Fic: Whitchka (Percy Weasley/Pansy Parkinson)
Title: Whitchka
Author: amazonmink
Characters: Percy Weasley, Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy
Prompt number: 278
Word Count: 1,000
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: Pansy cannot resist a man in spectacles. Never could.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his universe aren’t mine. I just play in it.
Author’s Notes: This was a lot of fun to write, I hope you enjoy it! Many thanks for the beta - you know who you are!
Whitchka
It was ridiculous. Beyond ridiculous, it was absolutely absurd. Disgraceful. Distracting.
Those gods-bedamned tortoise shell rimmed spectacles that perched on the end of Percy Weasley’s long nose were catching on the lights of conference room, and Pansy hadn’t been able tear her eyes off of him. She had nearly dropped her quill as his long, elegant fingers adjusted them at the hinge. No, there was not the inelegant push of the middle up the bridge of his nose with an index finger.
She noticed that the edges would get smudged by specs of ink on his fingers if Percy adjusted his glasses that way. He was fastidious about keeping the lenses clean. He even had a special cloth he used, as if he didn’t trust the numerous charms she knew he had to know to keep them clean.
Good Merlin, if she didn’t know any better, she would have thought Percy Weasley had put a lust attraction charm on his spectacles.
*
This spectacle obsession hadn’t started with Weasley. No, indeed it had not. It had started with Draco Malfoy, in their sixth year at Hogwarts. A little known, highly cherished, and very useful for future black mail fact: Draco Malfoy wore spectacles to read. She would sit and watch him in his rooms, at his desk, silver rims perched firmly on his aristocratic nose. There were bits of parchment with notes on them, and the smell of ink and paper became nothing short of lust inducing. More often than not, she was the one who pulled the spectacles off of his face before putting her mouth to his, demanding he sate the newly found lust burning in her.
*
The first time Percy had kissed Pansy had been after an interminably long planning session. It didn’t even really count as a first kiss, since she could hardly be considered a participant. She had slipped off her stiletto heels, long forgotten as her feet curled under her where she sat on the floor, peering crossed eyed at a ledger. Percy was out of his usual robes, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal lightly haired and freckled arms. Pansy was surprised to see the wiry cording there; she had thought Weasley was nothing but a book worm.
Frustrated, Pansy made a sharp quip about making sure the ambassadors from Monaco weren’t making the budget out from their arses. Percy whooped, threw down his quill, and smacked his lips against hers, declaring her “brilliant”.
He ran off down the hall, shouting for their respective supervisors.
Pansy sat, stunned, her hand running over her lips and frustrated lust curling in her belly.
*
He always smelled like India Ink No. 7 in Perfectly Black, the parchment paper from Smythson’s Stationary, and cinnamon. She found herself searching out the spicy candies from her youth, the scent intoxicating. She hoped they were discreet in the bowl on the desk in her office.
She found herself reaching for them more often than not, idly wondering what it would do to her figure. Not that it mattered. Percy acted like nothing had happened that late night. It was all she could think about, damn him.
Every time she saw the hint of tortoiseshell, her mind went back to the chaste act that was never mentioned.
Pansy thought perhaps all of the inbreeding in her family line, not that she would ever admit it aloud, was finally causing her to go completely mad. She entertained this thought for a mere few moments before her eyes narrowed in distaste.
Another cinnamon candy popped into her mouth and she crunched down on it, hard, while beginning to form plans. Devious plans. Bespectacled plans.
*
Infuriating, bespectacled man.
He did not notice the slim black pencil skirt that hugged her curves, nor the jewel tones that brought out her coloring. The silk of her shirts as she deliberately brushed past him, using the excuse of crowded meetings and a tiny office to move delicately, suggestively, against Percy.
He did not notice the extra care she took with her hair, the scent of her rose perfume dabbed most delicately in her décolletage.
No, he did not notice when his tea was perfectly prepared and always at the perfect temperature, no matter when his hand went to it in the late nights pouring over trade regulations.
He didn’t notice the dinners that were edible and not from the Ministry cafeteria.
The time was past to be subtle. The time for cunning and plans were past due. He was oblivious.
He did notice when, full of desperation and irritation, Pansy pulled his face to hers and pressed her lips against his.
*
She was deeply satisfied when Percy allowed her to run her fingers across the bridge of his nose and trace the round rims framing blue eyes that crinkled in the corners when he smiled, which he did now, smug satisfaction playing in his expression.
“I told you that I don’t bite,” he said, voice low. “Unless that’s what you wish.”
He did, too, as the marks on her neck and the insides of her thighs could evidence.
“Why don’t you take your specs off, ever? You even take baths with them on,” Pansy wondered aloud as she curled into his lap, in the big leather chair in the excuse of a habitat he called his flat.
Percy mouth pulled into what could be called a smile, except for the hints of wicked dancing in his eyes. One hand danced along her spine, tracing each bump, each indention, causing the flesh under his attention to ripple.
“If I took my specs off, I couldn’t see your face when you’re under me -- biting your lip, because you don’t want to make too much noise. I couldn’t watch the blush spread across your chest and face at the height of your pleasure,” was his quiet, serious reply.
“Oh,” she whispered, eyes darkening, lips curling. “Well, we wouldn’t want you to be deprived.”
Author: amazonmink
Characters: Percy Weasley, Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy
Prompt number: 278
Word Count: 1,000
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: Pansy cannot resist a man in spectacles. Never could.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his universe aren’t mine. I just play in it.
Author’s Notes: This was a lot of fun to write, I hope you enjoy it! Many thanks for the beta - you know who you are!
Whitchka
It was ridiculous. Beyond ridiculous, it was absolutely absurd. Disgraceful. Distracting.
Those gods-bedamned tortoise shell rimmed spectacles that perched on the end of Percy Weasley’s long nose were catching on the lights of conference room, and Pansy hadn’t been able tear her eyes off of him. She had nearly dropped her quill as his long, elegant fingers adjusted them at the hinge. No, there was not the inelegant push of the middle up the bridge of his nose with an index finger.
She noticed that the edges would get smudged by specs of ink on his fingers if Percy adjusted his glasses that way. He was fastidious about keeping the lenses clean. He even had a special cloth he used, as if he didn’t trust the numerous charms she knew he had to know to keep them clean.
Good Merlin, if she didn’t know any better, she would have thought Percy Weasley had put a lust attraction charm on his spectacles.
*
This spectacle obsession hadn’t started with Weasley. No, indeed it had not. It had started with Draco Malfoy, in their sixth year at Hogwarts. A little known, highly cherished, and very useful for future black mail fact: Draco Malfoy wore spectacles to read. She would sit and watch him in his rooms, at his desk, silver rims perched firmly on his aristocratic nose. There were bits of parchment with notes on them, and the smell of ink and paper became nothing short of lust inducing. More often than not, she was the one who pulled the spectacles off of his face before putting her mouth to his, demanding he sate the newly found lust burning in her.
*
The first time Percy had kissed Pansy had been after an interminably long planning session. It didn’t even really count as a first kiss, since she could hardly be considered a participant. She had slipped off her stiletto heels, long forgotten as her feet curled under her where she sat on the floor, peering crossed eyed at a ledger. Percy was out of his usual robes, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal lightly haired and freckled arms. Pansy was surprised to see the wiry cording there; she had thought Weasley was nothing but a book worm.
Frustrated, Pansy made a sharp quip about making sure the ambassadors from Monaco weren’t making the budget out from their arses. Percy whooped, threw down his quill, and smacked his lips against hers, declaring her “brilliant”.
He ran off down the hall, shouting for their respective supervisors.
Pansy sat, stunned, her hand running over her lips and frustrated lust curling in her belly.
*
He always smelled like India Ink No. 7 in Perfectly Black, the parchment paper from Smythson’s Stationary, and cinnamon. She found herself searching out the spicy candies from her youth, the scent intoxicating. She hoped they were discreet in the bowl on the desk in her office.
She found herself reaching for them more often than not, idly wondering what it would do to her figure. Not that it mattered. Percy acted like nothing had happened that late night. It was all she could think about, damn him.
Every time she saw the hint of tortoiseshell, her mind went back to the chaste act that was never mentioned.
Pansy thought perhaps all of the inbreeding in her family line, not that she would ever admit it aloud, was finally causing her to go completely mad. She entertained this thought for a mere few moments before her eyes narrowed in distaste.
Another cinnamon candy popped into her mouth and she crunched down on it, hard, while beginning to form plans. Devious plans. Bespectacled plans.
*
Infuriating, bespectacled man.
He did not notice the slim black pencil skirt that hugged her curves, nor the jewel tones that brought out her coloring. The silk of her shirts as she deliberately brushed past him, using the excuse of crowded meetings and a tiny office to move delicately, suggestively, against Percy.
He did not notice the extra care she took with her hair, the scent of her rose perfume dabbed most delicately in her décolletage.
No, he did not notice when his tea was perfectly prepared and always at the perfect temperature, no matter when his hand went to it in the late nights pouring over trade regulations.
He didn’t notice the dinners that were edible and not from the Ministry cafeteria.
The time was past to be subtle. The time for cunning and plans were past due. He was oblivious.
He did notice when, full of desperation and irritation, Pansy pulled his face to hers and pressed her lips against his.
*
She was deeply satisfied when Percy allowed her to run her fingers across the bridge of his nose and trace the round rims framing blue eyes that crinkled in the corners when he smiled, which he did now, smug satisfaction playing in his expression.
“I told you that I don’t bite,” he said, voice low. “Unless that’s what you wish.”
He did, too, as the marks on her neck and the insides of her thighs could evidence.
“Why don’t you take your specs off, ever? You even take baths with them on,” Pansy wondered aloud as she curled into his lap, in the big leather chair in the excuse of a habitat he called his flat.
Percy mouth pulled into what could be called a smile, except for the hints of wicked dancing in his eyes. One hand danced along her spine, tracing each bump, each indention, causing the flesh under his attention to ripple.
“If I took my specs off, I couldn’t see your face when you’re under me -- biting your lip, because you don’t want to make too much noise. I couldn’t watch the blush spread across your chest and face at the height of your pleasure,” was his quiet, serious reply.
“Oh,” she whispered, eyes darkening, lips curling. “Well, we wouldn’t want you to be deprived.”