Harry Potter: A Saturday Picnic
Oct. 12th, 2012 12:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
clare_dragonflyTitle: A Saturday Picnic
Rating: FRAO/NC-17
Characters: Luna Lovegood/Dean Thomas
Prompt:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_bingo: vehicular
Summary: Dean takes Luna on a picnic. A sexy picnic. With broomsticks.
Author's Notes: Not beta'ed or Britpicked. Feel free to point out any errors.
On AO3
Dean rolled over in bed, away from the sunlight that was streaming in his window and waking him up, and kissed his girlfriend awake. “Good morning.”
Luna smiled without opening her eyes and kissed him back quite thoroughly, in the way she had that always made him feel as though he was tingling from head to toe. Finally she opened her eyes too. “It is a good morning.”
“I agree. Do you know what today is?” He rested his hand on her hip, keeping her close, smiling into her sweet face.
“It’s Saturday, of course.”
“That’s right. And that means I don’t have to work, and you don’t have to work.” The Ministry was closed on weekends, of course, except for emergencies, and the Quibbler didn’t put out a Sunday edition, so that was the only day of the week Luna wasn’t working on it. “I think,” he continued, “that today should be a Dean-and-Luna day.”
Luna’s gray eyes widened with delight. “Those are my favorite days!”
“Mine, too.” He kissed her firmly and sat up. “You stay there. I’ll make us some breakfast.”
After pulling on some shorts—it would definitely not do to burn himself with hot oil in the tender regions—he went into the kitchen and started pulling things out. He enjoyed cooking the Muggle way, having learned to do so from his mother before he turned eleven and learned that there were other ways to do almost everything, and that was a big part of the reason they were living in a Muggle apartment at the moment. Of course, it wasn’t as though he had to do everything without magic… After scrambling a few eggs, he located his wand on top of a cabinet (he was never sure how it got places—Luna blamed piskies, which he could never be sure existed) and gave them a poke to double them. There, plenty of protein for the pair of them.
Even though he’d told Luna to stay in the bedroom, he wasn’t surprised when she wandered into the kitchen while he was cooking the eggs, wrapped in the silk bathrobe he’d bought her for her last birthday. She drifted past him without seeming to acknowledge him and started tea, for which he was grateful. It just wasn’t a morning without tea.
After a leisurely breakfast of eggs, toast, and tea, he proposed his idea to Luna. “I thought we might go on a picnic.”
“Ooh!” She perked up at once. “Let’s go to Sweden! We can watch for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and you can get a drawing of one if we manage to see one.”
He smiled fondly at her. He didn’t believe in Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, and she knew it, but she never seem to mind what he did or didn’t believe, and he had been faithfully working on drawings of the creatures for months, to please her (and to print in the Quibbler). He never seemed to be able to get it right, which he suspected was her way of keeping him working on it. “I was thinking something a bit closer to home. Not that we couldn’t go to Sweden some other time, but I don’t think we have time for a trip to Sweden, especially since they’re so rare.”
Luna didn’t seem disappointed at all, but nodded solemnly. “You’re right. Daddy and I didn’t even see one when we were there for almost the whole summer. We’ll have to make a much bigger trip out of it.”
He grinned. “Maybe I can get the Ministry to send me to Sweden for something. You can keep watch for Snorkacks all day, and I can Apparate in to keep you company at night.”
She laughed girlishly. “Oh, I hope so! But did you have a picnic destination in mind?”
He described a moor that he knew of, a place where Muggle eyes almost never ventured and that had the kind of wild, dark beauty that they both loved. Luna approved, so they spent the rest of the morning packing up a hearty lunch and a few supplies, then Apparated out to the middle of the moor.
Luna gasped and clapped her hands with delight when they arrived. “Dean, it’s lovely! Oh, you don’t mind if I run off and explore, do you?”
“Of course not. I knew you would want to.” He opened the picnic basket, removed the blanket that they’d laid over everything, and then pulled out his sketchbook. “I’ll wait up here for you.”
She stood on tiptoe to give him a sweet little kiss on the mouth, then tripped off into the heather and scrub, her hair and dress floating behind her like the wings of an angel. Dean paused for a moment to admire the effect, then began looking around for a vegetation-free spot big enough to lay out their blanket.
He ended up a bit of a distance from where they’d started out, but he knew Luna would find him; he was on top of a hill, and he could see for miles. At first he couldn’t see her, but that didn’t worry him—he knew she could take care of herself. A moment later, she straightened up from where she had evidently been digging in the mud, because it was all over her hands. She pulled her wand out of her pocket and gave each of her hands a tap, removing the mud, but when she turned around to wave at him, he saw there were streaks of mud down the front of the white dress. He grinned fondly and waved back at her.
Once she’d turned away again, quickly enough that she must have seen either an interesting bug or some sign of one of her mythical creatures, he pulled out his sketchbook. He sketched Luna a number of times on one page, but of course he was always sketching her, so he moved on after filling that page, to sketch the moor and the flowers and the ever-fascinating shapes of the clouds.
He was absorbed in a detailed sketch of the entire moor, made with the vague thought of creating a watercolor painting later, when he felt a light touch down the back of his neck. He straightened up and turned to smile at Luna. “Did you find anything interesting?”
In answer, she held out a bottle that she must have conjured up and filled with bits of various plant life. There was some heather, some other flowers, and some lush green leaves, as well as a badly burnt stick and what he was fairly certain was a long-legged insect. He wondered whether it was intended to be a subject for a still life. If so, it wasn’t very still.
Luna set it down in the middle of the blanket, though, and waved her wand at it when it threatened to tip over—the ground wasn’t very even—to make it stay still. “There,” she announced, “a centerpiece.”
“Wonderful,” he said. He added a couple of finishing touches to his sketch and set it aside. “Are you ready for lunch, then?”
She shook her head, sitting down next to him on the blanket and leaning back on her elbows. “I’m not hungry yet. It’s a lovely day, though.”
“It certainly is.” He mimicked her pose, looking up into the sky. It had a grayish tinge to it, but he didn’t think it would be raining anytime soon. The clouds were moving slowly, and they stayed fluffy and white for the most part. There was just a hint of a breeze, and the air was a nice balance between cool and warm.
It was a perfect day, he thought, for flying. Then he smiled, remembering that he’d brought his broom. He pushed himself up to his knees and rummaged around in the picnic basket—it was magically enlarged, of course—for the broom, then held it up to show Luna. “Why don’t we go flying? It’s such a nice day for it. If this weren’t a Dean-and-Luna day, I’d consider calling up some of my mates for a Quidditch match.”
Luna sat up, pursing her lips at the broom. He knew she wasn’t much of a fan of them—she liked Quidditch as much as anyone, but she was barely a passable flyer on her own and had certainly never gone out for a team—but there wouldn’t be any risk. “Come on,” he coaxed. “I’ll be with you. I’ll hold on too tightly for you to fall off.”
She laughed suddenly, her teeth brilliantly white in the sun. “You just want an excuse to hold onto me!”
He grinned. “I don’t need any excuse for that!” As proof of his words, he dropped the broom and tackled Luna, pushing her to the blanket and wrapping his arms firmly around her, wedging his hands under her so they gripped her bum. She laughed and wiggled. He planted a wet, smacking kiss on her lips, then sat up again, releasing her. “Come on, love, I’m longing to fly now I’ve thought of it. And I’ll bet the view is beautiful.”
“Oh, all right.” She allowed him to help her to her feet, then mounted the broom as he held it steady for her. He admired the way her knee-length dress rode up between her legs, exposing her thighs, until she smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “Dean Thomas, I am not sitting here all day for you to look at me.”
“But I like the way you look with a pole between your legs,” he said, swinging his leg over the back of the broomstick and settling himself solidly behind her. “Maybe later we can get a different one there.”
“We only have one broom,” she said, confused.
He pulled her close against him and laid his hands over hers on the broom. “It was an innuendo, love.” She didn’t seem to get half of the ones he came up with, but she seemed to enjoy it when he explained what he’d meant.
“Oh! In that case, I suppose he can.”
Grinning at her agreement, he pushed off hard and they took off, soaring into the sky. She gasped at the sudden rush of air, and he held onto her more tightly, telling her without words that she was safe here.
The view really was beautiful. He rose higher and higher, moving in lazy circles, until they could just see the edge of the moor to the east. The horizon was blue and shimmering, and the land below them was a crazy quilt of black and blue and green and brown. Dean sighed with pleasure, leaning into the back of Luna’s head. “It is beautiful. I wish I could draw from up here.” He set the broom on a wide circular course, taking maximum advantage of the view.
“You could, if you were on a thestral,” she said.
“True, but I wouldn’t enjoy it as much.” He could see the skeletal, horselike creatures now, ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, but that didn’t mean he liked them. He’d ridden one once—on Luna’s suggestion—and found it not nearly as pleasant as riding a broom.
“I would.”
“Oh, would you? Would you like it if I did this on a thestral?” He carefully loosed one hand from where he held hers over the broomstick and ran it up her body to cup her breast.
She sucked in breath, and he felt her body tense and tremble. “I like that no matter where you do it.”
“I wouldn’t like it as much on a thestral.” He nuzzled her neck and squeezed her nipple.
“Dean, be careful!” she squealed as the broom rocked slightly. “You need both hands!”
“No, I don’t.” He rocked the broom a tiny bit on purpose. “I was just doing that to scare you.”
“I don’t think that’s very nice of you.”
“No?” He slid the hand that wasn’t on her breast over her hand to caress her thigh. “I thought you liked to be scared.”
“It isn’t pleasant to be scared. I can’t control my body’s reactions.”
“Of course not. But you like it when I do.” He breathed on her ear, then nipped at it with his lips. “Don’t worry, Luna. I won’t let you fall.”
“I know you won’t.” She leaned back into him which, as they were pressed so closely together already, meant a very slight tilting of her head.
“So you trust me?”
“Of course I trust you.” Her breathing was quick and shaky.
“Good.” He kissed at her ear, laying wet, open-mouthed kisses all around the outside until she gasped and shivered. “You can hold on as tight as you like,” he murmured. “Let me do all the work.”
She gave a tiny nod. Her eyes were closed, and whether that was more the fear or more the arousal, he didn’t know. And it didn’t really matter. He’d known for a long time that fear—not fear of her life like when fighting Death Eaters, but a reminder of that time, or uncertainty like on a broom—turned her on. He never took advantage of it, of course, unless a perfect opportunity like this one presented itself.
And she knew he knew, of course. She may have been planning this all along, for all he knew. The thought thrilled him a little.
He slid his hands back down her body and took the fabric of her skirt in his hands, bunching it up inch by inch as he let the broom make tiny rocks back and forth. A breeze blew past them, raising goosebumps on Luna’s white thighs. He smoothed them down with the dress in one hand, warming her, then slid them up under the dress and to her breasts.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, caressing her soft, perfect breasts with his hands. One was, in fact, slightly bigger than the other—but he knew as an artist, a Muggleborn, and a man who loved Luna Lovegood, that there was no perfection except in imperfection.
She whimpered slightly as her nipples hardened under his palms. He caressed more firmly, pinching the nipples and stroking the soft skin, until she was panting and twitching against his body. Only then did he move one hand back down and under the thin fabric of her knickers, stroking through the cornsilk-soft hair over her vulva. She pressed up against his hand, and he grinned against her neck.
“Enjoying yourself?” he whispered, watching her face carefully. She gave a tiny nod, her eyes still closed, hands still clutching the broom tightly. He allowed himself to take a brief glance around the landscape they hovered over. It was still not as beautiful as she was.
He pressed his fingers between the lips of her vulva, soaking them with the liquid of her arousal (and wondering, in a brief moment of madness, what exactly this lubrication would be doing to the wood of his broom). She gave another tiny whimper, and he began to stroke her gently—not too hard or rough, or he’d hurt her. When he was sure his fingers were wet enough, he began to circle her clitoris, softly at first, then speeding up until she was meeting him stroke for stroke, her hips sliding back and forth on the broom.
“I bet you’re not scared anymore. You can open your eyes.”
She laughed shakily. “This is—this will do.”
“Oh yeah?” He pressed down, in the way that he knew always worked, and she shattered, shaking all over and coming with a peculiar, high-pitched yelp. He didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone else make a sound quite like it.
He held her tightly as she panted and shuddered, coming down from the intensity of the orgasm. Only when her breathing was warm and steady again did he point out, “You let go of the broom.”
“Oh!” Her eyes flew open and she latched her hands back onto the broomstick, her breath shaking in a way that almost, but not quite, sounded like laughing. “You’re just trying to get me scared again.”
“No. That will do.” He fitted his hands back on top of hers and guided them back down in slow circles, watching their picnic blanket grow from a speck to a postage stamp to a table-sized square. “Besides, I’m hungry now, aren’t you?”
“You know very well I am.”
“Well, that’s why we packed a lunch.” He landed them, his toes touching the ground first, then hers. He didn’t let go of the broom until both of Luna’s feet were firmly on the ground. “And maybe this will teach you to enjoy broomsticks.”
She turned around and kissed him on the mouth. “Only yours, my love.”
“Only yours,” he whispered back.
Rating: FRAO/NC-17
Characters: Luna Lovegood/Dean Thomas
Prompt:
kink_bingo: vehicularSummary: Dean takes Luna on a picnic. A sexy picnic. With broomsticks.
Author's Notes: Not beta'ed or Britpicked. Feel free to point out any errors.
On AO3
Dean rolled over in bed, away from the sunlight that was streaming in his window and waking him up, and kissed his girlfriend awake. “Good morning.”
Luna smiled without opening her eyes and kissed him back quite thoroughly, in the way she had that always made him feel as though he was tingling from head to toe. Finally she opened her eyes too. “It is a good morning.”
“I agree. Do you know what today is?” He rested his hand on her hip, keeping her close, smiling into her sweet face.
“It’s Saturday, of course.”
“That’s right. And that means I don’t have to work, and you don’t have to work.” The Ministry was closed on weekends, of course, except for emergencies, and the Quibbler didn’t put out a Sunday edition, so that was the only day of the week Luna wasn’t working on it. “I think,” he continued, “that today should be a Dean-and-Luna day.”
Luna’s gray eyes widened with delight. “Those are my favorite days!”
“Mine, too.” He kissed her firmly and sat up. “You stay there. I’ll make us some breakfast.”
After pulling on some shorts—it would definitely not do to burn himself with hot oil in the tender regions—he went into the kitchen and started pulling things out. He enjoyed cooking the Muggle way, having learned to do so from his mother before he turned eleven and learned that there were other ways to do almost everything, and that was a big part of the reason they were living in a Muggle apartment at the moment. Of course, it wasn’t as though he had to do everything without magic… After scrambling a few eggs, he located his wand on top of a cabinet (he was never sure how it got places—Luna blamed piskies, which he could never be sure existed) and gave them a poke to double them. There, plenty of protein for the pair of them.
Even though he’d told Luna to stay in the bedroom, he wasn’t surprised when she wandered into the kitchen while he was cooking the eggs, wrapped in the silk bathrobe he’d bought her for her last birthday. She drifted past him without seeming to acknowledge him and started tea, for which he was grateful. It just wasn’t a morning without tea.
After a leisurely breakfast of eggs, toast, and tea, he proposed his idea to Luna. “I thought we might go on a picnic.”
“Ooh!” She perked up at once. “Let’s go to Sweden! We can watch for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and you can get a drawing of one if we manage to see one.”
He smiled fondly at her. He didn’t believe in Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, and she knew it, but she never seem to mind what he did or didn’t believe, and he had been faithfully working on drawings of the creatures for months, to please her (and to print in the Quibbler). He never seemed to be able to get it right, which he suspected was her way of keeping him working on it. “I was thinking something a bit closer to home. Not that we couldn’t go to Sweden some other time, but I don’t think we have time for a trip to Sweden, especially since they’re so rare.”
Luna didn’t seem disappointed at all, but nodded solemnly. “You’re right. Daddy and I didn’t even see one when we were there for almost the whole summer. We’ll have to make a much bigger trip out of it.”
He grinned. “Maybe I can get the Ministry to send me to Sweden for something. You can keep watch for Snorkacks all day, and I can Apparate in to keep you company at night.”
She laughed girlishly. “Oh, I hope so! But did you have a picnic destination in mind?”
He described a moor that he knew of, a place where Muggle eyes almost never ventured and that had the kind of wild, dark beauty that they both loved. Luna approved, so they spent the rest of the morning packing up a hearty lunch and a few supplies, then Apparated out to the middle of the moor.
Luna gasped and clapped her hands with delight when they arrived. “Dean, it’s lovely! Oh, you don’t mind if I run off and explore, do you?”
“Of course not. I knew you would want to.” He opened the picnic basket, removed the blanket that they’d laid over everything, and then pulled out his sketchbook. “I’ll wait up here for you.”
She stood on tiptoe to give him a sweet little kiss on the mouth, then tripped off into the heather and scrub, her hair and dress floating behind her like the wings of an angel. Dean paused for a moment to admire the effect, then began looking around for a vegetation-free spot big enough to lay out their blanket.
He ended up a bit of a distance from where they’d started out, but he knew Luna would find him; he was on top of a hill, and he could see for miles. At first he couldn’t see her, but that didn’t worry him—he knew she could take care of herself. A moment later, she straightened up from where she had evidently been digging in the mud, because it was all over her hands. She pulled her wand out of her pocket and gave each of her hands a tap, removing the mud, but when she turned around to wave at him, he saw there were streaks of mud down the front of the white dress. He grinned fondly and waved back at her.
Once she’d turned away again, quickly enough that she must have seen either an interesting bug or some sign of one of her mythical creatures, he pulled out his sketchbook. He sketched Luna a number of times on one page, but of course he was always sketching her, so he moved on after filling that page, to sketch the moor and the flowers and the ever-fascinating shapes of the clouds.
He was absorbed in a detailed sketch of the entire moor, made with the vague thought of creating a watercolor painting later, when he felt a light touch down the back of his neck. He straightened up and turned to smile at Luna. “Did you find anything interesting?”
In answer, she held out a bottle that she must have conjured up and filled with bits of various plant life. There was some heather, some other flowers, and some lush green leaves, as well as a badly burnt stick and what he was fairly certain was a long-legged insect. He wondered whether it was intended to be a subject for a still life. If so, it wasn’t very still.
Luna set it down in the middle of the blanket, though, and waved her wand at it when it threatened to tip over—the ground wasn’t very even—to make it stay still. “There,” she announced, “a centerpiece.”
“Wonderful,” he said. He added a couple of finishing touches to his sketch and set it aside. “Are you ready for lunch, then?”
She shook her head, sitting down next to him on the blanket and leaning back on her elbows. “I’m not hungry yet. It’s a lovely day, though.”
“It certainly is.” He mimicked her pose, looking up into the sky. It had a grayish tinge to it, but he didn’t think it would be raining anytime soon. The clouds were moving slowly, and they stayed fluffy and white for the most part. There was just a hint of a breeze, and the air was a nice balance between cool and warm.
It was a perfect day, he thought, for flying. Then he smiled, remembering that he’d brought his broom. He pushed himself up to his knees and rummaged around in the picnic basket—it was magically enlarged, of course—for the broom, then held it up to show Luna. “Why don’t we go flying? It’s such a nice day for it. If this weren’t a Dean-and-Luna day, I’d consider calling up some of my mates for a Quidditch match.”
Luna sat up, pursing her lips at the broom. He knew she wasn’t much of a fan of them—she liked Quidditch as much as anyone, but she was barely a passable flyer on her own and had certainly never gone out for a team—but there wouldn’t be any risk. “Come on,” he coaxed. “I’ll be with you. I’ll hold on too tightly for you to fall off.”
She laughed suddenly, her teeth brilliantly white in the sun. “You just want an excuse to hold onto me!”
He grinned. “I don’t need any excuse for that!” As proof of his words, he dropped the broom and tackled Luna, pushing her to the blanket and wrapping his arms firmly around her, wedging his hands under her so they gripped her bum. She laughed and wiggled. He planted a wet, smacking kiss on her lips, then sat up again, releasing her. “Come on, love, I’m longing to fly now I’ve thought of it. And I’ll bet the view is beautiful.”
“Oh, all right.” She allowed him to help her to her feet, then mounted the broom as he held it steady for her. He admired the way her knee-length dress rode up between her legs, exposing her thighs, until she smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “Dean Thomas, I am not sitting here all day for you to look at me.”
“But I like the way you look with a pole between your legs,” he said, swinging his leg over the back of the broomstick and settling himself solidly behind her. “Maybe later we can get a different one there.”
“We only have one broom,” she said, confused.
He pulled her close against him and laid his hands over hers on the broom. “It was an innuendo, love.” She didn’t seem to get half of the ones he came up with, but she seemed to enjoy it when he explained what he’d meant.
“Oh! In that case, I suppose he can.”
Grinning at her agreement, he pushed off hard and they took off, soaring into the sky. She gasped at the sudden rush of air, and he held onto her more tightly, telling her without words that she was safe here.
The view really was beautiful. He rose higher and higher, moving in lazy circles, until they could just see the edge of the moor to the east. The horizon was blue and shimmering, and the land below them was a crazy quilt of black and blue and green and brown. Dean sighed with pleasure, leaning into the back of Luna’s head. “It is beautiful. I wish I could draw from up here.” He set the broom on a wide circular course, taking maximum advantage of the view.
“You could, if you were on a thestral,” she said.
“True, but I wouldn’t enjoy it as much.” He could see the skeletal, horselike creatures now, ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, but that didn’t mean he liked them. He’d ridden one once—on Luna’s suggestion—and found it not nearly as pleasant as riding a broom.
“I would.”
“Oh, would you? Would you like it if I did this on a thestral?” He carefully loosed one hand from where he held hers over the broomstick and ran it up her body to cup her breast.
She sucked in breath, and he felt her body tense and tremble. “I like that no matter where you do it.”
“I wouldn’t like it as much on a thestral.” He nuzzled her neck and squeezed her nipple.
“Dean, be careful!” she squealed as the broom rocked slightly. “You need both hands!”
“No, I don’t.” He rocked the broom a tiny bit on purpose. “I was just doing that to scare you.”
“I don’t think that’s very nice of you.”
“No?” He slid the hand that wasn’t on her breast over her hand to caress her thigh. “I thought you liked to be scared.”
“It isn’t pleasant to be scared. I can’t control my body’s reactions.”
“Of course not. But you like it when I do.” He breathed on her ear, then nipped at it with his lips. “Don’t worry, Luna. I won’t let you fall.”
“I know you won’t.” She leaned back into him which, as they were pressed so closely together already, meant a very slight tilting of her head.
“So you trust me?”
“Of course I trust you.” Her breathing was quick and shaky.
“Good.” He kissed at her ear, laying wet, open-mouthed kisses all around the outside until she gasped and shivered. “You can hold on as tight as you like,” he murmured. “Let me do all the work.”
She gave a tiny nod. Her eyes were closed, and whether that was more the fear or more the arousal, he didn’t know. And it didn’t really matter. He’d known for a long time that fear—not fear of her life like when fighting Death Eaters, but a reminder of that time, or uncertainty like on a broom—turned her on. He never took advantage of it, of course, unless a perfect opportunity like this one presented itself.
And she knew he knew, of course. She may have been planning this all along, for all he knew. The thought thrilled him a little.
He slid his hands back down her body and took the fabric of her skirt in his hands, bunching it up inch by inch as he let the broom make tiny rocks back and forth. A breeze blew past them, raising goosebumps on Luna’s white thighs. He smoothed them down with the dress in one hand, warming her, then slid them up under the dress and to her breasts.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, caressing her soft, perfect breasts with his hands. One was, in fact, slightly bigger than the other—but he knew as an artist, a Muggleborn, and a man who loved Luna Lovegood, that there was no perfection except in imperfection.
She whimpered slightly as her nipples hardened under his palms. He caressed more firmly, pinching the nipples and stroking the soft skin, until she was panting and twitching against his body. Only then did he move one hand back down and under the thin fabric of her knickers, stroking through the cornsilk-soft hair over her vulva. She pressed up against his hand, and he grinned against her neck.
“Enjoying yourself?” he whispered, watching her face carefully. She gave a tiny nod, her eyes still closed, hands still clutching the broom tightly. He allowed himself to take a brief glance around the landscape they hovered over. It was still not as beautiful as she was.
He pressed his fingers between the lips of her vulva, soaking them with the liquid of her arousal (and wondering, in a brief moment of madness, what exactly this lubrication would be doing to the wood of his broom). She gave another tiny whimper, and he began to stroke her gently—not too hard or rough, or he’d hurt her. When he was sure his fingers were wet enough, he began to circle her clitoris, softly at first, then speeding up until she was meeting him stroke for stroke, her hips sliding back and forth on the broom.
“I bet you’re not scared anymore. You can open your eyes.”
She laughed shakily. “This is—this will do.”
“Oh yeah?” He pressed down, in the way that he knew always worked, and she shattered, shaking all over and coming with a peculiar, high-pitched yelp. He didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone else make a sound quite like it.
He held her tightly as she panted and shuddered, coming down from the intensity of the orgasm. Only when her breathing was warm and steady again did he point out, “You let go of the broom.”
“Oh!” Her eyes flew open and she latched her hands back onto the broomstick, her breath shaking in a way that almost, but not quite, sounded like laughing. “You’re just trying to get me scared again.”
“No. That will do.” He fitted his hands back on top of hers and guided them back down in slow circles, watching their picnic blanket grow from a speck to a postage stamp to a table-sized square. “Besides, I’m hungry now, aren’t you?”
“You know very well I am.”
“Well, that’s why we packed a lunch.” He landed them, his toes touching the ground first, then hers. He didn’t let go of the broom until both of Luna’s feet were firmly on the ground. “And maybe this will teach you to enjoy broomsticks.”
She turned around and kissed him on the mouth. “Only yours, my love.”
“Only yours,” he whispered back.