Fic: Moonlight Madness (Harry/Luna)
To: oracleholly
From: purebloodgryff


Title: Moonlight Madness
Author: purebloodgryff
Gift For: oracleholly
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Harry/Luna
Summary: Luna has a night to remember, but not as she imagined it.
Warning: BDSM, knife play


It was going to be one of those nights where she could get carried away by the music. Some nights were like that - none of the conversation or rustling or clinking of bottles and glasses ever reached her; totally captured by the piano, she could float.

From where he sat in the half-lit embrace of his table, he watched her play, a small smile curving his mouth. It was the last night she would play here, and he'd sat at this same table the three preceding evenings, watching, waiting, pondering. The large-bellied snifter in front of him held only a shallow flicker of cognac, which glittered in the light reflecting off the stage. His hand smoothed over his finely tailored robes.

He was irresistibly charmed by the idea that she was unknowing. Through narrowed eyes he gazed at the light over her head, images of possible futures running through his constantly leaping mind. He imagined the curve of her arms stretched over her head, the sweet arch of her slender body; he anticipated the fearful questioning that would light her eyes.

Entranced by her own weaving, she played longer than she had at any other show, moving eagerly from lilt to lament to boisterous exclamations. When she finally rose from the bench, her slim legs were shaking with exhaustion and satisfaction. Beneath the rumble of the final applause, her face warmed and opened with shy appreciation; a flush of pleasure mantled her dimpled cheeks.

He knew her routine; he'd been studying her for weeks. She went to the bar and got from the smiling bartender a small snifter of liqueur and a steaming cup of black coffee. Her fingers flickered through her small clutch purse and withdrew the gold case that held her slender cigarettes. He was at her side with his lighter before she could worry her own out of the small bag.

"Permit me," was all he said, touching her lightly on the shoulder and cupping the flame between his fingers.

She looked up at him and smiled, her blue eyes still a little dazed and filled with music.

"Thank you," she responded, tilting her head down and drawing the flame close to the tip. Sitting back, she took a long draw from the cigarette, her eyes closed as she stretched slightly and exhaled slowly, head tilted back on her long neck so that the smoke drifted upward toward the ceiling.

When she looked back at him a moment later, he was smiling at her. "I've enjoyed your shows," he offered, tucking the lighter into his pocket again.

"Thank you," she said with pleasure. "This has been a wonderful place to play . . . such a marvelous piano." Her eyes wandered dreamily over his shoulder, back to the dim black gleam of the Steinway.

He made small talk with her for a few moments, then excused himself. He was eager to be prepared. He had been half-afraid that she would sense something, but she was deliciously unaware. He felt as light and deadly and inexorable as steel.

He waited for her in the side alley, watching until she emerged from the club. A thin black coat over her black velvet dress, a creamy scarf drifting over the glinting ripples of her long-spun hair.

As he followed her from the alley onto the dark street, he found himself counting the minutes and the seconds. Everything depended on the apparition point being disabled by a set of charms timed to confuse the energy fields around the site.

He had no need to worry; he saw her stop, draw her wand, frown when she remained in place, and then turn to check the area. He ducked into a recessed storefront and watched her try to Apparate again before he stepped back into view.

"Is the point blocked? I hear the Ministry is shutting certain areas down early," he said to her as he approached and stopped at a safe distance. She lowered her wand and smiled back at him.

"Hello again," she said. "Yes, I imagine the Ministry isn’t eager to have so many points open all night."

"I know another point, if you’d like to walk with me," he offered, reaching over to tuck her arm into the crook of his elbow. She looked undecided, but her face cleared and she put her wand back into her coat pocket.

"Thank you," she said, looking up at him. "I'd've hated to wander around looking for another place alone."

He started walking, smiling slightly and reaching a hand into his pocket, where he tapped the contents lightly with a forefinger. He guided her on down the road, turning as if to return to the club.

When he pulled her into an alley, she reacted with surprise. When he pulled her roughly against his chest and pulled out his wand, she scrabbled for her own. He pinned her arms behind her back, rendering them useless. She turned to look at him with a horrified dawning of suspicion in her eyes, and she felt the air shimmer.

Still stunned and nowhere as near as strong as he, it took only a moment to subdue her before he whispered an incantation. Her breathing lapsed into the slow waves of unconsciousness, her body loosened and tumbled back. He lowered her to rest against his chest, breathing slowly until the fresh air loosed the adrenaline rush from his body. He took the vial from his pocket and downed the contents. Before he Apparated with his captive, the vial was thrown over the side of a dumpster, lost.

His mind danced from thought to thought until he was safely inside his house. He relaxed slightly and let his right hand come up to stroke the glowing hair away from her face. Her skin was soft and warm, slack with sleep, defenseless.

There was a surge of triumphant tenderness through him and he brushed a wayward tendril back from her cheek before turning his attention again to the stairs. He didn't have much time before an alert house-elf came to attend to the Master.

She was still unconscious as he pushed the door of the master suite shut behind him and he sighed with relief.

She was short, but so slim that she felt like nothing in his arms. He carried her carefully into the room he'd readied for her. He lay her down on the bed and gently pulled coat and scarf from her, then her shoes, leaving her asleep on top of the covers. He then pulled her wrists together, cuffing and chaining them to the top of the bed. He stepped back from her and looked, slowly roaming her body with his eyes, wanting that moment when her eyes opened at last. He checked his watch and left the room, pulling the door shut behind him and turning off the lights.

He removed his clothes and put them away on their hangers, sliding his shoes into their appointed place on the closet floor, underclothes neatly tucked into the hamper. From the back of his closet he pulled a long robe, thickly warm and deeply crimson. He slid it on over his naked body, belting it around his waist. He smiled at his reflection in the mirror, savoring the thought of her blinking up at him from the bed.

He poured a few fingers of cognac into a snifter on his way back to her room; he moved smoothly down the hallway and put his hand to the doorknob. As he opened the door, he caught the slight sound of a breathless whimper and knew she was awake.

Dazed, confused and stiffly aching from the pull on her shoulders, her body was twisted on the bed. She was trying to push herself upright, but her hands were chained down too low; with a half-sob, she rolled onto her side and blinked at the light pouring through the doorway.

He watched her, walking slowly into the room, letting her dazzled eyes recover so that she could watch him approach, bring him into focus. He saw her eyes move over him, see the snifter in his hand and his wand in the other. He sipped at the cognac, watching her face blur with fear and anticipation.

She did not speak, but bit back a moan of pain from her arms and stared up at him, eyes wide and unblinking.

He set down the drink and reached out to run a proprietary hand over her body, cupping her shoulders before moving to stroke her breasts through the tight velvet of her bodice. Then his fingers glided further, caressing her flanks and the smooth curve of her thighs. She shivered under his fingers, her eyes closed tightly, and she made a soft sound of protest and tried to pull away.

He stepped back, placing his wand into the pocket of his robe. From the other pocket, he drew out a slender piece of steel and pressed a button. The silvery blade of the knife erupted into the room, and her eyes sprang open at the sound.

Fixed unwaveringly on it, she watched as he drew closer and closer, saw the hand holding it approach her neck. The tip skittered teasingly over the tight skin, over the pounding throb of her pulse, and across to where a thin strap of velvet caught her dress about her left shoulder. She whimpered as the blade slid under it and sliced. Then the knife danced across her collarbone, teasing slowly over skin pale and quivering. The other strap fell back over another white shoulder.

She lay under his hand, immobile and slack with fear. The knife whispered down the front of her dress, sliding through the thin fabric that fell aside like the peel of ripe fruit, uncurling slowly to reveal her. He drew a deep breath when her full breasts lay free and naked under his fingers. He paused for a moment to fondle them, savoring the warm curve and delicate nipples against his hands. Her body arched in protest and his fingers tightened and twisted slightly. He watched her writhe and heard the gasp that escaped her. Slowly she stilled herself again to him, and inexorably he returned to revealing bare skin.

Over the small swell of belly and down to the valley between her thighs, the knife showed him thin and tender black satin over tight curls. Slicing away the skirt from her legs, slender in black stockings that ended in lace before a few creamy inches of skin. Open before him, she lay quiescent on the bed, her hair spilling away from her face, her chest moving swiftly. Her teeth bit down at her lower lip, thin streams of silvery tears tracked down from her eyes and soaked into the hair at her temples. He turned and set the knife down on a far table, retracting the blade with a snick. Her breath was ragged, her feet sliding helplessly against the bed.

Before he returned to her, he flicked sparks onto candle wicks that caught themselves up in flame and danced before the dim silvery gleam of a mirror, their uniformed light standing sentinel over his conquest of her.

He turned, the rich nap of his robe gleaming, illuminated in reflected fire. He pulled the fragments of her clothing from beneath her with firm hands, ignoring her plaintive sobs and the steady fall of tears. Her voice was confused, dazed, frantic, pleading; it twined itself around his senses, even in terror still warmly golden.

His fingers were now rapt upon her body, gliding over the trembling skin with luxurious abandon. She was his to plunder as he wished. He was drunk with the scent of her, and had to pull back with icy control.

He left her with the thin protection of fabric still wrapped around her loins, and turned her over with firm strength, his hands exploring the pale thinness of her skin, every vertebrae etched along her spine. Her narrow waist, richly flaring hips, rounded buttocks slid beneath his fingers. Trailing down her bare thighs to the taut stretch of lace at the top of her stockings, then over the length of them to the delicately arched feet.

The air in the room was thick with quiet, heavy with the unspoken. Her protests had died away in the face of his disregard.

He measured carefully the waning quantity of his self-control. He could feel a hard excitement taking control of him as he looked into her fearful eyes. He surveyed the angry red around her wrists where she’d struggled against her bonds, and he felt inexplicably angry that she would mar the body that was his to do with as he pleased. As though reading his thoughts, she twisted again.

Without warning, he pulled out his wand and the bonds disappeared. She let out a soft cry as her arms, sore from being stretched for so long, followed the force she’d been applying.

Without warning, he hauled her to her feet. “Get up,” he told her, his voice commanding. She tried to stagger to her feet, but her arms were numb and she stumbled against him.

“That’s better,” he said with a touch of laughter in his voice.

Her face was wet with tears and her eyes were closed, the soaked lashes curling against the whiteness of her face. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the fragrance of her sweat, fingers curving through the thickets of her hair as he crushed her to his chest.

Bracketing her hips with his legs, he laid her back onto the bed. Leaning down, he tilted his lips to the swollen red nipples and circled them with his tongue. His hand drifted down over her belly, finding the damp wisp of cloth between her legs and running a finger across it, feeling the soft cushion of curls.

”Mine,” he murmured with enchanted satisfaction. “Oh, yes.” He paid no attention to her denials, curling his tongue around a hard nipple and sucking on it until her back arched up from the bed. Through the lace, he could feel her slow warming; his finger teased up and down, his palm cupped her and he could feel her hips rising mindlessly in response to him.

His lips were hungry on her breasts, his other hand moved up to pin her wrists above her head. He heard her groan in a surprised pleasure as his fingertip pressed between her legs and found the pouting tip of her clitoris.

'NO . . . no . . . ' she protested, her head twisting against the bed as she fought for control. He let his finger slide away and then slip under the fabric and between the tight curls until he found the slick wetness of her.

'Mine,' he whispered with a smile, raising his head to look her in the face, his finger slowly slipping through the warm folds. Her face was tight and she tried desperately to close it to him, to pull her eyes away his, but he could feel her control slackening.

Her voice rose in soft protest against him as her body tried to pull away, her head twisted tautly on her neck. He could see the pulse pounding against the delicate skin of her throat, and he moved to kiss it.

Under his mouth she whimpered and fought with slowly decreasing ferocity. He let the tip of his finger plunge into her shallowly, astonished by the heat that met him; she let out a cry of surrender at the sensation and he pressed all the way into her.

Nearly beyond thought, he closed his eyes at the tight warmth around his fingers, feeling her hips bunch and leap against his hand. “So ready,” he said.

He found her open lips with his own and kissed her with careful delicacy, taking possession of her mouth, devouring her, feeling the slow response he ignited in her.

He freed her wrists and stroked her breasts, twirling her nipples beneath his fingers until she gasped and her back arched. Between her thrashing legs, his hand stroked, plunged, twisted, drove into her until he could feel her tense and shiver and tighten around him.

He watched her shudder into orgasm with fierce approval, his mouth on her neck as she gasped for breath and her cries of pleasure escaped between her lips.

He slowed, stilled, felt her reach out to cling to shreds of control lost before he moved and stood up from her. Standing over her so that she could see him, his eyes burning hotly, his hair damp against his face. She lay looking at him, her eyes unfocused in the wake of orgasm.

”Now,” he said, and his hands moved to the belt about his robe and untied it, before he let the thick garment fall to puddle on the floor at his feet. His naked body glowed with the warm light of the candles, and she didn’t look away.

”Please – “ she begged him, “please . . . “

He sat on the bed and pulled her trembling body towards himself, pinning her in his arms, her hair falling over his arm. “You’re mine,” he said slowly and deliberately as he bent to her lips. His mouth came down hard and dizzily on hers, and she was helpless as his fingers found her, plundered her, turned her, explored her, lay her open before him.

His weight pinned her to the sheets beneath him; he held her still as he slid between her legs, feeling the inviting heat of her wetness, hearing her stifled moan. His hands stroked down to her hips and he lifted her, raised her until he plunged inside. He heard her cry out as he entered her, and then he heard nothing but the roaring in his ears as her heat surrounded him and held him, and he moved faster and faster into her. Pulling away from her was agony; thrusting back deep was beyond pleasure. He held her so tightly that his hands bruised her; his relentless rhythm against her was tearing away what remained of her control. Maddened, his mouth dove onto her breasts, tight and demanding, sucking until she cried out in mingled pleasure and pain under him.

He raised himself onto his arms and looked down at her. Her eyes were wide and dazed, her lips glimmered as she ran her tongue over them and he watched shudders possess her and take her further into temporary oblivion. He could feel himself fragmenting, melting away before the heat of her. The sensation was incredible. With a final thrust, he impaled her and felt, rather than heard, her cry out his name in startled pleasure when her climax claimed her. Holding her tightly, he let go of his own passion and exploded into her, hot pleasure shooting through him as he felt himself fall forward.

He held her then, loosely cupping his hands around the drawn muscles of her shoulders. She shook beneath him; he did not speak but soothed with wordless murmurs, fingers stroking her hair, her skin, the moist tautness of her cheek. Exhaustion settled in her body, weighing her; he felt her drop away from him and into unconscious slumber.

“Thank you,” she whispered later, when they’d woken and availed themselves of the cognac Draco’d brought into the room earlier. “I didn’t think you’d be willing to experiment with polyjuice.”

“I aim to satisfy all of your fantasies, Luna my dear,” Harry said, kissing her. “Especially when it’s me you see at the end.”