WISHLISTS: Breaking the Rules (Pansy/???)
Author: lauryne78
Recipient:
charma_10
Title: Breaking the Rules
Pairing: Pansy/??? (again, I purposely didn't tag this pairing as it would ruin a surprise in the fic)
Request: always, beer, desperation, sunglasses (I combined a bunch of your prompts...hope that's okay!!)
Rating: R (to be safe...it's probably more PG - 13)
Word Count: 1,148
Summary: Pansy wakes up in unfamiliar surroundings after a drunken evening. She tries to exit gracefully. She doesn't succeed.
Author's Notes: Again, a pairing I've never attempted before, and in the case of Pansy, a character I've never written before at all. But once again, the prompts and the pairing called out to me and the plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone (and snarky plotbunnies are the most persistent). This is also a pairing I have a secret love for myself, so I *really* couldn't resist!! Enjoy, my dear!!
Pansy Parkinson had only three rules in life. These rules were designed to assure her a place at the forefront of Wizarding society despite the lingering fallout from the war. She had thought them out very carefully, and they were ironclad.
Rule Number One: Crush the opposition and take no prisoners.
Rule Number Two: Look fabulous while accomplishing Rule Number One.
Rule Number Three: Never sleep with a Gryffindor. EVER.
~*~
Pansy cracked her eyes open slightly, only to be met with a bright beam of sunlight that spilled cheerfully over the bed where she lay. Grunting irritably, she immediately snapped her eyes closed again. Mistake! Ohhh, that was a mistake… It felt like a gang of trolls was banging about inside her skull…accompanied by a garden gnome playing the maracas.
She whimpered slightly and rolled to her side, trying to escape the freakishly persistent sunbeam. Burying her head underneath the pillow, she chanced opening her eyes again. Finding this situation tolerable, she inched closer to the edge of the bed, fumbling in front of her for the pair of sunglasses she always kept on her nightstand.
When her hand connected with nothing but thin air, she scooted closer to the edge of the bed, feeling blindly in front of her because she adamantly refused to remove the pillow while that sneaky sunbeam was still about. It was only when she nearly tumbled off the bed that she grudgingly peeked out from under the edge of the pillow.
The sight in front of her wasn’t encouraging. For not only were there no sunglasses, there was no nightstand. And as she peered further around the room, it became horrifyingly clear why.
She was not in her own flat.
Moreover, she did not know whose flat she was in.
The trolls increased their pounding, and the maraca-wielding gnome was joined by a gaggle of house-elves who proceeded to whack themselves about the ears with frying pans.
Dammit…I never get hangovers this bad unless…unless…oh no…
Pansy pressed the pillow back over her face and promptly screamed into it, not caring that such behavior in her condition would no doubt multiply the trolls, gnomes, and elves. She wasn’t panicking. She was a big witch after all, and she had dealt with worse than this. On the contrary, she was mad with herself. On the few occasions when she had gotten this drunk, beer had been to blame…always, always beer. Foul Muggle concoction…
Pansy prided herself on being able to hold her liquor. Proper liquor, at any rate. She could pace herself with any kind of Wizarding wine, and Firewhiskey was child’s play, but get her started on Muggle beer and she was done for. She had never been quite sure why, as it wasn’t all that potent compared to the other things she’d drunk in her life. She could only guess that because it was so utterly weak, she would drink too much of it before really feeling its effects, and by then it was always too late.
But now was not the time to be contemplating such things. Pansy’s brain had just identified the sound of running water over the incessant din in her skull. No, now was the time to be gathering her clothes and trying to get out of there before the flat’s mystery owner finished his shower and returned.
She crept out of bed, keeping her eyes as tightly closed as possible as she moved about the room grabbing pieces of her outfit from the previous evening. She pulled her knickers off the closet doorknob with a grimace and shimmied into them. Finding her skirt, heels, and blouse in quick succession she slipped them back on and was frantically searching for her bra and purse when the unthinkable happened.
She found her purse, her wand sticking out of it, lying haphazardly underneath a pair of boxers she could only assume belonged to her bedmate from the evening before. Lifting the boxers as delicately as she could between her thumb and forefinger, she stared at the offending undergarment with trepidation that was quickly turning into disgusted horror.
For the underwear she held in her hand was crimson, with animated golden lions frolicking all over them. Occasionally the lions would pause, rear up on their hind legs, and growl soundlessly but proudly.
Pansy felt sick, and it had nothing to do with her hangover.
She dropped the underpants as quickly as possible and grabbed her purse. She had to get out of there. Now. Who knew which Gryffindor could be in that shower? It didn’t matter, as all of the possibilities made her stomach twist and roll.
She had made her way down the hall, past the bathroom, past the kitchen, and into the lounge. And she’d almost made it to the front door of the flat when she heard footsteps behind her. Cursing silently because she hadn’t heard the shower turn off, she attempted to continue on to the front door. Her escape was so close…
“Runnin’ away so early, lass?”
Dammit! Pansy froze, her hand on the doorknob, willing it to be anyone behind her but the person she now knew it to be.
“I’d thought maybe you’d want t’stay fer some breakfast. After takin’ this dose of hangover potion I’ve got here, that is.”
She turned around, pasting a forced smile on her lips and determinedly not staring at the lean, muscled chest of the man in front of her. The lean, muscled chest that was still damp from the shower…
“Finnigan,” she growled, stalking back over to him and grudgingly taking the small potion vial he held out to her. “This was obviously a mistake. We were both drunk, and desperate, and it drove us to do things that - however pleasurable - we wouldn’t do if we were in our right minds. Now, thanks for this,” she saluted him with the potion vial before downing its contents in one gulp, “but let’s not make it worse by pretending that this was something more than it was.” She sneered at him, most decidedly ignoring the way that the droplets of water were sliding down his chest and into the towel anchored at his trim hips. “Me? You? Breakfast? Honestly, what could be more ridiculous?”
The potion had worked wonders and so as Pansy turned on her heel, strode to the door, and pulled it open, the trolls, gnomes, and elves that had previously been inhabiting her brain had finally ceased their pounding, banging rhythm. This was why she was able to hear him even though he spoke very quietly.
“Funny, that’s just what yeh said the last five times.”
She dashed out into the early morning sunshine, his chuckle ringing in her ears, and quickly Disapparated away. It was only when she arrived back at her own flat that she realized she’d left her bra behind.
Dammit!
~*Fin*~
Recipient:
charma_10
Title: Breaking the Rules
Pairing: Pansy/??? (again, I purposely didn't tag this pairing as it would ruin a surprise in the fic)
Request: always, beer, desperation, sunglasses (I combined a bunch of your prompts...hope that's okay!!)
Rating: R (to be safe...it's probably more PG - 13)
Word Count: 1,148
Summary: Pansy wakes up in unfamiliar surroundings after a drunken evening. She tries to exit gracefully. She doesn't succeed.
Author's Notes: Again, a pairing I've never attempted before, and in the case of Pansy, a character I've never written before at all. But once again, the prompts and the pairing called out to me and the plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone (and snarky plotbunnies are the most persistent). This is also a pairing I have a secret love for myself, so I *really* couldn't resist!! Enjoy, my dear!!
Pansy Parkinson had only three rules in life. These rules were designed to assure her a place at the forefront of Wizarding society despite the lingering fallout from the war. She had thought them out very carefully, and they were ironclad.
Rule Number One: Crush the opposition and take no prisoners.
Rule Number Two: Look fabulous while accomplishing Rule Number One.
Rule Number Three: Never sleep with a Gryffindor. EVER.
~*~
Pansy cracked her eyes open slightly, only to be met with a bright beam of sunlight that spilled cheerfully over the bed where she lay. Grunting irritably, she immediately snapped her eyes closed again. Mistake! Ohhh, that was a mistake… It felt like a gang of trolls was banging about inside her skull…accompanied by a garden gnome playing the maracas.
She whimpered slightly and rolled to her side, trying to escape the freakishly persistent sunbeam. Burying her head underneath the pillow, she chanced opening her eyes again. Finding this situation tolerable, she inched closer to the edge of the bed, fumbling in front of her for the pair of sunglasses she always kept on her nightstand.
When her hand connected with nothing but thin air, she scooted closer to the edge of the bed, feeling blindly in front of her because she adamantly refused to remove the pillow while that sneaky sunbeam was still about. It was only when she nearly tumbled off the bed that she grudgingly peeked out from under the edge of the pillow.
The sight in front of her wasn’t encouraging. For not only were there no sunglasses, there was no nightstand. And as she peered further around the room, it became horrifyingly clear why.
She was not in her own flat.
Moreover, she did not know whose flat she was in.
The trolls increased their pounding, and the maraca-wielding gnome was joined by a gaggle of house-elves who proceeded to whack themselves about the ears with frying pans.
Dammit…I never get hangovers this bad unless…unless…oh no…
Pansy pressed the pillow back over her face and promptly screamed into it, not caring that such behavior in her condition would no doubt multiply the trolls, gnomes, and elves. She wasn’t panicking. She was a big witch after all, and she had dealt with worse than this. On the contrary, she was mad with herself. On the few occasions when she had gotten this drunk, beer had been to blame…always, always beer. Foul Muggle concoction…
Pansy prided herself on being able to hold her liquor. Proper liquor, at any rate. She could pace herself with any kind of Wizarding wine, and Firewhiskey was child’s play, but get her started on Muggle beer and she was done for. She had never been quite sure why, as it wasn’t all that potent compared to the other things she’d drunk in her life. She could only guess that because it was so utterly weak, she would drink too much of it before really feeling its effects, and by then it was always too late.
But now was not the time to be contemplating such things. Pansy’s brain had just identified the sound of running water over the incessant din in her skull. No, now was the time to be gathering her clothes and trying to get out of there before the flat’s mystery owner finished his shower and returned.
She crept out of bed, keeping her eyes as tightly closed as possible as she moved about the room grabbing pieces of her outfit from the previous evening. She pulled her knickers off the closet doorknob with a grimace and shimmied into them. Finding her skirt, heels, and blouse in quick succession she slipped them back on and was frantically searching for her bra and purse when the unthinkable happened.
She found her purse, her wand sticking out of it, lying haphazardly underneath a pair of boxers she could only assume belonged to her bedmate from the evening before. Lifting the boxers as delicately as she could between her thumb and forefinger, she stared at the offending undergarment with trepidation that was quickly turning into disgusted horror.
For the underwear she held in her hand was crimson, with animated golden lions frolicking all over them. Occasionally the lions would pause, rear up on their hind legs, and growl soundlessly but proudly.
Pansy felt sick, and it had nothing to do with her hangover.
She dropped the underpants as quickly as possible and grabbed her purse. She had to get out of there. Now. Who knew which Gryffindor could be in that shower? It didn’t matter, as all of the possibilities made her stomach twist and roll.
She had made her way down the hall, past the bathroom, past the kitchen, and into the lounge. And she’d almost made it to the front door of the flat when she heard footsteps behind her. Cursing silently because she hadn’t heard the shower turn off, she attempted to continue on to the front door. Her escape was so close…
“Runnin’ away so early, lass?”
Dammit! Pansy froze, her hand on the doorknob, willing it to be anyone behind her but the person she now knew it to be.
“I’d thought maybe you’d want t’stay fer some breakfast. After takin’ this dose of hangover potion I’ve got here, that is.”
She turned around, pasting a forced smile on her lips and determinedly not staring at the lean, muscled chest of the man in front of her. The lean, muscled chest that was still damp from the shower…
“Finnigan,” she growled, stalking back over to him and grudgingly taking the small potion vial he held out to her. “This was obviously a mistake. We were both drunk, and desperate, and it drove us to do things that - however pleasurable - we wouldn’t do if we were in our right minds. Now, thanks for this,” she saluted him with the potion vial before downing its contents in one gulp, “but let’s not make it worse by pretending that this was something more than it was.” She sneered at him, most decidedly ignoring the way that the droplets of water were sliding down his chest and into the towel anchored at his trim hips. “Me? You? Breakfast? Honestly, what could be more ridiculous?”
The potion had worked wonders and so as Pansy turned on her heel, strode to the door, and pulled it open, the trolls, gnomes, and elves that had previously been inhabiting her brain had finally ceased their pounding, banging rhythm. This was why she was able to hear him even though he spoke very quietly.
“Funny, that’s just what yeh said the last five times.”
She dashed out into the early morning sunshine, his chuckle ringing in her ears, and quickly Disapparated away. It was only when she arrived back at her own flat that she realized she’d left her bra behind.
Dammit!
~*Fin*~