A/N: I'm still alive, and back to writing. Plot bunnies don't do much for me, a generous kick in the behind is much more effective. Thus, you have The DG Forum to thank for this one. It's really a bunch of amazing, and amazingly talented people. (If you haven't already, I suggest you come visit and play sometime. I promise we don't bite. Much. )

This is a continuation of sorts of my fic Masquerade (www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net/s/5759248/1/Masquerade), although it can be read as a stand-alone oneshot. The first part, between rulers, are the last few paragraphs of said prequel.

Dedicated to rowan-greenleaf, who demanded a smut cookie. Hope you like this one, dear. =)

Disclaimer: Anything you might recognise (characters, setting, etc.) is not mine, it all belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. etc. No copyright infringement intended.

WARNING: Smut.

Unmasked Symphony

"Wait." He grasped her shoulders, holding her close. "I'm not asking you for anything. Come with me, nobody else needs to know. For all they know," he pointed to the ballroom, "you've disappeared with a handsome stranger, that's all there is to it. Come with me. I'm not asking for romance or anything after tonight, I'm just asking you to come with me."

Ginny simply stood there, amazed. Had he really just said that?

After a moment, she lifted her hand to his face, cupping his cheek in her palm. Then she turned her head up and her brown eyes met his stormy grey ones. She wondered how she had failed to recognise him, simply for the colour of his eyes, but then again, she had not paid much attention to him before tonight's events.

"No regrets," she told him, a smirk firmly in place on her face. Smirking as well, he bent down again to cover her lips with his. She sighed a little against his closed mouth, her tongue sneaking out to beg for an entrance he readily granted her. And somehow, their tongues were dancing again, a dance of their own, quite unlike the dances she'd known before, an exciting, a new dance that made her insides go up in flames. She nearly moaned when he began to run his hands up and down her sides, brushing her breasts ever so slightly. Of course he was doing it on purpose, just as she had kissed him for a purpose earlier, but she didn't care.

"Come," he repeated. She extended her hand, grasping his firmly. And then, in a swirl of gleaming colours, he Apparated them away.

„Sweet Merlin," she breathed.

Not many words were spoken after this. She didn't feel he needed them. They didn't need words. This was all they were, all they could ever be, and it didn't need words, terms, labels.

Instead of speaking, she sighed impatiently, pulling him down to her. As her mouth touched his, she couldn't help but wonder at the strangeness of it all. His lips felt divine against hers, soft and pliable but demanding at the same time - Ginny thought she could spend an eternity simply kissing Draco Malfoy. Eventually, though, he traced the very edge of her mouth with his tongue, and it felt as if every nerve ending in her body had been lit on fire. She was burning, her skin scorching hot beneath his hands.

Chuckling, he pulled her closer. Closer, and closer still, until there was but the thin cloth of their costumes separating them. She was pressed up against him in the most delicious way possible, her every curve touching his lean body.

His hands traced a line from her neck all the way down to her buttocks, kneading them through the fabric of her dress. Ginny knew he was doing it on purpose – he had to – still his actions drove her mad with want.

He was there, alive, breathing, real, and that was all she cared about at that moment. Memories of Draco Malfoy were nothing but a fleeting impression when she backed away, pulling on his robes to take him with her. A few feeble steps later, for her heart was beating madly and she was suddenly afraid of her own courage, her knees hit something. She allowed herself to fall back, him already above her, throwing away his robes.

He was quite a sight in a grey shirt and black trousers, she decided. Shifting on the sofa, she smiled up at him; her eyes closed on their own accord.

She more felt than saw his body looming over her when he leaned down to kiss her once more. It was nothing more than a moment's touch, sweet almost. Then he trailed his lips down her throat, licking and biting lightly in spots that made her gasp. When she felt the moist warmth of his mouth on her earlobe, she squirmed a little beneath him. Gasping suddenly wasn't enough and she couldn't breathe, scared to shatter the instant.

Instead, she raked her hands through his luscious hair, running the silky strands through her fingers. Her nails on his scalp elicited a groan from him, a groan that promised more than just a few lust-filled kisses at a masquerade. That was exactly the reaction Ginny had hoped for.

All of a sudden, her hands were everywhere: more tearing than pulling his shirt off him, beckoning him to come closer, closer still until he was lying half atop her. The contact of her bare arms to his skin felt glorious, but she didn't want to dwell on details. It was all about making it count, she realized. She had him there and then, and that was enough.

Suddenly the cooler air of the room hit her body, her dress and lingerie having vanished, leaving her bare to his gaze. She shivered. The look in his eyes -

his mouth on her breasts, on fire, blazing, scorching, so hot, so hot. His lips, tasting, sucking, traveled lower, lower, while his fingers continued to graze her nipples just so.

She couldn't help but moan when he kissed her stomach before his tongue traced a path down at the juncture of her thighs and hip. Down, down, down, he went, and her hips lifted without a conscious thought of hers, only wanting to get closer to his searching mouth.

Still Ginny couldn't help being disappointed when his lips left her skin and he pulled back. Holding her hands out to him, she got up and watched him undress. She stepped closer, the soft rustle of fabric loud in her ears, overshadowed only by her own thrumming heartbeat. It sounded like the beginning of a song in the silence.

He was a marvel, all lean body with noticeable muscles. Ginny licked her lips. He was good-looking, but not sickeningly pretty. Hesitating only for an instant, she touched his shoulder.

Although it looked so cold, marble and glass and snow, it felt smooth and warm under her fingertips. Alive. And so she pushed him onto the sofa once he had kicked his shoes and socks off. Settling on top of him, her thighs straddling his lap, she kissed him hard.

He responded in kind, tongue demanding entrance, hands roughly pulling her close to him. Their chests collided, she spread her legs even wider to accommodate to their new position, yet it wasn't enough. It wasn't where she wanted him.

Ginny's hands found his buttocks, attempting to pull him closer, to get him where she wanted. His cock was already sliding across all the right spots, close but never there. Close, so close.

Pulling away from her lips, he smirked. Then he skimmed his hands down her sides from her waist over her butt. Further down still, and his fingers slid in easily, effortlessly. His other thumb found her clit. Pleasure slowly started building in her body as he tweaked and moved his fingers.

All the while grinding herself down on his fingers, she reached for his cock. He was hard, almost incredibly so, but the skin felt like velvet when she circled her thumb over the head of his cock to spread the moisture that had gathered there. A few strokes later, he was moaning and thrusting in her hands, moaning as she was from his expert fingers sliding in and out of her.

Enough teasing, she decided, pulling away slightly while still stroking his cock. He looked at her then, eyes once again filled with that expression she delighted in – shameless lust.

And slowly, ever so slowly, she lowered herself onto his cock, feeling it stretch her to the point of actually hurting a little.

„Mmh," she half-sighed.

The slight pain served as a reminder that this was real. Lifting her hips, feeling his cock slipping in and out, she moved above him. His hands on her hips were steadying her, grounding her as her body rocked above his in a staccato rhythm. Her hair had long since lost all pretense at proper coiffure, a waving curtain around her shoulders.

Her knees firmly planted on either side of his hips, she continued to move, his body in sync with hers. It felt good – the cool air of the room against her hard nipples, the sofa creaking beneath them, his breathy moans that resounded around her. The feeling of his fingers at her hips, nails digging into the flesh as he let her ride him. The rhythmic slaps of her thighs on his. And then the – oh – circling of his fingers on her clit.

She pushed down harder and faster, her movements becoming a pagan dance. Up, down, up, down, down, down. One, two. Forte. Faster and faster she rocked, the angle slightly changing with each thrust of his hips meeting hers. Finally, finally, she gasped. His cock was there, again and again, making goosebumps appear on her skin. Fortissimo.

He was moaning beneath her, his finger's movement faltering for a second, then resuming with renewed vigor, a new movement for their symphony.

Ginny felt herself being flipped over, effortlessly, his fingers never leaving her body. The music was unbroken, but the tonality changed. His cock hit a different spot then. Different, but equally delicious. She lifted her hips, but it was him conducting the piece, his fingers tugging on her clit like a violinist on his instrument. One, two, three. Circle, gasp, thrust.

She felt her orgasm building, saw him close his eyes above her. The final sounds of the symphony, everything in tune. Heat was building everywhere, and she bit her lip hard from the intensity of it all. Seeing him come undone above her, she tilted her hips and felt the heat spreading, spreading, tension building and building until she couldn't take it any longer.

Her orgasm hit her like the last tact of the music, the final triumphant note. His fingers in conjunction with his cock, both touching her in just the right places, sent her falling over the edge. Eyes firmly closed, she felt like she was flying, flying, flying, spiraling up in a graceful hallelujah.

And then he moaned, moaned, moaned, his voice mingling with her keening cry. She held tight onto him, and felt his weight drop down, boneless, draping over her body. A gush of air left her lungs, surprise, pleasure, contentment.

As they slowly recovered their ability to speak, their masks lay forgotten in front of the sofa, remnants of a chance encounter already forgotten.

A/N: Thoughts? Please review!

I'd also like to thank all those of you who put me on Alerts or Favourites, as well as those who reviewed. Special shoutouts go to Lizz, Ky and Rowan.

~Anna Scathach