Happy holidays, sweetcarolanne!
For: sweetcarolanne
Author: hpffthequibbler
Title: Finding Something New
Rating: Adult
Word Count: 4,058
Pairing: Tonks/Hooch
Summary: When Tonks can’t sleep, Hooch finds a way to exhaust her.
Warnings: Adult content, femslash, consensual student/teacher (but NOT student/minor), anal play
Note: I hope this is something that you’ll like! I’ve never written (or even read!) one of your requested pairings, but I didn’t want anyone to go fic-less so I was more than happy to adopt it and give it a try. Thank you to confiteor_3 for the beta and kind words!
It was as close to a summer night as any student saw at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. The late spring evening was warm, too warm honestly, and all of the windows in the dormitory for the seventh-year Gryffindor girls were flung open in a desperate attempt to catch any breeze that might be willing to float in on the night air.
Nymphadora Tonks kicked restlessly at the sheet covering her, flailing her uncoordinated limbs in an effort to free herself from the stifling heat. She knew what she wanted to do. She knew the one thing that would be enjoyable on a sticky spring evening, but she was not allowed to do it. It was past midnight, and students were not allowed outside of their respective houses, much less outside of the castle. Frustrated, Tonks crept quietly from her bed to the window, trying not to wake Lacerta, Isolde, Hyacinth and Elizabeth.
“Lucky,” she whispered as an owl swooped low in front of the tower, speeding sharply towards the earth in its search for prey and creating a slipstream of wind that Tonks could only imagine. Her skin felt hot and prickly; a light sheen of sweat along her collarbone. She’d given up on pajamas for the evening, abandoning them for one of the thin, clingy undershirts she’d stolen from Charlie Weasley’s wardrobe and small, lacy, navy blue knickers, but still she had not surrendered to sleep. It was, after all, impossible with the terribly stagnant air pressing against her skin and filling her lungs, making each breath more of a chore than an instinct.
It really did seem slightly cooler, here by the window. Tonks could see moonlight rustling on the new green leaves of the Forbidden Forest. There was a breeze out there, an illusive breeze that adamantly refused to make its way inside the dormitory and onto her skin. This was torture.
Biting her lip and trying not to make a sound, Tonks turned from the window and tiptoed to her trunk, flipping the latches with two small clicks and hoping that this time the hinges would not squeak.
Creeeaaaak.
No such luck. Tonks froze, shifted the offensive trunk lid in one hand and reached for her wand on the bedside table with the other. She was six inches away, her legs splayed wildly and her arms stretching as far as they would go. “Accio wand,” Tonks thought, focusing hard on the nonverbal magic and earning a satisfying result as the wand leapt the remaining inches into her awaiting grasp. Maybe seven years at Hogwarts had taught her something useful after all.
“Lubricous,” she thought, pointing her wand at the unruly hinge and hesitating for a moment before pulling the lid open without a sound.
There it was, right on top of the messy contents of Tonks’ trunk; her Nimbus 1998. It had been a coming of age gift from her father, who understood almost nothing about Quidditch or broomsticks but loved the tomboy streak that his wife had passed on to his daughter. Of course, Tonks knew her mother was probably the one who helped him select and order the broom itself, but she still thought of it as a gift from her dad, as he’d been the one to give it to her with a wide, beaming grin on his face.
Lifting the broom gently from its resting place, Tonks closed the lid of her trunk and tucked her wand into the waistband of her underwear. She’d just do one quick flight, make herself a small breeze so she could cool down, and then back into bed and hopefully to sleep. If she stuck to the shadows she might not even be caught. And, Tonks thought with a sly grin, if she was she could always just Metamorph into Charlie, who had done the very same thing three nights ago with some Ravenclaw boy and got off - literally.
Standing at the window, Tonks pondered how to escape silently. The frame was too slight for her to try flying out, so she screwed up her courage, turned around, and hopped onto the windowsill as gracefully as she could with a broom in hand. Holding the broom out of the window behind her, Tonks squeezed her eyes shut and toppled backwards from the window frame. As soon as she felt herself clear the tower without so much as a clatter, Tonks’ eyes popped open and she flipped over, straddling the broom and pulling up a few meters above the dark green grass.
It was heavenly, precisely the thing she had been craving, Tonks thought as she clamped her bare legs tight around the thin stick and sped up, flying up high above the castle before zooming back down to the Quidditch pitch. The colorful flags around the edge of the stadium fluttered softly as the Nimbus and its laughing, pink-haired rider whipped past. Steadying herself, Tonks let go of the broom with her left hand, and then her right, soaring through the night air with her arms stretched wide and her streaming eyes staring skyward.
“Boo!” a voice shouted next to her, and Tonks gasped as she fell off her broom.
Wincing as she braced for the impact of the ground Tonks felt herself slow, hover, and land gently on the plush lawn; her broom not far away. She sat up; scanning the night above her for the mysterious woman, for she was fairly certain the voice had been female.
“Students aren’t allowed out of the castle this late, Miss Tonks,” the voice called again, and Tonks turned around to see Madam Hooch leaning on her upended broomstick, a seemingly casual grin on her lips. “Much less flying around the pitch on broomsticks in their undergarments.”
Tonks gulped, feeling herself blush as Madam Hooch’s yellow eyes looked her over. She knew the rumors of course, that Madam Hooch had taken the job at Hogwarts only after her ‘special friend’ had been raped, tortured and killed by Death Eaters. Tonks didn’t doubt that Hooch was a lesbian, but she hoped the tales of how her lover died were gruesome fantasy, for they were something no one should ever have to endure. For reasons unknown even to herself, Tonks had always been somewhat protective of the widely whispered about woman. While the girls all gossiped and made up wild stories, Tonks flatly disputed those she knew were lies, particularly Isolde Wentwhistle’s claim that she’d once caught Hooch watching her in the showers after an especially vigorous Quidditch training session. Tonks had originally touted it as rubbish, since Isolde was the only one sweet on Isolde, but the way her skin began to tingle was making her have second thoughts.
“I’m sorry, Professor,” she said, bowing her head. “It was just so hot and I couldn’t sleep so I thought -”
“You thought you’d make a breeze of your own,” Hooch laughed. “Don’t misunderstand me, Nymphadora, I’ve done it myself a few times. It’s very satisfying, but once you get back to bed it feels as muggy as ever.”
Tonks grinned back. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted, tugging on the hem of Charlie’s undershirt.
“And unless you really wear yourself out, you won’t sleep,” the older woman continued, her smile changing slightly. “Your body is so wound up that only real physical exhaustion will help, you won’t relax without it.”
Only now did Tonks notice that Madam Hooch’s robes were not robes at all, but a pale blue nightgown made of material so light that she thought she might be able to see through it. But maybe it was her eyes playing tricks on her; maybe she was imagining that she could see two pert nipples, two soft shadows on the professor’s chest. “You couldn’t sleep either?” she asked, nodding towards the thin cotton shift and making to stand up.
“Sit down,” Hooch said, her voice soft and smooth.
Tonks blinked, but sat again. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“You’re not rude,” Madam Hooch replied. “But you’re also not going to sleep if I just send you back to the castle now, since you aren’t exhausted yet.”
Tonks’ stomach did a little flip. She wasn’t certain what was happening, but she felt her skin tingle again as Hooch stepped out of the shadows at the edge of the field and into the moonlight. She didn’t look her age, Tonks thought. Sure, her hair was streaked with silver now, but her face was nearly unlined and her breasts, if Tonks really could see them through the nightdress, were still high and firm on her athletic build.
Madam Hooch reached out and picked Tonk’s broom off the ground. “Nimbus 1997,” she smiled, running her hands over the smooth wood of the handle and examining the binding around the twigs. “It’s an awfully nice broom.”
“My dad gave it to me as a coming of age gift last winter.”
“Nice gift,” she said, and Tonks nodded. “I love brooms. I love everything about them. I love the way the twigs rustle, I love the smooth shape of the handle, I love the vibrations of them, of the magic coming from the wood. It’s intoxicating, isn’t it?”
Tonks nodded again, at a loss for words as she stared at her own broom with a sudden sense of longing.
“You’ve thought of it already, haven’t you?” Hooch purred quietly. “You might not have done it, or maybe you have, but I’ll bet you’ve at least thought of it.”
“Of what?” Tonks asked, trying to veil her answer with innocence. Of course she’d thought of it. Charlie had been the one who planted the idea originally, whispering shocking words in her ear one afternoon, words about how good a broomstick felt when it was pounding away at you. Tonks hadn’t wanted to imagine what boy had introduced Charlie to the notion, but during her next free period alone in the dormitory she was incredibly glad that he’d passed it along to her. Even now as she thought of it, Tonks wanted the broom inside of her, and from the look on Madam Hooch’s face, so did she.
“Don’t play coy,” she said, running her fingers suggestively over the handle. “It doesn’t suit a smart, adventurous young woman. It makes me want to just turn the broom on myself and not let you play. That is, assuming you’d like to exhaust yourself before going back to bed.”
Another excited flip of her stomach. This was something Tonks hadn’t given much thought to before, or at least not involving a teacher. But she was eighteen now, in the last week of her last year at Hogwarts, and she wondered if the prematurely grey professor might not be even younger than forty. If she was honest with herself, the idea was more than a little exciting. She’d shared several sloppy kisses and a listless grope with the Hufflepuff Melody Parker in her fifth year, but a proposition such as this promised infinitely greater rewards. “It would help me sleep better,” she reasoned out loud, a smirk on her lips.
Hooch frowned slightly, tossing the broom back to the grass before Tonks’ feet. “If that’s all you’re after, Nymphadora, then do another two dozen laps of the field and head back to the dormitories.” The professor pointed to the broom, but Tonks did not reach for it.
Slowly pressing her palms down on the grass, Tonks slid her legs farther apart and stared up at the yellow-eyed witch. “That’s not all I’m after. And don’t call me Nymphadora. I don’t like it.”
A hawklike eyebrow raised as Madam Hooch surveyed the pink-haired young woman. “What do you like to be called then?” she asked, levitating the tip of the broom handle along the outside of Tonks’ leg and around her foot.
“Just Tonks,” she said, squirming for friction as the polished wood traced the inside of her thigh and skimmed over her lace clad cunt before following the line of her leg back to her toes.
Hooch smiled. “Well, Just Tonks, I don’t think you’re in the proper attire for exerting oneself,” she said in a critiquing tone, her eyes holding on where she too could see two eager nipples through thin cotton.
Slowly, Tonks reached down and drew her wand from the waist of her underwear, running it up her stomach before slipping it into her mouth. Her hands drifted lower again, fingers curling around the hem of the undershirt and pulling it swiftly over her head in one smooth motion. “Better?” she asked, removing her wand from her mouth and wrapping it up in the shirt so as not to lose it in the lush grass of the pitch.
“Not quite.”
Tonks felt herself rapidly growing slick between her legs. Never before had she been so on display, and as she drew the dark lace knickers down her legs and past her toes, she felt a delicious rush of power. “Better?” she asked again, kicking her legs open wide and relishing the sharp golden flicker in Hooch’s eyes.
“Stop playing,” she said, crouching down in the grass and picking up the broomstick. “Don’t play games with me, and I won’t play games with you.” Tonks blinked, startled at the sudden loss of Hooch’s flirtatious tone, but nodded. “I think you know, Nympha - Tonks - I think you’ve known how I feel about you for a while now, haven’t you?”
Tonks thought back, and with her startling revelation the memories of the past year took on new meaning. Things that she had considered to be above the call of a professor she had thought friendly or kind, but the in depth explanation and demonstration of any Quidditch maneuver or flying trick Tonks had expressed interest in now seemed something else. With a dawning smile, she nodded.
“And before now, before you inspired me with your bold display of circumventing rules, I hadn’t even lent thought to you ever feeling the same way.” The older witch looked vulnerable, almost sad. “I didn’t even realize it myself for so long. I hadn’t felt this way since Constance - since I lost her.” Tonks reached out a hand to cover Madam Hooch’s, but she pulled back sharply. “I can’t touch you, Tonks, not while you’re a student. We’ve all taken bonds, made oaths to Dumbledore and the school that I thought were silly at the time, but now I see why.”
Fury exploded in Tonks’ chest. “Even if I want you to?” she questioned, her eyes blazing at the newfound intimate connection that was now threatened.
“Even so,” Hooch laughed as Tonks’ hair grew red and golden without her conscious thought, changing to make her head look aflame. “You’ll have to get better at hiding your anger, love, if you want to become an Auror!”
Tonks blushed furiously, and as Hooch laughed at her again she suddenly felt naked. She turned, looking for her undergarments, but instead spied the broom. An idea sparked in the forefront of her mind.
“So don’t touch me,” she said boldly, grabbing hold of the handle. “You don’t have to, I know you want to, but I don’t need you to tonight. Like you said, there are ways to circumvent the rules.” Her eyebrow arched high and the dampness returning at the idea of what might come, Tonks positioned the broom over her cunt, inches away but still so suggestive. “Now don’t touch,” she whispered, feeling the broom lighten in her hands and letting go. It hovered there for a moment, a tremulous look on the older woman’s face, and then ever so lightly it nudged forward, grazing across Tonks’ delicate skin and causing her to gasp.
A flash of delight erupted over the faces of both the moonlit witches. Uncharacteristically, a soft light laugh - almost a giggle - escaped Hooch’s mouth. She smiled, fell to her knees in the grass at Tonks’ side, and again the broomhandle darted forward, lingering momentarily this time, grinding against her just long enough for Tonks to try and press downward and meet only air.
“Stop teasing!” she cried, tangling her fingers in her short spiky curls.
“You can’t be that close already,” Hooch smiled.
“I’m eighteen,” Tonks protested. “I’m always close!” And while Hooch laughed softly again, the broom swept forward and up; this time brushing over her clit and causing Tonks to let out a surprised moan. This was nothing like what she had so often practiced in her bed with the heavy curtains drawn shut. She wasn’t in control, she wasn’t the one making herself aroused and coaxing her body into ecstasy. Someone else was driving her there, yellow eyes glinting in the dark and shimmers of silver in the dark iron curls.
The broom was gone suddenly, but before she could protest the loss she saw it hovering over her, saw the elder witch lean forward and watched the shadow of her breasts inside the nightgown sway as she reached out her pointed little tongue and laved it repeatedly over the woody handle.
“Oh God,” Tonks whispered, mesmerized by how the broom sparkled in the moonlight, coated with saliva and her own juices.
“Libidium Tremore,” Hooch murmured, her wand drawn and pointing down to the nest of soft fuchsia curls. Tonks nearly screamed, clapping her hand over her mouth as a gentle vibration struck her clit and hummed away. She could feel wetness dripping from her and a familiar tightness in her stomach. With hazy eyes she watched Hooch perform the same spell on herself.
“Please,” Tonks gasped. “Please, I want to see.” And as Hooch smiled, raised herself up to her knees and pulled the thin nightgown over her head, Tonks felt the handle of her broom rocking against her, pressing tentatively at her opening. She had been right; Tonks thought as the thick handle made an eager thrust forward, Hooch’s breasts were magnificent. High and firm with dusky rose nipples; this was the image that would always spring to Tonks’ mind when she felt the full thrusts of a broomstick in her pussy. It was exquisite torture, Tonks realized, being able to look but not touch. She tried hard to focus, fumbling for her wand beside her as she tried to remember a spell that she had used on herself. “Cunnus Combibo,” she sighed, taking careful aim as she ground against the broom.
Hooch’s eyes flared open as she dropped back to the grass, collapsing in a heap next to the pretty, gasping young witch. She’d felt the effects of the spell before, but many years had marred her memory and now she wondered if the invisible tongue sliding along her lower lips had ever felt this good. Of course, she had never used it in combination with vibrations this way, and as Hooch felt herself being drawn closer to orgasm by the gentle moans of Tonks beside her she riffled through her memory for a way to please the girl even more.
“Roll over!” she commanded, dragging herself to an upright position and twisting her nipples between her fingers.
“What?” Tonks breathed, her cheeks flushed and a light sheen of sweat on her body.
“Roll over, on all fours!” And just as quickly as Hooch summoned her broom from the edge of the pitch, Tonks had obeyed, her moans becoming more urgent as the broom pounded away from a different angle. “Lubricous!” she cried, waving her wand over the handle of the second broom and levitating it behind Tonks. “Tell me not to and I won’t,” she said, dropping to the ground to meet Tonks’ gaze, “but trust me, you want me to.”
Tonks nodded wildly. She was already so close to orgasm, and the gentle pressure against her bottom really did feel amazing.
“Relax,” Hooch instructed, and as Tonks tried not to focus on the tightness in her cunt, she felt the handle slide easily in. With another flick of Hooch’s wand both brooms began to move in time with each other, creating a syncopated rhythm that made Tonks scream in delight. One after the other they thrust into her, relentlessly building friction and making her feel so warm and so full. She could feel the magic of them, feel even the slightest vibrations they gave off and allowing them to resonate inside of her tenfold. It was overwhelming, the sensations building higher and higher with each thrust of the contoured wood, and soon she felt all of her muscles clench and spasm, a powerful orgasm shaking her whole body. Her arms gave way, changing the angle of the brooms again and she moaned wantonly as her breasts raked against the grass, a second orgasm rushing over her so quickly she thought it might still be the first. Her face pressed against the ground, she could see Hooch’s legs kicking out wildly, she could hear the same passionate noises she was making, but she could not bring herself to move for a better view. The buzzing over her clitoris seemed to heighten as Hooch came, driving Tonks into another orgasm which in turn made Hooch’s cries even louder, the invisible tongue delving into her with even more lust. They were feeding each other, driving each other past the point of pleasure that either had ever experienced before, and just when Tonks thought she might pass out from the sheer joy of it all, she felt the brooms slow and withdraw, one by one, the humming gently milking one more spasm from her muscles before she fell completely to the ground, her body limp and sore.
“Finite,” she whispered, her voice hoarse as she aimed her wand in the direction of the other woman.
Somewhere to the side of her Hooch murmured. Tonks couldn’t make out the words, but they sounded sated and happy. For a minute they both lay there, bodies trembling and hearts pounding against the cool breeze now circling the stadium. Finally Tonks raised herself to a kneeling position, reaching behind her and fingering the rim of her arse lightly.
“I’ve never done that before,” she smiled, lingering in the gentle empty feeling that was almost as good as the full had been.
“Lubricous is essential,” Hooch replied, sitting up and running a hand down between her legs. “I don’t think anyone has ever been so eager with a magical tongue,” she laughed.
“I just kept wishing it was really mine,” Tonks admitted, a grin on her face. There was a moment then, a moment where each of the naked witches wanted to hold the other, to kiss her and share something more intimate and kind, a different kind of need. “Less than a week and it will be,” Tonks continued, thinking ahead to her graduation on Friday evening. “What if I pack my trunk before hand?” she asked. “If I had everything ready then after the ceremony I could just come down here afterwards, we could miss the feast?”
“I’ll make a picnic feast,” Hooch smiled.
“You’ll BE the picnic feast,” Tonks corrected and Hooch laughed again.
“I haven’t laughed like this in years,” she admitted, reaching an exhausted arm out for her nightgown.
“Well you have years more of it left,” Tonks assured her, shimmying back into her underwear and Charlie’s tank top. “Scourgify,” she said, picking up both of the brooms and handing one back to Hooch. “Bring your broom,” she winked, and with a look that meant just as much as any kiss, she drifted up into the sky, keeping to the shadows as she sluggishly made her way back to Gryffindor tower. Hooch had been right, she truly was half asleep now; the bristles of the broom brushing against the windowsill as Tonks pulled it in behind her.
Carefully sliding the hangings of the bed shut, Tonks laid the broom along the side of the bed. It would never be the same now; she wouldn’t feel nearly as satisfied if she was the one controlling its motions, if there wasn’t the option of a second broom brushing against her backside, begging entry. Everything would pale in comparison to what Tonks had found that night - something new behind the innocent stare of those hawk-like eyes. She sighed happily, fingers curled around the broom handle as she slipped into dreams.
Author: hpffthequibbler
Title: Finding Something New
Rating: Adult
Word Count: 4,058
Pairing: Tonks/Hooch
Summary: When Tonks can’t sleep, Hooch finds a way to exhaust her.
Warnings: Adult content, femslash, consensual student/teacher (but NOT student/minor), anal play
Note: I hope this is something that you’ll like! I’ve never written (or even read!) one of your requested pairings, but I didn’t want anyone to go fic-less so I was more than happy to adopt it and give it a try. Thank you to confiteor_3 for the beta and kind words!
It was as close to a summer night as any student saw at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. The late spring evening was warm, too warm honestly, and all of the windows in the dormitory for the seventh-year Gryffindor girls were flung open in a desperate attempt to catch any breeze that might be willing to float in on the night air.
Nymphadora Tonks kicked restlessly at the sheet covering her, flailing her uncoordinated limbs in an effort to free herself from the stifling heat. She knew what she wanted to do. She knew the one thing that would be enjoyable on a sticky spring evening, but she was not allowed to do it. It was past midnight, and students were not allowed outside of their respective houses, much less outside of the castle. Frustrated, Tonks crept quietly from her bed to the window, trying not to wake Lacerta, Isolde, Hyacinth and Elizabeth.
“Lucky,” she whispered as an owl swooped low in front of the tower, speeding sharply towards the earth in its search for prey and creating a slipstream of wind that Tonks could only imagine. Her skin felt hot and prickly; a light sheen of sweat along her collarbone. She’d given up on pajamas for the evening, abandoning them for one of the thin, clingy undershirts she’d stolen from Charlie Weasley’s wardrobe and small, lacy, navy blue knickers, but still she had not surrendered to sleep. It was, after all, impossible with the terribly stagnant air pressing against her skin and filling her lungs, making each breath more of a chore than an instinct.
It really did seem slightly cooler, here by the window. Tonks could see moonlight rustling on the new green leaves of the Forbidden Forest. There was a breeze out there, an illusive breeze that adamantly refused to make its way inside the dormitory and onto her skin. This was torture.
Biting her lip and trying not to make a sound, Tonks turned from the window and tiptoed to her trunk, flipping the latches with two small clicks and hoping that this time the hinges would not squeak.
Creeeaaaak.
No such luck. Tonks froze, shifted the offensive trunk lid in one hand and reached for her wand on the bedside table with the other. She was six inches away, her legs splayed wildly and her arms stretching as far as they would go. “Accio wand,” Tonks thought, focusing hard on the nonverbal magic and earning a satisfying result as the wand leapt the remaining inches into her awaiting grasp. Maybe seven years at Hogwarts had taught her something useful after all.
“Lubricous,” she thought, pointing her wand at the unruly hinge and hesitating for a moment before pulling the lid open without a sound.
There it was, right on top of the messy contents of Tonks’ trunk; her Nimbus 1998. It had been a coming of age gift from her father, who understood almost nothing about Quidditch or broomsticks but loved the tomboy streak that his wife had passed on to his daughter. Of course, Tonks knew her mother was probably the one who helped him select and order the broom itself, but she still thought of it as a gift from her dad, as he’d been the one to give it to her with a wide, beaming grin on his face.
Lifting the broom gently from its resting place, Tonks closed the lid of her trunk and tucked her wand into the waistband of her underwear. She’d just do one quick flight, make herself a small breeze so she could cool down, and then back into bed and hopefully to sleep. If she stuck to the shadows she might not even be caught. And, Tonks thought with a sly grin, if she was she could always just Metamorph into Charlie, who had done the very same thing three nights ago with some Ravenclaw boy and got off - literally.
Standing at the window, Tonks pondered how to escape silently. The frame was too slight for her to try flying out, so she screwed up her courage, turned around, and hopped onto the windowsill as gracefully as she could with a broom in hand. Holding the broom out of the window behind her, Tonks squeezed her eyes shut and toppled backwards from the window frame. As soon as she felt herself clear the tower without so much as a clatter, Tonks’ eyes popped open and she flipped over, straddling the broom and pulling up a few meters above the dark green grass.
It was heavenly, precisely the thing she had been craving, Tonks thought as she clamped her bare legs tight around the thin stick and sped up, flying up high above the castle before zooming back down to the Quidditch pitch. The colorful flags around the edge of the stadium fluttered softly as the Nimbus and its laughing, pink-haired rider whipped past. Steadying herself, Tonks let go of the broom with her left hand, and then her right, soaring through the night air with her arms stretched wide and her streaming eyes staring skyward.
“Boo!” a voice shouted next to her, and Tonks gasped as she fell off her broom.
Wincing as she braced for the impact of the ground Tonks felt herself slow, hover, and land gently on the plush lawn; her broom not far away. She sat up; scanning the night above her for the mysterious woman, for she was fairly certain the voice had been female.
“Students aren’t allowed out of the castle this late, Miss Tonks,” the voice called again, and Tonks turned around to see Madam Hooch leaning on her upended broomstick, a seemingly casual grin on her lips. “Much less flying around the pitch on broomsticks in their undergarments.”
Tonks gulped, feeling herself blush as Madam Hooch’s yellow eyes looked her over. She knew the rumors of course, that Madam Hooch had taken the job at Hogwarts only after her ‘special friend’ had been raped, tortured and killed by Death Eaters. Tonks didn’t doubt that Hooch was a lesbian, but she hoped the tales of how her lover died were gruesome fantasy, for they were something no one should ever have to endure. For reasons unknown even to herself, Tonks had always been somewhat protective of the widely whispered about woman. While the girls all gossiped and made up wild stories, Tonks flatly disputed those she knew were lies, particularly Isolde Wentwhistle’s claim that she’d once caught Hooch watching her in the showers after an especially vigorous Quidditch training session. Tonks had originally touted it as rubbish, since Isolde was the only one sweet on Isolde, but the way her skin began to tingle was making her have second thoughts.
“I’m sorry, Professor,” she said, bowing her head. “It was just so hot and I couldn’t sleep so I thought -”
“You thought you’d make a breeze of your own,” Hooch laughed. “Don’t misunderstand me, Nymphadora, I’ve done it myself a few times. It’s very satisfying, but once you get back to bed it feels as muggy as ever.”
Tonks grinned back. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted, tugging on the hem of Charlie’s undershirt.
“And unless you really wear yourself out, you won’t sleep,” the older woman continued, her smile changing slightly. “Your body is so wound up that only real physical exhaustion will help, you won’t relax without it.”
Only now did Tonks notice that Madam Hooch’s robes were not robes at all, but a pale blue nightgown made of material so light that she thought she might be able to see through it. But maybe it was her eyes playing tricks on her; maybe she was imagining that she could see two pert nipples, two soft shadows on the professor’s chest. “You couldn’t sleep either?” she asked, nodding towards the thin cotton shift and making to stand up.
“Sit down,” Hooch said, her voice soft and smooth.
Tonks blinked, but sat again. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“You’re not rude,” Madam Hooch replied. “But you’re also not going to sleep if I just send you back to the castle now, since you aren’t exhausted yet.”
Tonks’ stomach did a little flip. She wasn’t certain what was happening, but she felt her skin tingle again as Hooch stepped out of the shadows at the edge of the field and into the moonlight. She didn’t look her age, Tonks thought. Sure, her hair was streaked with silver now, but her face was nearly unlined and her breasts, if Tonks really could see them through the nightdress, were still high and firm on her athletic build.
Madam Hooch reached out and picked Tonk’s broom off the ground. “Nimbus 1997,” she smiled, running her hands over the smooth wood of the handle and examining the binding around the twigs. “It’s an awfully nice broom.”
“My dad gave it to me as a coming of age gift last winter.”
“Nice gift,” she said, and Tonks nodded. “I love brooms. I love everything about them. I love the way the twigs rustle, I love the smooth shape of the handle, I love the vibrations of them, of the magic coming from the wood. It’s intoxicating, isn’t it?”
Tonks nodded again, at a loss for words as she stared at her own broom with a sudden sense of longing.
“You’ve thought of it already, haven’t you?” Hooch purred quietly. “You might not have done it, or maybe you have, but I’ll bet you’ve at least thought of it.”
“Of what?” Tonks asked, trying to veil her answer with innocence. Of course she’d thought of it. Charlie had been the one who planted the idea originally, whispering shocking words in her ear one afternoon, words about how good a broomstick felt when it was pounding away at you. Tonks hadn’t wanted to imagine what boy had introduced Charlie to the notion, but during her next free period alone in the dormitory she was incredibly glad that he’d passed it along to her. Even now as she thought of it, Tonks wanted the broom inside of her, and from the look on Madam Hooch’s face, so did she.
“Don’t play coy,” she said, running her fingers suggestively over the handle. “It doesn’t suit a smart, adventurous young woman. It makes me want to just turn the broom on myself and not let you play. That is, assuming you’d like to exhaust yourself before going back to bed.”
Another excited flip of her stomach. This was something Tonks hadn’t given much thought to before, or at least not involving a teacher. But she was eighteen now, in the last week of her last year at Hogwarts, and she wondered if the prematurely grey professor might not be even younger than forty. If she was honest with herself, the idea was more than a little exciting. She’d shared several sloppy kisses and a listless grope with the Hufflepuff Melody Parker in her fifth year, but a proposition such as this promised infinitely greater rewards. “It would help me sleep better,” she reasoned out loud, a smirk on her lips.
Hooch frowned slightly, tossing the broom back to the grass before Tonks’ feet. “If that’s all you’re after, Nymphadora, then do another two dozen laps of the field and head back to the dormitories.” The professor pointed to the broom, but Tonks did not reach for it.
Slowly pressing her palms down on the grass, Tonks slid her legs farther apart and stared up at the yellow-eyed witch. “That’s not all I’m after. And don’t call me Nymphadora. I don’t like it.”
A hawklike eyebrow raised as Madam Hooch surveyed the pink-haired young woman. “What do you like to be called then?” she asked, levitating the tip of the broom handle along the outside of Tonks’ leg and around her foot.
“Just Tonks,” she said, squirming for friction as the polished wood traced the inside of her thigh and skimmed over her lace clad cunt before following the line of her leg back to her toes.
Hooch smiled. “Well, Just Tonks, I don’t think you’re in the proper attire for exerting oneself,” she said in a critiquing tone, her eyes holding on where she too could see two eager nipples through thin cotton.
Slowly, Tonks reached down and drew her wand from the waist of her underwear, running it up her stomach before slipping it into her mouth. Her hands drifted lower again, fingers curling around the hem of the undershirt and pulling it swiftly over her head in one smooth motion. “Better?” she asked, removing her wand from her mouth and wrapping it up in the shirt so as not to lose it in the lush grass of the pitch.
“Not quite.”
Tonks felt herself rapidly growing slick between her legs. Never before had she been so on display, and as she drew the dark lace knickers down her legs and past her toes, she felt a delicious rush of power. “Better?” she asked again, kicking her legs open wide and relishing the sharp golden flicker in Hooch’s eyes.
“Stop playing,” she said, crouching down in the grass and picking up the broomstick. “Don’t play games with me, and I won’t play games with you.” Tonks blinked, startled at the sudden loss of Hooch’s flirtatious tone, but nodded. “I think you know, Nympha - Tonks - I think you’ve known how I feel about you for a while now, haven’t you?”
Tonks thought back, and with her startling revelation the memories of the past year took on new meaning. Things that she had considered to be above the call of a professor she had thought friendly or kind, but the in depth explanation and demonstration of any Quidditch maneuver or flying trick Tonks had expressed interest in now seemed something else. With a dawning smile, she nodded.
“And before now, before you inspired me with your bold display of circumventing rules, I hadn’t even lent thought to you ever feeling the same way.” The older witch looked vulnerable, almost sad. “I didn’t even realize it myself for so long. I hadn’t felt this way since Constance - since I lost her.” Tonks reached out a hand to cover Madam Hooch’s, but she pulled back sharply. “I can’t touch you, Tonks, not while you’re a student. We’ve all taken bonds, made oaths to Dumbledore and the school that I thought were silly at the time, but now I see why.”
Fury exploded in Tonks’ chest. “Even if I want you to?” she questioned, her eyes blazing at the newfound intimate connection that was now threatened.
“Even so,” Hooch laughed as Tonks’ hair grew red and golden without her conscious thought, changing to make her head look aflame. “You’ll have to get better at hiding your anger, love, if you want to become an Auror!”
Tonks blushed furiously, and as Hooch laughed at her again she suddenly felt naked. She turned, looking for her undergarments, but instead spied the broom. An idea sparked in the forefront of her mind.
“So don’t touch me,” she said boldly, grabbing hold of the handle. “You don’t have to, I know you want to, but I don’t need you to tonight. Like you said, there are ways to circumvent the rules.” Her eyebrow arched high and the dampness returning at the idea of what might come, Tonks positioned the broom over her cunt, inches away but still so suggestive. “Now don’t touch,” she whispered, feeling the broom lighten in her hands and letting go. It hovered there for a moment, a tremulous look on the older woman’s face, and then ever so lightly it nudged forward, grazing across Tonks’ delicate skin and causing her to gasp.
A flash of delight erupted over the faces of both the moonlit witches. Uncharacteristically, a soft light laugh - almost a giggle - escaped Hooch’s mouth. She smiled, fell to her knees in the grass at Tonks’ side, and again the broomhandle darted forward, lingering momentarily this time, grinding against her just long enough for Tonks to try and press downward and meet only air.
“Stop teasing!” she cried, tangling her fingers in her short spiky curls.
“You can’t be that close already,” Hooch smiled.
“I’m eighteen,” Tonks protested. “I’m always close!” And while Hooch laughed softly again, the broom swept forward and up; this time brushing over her clit and causing Tonks to let out a surprised moan. This was nothing like what she had so often practiced in her bed with the heavy curtains drawn shut. She wasn’t in control, she wasn’t the one making herself aroused and coaxing her body into ecstasy. Someone else was driving her there, yellow eyes glinting in the dark and shimmers of silver in the dark iron curls.
The broom was gone suddenly, but before she could protest the loss she saw it hovering over her, saw the elder witch lean forward and watched the shadow of her breasts inside the nightgown sway as she reached out her pointed little tongue and laved it repeatedly over the woody handle.
“Oh God,” Tonks whispered, mesmerized by how the broom sparkled in the moonlight, coated with saliva and her own juices.
“Libidium Tremore,” Hooch murmured, her wand drawn and pointing down to the nest of soft fuchsia curls. Tonks nearly screamed, clapping her hand over her mouth as a gentle vibration struck her clit and hummed away. She could feel wetness dripping from her and a familiar tightness in her stomach. With hazy eyes she watched Hooch perform the same spell on herself.
“Please,” Tonks gasped. “Please, I want to see.” And as Hooch smiled, raised herself up to her knees and pulled the thin nightgown over her head, Tonks felt the handle of her broom rocking against her, pressing tentatively at her opening. She had been right; Tonks thought as the thick handle made an eager thrust forward, Hooch’s breasts were magnificent. High and firm with dusky rose nipples; this was the image that would always spring to Tonks’ mind when she felt the full thrusts of a broomstick in her pussy. It was exquisite torture, Tonks realized, being able to look but not touch. She tried hard to focus, fumbling for her wand beside her as she tried to remember a spell that she had used on herself. “Cunnus Combibo,” she sighed, taking careful aim as she ground against the broom.
Hooch’s eyes flared open as she dropped back to the grass, collapsing in a heap next to the pretty, gasping young witch. She’d felt the effects of the spell before, but many years had marred her memory and now she wondered if the invisible tongue sliding along her lower lips had ever felt this good. Of course, she had never used it in combination with vibrations this way, and as Hooch felt herself being drawn closer to orgasm by the gentle moans of Tonks beside her she riffled through her memory for a way to please the girl even more.
“Roll over!” she commanded, dragging herself to an upright position and twisting her nipples between her fingers.
“What?” Tonks breathed, her cheeks flushed and a light sheen of sweat on her body.
“Roll over, on all fours!” And just as quickly as Hooch summoned her broom from the edge of the pitch, Tonks had obeyed, her moans becoming more urgent as the broom pounded away from a different angle. “Lubricous!” she cried, waving her wand over the handle of the second broom and levitating it behind Tonks. “Tell me not to and I won’t,” she said, dropping to the ground to meet Tonks’ gaze, “but trust me, you want me to.”
Tonks nodded wildly. She was already so close to orgasm, and the gentle pressure against her bottom really did feel amazing.
“Relax,” Hooch instructed, and as Tonks tried not to focus on the tightness in her cunt, she felt the handle slide easily in. With another flick of Hooch’s wand both brooms began to move in time with each other, creating a syncopated rhythm that made Tonks scream in delight. One after the other they thrust into her, relentlessly building friction and making her feel so warm and so full. She could feel the magic of them, feel even the slightest vibrations they gave off and allowing them to resonate inside of her tenfold. It was overwhelming, the sensations building higher and higher with each thrust of the contoured wood, and soon she felt all of her muscles clench and spasm, a powerful orgasm shaking her whole body. Her arms gave way, changing the angle of the brooms again and she moaned wantonly as her breasts raked against the grass, a second orgasm rushing over her so quickly she thought it might still be the first. Her face pressed against the ground, she could see Hooch’s legs kicking out wildly, she could hear the same passionate noises she was making, but she could not bring herself to move for a better view. The buzzing over her clitoris seemed to heighten as Hooch came, driving Tonks into another orgasm which in turn made Hooch’s cries even louder, the invisible tongue delving into her with even more lust. They were feeding each other, driving each other past the point of pleasure that either had ever experienced before, and just when Tonks thought she might pass out from the sheer joy of it all, she felt the brooms slow and withdraw, one by one, the humming gently milking one more spasm from her muscles before she fell completely to the ground, her body limp and sore.
“Finite,” she whispered, her voice hoarse as she aimed her wand in the direction of the other woman.
Somewhere to the side of her Hooch murmured. Tonks couldn’t make out the words, but they sounded sated and happy. For a minute they both lay there, bodies trembling and hearts pounding against the cool breeze now circling the stadium. Finally Tonks raised herself to a kneeling position, reaching behind her and fingering the rim of her arse lightly.
“I’ve never done that before,” she smiled, lingering in the gentle empty feeling that was almost as good as the full had been.
“Lubricous is essential,” Hooch replied, sitting up and running a hand down between her legs. “I don’t think anyone has ever been so eager with a magical tongue,” she laughed.
“I just kept wishing it was really mine,” Tonks admitted, a grin on her face. There was a moment then, a moment where each of the naked witches wanted to hold the other, to kiss her and share something more intimate and kind, a different kind of need. “Less than a week and it will be,” Tonks continued, thinking ahead to her graduation on Friday evening. “What if I pack my trunk before hand?” she asked. “If I had everything ready then after the ceremony I could just come down here afterwards, we could miss the feast?”
“I’ll make a picnic feast,” Hooch smiled.
“You’ll BE the picnic feast,” Tonks corrected and Hooch laughed again.
“I haven’t laughed like this in years,” she admitted, reaching an exhausted arm out for her nightgown.
“Well you have years more of it left,” Tonks assured her, shimmying back into her underwear and Charlie’s tank top. “Scourgify,” she said, picking up both of the brooms and handing one back to Hooch. “Bring your broom,” she winked, and with a look that meant just as much as any kiss, she drifted up into the sky, keeping to the shadows as she sluggishly made her way back to Gryffindor tower. Hooch had been right, she truly was half asleep now; the bristles of the broom brushing against the windowsill as Tonks pulled it in behind her.
Carefully sliding the hangings of the bed shut, Tonks laid the broom along the side of the bed. It would never be the same now; she wouldn’t feel nearly as satisfied if she was the one controlling its motions, if there wasn’t the option of a second broom brushing against her backside, begging entry. Everything would pale in comparison to what Tonks had found that night - something new behind the innocent stare of those hawk-like eyes. She sighed happily, fingers curled around the broom handle as she slipped into dreams.