fic: Inside Out
So, I just wanted some PWP and I ended up with 10 pages of plot. Why...why must I always have plot? And the smut wasn't as good as I wanted it to be because by the time I got there, my mood had been gone...for days.
Title: Inside Out
Rating: R, for language and sex
Summary: Spurned lovers, strong booze, revenge sex. And it's all Draco's fault. (when is it not?) Ron/Pansy, (with extra helpings of Ron/Hermione, Draco/Hermione, Draco/Blaise/Pansy)
A/N: this is dedicated to pirateluver because if it weren't for her, I never would have finished this. Comments will be pounced upon because, wow, I haven't written in ages.
Inside Out
I remember it well…
It had been two days since Hermione Granger had announced, with her usual smarter-than-thou tone of voice, that she wanted a divorce. Ron Weasley vividly recalled how he sat across from her at the dining table that night, staring at his steak and kidney pie and realizing that he’d never be able to eat that dish again because it would forever remind him of the feeling in his stomach as Hermione told him that she had fallen in love with someone else. After two turbulent years of marriage, just when the outlook was beginning to brighten, Hermione had siphoned their union as easily as a guillotine blade falling to sever a head. And Ron could do absolutely nothing expect watch his whole life crumble at her feet. With a fork clenched in his right hand, he looked at his plate-looking at Hermione was out of the question-and found his appetite diminishing with each of Hermione’s confessions.
I died when you mentioned his name.
"Who is it?" he asked without looking up.
"Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Ron." she said. Her voice was light and whimsical. Ron hated her for it. How could she be so damned cheerful when she was making him feel like a piece of shit? How could she be doing this to him after all they’d been through together, after everything they’d overcome?
"Making this harder? I’m not the one demanding a bloody divorce!" he snapped, still refusing to give his soon-to-be ex-wife eye contact.
"Let’s not fight, Ron. Not tonight. Not again."
"Then tell me who it is." he said through gritted teeth.
"Ron." she hesitated.
"TELL ME!"
She shot him an angry glare and crossed her arms over her chest. "Draco." she said simply, the lightness of her voice now gone.
It took him a moment to realize that he was about to be sick. And all over their best tablecloth. It was a shame, really. He lifted his eyes from his dinner plate and stared at Hermione. He hoped that she could see every emotion on his face. Anger, hatred, betrayal. "Malfoy?" he asked. His mouth was dry, making it difficult to speak.
"Yes Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." she snapped irritably, "How many Dracos do we know, Ronald?"
He shot up from his seat, his fork falling to his plate with a deafening clatter. With his hands resting on the back of his neck, he paced the length of their small dining room. In his mind he tried to go back and find any indication, any hint while they were at school, but he found nothing but an arrogant little prick that preyed on other innocent children just for sheer amusement. How could she possibly fall in love with that?
"Say something, Ron." Hermione said. Her voice was weak now and he was satisfied that this was becoming painful for her as well.
He stopped pacing and looked at her. He saw everything that he always loved about her vanish with the thought of her in love with Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, of all people! Something took hold of him in that moment, something dark and hurtful. "Did you sleep with him?" he asked, trying to keep his anger in check.
"Oh god," she cried desperately.
"Did you sleep with Malfoy?" he repeated.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Why am I-why am I?" his voice was shrill, "You fucked him, didn’t you? Tell me you didn’t fuck him, Hermione."
Hermione’s eyes fell to the table, tears dripping onto her dinner.
It was all the answer Ron needed. He closed his eyes for a moment, suppressing the urge to break things, and exhaled with betrayal, "Bitch."
"It’s only been a couple times." Hermione said, as if that was any comfort to Ron now.
Ron laughed loudly, he was bordering on hysterical. "What the fuck, Hermione?" he said in disbelief, "Does he call you a mudblood while you’re riding him? Do you like that?"
"Ron!" Hermione shrieked; her face flushed with embarrassment or anger, Ron neither knew nor cared.
Visions of Hermione writhing naked against Malfoy, his tongue laving her breasts, one hand snared in her wild hair while the other… "I’m going to be sick." he said miserably, falling back into his chair and running his hands through his ginger hair. Then with a nauseated realization, Ron looked at Hermione. "That’s where you were earlier today. You didn’t go see your parents like you told me. You were with him."
"Yes." Hermione said. And Ron thought she almost sounded ashamed.
"Bloody hell, Hermione, I can smell him on you."
"Don’t be dramatic, Ron." Hermione said peevishly.
"I can’t believe this." he said, shaking his head. They fell into an uncomfortable silence.
"I never meant to hurt you." she said finally.
"Did you honestly think ‘I want a divorce, Ron,’ ‘I’ve fallen in love with Draco Malfoy, Ron,’ ‘He calls me awful things when we fuck and I like it, Ron,’ wouldn’t hurt me?!" he asked incredulously.
"You’re not being fair." Hermione said pathetically.
"I’m not being fair." Ron mocked her. Was she bloody serious?
"I don’t know, Ron. It just happened so suddenly. He’s changed, you know, ever since he came over to our side. He’s a different man," Hermione explained.
"He may be different, but that still doesn’t change the fact that you’re married. To me." he reminded her.
"I’m so sorry," she breathed, "But you knew it would be like this in the end. We aren’t suited for each other. Not without Harry always there to tell us when we’re being complete idiots. It never would have worked in the long run. Whether it was you or me, it was only a matter of time before something like this happened."
Ron wanted to shake her. He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t like that at all. That he never dreamed of being with anyone else but her. That it took work to make a marriage last and he had worked like hell to keep this one going. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he had loved her. Right now, all he felt was empty. But when he opened his mouth to speak, he realized that if he stayed in this house for another minute he would suffocate. He couldn’t be here anymore. Not with Hermione. Not with this awful new knowledge. Not with this blasted steak and kidney pie.
"I-I have to go." he said suddenly, standing up again.
Hermione stood as well, blocking the doorway. "No, Ron, don’t do this. We have to talk."
But Ron pushed past her, revolted by her gentle touch. "No, Hermione. Let me go."
Here’s to the man with his face in the mud.
When Ron, drunk and exhausted, returned just before dawn the next morning he found the dining room table exactly how they had left it the night before. Hermione was gone. She had left a note-an address where to find her-and told him to come to her when he was ready to talk.
Ron wasn’t sure when he’d ever be able to talk about this again. So, he packed a trunk full of clothes and firewhiskey, set their wedding portrait on fire, and left.
Ironically, it so happened that only two days later Ron found himself talking about it to someone most unlikely…
Here’s to you and your lover boy.
Every drink Ron knocked back-and the number was considerable-in the past two days was not complete without a toast.
To failed marriages.
To unfaithful wives.
To Hermione and her incredible tact.
To Malfoy, the son of a bitch.
To Draco and Hermione, may they live the rest of their lives in misery together.
He took each drink with growing bitterness, sinking lower and lower into this filthy pit of abandon. He had only slept a few hours in the two days since Hermione left him. He didn’t like to sleep, anyway. His dreams betrayed him, brought him visions of happier times. He didn’t need those things right now. At the moment, he wanted to wallow. He wanted to get pissed and not have a care in the world. Because caring had been his ultimate demise.
"Shit," Ron hissed. His head throbbed.
He had started his two day binge at the Three Broomsticks and by eleven the first night Madam Rosmerta has politely told Ron that she wouldn’t serve him another drink until he had had a good night’s rest. Ron told her he had nowhere to go and Rosmerta offered him a room upstairs, free of charge.
Ron didn’t remember climbing the stairs to the dingy rooms above the pub. He didn’t remember Rosmerta following him to make sure he didn’t fall and break his neck. What he did remember was thanking Rosmerta and then kissing her. He remembered a sobering slap across his face and Rosmerta’s shrill voice telling him to leave and never come back.
This brought him to the Hog’s Head, and though it provided anonymity and cheap booze, it reminded Ron of his fifth year and Hermione’s brilliance with the D.A.. If he closed his eyes he could imagine their group over in the corner, he could see Hermione.
Ron shook his head angrily, making his head ache even more, and threw back the rest of his drink. He didn’t want to think about Hermione anymore. When he thought about her, he thought about Malfoy and that only led to more anger and bitterness. He nodded to the old bartender and watched him as he poured a smoking amber liquid into his glass. Ron didn’t know what it was, but it made the back of his throat burn and his head numb, and he didn’t care. To never caring about anything again. He brought the tumbler to his lips and took a long sip.
I can’t take my eyes off of you.
"You’re in my seat." A female voice sounded behind Ron’s ear.
Ron scowled and did not turn in his chair to see who had the nerve to speak to him. He knew for a fact that there were only three other people in the pub (counting the bartender) and that there was plenty of seating still available. Ron waved a hand, looking straight ahead. "You can sit anywhere you like, but this seat is taken." he said.
He heard the woman’s cold laugh. "Anyone who comes here on a regular basis knows that I come here every Tuesday night and sit on this barstool. So, you can sit anywhere you like, but this seat is mine." she said coolly.
Ron looked at the bartender who nodded his head sheepishly as if to say, She’s right, you know. Ron rolled his eyes and threw back the rest of his drink. He slammed the tumbler on the bar dramatically and then turned to look at the annoying woman.
He recognized the woman instantly, though he only knew of her from afar, really. Seeing her this close up, he noticed that her skin was flawless and her facial features were less pug-like than they were just small and delicate. Like the face of a china doll on the body of a woman. She was thin, but not bony. Her short, raven hair framed her face; a few wisps fell into her dark eyes. Ron could tell they were brown but only because of the heavy black eyeliner that encircled them. He found himself discovering that Pansy Parkinson had outgrown her role as Slytherin’s Pain-in-the-Arse Princess and had become the Hog’s Head’s Bitch Goddess.
"Oh, it’s you," she snarled, upon seeing Ron’s face.
Ron’s scowl only deepened. "Hello to you, too, Parkinson."
Pansy glared at him. "Well," she said, "get out of my seat."
Ron smiled at her, letting the alcohol do the talking for him. "Give me one good reason why."
Pansy’s expression darkened and a cool smile spread across her lips. In a flash, she withdrew her wand from her robes and jabbed it well below Ron’s navel. His eyes widened in surprise. "Because if you don’t," she said viciously, "I’ll hex your balls off and feed them to my pet Fwooper."
Ron heard the bartender cover a laugh with a hacking cough, but he himself found nothing funny about the present situation. He lifted his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Have your damn seat."
Pansy eyed him suspiciously for a moment before she lowered her wand and tucked it back inside her robes. Ron let out an imperceptible sigh of relief and slid off the barstool. He made a show of pulling out the stool for her, gesturing at it with a slight bow, his hand outstretched to her. "For the Queen of the Hog’s Head." he said, careful not to slur his words. (How many drinks had he had already tonight?)
Pansy lifted an eyebrow, but could not mask the slight smile on her face. "As it should be, worthless peon." she said, almost playfully, and took Ron’s hand.
As he helped her onto the stool, her robes fell open a bit and he caught a glimpse of her long, white legs and a tiny Slytherin green skirt covering not nearly as much thigh as it ought. Ron dropped her hand unceremoniously as he felt a good amount of blood rush to a certain southerly part of his anatomy. He sat down on the stool next to her and scooted all the way in. This was Pansy Parkinson, no need to get an erection, he told himself. But did that really matter? the other part of his conscience argued. This was, after all, a new and much improved Pansy Parkinson. Well, physically anyway, Ron thought, her social skills could use some work.
Pansy signaled the bartender who gave her a clean glass and filled it with a bright orange liquid. He looked at Ron, who nodded, and filled his glass with the same menacing-looking drink. Ron waited until the bartender limped his way to the other side of the bar and started cleaning the bar with a disgusting towel before he turned to look at Pansy.
"I’m not a ‘worthless peon,’" he said peevishly, "If you recall, I come from a family of pure blood, just like you."
Without looking at him, she considered her glass for a moment before taking a sip. She screwed her face up for a moment after she swallowed, but then it returned to that usual look of indifference. "You come from a family of muggle lovers and blood traitors. Hardly pureblood, if you ask me." she said simply.
Ron lifted his glass to his lips and sniffed. His eyes burned and started watering. Whatever this stuff was, it was strong. He took a gulp and almost choked when he felt the liquid pour down his throat. It felt like there was a blazing fire in his mouth and then as quickly as the heat had come, it transformed into a soothing ice-cold feeling.
"What is this stuff?" he asked, inspecting his glass.
Pansy was already having her glass refilled. She thanked the bartender and then turned to Ron, smirking at him. "Le Feu et Glace. Great stuff, no?"
"Amazing." Ron said, not sure if he meant to describe the drink or Pansy. I’m in for a load of trouble tonight, he thought, but he wasn’t worried.
To Pansy, he toasted mentally, and her le Fue et Glace.
I’ve got a beauty queen to sit not very far from me.
They couldn’t have been talking for more than an hour, but then again, it could have been three. Time seemed transfixed. Whether from the dim candlelight or hazy atmosphere of the bar, the Hog’s Head and its occupants felt exempt from the normal rules of minutes and hours, free to float in this ambiguous oblivion without consequence. Ron, mesmerized, watched and listened to Pansy speak about everything from politics to high art to her latest dalliance in the socialite world that pureblood aristocracy had created hundreds of years ago. He couldn’t get enough of her stories, but at long last their conversation lulled, and Ron was able to ask the question that had plagued him since the moment he laid eyes on Pansy Parkinson that evening.
"So, you come here every Tuesday and get pissed?" he asked. He was on his third le Feu et Glace.
"Yes and no." Pansy said, eyeing him critically.
"Well, which is it?" he asked.
"Yes, I come here every Tuesday and no, I don’t always get drunk." She replied as if she were instructing a child in a very important task, slow and deliberate.
"Why?" Ron asked.
"That’s none of your business, really." quipped Pansy.
"It just seems a bit…off…that’s all." Ron said.
"You’re drunk."
"Probably, but I mean, the Hog’s Head? Isn’t this place a bit below standards of the high and mighty Pansy Parkinson?" he asked.
Pansy shrugged. "I like it here. I can come here and not have to worry about what people think of me. I can be invisible. Usually I don’t run into former classmates."
Ron smiled and clinked his glass against Pansy’s. "To coincidences." he toasted and took another sip.
Pansy drank and smiled at him. It was odd. He was so used to seeing her sixteen year old sneer. She set her glass down and leaned her elbow against the bar, resting her head in her hand.
"So, why are you here, Ron Weasley?" she said, pointing a faux accusatory finger at him. If Ron wasn’t so busy wallowing in his own self pity, he would have noticed that Pansy was flirting with him. "Why aren’t you at home with your wife? I remember seeing it in the papers. Weasel Bee and Granger married. Perfect fairytale ending to your victorious little war. Potthead was your Best Man, if I recall correctly?"
"She left me." Ron said with out hesitation. It was easier than he expected. Opening up so soon to an almost stranger and yet it didn’t feel weird to say it. Hermione had left him. His whole life was shattered. He could do nothing about it.
Pansy’s eyes widened. "No," she breathed, "Are you serious?"
Ron nodded and then something clicked. Everything came into a horribly clear focus. He let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, you’re going to love this."
"What?" Pansy asked, leaning into him. And Ron felt that for once, she was genuinely interested in what he had to say.
"Hermione wants a divorce because she fucked and fell in love with another man. Oh god," Ron said, dissolving into laughter.
"Who?" Pansy asked anxiously. She grabbed onto his arm..
Ron stared at her pale fingers clutching at the stiff material of his shirt. He couldn’t stop laughing. "Oh, it’s just so perfect. So bloody perfect!"
"What?! Who was it?" she was pawing at him now, just itching for information.
Ron’s laughter finally calmed. He leaned in close to Pansy. To his surprise, she didn’t back away. She actually leaned in, her face eager for gossip. "Draco. Malfoy." He breathed.
The name seemed to float in the air between them for a moment. Neither of them spoke, they merely stared at each other until Pansy finally looked away and started laughing.
Ron couldn’t help but chuckle with her. He had never seen Pansy truly laugh before. She looked absolutely gorgeous when she laughed. He didn’t know why she found Draco Malfoy to be so amusing.
"Pansy," Ron began, "You’re-"
But Pansy had stopped laughing. She shook her head, silencing Ron, and then before he could say another word she had leaned over and pressed her lips to his. Before his slowed reflexes could even react to the gentle tease of her tongue, she had pulled away.
She smiled at him, a seductive pull of her tiny lips. "Do you want to get out of here?" she asked, her fingers had mysteriously found their way to Ron’s thigh.
Ron wasn’t sure what had changed in the span of the last few minutes, but he was pretty sure it was in his favor. There was still so much he wanted to ask her, to tell her, but Pansy had just kissed him and all he could think about was her lips and the ever growing pressure in his trousers.
He did not have to even think twice before he said, "Yeah, sure."
Pansy pulled him by the hand from the smoky bar and out into the thick night air. She was giggling and smiling and Ron had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
"Ron Weasley." she said playfully, drawing close. Ron, suddenly thrilled by the thought of snogging another woman in public, hoped that Pansy would kiss him again. But she bypassed his mouth and moved her lips to his ear.
"Oh…fuck." he almost moaned when he felt her tongue hot against his earlobe. She whispered something into his ear and then pulled away, her eyes sparkling with mischief in the moonlight. And then she turned and started walking down the street. Ron watched her take five steps and then she apparated with a crack.
He followed a second later.
You wanna get burned, you wanna get turned, you wanna get fucked inside out.
Ron had expected Pansy’s home to be decorated in the archetype Slytherin fashion, with dark wood, silver snake-like fixtures, and deep green linens, but the moment he materialized in her bedroom, yet another theory he held about Pansy Parkinson was proved wrong. The first thing that caught his attention was her behemoth of a bed. Sheer, jewel-toned silks cascaded from the ceiling to envelop the bed. Ron thought it could pass for some sort of sacrificial altar to the gods.
Ron was just about to call out for Pansy, when he felt her arms wrap around him from behind. "There you are." she said when he spun around in her arms.
He wanted to say something about her impeccable knack for interior design, but decided it might dampen the mood a bit. So instead, he shot her a half-smile. "Here I am." He whispered before leaning down and capturing Pansy’s lips with his own.
She let out a tiny purr of assent and slid her arms up around Ron’s neck. He kissed her with a fierceness he didn’t know he had, and Pansy did everything possible to keep up with him. He pushed her robes off her shoulders and they fell, pooling at their feet.
Ron groaned desperately when Pansy sucked his lower lip into her mouth and gently nibbled on it. She pulled away and smiled devilishly at him before moving her lips to his neck. Ron buried his face in her hair and ran his hands over her back and down the subtle curve of her arse. She smelled of lavender and cigarette smoke; it intoxicated him, but in the back of his mind, Pansy’s reaction to his mention of Draco Malfoy plagued him. Why had she laughed? And how in God’s name did they end up here less than five minutes after that?
"You dated oh," Ron choked on his words when he felt Pansy bite on his neck, "Draco, didn’t you?"
"Engaged actually, at one point." Pansy said, matter-of-factly. She ran her tongue over the place where she bit him, sending shivers down Ron’s spine. He had somehow missed Pansy unbuttoning his shirt, because he found her pushing it off his shoulders. Ron watched as she ran her black-polished nails down his chest, feeling the sensation down to the tips of his toes.
"What happened?" Ron asked, his voice sounded funny in his own ears. When Pansy lifted her head and gave him a puzzled look, he said, "With you and Draco, I mean?"
Pansy thought about his question for a moment, pressing kisses into his chest and tracing his collarbones with her tongue. Ron didn’t really care if she answered anymore as long as she kept doing those things with her tongue.
"We had been engaged almost a year," Pansy began, but got distracted by one of Ron’s nipples. Ron hoped she didn’t hear his gasp when he felt her wet mouth on his chest. He fisted a hand in her dark hair and tugged ever so slightly. "I had gone over to the Manor to see Draco and to talk to Narcissa about some wedding arrangements."
"Sounds harmless enough." Ron remarked.
Pansy looked up at him. "Patience," she cooed, and kissed him. Ron pulled her close and moved against her to show her that patience wasn’t one of his virtues at the moment. She bit him playfully as if to scold him.
"Pansy," he said pleadingly into her lips, his hands straying underneath her blouse to feel the small of her back, "I want to feel you."
Pansy sprinkled light kisses over the line of his jaw. "But don’t you want to hear the story?" she asked.
"Only if you’re naked." He breathed.
"Wicked boy." she teased before taking a step away from him. Ron swallowed hard and watched as Pansy made quite a show of removing her blouse and bra. She raised an eyebrow at him and took one of his hands in both of hers. Ron stared in fascination as Pansy kissed each of his fingers, almost coming right then and there when Pansy took his index finger into her mouth and sucked. Ron slammed his eyes shut in pleasurable agony and could almost imagine what it would be like to have Pansy’s mouth on his cock, her tongue swirling and her teeth-
Ron opened his eyes when Pansy released his finger. She stared at him, her gaze serious, and brought Ron’s hand to her chest, covering one of her breasts with his palm. Throwing caution to the wind, Ron groaned and bent low, replacing his hand with his mouth. He felt Pansy’s fingers digging into his scalp as her teased her and heard her little whimpers of pleasure, priding himself in his sexual prowess.
"So, I greeted Narcissa in the parlor and went through the usual rituals with my future mother-in-law-"
"-Do you want me to stop?" Ron asked.
"God, no." Pansy hissed, "No, just…just keep doing that. Yes. I asked Narcissa if Draco was there and she told me that I could find him upstairs. She told me that he was visiting with a friend. Well, I went upstairs, pushed open the door to his bedchamber and wouldn’t you know it?"
Ron stilled for a moment, his breath hot against Pansy’s breasts. "What?" he whispered.
He felt Pansy shake with a laugh. "There’s Draco bent over his bed getting fucked by none other than his Best Man, Blaise Zabini."
Ron felt himself laughing despite himself. He had feared for a moment that Pansy was going to say Crabbe or Goyle. "You’re kidding." he said, standing upright.
Pansy smiled and shook her head. "I wish I were, trust me," she replied, "And then the bastard actually had the nerve to smile at me and say ‘hello, darling.’"
"Zabini?"
"No, Draco."
Ron shook his head in disbelief. "Well, what in buggery did you do then?"
Pansy smirked at him and thoughtfully trailed a finger down his chest. Hooking her finger in the waist of his trousers, she tugged and pulled him closer. She pulled her lower lip through her teeth. "I closed the door behind me and asked if I could join." she confessed.
Ron consciously stopped his jaw from dropping. This woman is unbelievable, he thought, and as soon as he conjured up the indecent image of the three Slytherins, it vanished in a puff of smoke when Pansy pulled his trousers down his hips. But Pansy must have read his thoughts because she continued on.
"So," Pansy said, her fingers running along the waistband of his boxers, but not going any further, "Draco fucked me while I sucked Blaise off. And then they went and did their own thing while I watched." Pansy hesitated for a moment, obviously lost in the memory. "They really were good together." she added as an afterthought.
"And then you broke it off." Ron prompted her, wishing that she would touch him.
"Right. I told him it was over as soon as Blaise left. Of course, he threw a fit. As if the sight of him crying was going to sway my decision. He begged me to stay and apologized a thousand times, but I was done with him. Draco, I said, I’m not going to marry you if I can’t have all of your heart. He told me that he loved me, but he couldn’t give me that. And so I left." Pansy said, her hands stilled on Ron’s hips, "I haven’t heard from him since."
Ron shook his head. "And all these years, I thought Draco was straight."
Pansy gave him a look. "Let’s not forget who’s fucking your wife." she reminded him.
Ron’s brow furrowed as if it just occurred to him that they were talking about the same Draco. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t find the words to express his confusion. Pansy looked at him with a small, affectionate smile.
"Draco is indifferent. He’s always been that way. He loves anyone who will give him attention. And he loves them with such a pure ferocity that it is easy to become blinded and lost in his affection. But it rarely lasts. Draco gets bored faster than he falls for someone. So, one evening you can be making love to him and he makes you feel like you are the only person in the world that matters to him, and then you blink and you’re alone in a cold bed and he’s gone." Pansy finished and stepped away from him, looking melancholy.
It was then when Ron saw, instead of that fearlessly provocative woman, a broken, fragile girl. Ron’s reasons for wanting to kill Draco Malfoy were growing exponentially with each passing second. He moved over to Pansy and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Shit, Pansy, then why did you stay with him for all those years?"
Pansy lifted her head. There were no tears in her eyes, but Ron knew they were there. She shrugged. "I thought it was different with me. Fuck, I don’t know, because I loved him. I still do. God, that’s the thing about the Malfoys. No matter what they do, no matter how much you hate them, you can’t not love them for being who they are." Pansy sighed. "But I’m tired of talking about Draco," she said, her hand finally wrapping around Ron’s erection, "Where were we?"
Ron made a pleased noise in the back of his throat and kissed her again. As quick as Ron had glimpsed that delicate side to Pansy, the seductive temptress had returned. She pulled at the hair on the nape of his neck with one hand while the other stroked him mercilessly through his boxers. Ron tilted her head a bit and kissed her deeper. He broke off their kiss when she slipped her hand into his boxers.
"Pansy… I can’t-" he said desperately, trying to steady his breathing.
"I know." Pansy agreed, dragging his boxers down off his hips. Ron stepped out of his underwear and quickly stripped Pansy of her skirt and knickers. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed her lips to his.
Ron carried her to the bed and placed her on the silk sheets. He looked at her for a moment, suddenly thankful for what an amazing discovery he had made in her. He was about to say something that he would have probably regretted later, but Pansy spoke before he did.
"Weasley. Now." She demanded, grabbing his hand and tugging him down onto the bed.
Ron swallowed her gasp with a searing kiss as he carefully entered her. "You’re beautiful, Pansy, God, you’re…" he breathed when rolled her hips against him. "You deserve so much better."
She scratched her nails down his back and nipped at his shoulder. "Do shut up, Ron." she said, without any real conviction.
Ron laughed and moved his lips to her neck, reveling in how good Pansy felt against him.
Outside, it began to rain and all that could be heard was the pouring of the drops against the window and the two lovers’ satiated sighs.
We’re bad, what we do…stupid fool.
After, Ron sat on the windowsill wrapped in a deep purple sheet, watching the rain fall in sheets. Pansy was lying on the bed, wearing Ron’s white dress shirt and nothing else. She took a long drag on a cigarette and flicked the ashes onto an ashtray by her bed. Ron ran his hands through his fire-red hair and tried to catch Pansy’s eye. She shot him a small smile and blew out smoke.
Ron stood and gathered the sheet around him, climbing back onto the bed next to Pansy. She held out the cigarette to him and Ron took it, puffing on it. He had quit smoking two years ago because Hermione had asked him to. He held the smoke in as long as possible before he exhaled and handed the cigarette back to Pansy. "That was good." he said, kissing the side of her arm.
"The sex or the fag?" she asked, smashing the butt in the ashtray.
"Cigarettes." he replied, moving so he was lying half on top of her, "The sex was the best I’ve ever had."
Pansy purred and ran her hands up his chest. "Good to know." she murmured, her eyes already half-closed when he bent down to kiss her.
"Can I see you again?" Ron asked, instantly cursing himself for asking, for sounding so desperate. He didn’t think he could deal with another rejection yet.
Pansy sighed. "We’ll see, Ron Weasley, we’ll see," she said, hooking her legs around his waist. She kissed the tip of his nose. "But let’s just get through tonight first."
What am I, darling? A boy you can fear, your biggest mistake.
"Where are you going? It’s late." Hermione Granger asked, pulling dark green sheets up around her naked body.
Draco Malfoy was buckling his boots, his back to Hermione. "I don’t know." he said without looking at her.
Hermione scowled. "What do you mean I don’t know?" she asked.
Draco stood and walked over to the chair where his shirt was draped. He pulled it over his pale head and shook the blonde hair out of his eyes. He turned at looked at the woman in his bed. "It means I’m going out and I don’t know when I’ll be back." he said.
"Don’t be silly. It’s raining cats and dogs out there. Come back to bed, Draco." she said, patting the bed beside her.
"Listen, Hermione, I’ve had an amazing time with you…but-"
"But?" Hermione repeated, suddenly looking distraught, "Are you breaking up with me?"
Draco looked away and ran a hand through his hair. When he looked back at Hermione again, she saw that arrogant sixteen year-old boy that she had so desperately tried to forget existed. He wore a smug smile on his face. "You thought this was serious, Granger?"
Hermione gaped at him. "I can’t believe this. You-you told me you loved me! I left Ron for you. Oh God, what have I done?" she asked.
Draco was inspecting his nails, obviously uninterested in Hermione’s affairs. "Well," he said finally, pulling his robes on over his clothes, "It’s been great fun. As for you and Weasel Bee, my heartfelt apologies." He placed a hand mockingly on his heart and gave her a half bow.
"Fuck you." Hermione hissed, tears spilling down her face, "You’re a bastard, Malfoy."
Draco merely smiled at her and then sauntered out of the room, leaving Hermione cold and alone just as she had left Ron.
End.
Notes:
A Fwooper is an "African bird with extremely vivid plumage" and is "a provider of fancy quills and also lays brilliantly patterned eggs." Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them. By Newt Scamander.
le Feu et Glace, roughly translates as "fire and ice" because I’m totally uncreative like that!
All chapter titles are lyrics by Damien Rice.
Addendum
Originally, after Ron asks Pansy if he can see her again, I had planned to have her reply with "I don’t know." This scene would have been after Ron leaves for the night; Pansy is alone in her bedroom. I decided to end it on a slightly different angsty note, leaving the new lovers’ relationship up in the air. This scene did not fit in with the new tone I wanted for the Ron/Pansy.
Pansy closed the door behind Ron and rested against it, closing her eyes for a moment. When she was sure he had apparated, she walked over to her nightstand and took out her wand. She spoke and incantation and waved her wand around her bedroom. The room twisted and shifted around her, reshaping into its original state. The exotic bed morphed into an elegant four-poster bed made of dark wood. The bed sheets were a deep Slytherin green. She went over to the bed and sat on the edge of it, looking at her nightstand.
Now, there was one picture frame resting on it. Two silver snakes coiled around one another made a border for the picture. In it, a twenty-year old Draco Malfoy was twirling Pansy around in his arms. She was laughing and clinging onto him for dear life. A diamond ring sparkled on her left hand.
Pansy took the frame and held it to her chest, tears streaming down her face. She thought that maybe making love with someone else would change things. She thought that Ron would make her forget… if but just for a moment. But the ache was still there. She doubted that it would ever fade away. She looked down at the photo and stroked Draco as a little sob escaped her.
"Oh, Draco," she cried, knowing that she would never be able to be with another man without comparing him to the only man she ever loved.