Seduction Breeds
by Nina
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter I would be busy accidentally spilling plot secrets to my fans.
Dedication: This goes to Cassie, who let me borrow her Shakespeare muse. She also read it first and is my best friend and occasional worst enemy. Cassie, this is for you.
Beta: Sioniann. If I could give you a thousand dollars, I would. Sadly, I have no money.
Her lips on his lips, searching for something, something she had not found in Michael or in Dean: some kind of primeval want that went beyond rights and wrongs and sense. Words were echoing through her head, 'it's your move… completely illegal…'
Suddenly hands were on skin. Hands on lips and searching the concaves above her hips, the part of her that still looked pre-pubescent, her body a vast terrain of whiteness and bruises. Ron could draw a picture of her in only a few strokes; he could draw a picture on her stomach. Her breathing was short and quick, her flesh a desert of goose bumps, valleys between her ribs and in the shadows pooling on her skin. She was beautiful, fragmented, porcelain, like the queen on his chessboard. She was only that moment.
Ginny moved her mouth in all of the aftershocks, bucking her hips against him, his skin on her skin, so close they were one word and all passionate syllables. Her eyes were shut tight and her mouth was pulled into a grimace, but slowly it smoothed out and a look of calm fell across her face, her breathing dangerous and ragged and shallow.
(Maybe she knew she could only have him until Hermione began sleeping on the cot again like she said she would during their late night conversations.)
Ron and Ginny were entwined and exploring, and Ron observed that everything was skin as far as he could see, his lips running over pearls of sweat.
Pearls. Everything about Ginny was pearls, beads of sweat, and delicate, whimpering orgasms.
(He held her arms and her translucent wrists were maps, blue and purple roads and streets leading into her palm and up her arms. She pressed into him again.)
They stopped, their stickiness and Ginny's slightly bloodstained thighs the only indicator, their clothes slowly put back on, their minds slowly migrating to other topics. 'White moves first.' The impulse ricocheted through her, the need to fall together again, the want to rock slowly to sleep with him inside her; the memory of his moans and the evident hurt coursing through her when he didn't say her name. He had whispered "Hermione" under his breath, though a few times "Gin…" had begun to form on his lips.
She was shaking beside him, edges and edges, hipbones sticking out at the top of her skirt, angular and nervous, as if little earthquakes were tearing her apart. (Ginny was well aware that she may have been practice, but by the way she lay with Ron's arms protectively around her middle for what seemed like the space of years, she knew she had put on a good show.)
Her lips were lined with pearls, her brow furrowed. Her back was drenched and her stomach was a forest of goose bumps.
'But you're supposed to play to get there…'
Hermione and Ron left with Harry the day after the encounter, and soon Ginny was receiving owls from Harry signed 'With Love' and filled with hopes that were very uncharacteristic to Harry. But Ginny knew she that couldn't love him anymore.
Because Ginny knew that if she only remembered hard enough, everything would be pearls and low growls and muted shrieks until she opened her eyes again.
In her mind it will always be that summer, herself and Ron, fragmented, for the rest of her life.
—Fin.
A/N: Completed. I'm quite happy with it. Thank you so much to the following people: Katemione, Sioniann, Brando, and Rachel. Without you this fic would not be here. Or anywhere.