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said_scarlett) wrote2007-08-18 12:33 am
said_scarlett) wrote2007-08-18 12:33 am
Entry tags:
Fic: The Risen Stars and Fallen Cling to Her; Neville/Luna; R
Look it's Luna porn! Just like I promised. :D Title comes from 'The Rite of Luna'.
Title: The Risen Stars and Fallen Cling to Her
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Neville/Luna
Rating: Hard R
Word Count: 751
Spoilers: Minor DH spoilers
Summary: Luna was made of stars, a dream made flesh... all Neville wanted was to be her hero.
Luna moved like she was dancing. Her hips swayed and her arms swung and she stepped as though there were music. Watching her, Neville found herself humming, as though he could hear the tune. Luna was pale in the moonlight and bright in the sunlight and there were mysteries in her eyes.
Neville sometimes felt like he didn’t understand her. But that was alright, because she was Luna, and Luna was something no man could fully understand. It would be like trying to comprehend why drops of dew in a spider’s web were so beautiful. And it was alright because Luna understood him.
“I’m not a hero,” he’d said to her, after the war was won. After so many shoulder claps and hugs and toasts that he thought his head would burst, after she’d taken his hand and led him out into the moonlight.
“You’re a Gryffindor,” Luna had responded. And she had kissed him and whispered that he was her hero, and being Luna’s hero was better than being everyone’s. He was only one of many, after all, no more or less a hero than anyone else.
Her lips had tasted like butterbeer.
When Luna kissed him, Neville couldn’t explain what it felt like. It was like kissing a star. Her lips were thin and soft. Her body was lean and lithe, and he felt like sometimes he would break her if he held her too hard.
But Luna was stronger than that.
She’d done more than just kiss him, that night after the end of the war. She’d led him into the darkness, into a quiet private place, and she’d kissed him again and again and whispered snatches of strange and foreign poetry. And her hair had been soft on his face, and her hands small on his skin. And when she’d stepped away and dropped her skirt, Neville had feared he’d faint. Her legs were smooth and pale and small, and she wore nothing under her skirt. He could see all of her, white and gleaming and mysterious.
She called him her hero. She laid him down in the moonlight and her hair trailed across him and she touched him in ways that made his blood boil. And he had stuttered and blushed and been afraid, because he’d never been with a woman, and Luna was more than a woman. Luna was a goddess, Artemis in the flesh.
She deserved a crown of stars.
Neville remembered the feel of her finger on his lips, stilling his apologies. He wasn’t good enough for her. He didn’t know what he was doing. She’d placed his hands on her breasts and smiled, and he had been too worried to move. But her skin had felt warm under his hands.
But what he remembered most, even more than the feel of her sliding onto him, taking him into her, was the way her pale eyes reflected the moon. Silver and fathomless. He had lost himself in her eyes even as he lost himself in her body and her small noise when he entered her.
They’d both come to their forest bed virgins.
Luna had smiled and rocked her hips and traced patterns on Neville’s chest, and even then she moved like she was dancing. But Neville didn’t hum. He gasped and groaned and he’d held her slender hips. He’d felt things more strongly than ever before that night.
The hem of her shirt had tickled.
Luna was slick and smooth, her small breasts bobbing gently as she rocked. There were stars in the hollow of her throat. Neville had touched her, her breasts, her small hard nipples, the tangle of pale curls between her legs. He’d touched her and he’d bit his bottom lip and flushed red when he climaxed, and Luna had still only smiled, the full moon reflected in her eyes.
Every time she touched him, it was like touching the night sky. They made love in his bed, but Luna kept the shades up, letting in the light. They made love at night, in the morning, in the afternoon. They held hands in Diagon Alley, Neville followed after her when she went searching for sanwirrel blossoms, and when she smiled his heart sang.
Because Luna was a dream in flesh, an ancient goddess of things Neville would understand. Luna was magic and mystery, and she glowed in the sun and gleamed in the shade….
But Luna was best in his arms, bathed by the rays of the stars and moon.
Title: The Risen Stars and Fallen Cling to Her
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Neville/Luna
Rating: Hard R
Word Count: 751
Spoilers: Minor DH spoilers
Summary: Luna was made of stars, a dream made flesh... all Neville wanted was to be her hero.
Luna moved like she was dancing. Her hips swayed and her arms swung and she stepped as though there were music. Watching her, Neville found herself humming, as though he could hear the tune. Luna was pale in the moonlight and bright in the sunlight and there were mysteries in her eyes.
Neville sometimes felt like he didn’t understand her. But that was alright, because she was Luna, and Luna was something no man could fully understand. It would be like trying to comprehend why drops of dew in a spider’s web were so beautiful. And it was alright because Luna understood him.
“I’m not a hero,” he’d said to her, after the war was won. After so many shoulder claps and hugs and toasts that he thought his head would burst, after she’d taken his hand and led him out into the moonlight.
“You’re a Gryffindor,” Luna had responded. And she had kissed him and whispered that he was her hero, and being Luna’s hero was better than being everyone’s. He was only one of many, after all, no more or less a hero than anyone else.
Her lips had tasted like butterbeer.
When Luna kissed him, Neville couldn’t explain what it felt like. It was like kissing a star. Her lips were thin and soft. Her body was lean and lithe, and he felt like sometimes he would break her if he held her too hard.
But Luna was stronger than that.
She’d done more than just kiss him, that night after the end of the war. She’d led him into the darkness, into a quiet private place, and she’d kissed him again and again and whispered snatches of strange and foreign poetry. And her hair had been soft on his face, and her hands small on his skin. And when she’d stepped away and dropped her skirt, Neville had feared he’d faint. Her legs were smooth and pale and small, and she wore nothing under her skirt. He could see all of her, white and gleaming and mysterious.
She called him her hero. She laid him down in the moonlight and her hair trailed across him and she touched him in ways that made his blood boil. And he had stuttered and blushed and been afraid, because he’d never been with a woman, and Luna was more than a woman. Luna was a goddess, Artemis in the flesh.
She deserved a crown of stars.
Neville remembered the feel of her finger on his lips, stilling his apologies. He wasn’t good enough for her. He didn’t know what he was doing. She’d placed his hands on her breasts and smiled, and he had been too worried to move. But her skin had felt warm under his hands.
But what he remembered most, even more than the feel of her sliding onto him, taking him into her, was the way her pale eyes reflected the moon. Silver and fathomless. He had lost himself in her eyes even as he lost himself in her body and her small noise when he entered her.
They’d both come to their forest bed virgins.
Luna had smiled and rocked her hips and traced patterns on Neville’s chest, and even then she moved like she was dancing. But Neville didn’t hum. He gasped and groaned and he’d held her slender hips. He’d felt things more strongly than ever before that night.
The hem of her shirt had tickled.
Luna was slick and smooth, her small breasts bobbing gently as she rocked. There were stars in the hollow of her throat. Neville had touched her, her breasts, her small hard nipples, the tangle of pale curls between her legs. He’d touched her and he’d bit his bottom lip and flushed red when he climaxed, and Luna had still only smiled, the full moon reflected in her eyes.
Every time she touched him, it was like touching the night sky. They made love in his bed, but Luna kept the shades up, letting in the light. They made love at night, in the morning, in the afternoon. They held hands in Diagon Alley, Neville followed after her when she went searching for sanwirrel blossoms, and when she smiled his heart sang.
Because Luna was a dream in flesh, an ancient goddess of things Neville would understand. Luna was magic and mystery, and she glowed in the sun and gleamed in the shade….
But Luna was best in his arms, bathed by the rays of the stars and moon.