Another fanfic I've written for my blog, RomioneSmut on Tumblr, based on fanart by fucktastic fanartist herself, Napchic! See it in high quality (And please do NOT use anywhere else without clear credit to Napchic, or else! Don't forget to remove the spaces and replace -dot- with a dot.)
napchic -dot- net / ForJes / LiveJournalCanonfest2009 / Score! -dot- jpg
It was a dare, only a dare, and a not-so-serious one at that; an off-hand comment that may have went too far. However, it had tapped into her desire to please him, or rather to help him please her, because she knew that's what he always wanted: to bring that part of her - the part that no one else got to see - out, just for him. The look of pride on his face - a look she ached for just as much as he worked to see her lose control - was enough incentive for her lips to twitch into a coy smile, and for her lashes to flutter quite girlishly, making his eyes widen in shock. Congratulating him on a well-played Quidditch match was one thing. But this- this was quite another thing entirely…
And for him to suggest it, even though she knew he only wanted to make her blush, had hit on something too close to her own real fantasies. And the opportunity was just right there;she reasoned she'd be a fool to pass up the chance at doing something so incredibly… naughty.
And so she had nodded her head and sighed with a soft laugh. Her brain told her she was mad, and sent those wild thoughts that had led her to agree to something she ordinarily wouldn't do out of her head, albeit unknowingly straight down to her core, pooling in a cavern of lust between her legs. She shivered, excited at the prospect of even thinking about doing something so reckless, let alone actually doing it…
He quirked a brow at her just then as his eyes traveled down her body, taking in the fact that, even though it was well into the evening, she was still dressed in her Hogwarts uniform: short, grey and pleated skirt, white buttoned down blouse, Gryffindor necktie knotted perfectly at her throat, and those grey woolen socks she was so fond of, pulled up almost to the knee, along with flat-bottomed, black shoes with a strap across the top: She looked much too innocent given the circumstances and the expression on her face that made him want to forget what he had goaded her into, and instead take her right then and there in the Quidditch tent.
But the plan - the far-fetched idea that he had jokingly said aloud, the one she had just silently agreed to - was a fantasy he'd had for years, but never in his life thought would come to fruition, especially now, and especially with her always so hell-bent on following the rules…
He was already dressed in brown trousers, undershirt and jumper, complete with laced up boots, when he asked if she was certain. He almost kicked himself for giving her an out, but knew it was the right thing to do; He didn't want her to have any doubt… not about this.
But instead of saying yes she answered by pulling him by one large freckled hand, their arms extended between them when he didn't move at once, still in a bit of shock over what they were about to do, and also giddy as hell. And when she tugged once more and gave an impatient huff, he slipped out of his stupor and, at the last moment, remembered to grab his broom that was propped up against the bench beside him.
The day was racing toward its end; the still glaring sun was setting behind thick grey and white clouds, tinting the heavily covered blue sky behind them to a gradated golden hue.
He shook overgrown fringe out of his eyes as he mounted his broom and instructed her to climb on in front of him, her front to his, and with her legs over his thighs. She lifted her hair, letting it fall heavily behind her shoulders and sat astride him. He suddenly felt anxious, nervous even, but boldly pulled her closer, claiming that it was safer this way. She knew better, but merely rolled her eyes at his wicked grin before wrapping her arms snugly around his waist.
For a moment they stayed, the side of her face on his chest and his chin on her curls-covered head. He took a deep breath, and splayed one hand flat and firm on the small of her back, then gripped the broom handle behind her bum with the other. Then, without warning, he kicked off from the ground, taking too much joy and chuckling at her high pitched squeal and breathy, nervous laugh. Her racing heart beat on his sternum, and her small fists clung to the back of his jumper as they zoomed up higher toward the dense clouds.
They whipped around the topmost edge of the pitch in a wide arch, sending both their hair around their heads and over their eyes, catching glimpses of sky, bleachers, and goal posts on either side. Her grip, formerly born out of trepidation and anticipation, loosened enough for her to reach around his narrow waist and hook her thumbs into empty belt loops, pulling herself flush against him, even more than they had been previously.
The bridge of his long nose nudged her temple, telling her to look at him, as he brought the broom, and them, to a slower pace. And when she opened her eyes she saw that they had ascended as high as the very top of the goal posts, high enough to feel as if they were on top of their own world. Her heart skipped and it was as if they had been dripped from the clouds above instead of coming up from the ground. Then she looked into his eyes and for a moment she was suspended in an ocean of the clearest, bluest, deepest ocean. Her breath hitched, and when she remembered what their intentions were for this excursion she blinked rapidly, knowing a crimson blush wouldn't be far behind.
He grinned knowingly at her, keeping her gaze as he slowly extracted his arms from round her waist. Her thighs tightened reflexively and her eyes widened at the thought of falling without his large hands on her back for support. But with her slim fingers still firmly attached to his trousers she forgot about plummeting to the ground when he pulled jumper and undershirt up and over his head, tossing it over his shoulder. She chanced a look below and watched as they caught on the bottom rung of the goal post. There was a jerk of movement and she gasped as she saw his boots, tied together by the laces, follow to hang next to his tossed clothing, and then his socks…
She shook her head in amazement, her eyes fluttering down to rest on his exposed chest; a heavy sprinkling of freckles covered him from shoulders to navel where a spattering of reddish blond hairs were gathered, promising more if she were to just unbutton his trousers…
He couldn't wait any longer to taste her; watching her watch him with those large brown eyes, innocent yet wicked all at once, was making him mental. He wanted her, needed her. And she was his, so he took her. His hand was in her hair and on her face, and she was being pulled in to a searing kiss, hungry and insistent. She had sucked in a deep breath before their lips crashed, thankfully because he wasn't sure how or when he would be able to let go now. His lips and tongue still sucking and rolling over hers, his hands fell from her head down to the front of her blouse, blindly, but aptly, undoing what felt like more than a dozen buttons until his fingertips met skin, and he was shocked to realize that she had in fact not worn a bra. His momentary pause made her giggle against his mouth, but stopped abruptly when he rolled one of her taut nipples between his fingers while reaching down between them to cup her, his fingers digging lightly, but with purpose, on the spot he knew well enough not to need eyes to find.
She pressed in closer and raised her hips as her knickers were pulled from her body, one leg bent in order to help relieve her from the red flimsy fabric. He didn't dare toss them as he did his clothing, and instead hooked it onto his forefinger. Their kiss broke as he moved away and she was panting for breath, her hair wild around her head, and her lips swollen and wet. She licked them, and he felt himself harden underneath her, then groaned as she rocked her hips into his. And just like that any innocence he thought he had witnessed previously had all but disappeared from her expression.
She told him to take her, to fuck her, and her words echoed inside his head, making his heart beat harder, and with her breast in his hand his hardness throbbed with lust. Since his hands were otherwise occupied she opened his trousers and carefully pushed them down past his waist, exposing the part of him that she wanted the most- in that moment anyway.
She leaned into his reclined body and kissed him, this time with longing and passion, and deeper than before. Her small hands wrapped around him and he groaned into her smiling mouth. And when she raised herself up to kneel on his thighs he used one hand to hold her steady, making sure she was in position before letting her inch her way back down…down, and then enveloped him inside of her. This time they groaned together, hissing with pleasure and moaning with desire. He lost control of the broom for a second, making them drop a few feet, but he stopped them just in time so they were now inside of the circular goal. She looked frightened at first, but the movement had made him delve deeper and harder into her, so that her fright was mixed with want. Her arms were over her head, hands grasping for dear life on either side of the top of the metal, circular ring. With her legs and blouse open, and her breasts on display, she looked so open and free above him, taking his breath away. And so while maintaining a firm grip on the broom behind him he slid his other hand up her side, and when she nodded down at him, reassuring him she was alright, he started to rock them back and forth, the idle broom allowing for a smooth rhythm.
She threw her head back and squeezed her eyes shut as they moved faster and harder, whispering their wants and names and swearing both loudly and softly…
She tried desperately not to think about falling over the edge, and instead wanted to fall into him, into this moment where anything was possible. She wanted to feel free and entrapped all at once, but only with him. She wanted to do something so unlike herself, to break the rules and let go, to trust someone other than herself and her own instincts. And as they neared the end of their adventure – both of them sweaty and wild-haired, crying out one another's names - she knew the only person she ever trusted that side of herself to was him… It was always him.