Licking the Salt from the Biscuit of Life - FIC: Letting Go (R)

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August 3rd, 2007

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11:54 pm - FIC: Letting Go (R)
Title: Letting Go
Author: [info]accio_arse
Pairing: Ginny Weasley/Angelina Johnson
Word Count: 1055
Rating: R
Warnings: Femslash, watersports, kind of underage (Ginny is 15 for part of the fic, but no sex takes part then), mentions of het, character death
Disclaimer: All characters are property of JKR. Not mine, no harm intended.
Summary: Ginny watches Angelina in the showers.
Notes: Written for “the internet is for porn" challenge, as a non-member, for pornish_pixies.
Beta: By [info]schemingreader


It wasn’t until my fourth year at Hogwarts that I first started to understand.

That sometimes… you’re just supposed to let go.


My robes were sodden, my thighs were aching and I’d just about dragged myself through my first ever, triumphant practice with the house Quidditch team. And yet, as soon as I entered the girls’ shower room I stopped in my tracks, stone cold dead.


Gleaming brown buttocks, rising to a nipped-in waist and a long, lean back - Angelina Johnson, our Team Captain. With a jolt, I realised I’d never really been alone with older girl before. Not like this. Not just her and me. Not naked.

I remember standing there, hardly daring to breathe, just staring at her bum. At the time I couldn’t even have explained to you what was happening.

A few seconds into my unashamed gawking, I felt a crick in the back of my neck. I was still in the same place, but Angelina seemed to be moving, climbing higher and higher in my field of vision. Weird. With a heartthump of embarrassment, I realised my cramped muscles had been pulling me slowly back down into my frozen-to-the-broom position - as if three hours of nervously grabbing a Comet 11 weren’t enough for them.

Suddenly Angelina flicked her head around, and caught me with my eyes right upon her arse.

I flushed crimson. Fantastic. Bad enough to be caught staring, never mind while crouched over and riding my invisible Comet all around the communal showers.

But Angelina didn’t say anything at all. She just held my eyes, locked and steady for the space of one cool moment, and then turned again to face the wall.

I let out a relieved breath and tried to unbend myself as best I could. Muscles I never even knew I’d had twinged alarmingly up and down the whole length of my body. Bloody hell - was every team Quidditch practice going to be like this?

Angelina reached calmly towards the shower controls, as if to turn them on. But then, surprisingly, she didn’t. Sending one last, sideways glance at me, she placed a flat palm to either side of the controls, leant her weight firmly into the wall, arched her back and…


My jaw dropped slightly. A yellow pool was gathering between her feet, tickling between her toes and around her startlingly pink heels, then becoming gentle tendrils and merging out into the clear water on the floor.

My eyes travelled up. A shiny liquid glossed her already sweat-stained inner thighs, rushing downwards in random flows and rivulets, moulding slickly to every cranny as it went. Angelina curled her toes into the golden puddle, arched her back once more in satisfaction and leant forward, resting her forehead on the cool wetness of the tiles. Slowly, gently, her flow stopped. She released a long, heartfelt sigh.

Then she took up her wand and with one quick swish, the evidence completely vanished.

She finally reached for the shower knob. It spurted noisily into action, stray drops reaching as far as my arms and spattering busily onto my face.

Angelina turned towards me. “Ginny?”

I flinched.

“Can I borrow your shampoo?” she asked, her gaze cool and straight. “I hate Scourgify. Stupid spell, makes my hair go all dry. You know?”

I nodded in a daze, handing over my bottle of ‘Ginger Menace Taming Lotion’ (cuff and collars guaranteed 3/8 less frizzy, or half your knuts back!)

“Thanks, Ginny.”

“Uh… sure.” I searched for something else to say. “You’re welcome.”


On the very same night that I watched Angelina Johnson pee down her legs, I dreamt of a river of warm hands bursting out of my belly. They turned into a school of little golden fishes, splish-splashed merrily down my legs, and travelled out the door, across the lawn and towards the lake.

Finally, with a hopity-skipity jump, they leapt up high, dove into the water and swam away, happy and free.

That was a good dream.


I still remember Angelina standing there all those years ago, stretching and flexing with relish, whilst inside her body, her muscles were relaxing, releasing, and letting go. To do something so intimate, and right in front of me – when I think back, a warm buzz of gratitude fills me up and a heat starts to build between my legs, whispering across my nipples.

I mush my thighs together, squirming into the arousal, and when I reach into my knickers - sure enough, I’m already slick and aching to be touched. Sometimes when I think of that day, it makes my blood rush so stiff and so hot that even slipping that first finger inside is tricky work, but soon I’m thrusting two of them in me, right up to the knuckles, tilting my hips up in time and stifling my moans.

I remember the roundness of her buttocks. I imagine slipping a hand down between and under them and touching the wetness of her inner thighs as she enjoys herself in front of me, so freely, so unapologetically - and I come, long and hard, with a twitching shudder.

As I collapse afterwards, my skin tingling across my belly and down to my toes with the release, I’m also staring into the distance. Thinking. Imagining.

Wondering – would Harry have ever done that for me? Would he have stood in the shower, a cheeky grin flashing sideways through his green eyes? Would he have turned around, pretending I wasn’t there, letting a hot river run down the inside of his legs as he leant nonchalantly against the tiled wall?

If we were still together, if we’d have had more time together, if he hadn’t been killed at eighteen - would he have ever done that for me?

And then I push my face into the crook of my elbow and sob.

Please tell me – anyone out there, anyone at all. When does it stop? When does the hurting go away?

I never had time, I never let him know, but I had so many plans for us. Now he’s gone, and I know it’s stupid, but I don’t want to do those things with anyone else. What would be the point?

So please tell me. Tell me, anyone. How do you do it?

How do you ever learn to let go?


(Indulge your wild theories here)

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