Garden AriaAuthor: rilla_liciousCharacters:
Neville Longbottom/Percy WeasleyRating:
Light bondageThemes/kinks chosen:
Bottoms, oculophilia, scarificationWord Count:
Beneath Percy's robes is a whole world that exists only for Neville. Author's notes:
Thanks so much to B for the beta! I guess this means my hiatus is over. Yay!Disclaimer:
I own nothing you recognize. Making no money.
The thing Neville loves best about Percy is that when all this started, he was a blank canvas and now, every inch of skin beneath his clothes is blooming with Neville's presence. Neville loves this, and he also loves that no one would ever guess how it's all gone down.
At work, Percy is the bossy one, the demanding one. He always has an agenda, someone following at his heels, and that deep brown hardwood clipboard edged in gold tucked into the sharp angle of his elbow. His glasses stay perfectly perched on his nose. His robes lack a single wrinkle or smudge. He is impeccable, and he expects no less than perfection of everyone around him.
When Neville is teaching, there is potting soil everywhere. It sticks to the soles of his shoes and leaves an indelible trail of his footprints all over the castle. It sticks to his fingers and when he runs his hands through his hair, leaves dark, shadowy smudges at his temples. His desk is a tower of parchment and weighty tomes on Herbology. Glass jars displaying specimens from all over the world are tucked haphazardly into every corner. Neville goes out of his way to accommodate every student, delaying quizzes and handing out make-up assignments at every turn.
The first time they met as adults, Neville thought it was electric. Percy assessed him, his gaze traveling through those horn-rimmed frames, down that long, narrow nose. Percy's eyes are piercing blue, sharp as a bird of prey, and that first time Neville saw them, the first time he really
looked into them, he felt as though they'd run him clear through. Percy dismissed him easily, those ice blue eyes flicking over to another subject, as if Neville wasn't really there at all. But later, Neville felt him watching, and he knew that if he left the room, Percy would be disappointed.
That was also the first time Neville realized that with Percy, he was in control.
"Hurts," Percy says.
"Not enough," says Neville. "Never enough. Is it, Percy?"
"Never enough." Percy's voice is choked, his head drops forward.
Percy is splayed out over Neville's bed, wrists bound to the magically lengthened bedposts so he leans forward on his knees, his back a graceful, taut arc. Neville smooths his hands over Percy's body, up the backs of his thighs, over his arse, up his sides. Every bit of skin usually hidden beneath Percy's clothes is covered in vines, carved into Percy's pale, perfect flesh by magic. They shiver and bloom beneath Neville's touch.
Percy has become Neville's work of art, his garden aria, and Neville loves to make him sing. He presses on the small of Percy's back, not hard, just enough to add pressure, and Percy trembles with the strain. Neville slides one hand up Percy's spine, where tiny blue flowers spread open their petals as the signature of his own skin passes by. His palm rides up the back of Percy's neck, fingers twining into Percy's hair, and he grips, suddenly, yanking back.
"There's still some canvas left on you," Neville croons in his ear. "I'm going to add more tonight. If you're good, I'll leave out the thorns."
He turns Percy's head to the side, so they are nose to nose, Percy's lips parted and quivering.
"Will you be good?"
Percy's answer is so light on his breath that Neville barely hears it. "Uh-huh."
"You want a kiss, baby?"
"It's good to want things, Percy. And it's good to have to wait for them."
Percy whines, a low, long, steady sound that breaks as Neville swats his arse with a sharp clap. His arse, like the rest of him, is covered in those thin, leafy vines, and beneath Neville's hand, where uncarved skin would have turned a violent pink, red roses blossom, their petals spreading wide.
"You're my masterpiece," says Neville, and he slides his hands up Percy's sides, white blooms twisting around their stems to mark his path.
When he presses his open mouth to Percy's throat, the vine beneath his lips broadens into a swollen leaf and as he pulls away, a lotus blossom appears. Percy can feel all these things and more. He can feel the fluttery tickle of petals, the sharp twist of thorns, the constantly shifting and bursting sensation of new foliage erupting on his skin. Neville has made sure that the magic is seamless, one tactile sensation folding into the next. He knows it drives Percy wild.
Percy, who controls his ability to feel anything so completely all day long. When Percy peels off his clothes for Neville, he can do nothing but
Neville draws his wand, then shove Percy's legs apart. He lies on his back on the bed, and slides himself up between Percy's legs. He knows what he's planting tonight.
"Look at me," Neville commands and his voice binds Percy's gaze to his as tightly as the ropes that hold Percy's limbs.
Percy's eyes are dilated, round black pools threatening to swallow the ever-narrowing ring of diamond blue. Neville feels the razor trail of their gaze boring into him, the spark of it making his cock twitch. He grins and presses the tip of his wand to the juncture of Percy's hip, just at the edge of the tangle of dark red curls.
"Nothing blooms without roots," he says, and the tip of his wand glows red hot and sizzles against Percy's skin.
Percy cries out through gritted teeth, his whole body beginning to tremble. This is why Neville waits so patiently. He waits for this moment of branding, of carving in his design with heat and pressure, of marking Percy as his
. This is always the very best thing. Neville draws thin lines, sears them into Percy's flesh, all around and beneath the hair, and then they start spreading of their own accord.
Blinking hard, struggling to keep his gaze on Neville, Percy is still gazing down, tears glistening in his eyes.
"You like this," Neville says. "Love it. It's never going to be enough."
Percy nods, whimpers.
"Almost done, baby," says Neville. The roots curl down around the base of Percy's thickened cock, and then further still, alongside his balls.
Finally, Neville is finished.
"Now," he says, shimmying his way up between Percy and the headboard, "we can finish this."
Percy lets out a hiss of breath, the tension in his shoulders deflating. Neville is on his knees now, pinned between Percy and the headboard, and he runs his hands up Percy's arms, green ivy rustling as he goes. Percy's lips are parted, moistened, and Neville can feel the way they ache for him. He tilts his head, leans forward only just enough, so Percy still has to strain into the kiss, presses Percy's lips open and slips his tongue inside. Percy responds like a wound top. His kisses are desperate, wanton. Neville has broken him down completely. And now he'll build Percy back up.
With a tap of his wand, Neville releases the ropes and Percy collapses forward with a cry, breaking the kiss and falling over Neville's shoulders. Neville lets the wall catch them both, wrapping his arms around Percy and laughing.
"We're not done yet," he says softly. "It'll be better from here. I promise."
Percy nods, pulls back, his breath hitching as he sucks it in through his nose.
"That's my brave boy," says Neville. "I know it hurts now, but just wait."
Neville presses a hand to Percy's chest, slides it down slowly, and Percy lights up with a fireworks display of flora. He flinches away as Neville nears the newest design, but Neville reaches around for the small of his back and pulls him in. As soon as Neville's fingertips reach the roots, they start to spread.
"Oh!" Percy's eyes are wide and round.
"Yes," says Neville, and the roots wind around the base of Percy's erection, then start climbing the shaft.
Neville can see them pulsing in time with the blood rushing to Percy's cock.
"They're… they're squeezing me," Percy says, his breath coming in jerks and gasps.
"That's not even the best part," says Neville, and he rises up onto his knees, then rests back on his heels.
Percy climbs astride him without being told. Neville casts another spell or two, protection and lube, just the bare minimum, before discarding his wand for good. It clatters to the floor, the only sound in the room besides their heavy breath. Percy slides down his cock expertly, and Neville rolls his hips, grinding for as much friction as he can get. The vines are circling just below the head of Percy's prick, stroking him, teasing. Percy wriggles at their touch and Neville groans.
With his hands free to explore Percy's body, Neville plays the garden like a piano, opening Percy up bit by bit, letting him fall apart completely. Percy slides up and down Neville's cock, tight and shaking around him, and Neville drives up more fiercely, brings one hand to Percy's throat and watches as the intricate rose collar twists, thorns digging into Percy's skin until tiny beads of red appear on the surface. Tears fall from the corners of Percy's eyes and onto his chest, then roll gently off the petals there.
Neville pumps up into Percy harder, faster, and the roots envelop the head of Percy's cock. Percy throws his head back, crying out in abandon, and Neville watches in fascination as the tips of the roots dip down into Percy's glistening slit. Percy's voice goes choked and hoarse and he shudders violently.
"You can do it for me now, baby," says Neville. "You can come. I'm coming with you." And he takes Percy's cock in his fist.
The roots draw back swiftly and with them comes Percy's orgasm, furious and wild. Neville feels his own balls draw up, feels the sudden bursting forth of his own peak, but he keeps his eyes on Percy. Percy, whose come is splattering all over his stomach. Every drop that touches his skin seems to burst into color, and from the depths of Neville's garden a flight of butterflies explodes, hundreds of wings fluttering upward on shadows of color over Percy's skin.
Percy's cry is so raw and sharp that Neville's ears are ringing. Percy's head is thrown back so Neville can watch the butterflies flutter up to the base of his chin and vanish. And then, as if they are one person, it fades. Percy collapses forward, a sobbing heap of raw nerves and trembling flesh. Neville holds him, somehow brings them both down to the soft clutch of the sheets, somehow keeps some sense of himself, of Percy's body here in the bed beside him.
It goes on for endless minutes, Neville stroking Percy's hair and back, murmuring to him all the affectionate, reassuring things he hasn't said yet tonight. And after a long while, Percy starts to come around.
"That," he says, and his voice is like gravel, it reminds Neville of Charlie's now, "that was… Longbottom, where did you learn
Neville chuckles, kisses Percy's forehead. "I keep telling you to call me 'Neville' in bed. And I learned it from a book. It's taken me months to make sure I was going to get it right."
"Thank you for that. I would have hated to see that one go wrong."
"As would I."
Percy wraps his arms around Neville now, and though all Neville wants to do is sleep, he'll stay awake and listen to Percy talk late into the night, playing the brands on Percy's skin like an instrument. Tomorrow, Percy will put on his best robes and tie, and be the Minister for Magic once again, and Neville will go back to greenhouse number three and teach first years how to avoid succumbing to the mandrake's scream. But tonight, as long as they have together until sunrise, Percy belongs to Neville.