Title: Pensioners' Passion
Author: mindabbles
Characters/Pairings: Ginny/Fleur
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: altered state orgasms
Other Warnings: rimming, oral sex, fingering
Word Count: 3,000
Summary/Description: Ginny needs a little reminder that she ought not to let the idiots set the terms.
Author's Notes: This goes out to magnetic_pole, representing at least two very belated prezzies. I so hope you enjoy it. ♥ THANK YOU to the mods and eeyore9990 for the date switch and to kelly_chambliss for the fabulous beta.



"For Merlin's sake, look at that," Ginny exclaimed.

She grabbed the Daily Prophet from the newsstand and shook it, irritated before she'd even read a word of the article that began with the headline, Passionate Pensioners Propose: Lost Youth Does Not Mean Lost Love as Famous Grandmothers Plan to Wed. "Sodding Rita Skeeter."

"Is she not already dead? Tant pis."

"Doesn't she ever tire of broadcasting her inane opinions about our family?"

"It would appear not."

The photo accompanying the article showed two silver-haired women leaving the very building that Ginny and Fleur had just now left. They had just finished their final meeting with Janice Prendlemain, the woman charged with counselling couples who were soon to marry and issuing the necessary paperwork. She also had a practise counselling troubled couples on how to fix their relationships, and seemed to think this meant she knew everything about everyone. As she began to walk, the bottle in her pocket banged against her thigh. Fresh waves of irritation washed over Ginny.

"Some of my older clients also find this potion useful. Bloody cheek."

"You are allowing idiots to ruin our afternoon, Cherie." Fleur glanced at the photograph. "You look beautiful."

"I look old."

"That does not mean you are not beautiful."

Ginny laced her fingers with Fleur's and gave them a gentle squeeze.

"You have not lost your temper. Sometimes things are not the problem they first seem. For example, we can read this or not, we can choose to care what it says or not, we can give the old viper more to amuse her or not. And this," Fleur purred in her deep voice, patting Ginny's hip where the small bottle sat in her pocket, "could be amusing, could it not? Just because it is accompanied by a comment full of false assumptions does not mean it is rubbish itself."

"No, but it greatly increases the chances."

Fleur laughed affectionately. "You may not be one, but you are sounding like the old curmudgeon Rita accuses you of being."

"You've read it?" Ginny said through gritted teeth.

"And I suggest that you do not."

Ginny heaved a sigh. "Please tell me it at least paints us as wild and risqué, not boring old cows who see the main benefit of being together being able to share our flannel nightdresses."

"As I said, I suggest that you do not read it." Fleur smiled and slid her arm around Ginny's waist. "I'm afraid we have given Ms Skeeter something of a gift." Fleur rubbed her thumb over the chunky silver ring on Ginny's finger.

"Why are we doing this, again?" Ginny asked. After five years together, and at their age, she couldn't remember why getting married had seemed like a good idea. Just because we can was more George's or Charlie's style than hers. "It won't change anything. I want to be clear that I don't need this. It won't change anything."

"We are doing it because we want to. This – that we want to – is more important than Rita funding her retirement cottage in Teneriffe or busy-bodies thinking we are a novelty. And the fact that it will irritate the most idiotic among our kind is but a small benefit."

"Irritating the idiots. I do like the sound of that. So...it's a bit like that we don't need the potion, but it might add a little something," Ginny said, pulling the bottle from her pocket. The delicate glass stopper slid from the mouth of the bottle with a soft scratching sound. It smelled of lavender. "Now, what did she say? This will allow a young couple to envision their life together if they continue on their current path. Ridiculous. It's probably a metaphor or a placebo so she can grill people about what happened and then tell them it's what they want in any case."

"She also said it has a side effect of heightened sexual responsiveness and can be useful for older people who often require such assistance."

"Thank you. I was in danger of forgetting that delightful morsel," said Ginny. "Now stop talking about it or you'll ruin the good mood you've worked me into."

Fleur tapped the newspaper with her wand and it disappeared. "Alors, we shall have none of that. Home?"

*

The small house they had shared for the past two years sat at the edge of a wood, just outside of Falmouth. It had been hard to empty out and close up the house she had shared with Harry, but all of the kids had made their own lives long ago. It would be there if any of them needed it.

The furnishings were a mix of old and new – a dining table that had been Fleur's parents', a bookshelf that had been in The Burrow, and a few things from their lives with Harry and Bill. The sofa was new, a memento of their first Valentine's Day when Fleur had surprised Ginny with a trip to Paris. It had been decades since anyone had done something so flamboyantly romantic for her. Fleur had waved off this fact as Ginny's misfortune for never having had a French lover.

No one, least of all Ginny, would have thought many years ago that she would end up head over heels for Fleur. They had settled into a pleasant enough relationship when the children were young and, as the family changed, saw each other less and less.

Then just over five years ago, they had run into each other in Diagon Alley and gone for lunch, stayed for tea, and then dinner, and then drinks. Perhaps on her way to utterly pissed, Ginny remembers the radiance of Fleur's smile just before she kissed her. Fleur had brought her coffee and brioche the next morning and every morning since.

"'Allo? Cherie, you are still here with me?"

There it was – that radiant smile.

"Always," Ginny said.

Fleur held up two sherry glasses. What was in them was most certainly not sherry. It was a rather violent shade of purple.

"If it can help those who require assistance, imagine what it might do for those who do not."

"This is why I love you."

"Why is that?"

"Because you are willing to drink something that colour and because you always surprise me," Ginny said. She reached to stroke Fleur's silver hair. "Cheers," Ginny said, as her glass connected with Fleur's with a soft, musical clink.

The taste was not unpleasant, something like black currant jam laced with lavender. It was thicker than water, but not slimy and slid down her throat with a pleasant coolness. She closed her eyes and waited.

"Nothing," she said, feeling unaccountably disappointed. She had expected nothing, so she should have nothing to lose. "It's nothing."

"It's true?" Fleur asked, knitting her eyebrows together.

Fleur reached to touch the back of Ginny's hand, and she felt it – a point of light spreading from Fleur's finger. It was not coursing through her veins like other potions, but percolating at her nerve endings. She was aware of the molecules of air hitting her skin. The brush of the hair on her arms in a draft tingled like a caress. The friction of her robes on her skin was nearly unbearable in its intensity.

"It's –" she gasped and stopped at the sight before her.

Fleur stood and shed her silvery silk robes. She was more beautiful than Ginny had ever seen her, and that was no mean feat. Transfixed, Ginny stared. Fleur, who had Ginny's coffee ready in the morning as she stepped from the shower, whose gentle fingers teased the soreness from her feet after a long day, who expected the same from her, and challenged her and pushed her and never let her get away with a bloody thing.

"You are everything." Ginny's voice sounded bright and clear, like a bell, to her own ears. A voice like that brooked no argument.

"Cherie," Fleur said, with an indulgent smile on her face.

"Did you...did you drink it?" Ginny said, breathless at the sensations that spread through her body from the circle Fleur's fingers made on her wrist. Two empty sherry glasses sat side by side on the table.

"This is, I think, something to share?" Fleur said. Her voice was even, but her eyes were unnaturally bright.

I—" Ginny began, and her words were lost to Fleur's kiss.

Fleur trailed her hand down Ginny's arm, whispering a spell in French, and Ginny's robes pooled at her feet in one smooth motion. Every nerve ending hummed with the pressure of Fleur's warm body against hers. Fleur was all curves, soft hills and valleys for Ginny's hands to explore. While Fleur was rounder than she had been in her youth, Ginny had stayed slim and wiry. A perfect balance, she thought as Fleur's full, soft breasts pressed to her chest. Ginny smoothed her palms over Fleur's back, across her hips and around the curve of her arse.

"I do not need to be everything," Fleur whispered, her lips against Ginny's cheek. "I cannot be everything."

"Oh, that's not – you are everything I want," said Ginny, with all the conviction she felt. That – being someone's reason to keep existing – was the one thing that could spook Fleur, since the last few years of Bill's life. "I need you to love. I don't need you to survive."

Fleur's lips opened in a sigh and she covered Ginny's mouth. Fleur's tongue traced her lips. Every sensation in her body narrowed to the slick slide, the smooth stroke as Fleur explored her mouth.

"Passionate pensioners," Ginny laughed softly as Fleur broke the kiss and cupped her breast, thumb stroking her nipple. "If she only knew."

Fleur made a soft sound of appreciation and bent to lave the hardened nipple with her tongue. The sensation, warm and wet, rushed through Ginny's body as if it was Fleur's tongue on her clit, pushing her closer and closer to the height of pleasure.

Ginny pulled Fleur back up to her mouth and kissed her. Every place their skin connected was the same – every touch almost too much, too intense. She slid her hand down Fleur's body, tracing the hollow of her throat, the curve of her breast, the sweet swell of her stomach. She teased her fingers through the silver curls between Fleur's legs and slipped one finger to touch her.

"You're wet," Ginny gasped with delight. Fleur's eyes were half-closed and her lips parted.

"Yes," Fleur said, on a long, ragged breath.

Ginny's mouth watered. Her fingers tingled. "Sit down," she said, her voice ringing in her ears. She guided Fleur back to the sofa, her fingers tingling with every touch to Fleur's skin. She kissed Fleur as she sat, slowly, touching, always touching.

Ginny lowered herself to kneeling on the floor, between Fleur's legs. Her knees didn't protest, and she doubted she needed the cushioning charm she cast on the carpet. She curved her hands around Fleur's knees, caressing along her thighs and gently urging her legs apart. Every touch, every smooth slide of skin against skin, pounded in Ginny's veins, beat through her like a pulse. She bent to kiss Fleur's knee and moaned as Fleur's hand stroked her hair. Her finger tips, her tongue, her hair, every inch of her skin sang with desire.

"Oh," she breathed, struck as she often was by her unbelievable her luck, to find something so good and right again, and when she had no cause to expect it. Ginny felt wet and open, something she hadn't felt for years without the assistance of a charm. She traced her tongue up Fleur's thigh, matching her movements with her hands.

"Please, Cherie," Fleur groaned. She was straining toward Ginny, the muscles in her legs trembling. Fleur leaned back, pushing her hips forward, rolling them, and Ginny wondered if she would come from the anticipation alone.

"Mm," she sighed as she tasted Fleur, finally stroking her with her tongue.

Fleur arched toward her, opening even more, and Ginny licked and kissed, trying to touch Fleur everywhere at once. She flattened her tongue and pressed it to Fleur's swollen clit. The sounds Fleur made went right through Ginny and she felt dizzy.

"S'il – please," Fleur begged. She spread her legs wider and Ginny pressed into her with two fingers.

Fleur's fingers twined in Ginny's hair, pulling and grasping, pressing Ginny's mouth to her. Ginny fucked her, adding a third finger and Fleur's moans turned to breathy little shouts as she rocked harder and faster against Ginny. The force of Fleur's orgasm took Ginny's breath away, pulsing on her fingers and making them both slicker and wetter. Ginny cupped her hand around Fleur, gentle pressure holding her, and kissed the insides of her thighs and her belly.

"Come here," Fleur said, low and gravelly, and she pulled Ginny up to the sofa and into her lap.

Ginny felt light and lithe, and she straddled Fleur's lap. She threaded her hands through Fleur's soft hair and kissed her, slow and deep.

"Thank you," Fleur murmured. "Now, for me to make your body hum."

"That's what it's like, isn't it?" Ginny closed her eyes and felt her skin, her muscles, her blood, become more alive.

"You have yet to see what it is like," Fleur said.

Her hands smoothed over Ginny's body, lingering on her breasts, moving to her hips and thighs. Ginny braced herself, hands on Fleur's shoulders, knees – still not protesting – digging into the sofa cushions.

"So, show me," Ginny demanded.

Ginny felt light, tickling touches over her arse that shivered up her spine. Fleur's other hand worked between her legs, and Ginny keened at the delicious, slick feel of Fleur's fingers on her.

"The bed," Ginny gasped. "I want...I can't – " she broke off. Her body thrumming with pleasure, she wanted to stretch out to feel every inch of her skin against cool sheets, to wrap her legs around Fleur and move.

"Come," said Fleur, her deep voice resonating in Ginny's chest. She took Ginny's hand and led her along the corridor and to their bedroom.

"Touch me," Ginny breathed. It was too much. Her skin needed pressure, needed touch. Fleur smiled and moved behind her, wrapping her arms around Ginny's waist, her breasts pressed to Ginny's back. They walked slowly to their bed, touching from shoulder to thigh, Fleur's lips on Ginny's neck.

Ginny fell forward onto their bed, her cheek against the cool, smooth sheets, and Fleur came with her, landing on her, and pressing her into the bed. Fleur kissed her neck and shoulders and back, and each kiss was a burst of pleasure. She worked her hand under Ginny's body, pulling her up, just a little off the bed so she could caress Ginny's stomach and hips. Ginny supported herself on her elbows and canted her hips to open to Fleur's hand as she touched her, softly as first and then more pressure, as she slipped inside.

Fleur stroked her clit with gentle, even touches. Ginny spread her legs wider and arched back, pulling herself to her knees, harder at the tip of her tongue. Prickles of light and sensation danced through her body and before her eyes. Her heart beat in time with Fleur's finger. She felt lush and exposed.

"Ah," She tried to speak, to tell Fleur not to stop, to never stop, to beg her for more. "Pl--"

"Please?" Fleur breathed the word onto Ginny's skin, her mouth open against the small of Ginny's back.

"Yeah," Ginny moaned as Fleur pressed open-mouthed kisses to her arse, over the curves and down the centre. "Oh, god."

Fleur's tongue followed her lips, sliding along Ginny's cleft. Ginny pushed her knees out, urging Fleur to kiss her everywhere. The stretch in her thighs and back felt good, her muscles strong.

"Ah," Ginny gasped, her pulse pounding her in ears as Fleur pressed her tongue to her arse at the same time as her finger swirled tight circles around Ginny's clit. "More," she groaned.

Fleur pressed inside with her tongue. Ginny's insides contracted with pleasure and she felt herself become impossibly wet. Fleur licked the tight ring of muscle, inside and out, fucking her with her tongue as her fingers moved from her clit to her slick entrance. Ginny clenched her fists in the sheets and moved against Fleur's mouth and hands as she felt her orgasm building. It was too much and perfect and everything.

"Fleur, god, yes, yes." She heard herself shout and waves of pleasure crashed through her. Pinpricks of light danced before her eyes. She slumped on the warm sheets, gasping for breath, and stilled.

"Cherie, are you with me?" Fleur's hand and lips were gentle on her back. She felt as if she were pulling herself awake from a wonderful dream.

"Always," Ginny murmured, and she felt Fleur smile against her skin. A warm, solid arm slid around her waist as Fleur settled down into the bed at Ginny's side. "So, perhaps Ms Prendlemain does know a thing or two."

"Indeed," Fleur said.

"But I thought that was supposed to make a couple see their future path or some such," Ginny said. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you." She turned and stretched in the circle of Fleur's arms.

"I think we are old enough to know that the future is determined minute by minute, and the path is of one's own making," Fleur said thoughtfully.

"That's lovely," Ginny said. "And we're certainly proof of that." She kissed the side of Fleur's neck.

"And it is also possible that Ms Prendlemain mentioned to me after you had stepped into the Floo that, for the potion to have that particular effect, each party should decant half into a goblet and take it in separate locations."

Ginny laughed and curled in closer to Fleur, her head on her shoulder. "Well. Then...I think we can say that what we just experienced is the future path of our own making."

"Indeed," Fleur murmured.

Ginny sighed and snuggled closer to Fleur's warmth. Tomorrow she would send a wedding invitation to Rita Skeeter, she thought as she drifted to sleep.