Purple
Ginny stood in the middle of the spacious shower in the locker room after practice with the Hollyhead Harpies. The hot water ran down her little body, leaving juicy drops that rolled down her slick, warm skin. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly and deeply, listening closely to the sound of her own breath bounce off the tiles and back to her. She reached out in front of herself, her eyes still closed, and gently ran her hands over something in her imagination. Under her small, now wrinkled fingers, Ginny could almost feel the hard shapes on Harry's chest and stomach where his toned muscles were visible. She imagined him in front of her in that tiny cubicle of a shower, the hot water covering his head and godly body, making his unruly black hair slowly sink and become plastered to his head, holding her hand softly in his large, overworked ones and playing with her fingers before slamming her into the cold wall, knocking the breath out of her. She imagined her chest heaving as he thrust into her, making her slide up and down on the wall slightly, holding onto him and screaming. Her hand gently made her way to her nipple, then her fingers started to slowly inch their way down her flat stomach…
"Ginny?" A female voice ran through the tiled room. Ginny jerked her hand away from her tummy and instinctively turned to the entrance to the shower section.
"Yeah?" She asked when she didn't see anyone there.
"It's Mindy. Come on out already the rest of us are ready to celebrate!" The voice asked as a young, thin girl with short blonde hair and pretty blue eyes appeared in Ginny's line of sight.
"Oh, right. Coming." She said, hiding her disappointment as she turned the brass knobs to turn the shower off.
Harry was sitting on a hard wooden bench among about a hundred other Auror hopefuls, vaguely listening to a boring lecture about vampires being given by a short bald man in old navy blue robes. He had a slow, droning voice, like molasses. Harry's elbows were on the rough desk in front of him, the grains of the old wood irritating his skin, and his face was in his hands. He looked ahead and thought of the delightful curves of Ginny's body; the way her ankles gently eased up to her sculpted calves and then to her hard thighs, the sharp incline from her beautiful hips to her tiny waist, which then flared out gracefully to her ribs. Harry was sure that had he been born with more artistic ability, he would be able to sculpt Ginny's entire body from memory. He could bring up in his mind a perfectly accurate image of her, from the shape of each swollen breast to every individual freckle running across her nose. He pictured her lying on her back on one of the long desks he was sitting at, the whole hall empty except for the two of them, that devilish little look in her eye glinting in the light from the torches that illuminated the room before he gave her everything she could ever want to be satisfied. He could almost feel her firm breast in his hand, that hard little nipple in his mouth…
"Mr. Potter. Perhaps you can tell us why a dragon claw would be a useful thing to take along on a vampire hunt?"
Ginny sat quietly on the heavily cushioned armchair in her and Harry's flat, twirling a glass of wine in her hand. She was wearing a silk robe with nothing underneath, her hair was let loose and was gently falling over her shoulders, breasts, and back, and her eyes had a touch of black makeup around the rims, just like Harry liked them.
Finally, she heard a small click as the door was unlocked. She stared at it intently, an intense expression in her eye. Finally, Harry marched through the door. His strides were long and purposeful and his eyes were full to the brim of animalistic lust. Their eyes latched onto each other, emotions exploding like fireworks between them, and without a word Harry threw off his cloak with the urgency of a man running for his life and ran at Ginny. As soon as he could manage, his arms were around her waist, pulling at the silk belt holding her robe together as Ginny ran her hands through his hair until she found two good handfuls to hold onto as they kissed deeply and passionately. Harry picked up his girl and she wrapped her legs around his waist, grinding her crotch into the space just below his bellybutton, moaning as he carried her into the bedroom, where he dumped her roughly onto the bed and started throwing off his clothes like they caused him great physical pain. Ginny sat on the bed, panting, her legs spread, and waiting for her man. She watched him savagely as he pulled off his robes, taking in every detail of the godly figure in front of her. She undid the robe and pulled it off of herself just in time to have Harry jump on the bed violently plant his lips on hers as two things between their legs joined like two puzzle pieces. The sex was wet, and crazy, and loud. There was no enjoyment of the moment as there was that day in the park; they simply went at each other with all the combined forces of their bodies, thrusting sharply and deeply, kissing each other's lips, necks, anything their lips could find. Ginny moaned deeply under him, the type of moan that can only be elicited by the greatest, rawest pleasure achievable, and Harry responded likewise. He was going crazy with the pleasure, he didn't know anything except that Ginny was there and he was going to get what every man needs from her. Ginny eyes were shut tight, she was closed in her own raging, fast world of pleasure, filled with lighting and the color purple and fireworks and the warmth of firewhiskey and the feeling of freefall and laughter and vulnerability and the purest adrenaline known to man. A storm was brewing in that world, and it threatened to build until it overflowed but she just kept adding to the pressure with her hard, fast strokes against Harry's body, throwing herself over the edge, allowing the storm to boil over as something warm spurted from Harry and coated her insides.
The two lay side by side, exhausted, panting from the rough sex. Harry held Ginny tightly as she lay limp on the bed, the covers still beneath them. They were coated in a thin film of sweat, but it didn't stop the deep, electrifying love from getting through.
Their love was rarely this beautiful and deep a shade of purple. Raw, animal, but sophisticated, it expressed love without any tenderness, because sometimes love isn't tender or sweet. Sometimes it is the ripping of fabric as lovers try to get to each other's bodies, in an attempt to reach each other's souls.