Consumed
A chapter of Consumed follows. Ah, it feels so good to get back into the swing of things. *loves you all*
I hate transitions, but it happens.
She couldn’t sleep, and that pissed her off more than anything else. She was a witch who appreciated her rest, and appreciated sleeping in-something else she'd done precious little of lately-so it was more than a bit irksome to be restless.
Pansy had started shedding her clothes the minute she'd walked into her own door, not bothering to wait until that door was actually shut to start taking off clothes. She was taking a shower, and then she was going to sleep. Same damned thing she usually did after a shag, provided it wasn't in public, which it sometimes was.
But after she'd stayed under the spray for far too long, letting the hot water run down the lines of her back as she laid her forehead to the tile, she wasn't one bit sleepy. She was still keyed up, dissatisfied. She'd never taken a partner and left without an orgasm-it simply was unheard of.
Think, Parkinson, Pansy told herself as she crossly kicked pillows to the floor, her hands roaming over her bare skin-what was the point, she'd asked various lovers over the years, of wearing anything to bed? It only got in the way later-but finding no completion. If this were any other night and you couldn't sleep, what would you be doing?
Shagging seemed a good answer, even if she'd already done that.
"Fuck you, Ron Weasley," she muttered, hauling herself out of bed and pulling a fresh set of dress robes from the closet. They were a bit too small, but what of it?
The better to trap with, my dear.
Why should it cost her any sleep because the great, Quidditch-obsessed git couldn't satisfy her properly?
If she couldn't get what she needed from him-and what do you need, Pans? she asked herself cynically-then she'd get it elsewhere.
She'd had had it up to her turned-up nose with men.
It was time for a little variety.
~~~
It was dark. Too dark, in Pansy's estimation-she liked to see with whom she was dancing, whose body she was rubbing up against, whose hands caressed her back, her arse, the sweaty nape of her neck. But she'd been here plenty of times before, and she'd never gone home disappointed.
The dark blue lights the club seemed to fancy gave everything an eerie, colorless sort of glow, and the fact that she'd already imbibed more than she should have with work the next day didn't help matters. So far she could tell that the witch whose breast she was rubbing one thumb over was tall, thin, and had legs that went on forever. Her hair was pulled back tight, falling in a long tail down her back, and Pansy would be damned if she knew or cared what color all that hair was. What she knew was that she'd have plenty to bury her hands in, and those long legs to wrap around her, and that was more than enough.
Pansy put her hand to the small of the witch's back, enjoying the way the other woman's top rode up to expose her midriff and back, allowing Pansy access to bare, sticky skin as she hauled the woman closer to her.
Their lips bumped together and they both laughed, sharing a sloppy kiss tasting of firewhisky and laughter. "Your place or mine?" the witch shouted over the music, punctuating the query by licking the corner of Pansy's mouth.
Pansy's purr couldn't be heard over the resounding bass, but her fingers tightened on the woman's back and she smirked. "You're already ruling out right here on the floor, then?" she asked, licking her lips and tasting the other witch there. This was good, this was perfect. This was just what she needed.
Underneath all of that, however, there was a little apprehension, the kind that was saying Not at my place, not in my bed.
The pillows Ron had tossed to the floor were still where they'd fallen, and she hadn't bothered to pick them up yet.
No pillows. No pillows, no… toys, no stories about other lovers. Just us in this bed, all right?
"Your place," she answered, standing on her tiptoes to rub against the other woman, needing the friction to occupy her mind, hardened nipples brushing against hardened nipples, curve to curve and concavity to concavity.
She tangled her fingers with the tall witch's long, slender digits and pulled them both toward the door, her gait unsteady with haste, alcohol, and desperation.
Once outside, she took in a big gulp of cool air, felt her hand being tugged backward. She'd been rushing, all but running out of the club, so she slowed her pace, felt the witch lift her hand-
Pansy moaned as the woman sucked one of Pansy's fingers into her mouth, clever tongue probing the base of her index finger. She turned, ready to take the woman where she stood on the sidewalk, slide her hand between long, strong thighs and see just how ready her charge for the night was-
And she stopped, eyes wide.
The woman was gorgeous, her skin nearly translucent in the moonlight, her lips kiss-bitten red. And the hair that was so meticulously held away from her face, the waist-length of it pouring down her back, was bright, unmistakable ginger.
Pansy yanked back her hand as though burned, her eyes wide and disbelieving. "You have bloody well got to be kidding me." She stepped toe-to-toe with the extremely confused young woman, her head angled back so she could look her in the eye. "Is that your actual color, or is that a glamour?"
"Beg pardon?" The witch looked around with skittish eyes, wondering what had changed in the last few moments. She knew she shouldn't have gone to a club like this, but it was her first time away from home, and-
"Your color, princess." At the blank look she continued to get, she sighed. "Ginger all over, then? Top and bottom?"
"Yes!" the witch answered, her fair skin mottling with a flush. "For Merlin's sake-"
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Pansy thought.
No way could she slip into this girl's bed tonight, no matter how long those beautiful legs were.
"Go back inside, love," she said. "I made a mistake." It cost her a great deal to make that admission, but what did it matter? This girl didn't know her.
To Pansy's horror, the long-stemmed witch fidgeted, and her lower lip started to tremble.
"You're not going to cry, are you?" Pansy asked disbelievingly.
"I think I made a mistake, too," the witch confessed, her face crumpling.
Well, Pansy thought, there's a mood killer if I've ever seen one.
She put her pinkies to the corner of her lips and let out a piercing whistle, nudging the witch to the curb just as the Knight Bus swung aside. "Ernie, my love," Pansy said, giving the girl a push through the open door and a swat on the rear-end.
"'Lo Miz Parkinson!" Ernie said, tipping his hat to her. "Bit early tonight to be bootin' som'n out, innit?" He craned his neck, looked around. "And we ain't at your place!"
"Change of scenery," Pansy said. "Are you going to kick off your passengers and drive us both to Barbados, Ernest?" It did her good to have this bit of routine, this idle flirtation. What in Merlin's name had happened with her life?
He grinned at her, completely unfazed by the habitual flirtation. "No, Miz. Gotta be goin' now!"
The door closed with a resounding bang and then the bus was gone.
A few moments later, another small bang sounded. Pansy Parkinson had left the premises.
~~~
"You're dressed like a tart and you smell of booze." Draco sat down in the chair across from Pansy's desk and crossed his ankles. He'd missed her, oddly enough, and since he'd been back from his honeymoon, she hadn't been making a horrendous nuisance of herself by popping by his office. "Granted, of the two of these things, only one is unusual. Care to enlighten me?"
She felt like hell.
Soreness, either from lack of sleep or her rough treatment of Ron, had started to set in around two in the morning as she sprawled on the couch in Draco's office, still sleepless after three hours. The headache, likely from one too many swallows of Ogden's, had started in soon after.
Her absolutely shitty mood had started the minute she'd seen the witch's hair the night before.
"I was so distraught over the demise of your bachelorhood that I thought I'd drown myself in a cauldron of Ogden's. Unfortunately, halfway through, I remembered I didn't give two warts' hairs for your bachelorhood, and so I crawled out and came to work." She showed her teeth in an expression closer to a growl than a smile, and went back to reorganizing her files.
Draco raised his eyebrows. "Aren't we touchy today?"
"Aren't we a poncey git today?" Pansy snapped, trying to remember why she would have ever placed the file on acquisitions in Scotland under B.
Scottish acquisitions… there had been a numbers man they'd worked with… she didn't remember his name, but she did remember he'd had a very big-
Ah. B for big.
She shifted the file into the S section.
Draco watched her movements with interest, one golden eyebrow staying hiked as he watched her meticulously arrange her filing system. Pansy didn't file things. That was a sign of the apocalypse.
"I can only assume you're dying," he said languorously, "Else you'd not be coming in several hours early each morning and leaving several hours late each night."
"How did you-" Pansy bit her tongue. Faithless swots, every last employee in the place. "I'm not dying."
"Would you like to borrow Ginny for a night?" He kept his expression carefully blank and watched as she tried to do the same with hers. She failed.
"That isn't amusing, Malfoy. She'd castrate you for merely suggesting it." The hell of it was, suddenly it wasn't amusing, nor was it tempting.
"She'd never castrate me, love, she enjoys that particular part of me far too much. She might, however, strike me mute."
"Be still, my beating heart," Pansy ground through her teeth. Karma, she supposed, would punish her for being such a bint to him all those years, but did it have to happen now? Her patience was threadbare as it was.
"Well, now I know something's wrong. Hard work and turning down a chance to shag my wife." Draco stood and looked down at her, searching her eyes carefully. "If I didn't know any better, I'd suspect Imperius."
Pansy put her fingertips to his forehead and pushed him back, smiling thinly. Nothing was wrong with her, she just needed some sleep. And a good shag with someone who didn't look as though carrot juice had been dumped over their head. "No one tells me what to do, Malfoy."
Draco nodded consideringly and then smirked. "Except for me," he said. "Dinner tomorrow night. No ifs, ands, or buts. My wife wants you…" He gave the sentence pause and rocked back on his heels. "To be there."
He wasn't fast enough to escape before she aimed the paperweight for his head, but he was still Seeker enough to catch it in his long fingers.
Damned if he knew how he was going to tell Ginny she'd been right about his barrister.