Author's Notes: I was very happy to pinch-hit for almond_joyz’s story. She’s been on my flist for a long time, and I’ve never had the opportunity to write for her. She had many intriguing prompts, but the one that stood out for me was this one: Harry finds Ginny's tattoo. This would be a great art thing… possibly hidden with a glamor charm and he finds it on her shoulder blade…
Since stick figures don’t have shoulder blades, I decided I’d better write some smut rather than attempt a drawing. I hope you like it, almond_joyz! Thanks to Sherylyn and flyingcarpet for the beta!
“And Jones has caught the Snitch! That’s another win for the Harpies!”
Harry leapt to his feet and cheered with the rest of the crowd. Finally. Now he could have Ginny all to himself.
His smile slipped when he watched Ginny fly toward her teammates for a victory hug. While he was happy the Harpies had won, he knew that the post-game hoopla was going to take forever. There were already reporters on the pitch jostling for interviews. Then the coaches would want to go over the match with the players. And—
His heart sank. Someone would suggest a quick celebratory drink at the pub.
He began to shoulder his way through the crowd. Ginny would go to the pub, of course. She was a team player. He would go, too — even though the anticipation of a weekend alone with Ginny was killing him.
By the time he had reached the pitch, he had resigned himself to the inevitable. A few more hours was nothing compared to the weeks they had spent apart.
He peered through the crowd and caught sight of Ginny’s bright hair, blazing red in the clear spring sunlight. As if she had some sort of magical radar, she turned and caught his eye. His heart leaped as she smiled at him. Then she continued to talk to the reporter as if nothing had happened.
Harry edged closer, never taking his eyes off her. It had been a rough match for her. Her hair was coming out of her plait, and it looked like someone had almost ripped the sleeve right off her uniform.
“Harry!” Now free of the reporter, Ginny rushed over to him and threw herself into his arms.
His only reply was to hold her tightly and bury his face in her hair. She smelled so good — like fresh air and flowers and the unique smell that was all Ginny. Desire rose in him, immediate and urgent. God, he wanted her.
Still holding her, he pulled back and looked into her upturned face. “Hi.”
“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” she asked with a knowing gleam in her eye.
“If I kiss you now, I’ll end up ripping the rest of this uniform off.” He frowned at the delicate white skin of her shoulder. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
“Nah,” Ginny scoffed. “The seam gave way when I got tangled up with the Arrows’ Chaser.”
“And it’s split down the back.” Harry turned her so he could see the damage. The rip in the green material exposed part of her shoulder, but the rest of her was covered. He touched a small smudge on her shoulder blade. “I think you’re getting a bruise.”
“It’s all right, Harry.” Ginny whirled around so he couldn’t examine her back. “I’m not hurt.”
“Then what is that on your shoulder bl—” He gaped at her as he realized what it was. “You did it, didn’t you? You got a tattoo?”
She giggled and tell-tale colour ran up her face. “Maybe.”
“Look, Harry, I have to go. Gwenog is calling us.”
“Wait.” He grabbed her wrist. “Tell me. What is it? What did you decide?”
She giggled again and stood on her tiptoes so she could whisper in his ear. “The Golden Snitch. It reminds me of you when I’m alone in bed.” Her breath tickled his ear and travelled through his body, rendering him instantly hard.
He stood rooted to the spot as she sprinted toward the locker rooms. Ginny had a tattoo.
A Golden Snitch tattoo — with soft, fluttering wings.
Harry grappled with the implications. Like so many things in the Wizarding world, a magical tattoo had different properties than a tattoo in the Muggle world. Matching tattoos could be used to communicate, like the Death Eaters did with the Dark Mark. Or tattoos could scroll like a ticker tape, spelling out just what was so wonderful about Mum or the Chudley Cannons or a girlfriend. Then there were the Dark tattoos of snakes or dragons or other monsters that would bite if you grabbed a Dark wizard’s arm. As an Auror, Harry hated those.
But Ginny had been talking for months about a Touch Tattoo — a tattoo that could move about the body, but only she could feel it.
Only she could feel it when she was alone in bed.
Harry’s mind raced as he imagined Ginny lying nude, with her eyes closed as something soft and fluttery skated over her breasts, circling her nipples until they were pink and pointed. Then the tattoo would dip into her naval, making her giggle and shiver all at the same time. And then…
“Harry, we’re off to the pub.” Ginny was at his elbow, smiling up at him. Her hair was brushed smooth and shiny and she was wearing that soft blue jumper he liked.
Still dazed by this latest fantasy, he could only stare at her and wonder where that tattoo was now.
“It’s still on my shoulder blade,” Ginny said, reading his mind. “I keep it there most of the time so it won’t distract me.”
He let out a deep breath. Thank Merlin he was wearing wizard’s robes. “Just one drink, okay?”
She laughed and took his arm to steer him to the pub. “Harry, you should see your face.”
“You know what? I don’t want to see my face.” He stopped walking so he had her full attention. “I want to see your face when that tattoo starts working its way to your—”
“God, Harry, would you stop? I’m feeling randy enough as it is.”
“Good,” he said, letting some of the frustration he was feeling spill out in his voice. “I’m glad.”
“You’re glad?” Her eyes flashed with annoyance. “Why?”
“Because when I finally get you in my bed you’re going to go off like a rocket and I’m going to be there to watch and then we’ll—”
“Why are we talking about this?” She dug her nails into his arm.
He put his hand on her waist and pulled her to him. “Because it gets you hot, and it gets me hot, and I can’t think of anything else right now.”
They stood in the empty stadium with their bodies pressed together, breathing hard.
“Sod the pub.” Ginny took out her wand. “We’re going.”
Before Harry could say a word, she had Side-Along Apparated him into his own bedroom at Grimmauld Place.
“Would you give me some warning before you do that?” He dizzily pushed his glasses up his nose.
“I thought I did.” Ginny bounced on the bed. “Clean sheets?”
He smiled. “Of course. I knew you were free this weekend.”
“I’ve trained you well.”
“Um.” He didn’t want to talk about sheets. “We were talking about your tattoo.” He sat next to her, itching to pull up that sweet little cropped jumper and see the Snitch come to life.
“Right. My tattoo.”
He put his hand under the hem of her jumper and rested it on her flat stomach. “Do you like your tattoo?”
“Uh-huh.” Her eyes were shiny. “It’s moving now.”
“Do you want to play a game?”
Did he want to play a game? His pulse leaped. “Er — yeah.”
“All you have to do,” Ginny said huskily, “is follow it.”
The tattoo was by her eyebrow. A tiny thing — no bigger than his thumbnail. But the miniscule wings were drawn with exquisite detail. He stared at it, fascinated. “Follow it?”
“With your mouth.”
He groaned. This was going to be exquisite torture — for both of them.
He kissed her eyebrow, then the corner of her mouth, and then he lingered on her lips while she kissed him back. When he broke away, the Snitch was gone.
She smiled at his confusion. “Just wait.”
It was on her neck. He kissed her there and she shivered. Then it dipped below her jumper.
That was his cue.
He tugged the jumper over her head, leaving her in a pretty, lacy, white bra. “Beautiful,” he muttered. The Snitch was nestled in her cleavage lightly brushing the soft flesh there. He gladly followed.
“Harry.” She tangled her hands in his hair. He could hear the beating of her heart.
She didn’t answer because the Snitch dove under her bra.
From the way she was breathing, Harry guessed that the Snitch was doing exactly what he had imagined earlier. His hands fumbled on the front clasp of that pretty, mocking bit of white lace. “Gah. It’s like trying to open a tin of beans with my fingernails.”
“You’re so romantic.” Ginny laughed and did something mysterious so that that the bra fell open. “Do these look like beans to you?”
“God, no.” Her breasts looked like heaven on earth to him. And that wily Snitch was circling one pink nipple over and over again.
Instead of following the Snitch, he licked her other nipple.
She gasped. “It’s like—”
She didn’t need to say it and he didn’t have to say it for her. What she must be feeling… He closed his lips on the spongy flesh and tried to angle his head so he could see her face, but it didn’t work. She was already pushing him away. “Too much.”
“Your tattoo’s not listening.”
Ginny batted it toward the neutral area of her ribs. “It’s not as good as you are.”
Pride swelled in his chest even as he wondered at himself. Had he been jealous of a tattoo?
Ginny smiled provocatively and put his hand on her thigh. “I might not have a tin of them, but I do have a bean.”
He laughed. Another cue as to what she wanted and delivered in that naughty way only Ginny could get away with. He tugged on the waistband of her jeans, ready to undress her.
The Snitch was way ahead of him — he watched it drop below her navel and disappear.
“Tell it to wait for me.” Harry ripped off his robes as fast as he could.
Ginny laughed at his impatience and slowly finished peeling off her jeans. Her knickers followed.
To Harry’s surprise the Snitch — the stupid Snitch — had not honed in on the wonderful soft place between her legs. Instead, it was tickling her under her knee. “What’s it doing down there?”
She laughed and spread out on the bed with her glorious red hair fanned out on the pillow. Then she kicked her foot in his direction. “Waiting for you.”
He caught her ankle and wondered how long his self-control was going to last.
The Snitch was travelling up her inner thigh, just where he wanted to go. With his fingers he mimicked the Snitch’s light touch on her other thigh. Ginny’s eyelashes fluttered shut and her lips parted and she gave herself over to the sensations.
As much as he wanted to watch the flush of passion steal up her chest and infuse her face, with colour, he was not going to let a magical tattoo give Ginny her release.
He wanted to give her that.
Ginny reflexively ground her hips into the mattress when she felt his mouth on her inner flesh. “Harry!”
He didn’t know where that tattoo was and he didn’t care. No tattoo could do what he was doing, or taste what he tasted, or delve deep enough to give her what she wanted.
Her hands were in his hair again and she was bucking against his face and shuddering her release. When she quieted, he looked up over the peaks and valleys of her beautiful body and met her still-hungry eyes. She was ready for more — and so was he.
She blindly pulled on his shoulders so that he would move up. He kissed her mouth and then, with a satisfied groan, entered her.
“Yesss…” she hissed into his shoulder, “…what I’ve been missing.”
What he had been missing.
His thoughts lost all coherence as he buried himself inside of her — again and again — until it was impossible to hold back.
He stilled and used his last bit of strength to collapse on the bed and not on top of her. She kissed him then and held him close to her.
After several long moments, she broke the silence. “So what do you think of my tattoo?”
“It’s brilliant.” Harry put his hand on her hip. “But I’m glad it got lost at the end there.”
She smiled and ruffled his hair. “Silly. It’s not lost. It’s still on my shoulder blade. I didn’t want to be distracted from you so I sent it back.”
“Really? I thought—” He didn’t know what he thought.
“Harry, something like a Touch Tattoo isn’t—” She stopped.
“I don’t know if I can explain it.” She absently touched his shoulder. “Just because my tattoo can make me feel good doesn’t change anything.” She blushed. “I mean, my hand can make me feel good. But there’s no substitute — I mean. I want the experience with you — not just the good feelings.” She smiled suddenly. “I want to have my bra compared to a tin of beans.”
He laughed and pulled her close. “I’m an idiot.”
“No, you’re not. You don’t like to share.”
He tightened his hold on her. How did she know?
“I don’t like to share, either,” she whispered. “My tattoo is a reminder of you.”
He let that sink in — she was his and he was hers. It was that simple.
She stretched and seductively rubbed against him. “So when are you going to get that Hungarian Horntail on your chest?”
“A Guard Tattoo? I’m an Auror. I think I can protect myself.”
She touched his bum and then she trailed her hand to his front. “Are you sure?”
“Uh-huh.” With her touching him like that, he never wanted to be protected.
“What about a Touch Tattoo?”
He was hard again and it felt wonderful. “I don’t think a Hungarian Horntail has soft hands like yours.”
“No?” She continued stroking him.
“And it’s a dragon. They’re bloody scary.”
She giggled and bent down to take him in her mouth.
“Oh!” He took a deep breath and looked down at her. He could see the Snitch fluttering on her shoulder blade. Ginny should be getting some pleasure. He touched the delicate wings, wondering if he could nudge it elsewhere on Ginny’s body.
It stayed put.
Ginny took her mouth off of him and glared. “I’m perfectly happy like this, thank you very much.”
“Oh.” He grinned and let his head fall back on the pillow. “So am I. Perfectly happy without a tattoo.”
She had stopped pleasuring him all together. “But think of the fun I’d have fighting a dragon to get at you.”
He held out his arms. “Come here. As good as that feels, it’s too soon anyway.”
Ginny complied and draped herself across his chest. “So you don’t want a tattoo?”
Now it was dawning on him that Ginny was trying to tell him something. “Do you want me to have a tattoo?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” She rubbed her cheek on his shoulder. “Maybe it would be nice to leave my mark on you.”
He touched her hair. If she only knew. “You already have. You’re under my skin more than a Touch Tattoo could ever be.”
She lifted her head and looked into his eyes.
Her eyes darkened with emotion.
“I don’t tell you that enough, do I?” He felt terrible — Ginny should always know how he felt about her. “Sorry.”
“No, you do tell me,” she said quickly. “In your own way.” She smiled at him tenderly. “Especially when you’re trying to open tins of beans.”
He groaned. “You’re never going to let me forget that are you?”
“No.” She giggled. “I have a tattoo to remind me.”