Ladyfingers
Tonks, Ginny has learned, is nowhere near as clumsy with her hands as she is with her feet. Her hands are small and delicate-looking; she likes to elongate her fingers, claiming they're more elegant that way, but Ginny likes her real hands just fine.
Ginny likes the soft skin of the palms as they slide up her belly to cup her breasts, teasing her nipples between the pads of her thumb and forefinger, making Ginny gasp into her mouth.
Tonks's mouth really is pink and bowed, her lips soft and kissable. Ginny likes to suck on Tonks's full lower lip before thrusting her tongue into her mouth.
Tonks likes kissing. She likes it a lot, and Ginny's glad, because she loves kissing her, loves the feel of silky skin beneath her lips, the way Tonks gasps and moans, hips arching off the bed when Ginny licks at the slick, warm flesh of her cunt until Tonks comes against her tongue, kicking out and knocking over the night table, soaking the carpet with perfume that will saturate the room and everything in it for weeks. Ginny doesn't care. She likes that everything she owns will smell like Tonks, and that the scent will linger, reminding them both of how much they enjoy their nights together.
Tonks sometimes fumbles with words, unsure of what to say or how to say it, but when her tongue is moving over Ginny's clit, Ginny thinks she's the most eloquent speaker ever born.
Ginny loves the feel of Tonks's fingers, nails clipped short, pushing inside her, almost lazily at first, but then harder, faster, as Ginny begs her for release, the sweet, hot rush of pleasure through her veins, fire beneath her skin, lighting her from within.
Tonks likes to lick her fingers afterward, but this time, Ginny grabs her hand and sucks them into her mouth, licking herself off each digit, nipping lightly at the quill callus on Tonks's middle finger.
Tonks, Ginny thinks, has lovely hands, and Ginny likes them best of all when they cradle her close and stroke her hair, and make her forget the war outside their door.