Carefully PlaitedAuthor: purplefluffycatCharacters/Pairings:
Firenze-centric, mentions of human/centaur and centaur/centaur.Rating:
Handkerchief Codes (well, a version thereof...)Other Warnings:
cross-species, vague allusions to exhibitionism, cross-dressing and BDSM, masturbation, a Rowlingesque approach to mythology(!)Word Count:
Beneath the silent stars, Firenze yearns... Author's Notes:
I'm... not entirely sure where this idea came from, but it was an interesting little piece to write, nonetheless. There's nothing terribly graphic here, cross-species-wise, so please don't be too afraid ;-) Mods - I need a tag for Firenze, please.
It was well understood that centaurs felt the way of ages; the great procession of the stars and the moon, cosmic forces meeting and joining and the inevitable tug-tug-tug upon the frenetic little lives of beings below.
Gazing up at the vanishing stars as early-morning chill pervaded the forest, Firenze reminded himself that such forces were unconscious. Of course - he had known that since he was a foal. The people were at their mercy, as helpless as mites in the undergrowth when hooves came to fall; their fates all woven together in some elaborate pattern that could be neither modified nor averted.
All passed; all came to dust. And the world continued - another generation paddling through the mire after the last, making the best of whatever world had been carved out for them by Orion unbuckling his belt or the Great Bear taking to her cave.
Firenze knew that it was gauche to wish, or judge, or imagine that the powers might, or would, or could discern one individual from among the mass of life with which he trampled these woods. Yet something within his heart sparked hope all the same, and he found himself whispering among the leaves. If only it was like the past times. The old years. When centaur and human would, together...
- A dew-hung cobweb quivered under his breath and a rook cawed, bringing sharp focus to the pre-dawn haze. Firenze shook his head roughly. There was no place for such notions. Bane would deal very cruelly with him, if he were to know of what Firenze thought; how he yearned...It hasn't always been like this, though.
The thought was at once nectar and bitter dogweed, and he stopped to taste it even though he knew he should not. The histories that they learned and recited told stories of millennia past; of lands sun-scorched and hanging with grapes, with craggy coral-rocks caressed by blue seas and enough sunlight to make your flanks tingle through the palomino hair. And the beautiful humans
, clad in whispers of white and sturdy sandals that kept pace. Wizard or no, they had walked with the centaurs, conversed and delighted and quarelled as friends and equals.
Liaisons were not unknown between man and centaur; indeed, many a famous bond had been formed. If the human was female, a handsome young satyr might be born - light and playful as his tail swished between two furred legs, tendons springing with equine energy even as his mother taught him from the wax tablets of her people. If the human were also male, well... the very thought made Firenze shiver.
The familiar arousal crept upon him, even as he tried to push it away - hairs prickled and blood heated in the grey light, huffs of breath greeting the air more quickly now. Very soon, he knew that he had to indulge his thoughts once again, lest they drive him mad. Padding to a fallen log shaded by thick canopy, Firenze settled guiltily, his erection stirring against the damp bark.
He had seen some of them, coming into the forest. The young ones were neither here nor there - scampering around and starting at each change of the breeze as any young foal would. But some of the grown ones took his breath away: a dark, crooked man, graceful despite the weighty lines etched on his face and heart; the elder one, bubbling with a magic that called to his very core; the jaded one with his kind smile, who ran among them in the forest when the moon was full and his mind was weak. Firenze might see one of them through the trees, or catch a whiff of that intoxicating, forbidden scent that made the other centaurs paw at the ground in disgust and anger: Flesh; pink and soft. Spices and acerbic cleanness that did not belong. Chemicals and sweetmeats and exotic things that Firenze had no name for.
His rhythm became faster, then - rutting as his nostrils flared, imagining he smelt something other than undergrowth and berries and his own musk.
- And it all made him fantasize the same forbidden dream. Images of a rump so smooth and round, flashed within his mind. Soft, soft, nude legs that could part so very sweetly like the wings of a forest butterfly, and the charming little toes that Firenze would nibble and lick if only he could....
...And then, a lovely human man writhing beneath him, knees tied about his sides as his own front legs knelt on the mossy ground, the man's rear titled upwards on a curve of bark, stretched out and more wanton than any centaur was able to be.
His cock pounded gratefully against the slick wood. Yes, yes...
...Or perhaps, the man riding him - in every way imaginable. Human dialect whispered into his ears as alien fingers wrapped about him or touched him inside....
Firenze's back tingled with the grip of phantom thighs, and he fancied he could almost feel the tangle of human fingers in his pelt and tail as he reached his climax; thick white spattering the forest floor, alone and lonely.
Afterwards, gathering his senses and accustomed shame, Firenze appealed once more to those unhearing stars. Am I really so perverted to want this?
There had been a code for it, in the old days, alongside all of the others. No centaur had dared to make that intricate plait for centuries, though; 'the traitor's braid,' it had become called, and when everything had turned bad, couples were exiled if they would not forsake their love.
Now there was just the coarse tail-weave that Magorian and Ronan wore like medals; their rears displaying to all that they would take a male centaur swift and hard and would expect to be thanked for the trouble. Sometimes they added grass to the plait when they wanted it out in the open of a glade, where anyone could come upon the coupling; at other times it was a flower - a calling card for the young, graceful ones to come out and play, dressed in the leaves and petals of the female centaurs about their flat breasts.
Only Bane, the dark one, plaited with thorns. Firenze shuddered to think what an assignation with him would involve, and how many bruises would be left to nurse the next day.
Luckily, he was never approached - by Bane, or anyone else. No-one wanted to rut with the strange blond horse-man with his head in the clouds, after all.
With a sigh, Firenze noted that daybreak had crested its way through the leaves. Star-gazing was over; time to hunt, and build, and pretend to want nothing other than the narrowest life of the forest. It could not go on like this.*****Left, right, loop and twist. Right, centre, pull-through and tie with chord. Left, right...
For the only time he could remember, Firenze felt at ease. Not completely so, of course - his instincts called to the forest in a way only partly mollified by the charmed classroom in which he sat. There was also trouble in the air; the planets proclaimed it from their haughty, mute sky.Loop and twist. Split and twist. Right, centre, pull-through...
His fingers worked methodically, the old pattern springing from them as if he had always known it. He was no longer ashamed, and that was more relief than he could ever have imagined. Tie with chord. Left and centre, split and loop and tie...
One may not be able to control the forces, that was true - but the humans had taught him that to wish, and yearn, and fight, was not only for the foolish. Much could be accomplished, and his spirit rallied with the thought. There could be happiness to be grasped in this stochastic world, after all.
"Not wantin' ter be disturbin' yer, but..." The half-giant lingered in the doorway, strangely shy. Left, right, twist. Knot and secure. Tighten the ends fast.
Firenze smiled and shook his head, beckoning Hagrid closer. He felt large, gentle hands on his flanks, and instinctively leaned into that broad chest, relishing the warmth. Inhaling the man's scent, Firenze felt human and forest at one. For the first time, he fancied himself at home.