Ugly
Rating: Heavy R
Disclaimer: Umm…no. Not mine. No profits. Just mad, hot, dirty lovin'.
Blurb: "Am I really that ugly?" she asked with a sigh.

He glanced critically around the flat. Lights were low, candles casting flickering shadows among her space furnishings. Sheets were tossed over the chairs to protect them, and they glowed with an unearthly light in the darkened room.

A key in the lock sounded and Harry adjusted himself where he sat; glasses slipping down over his sweaty nose. Not only was the temperature in the apartment soaring – the radiator was possessed and literally, at that – but he was beginning to have a flutter of nervousness coat his stomach.

The door creaked open and there she was, slipping through with bags and satchels hanging off every part of her that could support one. He hurried forward to help, shifting the satchels to the floor, revealing her heavily cloaked form, a scarf twined about her face.

Slipping his hands about her waist, he drew her into the candlelit room, trying to gauge her reaction from what he could see of her face, which happened only to be her large, silver eyes and full, plump mouth. Fussing with the buttons on her cloak, he pushed it over her arms, letting it slip to the floor. The scarf was still twisted over her head and he lifted his hands to unwrap it, but she stopped him.

"You should know –" She began, but his finger pressed themselves to her lips momentarily and then his lips replaced them – and she lost all train of thought as his tongue introduced itself to her again.

His hands, meanwhile, were fiddling with the scarf, finally releasing it and allowing the mess of random braids and twists of her blonde hair to escape, flipping out from their captivity under the woolen accessory. Her hands were already making nice with the buttons on his shirt – dear Lord how she loved those Muggle clothes.

He did pause however, when one of his fingers encountered something along her cheek. Pulling away, he was shocked to find her face covered in a map of boils and burns, looking like someone had tossed road kill onto her features and let it harden.

"What happened?" he asked from a number of paces away, his eyes trying to hide revulsion and failing miserably.

"Mess at work – there was pus flying everywhere and I got in the way. Ruined my new robes; had to borrow these off Hermione. Quite large in the front – wonder if she and Ron have been neglecting to tell us something…"

Harry ignored her, approaching her warily, as though afraid she might burst and fling pus at him. "Does it hurt?"

She shook her head, eyeing him as he circled her. "Not at all. The Nurse said it'd clear right up. No danger, no pain."

He stepped towards her, closer, attempting to tear his eyes from the mess that littered her face. "Really?"

Nodding exasperatedly, she crossed her arms, aware of the hint of cleavage she awoke. His eyes leapt from her face downward and a gloating chuckle exploded inside of her.

He looked up, curious to the source of her laughter, and her giggling died in her throat as he once again fastened his attention on her wounds.

"Am I really that ugly?" she asked with a sigh, brushing blonde hair from her eyes, which were busy watching him watch her, a perfect picture of regret and disgust patted into his features.

"No!" was his immediate and automatic response, face coloring.

She laughed – how could she not with that look on his face? – and the staining of pink along his cheeks deepened. "I am!" she crowed, triumphant. "You had all this set up for beautiful me and now you're stuck with ugly me! This is rich!"

"You aren't ugly," Harry said grudgingly, voice low, arms crossed over his chest with an air of disproval. He was always so loyal to what he believed in, wasn't he? To everyone, to her.

"Oh, but today I just happen to be!" she screeched, laughter painting her words. "Just admit it. Just admit that today I'm a horrifying old hag! That you wouldn't kiss me if you were paid a hundred galleons!"

Harry shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders jerking in a twitching shrug. "You're not," he started again, but then thought better of it. "Well, I mean to say…you're just, you're…you're…"

"Ugly," she supplied, giggles still escaping. Something about the whole scenario was increasingly hilarious to her.

"No! You're…you're you! You're still you under all that and that's what makes you beautiful" – he shouted the word – "to me!" She was stunned into silence at his voice, so firm, so unflinching truthful that words seemed to fail her. "You're just…you."

"Harry…" she said, and before she could do anything, say anything more, he swept her into his arms and laid a kiss on her that blew a few of her fuses. When he finally eased away, stars were blinking before her and she heard the rather familiar sound of a bird twittering – something she was completely sure was in her head for she heard it every time Harry even looked at her – let alone kissed her - like that.

His eyes – so big, so devastatingly green – were smiling at her and his lips were quirked in an unmistakable expression that left nothing to the imagination. When his eyes flicked downward to gape at her boils, she felt a small explosion rocket her into action – she didn't know that he was only wondering if she had lied about the pain part.

She shoved him backwards into a convenient chair that had been eagerly awaiting sitting arrivals – some furniture in her flat was unbelievably queer – and then began to root through her belongings scattered along the floor, leading a trail back towards the magically locked door. She finally found what she had been searching for, and she grinned wickedly in his direction as she extracted the long, striped scarf that had been her cover on the way home.

His eyes widened and she smirked, edging around the chair, which was sighing in contentment at having someone sitting in it. Slipping his glasses off of his face, she folded them and set them on a table that had skittred to her side, then had scuttled back to its position next to the grumpycouch.

Harry opened his mouth to ask what she was up too – sometimes she'd leave him in a chair for ages before sweeping into the room with a startled 'Oh!' – but it was just one of the things he'd come to love about her. In a world full of repetitive, dull, boring people, she sparkled like some long lost treasure, always surprising, and full of odd tangents that never ceased to amuse – and scare -- him.

The scarf settled across the bridge of his nose, covering his eyes. All he could make out was the patterned knit of her scarf, all blue and gold and violet and yellow. It tickled his nose and scratched at his eyebrows. He felt her fumbling with the long tails at the back of his head and all his senses responded to the challenge before them – to lead Harry through the night without his sight.

"What's this all about?" he asked, his voice abnormally loud to his ears. Her hands slid themselves to his neck and shoulders, caressing, sliding, keeping contact until he felt her settle herself over his lap, knees pressed into the back of the chair on either side of his waist.

"I can't be ugly if you can't see me," she murmured in his ear, her breath so hot and soft along the curve of his ear that he felt any worry about seducing Luna Lovegood burn away from his mind. He wouldn't need to – she seemed to be handling that all quite well…

He made to silence her about the ugly – but then her lips had stolen the words from his mouth and he forget about them, relishing in the fact that she was in his lap and he hadn't done a thing to provoke it. His hands found her hips after tracing up what seemed like miles of endless leg, and he tugged her closer, sure she could feel his reaction quite plainly.

Her hands had been fluttering up and down his arms, plucking at muscle underneath the shirt, rolling the corded bands underneath her fingertips like she was kneading bread dough. With his sight gone, the dancing prickles of her touch were like foghorns blaring an obvious message – that was headed somewhere directly south of where his mind ought to have been – though he was beginning to believe that it, too, had taken a short vacation just around his trouser region. The fabric along her hips was satiny and warm, and he traced up until his hands were pressed in the small of her back, testing her to find where she moaned, what made her rock in his lap.

She smelled wonderful – something Harry had never before registered… Like sandalwood, and ink, and that defiant female scent that clung to every curve of her body. But he caught wisps of other scents; chocolate on her breath, the slight twang of blood, and Hermione's perfume from the robes…

The fabric under his hands shifted; sliding, and he struggled to follow its path. Bare skin met his wandering hands, and he traced the column of her spine, sending tremors racing through her at his touch. He followed the tremors, following silky skin around until he met ribs and the lush curve of one breast, still hiding behind cotton.

Her mouth moved on his, suddenly more demanding, more insistent that he pay attention to it and not his journey across her midriff. She tasted like something far off and distant – exotic and odd and all together exactly how she should taste – and he focused his mind on learning the curve of her mouth, finding the plush part of her lip that made her groan as he nipped it.

Every shift of her body seemed new to him, every movement sent shock waves reeling along his system; struggled to relay what he already knew – that he wanted Luna and by golly, he was going to have her.

Her hands were fumbling with the buttons on his shirt again, and as he followed her arms down, he found her hands quaking quite hard as she attempted to undo a button. He relieved her of her duty, releasing the catches as her hands fought past them, smoothing over his chest and down his stomach.

And it tickled.

Breaking their kiss, he gave a shuttering laugh as he trapped her hands with his own. She shifted on his lap, trying to twist her hands free and he let them – as a minor explosion had suddenly rocked his body. This blind thing – it definitely awoke new reactions in him, that was for certain.

She tugged the shirt down his shoulders and he leaned forward, surprised when his mouth contacted solidly with the wall of her chest. His arms, now freed from Luna's stint with his shirt, twined around her frame and pressed her closer so he could follow the warm skin. He found her collarbone, and the hollow in between – which made her twist insanely if you kissed it just right…

He found a strap in his way and he pushed it down her arm, aware that her hands were back on his arms, bracing herself against his onslaught. As he followed the hindering material, she suddenly surged away from him, voice suddenly against his ear once again.

"Now, now… This was for your benefit, not mine! Now, if you would, please sit back and behave." A firm hand on his chest pushed him backwards against the chair and he felt the weight shift again, then disappear entirely.

Not now, he thought, desperately wishing that she wouldn't forget him.

She hadn't forgotten him however, which was made apparent as a tickle was felt along his naval and then the pants were pulled clear from his body. And then her weight was back and he felt that he could sing the Hallelujah chorus if he didn't sound like a demented bullfrog when he attempted melody.

He found her hips again, dragging her as close as he could. There was something infuriating about the distance still between them and he growled low in his throat, attempting to tug her even closer.

She seemed to be forcing herself closer still and he could hear her breathing, as though amplified to his ears; heavy and harsh as she dragged in one breath on top of another. His lips were learning the set of her jaw, discovering the spot below her ear that made her moan, teasing her until she bucked on his lap in frustration.

"Come, now. This isn't what I had in mind at all," she whined into his ear, hands trying to dissuade his own, which were fumbling for the catch to her bra. It finally gave, and with a groan of anticipation, he removed it gently, following the lengths of her arms, around elbows and over flustered hands. "This isn't fair!"

But as his hands finally found their goal, she shushed, and nicely. He explored in his newfound darkness and was captivated by the results. She was as putty in his hands; shifting minutely and seeming awaken and quiver under his unyielding touch. Her mouth was murmuring random bits of thoughts into his ear, the breath slipping by in short, quick gasps.

It seemed all too soon when she slowed his movements by pressing his hands back to his own chest. Curious as to what would come next, he stilled, trying to discern through the scarf what she was doing. Her weight shifted unexpectedly and he braced himself against the chair, hands grasping the arms so hard that the poor thing gave a whimper of pain.

Then her hands were tugging hesitantly at his boxers, dragging them down over his knees, and he could make out the gentle sound fabric makes as it hits the floor over the sound of his own thunderous breathing.

"Luna, just…please," he broke out as she set herself gingerly back onto his lap, evidently nude now, as was he. She seemed everywhere; her lips were on his shoulder, hands twisting down his arms to loosen his hands from their death-like grip on the chair.

And then she lowered herself with a soft gasp and the world seemed to stand still. Nothing could have made him more aware of the soft curves of her body, now pressed to the hard lines of his own. It was as though his senses were on overload and he could do nothing but observe as one after another, they shut down from the rush building in his head.

All he could hear was his heartbeat in his ears, thundering and skipping beats as she shifted again and again, attempting to drive him mad, he was sure. His nose was filled with the scent of her body, drenched in an exquisite perfume that could never be bottled. All he could taste was her – she had left a heady reminder as she pressed into him the force of her intoxicated with her success at seducing him.

Whatever he had expected at the onset of this night; this was not it. She gave a gasp as he moved beneath her, and he answered it by swallowing it as he slanted his mouth over hers. Again and again they moved, until it was frantically and hectic, trying to reach some unattainable height before tumbling back into the real world where they would pay for the concentrated bout of seduction that had taken place.

She collapsed against his shoulder, chest heaving in time to his own as they foundered in the remained spirals of pleasure and passion. He was attempting to untwist his hands from her hair and failing miserably – the strands clung just as she did to him.

The chair below gave a content little purr and Harry had the odd sensation of falling backwards as it reclined. She followed him down, sprawling against his chest with a warm sound of contentment. Burrowing into his chest, he felt a grin overtake his features, not quite sure why.

"That was…" he attempted in words, failing miserably.

"Beautiful?" she finished, hands finding their way into his own.

"I was thinking more along the lines of ugly," he teased.

"Definitely that too. Definitely ugly."

:fin: