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Fiyero notices, that first night as they’re escaping Oz, how she shifts on her broom, how she holds it effortlessly between her legs and how she wraps her strong thighs around it, sliding easily back and forth on the rough wood to maneuver it through the sky.
He notices and he wonders, and honestly, for a while, it consumes his waking thoughts.
(All of his thoughts are waking, now; he doesn’t sleep anymore on account of being a Scarecrow, and it’s becoming a bit of a problem).
He zones out while watching her flex her fingers on the thick wood.
He finds himself eying the knots and gnarled bits with calculating eyes.
He daydreams about watching her slide back and forth on it for a different reason than just maneuvering through the sky, and —
“Fiyero.”
He snaps his gaze up to meet Elphaba’s unamused eyes — so it’s not the first time she’s said his name, then — and grins sheepishly.
“Huh?”
She narrows her eyes and regards him carefully.
“What are you doing?”
Fiyero tries to rearrange his expression into something in the neighborhood of innocent.
“I wasn’t doing anything.”
It’s true, of course, as he was only thinking about doing things. And he doesn’t even want to do them, himself! He just wants to watch her do them!
Elphaba steps closer, her gaze never leaving his.
It’s amazing, really, that she can still cause him to feel this way even though he no longer has a heart to thunder in his chest or a pulse to quicken.
He has no breath anymore, yet she still takes it away.
Oz, he loves her.
“Yero.”
“Yes, my love?”
He flickers his eyes behind her to the door of their little cottage, wondering if he could even hope to make an escape before she had him captured in her thrall.
She scoots closer until her chest pressed is against his arm, her breasts soft and yielding against his new, unfamiliar body. Her eyes are staring straight into his burlap soul, and he thinks that getting out before being caught in her thrall is an opportunity long since past because he’s been happily enchanted by her for years and has no wish or want to be anywhere else.
“I was thinking about you,” Fiyero admits, his non-existent heart singing with excitement over her closeness — her hand on his chest, her thighs bracketing his straw body, her breath fanning over him in a way that makes him feel warm for the first time since that damn corn field.
“Mmm. I know that much,” she says, because when isn’t he thinking of her? She knows him so well. Has always known him so well. “But…” she pauses, fingers rubbing the material of his shirt gently between her fingers as her eyes sweep his face. “What were you thinking about specifically, Yero? You were… very distracted.”
Fiyero feels like he’s going to combust.
Straw is very flammable, after all, and she’s staring at him in such a way that he’s surprised he hasn’t already burst into flames.
“I… your broom,” he murmurs, unable to help the way the words tumble helplessly from his mouth.
Has she enchanted him?
Bewitched him?
Is he under her spell?
(The answer to all three questions is yes, of course, but he walked in with eyes wide open, so truly he only has himself to blame).
“What about my broom?” she breathes, warm lips brushing the burlap of his cheek. He can’t feel her warmth, of course, but he remembers and he shivers with want.
“I was thinking about it… between your pretty thighs,” he murmurs, rough lips like stubble on her cheek as he drops a hand to the thighs in question, sliding between them like he imagines her broom doing. “I was thinking about you… using it.”
Elphaba’s breath quickens and her eyelids flutter. There’s a beautiful green blush high on her cheeks, and Fiyero feels weak with the power that he holds over her.
She licks her lips.
“And?” she prompts, her hips hitching ever closer to him.
Fiyero, feeling emboldened, lets his fingers rest right over her panties, feeling a thrill go through him when she rocks against the digits, unable to help herself.
“I imagined you using it to get off,” he whispers, burlap lips scratching the skin beneath her ear as he speaks. “Being suspended in the air, wood tight and hard between your legs, using the knots and bumps to brush against your pretty little pussy. I imagined you using it the same way you used my thigh the other night. Remember?”
Elphaba nods, eyes closer and blush deep and dark green.
Oh, she remembers.
She whimpers and Fiyero feels a phantom warmth spread throughout his entire body.
Burlap or not, he cannot help feeling when he is around her.
“Being in the air is… important,” he whispers as he brushes his thick, rough fingers between her legs. “To me. Knowing that you can’t escape it, knowing that you can’t get away, that you are helpless against the hard wood between your pretty legs. And I would be behind you on the broom, holding you, touching you, of course.”
Elphaba’s eyes are closed and her body is trembling where she’s pressed against him. Her lips are parted and she’s already rocking against his hand, her thighs tight around the straw and green thread of his coat.
“Yero,” she whispers, biting her bottom lip as Fiyero presses against her harder. “Yero, please.”
He smiles, knowing that he’s won.
(He always does when they’re like this. Burlap and straw or not, he still knows how to give his girl what she needs).
“Please what, love?” he murmurs, voice sweet and syrupy like honey.
Elphaba whimpers and blinks her eyes open for a single second, green meeting the new brown of his own eyes, before they’re fluttering shut in pleasure again.
“You know what, Yero,” she huffs.
Fiyero loves this about her — she always gets embarrassed when he makes her ask for what she wants.
But he always, always makes her say it.
“Come on, love. Tell me.”
Elphaba huffs and her eyes snap open, annoyance and arousal fighting for dominance as she glares at him.
He grins, unashamed.
“I want that. I want to ride… ride my broom with you behind me, touching me.”
Fiyero chuckles, a little meanly, and then presses rough lips to her temple.
“Well then, my little witch, let’s go for a ride.”
____________________
The reality of Fiyero’s fantasy is a little trickier than his imagination prepared him for, and it takes him and Elphaba a few tries to get it right. They’re both flushed and giggling once she finally has them suspended in mid air, the broom enchanted to stay in one place so she doesn’t go tumbling helplessly to the ground mid orgasm. Fiyero would cushion her fall, of course, but it would kill the vibe.
Eventually, though, she’s straddling the broom mid-air, the rough, gnarled wood pressed tight against her already soaked panties, and she has to admit that even though she’s never viewed the way she rides her broom as particularly sexy before, the picture Fiyero paints for her makes her shiver in the warm night air.
“Now what?” she asks, feeling silly and sexy and aroused all at once as they sit there, suspended above their little cottage.
The way Fiyero touches her, though, immediately banishes any shame she feels and drives away any thoughts she has of being shy about this. His hands, rough burlap that she’s used many times to rub off against, start at her waist and then crawl up her chest until one hand is resting between her breasts and the other is wrapped loosely around her throat. His lips, scratchy against the sensitive skin of her neck, make her whine with need.
It’s pathetic, really, how quickly he can reduce her to this with so few words and such chaste touches.
He’d awakened something in her that first night, and even now he does his best to take care of her despite the rather limited body she’d cursed him with.
“Now you do whatever feels good. You ride the wood the same way you ride my thigh. Rock your little pussy back and forth, my Fae, and make yourself feel good,” Fiyero murmurs, lips gentle on her skin as he kisses a path from her neck behind her ear. His lips aren’t wet anymore, or soft, but they make her shudder nonetheless. It feels like his stubble did that one night when he’d been between her thighs.
She likes it.
“Okay,” she whispers, one hand tight in the broom in front of her while she holds onto Fiyero’s thigh with the other. He watches her, chin hooked over her shoulder, hands in constant motion as she rocks tentatively on the broom.
The gnarled wood catches just right on her clit and she moans, pleasure making her thighs clench tighter around the broom handle.
Fiyero smiles, scarecrow eyes alight with mischief as he tightens his fingers around her neck and flicks at her nipple through her clothes. She shudders at the pressure of his hand on her throat, never enough to hurt her but always enough to remind her that he’s there.
She likes the rush of adrenaline that floods her body as he holds her, so vulnerable, in his hands.
He could hurt her like this, she knows.
Easily.
But he won’t.
And somehow the trust implicit in doing this with him makes it a thousand times hotter.
“Again, my love,” he murmurs, rough burlap brushing the shell of her ear as he rocks his hips to move hers. The hand not around her throat roams her front, caressing her over the single layer of clothing she’d left on for this, and she whimpers as he tugs at her pebbled nipple.
It’s sensation overload, and she can’t escape any of it. The wood of her broom is tight between her legs, the pressure of being suspended in the air inescapable. There’s nowhere to touchdown, nowhere to rest her feet to release the relentless pressure. Her legs dangle over each side, her pussy pressed to the wood while Fiyero wraps himself around her, ankles hooked over hers and hand sliding beneath her top to brush rough fingertips against her sensitive breasts.
“Yero,” she moans, her head falling back to his shoulder as his hips rock forward, moving her with him. The drag of the wood over her soaked panties causes her to see stars, and she moans as a particularly hard knot rubs between her soaked lips.
“Feel good?” he whispers, the hand on her thigh sliding between her legs. His rough fingertip presses right over her clit as they rock together, the wet cotton of her panties making the drag slower, rougher.
Elphaba nods, cheeks flushed a dark green as he helps her set a nice, slow rhythm. She likes the feeling of him moving behind her, of his straw chest pressed up against her back and his legs tangled with hers midair as she finds pleasure in an object that had once been a symbol of the wicked witch, of the most painful of her days.
“You’re doing so good, my love,” he murmurs after several long moments, and Elphaba is just parting her lips to tell him it’s well, Fiyero, when her clit catches on one of the larger, rougher knots on the broom. Stars explode behind her eyes and she moans, chasing the feeling. Fiyero chuckles, breathless amusement brushing up against her ear as he rocks with her, helping her fuck herself on the broom. She rubs against the gnarled knot, her head thrown back in pleasure, until her thighs begin to shake, and —
Fiyero pulls her back and she whines, thighs tightening around the broom to chase the pleasure as he chuckles, one hand sliding between her legs and cupping her pussy roughly.
“Not so fast,” he murmurs, fingers tapping on her soaking underwear as she heaves in great breaths of air, her body humming and right there, just on the edge. “Take a breath, love. Feel it.”
Elphaba whines and bites at her bottom lip.
She’s not one to deny herself usually, not in this, at least.
In the rest of her life, sure, she’s always, always, always given up her own wants for the comfort of others.
But this?
With Fiyero?
She is dreadfully selfish, and she has been since that night in the forest.
“Please,” she whimpers, her hips rocking despite the way he’s still cupping her between her legs, preventing her from brushing against the thick wood of her broom. “Please, Yero, I—”
Her words taper off with a moan as his fingers tighten around her throat, holding her solidly against him as he slides his hand back from between her legs.
“There you go, love. Let yourself feel it, let yourself enjoy it. Take your time. Make yourself feel good.”
“I want to make you feel good, too,” she whispers, her gaze finding his from where her head is resting on his shoulder, her whole body lax in his arms as he sets a slow, easy rhythm once more, rocking her forward with his own hips until her wet panties are dragging along her sensitive pussy again, lighting her on fire each time she catches against a knot or a raised branch.
“I do feel good,” he whispers, smiling as his free hand splays flat over her belly, long fingers stretching to curl around her waist. “I feel good watching you feel good. I promise, Fae, this is for me, too. It may not be the same as before, but I take pleasure in this.”
Elphaba believes that he does, too — how can she not when his eyes, no longer quite human but still beautiful all the same, are looking at her like that?
“Now, focus on you, my love. Slow and steady. Make yourself feel it,” Fiyero murmurs, and Elphaba nods, her eyes fluttering closed as she forces herself to move more slowly, to feel every drag and notch of the broom against her. She focuses on Fiyero’s burlap hands, rough and gentle at the same time, one holding her against him and the other roaming, cupping her breasts, gently brushing against her sensitive nipples, careful, always careful because he knows he can hurt her just as easily as he can bring her pleasure.
She focuses on the way his hips move with her, and she remembers the way he’d moved behind her, inside of her, that first night.
His lips murmur praise and encouragement in her ear, and she whines, high and loud, as the pleasure builds.
This time, Fiyero doesn’t stop her.
This time, he joins her.
“Are you close, Fae?”
Elphaba nods, whimpering as he slides his hand between her legs, pressing two fingers against her clit as she rubs against the broom the same way she does against his thigh.
“Good girl. You can come for me anytime, my love. Let me see it. Let me feel it.”
Elphaba bites her lip as she chases her pleasure, rocking forward into Fiyero’s fingers and backwards on the broom, loving the way that the knots that she’d once grabbed for stability as she escaped from those who would harm her bring her nothing but pleasure now.
“Fi—Fiyero! Oh, fuck!”
He chuckles against her ear, warm and loving and a little bit mean as he presses his fingers harder to her clit as she begins to shake apart in his arms. She seizes up for a long moment, and then moans into his neck as her orgasm overtakes her. Her thighs tremble and it’s only his arms around her, his body caging hers in, that keeps her upright on the broom as she gives herself over to her pleasure.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing rough, burlap kisses to her cheek, her temple, her neck as she slowly comes down from the pleasure, her hips still hitching against the wood and his fingertips where they’re still pressed against her. “My beautiful, perfect green girl. So good for me.”
He doesn’t pull his fingers away until she’s trembling with overstimulation, and even then he doesn’t move them far. He cups his whole hand between her legs, holding her tight against him as she melts in his arms, boneless.
“That was…” she begins, but she loses her train of thought as Fiyero slips his hand from around her neck to cup her cheek. He turns her head and kisses her, and though he can’t feel her warmth or the plushness of her lips, he remembers.
“You were perfect, Fae,” he whispers, smiling into the kiss. “Now bring us to the ground so I can take care of you.”
Elphaba nods and, shakily, brings the broom to the ground. Her legs buckle the second they’re under her, and Fiyero is laughing again as he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her against his side to keep her from falling.
“You’re being mean,” she pouts, but he just shakes his head as he collects her broom in his other hand, walking them both inside the warm little cottage before closing the door behind them and setting the broom carefully, reverently, against the wall.
“I would never,” he murmurs, mock outraged as he presses a loud kiss to her cheek. “You were magnificent, and I love you. Can I take care of you now, Fae?”
Elphaba nods, and then shrieks as Fiyero sweeps her into his arms before turning in the direction of their bedroom to do just that.