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Current music:	Not Sorry - Cranberries
Entry tags:	! fic, *het, pairing: luna/charlie, rating: nc-17

Dirigible Plum (NC-17, Luna/Charlie)

Title: Dirigible Plum

Pairing: Luna/Charlie

Rating: NC-17 (as everything of mine is, these days...*rolls eyes*)

Word Count: 2786

Warnings: Chan (12), dubious consent on many levels, het sex, first time

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or situations represented here. This is a work of fiction and no money is being made from it, and furthermore, as a work of fiction, no actual twelve-year-olds were involved in its making. I do not necessarily condone any of the practices depicted herein.

Summary: The thing that bothered Charlie the most was the way Luna stared.

~

 

The first time Charlie sees Luna – or rather, notices, for surely he's seen her before – it's on the way into town, and she's sitting on a fence, swinging her legs. She's wearing a luridly bright purple robe that's covered in stains and way too big for her, but that's not what catches Charlie's attention. It's the way that she follows him with her eyes, not smiling or anything. Just looking, until he's out of her range of vision. He knows, because he had to look over his shoulder and check a couple of times as he was walking away.

 

The second time Charlie sees Luna she's following him around town, and not just with her eyes. He thinks she came out of the woods at some point along the lane and has been tailing him ever since, but he can't be sure because she's walking so quietly. She's wearing corduroy Muggle overalls over a striped tuxedo vest today, but he doesn't pay attention to that. He tries not to pay attention to the way the armholes of her tops cut in so far that he'd be able to see side-cleavage if she had actually started to grow tits.

 

He wonders: has she actually started to grow tits? And then he goes home and really does forget, mostly.

 

She follows him for a few more days. Charlie tells himself it's absolutely not because he's going into town more often than usual. Stupid freaky kid. She never talks, either, just stares at him. He can feel those huge eyes on his back, but he tries not to turn around.

 

The day that it happens she's back to the huge purple thing again. Maybe it wouldn't have happened at all if he didn't get fed up and turn around, but he did. It went like this:

 

They're on the deserted lane again, the one with the fence. Charlie's on his way back, and Luna hasn't been farther than four steps from him the entire time.

 

“Hey, kid! Why're you always following me around?” Charlie says, arms full of groceries. He's forgotten his wand at home again, something he'll surely get made fun of for later.

 

“Luna,” says Luna.

 

“Huh?” says Charlie.

 

“You said 'hey, kid,' but I like to be called Luna. It's my name.”

 

“Right.” Charlie raises his eyebrows. Turns out the kid doesn't just look freaky. She looks at him some more, and he can't handle it. “So what are you following me around for?”

 

“Because you've got the smallest hands.” Of all the things to say, he doesn't expect her to say this.

 

“Excuse me?” Charlie doesn't know why he's still here, having this ridiculous conversation. He should be back home, putting away groceries, or something. He adjusts the bags on his hips, and repeats the question, because she's doing the staring thing again. “What does that have to do with anything?”

 

“Hands grow at the same time as sex organs,” she says, as if explaining something very obvious. “So do feet.”

 

Charlie doesn't like the direction this is taking, and tries to get around her. “Look, kid -” (she looks at him) “-Luna - I've gotta go. I'll, er, talk to you later, ok?”

 

“Ok,” she says, and lets him go.

 

She's still there, or there again, when he goes down an hour later for the milk he forgot, and she picks up the conversation as if there had never been any pause.

 

“Because I'm pretty small, comparatively. And you'd fit better.”

 

Charlie involuntarily swallows his gum and coughs. He doesn't even ask her if she means what he thinks she does. “Look, Luna, I've got to go.” But he doesn't go.

 

She looks at him. He tries not to look at her.

 

“Why don't you want to do it, Charlie?”

 

“Do what?” He thinks, Is she incapable of keeping to one subject?

 

“Have sex with me.” She talking to him as if he's the child, again. It doesn't help.

 

“Luna, I am not having sex with you!” He would ask her where she gets such ideas but he's quickly learning it's no use.

 

She doesn't even look hurt, just tips her head to one side.

 

“It's because I'm too young.” It's not a question.

 

“Yes!” Not a woman not a woman not a woman Charlie chants in his head, but the rest of his body is not convinced.

 

“My great-great-aunt lived a very long and happy life,” Luna says conversationally, staring at a point over Charlie's ear. He resists the urge to look behind him.

 

“So?”

 

“She was married when she was twelve.” Luna shifts her gaze to his other ear.

 

“And let me guess – you're twelve?” Charlie can sense that his defeat is imminent, and isn't putting up much of a fight now. And it was, it was imminent ever since he saw her for the first time. (Only now, much more so.)

 

Luna beams at him, and he remarks how her face is transformed. She's too serious, he realizes.

 

“So will you?”

 

“No, Luna, I can't! You're the same age as my little sister!”

 

“Ginny is a very nice girl,” she observes sagely.

 

“Yes, and I don't shag her, do I?” Immediately, his brain supplies a hundred inappropriate responses to this question. He has already been spending too much time around Luna.

 

Luna doesn't say any of the things that are running through his mind. She takes his hand, and it's much worse.
 

“Come here,” and she leads him into the woods. He wonders why she even bothered with holding the argument in the first place, if it was so unnecessary to the outcome.

 

She stops arbitrarily; he can't see anything different about the woods here than anything else.

 

“Perfect,” she breathes, reverently. “You can conjure us a blanket,” she says, and it can be mistaken for nothing other than a command.

 

Charlie wishes he had not remembered his wand this time. He conjures the blanket, and looks around miserably. Maybe someone will come out of the sky and rescue him from the terror that is pubescent girls. But the sky is covered in leaves.

 

He looks back to the blanket and Luna is taking off her lurid robes, and Merlin, she wasn't wearing anything underneath. Charlie wonders if she ever was, and gets a bit harder. If he ever lives through this day, he will run far away, and never come back. Preferably to the other side of the world if possible, but he'll settle for a place without regular owl post.

 

Luna sits down cross-legged on the blanket, completely unselfconscious, and stares. Charlie tries to look away, but not in time to not notice that her tits have, indeed, started growing. Her hair is too blond for him to tell from here if it's started filling in down there, but he assumes it is. If he remembers these things right.

 

Not a woman not a woman not a woman, he chants.

 

“Would you rather we stand?” she asks, and he is compelled to sit down, perching on the very edge of the blanket. He is sure his face has literally caught fire by now. She doesn't look the least bit fazed by any of it, and why should she? She's the one calling all the shots.

 

There is silence for a long time. Eventually Charlie has looked at every available patch of woods three times, and must look at Luna. She is very moon-like in the late afternoon sun, her white skin glowing as if from from the inside, her silvery eyes completing the look. Charlie curses himself for his poetry.

 

There is more silence. Charlie can see from his side that she is very wet. He wonders what she's thinking, and if she might possibly be content to just think it for a while longer and then leave. This could be his lucky day, where he's just let off with a warning.

 

“Do you always wait this long before having sex?” Luna asks.

 

“Er, no,” he says, at the same time as she says, dreamily, “It's very nice.”

 

She looks at him, expectantly this time, and he blushes again. “Er, you have very nice tits,” he volunteered. And they were. So tiny, with only a hint of fullness at the bottom, with areolas that are surprisingly dark, and nipples that stand at attention either because of the breeze or for him, he didn't know.

 

“Thank you,” says Luna, looking down at her chest as though inspecting for changes. “I quite like them too. You can touch them now.” Again, it is a command.

 

Charlie reaches out and he would have to get up and move because he has sat down too far away, but Luna beats him to it and scoots closer. He stokes his thumb over one red bud, and then another, then he cups the left breast experimentally. It fills up his whole palm, and nothing more.

 

After that, the commands come more quickly. “Take off your clothes too,” she says, and he complies, feeling that he'd done something bad by letting her remain exposed for so long while she was covered. “Kiss me on the mouth,” she says, and he tries, but she has her own ideas of how it should be done. He thinks he will never receive a similar kiss as long as he lives, and probably won't mind that. Probably.

 

And then, “Let me touch your thing,” she says, and it's as though 'thing' is what it should be called by adults. So matter-of-fact, no hedging with names and descriptions. So he does, and she does, and when she's satisfied herself and left him desperately wanting, she lies back on the blanket. A stick cracks under her as she settles herself.

 

“Now you will come to me,” she says, looping her arms back behind her head, as if she's about to watch a fireworks show.

 

Charlie lowers himself over her, breathing hard, and then stops himself. If he does this, there really is no going back.

 

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, screwing up his forehead. She can't possibly be sure. This will all be just a game and she'll say Boo and go running off to play with her dolls, laughing at him the whole way.

 

It isn't.

 

“This is what I want,” she says. “Do you think people should do things they don't want to do? “

 

Charlie isn't sure about anything. “How do you know what you want?” he asks, telling his arousal to fucking shut up and hold on for a minute.

 

Luna looks at him. “It would be very sad for a person to not know what they want, I think. Come.” And she tugged on his shoulder and he did what she asked him, pushing as slowly and as carefully as he could. She had been right about the size of his package – thing – but it still wasn't an easy fit. It got easier after a while.

 

And when Charlie starts to move, she's so fucking tight down there; it feels so good. Charlie wonders if she actually had chosen him based on size alone, and decides he would be happier if he didn't think about it.

 

There was no barrier get past, for which he's glad. He wouldn't have been able to stand actually breaking anything about her. When he finishes, and hangs his head over her chest, she grins hazily at him.

 

“That was very good, don't you think?”

 

“Mmm,” he hums, because he doesn't want to say the words.

 

“You'll use your mouth on me now,” she instructs, and he looks up, unconsciously mimicking her own sort of quizzical look.

 

He seems to remember that the mouth-on-cunt part comes before, not after, but everything's muddled up in his mind anyway. He does what she tells him.

 

He finds the clit when she points it out to him, laughing – he hasn't done this that many times in his twenty years, after all – and after that he seems to do alright. There's still plenty of wetness there, and he makes a pretty good strategy out of licking it up and spreading it around.

 

She's completely silent, just like she was before, and he can only tell how much she's enjoying it when he looks up at her face.

 

“Do that thing with the swirling faster, right there,” she instructs, and he complies. Things are so much easier when he doesn't have to think about them. She comes easily, not used to so much stimulation, and when he looks up she's grinning with her eyes closed.

 

“That was very good, don't you think?”

 

He has to agree.

 

“I think I liked that part better,” says Luna, inconsequentially. “Kiss me one more time.”

 

Charlie kisses her one more time, and they share her taste and his taste on their lips, and Charlie is sure he shouldn't think it strange. Luna has a look on her face that says she thinks it's beautiful.

 

After they've been lying next to each other for a while, looking up at the leaves, Charlie speaks.

 

“What made you decide to do it, Luna?” He doesn't really think he'll get an answer, but he has to ask.

 

He does get an answer. “I wanted to know what people were talking about, when they talked about sex,” says Luna, a line forming between her invisibly blond brows. “I don't think I know it all yet, but it's not very important. I think I'll collect flobberworms tomorrow.”

 

Charlie would not have known the correct answer if he had tried, so he just says the first thing that pops into his mind. “Flobberworms?”

 

“They live in our garden, with the pumpkins. Did you know that each one was different?”

 

Charlie doesn't know this, but he'll try to remember from now on. “I work with magical creatures,” he offers. He thinks he could fall so easily into this free-association way of conversation. Hell, he could fall easily into her free-association way of shagging, but it doesn't sound like she wants to do it again. Besides, he reminds himself, she's too young. Not a woman, but the refrain never carried much power and doesn't really now, either.

 

They talk a bit longer, about dragons, and Romania, where there's a reserve that actually has more than two dragons, like the one in Wales where he works now, and about the flobberworms in her garden and the dirigible plums her mother planted for potions.

 

They get dressed once the breeze starts to feel cold, and Charlie undoes the magical blanket. They make their way back to the lane and then there's nothing else keeping them there. Luna's house isn't in the same direction as the Burrow.

 

“Do you want me to walk you home?” he asks, feeling strange, but she doesn't want him to. She wants to walk alone. Why do something that you don't want?

 

Charlie heads up to his own house. He looks over his shoulder five times, until she's completely out of sight, but she's never looking at him. It would be hard to stare while you're skipping like that anyway, he thought.

 

The next time Charlie sees Luna, it's at his brother's wedding, because of what happens next:

 

Charlie goes into the kitchen and gets yelled at for having forgotten the milk again. He takes refuge on the back porch, where Ginny's sitting, eating summer peas.

 

He asks her about Luna, casually.

 

“Oh, Loony Lovegood? You saw her? I haven't seen her for years, not since I used to play over at her house when we were little. She's never been the same since her mother died, you know? I mean, she's never been normal, but I think seeing it like that must have done something...” Ginny shrugs and pops another pea.

 

Charlie is white, and he thinks his ears have failed, because all he can hear is the blood rushing through his head. Mother died, it sounds like, and Not a woman not a woman not a woman.

 

Sometimes when you make a mistake the best thing really is to run away, Charlie thinks. At least in Romania, there's not regular owl service. It's as good a place for forgetting silvery eyes and question-commands and free association conversations as any.

 

Charlie stays there until he can't remember what it felt like anymore, and then a little longer, just to be safe. And then he goes back, because she really hasn't changed, and it really isn't a good idea.

 

fin

ZOMG ZOMG ITS HET WHAAAAAAAAAATTHEFUUUUUCK.  *breathes*  Well, I knew there would come the day sooner or later.  And it's dubious het too, what fun. *g*