(Untitled)
Date: Friday, August 25, 2000
Time: Mid-afternoon
Place: The entrance to Knockturn Alley
Characters Involved: Marcus Flint, Pansy Parkinson, invitation only
Rating: R for language and suggestive material
( Lechery, lechery! Still, wars and lechery: nothing else holds fashion ~ Troilus and Cressida )
Time: Mid-afternoon
Place: The entrance to Knockturn Alley
Characters Involved: Marcus Flint, Pansy Parkinson, invitation only
Rating: R for language and suggestive material
( Lechery, lechery! Still, wars and lechery: nothing else holds fashion ~ Troilus and Cressida )
Marcus felt the sting of abuse in his lower abdomen. Just about the sensitive lower ribs, of the cage that circled his thriving heart, beating with ferocity. His diaphragm tensed and his breath escaped quickly, from his instant reaction to such sharp pain. Marcus was not a sissy boy, and at one time he had decent muscle coverage. But his stomach lacked the history of his youth, and was soaking up the invasion of an elbow, as it pummeled him with intention.
Yet he did not fall. He could not be found releasing his hold, but squeezing it for support instead, as he wheezed uneasily against her head. He nearly embraced her from behind now, but hunched down further at the waist to ease the pain. His face was pressed roughly against the left side of her neck. “Fucking….. Bitch.” He grunted, when his breath gradually allowed speech. The pain echoed in him, but Marcus would see this thru. He could handle a few good blows every now and then; his father had conditioned him well.
Marcus pressed against her harder, but turned to be at her left side, so only his right arm and his right leg was behind. He had to let go of the supple breast he found, to maneuver this way, so instead he grabbed her arm, and held fast his arm against her back. His other hand reached up and grabbed her left hand, and kept that one occupied. He did not want a duel; he wanted victory without a fight.
“You…. feel…good.” Marcus said through rushed breaths. He tilted his head so he could nip at her neck as he talked. “Want…. some…. business? Let’s…go…find a...place.”
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And now that she knew the voice, knew the owner of those hands, she recognised the ...professional way he had shoved her into the window and the way her body had "fallen" into his hands. It was a bit more polished than the last time she had been a victim to it, but the technique was the same as in her second year.
Pansy was no longer twelve, and just a few moments ago she had been congratulating herself of that fact. But somehow, now that she knew it was Flint, she felt as though she had regressed into that child (for she had been a child, though she may have been beginning to look womanly) being groped for the first time by strange, unwelcome hands in darkened corners. She felt frozen, and perhaps her stillness was being taken for acquiesence because Flint nipped at her neck and mentioned business.
Business!? He thought she, Pansy Parkinson, was a whore!?
Her elbow clearly hadn't worked and her attmpts to twist her arm out of his grasp were unsuccessful too, so instead she used the third weapon in her arsenal (except her scream, because she really didn't want to be caught in such a compromised position on a public street) and unleashed the sharp side of her tongue on Flint's ego.
She twisted her head round so she was confronting Flint eye to eye, and she refused to let him see even a flicker of a flinch in her eyes which looked into his, stony and impassive. He wouldn't see anything but calm, unyielding hatred.
"If you don't mind," she said savagely, "I would like to be able to look in shop windows without wondering if some dickless wonder is going to letch all over me like a dog in heat. Even if I was touting for business - and why the fuck would I be doing that here, dipshit? - I still wouldn't fuck such a pathetic piece of humanity as you." Her lips curled as she glanced down at him and then looked back up. "Go crawl back under your rock, Flint. I was so much happier when I thought you were dead if my wand hand was free I might kill you know."
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But her elbow, and now her eyes, told him he’d get nowhere, fast. He still got a good feel, however.
Yet those eyes, and the voice following her stare, forced Marcus to take a mental step backwards, and recollect a million of thoughts that started to run rapid in his mind. He knew her! He felt it, could sense it, recalled- slowly, the last encounter. His brain worked as fast as it could, to place the exact time, the place, the who involved with her. As Marcus held her still, he stalked down the path of remembrance, while meeting her eyes with his own.
“Hhmmmm…. I know you, don’t I?” Why couldn’t he place where, or when… it was frustrating. “Dickless wonder? I can prove you wrong on that one… care to look?” Marcus leaned his face closer to hers, really studying her features, as she continued to run at the mouth. But her mouth helped piece it together, and he almost wanted to punch himself in the face for being too stupid to realize just who he held in his arms.
“Pansy fucking Parkinson. Well, well… look who grew up- filled in, and got disease of the mouth. Fancy fondling you here.” He grinned wide, wickedly. His hands made sure to keep her where she stood, and steady, and unable to retort with magic as much as she did with her mouth.
“I don’t remember you being a loquacious bitch. I don’t remember you looking so damn fine either. You…. hahaa… it was you that night in journal. The one who couldn’t even tell me a name. What’s wrong? Thought I’d show up at your doorstep if you talked to me? Funny… how things work out for the best.” He sneered and pushed his body hard against her left side, explaining he meant this exchange was the best in his mind.
Pansy…. A delicious little girl in Slytherin. She had arrived during Marcus’ 6th year, and he had found instant amusement off her. She had this attitude that made him think about her constantly. Yet he had held off, in the beginning, and just tried to rouse annoyance within her, yet scare her at the same time. But he couldn’t wait after the first year had past, any longer. By her second year, she was maturing, and it excited him to see her body change to please the eye. He use to think she was growing up to please only his eyes, and imagined how sweet it would be to corrupt her so soon. None of the other girls her age were enthralling like Pansy, or felt so damn good in his groping hands. She had been one of the first rushes he felt off of fear, and quickly desired it often. Yet she started to stick by Draco Malfoy’s side, and it had kept Marcus at bay in his last year.
“Still Malfoy’s little bitch, Parkinson? Still his silly shadow? You don’t have to be. You can be mine if you like.” Marcus leaned away just enough to allow space, but was hesitant to let this spitfire go. She sounded as if she would really kill him. He hadn’t the slightest idea why.
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Then it seemed to click and he pulled her name out of the darkest recesses of his mind. Pansy tipped her chin back and tossed her hair back over her shoulders, her eyes remaining cold and her face expressionless.
"And I don't remember you as being the type of bloke who knew what the word 'loquacious' meant, so I suppose people change."
She didn't confirm or deny Flint's supposition that it had been her writing anonymously in his journal. He seemed pretty sure of himself and inwardly, Pansy cursed herself. It had been careless and stupid of her to write to him. But the sight of that name had brought all of the old feelings back - hatred, yes, and also fear. And when Pansy was afraid, she had to lash out, and overpower it with something else. Something stronger.
Funny how things work out for the best. Pansy tilted an eyebrow then, planting her feet firmly enough to avoid being pushed off balance by Flint's careless shove. Or maybe not so careless. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. "Yeah, everything was pretty damned good until you turned up again," she spat.
The references to herself as Draco's 'bitch' and the possibility of being Flint's 'bitch' related back to his earlier description of her as a prostitute and Pansy felt her anger rise and completely override her fear. After all, they were in a relatively busy street - he couldn't do much worse than he had already done. With rising ire, however, came increased recklessness and a need to prove to both Flint and herself that she wasn't afraid him - not really. When Flint moved back to create some space, instead of allowing her tense shoulders to release she moved forward, keeping their personal space to a minimum.
Now she was the one in control, she was the one pushing and threatening and invading. The idea itself was intoxicating.
"I don't belong to anyone, least of all you," Pansy sneered, and in her mind's eye her lack of height didn't stop her from looking and sounding intimidating. "I've got a boyfriend-" she was obviously ok using that word if she had to- "and he'd beat you to a pulp for even standing next to me. So if I was you I'd back the fuck off."
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“Oh, no! A boyfriend…” He mocked, with chuckles spilling out. His hands were still holding hers, still crunching fingers with one, and bracing a bicep with another. Marcus had to give her kudos for struggling as much as she did still. Most women stopped after a little while. He was enthralled by her will, her drive. It was the passion that he himself cherished as a personal strength. “What the fuck do I do, now?” He teased, as a grin expressed his words, and then he lowered his head to be closer to her face.
With inches to spare, Marcus stared into her fearless eyes, now smiling in a knowing way that spoke of secrets and incentives. Then he instantly dipped around and slowly ran his tongue from the bottom of her jaw, all the way up to the top of her cheekbone. A slow slither of a motion, meant just like a loving caress, only smelling of alcohol and slimy.
Marcus then paused to observe the wet trail he created, before he spoke near her ear. “Wonder what this so called boyfriend will do, now that I’ve tasted his bitch.” Marcus made sure to breathe on her as he talked, to haunt her with the warmth of his presence.
After the stunt with his tongue, but starting at his determined grope, Marcus was getting excited. His mind kept flashing vivid actions he wanted to do to Pansy, a porno-esque montage of sucking and fucking. The thoughts were provoking him, taunting him as he taunted her. This was why she had been just too irresistible before. Now it was a few years later, and she affected him the same, even with her obvious changes. Her mouth had turned cruel since her younger years, yet he still could fantasize what it would look like when she was down on her knees. And her body had definitely developed, which Marcus thought would be so hot on top of him. He found it increasingly hard to back away from this situation, yet the little, almost non-existent voice of reason told him this was neither the time nor the place. Even if he wanted her so bad that he could taste it, literally, Marcus would not get it, not yet. It was just a matter of patience.
So he moved back, leaned to stand straight, and forced down a deep breath, while squeezing his hold on her with intention.
“As much as I love touching you… licking you… it’s nothing more than a tease. So if you want to go crawling back to your boyfriend- whatever. But you are more than welcome to come home with me. I’m sure we could come up with more reasons for your boy toy to beat me up.”
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Her thoughts were rushing by so fast they probably showed on her face, which only occurred to her too late to school her expression. Then he licked her and it was no longer important to hide the disgust with which she greeeted the action.
He'd been drinking - she could smell it on his breath and - UGH - on the slimy spit that was smeared down her face and which she couldn't wipe off because Flint was still holding her hands down. It felt as though he was marking her as his territory, and the longer she thought about it, the more angry the action made her. He was towering over her, completely in control and she - she could feel herself losing it.
And that only made her lose it further. She had his spit on her face for fuck's sake!
She narrowed her eyes, looking up at him and then deliberately and viciously spat in his face. She watched as it slid down his cheek and bared her teeth - it wasn't a grin. It disturbed her that what she was feeling, the dark pride in marking someone else with so intimate a thing, was probably similar to the way Flint was feeling about it. She didn't like to think they had anything in common beyond their school ties.
"How does it feel when the tables are turned?" she hissed. "I don't want anything to do with you, I want you to get the fuck away from me, and to stay the fuck away from me. What's so hard for you to understand? I don't care if you want to shag me, most men do." She tossed her hair and raised her chin. The spit had dried into a slightly hardened strip down her face and she wanted nothing more than to get away from him, run home, and scrub her skin raw. Instead, her proud eyes met his and she said, "But only one man gets to. Deal with it."
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"Feels.... just like I thought it would." He answered arrogantly, with a hint of a dare for her to argue against it.
Marcus gazed at her proud face, and sucked in air to click his teeth. "Suit yourself Parkinson. And don't worry your pretty little head, I'll deal with things just fine." He couldn't help but to smirk, while he backed up enough to stretch out his arms. He would let her go, but he had better be cautious about it.
"But.... you should already know, I always get what I want." And he raised his eyebrows to taunt her silently as he let his own proud smile mirror hers. Once his arms were stretched, he let go, only to quickly back away toward where Diagon Alley waited. A calculated stride as he watched Pansy's hands for action, for an offensive maneuver.
"I not only want to shag you," Marcus spoke out as he backed up. "I want to make you rue the day you refused me. And you can tell that to your pathetic boyfriend. Or don't... it can't be our little secret."
He quickened his pace, so he was sure to make his way into a busy section of Diagon Alley before he would stop staring at her gorgeous silhouette. He almost dared out lout for her to sling a curse, but knew that would be a stupid suggestion that he'd want to retaliate against. This was neither the time nor the place, he had to remind himself.
One day it would be the perfect day, he only wished it would be now.
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