Daily Deviant
- there is no such thing as 'too kinky'
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31st August 2007 15:23 - Fic: Sightless (Percy/Harry, NC-17)
Title: Sightless
Author: [info]emiime
Characters: Percy/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None.
Kinks chosen: Blindfolding.
Word Count: 1260
Summary: Harry is blinded, guided only by instinct.  And by Percy.

Originally posted to LJ on 2/9/07.
 

Percy's hands are cool, his deft fingers quick and teasing over Harry's bare skin. They smooth a path over Harry's shoulders, then down the exposed flesh of his arms, raising him in bumps all over, tormenting his skin deliciously, and then—

—and then the touch is gone as suddenly as it came.

"Perce," Harry moans, stretching, arching, but Percy keeps silent, keeps still, and Harry doesn't know where or when his fingers or his mouth will touch down next.

Harry whips his head back and forth against the pillow, the silk of the blindfold whooshing against the cotton pillowcase, but Percy has tied the knot tightly, precisely, and Harry knows there is no escape, no relief from his darkened world, not until Percy lets it be so.

"None of that, now," comes Percy's calm voice from somewhere to Harry's left, and Harry turns instinctively. Percy touches Harry's cheek lightly, as if steadying himself, then captures Harry's mouth in a kiss and traces the line of his shoulder with those certain fingertips, and Harry shivers at the unexpected touch, pressing himself bodily to Percy, searching out familiar flesh, only to have his hands slapped away and to be rolled onto his back again.

Percy forces Harry's shoulders firmly to the mattress, each of his smooth, elegant fingertips pressing into Harry's skin.

Harry smiles.

The touch is so familiar, but so new, so heightened by the darkness, by Harry's blindness. Everything is different, more extreme, each sensation taken to new, previously unexplored heights. Even Percy's voice seems distant, ethereal, and Harry shivers again when Percy speaks again, his words a low, commanding order.

"Roll over," Percy says, and Harry complies, pressing his blinded eyes into the pillow's edge. Percy's touch alternates down Harry's back, feather-light against his spine, then bolder, stronger, as he reaches lower, lower, to explore the crease of Harry's arse.

Then the touch is gone again, and Harry shivers, waiting, and he jumps, tenses, hisses in a breath when Percy's fingers find him again, travelling down his crease to his hole, and the familiar blunt tip of Percy's wand follows.

Percy's performed these spells on him a hundred times before, probably more, but they've never felt like this before. Percy hisses them low, and Harry's surprised when Percy stretches him first—Percy always lubricates him first. Harry gives a little oh at the unfamiliar sensation, and he knows Percy will be smiling there behind him as he presses his wand to Harry's hole again to lubricate him.

The lubrication spell has always been a necessary part of sex, of course, but never one Harry paid so much attention to before. But now, his sight gone, his other senses heightened, he realises it's warm, and maybe Percy's learnt something new to make it that way, or maybe it always was but Harry never noticed, but whatever it is, it doesn't matter, because Harry is absolutely squirming on the bed now under Percy's ministrations, rubbing his cock against the little bumps where strings have been tied off at ends of mends on the quilt.

And Harry curses low and waits, waits, rubbing himself against the quilt in anticipation, but Percy's hands and wand are gone again, and Harry throws his head back, casting sightlessly around, his mouth open, waiting.

"…Perce?" he asks after a moment that lasts far too long. He's sure he can feel Percy's hands close to his skin, and is that a warm breath on his spine?

But Percy doesn't respond. It's as if he's just enjoying the sight of Harry, naked and stretched and wet and ready and blinded for him, but—

"Fuck!" Harry spits, as Percy's hands are on him again, just suddenly, spreading him, and Percy's cock is inside him then, and god, Percy's never thrust like this before, filled him like this before, Harry's never sweated like this before, gritted his teeth so hard before, the quilt's never been clenched so hard before by desperate hands—

—hands that should be on his cock, what the fuck is he thinking?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," chants Harry, and he grabs himself, strokes, pumps, and he chokes on his words as Percy drives into him, making determined little unh sounds somewhere above and behind him, and Harry arches up, pushes back, wills himself to wait, wants to come when Percy comes, but it's too much, everything's so much more, and Harry spills, cursing, sweating, panting.

Harry knows Percy's felt his orgasm from the way Percy digs his fingertips into Harry's hips and pounds him faster, harder, and then it's just desperation and Percy's making even more little noises and his thrusts become erratic and he shouts when he comes, one brief groaning half-word, and Harry can finally collapse, boneless, sightless, onto the bed, Percy on top of him.

"Perce," he murmurs after a moment, and Percy nods against Harry's sweaty back and sits up, slips out, and his hands make their way up Harry's spine to his neck, to the knot of the blindfold. He takes his time undoing the knot—he has to, Harry thinks, it must've got tied even tighter with all that moving around—but after a moment the pressure's gone from against Harry's eyes and he slowly blinks them open, even the bedroom's dim light too much for his sensitive, newly-sighted eyes to take.

He sits up, then, and turns to Percy, and puts his arms around him. Percy buries his face in Harry's hair and hugs him back.

"That was amazing," Harry murmurs against Percy's chest, "Thank you."

He feels Percy nod against his hair, and he sits up, nudging Percy's chin up with his forehead as he does so.

"Is that what it's like?" he asks. Percy's gaze flicks up, then over, and it looks as though he's considering the question. But his clouded blue eyes don't move to Harry's face as he replies.

"Senses heightened," he says with the beginnings of a smile, "Everything exaggerated, every touch like electricity? Yes, that's what it's like for me." His smile turns rueful, and he raises a hand to Harry's shoulder, then trails it to his face, running a finger along Harry's mouth.

"I was imagining I could see you," he says, "When you were just lying there, waiting for me."

Harry smiles and kisses the finger that's still on his mouth, and he doesn't know what to say. He turns to grab his glasses from the bedside table. Percy's are there, too, where they have lain for months now, dusty and unused, but Harry doesn't instinctively reach for them anymore along with his own.

When he turns back to Percy, the redhead is groping on the bed for his wand, and that's something Harry can hand to him, something he can help with, and he does.

And when they're both cleaned and dressed, Percy takes Harry's arm.

"You wouldn't want to see me, anyway," Harry blurts, too late and too loud. "Got my dick cursed green during the war. It's awful." They both laugh at this, and they both know it's not true.

"You know," says Percy, as Harry guides him to his favourite chair, "I'm actually the lucky one. We'll both get old and grey and ugly, but you'll always be twenty years old and gorgeous and fit, to me."

Harry laughs and calls Percy a dirty old man, but he smiles and he bites his bottom lip and he scrunches shut his eyes, for Percy's always holds a promise, and it's a promise that neither of them has ever voiced before.



 
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