Luna lays beside Harry, their foreheads and noses touching, legs tangled together so that, if not for the different shades of skin, the fours separate appendages would be unable to be assigned to their owner. They haven't said anything in a while, instead simply reveling in the silence and each other's company, and Harry's eyes are fluttering open and shut, threatening to shut completely. Luna, however, is wide awake, staring at Harry's mouth and thinking. She breathes in and out, feeling suddenly restless, and Harry opens his eyes.
"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice hovering between a whisper and a murmur, and just husky enough that it makes Luna smile.
"I'm alright," she says, and then she smiles and breathes out again. "As long as I'm with you."
"As cute an answer as that is," he mutters, smiling a bit too, "I don't actually believe you."
She bites her lip in the way Harry has come to adore, and then she sighs. "Have you ever been kissed, Harry?" she asks.
He squints at her, trying to make sense of it. "That's an odd question."
"I'm an odd girl," she says, a ghost of a smile passing over her lips. "But you still have to answer it."
"I have," he answers, eyes glazing over a bit as he remembers. "Once by Cho Chang, in my fifth year. It was…awkward," he says, recalling the moment with a grimace. "And then with Ginny…" He trails off and looks away, knowing she doesn't much enjoy hearing about his endeavors with his ex-girlfriend.
"I'm starting to become quite jealous of her," she says lightly, and he frowns.
"You shouldn't be," he says, brushing a strand of hair out of her face and letting his hand linger behind her ear. "You're ten times the girl she'll ever be."
"Don't say that," she admonishes. "She's a very nice girl. She was one of my only friends."
"I'm sorry," he says, sighing, and she knows he isn't simply apologizing for insulting Ginny.
"It isn't your fault," she answers.
"I know," he says, and he feels conflicted. "But sometimes I wish…I'm not sure. I wish we had been able to be friends then. I wish it wouldn't have been so hard for you."
She doesn't answer, thinking it over, and instead smiles her appreciation serenely, which reminds him of the girl she used to be.
"So I've been kissed before," he says, moving past the subject. "How about you?"
Her smile fades a bit. "I can't say that I have."
He is taken aback, and his lips part just a bit. "You've never been kissed?"
"Think about the sort of person I was, Harry," she says simply. "I wasn't liked by girls, and I especially wasn't liked by boys. I was an outsider, and I was okay with that. I didn't need anyone but me."
Her words hit him harder than she intends them to. "Didn't you want anyone?"
"I didn't say that," she corrects. "I said I didn't need anyone, and that was simply because no one needed me. I got used to it, being alone. I handled it alright. That's not to say I didn't want friends, I just…didn't have any."
Harry sighs and takes her hand, examining it as he answers. "I'll never understand how you made it through school."
"And I don't expect you to," she says, and she meets his eyes.
He takes a deep breath and moves minutely so that he's a little closer to her. "So you've never been kissed."
"I've never been kissed," she agrees, sensing the subtle change in conversation.
"How would you feel if—" he's tracing patterns into her palm, which he doesn't realize is making her very breathless—or perhaps he does, and he's doing it purposely—"I was your first kiss."
She bites her lip again, and he's very tempted not to wait for a response because she's making him very breathless—she probably knows that. "I would like that very much, Harry."
This is all the invitation he needs. He removes his hand from hers and rearranges it so that he's gently cupping her cheek. He takes a deep breath, and she does the same, and then he seizes her lips with his own, gently moving his mouth against hers.
It's not perfect, by any means, but neither is he, and neither is she, and they're both okay with that. She smiles into his lips, and he pulls back, still remaining close enough to her that, when she speaks, he can feel her breath on his lips.
"That was nice," she says, and the word isn't perfect, either, but he knows what she means.
"Mmm," he agrees.
"Did I do alright?" she asks, suddenly insecure and biting her lip.
He shakes his head, a smile appearing on his face. "Do you realize that every time you do that I fall a little harder for you?" he answers. "I'm starting to think there isn't a bottom, here."
"Oh," she says, a blush creeping up her face, and for a moment she doesn't meet his eyes. "If you'd like, I can make a bottom for you."
"No," he answers with a small laugh. "For once, I actually prefer the sensation of falling."
"I've never minded falling," she says, quite seriously, and he's about to question this view when he realizes she's speaking in metaphor. "I think I like the anticipation, you know?"
"Yeah," he agrees, and he smiles again—he thinks he does that quite a bit more these days. "I do love anticipation."
"But not too much," she muses, looking at him curiously. "Too much is simply…too much."
He looks away for a moment, pondering this. His eyes meet hers again. "I think you've lost me there."
She smiles serenely. "Harry." It's a statement, not a question, and he loves the way she says it.
"Yes?" he asks, completely mystified.
"Have you ever had a second kiss?"
He's taken aback, again, because he thought he'd made it clear. "Yes, with—" and then he catches on. "Oh."
And this time he doesn't even ask before he crushes his lips against hers.