Fic: Golden Dreams by liliths_requiem
Title: Golden Dreams
Username: liliths_requiem
Pairing: Pansy/Padma
Type: Femslash
Prompt: #59 - Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll
Rating: R
Word Count:2,590
Warnings/content: graphic lesbian sex, some language
Summary: Padma and Pansy fall in love in pieces and fragments.
Notes:I tried to keep with the prompt. Hopefully I succeeded. Thanks to J for beta reading. :)
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters/references are property of JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement is intended.
Golden Dreams
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream--
Lingering in the golden gleam--
Life, what is it but a dream?
2009.
She rolls over on the mat and stares out at the ocean, watching as the waves crest and crash against the shore. Beside her, Pansy sleeps. Her dark hair is cut so short Padma cannot weave it through her fingers as she once did. Sun tans the porcelain white skin that Pansy takes pride in, leaving uneven sprays of brown in its wake.
She should wake her; they’ll fight about the burn once the sun goes down. But the stillness of Pansy’s features is too perfect to disturb. Padma traces the strong muscles of Pansy’s arms.
She’s careful not to wake her.
1999.
She’s awoken by the slam of a door and the clamor of feet rushing through the house. From the weight of each step, she knows it’s Marcus. Anthony is never this heavy-footed. She forces herself out of bed and rearranges her robes. Afternoon naps don’t do much for wrinkled clothing.
“Where’s the fire, Belby?” she calls out, as Marcus rushes past her door.
He doesn’t stop moving as he shouts back, “My newest probate is being released in an hour, and I can’t find my good shoes.”
“Do you think someone just released from Azkaban is going to care about your shoes?” she’s pinning her hair into an elaborate chignon. Anthony wants to go out on the town after dinner.
Marcus stops moving as he stumbles over a pair of black leather boots. “Most wouldn’t,” he agrees, lacing them without magic, “But this one might.”
She speaks around two of the pins that she’s holding with her teeth: “Why’s that?”
“It’s Pansy Parkinson.” He’s out the door before she can say anything more. Which, for both of them, is probably a good thing.
1990.
They arrive at the Parkinson Mansion dressed in their very best saris, a purple one for Padma and a bright pink one for Parvati. Their hair is braided in matching styles, with soft stones twisted in delicately by their favorite House-elf, Marmy. Padma has no idea why they’re dressed up to visit Pansy. They see her all the time in little more than play-robes. However, today Mata has told them that they need to look their very best.
“I received my Hogwarts letter yesterday!” Pansy explains, once they’re alone. She’s trying to keep a calm demeanor, even though both the Patil twins can see that she’s itching to jump up and down with joy. Parvati does the jumping for her, grabbing Pansy’s hands and spinning them around in a circle. Padma, amused, looks on.
Parvati, confused by her sister’s silence, turns to Padma and says, “Don’t worry, we’ll get ours on our birthday. Pansy’s just older is all.”
“She knows,” Pansy says, cutting off whatever Padma was about to say, “She’s more magical than either one of us. There’s no way Hogwarts wouldn’t take her.”
The unspoken admission that there was a chance Hogwarts wouldn’t take Pansy may go unnoticed by Parvati, but Padma catches it and meets Pansy’s eyes. Both girls look away, blushing.
“Will we be friends at Hogwarts, do you think?” Padma asks, all earnest eyes and dreams of splendor.
Pansy doesn’t nod, doesn’t even turn to look at her. “Yes,” she says, without question.
“Promise?” Padma asks, boldly.
There is a moment that hangs between the three girls like a spider’s web, wrapping them in silk and keeping them still. Pansy meets Padma’s eyes and says, “Parkinsons don’t make promises.”
1998.
“Parkinson’s been sentenced to eighteen months,” Anthony tells her at breakfast their first day back at Hogwarts. “I’m sorry.”
Padma shrugs like it doesn’t matter and continues to butter her toast. Next to her, Luna is pouring salt onto her eggs and reading The Quibbler. After almost a year of dating, the two girls don’t need to spend every meal talking. They’ve slipped into a comfortable life quite easily, after a year of much too much excitement.
“She didn’t want anything to do with me the last two years,” Padma says, as she and Anthony make their way to class a few minutes later, Luna safely wandering in the opposite direction. “Why should I care about her now?”
Anthony almost laughs. “I’ve seen the way you used to look at her, Padma. You can shag Looney all you want. You can’t shag away feelings.”
She breaks up with Luna in October. There is no one else for another seventeen months.
1991.
“Parkinson, Pansy.”
Padma holds her breath. They all know where Pansy will be sorted, there hasn’t been a Parkinson outside of Slytherin in five generations. Still, there’s always hope.
Except not, because it takes all of ten seconds for the Hat to shout out, “Slytherin,” and Padma’s name to be called. She sits down, thinking Slytherin wouldn’t be too bad.
“It would be terrible for someone as earnest as you are,” the Hat tells her. She shrugs and thinks that the Hat should put her wherever it pleases then, if it’s not going to take her feelings into consideration.
“Ravenclaw, would be best for you. If you don’t want to get hurt.” She nods and the Hat announces its decision. She only wishes one of them had known how much trouble that decision will cause in the next decade. She could have handled getting hurt.
2002.
“I don’t like Mata’s friend,” Cadence tells Pansy as the three of them make dinner. At five years old, their adopted daughter is full of opinions and ideas. Usually, Padma and Pansy try to foster this independent thought. But dislike is something both mothers agree needs to be addressed.
Pansy turns to her daughter, “Which one?” she asks, because unlike Pansy, Padma has more than one friend.
Cadence looks at Pansy and says, “Mandy.” Mandy Brocklehurst is one of Padma’s oldest friends, the only other Ravenclaw girl to survive from their year. She is one of Padma’s dearest friends.
Pansy gawks for a moment. Even she likes Mandy, and she doesn’t like anyone. “Why don’t you like Mandy, Cady?”
“She’s a mudblood,” Cadence replies, eyes earnest.
When Pansy slaps Cadence, neither she nor Padma is expecting it. There is a second of stunned silence, and then Pansy leaves the room.
In the kitchen, both Padma and Cadence are crying.
1992.
When Justin is attacked, Parvati freaks out. Not that either one of them is particularly close to their Hufflepuff contemporary. Still, it’s enough to frighten anyone, and Parvati, for all her Gryffindor courage, has always had weak nerves. Padma tries her best to comfort her younger twin, but it’s to no avail.
The next day, in Charms, Pansy is sitting at the table in front of Padma. She leans over to Daphne and whispers, “Maybe the monster can get rid of all the mudbloods.” There’s disgust in her voice that makes Padma shiver. She didn’t think anyone would actually want the monster to succeed.
She learns, in that moment, that even girls as pretty as Pansy Parkinson can be mean. The realization scares her. How are they going to find the monster if anyone is capable of evil?
1995.
Pansy goes to the Yule Ball with Malfoy and Padma attends the event with Weasley. The two girls do not make eye-contact the entire night. At fourteen, neither one of them understands the butterflies that arise in their respective stomachs every time they sit together in Ancient Runes or in the Library studying. Padma will admit she’s jealous of the way Malfoy twirls Pansy around on the dance floor. Pansy will never admit she’s jealous of anything Weasley does, but she does get a bit angry when Padma laughs at one of Potter’s jokes.
By the end of the night, Padma’s a bit too bored to care about anything other than taking off her shoes and going back to her room. She’s paying so little attention to her surroundings that she almost misses the mess of dark curls in the corner, straddling some Beauxbatons girl with red hair and eyes the color of the Great Lake.
She almost misses it, but she doesn’t. And when the girl looks over Pansy’s shoulder and catches Padma’s eye, there isn’t enough time to look away, to pretend she wasn’t gawking.
Padma doesn’t know what it is the Beauxbatons’ student whispers in Pansy’s ear, and Pansy doesn’t remember. Whatever it is, Pansy tears her lips away from the crick of the redhead’s neck and turns to look at Padma. The look on Pansy’s face isn’t quite guilt, but it’s close enough.
Padma walks to the tower slowly, dragging one foot after the other, and staunchly reminding herself that Pansy’s allowed to be with whomever she pleases.
Parkinsons don’t make promises.
2006.
Cadence runs through the fields behind their house, her long blonde curls wild in the sunlight. Pansy watches from the kitchen window as she washes the vegetables and cuts the meat, forever grateful that the Ministry didn’t think it necessary to snap her wand and ban her magic. Padma will be home in a few minutes, and as it’s a Tuesday, she’ll be expecting dinner the moment she walks through the door.
They live in Greece, where Padma studies Ancient Runes for the International Coalition of Ancient Studies and Pansy works as a manual laborer at the unicorn reservation. This is what happens to those who didn’t take their NEWTS because they were rotting in Azkaban. They’re safe here, far away from those who want to kill anyone who was on the wrong side of a war that ended eight years before.
Pansy’s not bitter anymore, but it’s hard to get the taste out of her mouth.
“Pads,” she asks, when the front door opens. Without waiting for a response she says, “Are you happy?”
There isn’t a moment of hesitation. “Of course,” her lover says, wrapping her arms around Pansy’s hips. “I have a gorgeous partner, a beautiful little girl, and a home of my own. What more could I want?”
“England,” Pansy suggests, trying not to let the guilt edge into her voice.
Padma kisses her cheek. “No,” she says, picking up the tray of vegetables and placing them on the table. “No, P. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere I couldn’t be with you.”
“We could try,” Pansy suggests, moving the meat from the counter to the table with a twist of her wrist. Padma goes to the door and calls for Cadence to come inside.
“Not yet,” Padma says, “Not until I know for sure it won’t endanger our life.”
And it’s the way she makes their life singular that convinces Pansy everything will be alright. She wonders if Padma’s aware of that grammatical comfort.
Knowing her Ravenclaw, Pansy’s sure Padma used that phrase on purpose.
2000.
“I want,” Padma whispers, the words ripped from her throat like a broken necklace, the syllables falling like pearls across Pansy’s body. “I want, please.”
Pansy smirks against Padma’s collarbone, nipping the sensitive flesh there until it turns a darker brown. “You want what, love?” she asks, her fingers tracing patterns against the smaller woman’s inner thigh, her nails scrapping up and down in teasing circles.
“Please,” Padma preens, spreading her legs wider, meeting Pansy’s eyes, silently urging her closer to the juncture between her thighs. Pansy is resolute, however, and moves her lips slowly downward, her tongue dancing over Padma’s skin as though it were rich honey instead of flesh and muscle. Her teeth take hold of Padma’s right nipple, teasing it to hardness. Padma arches off the bed beneath them, twisting her body so as to get closer to Pansy’s teasing fingers.
“Please what, love?” and if Pansy’s voice is softer than Padma’s ever heard it, now is not the time to vocalize that observation. There’s a hitch in Pansy’s breathing that Padma won’t point out either, although it makes her feel more beautiful than she’s ever felt. She rolls her body against Pansy’s mouth and hands, and Pansy’s tongue against her nipple and her fingernails on her thighs both stutter.
Emboldened, Padma says, “I want you to make love to me.” Because she could have said shag, but this is their first time, and she’s been infatuated with Pansy for over a decade. If tonight is going to push that infatuation over the edge into something more, than she doesn’t want to be a quick shag in a back alley. They’re wrapped beneath the sheets of Pansy’s bed, and Padma will be damned if tonight doesn’t mean something.
Pansy pulls back, meeting Padma’s eyes. “Are you sure?” she asks. Her voice is still soft, with a slight husky edge that could be lust but could also be something more. Padma’s not about to press her luck.
“Yeah,” Padma answers, grabbing the hand Pansy’s been using to tease her. She pushes Pansy’s hand against the heat emanating from between her legs. Pansy licks her lips in response, and Padma knows this is what they both want more than anything. “Pansy, baby, you’ve got what you want right in front of you,” she breathes, rolling her hips into Pansy’s touch, “Take it.”
Two fingers slide in easily, but as good as it feels, it’s not enough. Padma tears her eyes away from Pansy’s hand to look into her lover’s eyes. Pansy is looking at her with such rapt attention, that Padma can feel her entire body burn. It’s enough to make her desperate. She starts to roll her hips in time with Pansy’s thrusts. Like an ocean, each wave crashes against Pansy’s palm and crests with the nipple in Pansy’s mouth. They catch a rhythm that causes both to moan.
Padma’s pushed over the edge within ten minutes, her body shaking and her voice strangled. It takes her a moment to realize she’s screaming.
It’s not until she’s stopped shaking that Pansy’s mouth leaves her nipple and moves against her neck. “Mine,” she whispers against Padma’s sweating flesh.
“Yes,” Padma decides in that moment, “Yours.”
She moves her hand down Pansy’s body and curls her fingers inside her. Pansy’s staked her claim, now it’s time for Padma to make hers.
2001.
Padma opens the book on her bedside table. Its title, Advance Nordic Runes, is worn away, but still glows light blue in the morning sun. Beside her, Pansy is snoring softly. It’s barely six, no need to wake her yet.
Padma opens the book to the ear-marked page and tries to focus on the runes before her. Her eyes have a different plan, and keep inching over the edge of the book to take in Pansy’s sleeping form. A year together, and still Padma can’t help but gawk at her lover’s beauty.
“You’re staring,” Pansy says, her voice soft and still laced with sleep. “Is there a reason?”
Padma drags her eyes up Pansy’s body to meet the other woman’s eyes. “Just appraising what’s mine,” she says, her voice light and teasing.
Pansy nods, smirks a bit, and says, “Planning to keep me, then?”
“Forever,” Padma admits, before she can stop herself. The fear in Pansy’s eyes proves that Padma’s said too much, moved too fast, lost the Slytherin game she’s been forced to play the last year and a half. She blushes copper and returns her eyes to her book, hoping Pansy will fall back asleep and remember this as only a dream.
Instead, Pansy takes the book from Padma’s hand and sits up properly. She kisses Padma softly and says, “Forever.” It’s an echo and an affirmation, a question and a declaration. More than a dream, it’s a promise.
-----
For the Love of Pansy (Round 1) Masterlist
Username: liliths_requiem
Pairing: Pansy/Padma
Type: Femslash
Prompt: #59 - Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll
Rating: R
Word Count:2,590
Warnings/content: graphic lesbian sex, some language
Summary: Padma and Pansy fall in love in pieces and fragments.
Notes:I tried to keep with the prompt. Hopefully I succeeded. Thanks to J for beta reading. :)
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters/references are property of JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement is intended.
Golden Dreams
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream--
Lingering in the golden gleam--
Life, what is it but a dream?
2009.
She rolls over on the mat and stares out at the ocean, watching as the waves crest and crash against the shore. Beside her, Pansy sleeps. Her dark hair is cut so short Padma cannot weave it through her fingers as she once did. Sun tans the porcelain white skin that Pansy takes pride in, leaving uneven sprays of brown in its wake.
She should wake her; they’ll fight about the burn once the sun goes down. But the stillness of Pansy’s features is too perfect to disturb. Padma traces the strong muscles of Pansy’s arms.
She’s careful not to wake her.
1999.
She’s awoken by the slam of a door and the clamor of feet rushing through the house. From the weight of each step, she knows it’s Marcus. Anthony is never this heavy-footed. She forces herself out of bed and rearranges her robes. Afternoon naps don’t do much for wrinkled clothing.
“Where’s the fire, Belby?” she calls out, as Marcus rushes past her door.
He doesn’t stop moving as he shouts back, “My newest probate is being released in an hour, and I can’t find my good shoes.”
“Do you think someone just released from Azkaban is going to care about your shoes?” she’s pinning her hair into an elaborate chignon. Anthony wants to go out on the town after dinner.
Marcus stops moving as he stumbles over a pair of black leather boots. “Most wouldn’t,” he agrees, lacing them without magic, “But this one might.”
She speaks around two of the pins that she’s holding with her teeth: “Why’s that?”
“It’s Pansy Parkinson.” He’s out the door before she can say anything more. Which, for both of them, is probably a good thing.
1990.
They arrive at the Parkinson Mansion dressed in their very best saris, a purple one for Padma and a bright pink one for Parvati. Their hair is braided in matching styles, with soft stones twisted in delicately by their favorite House-elf, Marmy. Padma has no idea why they’re dressed up to visit Pansy. They see her all the time in little more than play-robes. However, today Mata has told them that they need to look their very best.
“I received my Hogwarts letter yesterday!” Pansy explains, once they’re alone. She’s trying to keep a calm demeanor, even though both the Patil twins can see that she’s itching to jump up and down with joy. Parvati does the jumping for her, grabbing Pansy’s hands and spinning them around in a circle. Padma, amused, looks on.
Parvati, confused by her sister’s silence, turns to Padma and says, “Don’t worry, we’ll get ours on our birthday. Pansy’s just older is all.”
“She knows,” Pansy says, cutting off whatever Padma was about to say, “She’s more magical than either one of us. There’s no way Hogwarts wouldn’t take her.”
The unspoken admission that there was a chance Hogwarts wouldn’t take Pansy may go unnoticed by Parvati, but Padma catches it and meets Pansy’s eyes. Both girls look away, blushing.
“Will we be friends at Hogwarts, do you think?” Padma asks, all earnest eyes and dreams of splendor.
Pansy doesn’t nod, doesn’t even turn to look at her. “Yes,” she says, without question.
“Promise?” Padma asks, boldly.
There is a moment that hangs between the three girls like a spider’s web, wrapping them in silk and keeping them still. Pansy meets Padma’s eyes and says, “Parkinsons don’t make promises.”
1998.
“Parkinson’s been sentenced to eighteen months,” Anthony tells her at breakfast their first day back at Hogwarts. “I’m sorry.”
Padma shrugs like it doesn’t matter and continues to butter her toast. Next to her, Luna is pouring salt onto her eggs and reading The Quibbler. After almost a year of dating, the two girls don’t need to spend every meal talking. They’ve slipped into a comfortable life quite easily, after a year of much too much excitement.
“She didn’t want anything to do with me the last two years,” Padma says, as she and Anthony make their way to class a few minutes later, Luna safely wandering in the opposite direction. “Why should I care about her now?”
Anthony almost laughs. “I’ve seen the way you used to look at her, Padma. You can shag Looney all you want. You can’t shag away feelings.”
She breaks up with Luna in October. There is no one else for another seventeen months.
1991.
“Parkinson, Pansy.”
Padma holds her breath. They all know where Pansy will be sorted, there hasn’t been a Parkinson outside of Slytherin in five generations. Still, there’s always hope.
Except not, because it takes all of ten seconds for the Hat to shout out, “Slytherin,” and Padma’s name to be called. She sits down, thinking Slytherin wouldn’t be too bad.
“It would be terrible for someone as earnest as you are,” the Hat tells her. She shrugs and thinks that the Hat should put her wherever it pleases then, if it’s not going to take her feelings into consideration.
“Ravenclaw, would be best for you. If you don’t want to get hurt.” She nods and the Hat announces its decision. She only wishes one of them had known how much trouble that decision will cause in the next decade. She could have handled getting hurt.
2002.
“I don’t like Mata’s friend,” Cadence tells Pansy as the three of them make dinner. At five years old, their adopted daughter is full of opinions and ideas. Usually, Padma and Pansy try to foster this independent thought. But dislike is something both mothers agree needs to be addressed.
Pansy turns to her daughter, “Which one?” she asks, because unlike Pansy, Padma has more than one friend.
Cadence looks at Pansy and says, “Mandy.” Mandy Brocklehurst is one of Padma’s oldest friends, the only other Ravenclaw girl to survive from their year. She is one of Padma’s dearest friends.
Pansy gawks for a moment. Even she likes Mandy, and she doesn’t like anyone. “Why don’t you like Mandy, Cady?”
“She’s a mudblood,” Cadence replies, eyes earnest.
When Pansy slaps Cadence, neither she nor Padma is expecting it. There is a second of stunned silence, and then Pansy leaves the room.
In the kitchen, both Padma and Cadence are crying.
1992.
When Justin is attacked, Parvati freaks out. Not that either one of them is particularly close to their Hufflepuff contemporary. Still, it’s enough to frighten anyone, and Parvati, for all her Gryffindor courage, has always had weak nerves. Padma tries her best to comfort her younger twin, but it’s to no avail.
The next day, in Charms, Pansy is sitting at the table in front of Padma. She leans over to Daphne and whispers, “Maybe the monster can get rid of all the mudbloods.” There’s disgust in her voice that makes Padma shiver. She didn’t think anyone would actually want the monster to succeed.
She learns, in that moment, that even girls as pretty as Pansy Parkinson can be mean. The realization scares her. How are they going to find the monster if anyone is capable of evil?
1995.
Pansy goes to the Yule Ball with Malfoy and Padma attends the event with Weasley. The two girls do not make eye-contact the entire night. At fourteen, neither one of them understands the butterflies that arise in their respective stomachs every time they sit together in Ancient Runes or in the Library studying. Padma will admit she’s jealous of the way Malfoy twirls Pansy around on the dance floor. Pansy will never admit she’s jealous of anything Weasley does, but she does get a bit angry when Padma laughs at one of Potter’s jokes.
By the end of the night, Padma’s a bit too bored to care about anything other than taking off her shoes and going back to her room. She’s paying so little attention to her surroundings that she almost misses the mess of dark curls in the corner, straddling some Beauxbatons girl with red hair and eyes the color of the Great Lake.
She almost misses it, but she doesn’t. And when the girl looks over Pansy’s shoulder and catches Padma’s eye, there isn’t enough time to look away, to pretend she wasn’t gawking.
Padma doesn’t know what it is the Beauxbatons’ student whispers in Pansy’s ear, and Pansy doesn’t remember. Whatever it is, Pansy tears her lips away from the crick of the redhead’s neck and turns to look at Padma. The look on Pansy’s face isn’t quite guilt, but it’s close enough.
Padma walks to the tower slowly, dragging one foot after the other, and staunchly reminding herself that Pansy’s allowed to be with whomever she pleases.
Parkinsons don’t make promises.
2006.
Cadence runs through the fields behind their house, her long blonde curls wild in the sunlight. Pansy watches from the kitchen window as she washes the vegetables and cuts the meat, forever grateful that the Ministry didn’t think it necessary to snap her wand and ban her magic. Padma will be home in a few minutes, and as it’s a Tuesday, she’ll be expecting dinner the moment she walks through the door.
They live in Greece, where Padma studies Ancient Runes for the International Coalition of Ancient Studies and Pansy works as a manual laborer at the unicorn reservation. This is what happens to those who didn’t take their NEWTS because they were rotting in Azkaban. They’re safe here, far away from those who want to kill anyone who was on the wrong side of a war that ended eight years before.
Pansy’s not bitter anymore, but it’s hard to get the taste out of her mouth.
“Pads,” she asks, when the front door opens. Without waiting for a response she says, “Are you happy?”
There isn’t a moment of hesitation. “Of course,” her lover says, wrapping her arms around Pansy’s hips. “I have a gorgeous partner, a beautiful little girl, and a home of my own. What more could I want?”
“England,” Pansy suggests, trying not to let the guilt edge into her voice.
Padma kisses her cheek. “No,” she says, picking up the tray of vegetables and placing them on the table. “No, P. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere I couldn’t be with you.”
“We could try,” Pansy suggests, moving the meat from the counter to the table with a twist of her wrist. Padma goes to the door and calls for Cadence to come inside.
“Not yet,” Padma says, “Not until I know for sure it won’t endanger our life.”
And it’s the way she makes their life singular that convinces Pansy everything will be alright. She wonders if Padma’s aware of that grammatical comfort.
Knowing her Ravenclaw, Pansy’s sure Padma used that phrase on purpose.
2000.
“I want,” Padma whispers, the words ripped from her throat like a broken necklace, the syllables falling like pearls across Pansy’s body. “I want, please.”
Pansy smirks against Padma’s collarbone, nipping the sensitive flesh there until it turns a darker brown. “You want what, love?” she asks, her fingers tracing patterns against the smaller woman’s inner thigh, her nails scrapping up and down in teasing circles.
“Please,” Padma preens, spreading her legs wider, meeting Pansy’s eyes, silently urging her closer to the juncture between her thighs. Pansy is resolute, however, and moves her lips slowly downward, her tongue dancing over Padma’s skin as though it were rich honey instead of flesh and muscle. Her teeth take hold of Padma’s right nipple, teasing it to hardness. Padma arches off the bed beneath them, twisting her body so as to get closer to Pansy’s teasing fingers.
“Please what, love?” and if Pansy’s voice is softer than Padma’s ever heard it, now is not the time to vocalize that observation. There’s a hitch in Pansy’s breathing that Padma won’t point out either, although it makes her feel more beautiful than she’s ever felt. She rolls her body against Pansy’s mouth and hands, and Pansy’s tongue against her nipple and her fingernails on her thighs both stutter.
Emboldened, Padma says, “I want you to make love to me.” Because she could have said shag, but this is their first time, and she’s been infatuated with Pansy for over a decade. If tonight is going to push that infatuation over the edge into something more, than she doesn’t want to be a quick shag in a back alley. They’re wrapped beneath the sheets of Pansy’s bed, and Padma will be damned if tonight doesn’t mean something.
Pansy pulls back, meeting Padma’s eyes. “Are you sure?” she asks. Her voice is still soft, with a slight husky edge that could be lust but could also be something more. Padma’s not about to press her luck.
“Yeah,” Padma answers, grabbing the hand Pansy’s been using to tease her. She pushes Pansy’s hand against the heat emanating from between her legs. Pansy licks her lips in response, and Padma knows this is what they both want more than anything. “Pansy, baby, you’ve got what you want right in front of you,” she breathes, rolling her hips into Pansy’s touch, “Take it.”
Two fingers slide in easily, but as good as it feels, it’s not enough. Padma tears her eyes away from Pansy’s hand to look into her lover’s eyes. Pansy is looking at her with such rapt attention, that Padma can feel her entire body burn. It’s enough to make her desperate. She starts to roll her hips in time with Pansy’s thrusts. Like an ocean, each wave crashes against Pansy’s palm and crests with the nipple in Pansy’s mouth. They catch a rhythm that causes both to moan.
Padma’s pushed over the edge within ten minutes, her body shaking and her voice strangled. It takes her a moment to realize she’s screaming.
It’s not until she’s stopped shaking that Pansy’s mouth leaves her nipple and moves against her neck. “Mine,” she whispers against Padma’s sweating flesh.
“Yes,” Padma decides in that moment, “Yours.”
She moves her hand down Pansy’s body and curls her fingers inside her. Pansy’s staked her claim, now it’s time for Padma to make hers.
2001.
Padma opens the book on her bedside table. Its title, Advance Nordic Runes, is worn away, but still glows light blue in the morning sun. Beside her, Pansy is snoring softly. It’s barely six, no need to wake her yet.
Padma opens the book to the ear-marked page and tries to focus on the runes before her. Her eyes have a different plan, and keep inching over the edge of the book to take in Pansy’s sleeping form. A year together, and still Padma can’t help but gawk at her lover’s beauty.
“You’re staring,” Pansy says, her voice soft and still laced with sleep. “Is there a reason?”
Padma drags her eyes up Pansy’s body to meet the other woman’s eyes. “Just appraising what’s mine,” she says, her voice light and teasing.
Pansy nods, smirks a bit, and says, “Planning to keep me, then?”
“Forever,” Padma admits, before she can stop herself. The fear in Pansy’s eyes proves that Padma’s said too much, moved too fast, lost the Slytherin game she’s been forced to play the last year and a half. She blushes copper and returns her eyes to her book, hoping Pansy will fall back asleep and remember this as only a dream.
Instead, Pansy takes the book from Padma’s hand and sits up properly. She kisses Padma softly and says, “Forever.” It’s an echo and an affirmation, a question and a declaration. More than a dream, it’s a promise.
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For the Love of Pansy (Round 1) Masterlist