bloodplay, collectingOther Warnings/Content:
anal sex, sex toys, flagellation, masochism, aftercareWord Count:
She never knows how much he’ll need her to take, but she will save every drop.Author's Notes:
This is one of my guilty pleasure rare pairs, and I thought these themes, and this particular setting, suited them well.
“You’re doing so well, Draco.” The whip is heavy in Luna’s grip, the tails dangling as she leans forward, trails the fingers of her free hand through the tracks of blood across Draco’s back. Vivid pink strips with rivulets of red; she presses down and he flinches before arching up into her touch with a heavy groan.
She gestures and the bindings at his wrists tighten, stretching his arms high over his head, reaching for one end of the bench. The pillow under his chest lifts him, gives him room to hang his head down and breathe, while raising his back to an easier place for her to reach. She sits straddled across his hips, knows her weight presses him against the second pillow that supports his pelvis. She rocks against him and he groans again.
“You’re such a good boy,” she murmurs, scratching across the lines, adding tiny white marks to the pattern on his back. “Ten more strokes will do, I think. You can bleed out the sin, Draco. I’ll take it from you. Yes?”
He nods, and she leans forward, one hand heavy against his back, the tails of the whip teasing the nape of his neck. “Speak, Draco. Do you want me to make you bleed?”
“Make it come out.” His voice is like gravel, rough and ragged. “Make me bleed everything out.”
“Of course.” Luna slides back far enough that she straddles his thighs. She touches the beads at her throat as she regards the patterns across his back.
The first round was light. Easy, despite the blood knots tied in the end of each strand of her whip. These last ten strokes must be harder, strike more deeply into his skin. He needs to atone, and she will help him purge the pain that lies under his skin.
He jerks beneath the first strike; bright dots of red well up along his back. She doesn’t give him time to recover, striking again and again in quick succession. His breath is faster now, ragged, and she pauses. Her free hand kneads his bottom, thumb sliding between his pale cheeks. She presses against his furled hole, and he quietly whines. “When we’re done,” she whispers, and draws the whip back to strike again.
After four lashes, there are droplets sliding across his skin. After six, his shoulders shake, his hands clenched with white fingers where they are bound. She smoothes the blood across his skin, rubs it into his wounds. “Are you okay?” she asks. “Can you take four more?”
“Yes,” he whispers. “Fuck. Yes.”
She makes the first two quick, watching fresh blood well up across his shoulders. The next strike is dead center, and the last is at the base of his back, just above his bottom. He shudders and cries out, and she sets the whip aside, presses her hands against his skin. “Look at it all,” she whispers. “Let me take this from you. Let me carry this for you, so you don’t have to do it alone.”
Luna summons a silver bowl, and with a wordless spell, the blood drops from her hands into it with a steady plink plink
. She sets it next to Draco and slides her hands across his body, the same spell gathering up the droplets in the bowl. “Your pain is mine,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. “We share in everything in this life. Do you want me to fuck you now?”
“My hands,” Draco murmurs, and Luna releases him. She sends the bowl floating gently through the air, leaves it on the table by the high wingback chair that sits near the fire. Draco wraps his arms around the bench, lets his head fall forward. “Yes,” he breathes, and Luna smiles.
She summons the pot of lubrication and her favorite dildo from the drawer—a plug on one side for him, and a dildo on the other side for her. The lube drips across his hole, pushed in with one slick finger, then two. She opens him up with her small fingers twisting deftly, until he’s thrusting back against her. She stops then and presses the thick plug end of the dildo into him. It stretches him wide, goes deep as well, and he pants as she gets it seated.
The dildo thrusts up from his ass, and she carefully positions herself over it and sinks down, eyes closing as it fills her. “Fuck,” she whispers, rotating her hips. She leans forward, the strand of beads at her throat swaying with her movement. Fingers dig into the mess of his back, and he cries out as she holds on. She lifts and falls again, fucking herself on the dildo, pushing the plug into him with every stroke. Tiny droplets well up from the scratches in his back, and she slides her fingers through them, painting his skin red. She sits up, brings back one hand so she can roll her finger over her clit, pushing herself over the edge until she cries out and fucks down hard, taking the dildo as deep as she can.
Draco shudders under her, and quietly goes limp.
“Are you all right, love?” she lets the dildo slip out of her, gently tugs the plug from his bottom. He grunts softly, and she touches the nape of his neck, idly stroking through the fine hairs there. “Let’s get you comfortable and cleaned up.”
It doesn’t take much to transform the bench back into their comfortable bed, leaving Draco lying in the midst of it. She touches her wand to the wet spot, sending the remains of Draco’s orgasm to a second silver bowl that waits on the table. She gathers a warm washcloth and washes his skin free of blood, pausing to kiss each injury lightly. When he murmurs, she lies down in front of him and gathers him in, wraps him in a blanket to keep him warm as she kisses his lips slowly. “I love you,” she murmurs. “You know I’ll always share your burden.”
Draco manages to get one hand free, and he slides his fingers from bead to bead on her necklace. “I know. I love you,” he murmurs. He kisses her lips, and she cradles his head and kisses his forehead in return.
“Can you rest now?” she asks, and when he nods, she slips from the bed. His eyes are closed, his breath even, and she thinks he’s asleep before she makes it to her chair.
She curls up in the high wingback chair, her feet pulled up as she sits there, still naked. She carefully undoes the knot that holds her necklace together, lays it on the table. Then she reaches for the small case under the table, opens it to withdraw two clear crystal beads.
Luna drops the first bead into the bowl of blood, watches as it sinks to the bottom. She touches it with the tip of her wand and whispers Absorbeo
; the blood slowly sinks into the bead, swallowed until there’s none left, and the bead turns the dull, dark brown of dried blood. A second bead falls into the other bowl with Draco’s release; with her whisper and the touch of her wand, the fluid is absorbed, leaving the bead a shining, milky white.
“Perfect,” she murmurs, as she places them on the cord. They nestle against the other dozen beads, each slightly different in size and hue, pleasure and pain intertwined. She never knows how much he’ll need her to take, but she will save every drop. As long as she can help him heal, help put his mind at ease, this will always be her burden to share.