(no subject)
YAY! omg the hp_lovebirds reveal happened today!! :D
Title: No Accident
Author: corvidae9
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Ginny/Pansy
Word Count: 1150
Summary: Ginny knows this was no accident.
Notes: For my dear friend antosha_c in the hp_lovebirds exchange. Huge love for nightfalltwen and her amazing beta job! xposted at scarletwomen! :D
It was an accident entirely and Ginny swears this to anyone who knows and thinks to ask, but she keeps her fingers crossed inside her pocket and washes her mouth out with salt water as soon after as she can manage, because sure as anything, it was not.
Accidental would have been Pansy and Ginny wrestling over a spilled cauldron's worth of detention and one or both kneeling and scrubbing in too-short skirts, and Ginny dares anyone to say that that wouldn't have been. Even the incredibly straight Lavender Brown who won't even let Ginny see her in her knickers and wants to know if she's heard from Harry lately. Mostly straight, at least. Or maybe just too scared that Ginny might see Parvati's lipstick in inappropriate places. Maybe. That last bit is speculation entirely. Very hopeful, very vivid, recurring speculation in Ginny's mind, but speculation nonetheless.
Ginny has better things to do than think about that Potter twat, besides. She's glad he's gone, yes, because now the only Weasley at Hogwarts is always the Seeker, and team captain to boot. And who needs a savior when you've spent the last sixteen years saving yourself? (Ginny conveniently disregards the Chamber, reasoning that if it hadn't been for Potter to begin with, she wouldn't have been the one behind it all, and if he hadn't always been a twat, she would have told him about it before anyone nearly died.)
Far better things to think about; like the soft texture of the inside of Pansy's thighs when Ginny convinces her that she can be a better Seeker for Pansy than Malfoy even was because she always finds the Snitch, and she can always appreciate the flutter of its wings when she touches them in the exactly the spot to make them--
"Oh. Oh God, Weasley, don't stop- don't ever stop. God. Filthy fucking... mouth. God." is all Pansy can say, though she says it under her breath as Ginny's fingers and ...ohgod... tongue slip against her under her skirt. It's all here in the niche behind the large statue of a fawn and three nymphs in the empty, dusty third floor corridor.
It is not an accident how Ginny got Pansy to half-sit splayed on the cold ledge on a frayed cushion, shirt open looking properly debauched in the dimly lit damp, hair (a little grown out, since Malfoy's not around to say he likes it short) sticking to her sweaty throat. No, not at all. This is Ginny taking advantage of a situation, making squash out of the big fucking lemons that life has handed to her. It's about being in the right place at the right time to appreciate how much Pansy hurts and won't show it-- how much Pansy needs and pretends not to, and no, is not at all like Ginny. Not at all.
What it is, is noticing what Pansy eats and how she sits at the center of the Slytherin table across from the empty space that mirrors the larger empty space across from Ginny who sits on the opposite side of the Great Hall from Pansy who sits at the center of the Slyth... yes. It's a vicious cycle day after day as they sit and sneer and then stare when no one's looking and sigh when no one listens and neither know if it's for what they've lost or what they're about to lose.
It's Ginny following as Pansy rushes up the stairs, her streaming robes revealing shiny new black work boots, expensive and mod, but steel-toed. Ginny's stomach rockets and careens wildly throughout her torso because she's worked out a metaphor for Pansy and thinks it might fit nicely up against her own.
Just like her body really, compact and angular under Ginny's more athletic frame and muscles as she is now. Pansy arches into Ginny's stubby, boyish hand and, for a minute, it's almost enough like each of their missing boys, yet infinitely better because it isn't. They're not like the stupid, evil-doing or do-gooding boys that leave you behind at the first sign of trouble. They're strong, fucking beautiful girls that wear old, beat-up steel toes over soft, pink socks. Girls who know just where to run their crossed fingers and wicked blood traitor tongues to elicit gasps and moans. Girls who writhe and rock and bite their lips nearly through as Pansy is doing now even as a little ghost of a tear wells up in her left eye to spill softly and unnoticed. It leads a rebellion of soft little ghost tears to follow in its wake. They travel over the curve of her cheek and onto the shoulder it rests upon. It travels impossibly down to drip drop from the elbow of the arm that attaches to the hand that tangles in Ginny's fire-bright hair, hair hot enough to burn Pansy's fingers as she tightens her grip and spirals up and back into herself with a sob of relief.
Ginny realizes that she's neglected the spoonful of porridge halfway to her mouth when she catches sight of the dark spot where Pansy's knickers hide shadowed by her prim gray skirt under the table, and thinks that she would do anything to slide her fingers against that dark and touch it, touch her. To pull her knickers away and make her feel it all again so that she, Ginny, can feel it, too.
She does - she wants to feel things like Pansy shaking and almost laughing even as she sniffles and orders Ginny to stop her wicked tongue because she's had more than enough, even as she bucks again into her mouth. Ginny loves hearing the 'stop, Weasley' become a desperate 'oh fuck stop, please, Ginny please' and quickly degenerate into a whimpered cry and another orgasm. Beyond pleased, Ginny licks a trail up her sternum over a tiny bra clasp and too-prominent collarbones and kisses Pansy with her fingers still inside of her, still caressing her silky softness because that's too dirty not to try.
This is about starting with Ginny taking hold of Pansy's elbow and saying what it took her most of the first term to realize needed saying. Ginny says what she knows should cut right through Pansy's facade and Ginny's too, to some extent, and pulls her aside without a fight onto the trick staircase that moves to the third floor when she whispers 'forbidden fruit' to the first banister on the right.
Ginny says it again now into Pansy's mouth as her fingers paint a trail of warm, sticky wet along a shivery thigh and hip, as she crawls up onto the ledge and kisses away errant tears that would horrify Pansy if she could see them herself.
"You and I, we need to feel again."
And oh. God. Ginny finally does.
Title: No Accident
Author: corvidae9
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Ginny/Pansy
Word Count: 1150
Summary: Ginny knows this was no accident.
Notes: For my dear friend antosha_c in the hp_lovebirds exchange. Huge love for nightfalltwen and her amazing beta job! xposted at scarletwomen! :D
It was an accident entirely and Ginny swears this to anyone who knows and thinks to ask, but she keeps her fingers crossed inside her pocket and washes her mouth out with salt water as soon after as she can manage, because sure as anything, it was not.
Accidental would have been Pansy and Ginny wrestling over a spilled cauldron's worth of detention and one or both kneeling and scrubbing in too-short skirts, and Ginny dares anyone to say that that wouldn't have been. Even the incredibly straight Lavender Brown who won't even let Ginny see her in her knickers and wants to know if she's heard from Harry lately. Mostly straight, at least. Or maybe just too scared that Ginny might see Parvati's lipstick in inappropriate places. Maybe. That last bit is speculation entirely. Very hopeful, very vivid, recurring speculation in Ginny's mind, but speculation nonetheless.
Ginny has better things to do than think about that Potter twat, besides. She's glad he's gone, yes, because now the only Weasley at Hogwarts is always the Seeker, and team captain to boot. And who needs a savior when you've spent the last sixteen years saving yourself? (Ginny conveniently disregards the Chamber, reasoning that if it hadn't been for Potter to begin with, she wouldn't have been the one behind it all, and if he hadn't always been a twat, she would have told him about it before anyone nearly died.)
Far better things to think about; like the soft texture of the inside of Pansy's thighs when Ginny convinces her that she can be a better Seeker for Pansy than Malfoy even was because she always finds the Snitch, and she can always appreciate the flutter of its wings when she touches them in the exactly the spot to make them--
"Oh. Oh God, Weasley, don't stop- don't ever stop. God. Filthy fucking... mouth. God." is all Pansy can say, though she says it under her breath as Ginny's fingers and ...ohgod... tongue slip against her under her skirt. It's all here in the niche behind the large statue of a fawn and three nymphs in the empty, dusty third floor corridor.
It is not an accident how Ginny got Pansy to half-sit splayed on the cold ledge on a frayed cushion, shirt open looking properly debauched in the dimly lit damp, hair (a little grown out, since Malfoy's not around to say he likes it short) sticking to her sweaty throat. No, not at all. This is Ginny taking advantage of a situation, making squash out of the big fucking lemons that life has handed to her. It's about being in the right place at the right time to appreciate how much Pansy hurts and won't show it-- how much Pansy needs and pretends not to, and no, is not at all like Ginny. Not at all.
What it is, is noticing what Pansy eats and how she sits at the center of the Slytherin table across from the empty space that mirrors the larger empty space across from Ginny who sits on the opposite side of the Great Hall from Pansy who sits at the center of the Slyth... yes. It's a vicious cycle day after day as they sit and sneer and then stare when no one's looking and sigh when no one listens and neither know if it's for what they've lost or what they're about to lose.
It's Ginny following as Pansy rushes up the stairs, her streaming robes revealing shiny new black work boots, expensive and mod, but steel-toed. Ginny's stomach rockets and careens wildly throughout her torso because she's worked out a metaphor for Pansy and thinks it might fit nicely up against her own.
Just like her body really, compact and angular under Ginny's more athletic frame and muscles as she is now. Pansy arches into Ginny's stubby, boyish hand and, for a minute, it's almost enough like each of their missing boys, yet infinitely better because it isn't. They're not like the stupid, evil-doing or do-gooding boys that leave you behind at the first sign of trouble. They're strong, fucking beautiful girls that wear old, beat-up steel toes over soft, pink socks. Girls who know just where to run their crossed fingers and wicked blood traitor tongues to elicit gasps and moans. Girls who writhe and rock and bite their lips nearly through as Pansy is doing now even as a little ghost of a tear wells up in her left eye to spill softly and unnoticed. It leads a rebellion of soft little ghost tears to follow in its wake. They travel over the curve of her cheek and onto the shoulder it rests upon. It travels impossibly down to drip drop from the elbow of the arm that attaches to the hand that tangles in Ginny's fire-bright hair, hair hot enough to burn Pansy's fingers as she tightens her grip and spirals up and back into herself with a sob of relief.
Ginny realizes that she's neglected the spoonful of porridge halfway to her mouth when she catches sight of the dark spot where Pansy's knickers hide shadowed by her prim gray skirt under the table, and thinks that she would do anything to slide her fingers against that dark and touch it, touch her. To pull her knickers away and make her feel it all again so that she, Ginny, can feel it, too.
She does - she wants to feel things like Pansy shaking and almost laughing even as she sniffles and orders Ginny to stop her wicked tongue because she's had more than enough, even as she bucks again into her mouth. Ginny loves hearing the 'stop, Weasley' become a desperate 'oh fuck stop, please, Ginny please' and quickly degenerate into a whimpered cry and another orgasm. Beyond pleased, Ginny licks a trail up her sternum over a tiny bra clasp and too-prominent collarbones and kisses Pansy with her fingers still inside of her, still caressing her silky softness because that's too dirty not to try.
This is about starting with Ginny taking hold of Pansy's elbow and saying what it took her most of the first term to realize needed saying. Ginny says what she knows should cut right through Pansy's facade and Ginny's too, to some extent, and pulls her aside without a fight onto the trick staircase that moves to the third floor when she whispers 'forbidden fruit' to the first banister on the right.
Ginny says it again now into Pansy's mouth as her fingers paint a trail of warm, sticky wet along a shivery thigh and hip, as she crawls up onto the ledge and kisses away errant tears that would horrify Pansy if she could see them herself.
"You and I, we need to feel again."
And oh. God. Ginny finally does.