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Ginny looks at the mass of moving bodies on the dance floor, one finger absently trailing the stem of her cocktail glass. The beat of the music thrums through every fibre of her body and she can’t help tapping her foot in time with the rhythm. It is definitely more lively than the party she just left. The party she doesn’t want to think about.
“That’s an awfully Slytherin-looking drink for a Weasley,” a voice says in her ear, just loud enough to be heard over the din. The breath ghosting over her neck gives her goosebumps and she turns sharply, only to find herself face to face with Pansy Parkinson. Very closely face to face. She leans back a little and glances at her drink. It is a combination of Muggle Absinthe, Firewhiskey and Elven Liqueur, giving it a distinctly green and silver colour. She twists her lips to suppress a smile.
“Some of us have outgrown our schooltime rivalries, Parkinson,” she replies with a wink.
“Is that so? Then you won’t mind if I have a taste?” Pansy reaches for the glass, removes it from Ginny’s unresisting hand, brings it up to her ruby red lips with a slow, deliberate movement and takes a sip. Her eyes are fixed on Ginny’s the whole time, and Ginny cannot look away, her mouth turning dry as parchment. She licks her lips unconsciously. Pansy Parkinson’s mouth turns up in a triumphant smile.
“Delicious,” she purrs in Ginny’s ear, sending shivers down her spine. “What is it called? I’d like to get one myself.”
Ginny inhales sharply, turns on her stool and tries to slide off it without stumbling. She doesn’t quite succeed. “Keep it. I’ll get a new one,” she says over her shoulder as she all but runs towards the bar.
Ginny refuses to look back while she is waiting for her drink, telling herself she really doesn’t want to give Parkinson the idea that she’s gotten to her. Because she hasn’t, of course. She hasn’t. She only realises she wants Pansy to be there when she turns around, fresh cocktail in hand, and finds her table empty. She frowns at the pang of disappointment, then smooths her face into a smile and takes a long sip. Tonight isn’t the night to examine feelings. Tonight is a night to get drunk and forget everything. She nods sharply and is about to make her way back to the table before someone else can take it, when a hand grabs her elbow, stopping her in her tracks, and that same voice that has sent shivers down her spine before is breathing in her ear again.
“I found a quieter spot, come along.”
Ginny turns and steps away, unhooking Pansy’s hand from her arm.
“What makes you think I want to talk to you ?” It is not so much that she doesn't, more that she doesn't like the presumption that she does want to talk to her.
Pansy shrugs and lets her eyes travel slowly over Ginny, from her still elaborately pinned up hair over her loose cut blue shirt and skinny jeans down to the bright blue pumps. Ginny feels suddenly naked under that gaze, though she is, in fact, fully clothed. Her hand moves up to tuck a stray wisp of hair that escaped back behind her ear. It trembles a little. She knows Pansy notices, knows it from the way her eyebrows rise and her green eyes twinkle with amusement.
“We can do something other than talking, too, Weasley.”
Ginny laughs, though the blush that creeps up her cheeks betrays how flustered she really is. Pansy closes the distance between them, her face suddenly a little more serious.
“I just thought you might want some company, especially today, and all your friends are… elsewhere. Occupied, as it were. You’re too well-known to expect anything but gossip-hunting from this lot.” She gestures at the dancing mass of witches and wizards with a disdainful flick of the wrist. Then she steps back again, waiting with the air of someone who knows she will get her way.
Ginny hesitates, biting her lower lip while her eyes flick over the dark-haired witch, taking in the mischievous glint in her eyes, the severe bob that barely touches her chin, the tight, off the shoulder black dress that shimmers in the flashing lights - does she even have her wand on her? - and a smile that promises sin.
“Scared, Weasley?”
Ginny huffs, annoyed, because perhaps she is, just a little, scared, and waves her hand.
“Lead the way, then, Parkinson.”
Pansy grabs her wrist, and drags her along to a quieter part of the club with small snugs along the walls that are brimming with privacy and silencing charms. She is shoved into one of them, and with a flick of her wand - seriously, where does she keep it? - Pansy activates their privacy charms. The noise of the club dims to a distant buzz.
Ginny shakes her head at the strange situation she is in now. What is she doing in a snug with Pansy Parkinson of all people? But then, it is just a strange day, overall.
“You’re not my friend.” The words tumble out before she can catch them and she can feel the colour rise in her cheeks. Pansy laughs, a sound that should have grated but strangely doesn’t.
“And you’re a redhead.”
Ginny looks at her with blank incomprehension, and Pansy shrugs. “I thought we were stating the obvious. My mistake.”
Ginny shakes her head, trying to make sense of the thoughts that tumble through her mind. “No, I meant, you’re not my friend. You’ve never even spoken to me before, why are you being… maybe not nice exactly, but… like this?” She doesn't know exactly what Pansy is, at the moment, and a frustrated hand gesture is all she can manage.
Pansy sips her cocktail, her mocking eyes fixed on Ginny over the rim of her glass.
“Very eloquent, Weasley.”
Ginny snorts. “Yeah, well, my eloquence left me three cocktails ago. Come on, Parkinson, just tell me what you want. Gossip? Is that it? Trying to get a story out of me so you can go running to the press?”
“You don’t really think that,” Pansy says, leaning closer to Ginny across the table, a frown crossing her face.
“Maybe I do,” Ginny counters, refusing to back down. She lifts her chin defiantly.
“You wouldn’t be here if you did, Weasley, you’d be hexing my arse.”
“Maybe I still will.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
They have moved so close together their noses almost touch. Ginny leans back into her seat, suddenly very aware of the other woman. Pansy sighs and straightens too.
“Believe it or not, Weasley, I just thought you’d want the company of someone who couldn’t care less about what’s happening to the Boy Wonder.” She stops with the sudden consciousness of having mentioned the dragon in the room and looks away, shifting uncomfortably. “Right. So how’s your season at the Kestrals going?”
“It’s the Harpies. And we’re off-season, actually. Starting again in two weeks. You don’t have to avoid mentioning him, you know. And I don’t need your fake pity. I had enough of that at the wedding earlier.”
Pansy nods, and looks at Ginny again with a calculating smile.
“If you’re not opposed to talking about him, how about some gossip then?”
“So you do want gossip?” Ginny’s stomach is not clenching in disappointment. It isn’t.
Pansy shrugs again, one shoulder moving up and down elegantly, the strap of her dress slipping down a little further and revealing the soft swell of her breast. She doesn’t seem to notice, but Ginny certainly does.
“Sweet Morgana, I’m not going to go running off to the Prophet or Witch Weekly , Weasley. But it would be remiss of me to pass up the opportunity to hear the details before they appear in tomorrow’s special editions.”
Ginny empties her glass in one gulp and closes her eyes against the burn of the alcohol.
“Potter-Granger Wedding - Witch Weekly’s Exclusive!” she says dramatically. Pansy’s laugh resounds in the little snug.
Ginny opens her eyes and slumps in her seat.
“It was perfect. Harry looked so happy when he saw Hermione walking down the aisle. She was beautiful. Took us all morning to subdue her hair, of course, but it was so worth it to see the look on his face. As if she shone brighter than the sun, and he’d never look away.” She stops and swallows, a look of longing crossing her face. She remembers the ceremony, how they had only had eyes for each other, how her mother had laughed and cried and declared for everyone to hear that she’d so hoped that Harry would one day marry into her family, but that he was a son to her nonetheless.
“Do you still love him?” Pansy’s question brings her out of her reverie. Ginny laughs and shakes her head.
“No. I really don’t. We’re friends but nothing more than that.” She sighs at Pansy’s incredulous look. “Honestly, Parkinson, if I wanted people to look at me with pity and disbelief in their eyes, I’d have stayed at the reception and gotten drunk on the crappy champagne they were serving. I don’t love him. We had a thing, it was an infatuation, and I soon realised he wasn’t really my type, so we broke it off and he moved on.”
“So what’s with that sad look, then?”
“It’s silly.”
“Everything is silly after enough alcohol.”
Their glasses have refilled without Ginny noticing, and she tosses the drink back without second thought.
“I’m not pining for him, but I do wish I had someone who’d look at me like that.” She isn’t sure why she’s telling the truth - to Pansy Parkinson of all people - and she knows it is a mistake as soon as the words leave her mouth.
“Like a puppy at its master? How... cute.”
Ginny scowls at Pansy’s sneer, but before she can reply, Pansy slides off her seat with all the grace that Ginny lacked earlier and holds out her hand.
“Let’s dance.”
Ginny is a little thrown by the abrupt change, but takes Pansy’s hand and lets herself be dragged to the dance floor. They throw themselves into the mass of moving bodies and let the music take over. They sway and bounce and wave their hands in the air in time with the music, and for a moment, Ginny forgets how lonely she’s felt all day.
“So if Potter isn’t your type, then what is?”
Ginny swivels around sharply, rather startled to be reminded that Pansy is still there. She swallows, suddenly nervous, but a mix of alcohol-induced courage and Gryffindor recklessness take over. So she smirks and lets her eyes linger on Pansy’s pert breasts and then lower. She meets Pansy’s heated eyes without fear, licks her lips slowly, bends her mouth close to Pansy’s ear and says, “He missed a couple of… attributes.”
Pansy grins and dances away again, her body moving sensually, the glittering dress accentuating all her soft curves. Ginny can’t take her eyes off her. When Pansy starts grinding against another witch, she is consumed by a flare of jealousy that surprises her, and she turns away, swearing at herself. She is even more surprised when two hands on her hips pull her flush against another woman.
“So it wasn’t the black hair and green eyes that put you off, then?”
Ginny smiles and lets her head fall against Pansy’s shoulder, interlacing her fingers with Pansy’s.
“No. I think those were the only parts I did like,” she says. Her tongue flicks against Pansy’s earlobe before she can think the better of it.
Pansy lets out a soft sigh, as if up until that moment she hasn’t been sure her advances are welcome.
“Good to know.”
She unlaces one hand and moves it slowly to Ginny’s stomach, tantalizing, soft touches that seem to be barely there, but set Ginny’s body on fire: the soft brush of a thumb against the underside of her breast, a pinkie finger that just dips into the waistband of her jeans, promising, teasing but never more. Ginny lets out a breathy moan. The longer Pansy’s hands linger on her body, the more her stomach ties up in knots. Her heart is beating so quickly she is sure it will burst any moment. Then Pansy’s hand dips into her jeans again, just a little lower, and her breath hitches. She knows she is lost.
She turns around in Pansy’s arms and presses her lips against hers. For one excruciatingly long moment, she thinks Pansy won't respond. But then Pansy smiles into the kiss before nipping at Ginny’s lower lip and darting her tongue out to soothe the sting. Ginny opens her lips eagerly and their tongues meet in a battle for domination that neither seems to win. Pansy tastes of absinthe and cigarettes and pure lust and Ginny can’t get enough. She almost cries out in frustration when Pansy breaks the kiss.
“Let’s get out of here,” Pansy whispers in her ear. Ginny barely manages to nod before the pull of Disapparition squeezes and pulls her body away from the dance floor.
The fire in the hearth flares up when they appear in a dark bedroom, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. She doesn’t have time to take in much more before Pansy’s lips are back on hers, nibbling, pulling, demanding. It isn’t soft or gentle, but fierce and passionate, and Ginny revels in the feeling of that mouth, hot, insistent, against hers; those hands roaming all over her body and slipping underneath her shirt onto her bare skin. They break apart, panting, staring at each other.
Ginny lets her hands trail up Pansy’s arms and smiles when she feels the goosebumps underneath her fingers. She begins to trail kisses on Pansy’s neck and bare shoulders, breathing in the faint scent of cigarettes and freesias and something so undeniably, so utterly Pansy and she can feel herself fall deeper and deeper in a whirlwind of sensations.
Until a sharp tug at her - still sturdily pinned up - hair makes her look up with slightly dazed eyes.
“No marks,” Pansy says, eyes blazing with the promise of what will happen if she dares to defy her. Ginny grins and winks, but before she can kiss that delicious skin some more, there is another sharp tug.
“I mean it.” Pansy’s eyes glitter darkly in the firelight, her sharp features shadowed and illuminated by the flickering flames, and Ginny shudders involuntarily in a mix of arousal and fear. She never thought Pansy could be dangerous until now. And it is intoxicating. Exhilarating. She wants more.
“No marks,” Ginny confirms. She bends her mouth back to Pansy’s neck and shoulders, placing featherlight kisses on every bare inch of skin while her hands move over Pansy’s smooth body, the thin fabric of her dress unable to hide that she is, in fact, not wearing any underwear. At all. Heat coils in her belly when she traces a thumb over a hardened nipple and Pansy hisses against her skin.
Pansy’s hands trail down over her stomach, teasing, tickling, tantalizing, until they dip down into her jeans and she can feel the button being undone. Ginny bucks her hips against Pansy’s hands to find some relief for the throbbing between her legs, but Pansy - damn her - withdraws with a chuckle, and lifts her shirt over her head instead.
The air feels warm on Ginny’s skin. She sees Pansy’s eyes widen in appreciation and reaches out to kiss her again. It takes some willpower to concentrate, but a whispered, wandless spell later, Pansy’s dress begins to unlace. Ginny smiles into Pansy’s skin at her surprised gasp.
“Impressive, Weasley,” Pansy murmurs as Ginny’s magic surrounds her, completely wrapping her in a cocoon of heat that permeates every inch of her body.
A moment later Ginny is pushed onto the bed and she watches, mesmerised, as Pansy takes a step back and slowly, oh so slowly, shimmies out of that scandalously clingy dress, a provocative smile on her lips and eyes aflame with undisguised desire. Ginny can’t swallow, can’t even breathe, when Pansy steps out of that dress and slides her hands suggestively over her breasts and thighs. She can only watch, lick her lips, and wait. Her jeans and knickers disappear in a flurry of hot, enticing magic and then Pansy is crawling up the bed, her eyes fixed on Ginny, ardent, craving. But Ginny is no prey about to be devoured.
Pansy hovers over her and Ginny smirks before tangling her hands in her hair and dragging her down to kiss her again, with a ravenous hunger that should have surprised her, but somehow feels just right. When their lips touch, the weight on her chest seems to lift and there is nothing but her lips against Pansy’s. Their bodies press against each other, soft curves, hard planes, strong muscles together until neither quite knows where one body ends and the other begins. She only knows she’s lost her bra, somehow, when Pansy’s mouth closes over a nipple and a thousand sparks exploded in her body.
They kiss and kiss and kiss, and Ginny ends up on top of Pansy. She is surprisingly soft under her hands, her skin smooth and silky, and she just can’t get enough of her. Her hands caress up and down Pansy’s stomach, her round and deliciously firm buttocks, her thighs… Pansy squirms underneath her when she, once again, strokes up along Pansy’s sides but avoids those parts she so desperately wants to touch.
“Stop teasing, Weasley,” Pansy hisses, and Ginny chuckles.
She slowly trails her fingers up Pansy’s inner thigh, but stops just short of the dark patch of hair between her legs and Pansy growls in frustration and nips angrily at her shoulder. Ginny laughs again, almost delirious with excitement. She loves how Pansy’s pale skin is now flushed, that perfect bob a mess, those green eyes burning with violent desire. Ginny knows she won’t beg. Instead, Pansy opens her legs and gives her another imperious nip in the exact same place as before, and she decides not to tease any longer.
Her fingers slip between moist lips, two fingers entering Pansy at once, her thumb slowly circling her clit until she is whimpering, writhing underneath her. Ginny can feel Pansy’s muscles tense and knows she is on the verge of orgasm, and with a wicked grin Pansy can’t see, she slows down and begins to lave kisses on Pansy’s breasts. She pretends not to hear Pansy’s disappointed whimper, not to feel Pansy’s fingers knotting in her hair, while she continues to pepper kisses on her breasts and lick the beads of perspiration from her stomach and moves her fingers in and out slowly. She curves her fingers to find that sensitive spot inside and Pansy gasps in delight as she stimulates it and brings her closer and closer to the brink once more. Then she pauses again and Pansy curses.
“Weasley, I swear, if you don’t let me come right now, I’ll…” She breaks off in a whimper when Ginny presses a third finger inside, circles her thumb around her sensitive nub and scrapes her teeth over a nipple all at the same time. Pansy convulses around her fingers, her body shuddering uncontrollably and her mouth open in a soundless cry.
Ginny can’t get over how beautiful she looks coming undone, so enticing she could almost come just from the sight of her. She sits back and slowly begins to lick her fingers clean, humming in satisfaction. Pansy’s taste still in her mouth, she bends down to kiss her, a slow, languorous, passionate kiss that leaves them both breathless.
Ginny isn’t quite prepared when Pansy flips them over and presses Ginny down in the mattress, her hands held securely above her head.
“Oh Weasley, you don’t really think you can get away with teasing me like that, do you?”
Pansy whispers a spell that keeps Ginny’s arms bound and immobile. Her eyes widen in surprise, then excitement. Pansy asks quietly if she is okay, and she nods.
"Don't stop." The words sound almost like a plea, but Ginny doesn't care. She has shivers running down her spine and her skin is burning with anticipation.
Pansy bends down to whisper in her ear, “Relashio will set you free. If you want to.” If anything, it makes Ginny’s heart beat even faster and her head begins to spin. Teasing kisses, soft caresses, sharp bites and unexpected scratches make her writhe and shift under Pansy’s skillful hands and mouth. And then her mouth is there, her tongue licking and lapping until Ginny’s muscles tremble and she can’t stop the moan that erupts from deep in her throat. The orgasm rips through her, violent pleasure that shakes her core and fractures all coherent thought. Pansy looks up, just for a moment, and slowly licks her lips. Ginny can barely catch her breath. She attempts a smile but her lips seem unable to move. Her body feels heavy and seems to melt into the bed. She closes her eyes with a sigh. Then Pansy licks her again and she arches off the bed with a shout.
She feels two fingers enter her, then a third, and all the while Pansy is licking and licking and she can’t stop trembling and it is so deliciously good and then her whole body tenses and erupts in an explosion of colours and sparks, and her magic breaks free in a golden glow that lingers all over her body long after the last ripples of her second orgasm have ceased.
She can’t move, can’t even open her eyes, and whimpers in not-quite protest when Pansy chuckles against her clit and the vibrations make her muscles clench violently once more. She can feel one leg being draped over Pansy’s shoulder and then Pansy’s hand slowly begins to circle her other entrance. Ginny struggles for breath while those soft, almost ticklish touches tease her, finding the spot at the base of her spine that sends tingles rushing through her body; while that tongue continues to lick her over-sensitive clit and those fingers inside her continue to press down on just the right spot. She can’t bear it, the stimulations almost painful for her too-sensitive body, but she can’t ask Pansy to stop, not now, not this close, not while she is lost in an all-consuming fire that threatens to destroy her. Not when she wants to be destroyed. A sob escapes her throat, a plea she can’t voice, and then she’s falling, falling, falling to pieces, Pansy’s name on her lips, a mere whisper in the silence of the room.
Ginny barely notices Pansy sliding up her body and untying her hands. The blood is pounding in her ears and through every vein in a frenzied rhythm that blocks out any other sensations. Then Pansy kisses her lips, her nose, her cheeks, again and again, as if she wants to kiss every freckle on Ginny’s face. Ginny wraps her arms around her, too overcome to do anything but lie in bed and let Pansy kiss her. Her body feels like molten lava, sluggish, liquid, smouldering.
Ginny opens her eyes when Pansy rolls off her. She hasn’t felt so sated in a long, long time. Pansy gets up and lights a cigarette, the smoke circling up in the glow of the open fire. She glances at Ginny, opens her mouth but then shakes her head and turns towards the fire. She stretches like a cat basking in the heat of the flames, and Ginny can’t help but look and smile at her back.
“I don’t think I can move just yet,” she murmurs, more to herself than to Pansy.
Pansy chuckles and blows the smoke up in a perfect circle.
“I guess you had better stay, then,” she says without looking at Ginny. There is a tension in her shoulders that wasn’t there before. Ginny would have asked about it, but she is exhausted and decides to close her eyes, just for a minute.
Ginny wakes up slowly. Her body feels heavy under the down-filled duvet. She opens her eyes and tries to remember where she is. The dim light of glowing embers in the fireplace illuminates a dark canopy with heavy curtains. The room smells of firewood and freesias. A weight lies across her stomach and it takes her a while to realise it is an arm, attached to a body. A body that is pressed alongside hers, a head resting against her shoulder and breath ghosting over her collarbone. She turns to study the dark hair, the slightly upturned nose and the blissfully sleeping face of Pansy Parkinson. Ginny smiles as she remembers that night. But the smile falters. She can’t stay. She begins to sidle away from Pansy, but the arm around her stomach tightens.
“Where’re you going?” a hoarse, sleepy voice asks.
Ginny flushes in the darkness. She had hoped to leave without being noticed.
“I thought it would be best if I go,” she mutters. “It’s nearly morning.”
Pansy’s arm tightens a little more for just a moment, then she lets go abruptly, and turns onto her back. Her eyes are wide open now, but she does not look at Ginny.
Ginny waits, but when there is no other reaction, she slides to the side of the bed and sits up. The air in the room is cool against her bare chest and she shivers.
“I had a good time,” she says, cringing at the empty words that thoroughly fail to describe that night. A hand closes around her wrist.
“You don’t have to go,” Pansy says, still not looking at her, and when Ginny looks back, her lips are pressed together in a tight line.
Ginny remains silent for so long that Pansy lets go of her wrist and turns on her side, her back to Ginny.
Ginny just keeps staring at the woman in surprise. She’d been quite certain that Pansy would have kicked her out if she hadn’t fallen asleep so quickly, but now she isn’t so sure any more. She slides back between the sheets and snuggles up against Pansy’s back.
“I’ll stay if you want me to,” she says, her voice too loud in the silence of the room. She lets one hand rest on Pansy’s hip and sighs in relief when Pansy laces their fingers together.
“Just make sure you don’t snore or I’ll kick you out,” Pansy mutters, and the words sound reluctant. But she leans back into Ginny, tightening her grip on her hand, and Ginny knows.
They snuggle and move until they lie comfortably together. Pansy’s body feels heavier and heavier in her arms. Her breathing evens out. Ginny smiles into the semi-darkness. The last thought that crosses her mind before falling asleep again, is that Pansy really should stop snoring herself.