"Tidal," Dean/Luna, NC-17 Title: Tidal Author: green_amber Pairing: Luna/Dean Warnings: DH SPOILERS. Both characters are in their late teens. Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 1420 Summary: They were gathering driftwood for Fleur's fire when it happened. Notes: Inspired by the scene in DH where Dean and Luna come in from collecting driftwood and are all wet; Dean's acting sort of awkward and Luna's going on about Snorkacks. This is a rather naughty interpretation of what may or may not have happened just before that scene... :)
They were gathering driftwood for Fleur's fire when it happened. Or rather, Dean was gathering driftwood and Luna was skipping merrily along the beach that lay in the shadow of the cliffs, picking up random seashells from time to time and holding them to her ear. Her bare feet left prints scattered among the shells, zigzagging here and there in the sand.
"Er, Luna..."
"Yes?"
"This may sound like a silly question, but what are you doing with those shells? I mean, we're at the beach; you can hear the ocean, the real one, without them..."
The ocean was even louder than usual, in fact; Dean could smell a storm in the air, and the sky was low and heavy with clouds over the churning water. He could just make out the moon, an amorphous glow behind a mass of thunderheads.
Luna whirled around, laughing, the wind whipping her long pale hair across her face. "I'm not listening for the ocean, silly. Haven't you ever heard of the Candid Conch?"
The Candid Conch? "Don't suppose I have."
"It's very hard to find," she explained. "But if you do find it, it'll tell you all sorts of secrets. The meaning of life, that sort of thing."
"Oh," said Dean, not sure what to say, and a moment later a drop of water landed on his nose with a splat. "I think it's starting to rain. Maybe we'd better head back up to the house."
"Are you kidding?" Luna looked up at the sky with what Dean could only describe as rapture. She lifted her arms heavenward and executed several rather wobbly pirouettes in the sand. "Don't you know it's good luck to catch raindrops on your tongue?" She did, too, sticking out the pink tip of her tongue to taste the rain, still dancing.
It was falling harder now, and the water was soaking Luna's white sundress so that it clung to her, and between that and her beatific expression, Dean couldn't stop looking at her. He'd always thought she was pretty, and he'd been noticing it more on the heels of the realization that she was possibly the kindest person he'd ever met. Tonight it was more than noticing. It was...well, it was more like a punch to the gut.
"Luna...has anyone ever told you you're...well, you're quite pretty, you know."
Her smile was bloody brilliant as she ran to him, arms outstretched. "Thank you, Dean! You're sweet."
He barely had time to toss the armload of driftwood onto the ground before she wrapped him in a hug that nearly knocked the breath out of him. He noticed, then, that he seemed to have put his own arms around her without thinking, and that his hands were just a thin sodden layer of cotton from her skin. There were only two choices, really: he could be a gentleman and pull away and go back up to the cottage, or he could kiss her.
Dean didn't much feel like being a gentleman at the moment.
Luna's lips tasted like rain; her hair between his fingers was damp and seemed to have a mind of its own, pulling him down like seaweed, like undertow. Her tongue darted between his lips, blessing him with whatever luck she'd drunk from the sky.
"That was nice," she said when they surfaced for air. "Nobody's ever snogged me before."
Dean's first impulse was guilt; what if she didn't want her first kiss to be in a rainstorm, in the middle of a war, with a boy she barely knew? The second thought that came to him is, Are all the blokes at Hogwarts stark mad? Then he remembered how a few short weeks ago he was among the mad, too. "Their loss," he muttered as he kissed her again.
The rain was chilly on his back, but he was warm where his body was pressed against hers, and her hands seemed almost to scald as they roamed over his face, his shoulders, his arms. He caressed her neck, his fingers slick with rain. Her pulse was quick, urgent, beating in syncopation with the waves that lapped the sand.
Then Luna's fingers were undoing his zipper, fumbling with his pants, then hot and curious on his cock; it was the last thing he would have expected from a girl who'd just announced she'd never been kissed before. This might be a good time to decide to be a gentleman, Dean thought, but sensation drowned thought and he moaned, pressing hard into her hands.
"Was that a good sound or a bad sound?" she asked.
"Good," he managed to say as he bit his lip, tasted blood. He had to stop this; he was going to lose it, and Luna couldn't know what she was getting into. He took a step back, which was about the most difficult thing for him to do just then, and scooped her up in his arms. She laughed, drinking in more rain, and he laid her gently on the sand.
Dean pushed Luna's dress up above her waist and pulled down her knickers, which were wet with rainwater and probably not just that, and crouched down to taste the clean salt of her.
"That's nice, Dean," she said. "It's even better than what I do to myself."
Dean groaned and moved a hand to his cock, rubbing it in the hopes of damping down his desire but only making it worse.
"Oh," said Luna. "Do most people not do that? Is it weird? I do a lot of weird things..."
"'S not weird," Dean said, his voice coming out husky and broken. "It's just, most people don't talk about it."
"Is it all right, if I do talk about it?"
"It's turning me on like you wouldn't believe," he said, and buried his face again between her thighs, laving the hard nub of her clit. The waves were higher now, licking at his skin and hers, and every time they subsided he could hear little noises coming from Luna, little noises that made the ache in his cock worse.
"Dean, I think I'm going to..."
Luna arched, her sentence lost in a low wordless keening, and Dean could feel her thighs trembling against his shoulders, her hands clenched in his hair.
"Are we going to have sex now?" she asked when she'd caught her breath. "I've always wondered what that was like."
It took all of Dean's self-control to answer, "No."
"But why not?"
"I haven't got any...any protection with me, and besides, you've never done it before; it might hurt."
"Then at least let me touch you," she said. "I want you to feel good, too."
Then Luna's hands were on him again, hot and eager. The rain wasn't helping like he might have expected; it was the wrong kind of friction and it almost hurt until Luna slicked her hands with the bead of moisture at the head of his cock, smoothing the slippery fluid over him. "Yes," he moaned, thrusting against her palms in rhythm with her movements, forgetting the rivulets that ran down his face, the way his shirt was pasted to his back. His orgasm came like a wave, rolling in slowly, inexorably, breaking in an obliterating rush.
"The wood's all soaked," Luna observed as they clambered to their feet and straightened their clothes. "And they'll be expecting us by now."
She charmed it dry and they gathered it into their arms and climbed back up the cliffs in the downpour, and it was only as Dean stepped under Shell Cottage's eaves, out of the rain, that he realized they probably should have cast a drying charm on themselves as well. He laughed, feeling at ease for the first time in ages, and met Luna's eyes, wide and dreaming, silvered in the moonlight that filtered through the clouds. She was smiling. He didn't want this to be an isolated interlude, he realized; he wanted to know more about this strange, oddly delightful girl.
"So, tell me," he said. "What is a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, anyway?"