Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Seriously.
A/N: Written for Challenge #200 ~ Prompt! Battle!: Night at femslash100.
A/N2: If you enjoy the drabble, please review. It makes me feel all mushy and sticky inside. It doesn't sound very good, but it's a very enjoyable sensation. So review please!
My dreams bleed into reality and my reality into dreams (and I should not need to mention that they are all of you). All I know for certain is that your touches feel too much like air. You pass and do not linger, and you ignore my whispers for more. I ache for a more definite sensation and I want a lover that does not have the feel of a ghost. You laugh my concern away and you tell me I worry too much. But why then must we restrict our time together? And is it simply a coincidence that it is only at night that we may touch?
"Pansy," you whisper against my stomach and it tickles a little where your breath brushes against my overheated skin. "Look at me."
"I am," I tell you, looking down and straight and in (and you cannot tell me that I am not looking).
You smile like it is your last chance and I feel my heart expand and constrict and about to give out. "Let me stay till morning?"
Can you die from happiness? I am pretty sure I am about to. "Yes." I want to pull you up and hold you close and never let you go (cage you in these feelings). "Yes." And I want to tell you to stay and linger, to imprint yourself on my skin (so I cannot forget, so I will not forget), to tell me that you love me. "Yes." I love you, Ginny.