Less Than Normal
Author's note: This is fluff, written at the request of a friend of mine. I apologize in advance for its lameness.
It started out as sex.
"Good sex," amends Ginny, every time she hears him say this. As though it will make a difference.
He loves it when she says this. His grey eyes soften, he can't help but slip an arm around her or pull him toward her for a kiss. He can very rarely help himself from it. She has that affect on him. She always has.
After that, they developed into making Harry jealous.
"I didn't. You did," she says accusingly. He shrugs non committingly. He'll never admit that he cares, that he's proud that she's his and not his enemy's.
They developed in to making Lucius and Narcissa furious.
"Now that was fun," he admitted, smiling at the memory. Ginny thought of all the colours Lucius Malfoy's face had turned the day he'd discovered his only son entangled with a blood traitor atop his bed, her red hair spread widly over black silk sheets.
Then came the terrifying realization that they were in love, and that Harry was nothing more than a distant memory.
"Most terrifying day of my life," she said, smiling sideways at him.
"You? For God's sake woman, it was a perfect situation for you. Wealth, prestige, a good name..."
"Arrogance..."
"That too."
"Too? It's all I see..." she skirts away as he lunges for her.
"Shut up, we're telling a story."
The wedding was a few months later.
"That should have been scary. It really wasn't."
"Maybe because instead of doing the scary church wedding with your parents we ran off and got eloped before they could stop us?" suggested Ginny.
"Or because I was in love with you?" suggested Draco.
"Was? And you're trying waaay too hard to get laid, blondie," she teased.
"Like I have to try."
Smiling, though she knows she should have be offended, Ginny moves in to kiss him.
He smiles too as she moves her head onto his shoulder and rests, motionless for once.
"That's a pretty interesting story, for people who've been together for only a couple of years," she admits.
"Two years, three months, six days and five hours," he says slowly.
"You would know." She pauses, looks up at him. His grey eyes are not on her for once but ahead of him, staring into the distance. "I like that you know."
For the second time, he moves his lips down to meet hers, but this time she doesn't break away. She swings her leg around until she's straddling him, and they fall back onto the bed once more. His arms slowly wind around her, thinking of how in love he is with her. How much he wants her every time he sees her. The way she talks back to him, and won't accept his crap, and is always completely herself. Even in the bedroom, where so many women have lied to him with high pitched moans and exagerated sighs.
But with his hands on her, she found no need to exagerate.
"I love this bed," she murmurs, as she she fingers the silken sheets, still breathless, still desiring.
"I love you. In my bed."
"I love you anywhere," she promises.
"And I'm the cheesy one..."
"It's not your fault. I tend to have that affect on men."
"Men? In general?"
"Well, two men. More. You know we never finished telling our story."
"No one was here to listen to it," he reminds her. She smiles.
"But we were just getting to the good part. After the jealousy and the mad parents and all that."
"What's part's that?" he asks, anticipating her answer.
"The part where we live happily ever after."
The End