Author's Note: This is a tie-in to Hard Day - Harder Night. Same vein - different couple.
PLEASE!! Let me know what you think! I have never written Ron and Luna before. Well, as I smile mischievously, never like this.
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The trip home was beautiful. Deepening shades of rose, amber and violet streaked the sky. High cirrus clouds marbled the colours of the sunset into another form of breath-taking.
Riding side-saddle was a personal preference - no matter how many times he said how unsafe it was. Silly boy - didn't he know that I enjoy having him grab my waist and assist me down from my perch? Silly boy - don't you know that I am perfectly capable of lowing myself down from a seventeen-hand steed and that I love the way you are such a gentleman with me?
My riding habit fell heavily around my legs as I slid down and off the animal's back. Reaching into a hidden pocket, I pulled out what I know Guilford had smelt since we left Daddy's. A nice juicy blood apple was eaten by my very grateful, well travelled Thestral.
Looking beyond the animal's neck, I could not help but take in the sight of the setting sun one more time. The scarlet hues were so like his uniform.
Coming up the front walk, I pushed open the door and let it close softly behind me. Looking down, a trail of clothes led from the foyer, to the parlour, to the kitchen. That is where my silly boy got his snack. I can tell because that is where his boxers pooled on top of his boots. Water still dripped from the faucet and the remains of soap duds dangled from the shut-off - right where my silly boy washed his hands before eating his snack. A plate with nothing but crumbs was the host for two empty mead bottles.
The smell of a different kind of soap and the sound of running water told me where I would find him.
Ambling across the first level, past the fireplace, I had no need to hurry. He loves to take long, hot showers. Set up on the sideboard was a lovely array of cheese, fruit and wine. Smiling at the image of a grimy, tired, but no longer hungry husband make an attempt at seduction was truly touching. Silly boy - don't you know that I do not need seducing? If anything, you should be taking a daily Fortifying Spell. Between your occupation and our passions, you need it!
The door to the loo was wide open. Men are always like that. Even the most introverted male has an inner exhibitionist. They love to pee with the door open, shower with the door open and strip off their shirts when manual labour calls and walk around in their underpants. When I tried to explain that to him, he sputtered.
Leaning against the door frame, the vapours of scent infused steam were strong. I took in deep, full, breaths. Listening to the water fall, I can tell what you are doing, my love. The hollowish sound is you turning around; I can see the water coursing down your back, down over your arse, trailing down your well shaped legs. A squawk of nine and a half stone male against marble tells me you almost fell. The sound of you talking to the shower alcove, admonishing it for almost making you fall makes me laugh. Silly boy.
A different kind of water sound tells me you are washing your hair. How many times have I told you how much I like the fact that you keep it a little long. Running my own hand through my own locks, I can remember the day I banished you to the couch when you came home, drunk on victory and sporting a Muggle-inspired Mohawk. Didn't take you long to figure out how to re-grow it, did you my silly boy? Tracing the patterns that billowed and ebbed across the ceiling from the steam with my eyes, I remember someone being late because he wanted to make up for lost time - our make-up love-making session lasted well past neigh, didn't it my love?
The clunking sound of soap being put up on the shelf told me that I had been patient enough.
Slipping the knots free of the frogging that kept my habit together, I let each layer I wore fall to the floor. Stepping out of the mound of clothes only when I was naked, I approached the alcove. My hand hovered on the outside edge of the curtain, my fingers furled around the fabric. The humidity in the lavatory began to rise.
The sound of water hitting something solid over and over again told me what a hard day my love had endured. If he felt the need to stand there, turning up the temperature of the water incrementally as he stayed motionless underneath the cascade made me glad that I skived off my evening appointments.
Stepping carefully in to the shower alcove, his big, hard body was turned away from me, His arms were outstretched and his fingers were curled, it was as if he was trying to gather great handfuls of stone into the palms of his hands. One knee was bent and the other flexed flat on the hot-cool marble floor. His back was red from the hot water and chunks of wet hair were falling forward, hiding his face. If the Thinking Man took a shower, this is what he would look like.
There was enough residual spray to work up a good lather with his recently abandoned bar of soap. Keeping the bar of soap in one of my hands, I stepped forward.
The instant my hands touched his beautifully sculpted back, he tensed. The moment he realized whose arms were wrapping around his waist and massaging every square inch of husband-flesh with soap and love, he sagged against me. My love knows how much I love the feel of my breasts cushioning his breadth. Silly boy - who else would intrude on your private time and make you feel like this?
I felt him hitch his breathing and hiss his arousal. After all - a wife knows when her husband is turned on, soapy fingers squeezing and stroking the length of his impressive hardness as she rolls and pulls on his nipples. She should know what pleases her love.
A low growl grumbled up from his broad chest as a sly smile tugged at my lips.
He has turned. He has fixed those blue eyes of his on mime and they are not letting me go. Even when my back hits the warmed wall of the shower alcove, they are still focused on me. He pulls the soap from my hand and rolls it between his own big, calloused hands.
He lathers me thoroughly, paying special attention to all the places that make me gasp and moan. After all, a husband and lover should know what I like - shouldn't he? After all - I have schooled him well in sating my needs. After all - how would he know if I didn't tell him?
I comb his sopping wet hair away from his face with my fingers. I want to see this. I want to see the possessive gleam that comes over those orbs as he fixes both of my hands over my head. The look of strain as he holds himself back and keeps himself from completion as he pushes and pulls himself in and out of my body. The utter abandon that takes place when he hoists me up, letting me wrap my long legs around his waist as he takes us both on the joyride of love as we lose ourselves in each others souls.
Never do we break contact. Never do we waiver. It has always been like that, from the first time, to now and far into the future. As long as we are together, it will always be like this. And well it should be - don't you think?
Gasping for breath, he looks up at me. He pulls my arms down and drapes them around his neck. One foot falls to the floor, the other he caresses from the indent behind my knee to the tender flesh that covers the inside of my thigh. My own face, I can feel my eyes being heavy lidded and I am grateful for his strong shoulders because my arms feel weak now that the day's tension no longer resides in my bones. Already, I can feel a certain need growing in the back of my heart. I know he can see it too as his eyes widen with awareness of my next intensions.
"Blimey Luna - you are going to be the death of me!" His chest is heaving with evidence of his recent exertion. He was himself again - the ugly day he had no longer hung in the long limbs of my love's body and or was heavy in his heart. I can tell - after all we share the same heart, the same soul, the same love, and the same passions.
Sliding a finger down his face, I have nothing but love and lust in my eyes.
"Silly Ronald - don't you know you kindle the life in me?"