Title: Luna Lovegood and the Very Naughty Stories
Author: emiime
Characters: Luna Lovegood, with mentions of Harry/Draco, Harry/Ron, Cedric/Oliver, Percy/Oliver, Percy/Cedric, Remus/Cedric, Remus/Oliver, Remus/Bill, Remus/Charlie, Remus/Percy, Remus/Fred, Remus/George, Remus/Ron, and Remus/Kingsley…whew.
Rating: R
Warnings: The pairings list is a bit frightful—if you can get past that I think you can handle this.
Kinks chosen: Gay men. (And how.)
Word Count: 1613
Summary: Luna is a writer, and good writers take inspiration from their daily lives.
Author's notes: Oh, come on. You know you've considered this, too. …No? Just me? …All right, then. I'll just be here in my corner. Originally posted to LJ on 5/9/07.



Luna was used to seeing things that no one else saw and believing things that no one else believed. And while her stories might not exactly have been nonfiction, they were certainly possible, after all. Luna had always believed that there were very few things that were absolutely impossible (and one could usually find a way around those things). And, she had always maintained, just because others couldn't see something didn't mean it wasn't there.

Like with Harry, for example. He was certainly one of Luna's most versatile subjects, and was also one of the costars of the very first of those stories that she ever wrote.

He'd been arguing with Draco Malfoy in the corridor—hardly an unusual occurrence—and each boy was red-faced and shouting. Harry's glasses had slipped down his nose and he shoved them back up with an annoyed huff. Draco's perfect hair had fallen into his eyes, and he pushed it back as he leaned forward and shouted horrid things at Harry.

They really were a picture, the two of them, and Luna's imagination began to wander, as it liked to do.

Later that night, after she finished the essays set by Sprout and McGonagall, Luna took up her quill once again along with the spare bit of parchment she had left. She sucked on the end of the quill for a moment, recalling how Harry and Draco had looked that afternoon in the corridor. Such passion!

Luna smiled to herself and began to write.

***

It wasn't long at all before Luna had moved from scraps of parchment to a fat notebook that she charmed to open only at her password, in case it got stolen as her things tended to do. She carried the notebook everywhere she went—inspiration might strike at any time, after all, and Luna liked to be prepared.

Inspiration struck daily.

Sometimes it was just a small thing, like when Luna saw Harry and Ronald whispering together at breakfast. That inspired the first story she ever wrote about the pair, "Best Mates, Secret Lovers".

And sometimes inspiration struck in a much bigger, more blatant way. The boys on the Quidditch teams certainly did like to smack each other on the arse when they won their matches. Luna was particularly fond of her story arc which described—in vivid and necessary detail—a certain locker room tradition which she imagined had been handed down through the years.

(Luna had heard the rumours about Oliver Wood and Cedric Diggory, of course. Stories like that never died. And Luna thought privately that the two of them would have made rather a handsome couple. Of course, she had also heard rumours regarding Oliver and one of Ronald's older brothers, the speccy one called Percy, and the ones about Percy and Cedric, as well—oh, all right, she'd made that last one up, but the very idea of it did provide her with her first really steamy story, "Private Party in the Prefect's Bath".)

But Luna's writing really blossomed during her seventh year. That was the year that Professor Remus J. Lupin (and Luna loved to write out his full name, as evidenced in her story "The Many Loves of Professor Remus J. Lupin") came back to teach at Hogwarts.

Luna had a stack of notebooks by then, all filled with stories written in handwriting that gradually matured, with vocabulary to match. (Oh, how Luna had thrilled and shivered and grinned the first time she had penned the word cock!)

Sometimes she flipped through an old notebook (sometimes even in class, but never in Professor Lupin's class) and reread her old stories, pleased with how her writing had improved in the past couple of years. And she was forever jotting down ideas, sometimes stopping in the middle of a corridor to do so, and getting jostled and called Loony by other students for her trouble.

Luna didn't care, though. She was a writer. And she loved it.

***

Professor Remus J. Lupin had a lot of sex.

He could have been celibate in his private life, but in Luna's mind, he was decidedly the opposite. He slept only with men (as did all the men and boys about whom she wrote—Luna was fascinated with the mechanics and the philosophy of gay sex) but he certainly found himself plenty of partners in the male half of the wizarding population.

In Luna's stories, Professor Lupin slept with both his students and his coworkers. Luna paired him with everyone she could think of. The man was versatile, moreso than Harry had ever been. He fucked and was fucked and sucked and was sucked in nearly every combination Luna could think of (excepting a few that were just really unpleasant to consider). Luna even dug into her archives when she needed inspiration, to find potential partners she mayn't have considered—Cedric Diggory would have looked so very pretty with his cheeks flushed red and his lips wrapped around Professor Lupin's cock, and from what Luna could surmise, Oliver Wood had never been much of a student, and might very well have had to go to Professor Lupin for extra lessons.

Professor Lupin had dalliances with each and every Weasley brother, though Luna was disappointed in the stories where she paired him with Bill and with Charlie—the lack of decent characterisation really bothered her, since she knew next to nothing about the two eldest Weasley siblings.

But all in all, Luna was happy with her stories, especially since she'd realised how very sexy, extremely shaggable, and downright fanciable Professor Lupin was. Not that she fancied him herself, specially as she definitely believed that he was gay, but she saw how any young man who was even just a little bit bent easily could.

***

Luna breezed her way through her last year of school, happily scribbling her suppositions, still mostly centred on Professor Lupin (though she did like to revert to some of her older pairings now and then) until a stormy Sunday morning in April, when she was wandering about the castle in search of inspiration (Luna always saved Sunday mornings purely for writing) and happened to pass by Professor Lupin's classroom.

If there was one thing that always inspired Luna, it was seeing Professor Lupin, and so Luna thought she might see if he was in his office, as he sometimes was of a Sunday, and then see if he wanted a bit of a chat.

Luna entered the empty classroom and made her way through the rows of desks towards Professor Lupin's office door. Light shone through the crack at the bottom of the door, yellow-bright in the dim classroom. And there was music coming from inside the office, one of the funny old Muggle jazz records that Professor Lupin fancied.

Luna marched up to the door, which was open just a bit. She grabbed the knob and opened it wide, knocking as she did so, grinning cheerily.

"Pro—fessor!" Luna's eyes went wider than usual, and her mouth fell into a little o, and she stood stock-still in the doorway, one hand still gripping the knob, as a large, half-naked black man stood, wiping his mouth, nearly obstructing the sight of Professor Lupin hastily fastening his trousers.

"Who are you?" the stranger asked, and Luna put her hands on her hips.

"I'm Luna Lovegood," she replied, "Who are you?"

The man smiled, showing a row of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. "I might have known," he chuckled, "Miss Lovegood, of course. I'm—"

"Kingsley," came Professor Lupin's voice then, and his thin white hand came into view, grabbing the doorframe, and then the rest of him. The man called Kingsley—Luna was fairly certain she'd seen him somewhere before, come to think of it—moved out of the way at the professor's touch.

"I won't tell anyone," said Luna, breathlessly, before Professor Lupin could say a word.

Professor Lupin smiled, but his eyes were wary.

"I won't," said Luna, "I can keep a secret." And she said it so solemnly, so earnestly, that Professor Lupin must have believed her, because after a short, serious discussion (in which Luna admired Kingsley's bare chest until Professor Lupin admonished him to put on a damned shirt), several more promises on Luna's part, and an appointment for tea and a chat next Sunday, Luna found herself back in her dormitory, snug in her bed with her favourite quilt wrapped around her, scribbling away in her notebook.

She paused once or twice, but no more than that, and then only to speculate on things like the size of Kingsley's cock (huge), whether Professor Lupin was top or bottom (bottom, usually), and whether they had pet names for each other (Professor Lupin called Kingsley Kings, but Kingsley only ever called Professor Lupin Remus).

When Luna had finished her story, certain it was her best work yet (thanks to Professor Lupin and Kingsley and their inspiration), she closed the notebook with a satisfied snap and tucked it under her pillow, laid her quill on her bedside table, and stared dreamily at the dark blue canopy of her bed.

After a moment, she shifted and brought her hand between her legs, nudging her knickers aside.

Writing took a lot out of a girl, after all. Luna may have been a Ravenclaw, but that didn't mean she didn't know how to relax.

And besides, with such constant inspiration—

Luna smiled and closed her eyes, imagining her professor moaning loudly enough to be heard above the music, remembering how Kingsley had swiped the back of his hand across his mouth as he stood.