theo_fabula & fluffyllama
Author: theo_fabula
Title: As Arranged
Pairing: Millicent/Pansy
Challenge: Promise me maybes and say things you don’t mean - Bic Runga, Drive
Grabbe and Goyle in the closet; a few gasps, a small exasperated silence and the brooms start falling in a cacophony of clumsy thump and thump. One of
them says ‘oops’, the other ‘crap’. Malfoy in pray for Potter, his mouth a mirror-perfected sneer. Sniffing Potter’s every step, Potter’s collars of shirt. A faithful little dog.
It was a timid question, a raised eyebrow. It’s not like there’d be somebody to mind this farce anyway. In the library surrounded by creaking bookshelves, black ink spilled all over their History of Magic essays. Millicent and Pansy closed their eyes simultaneously - I’ll just pretend you’re someone else.
Hand on hip, hand on shoulder, crushing the fabric of the robes between impatient hands. I’ll play and you’ll play, and maybe, for this little while, it’s a solace.
The fumbling stops, abruptly, almost naturally; Pansy is looking, Millicent is looking. If you dare me, I’ll dare you, too.
Title: Dare
Author:fluffyllama (Fluffy_llama2000 @ yahoo.co.uk)
Rating:R
Warnings: Tiny bit of het in passing.
Words: 3000
Notes: Huge thanks to skuf, caemlyn and stendahl for looking this over for me.
* * *
It was Pansy's sixteenth birthday when she realised she'd never be the next lady of Malfoy Manor.
She had no right to feel aggrieved, she told herself. It wasn't as if promises had been made, or even offers; everyone had simply agreed what a suitable match it would be. Even her Aunt Ermyntrude had given it the seal of approval, and her word was practically law in real Society. She hadn't really considered any other options - after all, running a wealthy household was a job she knew she could do, unlike the daunting propositions brought up in Professor Snape's bored and half-hearted attempts to offer her careers advice. Slytherin girls were inevitably more interested in breeding lines and how many house elves their future households might command.
But Draco looked especially attractive that day, a slight flush on his cheeks, dressed in his best fur-lined robes against the icy chill of the Transfiguration classroom while everyone else shivered and complained.
"It's snowing outside, Professor; we could catch pneumonia with the windows open!"
Ron Weasley, on the other hand, looked even more common than usual, if that were possible, with his nose a mess of raw skin and snow-damp hair sticking to his forehead. Pansy couldn't stomach publicly agreeing with a Weasley, but silently she wished the weather was allowed to stay outside where it belonged, too. She brushed a scatter of damp white flakes from her textbook, frowning.
"Nonsense!" McGonagall dismissed the grumbles in her usual brisk manner. "Fresh air is very healthy. Now, wands at the ready, and watch your pronunciation."
"Reducio!" The class waved their wands at the objects in front of them and dutifully repeated the charm, including those distracted by Longbottom's lunge to catch his toad as it made a last ditch attempt for freedom. There was a multi-coloured flash of sparks as half a dozen shrinking spells converged on the neighbouring desk.
"Mr Longbottom." McGonagall stopped by the desk where Longbottom groped about underneath for his neighbour, now protesting his fate in high-pitched curses. "Kindly take Mr Finnigan up to the infirmary and have him returned to normal size before somebody treads on him."
"Yes, Professor McGonagall," Longbottom muttered from somewhere beneath his desk as he gratefully accepted a matchbox.
Pansy turned to include Draco in a joke at the expense of incompetent Gryffindors, but Draco's attention was not on the comedy being played out before them. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the clasped hands underneath a different desk, where two of the more obnoxious Gryffindors were taking advantage of the distraction to gaze into each other's eyes. She was shocked, until she realised the "Filthy little mudblood" that squeezed in a whisper from between his tightly pressed lips meant his jealousy was directed at Granger, not Potter.
After that, shock wasn't the word for it.
* * *
The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of bewilderment as she struggled to make sense of what she'd seen. Gradually the pieces fell into place; the obsession with Potter's every move, the way Draco seemed compelled to follow him around, sniffing around his heels even as he sneered contempt for the half-blood celebrity.
Oh yes, she should have seen it before now, she thought, deciding against supper as she half-heartedly packed her bag for a trip to the library. Her head was thick with too much thinking, but she didn't want to stay in the common room and watch Draco sulk any longer, and she did have homework to do.
"Are you going to do your History of Magic essay, Pansy?"
Millicent was lousy at History of Magic… or anything which involved thinking, for that matter, so Pansy hesitated. But perhaps she would be a distraction, at least, something to take her mind off… things.
She nodded, and Millicent seemed relieved. "I didn't understand what Professor Binns meant about the third Goblin rebellion contributing to the registration of magical creatures, did you?"
"Come on, I'll explain it on the way."
* * *
It was just bad luck, really, that took them past the fourth floor broom cupboard at the very same moment that a clatter of tumbling objects rang out and something heavy thudded against the door. It was a back corridor, hardly used except for Slytherins taking a short cut up from the dungeons by the back stairs, and deserted with the majority of the school outside enjoying snowball fights. They almost ran for Filch, but instead they drew their wands, and with a decisive nod, Pansy pulled the door open.
"Oh, bloody hell, now look what you've done, you stupid great--"
Vincent Crabbe made a desperate effort to pull up his trousers, but there was no hiding the thick, shiny erection poking into Gregory Goyle's face, or the fact that it looked quite at home there. Goyle wiped his face sheepishly on Crabbe's dangling shirt tail and scrabbled about to get a foothold among the pile of brooms and mops.
Pansy was sure that it wasn't polite to stare if a classmate's penis was suddenly on display in front of you, but the reddened bobbing cock seemed to hold her hypnotised, even when Millicent let out a sob and thundered in evident distress down the corridor, books abandoned behind her.
Really, it was quite ugly.
"Can I touch it?" She thought she should have blushed, but it didn't seem important enough to be embarrassed about. It was only a detached, objective interest she had, after all, much easier than one of those pit-of-the-stomach longings she'd occasionally felt when looking at more attractive boys… well, one of them. If Crabbe said no, someone else would be bound to let her have a go. Boys liked waving them around, didn't they? That's what she'd heard.
Goyle sniggered, but Crabbe - his mouth hanging open like the idiot he was - nodded slowly. He kicked his partner in crime until Goyle was backed up against the tins of floor polish and rags full of mysterious smells, and Pansy stepped into the dimly lit cupboard.
Crabbe's penis was a daunting prospect close up. He was powerfully built, and it seemed to be in perfect proportion with his height. She reached out and stroked along its length, surprised at the way the skin moved over the firm shaft, then hurriedly snatched her hand back as it jerked upwards. She elbowed Goyle in the ribs sharply as he sniggered behind her.
"Like this." Crabbe wrapped her fingers around it, covering them with his own meaty hand. He squeezed them into the spongy flesh and began to move them firmly up and down.
This isn't about you, she wanted to say. I just wanted to explore, because it was there, not get you off.
But she didn't say anything, because Crabbe was grunting now, his cock pushing slick between her fingers, though god knows where the slipperiness had come from, and Goyle was panting heavily in her ear. Something hard was pressed against her backside too, and it was uncomfortable, but she did go into the cupboard with them, after all, so she couldn't really complain.
It was too much when clumsy hands pushed her robes up at the back, though, and she slapped the stupid oaf away with her free hand, but it was too late, and liquid heat melted against her underwear and seeped between her fingers.
"That's…" She looked at the pearly gunk on her fingers and tried to hold her robe away from the wet stain she could feel on her rear. "…disgusting, really."
Crabbe just smirked, and tucked himself back into his trousers, a stupid grin on his face.
"Any time, Parkinson," he said, and the inevitable guffaw from Goyle followed her out of the cupboard.
She let the door swing back just a little too hard, and smiled at the "Oops" and "Crap" that emerged from the clatter of falling brooms.
* * *
It was almost twenty minutes before she reached the library, Millicent's bag weighing her down along with her own. She'd half-expected to see Millicent in the girls' toilets, but she'd tidied herself up as best she could and scrubbed at her sticky fingers without seeing any sign of the other girl. The only casualty was her Goyle-stained knickers, which were currently smoking into the night sky from the incinerator, leaving her robes to tickle pleasantly against her skin. She rubbed herself surreptitiously, and pushed open the library doors.
She had almost convinced herself that Millicent had given up on her essay for the evening, or at least grown tired of waiting for her, when she turned into the Fifteenth Century Politics section and stopped at the sight of a blotchy-cheeked girl dripping tears into a hefty library book. From the look of it, it was Snodwell the Loquacious' Complete Goblin Rebellions, volume 545 of 900. No wonder the wars took up so much of their class time, and no wonder Binns was still around - you probably had to be dead to have time to read them all.
"I brought your bag," she said, taking the next seat. It was too quiet in the library and the lamps were low, her voice loud in the gloom.
"Th-thanks." Millicent gasped, and wiped her nose on her handkerchief. Her eyes were red, and glassy with tears.
Pansy wondered if she should say something, but the tears would probably dry up by themselves eventually. Whatever had upset Millicent, taking her mind off things was probably best.
Taking her mind off…
"Oh," she said, and suddenly she felt foolish for missing the obvious. "Is it… you know, I mean… which one?"
"Vince has always been nice to me," Millicent sniffed, "I thought… I thought-"
Pansy patted her on the back awkwardly as the tears threatened to return, and wondered at anyone calling that oaf by a nickname. She had no urge to call him anything but Crabbe, and she'd… she brought her fingers up to her nose as unobtrusively as she could. Merlin, she hoped she was the only one who could still smell that.
"They're not worth it, any of them," she said, unpacking her parchment and quills and unscrewing the lid of her ink bottle. She was surprised to find she meant it, right at that moment. It was certainly hard to see why girls were so keen on getting a boy when that was all there was to them - just grunts and smells and stickiness. The vague fantasies she indulged in behind her bed curtains, hand squeezed between her thighs, had done more for her than getting her hands on the real thing - no contest. Even if Malfoy's cock was as long and pretty and pale as she'd always imagined it might be - in fact, even if it smelt of roses and tasted of Honeydukes' best chocolate - she wasn't sure she'd want anything to do with it when he put his pathetic little crush on Potter behind him.
Nobody rejected a Parkinson.
"You're probably right."
Millicent rubbed her eyes, but Pansy wasn't listening.
"Maybe I'll find myself a nice girl instead," she mused. Yes, that would show them. She ignored Millicent's shocked gasp, quite confident that she could get away with anything. She was the trendsetter of Slytherin house; there was nobody more daring, more cutting edge than Pansy Parkinson. If she decided boys were out of style, there wasn't a boy in her year who'd be able to get a date by the end of term.
And that would serve them all right for groping each other in broom cupboards and mooning over Gryffindors, wouldn't it? She smiled brightly at Millicent, who just stared back, with a terrified but almost expectant look on her face.
"What?"
"Do you want to… kiss me?" Millicent's hand slipped, and the book thumped down on the heavy library table. Pansy's ink flowed all over the books in a black pool, but never mind, there were another 899 volumes, and nobody was going to notice if the war took an extra long tea break. Did goblins drink tea?
"Um," Pansy hadn't considered it, but then she hadn't considered getting into the cupboard with the idiot twins, and this seemed like far less treacherous ground, if newer.
In the strange new world of sixteen years old where all the boys suddenly seemed more interested in playing with each other, it seemed silly not to try it. And Millicent was definitely not going to have chance to tell everyone she had chickened out.
She raised an eyebrow at Millicent's nervous laugh. "Why not?"
It was bound to be easier, anyway - like kissing yourself, or your reflection in a mirror, not that she'd ever done any such thing. Well, not often.
But it wasn't at all like that, she found, when surprisingly soft lips met hers. There was no predicting which way the mouth on hers would move - and how come there were suddenly so many things lips could do? She was sure they hadn't moved like that before, but now they seemed to know how to caress and nip, slide and tease, and when Millicent's mouth opened and there was a press of tongue at her teeth, Pansy closed her eyes and let her fingers grip tightly at the shoulders under them, edging closer on her chair until her left leg was trapped between the other girl's knees.
It could have been anyone she was kissing, really, Draco perhaps, with his arrogant bearing and soft white skin. But the lips she was tasting were fuller than any Malfoy's could claim to be, and coarse black hair tickled her fingers where the tips dug deeply into Millicent's shoulder, which was all wrong. Draco had short hair, and all boys probably tasted of… something else, and not Three Witches Strawberry Lip Balm, she was pretty certain of that. But she tried to summon up silky pale hair and hard grey eyes, because she couldn't really get excited by kissing a girl, even if she was sitting in the library in the almost dark, squirming and feeling strangely naked without knickers under her robes.
Hands were unpredictable too, when they were someone else's, and Pansy almost jumped out of her skin at the tentative touch on her thigh. Not to be outdone, her hand reached automatically for the reassuring solidity of Millicent's hip, and they froze, fingers tangled in robes and clutching skin, knees interlocked tightly. Sounds of shrieks and distant laughter from far below outside rang against the tightly shut windows, and their breathing was much louder, heavy in the gloom and too close, much too close. But there was a challenge in Millicent's eyes, and it was one Pansy knew she could meet - and win.
Pansy rose, leaning heavily on Millicent's sturdy shoulder, and covered the thick-fingered hand with her own, sliding it further up her thigh until it trembled underneath hers. She smiled as their fingertips met no resistance, and watched Millicent's eyes widen once it dawned on her that there was no cloth to signal her whereabouts, just the sweet damp warmth of Pansy's body to explore.
"God, Pansy," Millicent breathed, her fingertips tracing lines on skin through the soft hair.
Pansy shuffled her feet further apart in the cramped space, and shrugged off her robe. There was something powerful about being stood above the awestruck girl, her skirt raised and with cool fingers caressing her bare skin where only her own fingers had been before, something that rushed through her and made her want… more. More attention, more touching, more everything.
She wriggled her hips and Millicent's finger slipped between her lips, and out of her control. Or almost; she rocked back and forth, and groaned as she could hear the other girl's finger grow wet and slick, and feel it slipping faster and more urgently against the spot that gave her pleasure when she was alone in her bed. She ground down hard, and gasped as Millicent upped the stakes once more, one broad finger spearing into her, but she could play this game, and she wasn't going to stop now.
"More," she said, as firmly as she could, and she straddled the heavy thighs, spreading her legs wider, Millicent gripping one while she folded another finger alongside the first. Pansy winced because even though she'd tried this herself she'd stopped at this point, unable to make herself push and stretch, but Millicent had no qualms, just that brute strength. The fingers pushed up, delving deeper into her tight warmth, while the other hand pulled Pansy down to sprawl across her knees, legs spasming and trying half-heartedly to close in reaction to the invasion.
But it felt so good, and she wasn't even going to pretend she was thinking about a disgusting boy cock any more, not when Millicent's blunt fingers could fill her up so completely. She pinched and rubbed at the sensitive spot above the thrusting hand, or as best she could because damn, she was so wet now. And she had to stop because she knew where this would lead, but Millicent's thumb pressed over hers and she succumbed, grinding down hard against fingers and robes and solid leg, trapping them still as her hips jerked, until finally, finally she shuddered and moaned, dropping her head forward onto Millicent's broad shoulder and wondering if she'd just handed over the victory.
"You liked that." There was wonder in Millicent's voice, and more than a little longing as her fingers eased out of Pansy quick enough to make her gasp.
"You will too," Pansy promised, and Millicent's eyes widened as she leaned over to pinch out not one, but two of the thick library candles, crumbling the wax from her fingers. "But perhaps we should go back to the dormitory for that?"
And perhaps, thought Pansy as she watched Millicent gasp and squirm on the end of her fingers and the thick twists of wax, there was an alternative of some sort to a future filled with boys and breeding, and armies of house elves .
Maybe tomorrow she'd drop in on Professor McGonagall for some real careers advice.
Title: As Arranged
Pairing: Millicent/Pansy
Challenge: Promise me maybes and say things you don’t mean - Bic Runga, Drive
Grabbe and Goyle in the closet; a few gasps, a small exasperated silence and the brooms start falling in a cacophony of clumsy thump and thump. One of
them says ‘oops’, the other ‘crap’. Malfoy in pray for Potter, his mouth a mirror-perfected sneer. Sniffing Potter’s every step, Potter’s collars of shirt. A faithful little dog.
It was a timid question, a raised eyebrow. It’s not like there’d be somebody to mind this farce anyway. In the library surrounded by creaking bookshelves, black ink spilled all over their History of Magic essays. Millicent and Pansy closed their eyes simultaneously - I’ll just pretend you’re someone else.
Hand on hip, hand on shoulder, crushing the fabric of the robes between impatient hands. I’ll play and you’ll play, and maybe, for this little while, it’s a solace.
The fumbling stops, abruptly, almost naturally; Pansy is looking, Millicent is looking. If you dare me, I’ll dare you, too.
Title: Dare
Author:fluffyllama (Fluffy_llama2000 @ yahoo.co.uk)
Rating:R
Warnings: Tiny bit of het in passing.
Words: 3000
Notes: Huge thanks to skuf, caemlyn and stendahl for looking this over for me.
* * *
It was Pansy's sixteenth birthday when she realised she'd never be the next lady of Malfoy Manor.
She had no right to feel aggrieved, she told herself. It wasn't as if promises had been made, or even offers; everyone had simply agreed what a suitable match it would be. Even her Aunt Ermyntrude had given it the seal of approval, and her word was practically law in real Society. She hadn't really considered any other options - after all, running a wealthy household was a job she knew she could do, unlike the daunting propositions brought up in Professor Snape's bored and half-hearted attempts to offer her careers advice. Slytherin girls were inevitably more interested in breeding lines and how many house elves their future households might command.
But Draco looked especially attractive that day, a slight flush on his cheeks, dressed in his best fur-lined robes against the icy chill of the Transfiguration classroom while everyone else shivered and complained.
"It's snowing outside, Professor; we could catch pneumonia with the windows open!"
Ron Weasley, on the other hand, looked even more common than usual, if that were possible, with his nose a mess of raw skin and snow-damp hair sticking to his forehead. Pansy couldn't stomach publicly agreeing with a Weasley, but silently she wished the weather was allowed to stay outside where it belonged, too. She brushed a scatter of damp white flakes from her textbook, frowning.
"Nonsense!" McGonagall dismissed the grumbles in her usual brisk manner. "Fresh air is very healthy. Now, wands at the ready, and watch your pronunciation."
"Reducio!" The class waved their wands at the objects in front of them and dutifully repeated the charm, including those distracted by Longbottom's lunge to catch his toad as it made a last ditch attempt for freedom. There was a multi-coloured flash of sparks as half a dozen shrinking spells converged on the neighbouring desk.
"Mr Longbottom." McGonagall stopped by the desk where Longbottom groped about underneath for his neighbour, now protesting his fate in high-pitched curses. "Kindly take Mr Finnigan up to the infirmary and have him returned to normal size before somebody treads on him."
"Yes, Professor McGonagall," Longbottom muttered from somewhere beneath his desk as he gratefully accepted a matchbox.
Pansy turned to include Draco in a joke at the expense of incompetent Gryffindors, but Draco's attention was not on the comedy being played out before them. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the clasped hands underneath a different desk, where two of the more obnoxious Gryffindors were taking advantage of the distraction to gaze into each other's eyes. She was shocked, until she realised the "Filthy little mudblood" that squeezed in a whisper from between his tightly pressed lips meant his jealousy was directed at Granger, not Potter.
After that, shock wasn't the word for it.
* * *
The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of bewilderment as she struggled to make sense of what she'd seen. Gradually the pieces fell into place; the obsession with Potter's every move, the way Draco seemed compelled to follow him around, sniffing around his heels even as he sneered contempt for the half-blood celebrity.
Oh yes, she should have seen it before now, she thought, deciding against supper as she half-heartedly packed her bag for a trip to the library. Her head was thick with too much thinking, but she didn't want to stay in the common room and watch Draco sulk any longer, and she did have homework to do.
"Are you going to do your History of Magic essay, Pansy?"
Millicent was lousy at History of Magic… or anything which involved thinking, for that matter, so Pansy hesitated. But perhaps she would be a distraction, at least, something to take her mind off… things.
She nodded, and Millicent seemed relieved. "I didn't understand what Professor Binns meant about the third Goblin rebellion contributing to the registration of magical creatures, did you?"
"Come on, I'll explain it on the way."
* * *
It was just bad luck, really, that took them past the fourth floor broom cupboard at the very same moment that a clatter of tumbling objects rang out and something heavy thudded against the door. It was a back corridor, hardly used except for Slytherins taking a short cut up from the dungeons by the back stairs, and deserted with the majority of the school outside enjoying snowball fights. They almost ran for Filch, but instead they drew their wands, and with a decisive nod, Pansy pulled the door open.
"Oh, bloody hell, now look what you've done, you stupid great--"
Vincent Crabbe made a desperate effort to pull up his trousers, but there was no hiding the thick, shiny erection poking into Gregory Goyle's face, or the fact that it looked quite at home there. Goyle wiped his face sheepishly on Crabbe's dangling shirt tail and scrabbled about to get a foothold among the pile of brooms and mops.
Pansy was sure that it wasn't polite to stare if a classmate's penis was suddenly on display in front of you, but the reddened bobbing cock seemed to hold her hypnotised, even when Millicent let out a sob and thundered in evident distress down the corridor, books abandoned behind her.
Really, it was quite ugly.
"Can I touch it?" She thought she should have blushed, but it didn't seem important enough to be embarrassed about. It was only a detached, objective interest she had, after all, much easier than one of those pit-of-the-stomach longings she'd occasionally felt when looking at more attractive boys… well, one of them. If Crabbe said no, someone else would be bound to let her have a go. Boys liked waving them around, didn't they? That's what she'd heard.
Goyle sniggered, but Crabbe - his mouth hanging open like the idiot he was - nodded slowly. He kicked his partner in crime until Goyle was backed up against the tins of floor polish and rags full of mysterious smells, and Pansy stepped into the dimly lit cupboard.
Crabbe's penis was a daunting prospect close up. He was powerfully built, and it seemed to be in perfect proportion with his height. She reached out and stroked along its length, surprised at the way the skin moved over the firm shaft, then hurriedly snatched her hand back as it jerked upwards. She elbowed Goyle in the ribs sharply as he sniggered behind her.
"Like this." Crabbe wrapped her fingers around it, covering them with his own meaty hand. He squeezed them into the spongy flesh and began to move them firmly up and down.
This isn't about you, she wanted to say. I just wanted to explore, because it was there, not get you off.
But she didn't say anything, because Crabbe was grunting now, his cock pushing slick between her fingers, though god knows where the slipperiness had come from, and Goyle was panting heavily in her ear. Something hard was pressed against her backside too, and it was uncomfortable, but she did go into the cupboard with them, after all, so she couldn't really complain.
It was too much when clumsy hands pushed her robes up at the back, though, and she slapped the stupid oaf away with her free hand, but it was too late, and liquid heat melted against her underwear and seeped between her fingers.
"That's…" She looked at the pearly gunk on her fingers and tried to hold her robe away from the wet stain she could feel on her rear. "…disgusting, really."
Crabbe just smirked, and tucked himself back into his trousers, a stupid grin on his face.
"Any time, Parkinson," he said, and the inevitable guffaw from Goyle followed her out of the cupboard.
She let the door swing back just a little too hard, and smiled at the "Oops" and "Crap" that emerged from the clatter of falling brooms.
* * *
It was almost twenty minutes before she reached the library, Millicent's bag weighing her down along with her own. She'd half-expected to see Millicent in the girls' toilets, but she'd tidied herself up as best she could and scrubbed at her sticky fingers without seeing any sign of the other girl. The only casualty was her Goyle-stained knickers, which were currently smoking into the night sky from the incinerator, leaving her robes to tickle pleasantly against her skin. She rubbed herself surreptitiously, and pushed open the library doors.
She had almost convinced herself that Millicent had given up on her essay for the evening, or at least grown tired of waiting for her, when she turned into the Fifteenth Century Politics section and stopped at the sight of a blotchy-cheeked girl dripping tears into a hefty library book. From the look of it, it was Snodwell the Loquacious' Complete Goblin Rebellions, volume 545 of 900. No wonder the wars took up so much of their class time, and no wonder Binns was still around - you probably had to be dead to have time to read them all.
"I brought your bag," she said, taking the next seat. It was too quiet in the library and the lamps were low, her voice loud in the gloom.
"Th-thanks." Millicent gasped, and wiped her nose on her handkerchief. Her eyes were red, and glassy with tears.
Pansy wondered if she should say something, but the tears would probably dry up by themselves eventually. Whatever had upset Millicent, taking her mind off things was probably best.
Taking her mind off…
"Oh," she said, and suddenly she felt foolish for missing the obvious. "Is it… you know, I mean… which one?"
"Vince has always been nice to me," Millicent sniffed, "I thought… I thought-"
Pansy patted her on the back awkwardly as the tears threatened to return, and wondered at anyone calling that oaf by a nickname. She had no urge to call him anything but Crabbe, and she'd… she brought her fingers up to her nose as unobtrusively as she could. Merlin, she hoped she was the only one who could still smell that.
"They're not worth it, any of them," she said, unpacking her parchment and quills and unscrewing the lid of her ink bottle. She was surprised to find she meant it, right at that moment. It was certainly hard to see why girls were so keen on getting a boy when that was all there was to them - just grunts and smells and stickiness. The vague fantasies she indulged in behind her bed curtains, hand squeezed between her thighs, had done more for her than getting her hands on the real thing - no contest. Even if Malfoy's cock was as long and pretty and pale as she'd always imagined it might be - in fact, even if it smelt of roses and tasted of Honeydukes' best chocolate - she wasn't sure she'd want anything to do with it when he put his pathetic little crush on Potter behind him.
Nobody rejected a Parkinson.
"You're probably right."
Millicent rubbed her eyes, but Pansy wasn't listening.
"Maybe I'll find myself a nice girl instead," she mused. Yes, that would show them. She ignored Millicent's shocked gasp, quite confident that she could get away with anything. She was the trendsetter of Slytherin house; there was nobody more daring, more cutting edge than Pansy Parkinson. If she decided boys were out of style, there wasn't a boy in her year who'd be able to get a date by the end of term.
And that would serve them all right for groping each other in broom cupboards and mooning over Gryffindors, wouldn't it? She smiled brightly at Millicent, who just stared back, with a terrified but almost expectant look on her face.
"What?"
"Do you want to… kiss me?" Millicent's hand slipped, and the book thumped down on the heavy library table. Pansy's ink flowed all over the books in a black pool, but never mind, there were another 899 volumes, and nobody was going to notice if the war took an extra long tea break. Did goblins drink tea?
"Um," Pansy hadn't considered it, but then she hadn't considered getting into the cupboard with the idiot twins, and this seemed like far less treacherous ground, if newer.
In the strange new world of sixteen years old where all the boys suddenly seemed more interested in playing with each other, it seemed silly not to try it. And Millicent was definitely not going to have chance to tell everyone she had chickened out.
She raised an eyebrow at Millicent's nervous laugh. "Why not?"
It was bound to be easier, anyway - like kissing yourself, or your reflection in a mirror, not that she'd ever done any such thing. Well, not often.
But it wasn't at all like that, she found, when surprisingly soft lips met hers. There was no predicting which way the mouth on hers would move - and how come there were suddenly so many things lips could do? She was sure they hadn't moved like that before, but now they seemed to know how to caress and nip, slide and tease, and when Millicent's mouth opened and there was a press of tongue at her teeth, Pansy closed her eyes and let her fingers grip tightly at the shoulders under them, edging closer on her chair until her left leg was trapped between the other girl's knees.
It could have been anyone she was kissing, really, Draco perhaps, with his arrogant bearing and soft white skin. But the lips she was tasting were fuller than any Malfoy's could claim to be, and coarse black hair tickled her fingers where the tips dug deeply into Millicent's shoulder, which was all wrong. Draco had short hair, and all boys probably tasted of… something else, and not Three Witches Strawberry Lip Balm, she was pretty certain of that. But she tried to summon up silky pale hair and hard grey eyes, because she couldn't really get excited by kissing a girl, even if she was sitting in the library in the almost dark, squirming and feeling strangely naked without knickers under her robes.
Hands were unpredictable too, when they were someone else's, and Pansy almost jumped out of her skin at the tentative touch on her thigh. Not to be outdone, her hand reached automatically for the reassuring solidity of Millicent's hip, and they froze, fingers tangled in robes and clutching skin, knees interlocked tightly. Sounds of shrieks and distant laughter from far below outside rang against the tightly shut windows, and their breathing was much louder, heavy in the gloom and too close, much too close. But there was a challenge in Millicent's eyes, and it was one Pansy knew she could meet - and win.
Pansy rose, leaning heavily on Millicent's sturdy shoulder, and covered the thick-fingered hand with her own, sliding it further up her thigh until it trembled underneath hers. She smiled as their fingertips met no resistance, and watched Millicent's eyes widen once it dawned on her that there was no cloth to signal her whereabouts, just the sweet damp warmth of Pansy's body to explore.
"God, Pansy," Millicent breathed, her fingertips tracing lines on skin through the soft hair.
Pansy shuffled her feet further apart in the cramped space, and shrugged off her robe. There was something powerful about being stood above the awestruck girl, her skirt raised and with cool fingers caressing her bare skin where only her own fingers had been before, something that rushed through her and made her want… more. More attention, more touching, more everything.
She wriggled her hips and Millicent's finger slipped between her lips, and out of her control. Or almost; she rocked back and forth, and groaned as she could hear the other girl's finger grow wet and slick, and feel it slipping faster and more urgently against the spot that gave her pleasure when she was alone in her bed. She ground down hard, and gasped as Millicent upped the stakes once more, one broad finger spearing into her, but she could play this game, and she wasn't going to stop now.
"More," she said, as firmly as she could, and she straddled the heavy thighs, spreading her legs wider, Millicent gripping one while she folded another finger alongside the first. Pansy winced because even though she'd tried this herself she'd stopped at this point, unable to make herself push and stretch, but Millicent had no qualms, just that brute strength. The fingers pushed up, delving deeper into her tight warmth, while the other hand pulled Pansy down to sprawl across her knees, legs spasming and trying half-heartedly to close in reaction to the invasion.
But it felt so good, and she wasn't even going to pretend she was thinking about a disgusting boy cock any more, not when Millicent's blunt fingers could fill her up so completely. She pinched and rubbed at the sensitive spot above the thrusting hand, or as best she could because damn, she was so wet now. And she had to stop because she knew where this would lead, but Millicent's thumb pressed over hers and she succumbed, grinding down hard against fingers and robes and solid leg, trapping them still as her hips jerked, until finally, finally she shuddered and moaned, dropping her head forward onto Millicent's broad shoulder and wondering if she'd just handed over the victory.
"You liked that." There was wonder in Millicent's voice, and more than a little longing as her fingers eased out of Pansy quick enough to make her gasp.
"You will too," Pansy promised, and Millicent's eyes widened as she leaned over to pinch out not one, but two of the thick library candles, crumbling the wax from her fingers. "But perhaps we should go back to the dormitory for that?"
And perhaps, thought Pansy as she watched Millicent gasp and squirm on the end of her fingers and the thick twists of wax, there was an alternative of some sort to a future filled with boys and breeding, and armies of house elves .
Maybe tomorrow she'd drop in on Professor McGonagall for some real careers advice.