Better Than BroomsticksAuthor: inamacCharacter/Pairing
bondage, with a tiny hint of D,S and M.Word Count:
Rose finds a better way of flying than using a broomstick.Author's Notes:
This has been niggling at me for months, I really could not resist the harness theme, but the muse refused to provide a plot –however, when did a DD fic need plot?
It had started with flying. Rose loved it; the wind in her hair, the sweet fear of a plunge to the ground, the exhilaration of soaring above the countryside. The problem was broomsticks. It took magic and concentration to fly a broomstick, and even the most advanced model was, at base, inert wood and metal. It didn't live. If she fell it was solely her action – and if she soared – well, masturbation was all very well, in its place, but she preferred to share her pleasures with a living body.
So there had been the winged beasts: flying horses, thestrals, hippogriffs and dragons. Having relatives and friends who had access to the most well bred mounts had been an advantage. Uncle Hagrid had helped her onto her first hippogriff. Cousin Charlie had shown her how to tame a dragon.
And, perforce, there had been harness. She had learned to love that almost as much as the taming, the mounting and the flight.
It was the leather she loved. The scent, animal and masculine, soap and oil; the feel, smooth and slick on one side, rough and warm on the other; the contrast between stitching and studs, embossing and engraving; the sound, the jingle of rings, the slap of rein and whip on flesh, the sight of patent black straps against white hair, of dark havana brown framing red curls, of metallic green dragonhide confining raven locks. And, perhaps above all, the taste, a secret indulgence to touch her lips to the points where leather met flesh, to the salt of sweat where it hardened the edges of the harness, and to the bite of semen when it spilled over the confining straps.
Not all her mounts were equine. And not all her flights were through air.
"Malfoy." She breathed the name that her family had taught her to hate. "Malfoy... Move!"
Scorpius Malfoy groaned as her spurred heels dug into his buttocks, but he obeyed, to the limit of his tether, rocking forward and back between her thighs, allowing the embossed straps of the harness around his chest and waist to stimulate her fork as she sat astride him.
"Oh yesss..." The rhythm and the caress of the leather set her juices flowing. She leaned forward and licked the strap where it passed over his shoulder, tight enough to leave a bloodless white mark in the compressed flesh, then bit down hard as orgasm built.
"More!" her fingers were in his hair, feeling the contrast between blond silk and the black patent leather of the bridle. The gag-bit silence him, but he obeyed, increasing the pace of his rocking to what, in a horse, would have been a hand-canter. It was by no means as fast as she wanted. It was a contest between them, this game. They both knew the feel of riding one of his grandfather's Abraxan winged horses ahead of a storm – a game far more dangerous, and more exhilarating than anything quidditch could offer, and she drove him now to match that pace, that excitement, one hand firm on the rein, the other wielding the crop in encouragement.
"Faster!" The slap of leather on flesh excited them both. His cock leaking come over its restraining straps, her clit bruised against the seam of the harness. In another moment they would be there, flying without broomstick or magic, without wings, without any inhibitions at all.
In a moment.
They fell together.
In leather, and feathers and flesh.