Entry tags:

femslash, fic, pansy/luna

Fic: Mapping Falling Stars, Pansy/Luna, R
Title: Mapping Falling Stars
Author: foreword
Pairing: Pansy/Luna
Rating: R
Disclaimer: JKR owns all! I just play.
Summary: She's an open canvas for Pansy's creation.
Word Count: 1,202
A/N: Thank you to elsie, kethlenda, kiana, and kabale for the wonderful beta work! Written for wheatgerm, for hp_loveletters. <3

***

She has been cold for months. Ginny Weasley had left with the others, and she'd taken all the life of Hogwarts with her. It has been the longest winter – would be her longest winter since her mother disappeared into whispers. Luna knows her letters will never reach the others, that Ronald will only scoff at them if they do, and sometimes she buries them in the snow, wondering if they will be found when it melts away.

But she watches Pansy send hers off every morning, and every evening finds her wandering the grounds, bundled against the cold and searching the skies for hope. Luna isn't sure why she's looking there. All she can see in the sky these days are Thestrals.

Luna wants to give hope to her, though, and perhaps that is how she ends up pushing Pansy Parkinson up against Greenhouse three one night after dinner.

"What are you—"

But Luna knows that if she lets her finish, she'll never break this cycle of burying hope, and she presses her lips up against Pansy's ruby red mouth, feels her lip gloss sliding across Luna's chapped skin, and she doesn't suppose she's ever tasted anything like this before. It burns, in spite of the cold.

Luna kisses with her eyes open. It's not something she has ever paid particular attention to, but Ginny always commented on it with laughter and teasing. Unlike Ginny, however, Pansy meets her gaze, and Luna can see flecks of something bright reflecting moonlight (she wonders if it's stars) as Pansy's mouth gives, and suddenly Luna feels the world drop.

Pansy's fingernails are cool and sharp against the skin of her thigh as they slide underneath her skirt, and Luna isn't sure if she's being pushed or pulled, but her robes are falling away and Pansy's tongue is slipping into Luna's mouth. Pansy laughs with her eyes and before Luna can ask why, cold fingers are unfastening the buttons of her blouse and gliding over the fabric of Luna's polka-dotted bra.

Pansy's fingernails brush against wet knickers and Luna thinks her knees might buckle. She shoves a leg between Pansy's thighs just in case, so that they'll all fall down together if it happens.

*

Luna thinks Pansy is beautiful.

She tells her, as she scratches the perfect porcelain skin of her back with the point of her quill. She marvels at the galaxies of hidden freckles and dimples that the ink finds, spilling across the perfect pale. Star charts made of cool ink and hot flesh.

Pansy squirms and the next line of solar systems shifts, drops of ink rolling away from their proper orbits.

Luna reprimands her with a kiss to the back of her neck, pressing her body, warm and blank, against Pansy's universe and letting the quill fall from her fingertips, ink spilling across the hardwood floor of Luna's bedroom.

She is an open canvas for Pansy's creation.

Later, Luna stands before the mirror, tracing the smudges and lines of black across her skin with her fingers. It's like a love letter to her, and it's easy enough to imitate the lines of Pansy's galaxies across her torso.

It doesn't bother Luna when Pansy leaves, and Luna knows she'll wash away the carefully mapped out star charts without a thought.

But that is the price for Luna's dark moon. Sometimes Luna feels like she's standing on the edge of the world, and there's nothing to keep her from falling. But Pansy catches her, in her star-catcher eyes, and Luna's panic melts into dreams.

Her dreams bleed together, visions of pain and anger and loss, and Luna looks to the heavens for relief, finding it in the promising dark depths that remind her of whispers and wind.

She asked Pansy once what secrets lurk behind her curtains and Pansy answered her with kisses.

The whispers stopped then, and there was only silence, black and thick and safe. Luna trusts the stars to guide her, believed Professor Sinistra when she told Luna that some things are light-years away. Pansy is always light-years away, was never shining the same as Luna.

And Luna knows this won't last. She knows they have already passed each other in the darkness, and she wonders if light is still coming from a dead, distant star.

But she maps out their orbits every night, always hoping that they will find each other again, that Pansy won't wash it all away.

Luna is always smudged with India Black, and sometimes she catches whispers of Draco in Pansy's eyes.

Draco wouldn't play in ink.

But Draco is darker than the rest, Luna knows. Draco had been swallowed by the curtains long ago, and Luna doesn't hear his whispers anymore. She can't tell Pansy that. He is her guiding star, and Luna doesn't want her to get lost.

But Luna is lost every time Pansy catches her, traps her in her dark energy. Luna tells her it is what will pull the universe apart, but Pansy doesn't listen. She doesn't believe in Muggle science.

Luna doesn't need Muggle science to convince her that this will be her downfall. She has been trapped here since that first night, underneath the stars.

Pansy smells like the wind feels, and Luna breathes her deep, guiding her hands over her rings and rays and letting Pansy carry her off in her kisses. She always tastes like lipstick and pumpkin juice, and leaves Luna's lips shining like dull rubies.

When things were still uncharted there was a chance of flying off, of getting lost, and it always made Luna feel like she couldn't get air. Pansy kissed her like she needed it, and Luna supposed she did.

She knows it wasn't supposed to last for long – she knows that she was just another speck of stardust in Pansy's universe.

But Luna doesn't suppose that really matters.

*

The cold is thick, and Luna can feel it in her bones these days. The air is different too, and Luna wonders why no one else seems to notice. She can hardly breathe, so something must be wrong.

She always told Pansy that she would pull the universe apart and she has – the world is spinning faster and Luna's knees don't want to cooperate anymore. They've fallen down together, but Pansy has left her behind.

Luna touches herself at night, in her dark, starless room. She traces falling stars across her skin and wonders what happens when they all drop from the sky. She supposes there is only black left, thick and stifling and silent like Pansy's kisses, and Luna is always listening.

She thinks she can hear Pansy's whispers sometimes, and she imagines that they guide her at night, when she has lost her star charts. Her fingers dance across her breasts and down her stomach, where ink used to stain her skin in perfect reflections of Pansy's galaxies.

Her fingers dance across her sun and Luna shifts them the way Pansy used to, but it's no good. There's no dangerous threat of fingernails brushing sensitive skin, and Pansy's whispers skip across her like the wind.

The stars don't shine for her anymore, and the curtains are calling her home.