?

Log in

Anna Fantasium [userpic]
Smut: Post-DH, Pre-Friday.
by Anna Fantasium (fantasium)
at July 25th, 2007 (08:46 am)
sleepy

smuttiness: sleepy


Author: Miss Fantasium
Title: The Pursuit of her Picture
Theme: This week be non-themed, I see.
Pairing: - is inspired by DH, yes.
Rating: R
Warnings: Experimental use of paint - do not try this at home!
Word Count: 1282 (look, look, I can write short stories too!)
Additional Notes: Bewareth of some small but very significant DH spoilers!



“Don’t move.”

He doesn’t. Perfectly still, he lies on his back in her bed, eyes closed to the first signs of dawn. The familiar thunder of the printing press is beating from downstairs, and yet he clearly hears the click as she removes the lid from a bottle of paint. The smell reaches him after a few seconds; it reminds him of daffodils and he recognises it as her yellow colour. She makes it herself after a recipe of her mother’s and it is, supposedly, all-natural and easily Vanishable. For him, she only picks the brightest colours. Sometimes they come off at the wave of a wand, and sometimes he has to scrub at her creations for days. But he doesn’t care. If she wants a human canvas, he’ll gladly be one.

And right now she does, it seems. Her fingertips are on his ankles, sprinkling them with stars and other, hitherto unknown, celestial bodies. Every touch of yellow sends a shiver up his legs, his stomach, his heart. It is impossible to keep completely still, so he opens his eyes.

She’s half-lying there, next to him, in the morning light. Her face is close to his feet, lips pouting in concentration as her index finger traces the tail of a comet up to his knee. She’s beautiful - so pale, so passionate about her work. He has tried to draw her face a thousand times, but it never comes out quite right. She’s an enigma, an ever-changing mystery that entices every intangible inch of his artist’s soul. He wants to capture her picture, but knows in his heart that he never fully will. It doesn’t matter; the pursuit of it is pleasure enough to keep him satisfied forever.

“What are you painting?”

“A galaxy. I dreamed of it, and wanted to see it on your body.”

He smiles at that, and she smiles back. With her, everything is utter honesty. No pretence, no fallacies, and never any inhibitions. Suddenly, he recalls the first time he saw her like this, skin aglow in the shadows of her circular room, naked, bare; nothing but Luna. He had swallowed and swallowed, nervous and shaking and unsure of what to do with himself under her steady gaze. His hands had seemed too big for her slender body; she looked brittle and soft and he had thought for sure that he would hurt her. But he didn’t. She had stilled his anxious trembling with kisses, light and fleeting like the brush of butterfly wings against his skin, and with only a little guidance he had soon begun to discover the hidden corners of her flesh. She had shivered in response, gasped and moaned. Frightened, he had tried to hush her so that Mr Lovegood wouldn’t hear, but she had only smiled at that. Don’t worry, she had said, daddy would be more concerned if we were quiet.” He chuckles at the memory, his heart full of fondness for the wizard he hopes will one day be his father in law.

“What’s making you so happy?” she asks, tucking her hair behind her left ear, highlighting it with streaks of yellow. She leans over his leg to reach the table on the other side of the bed, blurring the outline of a planet with her breast as she reaches for the cornflower blue.

“You,” he answers, simply and truthfully.

Joy is in her large yes, and she hands him the blue bottle before choosing the light violet for herself. He accepts it, and contemplates for a moment what he could create with blue paint and cream skin. It’s not a difficult challenge, he finds, as eagles and hippogriffs and dragons start to climb the sky from her toes to her thighs. Meanwhile, purple aliens are skipping and swirling between the yellow stars, gathering in wonder around his navel. Luna is sitting up now, extending her creation to his chest as he begins to lose control. A thestral is left unfinished at her waist as his hand continues up her back. His need for her is so sudden; from one heartbeat to the next she has transformed from living silk to a woman, and hot lust thrashes through his limbs. His voice is thick with emotion as he speaks to her.

“Luna…”

“Dean?”

“Will you come to me?”

“Yes.”

She replaces the lids on the bottles, carefully wipes her hands on the sheets before straddling him. Gently she steers him and he closes his eyes so that he is oblivious to all but her touch. She sits perfectly still for a few moments, letting her body rejoice at their connection and enjoying the feeling as he grows harder, deep inside of her. Her hands are on his chest, his chin, the soft insides of his upper arms, and he breathes deeply.

When he dares to open his eyes again, she begins to move on top of him, her pace steady yet unpredictable. But she is too far away; he reaches for her, needs her closer, needs her whole body against his. Luna’s hair falls like flaxen curtains around his face as she leans into his embrace, and she’s light as a phoenix feather. His right hand finds a passage to her cheek and he gently brings her close enough to kiss, to graze lips over her nose, her eyelids, her smooth forehead. She buries her fingers in the stiff curls of his hair, and tugs a little as she wills her body to tighten around him.

He gasps and pulls her closer yet, and in a smooth motion he rolls over on his side, still deep within her. They kiss, they touch, their legs entwine and eagles and hippogriffs take flight in the new galaxy, soon to be mounted by thrilled aliens. Everything is a blur of colour and heat and fantasies fulfilled, and Dean can only think of how he worships her, how perfect she is.

She comes as the half-thestral merges with the golden tail of the comet, and grips at his shoulders as if she fears that he might leave her. But he won’t. He will never, ever leave her, and proves it by thrusting deeper into her warmth, elated by how she squeezes, how she hugs him. Some heartbeats later she speaks an inaudible word of affection into his ear, and he can do naught but let go, shout and tremble and thank all gods and heavenly creatures for letting him be here with her.

His arms are still wrapped safely around her when the sounds of the printing press grow louder than their unsteady breathing. She curls up close to him, head at his collarbone, and her kisses are cool on his chest. As the sun rises she wanders back into the galaxies of her dreams, and her every breath is a small breeze against his skin.

He lies awake for a little longer, trying, as always, to come to terms with his unbelievably good fortune. Calmly, his gaze travels over the peculiar and wonderfully familiar interior of Luna’s room. He still doesn’t know what half of her possessions are for, but he treasures them all because they belong to her, remind him of her. Six beautiful portraits decorate the ceiling. Dean smiles at the one of himself; if that is how Luna perceives him, he knew that he will someday dare to ask her to be his. To the left hang the paintings of Harry and Ginny, and to the right are the ones of Ron, Hermione and Neville. Together they make a perfect circle of people who cares for Luna - a circle of people who have suffered, persisted and survived.

Comments

Posted by: Nephthys ♥ Rockstar Goddess! (nephthysmoon)
Posted at: July 25th, 2007 12:46 pm (UTC)
We Want

Aw, Anna, that was so good! YAY for the revival of Smut Friday!

Posted by: Anna Fantasium (fantasium)
Posted at: July 25th, 2007 06:08 pm (UTC)
Random - In the Gutter

:D Thanks, Kasey dear! Though - revival of Smut Friday? No, I don't think it will be properly alive until it gets some Harry/Viktor. Mwhahahhaa!

*giggles*

11 Read Comments