A/N: pretty short, combined with another prompt, and title courtesy of annikaleigh24 over on tumblr woo! I am working on tempus part 2 and still brainstorming for the follower celebration fics AH!. Please believe me when I say the delay is no reflection on how much I celebrate all of you, and more a product of my brain being a little buttface and not being creative.

If you don't know what my follower celebration prompts are but you want to know, just ask and I'll share them in a response :)

When Ginny wakes up to Harry nuzzling her belly button, green eyes twinkling, she's optimistic it will be a good morning. And when his lips start working their way down her abdomen, beard prickling against her skin, she knows this could make her week.

Which is why the locker room chitchat after practice that afternoon is so grating. Without any input from Harry, Ginny had decided early on – like Fifth year early – that their relationship would remain private between them. Largely because of Harry's inescapable fame, but her decision became even firmer as her own fame rose. If Harry Potter's bedroom habits with some scrappy little red head drew in readers, his bedroom habits with one of the first string chasers for the Holyhead Harpies - and the World Cup team, fingers crossed - would be a hot commodity. So when the usual Thursday, pre bar crawl night chatter is going on and Ginny realizes she's one snide comment or pitying glance away from beginning a graphic speech about just how not boring her marriage bed is, she begins disrobing faster and shoving her robes into her bag. Rank smelling or not.

One of the beaters – Sandra – saunters around the corner, toweling her pale hair dry and frowning at Ginny as she's heading toward the door. "Leaving Weasley? Should be a fun night before you go back to dull married life."

Despite the initial prick of offense, Ginny swallows down her retort in the name of team harmony and smiles lightly. "I think I'll just have a quiet night in," she shrugs her bag further up her shoulder, "Harry's been away almost two weeks and I barely had a chance to see him." But when I did it was very impactful, Ginny thought privately.

After wishing them a good night and promising to come out next time – they really aren't a bad bunch, when you haven't been deprived of your scandalously attractive husband for a fortnight – Ginny trots toward the apparition point and appears in the front entrance of their flat seconds later.

It's quiet, when she gets there. The faint, enticing scent of some sort of savory pie wafting through the flat, buttery and warm, draws Ginny toward the kitchen where she finds a partially empty bottle of Guinness on the counter and takes a swig. Wandering closer to the stove, Ginny takes a big sniff and sets her mouth watering at the heady aroma of one of Harry's signature pies.

He's made a habit of it, cooking something a bit extravagant when he comes home from any extended work trip and they have a cozy night in, gorging themselves and getting reacquainted.

So she's pretty sure that given the late hour of his arrival last night, Ginny's early morning wake up session, and the entirely homemade dinner waiting, Harry's likely passed out on some flat surface, dead to the world. Except, there was that one time he fell asleep in the shower, so she really can't limit it to horizontal locations.

After padding through the flat on tiptoes with no luck in her search, Ginny presses the door to their bedroom open with a single finger, cursing herself for neglecting to oil the squeaking hinge as it squeals in the heavy silence.

Still, the lump of a husband that's sprawled across the bed doesn't move beyond a childish smacking of his lips, snuffling adorably as he burrows further into the mussed pillows.

Smiling softly to herself, Ginny disrobes as she makes her way toward the ensuite, letting the bathroom fill with warm air to ease her body aches before she steps under the sharp heat of the spray.

By the time she's exiting the loo in a cloud of steam, yellow light cutting a wedge across the darkened room. As the floorboards creak beneath her damp toes, Ginny turns abruptly toward the bed where Harry's now open eyes glow in the dim lighting. Her towel slips a bit and Harry's smile flashes in the dark. "No need to cover up for me, Mrs. Potter."

Quirking a challenging brow, Ginny lets the damp towel drop and turns her back as she begins rifling through her drawers for something cozy to wear, despite Harry's repeated assurances that he's more than ok with their night in taking place sans clothes, even going so far as to toss his jumper toward Ginny in an overdone strip tease.

She fights the urge to push him back on the bed and show him exactly how much she missed him and his wiry chest and simply slips his discarded jumper over her head. "Ta."

Harry lets out a groan and flicks the bedside lamp on. "You know that may be worse than those little lacy things you buy from that tiny shop in London."

Winking, Ginny pulls out a comfortable pair of panties and tugs them up her freckled legs. "None of that until I get some beef and Guinness pie," she pauses for a minute, thoughtful, "At least two slices I'd say."

"Is that right?"

"Yes I'm famished."

Sauntering closer, Harry lets his fingers tickle around her waist, "Well we can't have that."

And then he's lifting her, arms banded around her thighs so she has to duck over his shoulder as he jogs from the room, his tan skin turned golden in the hall light.

After tossing together a quick salad, they tuck themselves in around the small kitchenette, with heaping servings of pie and tall glasses of pumpkin juice.

Harry spears a slice of carrot from the large wooden salad bowl, individual plates forgone in the name of less dirty dishes. "How was your day?"

Ginny tucks her chilled toes beneath Harry's thigh, worn cotton sweats cozy against her skin. "The fitness warm up was a bit much, when we're expected to have a full scale practice for six hours after," Ginny answers, rolling her tight shoulders, "But I s'pose it's all for the best or some motivational something or other."

Harry lets his free hand slip from the table and pulls Ginny's foot into his lap, fingers working at her tense calf muscles. Sighing gratefully, Ginny slumps in her chair a bit, clumsily poking her fork into the salad bowl and coming back with a slice of tomato, which she pokes at Harry accusingly. "I bet you do the same to your poor recruits."

Leaning back, Harry puffs out his chest and replies loftily, "Ah yes, the trainer must love the trainee by earning their ire."

"Charming," Ginny drawls.

"But true," Harry says simply, slouching back in his chair.

Rolling her eyes, but letting the conversation fall into a comfortable lull, Ginny mirror's Harry's posture, picking at the remains of her supper. "Honestly, I can't for the life of me figure how those girls wanted a night out after today – all I could think about was a warm cuppa topped off with a healthy dose of firewhisky," Ginny murmurs, popping her feet into Harry's lap.

Harry hums, voice low and rich. "I wouldn't say no to that," he looks thoughtful, "Followed by a nice nap on the sofa."

"What a pair we are, eh?" Ginny answers, a soft smile on her face.

Laughing lightly, Harry sighs, "We've become a couple of right sticks in the mud in our old age."

Ginny moves to a start clearing the dishes. "I did find a grey hair last week."

"I almost failed my eye exam last month," Harry volleys, grabbing his own plate and dropping it into the sudsy sink.

Pausing as she pulls a carton of ice cream from the freezer, Ginny gives Harry a pitying look, "Dear, you always almost fail your eye exam."

Harry sticks out his tongue and grabs two spoons.

Too lazy for bowls, or even to return to the table, they somehow end up slumped on the chilled tile floor, backs pressed against the cabinets while they clash spoons to get the chunkiest bits. Ginny's giggling around a particularly fudge filled bite when Harry's gaze goes a bit unfocused, his hand dropping to his lap regardless of the sticky mess being made.

Ginny's about to make a crack when she realizes his gaze is actually very focused, just at a particular part of her face rather than her eyes. Slowly, she tries to lick past the corner of her lips, tongue darting out pink against her freckled skin. He blinks, eyes darting back to hers, and then to her mouth again before he dips forward quickly and licks the side of her mouth in a slow stripe.

He doesn't pull away far, just until his sharp nose is brushing her rounded one, and murmurs, "Got something, just there."

"Have I?" Ginny breathes.

A smirk, and Harry chuckles in that low way that sends shivers up her spine. "Not anymore."

Blindly, Ginny reaches for the mostly empty carton, spoon dropping with a clatter, and her hand comes back up, one finger cold and sticky drags along Harry's jawline. He sucks in a breath and Ginny smiles. "Now you've got something."

And then she's slowly kissing her way along his face, pausing to nuzzle and occasionally nip until Harry's breathing heavier than she is, and he clears his throat, voice hoarse. "Gin."

She's at his ear now, lips soft and teasing as she whispers, "Yeah?"

Harry's clean hand knits through her damp hair, scratching at her scalp as he murmurs into her ear, "Things are about to get stickier."

Ginny lets out a loud groan, collapsing against the tiles while Harry guffaws. Glaring from her place on the floor, Ginny kicks out at Harry. "You did not just say that."

Shrugging, Harry crawls until he's looming overhead, nudging the carton until it's resting near her shoulder. "Well it's true."

Her knees bend until they're framing his hips. "You're such a tosser."

His eyebrows rise almost imperceptibly, but he doesn't respond, just lets one finger dip into the melty treat and dab the chocolate onto Ginny's nose, her lips, and then, his free hand slides to the hem of her borrowed sweater and push up until her toned midriff is exposed. And his finger draws a single stripe down from the base of her ribs to the waistband of her panties.

Ginny's chest has begun rising and falling rapidly since the start of Harry's ministrations, and his grin makes it clear he hasn't missed that fact. Still, her pride won't let her completely give in just yet. "Well, you've made a mess of me. What now?"

His tongue darts out to lick the ice cream from her nose, then his lips are on hers until the sticky remnants are hardly a memory in the face of Harry's heated kiss. He pulls away, breathless, and shifts down toward the last bit of mess he's made, green eyes sparking with mischief. "It'll be a night in, but maybe not as quiet as you planned.