Of Dragons

Of Dragons

“The variety of all things forms a pleasure.”—Euripides, Orestes

She hadn’t meant to spy, exactly.

It was just that her curiosity always got the best of her, and Charlie Weasley looked entirely too fetching standing underneath the spray of an outdoor shower. The small shower was attached to the building, and had only two sides—leaving her with a perfect view of a very naked Charlie Weasley.

She hadn’t meant to watch as he’d rubbed a bar of soap over his lean, sinewy body, singing loudly. When he turned around and she’d seen that tattoo, low on his hip, she’d been entranced.

Unfortunately, as she was creeping closer for a better look, she tripped over something and sprawled ingloriously on the grass, throwing her hands out and letting out a small cry of pain as she tried to catch her weight on her wrists.

“What the—” Charlie spun around, holding a bar of soap with water running down his face. “Why, Miss Granger! Spying on me, are you?” He grinned, unabashed with his nudeness, and laughed as she turned six shades of red under his scrutiny.

“No! I mean, I was coming—” she winced, blushing even harder at the choice of words. “I mean, ah, I was…” her eyes were tracing that tattoo, and she was suddenly conscious of the fact she was on the ground and sprung to her feet, grasping at the object that had tripped her and holding it nervously.

Charlie folded his arms across his chest as he grinned at her. He looked a bit like Ron, but Hermione did not remember Ron having this effect on her the one time she’d happened upon him naked in the bathroom at the Burrow. His eyes traveled leisurely down to the object she was clinging to, and he laughed, deep and rich.

“Naughty little girl, aren’t you? Whatever would people say?” he said, gesturing toward the object in her hand with a tilt of his chin, a wicked grin playing over his full mouth.

Hermione squeaked as she focused her attention on it, and realized she was holding a wicked-looking black whip. “I didn’t—I mean, I thought—” She closed her eyes, horrified at her lack of ability to form a coherent sentence. “I thought it was something…else.” She opened her eyes and tried her hardest not to allow her gaze to fall below that Welsh Green tattoo….

“Oy, Hermione,” he said, and turned towards the spicket on the side of the outbuilding to turn off the water. Hermione allowed herself a brief glance at his very sexy backside before hiding a grin when he turned back to her. “You should give me that,” he said softly, a gleam in his eyes she wasn’t sure how to interpret. “Wouldn’t want anyone to get…hurt.” He smiled, but there was something else other than humor underlying the gesture. He reached a hand out, and she found her flush was no longer from embarrassment, and she could not look away from his gleaming eyes.

Years later, she’d laugh to herself when she wondered why she did it. Tired of being safe, predictable Hermione, she’d looked at the beautiful specimen of manhood standing in front of her, and it suddenly did not matter that they were outside, that he was her best friend’s brother…

Instead of handing the whip to him, she smiled and stroked one hand down the length of the handle. “No,” she said in a soft voice, smirking just a bit at his flushed face. “We wouldn’t want that at all.” Slowly, she let her eyes travel down to his cock, which was pressed hard against his stomach, down to his feet and back up again to his eyes.

“Or maybe…” he said, and reached out for her, pulling her roughly against his hard, wet body.

“Maybe we would,” he said huskily, before his mouth lowered to hers, and he was kissing her, his mouth pulling at hers sensuously.

Hermione moaned, leaning into his kiss, and ran her hands up his chest, still wet from the water, standing on her tiptoes and kissing him back with a pent-up longing she had not even known she had. “Charlie,” she moaned, feeling him hard against her, and he laughed huskily and pushed her against the wall of the small outdoor shower, his hands behind her head to cushion his movements.

“You want the water back on?” he asked her, hands pulling at her clothing, “since I think you’re going to get wet…”

She laughed, a wild euphoric joy bubbling up inside her. “What if I’d rather have this?” she asked, holding up the whip.

He grinned as he helped her out of her clothes, until she stood in her white knickers and no bra. He trailed the whip over her breasts, teasing her nipples with the lash and smiling as she moaned. He ran the soft leather around her nipple, causing her breath to catch in her throat.

“I’ve tamed many a dragon with this,” he said, inching the thin leather down between her legs. Hermione moaned, bracing herself for the touch she knew was coming. When the leather touched her clit through her knickers, she threw her head back and a moan escaped her. “It appears it has other advantages,” he teased, rubbing the leather between her legs, the friction of the leather and the cotton panties teasing her unbearably.

“Yes,” she gasped, unsure if she was answering his question or merely sharing her approval of the whip and his deft wielding of it between her legs.

“It seems there might be something else with which I can use to tame my little Gryffindor lioness,” he said, as she shuddered beneath the continual slow caress.

“I imagine there is,” she said, bracing one hand against the wall of the small outdoor shower as she felt her body melting in pleasure.

He tossed the whip down and pulled her to him roughly, pulling her panties off in one smooth gesture. He reached out to turn on the water as he slid himself inside her. “Wrap your legs around me,” he said in a husky voice, and she did, throwing her head back underneath the water spray as he moved inside of her.

“I never would have thought you wanted this,” he teased, licking her neck and tracing the whorls of her ear with his tongue.

“Me neither,” she gasped, feeling him hitting just the right spot inside her, over and over again. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, and the water provided an erotic compliment to their coupling as well as drowned out her cries of pleasure. “It must have been the tattoo,” she bit out, before tossing her head back and keening with pleasure as the orgasm overtook her.

He shoved her hard against the shower as he came with a low moan. She slid her legs down and leaned into his chest, tracing his tattoo with a smile and looking up at him. There was no embarrassment in her gaze; merely a certainty that all was right with the world. He smiled back at her, a similar knowledge in his eyes.

Together they stood a moment under the hot spray of the water, talking quietly about nothing and everything at all, warmed by the sun that peeked through the clouds. When they finally left the shower to dress, Hermione picked up the whip. “I hope I didn’t ruin this,” she said, biting her lip and looking at him with an expression of mock shyness.

He laughed, “Hardly,” he said. “I’ve never had such a bloody good time with a dragon on the other end.”

******

Her in-laws never understood why Charlie and Hermione Weasley had a old dragon whip mounted and hung in the wall of their living room, nor why the new Mrs. Weasley had insisted upon an outdoor shower for the house.

They would smile, when they saw it, and Hermione would pat her husband’s hip and murmur, “I told you it was the tattoo.”