A long chapter of Consumed
Agh. And I say agh, because life keeps sneaking up on me and doing funny things. Today's "funny" thing? Paying a $500 medical bill for my mom because her monthly payments aren't enough to keep them off her back. And no, I don't need money-- one of few good things about living at home is that I can save money to help in situations like this. It's a long story, but suffice it to say, hospitals need to bite me.
In other news, um... I got the cute guy at the coffeeshop to talk to me. I didn't even have to do anything, I just sat and wrote. He probably thinks I'm in high school. Note the gray hair, buddy. I'm plenty old enough for you.
Ahem.
That having been said, have some Consumed. It's been a long time coming, but it's a long chapter. Enjoy the Ron and Pansy-ness. Oy, and on Ron's birthday, no less!
She yielded when he pushed, moving as he stepped into her, his knees bumping just above hers, forcing her to step back until she felt her duvet brushing her calves. He kept his eyes open as he kissed her, moving his hands over the smooth bob of her hair, over her back. She started to reach for him and he slid his hands around to wrap his fingers with hers.
“Sit,” he whispered, leaning just enough to force her into sitting on the edge of the bed. Later, she’d wonder if he had actually spoken, or if she’d imagined it. Pansy’s bottom had no sooner touched the overly soft mattress before she was leaning back, leading him with her tongue and lips. He followed her for a moment, knees pressing into the bed on either side of hers as he moved her hands above her head, spreading her out. He knelt over her, his eyes too serious for her liking.
“Feel free to take charge of my bedroom, tiger,” she said, arching her back and moving to slide her leg between his.
“Think I might,” Ron answered, studying her face.
Was she getting it? Was she really and truly getting it, or once tomorrow was over, would she think ill of him because the time had passed?
He hoped she was getting it.
He supported himself with one hand, bending his head to run his tongue over the lines of her throat, wondering how the skin there could be just as soft as the skin on her hands, the skin on her stomach, her thighs, her back. He’d tasted every inch of it, and it all tasted the same, soft and stupefying and sinful. Addictive, he’d even go so far to say.
With his other hand, he reached around her, plucking pillows off the bed and tossing them onto the floor.
“Ron!” Pansy writhed away from him, nearly kneed him in the groin, and turned her head from side to side. “What are you doing? Do you know how much those pillows cost?”
“No, and I don’t give half a wank what they cost, Pansy.” Ron grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “No pillows. No pillows, no… toys, no stories about other lovers. Just us in this bed, all right?”
She was shocked into silence, her eyes wide, and he gave a curt, satisfied nod that was completely at odds with the lazy, leisurely way he was moving over her, not touching her with his hands, simply pressing his lips to the exposed skin he could find and nuzzling at her where she was covered up.
“You can-” She paused and gasped as he moved down one of her arms, tracing the tip of his tongue over the sensitive underside of her wrist. It tickled, but what was more, it made her feel strangely vulnerable, her pulse racing fast under his tongue, her fingers curling tightly, fingernails pressing deep into the flesh of her palm with the sensation. “Take my blouse off,” she finally managed, her face flushing hard as he sucked at the pulse point he’d found.
He was kissing her wrist, and frankly, she was getting more than a bit turned on by it.
This really needed to move along, Pansy thought. The last thing… the very last thing she needed was to be finding new things with this wizard. It was time for him to move along. If he’d had new tricks, two weeks ago was the time to show them to her, not now, the night before his sister came back.
Ron paused to catch his breath, watching through hooded eyes the way she was constantly shifting, moving, undulating as though immediately in tune with the most natural side of herself. Of course she was, he thought.
She was always ready to get down to her animal needs, this one.
He inhaled deeply, smelling the perfumed she’d dabbed on her wrists that morning, then moved down finally, pushing up the tails of her tailored white blouse and kissing her navel.
She managed to keep quiet until he slid off the bed, his arms circling under her arched back as he spread his tongue flat beneath her navel, his eyes shining through downcast strawberry lashes as he gave it just a few more inches, slipping his tongue beneath a layer of denim and a layer of satin to hint at what was underneath.
A wordless cry broke from Pansy’s lips and she reached down to unbutton her jeans, only to have her hands smacked away by much larger, stronger hands.
Growing up in a house full of siblings had taught Ron quite a few things, not the least of which you hung onto what was yours until you were good and ready to let it go.
He wasn’t about to let her take this out of his hands. He’d spent a good portion of his life letting other people make decisions, and while that suited him most of the time, he was fairly certain he could manage the next few steps on his own without the help of an oversexed witch with no mind to the proper way to treat herself.
“A bit possessive, aren’t we?” Pansy tried to force out a laugh and found she couldn’t.
Whatever he was doing, it was completely unlike him. But it was still working.
Last chance for me to be, isn’t it? He didn’t voice the thought, merely smirked against her skin and pushed the denim down her legs, leaving her knickers.
She propped herself up on her elbows to watch him, forcing herself to even out her breathing as he knelt in front of her, his hands moving lightly over her feet, massaging her ankles, dancing over the backs of her calves. He kept his touch light and caressing until he reached the backs of her knees.
Ron thought he should have known better than to tarry there; she nearly kicked him in the head. A bit ticklish was his Pansy, he thought, biting back a laugh at her poisonous expression.
“Not the time to be messing about, pet,” she said through her teeth. She wanted him to get on with things, damn it, not indulge in a tickling fit like a bloody little schoolgirl. Not that she minded schoolgirls, but they had their time and place.
He moved quickly, settling himself back on the bed and pressing himself to her chest. She couldn’t have held herself up even if she’d wanted to; not only was he too heavy to hold up under, but the look he was giving her was making her think prone was the only position to be in.
Before she could protest at the invasive weight of him, though, he’d captured her lips in a kiss, a little bit rougher than she’d expected of him on this night. By the time he released her, they were both breathless and he’d unfastened two of her already straining blouse buttons. Impatient with the last two, he tugged at the shirt, heard the thread give way on the buttons, and comforted himself with the way her eyes darkened when the buttons popped off, lost in the folds of the duvet.
It was good like this, the white blouse spread open on each side so he could look at her, the intricate white lace of her bra looking anything but pure, her nipples showing dark and hard beneath the patterned fabric. He wanted to remember her like this, just like this, white shirt clinging to her arms and shoulders, one deep breath sending her breasts pushing out over the top of her white bra, white satin knickers damp with her wait, all of that white at odds with all of the knowledge in her eyes.
He was hard with wanting her and sweat was starting to bead at his hairline with the effort of not taking exactly what they both wanted.
Pansy arched her back, pressing against one of his legs and throwing her head back, her throat working with the effort of not crying out. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the feeling of what he was doing-his tongue sliding between her breasts-and trying to concentrate on the feeling of not being in control. She didn’t want to concentrate on how fucking guilty and apologetic she felt, knowing what she’d have to say to him once this was over.
Hurry it along, she wanted to say, but at the same time, that was the last thing she wanted.
The sooner this was over, the sooner she’d have to ‘fess up and send him on his way. She wasn’t certain he’d take it as well as the other blokes and birds had. If he were ready to move along, he wouldn’t be treating her like-
Her battle for silence was lost when his tongue stroked over the lace stretched over one breast, his lips fastening over one painfully hard nipple, completely careless of the barrier of her bra. The heat and moisture of his mouth seeped through and Pansy cried out once, twice, in rhythm with the pull of his mouth, one hand coming off the duvet to tug at those spectacularly colored locks on his head, to hold him closer and push him farther.
As her back came off the bed, he took the opportunity to move both arms beneath her, turning them both over with a swiftness that left her a little dizzy once he settled on his back, one knee bent, his thigh trapped solidly between hers. The best benefit of this, he thought, even better than having her in his arms and spread out over him, was that it made her open her eyes.
“More like it,” Pansy said, moving to straddle him and sit up, her hands planted in the middle of his chest, but she still felt as though he had the control here. She couldn’t put her finger on why, and she even should have thought differently, given the way he focused on nothing but her as she slid her blouse off her shoulders and tossed it to the side, but things were still different.
Pansy thought she could finish things now, take him while he was still clothed, and he’d still have the upper hand. He’d shifted something, made this time his, and she wasn’t entirely sure she was comfortable with that.
He laid his head back into the pillows and moved his fingertips up her spine, tripping open the catch of her bra with as little effort as it would have taken him to do it magically.
She raised one eyebrow at him, that look he was certain stopped many other people in their tracks-it had given him pause more than once when they’d first started down this insane road-but that merely made him grin now. He raised one arm, the garment dangling from his fingertips. “I told you, just you and me.” The levity was gone more quickly than he’d meant it to be, and he continued to speak. “No barriers.”
Why that made her shiver, she couldn’t say.
But she played into his wants and licked her lips, running her own fingertips over the sensitive undersides of her breasts, taking just a moment to enjoy, as she always did, the feel of her own hands on her skin.
There was something about the feel of him clothed and hard beneath her that made her feel like gulping him down, like battening down and trying to ride him into oblivion while he was still fully clothed. She could feel him pressing against her and she let out a shaky sigh, already knowing what he would feel like once he was inside her. Pity, she thought, she’d have to give that up.
Later, she reminded herself. It was easy enough to distract herself now, to give his shirt the same treatment he’d given hers, the pretty powder blue shirt, rolled up at the elbows, worn at the buttonholes. It was on her floor in a matter of seconds, and she dug her nails into his chest, feeling his heart thump. “No barriers,” she whispered, placing tiny little butterfly kisses on his throat, her breasts flattened against his chest.
She wanted to give him the same treatment he’d given her, but he wouldn’t let her-every time she started to slide down his body, he would grasp her by the hips or the arms, grind against her until she forgot not only what she was doing but who she was and where, and then he’d give her a little grin like he’d never stopped her.
“Tell me what you want, Pansy,” he said, sliding the first two fingers of each hand over her hips and under her knickers, starting them down her legs. She was getting angry with him, and he couldn’t say there was anything he liked better. She needed to have her comfort levels tested a little.
Merlin knew she’d shoved his about as far as they’d go.
“I want you to quit being such a bloody tease!” she cried, but there was laughter in her voice as she finally moved to kick off her knickers and start working on the button of his slacks. “Tell me what you want, you big poncey tease.”
After the foreplay, the sharp buck of her hips and the hot, wet, tight feel of her around him was so sudden that he cried out, raising one hand to fist in her hair. She’d taken what she wanted while asking what he wanted.
“I want you to remember this one,” he said, keeping one hand in her hair while sitting up and lining one arm up the middle of her back, his fingertips at the nape of her neck, holding her close to him, settling her pounding thrusts into a rocking, slow rhythm. He kissed her once more, then put his lips to her ear, breathing her name as her long nails dug welts in his back.
She wanted to ride him hard, to get it over with, but he kept their movements small, measured, and when she finally came, Pansy’s head was aching with the force of trying to contain it all, the force of trying to do just as he’d asked and remember every detail.
Sneaky fucking wizard, she thought, biting his shoulder to keep herself from crying out as every muscle in her body contracted and relaxed. He’d certainly gotten what he’d wanted.
He’d meant to say something tender, whisper anything, and later he’d consider the sting of her teeth fastening into his flesh a blessing-it had kept him from saying something stupid, something he’d only regret the next morning. But the sharp points of pain were also enough to trip the climax that had been building from the moment he’d taken her hand over the table, and he fell back on the bed, the weight of her landing squarely on his chest as he spilled himself inside her.
“Good enough?” he finally asked, his breath nearly gone.
“Fuck you, Weasley,” she retorted, laying her head to his chest and listening to his heart bumping hard. She’d done that, she thought smugly. Every single time.
She yawned, a big jaw-cracking yawn, and closed her eyes.
It would be a shame to tell him now, she thought. It would ruin the moment. Besides, big lug that he was, he’d likely fall asleep before she could get the words out.
Ron was still awake, stroking her hair, when she fell asleep.
~~~
He woke in degrees, his confusion growing greater as sleep wore off.
He wasn’t in his own bed, that much was for certain-it felt like Pansy’s bed, expansive and ridiculously soft, so much so that he felt as though he’d melded into it overnight.
Overnight?
He’d never stayed the night at her flat.
Bloody fucking hell, he thought, sitting up and looking around. He’d meant to tell her last night that it was the end of things, that they’d had their last fling, but things had just been so nice for once, no spatting, no fighting-well, not really-and she’d fallen asleep so peacefully.
Sleep was the only time she looked peaceful, and he’d not gotten the chance to witness that any other time, so he’d simply wanted to relish it.
And now… she was gone.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, trying to get up. The plushness of the bed trapped him for a moment and he rolled, falling out of the bed and right onto his tailbone. “Bloody buggering hell!” he roared, snatching up his pants, which he’d conveniently landed right next to. Where in Merlin’s dungeons was she?
He tugged on his pants, leaving them unbuttoned as he stalked through her house and ended up at the table where they’d left all the pizza last night. She’d taken her lists with her and cleaned up the pizza-how early had she gotten up?!-but had left him a note.
His stomach sunk a bit and he picked up the parchment, momentarily ignoring what had been draped on top of it.
Weasley,
I’m off to work. Be a love and see yourself out, would you? The flat’ll lock itself once you’re gone.
Last night was a blast, love, but a bit serious, don’t you think? It’s been fun, and I’d hate to ruin that, wouldn’t you?
Don’t forget to take your tie-I nicked it from your closet that first time at your flat. I’ve no doubt you’ll have need of it with some other gal or other, right?
See you tonight at the party, gorgeous.
P.
Ron swallowed hard, picking up the tie that had fallen on the table, rubbing the gold and burgundy scrap between his fingers.
“Huh,” he said out loud, his voice sounding queerly stifled.
It seemed he didn’t need to worry with telling her things were over.
She seemed to have told him herself.