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For the hundredth time that afternoon, Luna thanks the sky for sunlight.
It’s been a gloomy season for the entire country, but the vast, cool bluffs of Ottery St. Catchpole seem to see the worst of the rain and wind, casting a sour pall over Luna’s desk (and, not to mention, her fiancée’s demeanor). However, this particular April day is bathed in nothing but blue skies and bright sunshine, the heat burning away the dust from Luna’s books and the tiredness from her eyes. She started the day out in the grass, sprawled with her parchments, and moved to her study to finish her article during tea.
Her work isn’t necessarily exciting at this time—the small press was just getting off the ground in Wizarding Edinburgh, so many of their pieces focused more on pygmy puffs and which sorts of owls young girls should take to Hogwarts than the real stuff Luna wished to cover (like, for instance, the large beast rumored to have taken up residence in Loch Ness that the Muggles are absolutely wild about). But the work is steady and she’s working hard, making her long days inside while Ginny’s off at practice a bit easier.
The clock on the wall gives a merry chirp and Luna looks up—the clock was a gift from her soon-to-be mother-in-law and closely resembled the one in the Burrow, only instead of the entire Weasley family on the extra hands, there was only her and Ginny. She was, of course, situated under the “Home” category, while Ginny was slowly drifting towards her from “Quidditch.”
She sets her quill aside, stretching out the cramp in her fingers. “A long walk home in the sun is just what she needs,” she says to herself, a smile playing at her lips just at the thought of her Ginny tilting her head back to bask in the warmth, her coppery hair shimmering down her back. She’ll still be in her Holyhead Harpies uniform, all covered in dirt and sweat and bruises, and she’ll be too warm to bathe, so a hop in the pond out back is much more likely.
The front door swings open and Luna startles out of her reverie. After all, real Ginny is much more pleasant than imaginary Ginny any day.
“’lo, love!” Ginny calls up the stairs, the telltale shuffle of her duffle and broomstick following the banging of the door. “You home?”
“Just finishing my work,” Luna calls down, neatening up her desk, ready to call it a day. It’s a Sunday, and they both like to relax once the afternoon hours sink into dusk. They’ll probably make sandwiches for supper and sit outside all night, watching the stars and lighting the yard with their wands to spot the nighttime critters Luna likes to sketch. Then they’ll go to bed, the sheets cool from springtime air, and make love until Monday comes and they start their week once again.
Before Luna can head downstairs, she hears Ginny’s bare feet slap up the stairs. She knocks on Luna’s study door.
“Come in,” Luna says, and smiles when Ginny opens the door, popping her head into the room. She’s disheveled and rosy-cheeked, her hair a mess and her freckles even brighter than they were that morning, and she’s never looked more lovely to Luna. “How was practice?”
“Exhausting,” Ginny says, stepping in and shutting the door behind her. “The pitch was a nightmare—all mud and dirt, girls slipping around all over the place when we got off the brooms.” She tugs Luna in for a kiss, but then pauses, stepping back. “Sorry, I’ll get you all dirty. Let me shower first.”
“Silly,” Luna chides, wrapping her arms around Ginny’s neck. She smiles before pecking Ginny on the lips, and Ginny smiles back, a private moment between them. “A little dirt never hurt me.”
A little is an understatement—Ginny’s sports bra and shorts were once green and are now some sort of darkish brown, smeared completely with mud, and her legs and arms are streaked in dirt. Ginny tugs her hair back in a ponytail, and as she arches her back, Luna unashamedly drinks her in—her toned abs, her long legs, the bands of muscles on her biceps and thighs. She’s fit in all the areas Luna is thin and soft, and Luna never tires of the way their bodies fit together.
“Maybe,” Luna says airily, picking an invisible piece of lint off her dress, “you should just undress now.” She winks at Ginny. “You’d probably be more comfortable, you know.”
Ginny snorts out a laugh, winding her arms around Luna’s waist to tug her in tight. “Subtle, sweetheart. Very subtle.”
“Now, when have I ever worried about being subtle?” Luna bites back an eager groan at the feeling of Ginny’s warm palms pressed against the bare small of her back where there’s a cutout in her blue lace dress. She loves Ginny’s hands—they’re strong, with long fingers and practical, short nails, hands that are meant to work and love. “Come, now. Off with it.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Ginny gives her in incredulous smile, eyes sparkling. “Has someone been antsy today? All that sunshine getting to your head?” She takes a step back and nods to the wingback chair next to Luna’s overstuffed bookshelf. “I’ll take it off, but only if you look,” she pauses, color rising to her cheeks, “and don’t touch.”
Now this, this makes Luna’s body feel warm and syrupy and so full of love and affection for this girl that she can hardly stand it. Only Ginny would ever match Luna’s brand of fun—curious, teasing, and always exciting. “Oh, so we’re making a game of it? It’s a good day for games.”
“Then let’s play,” Ginny says with a wink. The sun beams through in a perfect arc against her skin, highlighting every muscle and every streak of dirt. To Luna, she looks like a regal marble statue from a Muggle museum. “I should’ve left my hoodie on. Draw it out a bit longer.”
“An advantage, I’d say,” Luna says, sitting primly in her chair, eyes never leaving Ginny. “You’ve taken off the socks already, so that’s good. Bit awkward to remove when trying to be sexy.”
Ginny arches an eyebrow, fingers idly playing with the drawstring ties on her shorts. “So you have some experience with this?”
Luna shrugs, playing coy. “I’m sitting, aren’t I? Time to play.”
“There’s no music,” Ginny says, but begins to slide her fingers beneath the waistband of her shorts. “I’m beginning to think the odds are in my favor.”
“How so?” Luna follows the movements of Ginny’s hands as she slides her palms over her hips, then her legs, shorts sliding down to reveal the line of her underwear.
“Less of a distraction for you,” Ginny says, and grins as she bends slightly to remove her shorts, kicking them across the room. She’s in a pair of simple black underwear, a boy-short cut with a grey waistband, and Luna would be lying if she said she didn’t love the way they made Ginny look even more strong and athletic. She turns in a slow circle, giving Luna a glimpse of her ass. Her skin glows in the sunlight; she’s got a mole at the small of her back that Luna wants to kiss.
“I don’t think I could possibly be distracted right now,” Luna says, voice slow, like she’s speaking underwater. As Ginny stretches her arms overhead, her shoulder and back muscles bunching beautifully, Luna digs her fingers into the arms of the chair. Ginny’s ponytail swings almost insolently as she turns back around.
“Did you finish your article?” Ginny says it so easily, so lightly, like they’re sitting across from each other at the supper table. “Feeling inspired today?” In a smooth motion, she unzips her sports bra, letting the fabric fall to the sides to reveal her small, perfect breasts, the nipples rosy pink against her pale skin. She has a trail of freckles from her clavicle all the way down her sternum and to her belly, and Luna has traced them with her tongue a hundred times and she wants.
“I finished it,” Luna says hoarsely. She doesn’t want to have to speak.
Ginny shrugs the bra off, letting it drop next to her shorts. It carved small etches into her skin, the lines fabric tends to make on women’s bodies, and Luna wants to rub them all away with her hands, massage her fiancée’s strong body until she’s perfectly smooth once more.
“I love the way you look at me,” Ginny says, and it’s soft and almost tender. Ginny is many things, but sentimental is not one of them, and she hides her flushed, vulnerable face with the curtain of her long ponytail.
“Then let me look,” Luna says gently.
Ginny makes a soft noise, half arousal and half pure happiness. She turns again, waist twisting gracefully, and slides half her underwear down, revealing the smooth curve of her ass. She rolls her hip a little, shimmying like a nerd to an invisible song, and sheds the offending garment that has long overstayed its welcome. “That didn’t take long,” she says, and saunters naked to Luna, a predatory gleam in her eyes.
“Not as long as I hoped,” Luna agrees. She doesn’t know where to keep her eyes—she’s seen Ginny’s body a thousand times, touched it a thousand more, but it’s always something she finds so wildly exciting. She’s allowed to look; she’s not Loony Lovegood sitting in the back of the classroom with her wand behind her ear, the odd girl who stares. “Come here. Please.”
“Not yet,” Ginny says, stopping short, and lets her hand slide down to her cunt. She spreads her legs a bit and Luna’s breath catches as her fingers disappear into the thatch of red hair. “I’m wet. Just from you looking at me.” She removes her hand; her fingers are damp.
Luna makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat. “Come here, please,” she says, the firmest she can possibly make her voice, especially with Ginny. She knows she’s going to break the rules the second Ginny’s naked body makes contact with her lap—it’s like a switch has been flipped, a spark has gone off in Potions. Ginny is so wet, her clit so swollen, that the lace of Luna’s dress is enough to send her groaning and shivering, body halting in its smooth motion, and Luna’s done playing games.
“I lose,” she says cheerfully, voice loose and breathless, and tugs Ginny down hard by her hips, hair nails digging into the other woman’s soft flesh. “Now I’m going to fuck you, my love.”
“Please do,” Ginny says, and she sets her hips squirming in Luna’s lap. “Oh, god, I need…touch me, Luna.” Her breasts press against Luna’s, nipples hard and aching against Luna’s dress, and Luna is almost jealous of that clash of sensation—a swollen, aroused body against the harsh rub of fabric, the sort of friction that can’t be found anywhere else. Beneath her skirt, she’s so wet she’s aching, but for now, this is about Ginny.
Luna’s breathing comes out ragged and short, and normally, when Ginny is like this, all sweaty and sweet and breathless, Luna would get a toy and fuck her until she’s crying, or she’ll bend her over her desk and eat her out until they both can’t breathe from the sheer dirtiness of it. But for now, all she wants is to touch, to be close, so she shimmies her hand between her skirt and Ginny’s body. “Ride it,” she says, not one to mince words in time like these. “Take your pleasure. You’ve earned it, haven’t you?”
“Luna,” Ginny says, half-laugh and half-groan, like she’s still surprised by Luna. She wriggles against Luna’s hand, making a sweet oh noise when her clit makes contact with the smooth pads of Luna’s fingers. Luna crooks her fingers just so, stiffens them, and holds Ginny’s gaze as Ginny sinks down slowly, cunt wet and velvety-hot. “Oh, winning is nice.”
“And you do like to win,” Luna says, pressing her other hand against the small of Ginny’s arched back, holding her steady. “Careful, don’t slip.” Ginny tightens her knees around Luna’s hips, settling her weight more firmly on her lap, and groans when Luna’s fingers slide further inside of her.
Ginny begins to fuck herself in earnest—she’s so far gone; there’s no slowness or easing. They’ve done their teasing. “Right—right there, crook your—“ Before she can even finish, Luna curls her fingers just so, and Ginny almost crumples with pleasure as her G-spot is stimulated. “That’s it, that’s right, that’s perfect.”
“So are you,” Luna says, and it’s a bit too sweet for them, but they’ve always thrived on a bit of sweetness at the oddest moments. Ginny’s face screws into shuddering pleasure, body seizing up, and Luna knows she’s close. “Now, come for me, pet.”
Ginny only lasts a few more seconds until she’s clenching down on Luna’s fingers, stomach muscles contracting, fingers digging into the chair behind Luna’s head. Luna tugs her hair out of its band and watches the sun hit the red strands, making it glow with something akin to magic.
“Sweet girl,” she says softly, carding her fingers through Ginny’s hair with her free hand. She lets Ginny slide off her at her own pace, body probably sore from the day’s activities. The sun still shines, but the sky has faded to a pretty pink, the air a touch cooler. Ginny shivers, the sweat drying on her skin, and Luna motions for her to cuddle into the chair with her.
“Must be the weather,” Ginny says with a yawn, her body warm against Luna’s.
“Makes us wild,” Luna agrees, smiling into Ginny’s hair. They stay there until the sun sets, bathing the room in a comfortable, familiar darkness.