Tangled

The red strands of Ginny's hair tangled in with the fine blonde of Luna's own on the pillow between them makes Luna think of blood in pale hair, blood blossoming out and staining her mother's hair a delicate pink as she lay open eyed, staring, on their unevenly tiled kitchen floor. Luna dances her fingers along Ginny's pale hipbone and tries for once not to think about Mummy, but sometimes the quirk of Ginny's red lips remind Luna of her mother's graceful smile, and Luna knows it's odd and wrong to be thinking about her mother whilst she runs her tongue over another girl's collarbone, idly joining freckles with a line of cooling saliva, but after all, Luna's always been odd and wrong.

That's because of her mother, of course, and Luna sometimes admires the circular patterns of thoughts the way you would a painting or sculpture, art, but then thoughts are art, to Luna, winding and wandering with lines and tangents and how they can end up at the same place even after hours. Sometimes Luna vaguely thinks she might be resentful towards her mother, have the right to be at least - if it wasn't for her mother, so like Luna, although of course it's Luna who's like her mother, maybe she'd be different, maybe she'd giggle and gossip with the Normal Girls - but Luna can't muster the energy for resentment, and it would be all tangled up with love - too messy. And anyway, Luna sees life as a series of perfectly timed events, all leading to a certain point that is only attainable by the exact alignment of previous events - so, Luna thinks, if it wasn't for Mummy, and the exact way Luna grew up with her mother, Luna wouldn't be here at this specific point, and for that, at least, she is thankful. Resentment suddenly seems alien - for now, although Luna doesn't always hold with the concept of emotions, she feels she may actually be happy. Here, with red hair tangled in with her own blonde on the pillow, soft brown eyes, dark with pleasure, looking into her - her arms and legs tangled in with warm soft limbs, pale against paler.

Luna knows this isn't the normal order of things; there's contact where there shouldn't be contact, her breasts pressing not into the flatness of a man's smoothly muscled chest but into Ginny's own soft curves, nipples hard soft points that press into Luna's skin and send shiver-crackles of electricity trembling over and through her. She sighs slightly and moves her lips across the delicate paleness of Ginny's neck - she's always disregarded the normal order of things.

Ginny at first seems the type that Luna's attention would skitter over and away from - she's pretty and popular and seemingly exactly like the other people that are so normal they make Luna's teeth hurt - but there's something there, something that pulls at Luna's curious eyes and won't let go, because the more Luna looks the more she sees that Ginny isn't normal, she isn't normal at all - she's on a different plane, level, she's a different race, species, being than those chattering, twittering masses, she rises above them, beautiful and alone, like an eagle above sparrows, and holds Luna in thrall. Something otherworldly has touched Ginny deeply - she is something otherworldly; old ghosts shimmer at her edges as she walks and sometimes Luna can't look at her directly, it hurts. When Ginny rests her head on Luna's shoulder in the dark and tells her story, dropping it silvery whisper after silvery whisper into Luna's ear, it slides as easily as oil over water into perfect place, as if Luna knew all along, because now Luna knows whose life it is when she looks in Ginny's eyes and sees another life flutter there like a trapped hummingbird - threads of his thoughts and emotions clinging stubbornly to the inside of her skull, and they both know he won't ever be fully gone. Sometimes Tom's shadow grows bolder and he wanders right out onto Ginny's face, winding round her eyelashes and tugging down the corners of her mouth - but then Ginny will spike through and the tendrils will retreat in the face of such strength, writhing back down so Ginny, purely Ginny, gleams out pure and in these moments Luna knows that Ginny is beautiful.

She sighs now and wraps an arm about Ginny's waist, pressing their bodies closer and Ginny makes a small noise that flutters in Luna's stomach and makes her press her thigh in between Ginny's. Ginny's eyes squeeze shut as she bears down, folding her leg around Luna's body, ankle sliding against the small of Luna's back, and Luna can't not lead a path of kisses up Ginny's face to kiss those closed eyelids, touching her tongue to the creases of skin at the sides, to the rumpled skin between her eyebrows, and Ginny lets out a shuddering laugh-gasp-moan at the tickle, mouth curving up delightedly. Ginny's emotions are concentrated, as if focused through a lens, so Luna can feel her happiness gleam off her and strike Luna in a beam, bouncing and breaking and dancing over Luna like glittering light over water, and Luna can't help smiling back - she can't seem to help a lot of things, when Ginny's so close as to touch smell taste like this. Then she gasps, and sparkles hover at the edges of her vision as Ginny's fingers go searching, sliding, stroking, and it's her turn to shut her eyes tight before she breaks apart, just dissipates and floats away - and when Ginny kisses her eyelids she can hardly breathe. Then their mouths find each other and it's hot and wet and movement, and where there was stillness and tenderness is rapid movement and desperation, blood roaring in her ears and somewhere amongst the rocking pressing kissing needing gasping wanting having Luna finds herself - in the curve of Ginny's waist, the softness of her jaw, the salt tang of her skin, the red of her hair, in Ginny, in them.