Fic: "Naked-Eye Viewing"
Title: Naked-Eye Viewing
Ship: Draco/Ginny
Rating: R
Summary: Draco tries his hand at seeing the future.
A/N: How can I possibly write Draco/Ginny when I haven't, really, seriously, for months? Apparently, late nights and The Fader's "No Sleep 2Nite" will do it. Feedback is LOVE!
You speak in tongues, you read my mind
I'd give it all to see a sign
but you're taking forever
time stands still and you stay one step closer away
~ One Step Closer Away, Finger Eleven
She turned her head away from his seeking lips.
"What is it?" he asked, astonished.
She shook her head wordlessly. Her hair moved against the skin of his hands, brushing against his cheek, the texture unbelievably soft and silky. He reached out to capture a strand, to curl it around his fingers, to tug at it teasingly, but she evaded him again. This time, the move to put distance between them was obvious.
"Gin."
"I'm not someone you can use to sleep at night," she said quietly and very gently, meeting his eyes.
The space yawned between them, widening deeper in the night. She was so still he had to strain to see her, his eyes still momentarily blinded from the too-sudden extinguishing of bright light, but all his senses, carefully attuned and straining to see her, slowly revealed the gleam of pale moonlight on her bare shoulder. The room was so dim, so inky black, and she was the only thing illuminated. His eyes were drawn to her; his world had narrowed down to a scope that was focused tight on her. Her and her red hair, the freckles on that soft skin that looked like alabaster in the white light from the window, the seriousness of her face...He was only distantly aware that he felt surprise.
"I never--" he began.
Ginny cut him off gently with the hard look in her clear brown eyes. "I know. I know." And she sighed.
He was suddenly impatient. He needed her, dammit, he needed this. She was taking it away. The peace, the pleasure, the pause from pain. Draco sucked in a breath loudly.
"What happened," he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"What happened? Something must have happened. You were fine last night." He studied her critically. No, she looked the same. He met her gaze intently and said meaningfully, full of the confidence of his aristocratic upbringing, "You wanted me last night."
She blushed. "I did."
She still wanted him. It was obvious. It was so obvious.
"Ginny," Draco said persuasively.
True, he had a long way to go in controlling his temper and mastering Occlumency, and it was also true that he wasn't as quick with a wand as Potter. But this, this he was good at. Little boys raised to believe they could have anything they wanted either suffered traumatic realizations later on that that was not in fact true, or they went on blissfully ignorant of any other reality, or they accepted the truth, dispensed with their ignorance and sought to acquire everything they did want. Draco belonged to the third category. He meant to get what he wanted. A seducer was so much more effective than a blackmailer, or--and this had taken a while for him to learn--a bully, or a debater. He knew this, he knew how to do this. Assured, confident once more, he reached out.
He touched her, rough-padded thumb circling the bone at her ankle. Ginny didn't flinch or pull away or frown at him, but her eyes were unreadable. He thought perhaps he saw some of the heat there, from before, but he couldn't be sure. His hand closed around her ankle and slid up her leg. Draco leaned forward and moved his lips to the side of her neck. Her skin was cool and cold, but he could feel her warming beneath his palm.
"I have a thousand reasons," Ginny whispered, so loud in his ear. As he drew back to look at her, she said, "I made a list of a thousand reasons why not."
"Why not?" He kissed her.
His hand was flat against the side of her face, his thumb pressed to the top of her delicate jawbone, inches below her ear, hooking in there and holding her face to meet him. His tongue slipped between their open mouths and touched hers; he absorbed her body's shiver with his own. Lips, lips, Ginny's lips. Soft, pliant, generous. His other hand sprawled at her spine, and he felt like they were swaying slightly together, sitting on the motel bed.
He increased the pressure, coaxing, drawing her out. Patience, he counseled.
He broke away, a hot whisper in her ear, “Come on. Come on, Gin.”
He ran both his thumbs down the graceful arc of her neck as she bowed her head forward, letting her hair fall to hide her face. Still guarded.
Draco frowned against her skin and moved his mouth up to the edge of her ear, nipping lightly as his hands flattened beneath the curve of her breasts. He fit a finger to the hollow at her throat, feeling the quick, uneven staccato, reveling silently in the gasp that ghosted across his face, so close to hers. His other hand fell down to her knee, moving her legs, other hand threading his fingers through her hair.
“Maybe…maybe afterwards. After…this.”
She made no move to leave, but there was no effort to reciprocate. There was no give, no flexibility. Draco saw the hollows of her cheeks. He stared unblinkingly at her, aching.
After this. After agendas and plans, coded letters, invisibility cloaks and dirty motels on the side. After this, he would like to take her someplace clean. He wouldn’t feel so grimy, wouldn’t have the day’s sweat on him. It would be September by then, hopefully, it all went well and as planned if luck would have it, it would be September then. The planets would be out and bright, some of them achieving their best visibility so that a telescope wouldn’t be needed. The moon would not be a sliver, but a quarter moon. He could see her clearly, every curve, every freckle, the scars from Quidditch, from tumbles, other things. There would be a warm wind. There wouldn’t be this hard bed and harder floor. He would take her outside, down to the grounds. The grass would be soft and smelling sweet of dew. She would lie down in the tall grass and he would spread his hands over her. He would look at her, admire her, see everything so clearly. He would trace the planets on her body.
Floorboards creaked, something disturbing the stillness.
Ginny jumped, breaking eye contact, sliding back off the bed in a rush of pale, shaking limbs. The panic and fear was momentary, only fleeting, but he saw the change in her face and recognized it for what it was. For a moment, he couldn't believe it. Not Ginny. Not his Ginny, who was Gryffindor, so brave, almost reckless, who always scared him so badly. She wasn't afraid, she didn't look like the other witches and wizards who scurried through the empty streets, speeding up at any shifting shadow.
"Dammit." He scrambled to his feet, the soles of his feet cold on the stone floor as he strode over to the door. His toes dug into the dirty cracks between the stones as he listened. "No one's there," he said at last, turning away.
But Ginny had turned away from him again. Her slender fingers were nervously working the buttons of her shirt back in its hole, fluttering over the shirt. She dragged the jeans over her hips much more quickly, running a hand through her hair. She grabbed her wand, stuck it in her back pocket, glanced around the room quickly. She moved hurriedly to the door, and she passed very, very near him.
He was standing naked in the cold, just in front of the door, far from the bed, next to her. He didn't make the mistake of reaching for her again.
Ship: Draco/Ginny
Rating: R
Summary: Draco tries his hand at seeing the future.
A/N: How can I possibly write Draco/Ginny when I haven't, really, seriously, for months? Apparently, late nights and The Fader's "No Sleep 2Nite" will do it. Feedback is LOVE!
You speak in tongues, you read my mind
I'd give it all to see a sign
but you're taking forever
time stands still and you stay one step closer away
~ One Step Closer Away, Finger Eleven
She turned her head away from his seeking lips.
"What is it?" he asked, astonished.
She shook her head wordlessly. Her hair moved against the skin of his hands, brushing against his cheek, the texture unbelievably soft and silky. He reached out to capture a strand, to curl it around his fingers, to tug at it teasingly, but she evaded him again. This time, the move to put distance between them was obvious.
"Gin."
"I'm not someone you can use to sleep at night," she said quietly and very gently, meeting his eyes.
The space yawned between them, widening deeper in the night. She was so still he had to strain to see her, his eyes still momentarily blinded from the too-sudden extinguishing of bright light, but all his senses, carefully attuned and straining to see her, slowly revealed the gleam of pale moonlight on her bare shoulder. The room was so dim, so inky black, and she was the only thing illuminated. His eyes were drawn to her; his world had narrowed down to a scope that was focused tight on her. Her and her red hair, the freckles on that soft skin that looked like alabaster in the white light from the window, the seriousness of her face...He was only distantly aware that he felt surprise.
"I never--" he began.
Ginny cut him off gently with the hard look in her clear brown eyes. "I know. I know." And she sighed.
He was suddenly impatient. He needed her, dammit, he needed this. She was taking it away. The peace, the pleasure, the pause from pain. Draco sucked in a breath loudly.
"What happened," he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"What happened? Something must have happened. You were fine last night." He studied her critically. No, she looked the same. He met her gaze intently and said meaningfully, full of the confidence of his aristocratic upbringing, "You wanted me last night."
She blushed. "I did."
She still wanted him. It was obvious. It was so obvious.
"Ginny," Draco said persuasively.
True, he had a long way to go in controlling his temper and mastering Occlumency, and it was also true that he wasn't as quick with a wand as Potter. But this, this he was good at. Little boys raised to believe they could have anything they wanted either suffered traumatic realizations later on that that was not in fact true, or they went on blissfully ignorant of any other reality, or they accepted the truth, dispensed with their ignorance and sought to acquire everything they did want. Draco belonged to the third category. He meant to get what he wanted. A seducer was so much more effective than a blackmailer, or--and this had taken a while for him to learn--a bully, or a debater. He knew this, he knew how to do this. Assured, confident once more, he reached out.
He touched her, rough-padded thumb circling the bone at her ankle. Ginny didn't flinch or pull away or frown at him, but her eyes were unreadable. He thought perhaps he saw some of the heat there, from before, but he couldn't be sure. His hand closed around her ankle and slid up her leg. Draco leaned forward and moved his lips to the side of her neck. Her skin was cool and cold, but he could feel her warming beneath his palm.
"I have a thousand reasons," Ginny whispered, so loud in his ear. As he drew back to look at her, she said, "I made a list of a thousand reasons why not."
"Why not?" He kissed her.
His hand was flat against the side of her face, his thumb pressed to the top of her delicate jawbone, inches below her ear, hooking in there and holding her face to meet him. His tongue slipped between their open mouths and touched hers; he absorbed her body's shiver with his own. Lips, lips, Ginny's lips. Soft, pliant, generous. His other hand sprawled at her spine, and he felt like they were swaying slightly together, sitting on the motel bed.
He increased the pressure, coaxing, drawing her out. Patience, he counseled.
He broke away, a hot whisper in her ear, “Come on. Come on, Gin.”
He ran both his thumbs down the graceful arc of her neck as she bowed her head forward, letting her hair fall to hide her face. Still guarded.
Draco frowned against her skin and moved his mouth up to the edge of her ear, nipping lightly as his hands flattened beneath the curve of her breasts. He fit a finger to the hollow at her throat, feeling the quick, uneven staccato, reveling silently in the gasp that ghosted across his face, so close to hers. His other hand fell down to her knee, moving her legs, other hand threading his fingers through her hair.
“Maybe…maybe afterwards. After…this.”
She made no move to leave, but there was no effort to reciprocate. There was no give, no flexibility. Draco saw the hollows of her cheeks. He stared unblinkingly at her, aching.
After this. After agendas and plans, coded letters, invisibility cloaks and dirty motels on the side. After this, he would like to take her someplace clean. He wouldn’t feel so grimy, wouldn’t have the day’s sweat on him. It would be September by then, hopefully, it all went well and as planned if luck would have it, it would be September then. The planets would be out and bright, some of them achieving their best visibility so that a telescope wouldn’t be needed. The moon would not be a sliver, but a quarter moon. He could see her clearly, every curve, every freckle, the scars from Quidditch, from tumbles, other things. There would be a warm wind. There wouldn’t be this hard bed and harder floor. He would take her outside, down to the grounds. The grass would be soft and smelling sweet of dew. She would lie down in the tall grass and he would spread his hands over her. He would look at her, admire her, see everything so clearly. He would trace the planets on her body.
Floorboards creaked, something disturbing the stillness.
Ginny jumped, breaking eye contact, sliding back off the bed in a rush of pale, shaking limbs. The panic and fear was momentary, only fleeting, but he saw the change in her face and recognized it for what it was. For a moment, he couldn't believe it. Not Ginny. Not his Ginny, who was Gryffindor, so brave, almost reckless, who always scared him so badly. She wasn't afraid, she didn't look like the other witches and wizards who scurried through the empty streets, speeding up at any shifting shadow.
"Dammit." He scrambled to his feet, the soles of his feet cold on the stone floor as he strode over to the door. His toes dug into the dirty cracks between the stones as he listened. "No one's there," he said at last, turning away.
But Ginny had turned away from him again. Her slender fingers were nervously working the buttons of her shirt back in its hole, fluttering over the shirt. She dragged the jeans over her hips much more quickly, running a hand through her hair. She grabbed her wand, stuck it in her back pocket, glanced around the room quickly. She moved hurriedly to the door, and she passed very, very near him.
He was standing naked in the cold, just in front of the door, far from the bed, next to her. He didn't make the mistake of reaching for her again.