know our secret author would love input from everyone. Please comment with your thoughts.
Title: Shades of Gold and Green
Author: ladychi
Rating: Adult
Length: 900 words
She stirs under his arm, tickling the underside with her nose and making that sound that she always makes just before she comes fully awake. The wind stirs the grass and the world is calm. When they'd set out the blanket, it had been in the late afternoon sun. The sky has faded from brilliant reds and golds to the calming edge of midnight blue, and the Boy Who Lived is holding his wife.
A wife who wrinkles her nose, and then stretches. The sun has kissed her cheeks, leaving them more red than pink, and her shorts are bunched up, exposing a length of leg that would be indecent if they were in public, but is more than enticing now. He ponders laying his mouth there, soothing away angered skin with a kiss and a cooling charm, but does no more than ponder. The sun has drugged him, removed any sense of ambition.
An ant crawls across his foot and he shakes his sandal half-heartedly. This is the first time in months he's been able to be outside without the heavy weight of robes pressing him into the ground, reminding him of who he is and what he is supposed to be doing.
“How long have I been asleep?” Ginny asks him, laying an arm over her eyes, not seeming any more inclined to move than when she had been unconscious.
“An hour or so,” he answers, shivering when her foot brushes across the top of his foot and back enticingly. “I didn't want to wake you up.”
“It's a good thing I look good as a lobster,” she teases, and squeezes his thigh in mock-punishment.
“This is good,” Harry says abruptly, changing the subject. “I mean, it's good to just sit out here and be together and not worry about... things.”
Ginny turns herself completely around and straddles his lap, rubbing a thumb over his growing sideburns and smiles at him, the way she does just before she says she loves him. “It's more than good. We should do it more often.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Thanks for making me take today off.”
“No reason you should be at work today,” Ginny says firmly. “I'm just glad you didn't let our pig-headed ass of a Minister of --”
“--Ginny --”
“--Magic tell you that you had to attend some ridiculous memorial or some other such thing.”
“I'm glad you wouldn't let me go.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Silence, for a long moment. “I just thought we should make happy memories.” Ginny sighs. “We both lost so much, but - they wouldn't have wanted us to dress up in somber black and sob all day. Certainly not Fred.”
“No.” Harry agrees and bends at the waist ever-so-slightly to touch his mouth to hers. The sweetness of her kiss is like the newest of springtime berries - a hint of tart, of something that might throw off those without a taste for it. His Ginny has never been easy to handle.
Above them, the sky explodes - Harry recoils at first, but Ginny lays a hand over his rapidly beating heart. “Fireworks, Harry.”
Bright flashes of colors illuminate the sky, painting the forest in hues of red and gold and green and blue and bronze and silver. Thunderous booms and faint crackles echo across the landscape as the wind picks up.
Ginny gently lays Harry back and deepens the kiss, persuading his tongue to dance with hers, rocking her hips against his waist, slowly bringing their lackadaisical interlude to something more intense, something more driven. Something about life, not death.
Clothes are discarded quickly, and somehow Ginny smells more earthy without a bra. He wishes he could make love to her always like this - her hair is fire, her body is earth and her tongue makes him feel the air underneath of him.
She doesn't waste time. Teases him to full attention with her hips and her tongue and her hands and takes him inside. He can see her rise and fall by the brief luminescence of the fireworks overhead. The magic of her, the mystery of her, the things about her he will never understand seem heightened, other-worldly. In her he can find redemption, permission to enjoy, to feel. To take a day that had destroyed him, and create this between them. An act all about making life.
He pushes up as she pushes down, and she throws her hair back. The curve of her breasts as they rock back and forth, the feel of her heat somehow slicker and hotter in the cool of the July night, the way she bites her lip and moans only his name on a pitch he only ever hears like this... it's too much.
He finds that spot - the spot that made him a hero for days, by changing the angle just slightly, and her eyes widen, just as they always do before she comes. He's smirking before she shouts - echoing across the lonely hill into the forest. No silencing charms here. No nosy neighbors.
The thought that she might have shouted so loud the village might have heard never stops him for a second, and he comes with a shouted moan of his own. It's her name. Only ever her name. And behind his eyes, colors explode - shades of gold and green - the gold of the fireworks in the sky, the green of the grass, and the light of their shared magic.
Members, please vote on this story. It's simply a yes or no vote -- if the author gets 60%, we will offer membership in the community. If not, they will be invited to try again. Your vote will be confidential, but the percentage will show up in the little red voting bars. Any comments will be viewable only to the mods, and we will pass them on to the author.
Poll Membership Vote #28
Title: Shades of Gold and Green
Author: ladychi
Rating: Adult
Length: 900 words
She stirs under his arm, tickling the underside with her nose and making that sound that she always makes just before she comes fully awake. The wind stirs the grass and the world is calm. When they'd set out the blanket, it had been in the late afternoon sun. The sky has faded from brilliant reds and golds to the calming edge of midnight blue, and the Boy Who Lived is holding his wife.
A wife who wrinkles her nose, and then stretches. The sun has kissed her cheeks, leaving them more red than pink, and her shorts are bunched up, exposing a length of leg that would be indecent if they were in public, but is more than enticing now. He ponders laying his mouth there, soothing away angered skin with a kiss and a cooling charm, but does no more than ponder. The sun has drugged him, removed any sense of ambition.
An ant crawls across his foot and he shakes his sandal half-heartedly. This is the first time in months he's been able to be outside without the heavy weight of robes pressing him into the ground, reminding him of who he is and what he is supposed to be doing.
“How long have I been asleep?” Ginny asks him, laying an arm over her eyes, not seeming any more inclined to move than when she had been unconscious.
“An hour or so,” he answers, shivering when her foot brushes across the top of his foot and back enticingly. “I didn't want to wake you up.”
“It's a good thing I look good as a lobster,” she teases, and squeezes his thigh in mock-punishment.
“This is good,” Harry says abruptly, changing the subject. “I mean, it's good to just sit out here and be together and not worry about... things.”
Ginny turns herself completely around and straddles his lap, rubbing a thumb over his growing sideburns and smiles at him, the way she does just before she says she loves him. “It's more than good. We should do it more often.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Thanks for making me take today off.”
“No reason you should be at work today,” Ginny says firmly. “I'm just glad you didn't let our pig-headed ass of a Minister of --”
“--Ginny --”
“--Magic tell you that you had to attend some ridiculous memorial or some other such thing.”
“I'm glad you wouldn't let me go.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Silence, for a long moment. “I just thought we should make happy memories.” Ginny sighs. “We both lost so much, but - they wouldn't have wanted us to dress up in somber black and sob all day. Certainly not Fred.”
“No.” Harry agrees and bends at the waist ever-so-slightly to touch his mouth to hers. The sweetness of her kiss is like the newest of springtime berries - a hint of tart, of something that might throw off those without a taste for it. His Ginny has never been easy to handle.
Above them, the sky explodes - Harry recoils at first, but Ginny lays a hand over his rapidly beating heart. “Fireworks, Harry.”
Bright flashes of colors illuminate the sky, painting the forest in hues of red and gold and green and blue and bronze and silver. Thunderous booms and faint crackles echo across the landscape as the wind picks up.
Ginny gently lays Harry back and deepens the kiss, persuading his tongue to dance with hers, rocking her hips against his waist, slowly bringing their lackadaisical interlude to something more intense, something more driven. Something about life, not death.
Clothes are discarded quickly, and somehow Ginny smells more earthy without a bra. He wishes he could make love to her always like this - her hair is fire, her body is earth and her tongue makes him feel the air underneath of him.
She doesn't waste time. Teases him to full attention with her hips and her tongue and her hands and takes him inside. He can see her rise and fall by the brief luminescence of the fireworks overhead. The magic of her, the mystery of her, the things about her he will never understand seem heightened, other-worldly. In her he can find redemption, permission to enjoy, to feel. To take a day that had destroyed him, and create this between them. An act all about making life.
He pushes up as she pushes down, and she throws her hair back. The curve of her breasts as they rock back and forth, the feel of her heat somehow slicker and hotter in the cool of the July night, the way she bites her lip and moans only his name on a pitch he only ever hears like this... it's too much.
He finds that spot - the spot that made him a hero for days, by changing the angle just slightly, and her eyes widen, just as they always do before she comes. He's smirking before she shouts - echoing across the lonely hill into the forest. No silencing charms here. No nosy neighbors.
The thought that she might have shouted so loud the village might have heard never stops him for a second, and he comes with a shouted moan of his own. It's her name. Only ever her name. And behind his eyes, colors explode - shades of gold and green - the gold of the fireworks in the sky, the green of the grass, and the light of their shared magic.
Members, please vote on this story. It's simply a yes or no vote -- if the author gets 60%, we will offer membership in the community. If not, they will be invited to try again. Your vote will be confidential, but the percentage will show up in the little red voting bars. Any comments will be viewable only to the mods, and we will pass them on to the author.
Poll Membership Vote #28