Fic: Ignite (Harry/Ginny)
Feb. 23rd, 2012 06:24 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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hpkinkfestTitle: Ignite
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bgd_thrifty
Prompt Number: #74 submitted bymelusinahp
Kink Showcased: Warm sleepy morning sex with a side order of intercrural sex and mild olfactophilia
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Harry/Ginny
Summary: The sheets are so cold when she is gone.
Content Notes/Warnings: A weensy bit of body insecurity
Word Count: ~2700
Author's Notes: This was such fun to write. I decided to challenge myself and branch out from my usual harbour of Harry/Draco and this was the result. It has been a rollercoaster (accidentally overwrote the whole fic and had to start again) but I'm glad to be done and dusted. Thanks to the incredibleluna_plath who has the turnaround time of a god. I hope you enjoy reading :)
Harry blearily cracks open his eyes. The first thing he sees is a red blur – Ginny's head resting heavily on the pillow. It must be a Sunday. He can hear chirping from the morning chorus and when he turns his head towards the window, he sees the sun lazily shaking itself from the clutches of the horizon. Harry looks towards his sleeping wife and a content expression dances across his face. 'God, she's beautiful,' he thinks. She's so rarely here that to have her next to him is like having all his birthdays come at once.
Ginny has always been someone to strive for what she wants and Harry can never begrudge her having her dream job, even if it means she's only here with him on a Sunday morning. Every other day of the week, she's out of the house before the crack of dawn, Portkeying across the globe doing press conferences, meeting with Quidditch's best coaches or keeping her flexibility up with world-renowned physiotherapists. It is a hectic life she leads but it is the one she wants and Harry understands.
He's had to make sacrifices, of course. There's only room in the house for one semi-absent parent. He isn't the hotshot Auror everyone thought he'd become. No, he keeps a solid desk job so the kids always have someone to come home to after school. He doesn't mind. Not when he sees the light in Ginny's eyes when she comes back from training. She drops hints about what would happen were they to expand their family, but Harry can't help but think that that is some years in the future.
It's strange, watching Ginny go from strength to strength while he stagnates. She gets stronger and faster as the days go by and while Harry likes to think he's as fit as he was in Hogwarts, his slowly developing belly says different. His only form of exercise these days is trying to get the kids into the bath each night. He thinks he's gone a bit to seed, but Ginny always hits him when he says that; says he's doing just fine, and she certainly packs enough of a punch that he doesn't like to argue.
Reaching out, he strokes the side of her sleep-warm face. Her mouth opens in a slight moue and her next breath in is sharper but she does not wake. 'She must be shattered,' Harry thinks, remembering her grand entrance last night. At around ten, she had stumbled into the house, barely awake enough to say goodnight to the boys. They had insisted on staying up to see their mother home and only Harry threatening not to take them flying the day during the week had got them into bed thereafter. Ginny hadn't minded, tired though she was. Harry had watched from the doorway of the boys' room as Ginny swung a giggling Albus up into her arms, kissing him until he squealed like a pig. Harry had had to drag her away. Ginny barely saw her sons and Harry knew that were their positions reversed, he'd be desperate for contact with Albus and James too.
He had led her gently into their bedroom, wherein she instantly started stripping off her Quidditch leathers. Harry had watched as more and more of her flushed and sweaty skin was revealed, fresh from the pitch. This sight could make even the fittest Auror feel inferior. Harry had barely been able to keep his eyes off her lean and muscled body. Her arms are like steel, Harry knows. Ginny is a one-woman Chasing machine who can score a goal from the other side of the pitch and throw in some picture perfect manoeuvres while she does it. Her rock solid abdomen is testament to this and the cause of Harry's inferiority complex. How could someone who looks as she does be satisfied with him? He has to accept her explanations because he can't see past his gut to what she still finds attractive in him.
In retrospect, he must have been leering as when she was pulling off her gloves as her eyes had flicked up, meeting his, and she'd shot him a cheeky grin before throwing one at his face. Harry loved her, but he hadn't been ready for a wet slap in the face right then, so he'd ducked, ignoring her tired chuckles. Quite quickly, Ginny had stood naked in the middle of their room and Harry had regarded her closely. Bruises everywhere. He had frowned at the large circular one on her stomach but she seemed alright, so he'd resolved to leave it until the morning.
"Bath?" he had asked, already moving towards the bathroom. Ginny had shaken her head before he could even take a step.
"Nah, can't be bothered. I'll have one tomorrow," she had replied, bending over the dressing table as she rooted around in a drawer for something to wear. As if she had been able to see the expression on Harry's face as he admired the view, Ginny had said, rather disgruntled, "Stop staring, you pervert." But when she had jumped up from her position, her breasts bouncing with the sudden movement, Harry hadn't failed to notice the pink stain across her nose and cheeks. He had only had a second of amusement before she had pulled a large t-shirt over her head, hiding her transient embarrassment. They have a number of different team shirts, but Ginny won't go to sleep in anything less than official Holyhead Harpies memorabilia so Harry always makes sure he takes care when washing it.
Ginny had done her hair up in a messy bun with a few flicks of her wand. Tendrils had fallen from the mass, framing her face, and she'd looked at him with an expression blank of her usual boldness. His rebuttal to her accusation had been lost and he had moved towards her, cupping her face softly in his hands. Her brown eyes looked like liquid chocolate in the faint light from the moon and Harry had found himself kissing her softly before he even had time to think of it. He had pulled away not soon after, able to feel her light quivering.
"You're cold," he had said, his brow furrowed. She'd probably come straight from practice, not even waiting for the team cool-down. Ginny often got in trouble with her coach for this, but what could the woman really say to her star Chaser? Ginny had rolled her eyes at his words and said,
"I've got you to keep me warm, don't I? You're like a bloody furnace. No, you're like my own pet phoenix." Harry thinks that Ginny's the phoenix, not him. The number of injuries she has had which she always miraculously recovers from, brighter and better than she was before. Not to mention her flaming mane of hair. Despite her brave front, Ginny had shivered once, violently. Harry had immediately taken her fleece from its home on their bed, resolving to get it on her whether she liked it or not.
It had once been Harry's, this thick, luxurious fleece. Ginny had taken one look at it and somehow it had become hers. She wears it as much as she can, despite it fitting her very badly, and they have many an amusing photo of a heavily pregnant Ginny finally filling out the baggy material. When she is away, Harry sleeps with it under his pillow, it smells so much like her, and when he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine she is there, resting her arm over his hip.
He had pulled it over her head before she even had time to protest and ignored her squawks as she hurried to put her arms through the sleeves before he pulled her under the covers with him. As always, once under their heavy duvet, he had pulled off his pyjama bottoms, flinging them somewhere on top of Ginny's pile of gear. He has done this ever since he noticed the relative discrepancy in their sizes. Ginny might say she doesn't mind, but Harry isn't in the business of giving her excuses to, even if it seems overly self-conscious.
They'd slept then and now here they are. Ginny's spell has dissipated in the night and her hair tumbles over her face in thick waves. When she breathes, one lock wafts closer and further from her mouth. Harry, his eyes still sore with sleep, wants to see her better; wants to revel in this moment as he does every Sunday. He moves closer to her and synchronises his breaths with hers. He inhales when she exhales and breathes out when she breathes in. Harry has never believed in morning breath. He could never find any part of Ginny disgusting, no matter the situation. He kisses her on her exposed cheek, then her forehead and finally her lips. She does not stir. They've fallen into their usual position during the night and her arm rests on his hip. Harry begins to rub circles over her covered elbow, content to lie here and look at her all day.
His caresses are interrupted by a yawn and he stretches his arm up, enjoying the sharp pain as his joints crack and pop. When his arm relaxes from its flexed position, it falls onto Ginny's bare hip. The fleece and her t-shirt have ridden up in the night, exposing her flesh and he rubs a hand absentmindedly over the smooth curve of her arse before halting his movements. Ginny is asleep, after all, and impatient as he is to spend the day with his whole family, he doesn't want to wake her from her well-deserved slumber.
"Don't stop," he hears her say in a mumbled voice. Harry wonders if she thinks she's dreaming, but one eye is half open and the other is squeezed tight shut. Her whole face is screwed up and when he laughs, she pushes at his shoulder ineffectually. Before he can say anything to her, her face has relaxes back into sleep. With permission to continue, Harry presses up against Ginny, and if his belly gets in the way a little, well, he's sure Ginny doesn't mind.
As their bodies align, her ice cold feet touch his and he yelps in surprise, retracting his assessment of her as his phoenix. Harry knows that in five, ten years, all the things he loves about Ginny, like her persistently cold feet, might become the things he finds excruciatingly irritating. He'll wait for that day to come, but secretly he thinks it never will.
His cock is already filling and it rests against Ginny's abdomen, leaking from the tip. With a morbid grin on his face, he smears the fluid across her stomach and into her navel with his thumb.
"You're disgusting," he hears her say in a crackling voice, and he can't help the deep laugh that seems to build from his toes. He yawns again and pushes his face under her curtain of hair to rest on her sloping shoulder. One arm is trapped underneath her and the other quests downwards. He nudges his hand between her firm thighs and slips two fingers into her, flexing his thumb to reach her clit. He thrusts slowly but not liking the friction removes his fingers to grope blindly on the table for the oil Ginny uses to keep her leathers supple. He uncaps the bottle and pours it over their lower halves indiscriminately. Their red sheets turn dark with their anointing and Harry knows Ginny will be annoyed in the real morning, but that is then and this is now.
He puts his fingers back in her and like every time he uses oil, he marvels at how much more easily they slide in and out. He can't see much more than a blur, but Harry watches his fingers slowly become redder as they disappear into the heat of Ginny's body over and over again. He feels his arousal building like a coal fire in his pelvis and knows that this contact is no longer enough for him. Pulling his hand out and pushing his cock down, he guides it into the tight junction at the top of her legs. He cannot tear his eyes from the sight of her labia spreading; unfolding as his glistening cock begins the slow, slick movement. Her pubic hair is dark, dampened by the oil he has upended over them.
Once he is as tight to her as he can get, Harry begins to thrust languidly and Ginny's breath hitches as his glans slides over her clit. Her deep and rhythmic sleep sounds have given way to quiet whimpering and Harry pulls the covers up from below their arses, remembering the night before. He knows how the cold of winter messes with Ginny's flexibility and he doesn't want her joints getting stiff and preventing her from giving her best every match. Only yesterday morning, he'd noticed frost on the glass of the bedroom window, heralding the creeping frigidness of the incumbent season.
As the room warms from their exertions, smells begin to blossom. Harry is glad that Ginny forewent a bath last night, as the aroma of her sweat takes him back to Hogwarts. It reminds him of crisp mornings on the pitch, of freshly cut grass; of something he can't quite describe. Harry thinks that others would probably find it disgusting, Ginny being indifferent to washing, and would wash the sheets as soon as she leaves, but Harry doesn't. He misses her so much when she is gone. He only cleans them on a Saturday afternoon, just before Ginny comes back. The rest of the week, he revels in the smell.
Harry doesn't need his glasses, nor does he need to look down to see when Ginny is coming. He can feel her flushed chest because it burns against his, white-hot with the flames building inside her. He feels her stomach trembling against his. He feels the weight of her hair, heavy from the sweat dripping from the nape of her neck. Her whole body seizes for a seemingly infinite moment and she rolls her hips once; twice. Her thighs clench like a vice around his cock and he can feel the erratic contractions of her cunt on top of it. When she comes, it is with a whoosh of breath that's nearly a whistle.
After her muscles unclench, she grinds their crotches together, and Harry thrusts more deeply, feeling the loss of his control. He is panting, quick sharp breaths that rip from his chest like rounds from a rifle. He comes silently, clutching her arse as he thrusts one final time. He doesn't black out like he usually does. This time, it is like fire innervates every fibre of his being, spreading out to suffuse his whole body. He is remade.
As they come back to themselves, Harry thinks of how in the light of the day, they will complain about the fluids sticking them together. As it is now, Harry cannot muster up the wherewithal to put his glasses on and locate his wand, so he stays right where he is. The realities of sex are something to think about later. Instead, he stares at Ginny with a kind of awe. 'This is mine,' he thinks, his mind skimming over all the elements of their lives together and deeming them perfect. Ginny's hair is red and gold in the light of dawn and as if she can sense him admiring her once more, she reaches out an arm and covers his eyes.
"Go to sleep, Harry," she says. He grabs her wrist and kisses her palm, putting it back over his hip. After he does this, he pulls the covers up over their shoulders. He closes his eyes and feels the heavy weight of slumber resting upon him. In twenty-four hours, the only evidence Harry will have of her laying here is her smell. All that will keep him warm at night are memories of her pressed, blazing, against him. However, he will not think of that now. He has the rest of the day with her and their children and after that he has next Sunday. And the next, and the next, and –
Author:
bgd_thriftyPrompt Number: #74 submitted by
melusinahpKink Showcased: Warm sleepy morning sex with a side order of intercrural sex and mild olfactophilia
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Harry/Ginny
Summary: The sheets are so cold when she is gone.
Content Notes/Warnings: A weensy bit of body insecurity
Word Count: ~2700
Author's Notes: This was such fun to write. I decided to challenge myself and branch out from my usual harbour of Harry/Draco and this was the result. It has been a rollercoaster (accidentally overwrote the whole fic and had to start again) but I'm glad to be done and dusted. Thanks to the incredible
luna_plath who has the turnaround time of a god. I hope you enjoy reading :)Harry blearily cracks open his eyes. The first thing he sees is a red blur – Ginny's head resting heavily on the pillow. It must be a Sunday. He can hear chirping from the morning chorus and when he turns his head towards the window, he sees the sun lazily shaking itself from the clutches of the horizon. Harry looks towards his sleeping wife and a content expression dances across his face. 'God, she's beautiful,' he thinks. She's so rarely here that to have her next to him is like having all his birthdays come at once.
Ginny has always been someone to strive for what she wants and Harry can never begrudge her having her dream job, even if it means she's only here with him on a Sunday morning. Every other day of the week, she's out of the house before the crack of dawn, Portkeying across the globe doing press conferences, meeting with Quidditch's best coaches or keeping her flexibility up with world-renowned physiotherapists. It is a hectic life she leads but it is the one she wants and Harry understands.
He's had to make sacrifices, of course. There's only room in the house for one semi-absent parent. He isn't the hotshot Auror everyone thought he'd become. No, he keeps a solid desk job so the kids always have someone to come home to after school. He doesn't mind. Not when he sees the light in Ginny's eyes when she comes back from training. She drops hints about what would happen were they to expand their family, but Harry can't help but think that that is some years in the future.
It's strange, watching Ginny go from strength to strength while he stagnates. She gets stronger and faster as the days go by and while Harry likes to think he's as fit as he was in Hogwarts, his slowly developing belly says different. His only form of exercise these days is trying to get the kids into the bath each night. He thinks he's gone a bit to seed, but Ginny always hits him when he says that; says he's doing just fine, and she certainly packs enough of a punch that he doesn't like to argue.
Reaching out, he strokes the side of her sleep-warm face. Her mouth opens in a slight moue and her next breath in is sharper but she does not wake. 'She must be shattered,' Harry thinks, remembering her grand entrance last night. At around ten, she had stumbled into the house, barely awake enough to say goodnight to the boys. They had insisted on staying up to see their mother home and only Harry threatening not to take them flying the day during the week had got them into bed thereafter. Ginny hadn't minded, tired though she was. Harry had watched from the doorway of the boys' room as Ginny swung a giggling Albus up into her arms, kissing him until he squealed like a pig. Harry had had to drag her away. Ginny barely saw her sons and Harry knew that were their positions reversed, he'd be desperate for contact with Albus and James too.
He had led her gently into their bedroom, wherein she instantly started stripping off her Quidditch leathers. Harry had watched as more and more of her flushed and sweaty skin was revealed, fresh from the pitch. This sight could make even the fittest Auror feel inferior. Harry had barely been able to keep his eyes off her lean and muscled body. Her arms are like steel, Harry knows. Ginny is a one-woman Chasing machine who can score a goal from the other side of the pitch and throw in some picture perfect manoeuvres while she does it. Her rock solid abdomen is testament to this and the cause of Harry's inferiority complex. How could someone who looks as she does be satisfied with him? He has to accept her explanations because he can't see past his gut to what she still finds attractive in him.
In retrospect, he must have been leering as when she was pulling off her gloves as her eyes had flicked up, meeting his, and she'd shot him a cheeky grin before throwing one at his face. Harry loved her, but he hadn't been ready for a wet slap in the face right then, so he'd ducked, ignoring her tired chuckles. Quite quickly, Ginny had stood naked in the middle of their room and Harry had regarded her closely. Bruises everywhere. He had frowned at the large circular one on her stomach but she seemed alright, so he'd resolved to leave it until the morning.
"Bath?" he had asked, already moving towards the bathroom. Ginny had shaken her head before he could even take a step.
"Nah, can't be bothered. I'll have one tomorrow," she had replied, bending over the dressing table as she rooted around in a drawer for something to wear. As if she had been able to see the expression on Harry's face as he admired the view, Ginny had said, rather disgruntled, "Stop staring, you pervert." But when she had jumped up from her position, her breasts bouncing with the sudden movement, Harry hadn't failed to notice the pink stain across her nose and cheeks. He had only had a second of amusement before she had pulled a large t-shirt over her head, hiding her transient embarrassment. They have a number of different team shirts, but Ginny won't go to sleep in anything less than official Holyhead Harpies memorabilia so Harry always makes sure he takes care when washing it.
Ginny had done her hair up in a messy bun with a few flicks of her wand. Tendrils had fallen from the mass, framing her face, and she'd looked at him with an expression blank of her usual boldness. His rebuttal to her accusation had been lost and he had moved towards her, cupping her face softly in his hands. Her brown eyes looked like liquid chocolate in the faint light from the moon and Harry had found himself kissing her softly before he even had time to think of it. He had pulled away not soon after, able to feel her light quivering.
"You're cold," he had said, his brow furrowed. She'd probably come straight from practice, not even waiting for the team cool-down. Ginny often got in trouble with her coach for this, but what could the woman really say to her star Chaser? Ginny had rolled her eyes at his words and said,
"I've got you to keep me warm, don't I? You're like a bloody furnace. No, you're like my own pet phoenix." Harry thinks that Ginny's the phoenix, not him. The number of injuries she has had which she always miraculously recovers from, brighter and better than she was before. Not to mention her flaming mane of hair. Despite her brave front, Ginny had shivered once, violently. Harry had immediately taken her fleece from its home on their bed, resolving to get it on her whether she liked it or not.
It had once been Harry's, this thick, luxurious fleece. Ginny had taken one look at it and somehow it had become hers. She wears it as much as she can, despite it fitting her very badly, and they have many an amusing photo of a heavily pregnant Ginny finally filling out the baggy material. When she is away, Harry sleeps with it under his pillow, it smells so much like her, and when he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine she is there, resting her arm over his hip.
He had pulled it over her head before she even had time to protest and ignored her squawks as she hurried to put her arms through the sleeves before he pulled her under the covers with him. As always, once under their heavy duvet, he had pulled off his pyjama bottoms, flinging them somewhere on top of Ginny's pile of gear. He has done this ever since he noticed the relative discrepancy in their sizes. Ginny might say she doesn't mind, but Harry isn't in the business of giving her excuses to, even if it seems overly self-conscious.
They'd slept then and now here they are. Ginny's spell has dissipated in the night and her hair tumbles over her face in thick waves. When she breathes, one lock wafts closer and further from her mouth. Harry, his eyes still sore with sleep, wants to see her better; wants to revel in this moment as he does every Sunday. He moves closer to her and synchronises his breaths with hers. He inhales when she exhales and breathes out when she breathes in. Harry has never believed in morning breath. He could never find any part of Ginny disgusting, no matter the situation. He kisses her on her exposed cheek, then her forehead and finally her lips. She does not stir. They've fallen into their usual position during the night and her arm rests on his hip. Harry begins to rub circles over her covered elbow, content to lie here and look at her all day.
His caresses are interrupted by a yawn and he stretches his arm up, enjoying the sharp pain as his joints crack and pop. When his arm relaxes from its flexed position, it falls onto Ginny's bare hip. The fleece and her t-shirt have ridden up in the night, exposing her flesh and he rubs a hand absentmindedly over the smooth curve of her arse before halting his movements. Ginny is asleep, after all, and impatient as he is to spend the day with his whole family, he doesn't want to wake her from her well-deserved slumber.
"Don't stop," he hears her say in a mumbled voice. Harry wonders if she thinks she's dreaming, but one eye is half open and the other is squeezed tight shut. Her whole face is screwed up and when he laughs, she pushes at his shoulder ineffectually. Before he can say anything to her, her face has relaxes back into sleep. With permission to continue, Harry presses up against Ginny, and if his belly gets in the way a little, well, he's sure Ginny doesn't mind.
As their bodies align, her ice cold feet touch his and he yelps in surprise, retracting his assessment of her as his phoenix. Harry knows that in five, ten years, all the things he loves about Ginny, like her persistently cold feet, might become the things he finds excruciatingly irritating. He'll wait for that day to come, but secretly he thinks it never will.
His cock is already filling and it rests against Ginny's abdomen, leaking from the tip. With a morbid grin on his face, he smears the fluid across her stomach and into her navel with his thumb.
"You're disgusting," he hears her say in a crackling voice, and he can't help the deep laugh that seems to build from his toes. He yawns again and pushes his face under her curtain of hair to rest on her sloping shoulder. One arm is trapped underneath her and the other quests downwards. He nudges his hand between her firm thighs and slips two fingers into her, flexing his thumb to reach her clit. He thrusts slowly but not liking the friction removes his fingers to grope blindly on the table for the oil Ginny uses to keep her leathers supple. He uncaps the bottle and pours it over their lower halves indiscriminately. Their red sheets turn dark with their anointing and Harry knows Ginny will be annoyed in the real morning, but that is then and this is now.
He puts his fingers back in her and like every time he uses oil, he marvels at how much more easily they slide in and out. He can't see much more than a blur, but Harry watches his fingers slowly become redder as they disappear into the heat of Ginny's body over and over again. He feels his arousal building like a coal fire in his pelvis and knows that this contact is no longer enough for him. Pulling his hand out and pushing his cock down, he guides it into the tight junction at the top of her legs. He cannot tear his eyes from the sight of her labia spreading; unfolding as his glistening cock begins the slow, slick movement. Her pubic hair is dark, dampened by the oil he has upended over them.
Once he is as tight to her as he can get, Harry begins to thrust languidly and Ginny's breath hitches as his glans slides over her clit. Her deep and rhythmic sleep sounds have given way to quiet whimpering and Harry pulls the covers up from below their arses, remembering the night before. He knows how the cold of winter messes with Ginny's flexibility and he doesn't want her joints getting stiff and preventing her from giving her best every match. Only yesterday morning, he'd noticed frost on the glass of the bedroom window, heralding the creeping frigidness of the incumbent season.
As the room warms from their exertions, smells begin to blossom. Harry is glad that Ginny forewent a bath last night, as the aroma of her sweat takes him back to Hogwarts. It reminds him of crisp mornings on the pitch, of freshly cut grass; of something he can't quite describe. Harry thinks that others would probably find it disgusting, Ginny being indifferent to washing, and would wash the sheets as soon as she leaves, but Harry doesn't. He misses her so much when she is gone. He only cleans them on a Saturday afternoon, just before Ginny comes back. The rest of the week, he revels in the smell.
Harry doesn't need his glasses, nor does he need to look down to see when Ginny is coming. He can feel her flushed chest because it burns against his, white-hot with the flames building inside her. He feels her stomach trembling against his. He feels the weight of her hair, heavy from the sweat dripping from the nape of her neck. Her whole body seizes for a seemingly infinite moment and she rolls her hips once; twice. Her thighs clench like a vice around his cock and he can feel the erratic contractions of her cunt on top of it. When she comes, it is with a whoosh of breath that's nearly a whistle.
After her muscles unclench, she grinds their crotches together, and Harry thrusts more deeply, feeling the loss of his control. He is panting, quick sharp breaths that rip from his chest like rounds from a rifle. He comes silently, clutching her arse as he thrusts one final time. He doesn't black out like he usually does. This time, it is like fire innervates every fibre of his being, spreading out to suffuse his whole body. He is remade.
As they come back to themselves, Harry thinks of how in the light of the day, they will complain about the fluids sticking them together. As it is now, Harry cannot muster up the wherewithal to put his glasses on and locate his wand, so he stays right where he is. The realities of sex are something to think about later. Instead, he stares at Ginny with a kind of awe. 'This is mine,' he thinks, his mind skimming over all the elements of their lives together and deeming them perfect. Ginny's hair is red and gold in the light of dawn and as if she can sense him admiring her once more, she reaches out an arm and covers his eyes.
"Go to sleep, Harry," she says. He grabs her wrist and kisses her palm, putting it back over his hip. After he does this, he pulls the covers up over their shoulders. He closes his eyes and feels the heavy weight of slumber resting upon him. In twenty-four hours, the only evidence Harry will have of her laying here is her smell. All that will keep him warm at night are memories of her pressed, blazing, against him. However, he will not think of that now. He has the rest of the day with her and their children and after that he has next Sunday. And the next, and the next, and –
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re: Ignite
Date: 2012-02-23 09:24 pm (UTC)Re: Ignite
Date: 2012-02-26 06:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-24 04:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-26 06:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-24 08:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-26 06:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-24 03:37 pm (UTC)Their relationship felt very strong, and I love that Ginny is her own person with a successful career and that Harry's the one who's gone slightly soft.
Your writing and imagery were wonderful. I loved everything about this, BG, thank you for doing such a great job with the prompt. xxx
no subject
Date: 2012-02-26 06:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-25 02:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-26 06:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-25 11:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-26 06:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-01 01:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-01 02:36 pm (UTC)