Leigh!fic | Keen Powers of Observation (1/1) | Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson
Title: Keen Powers of Observation (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 890
Summary: Secret. Behind closed doors. Under night's watchful eye. That was what they did... until now.
Author’s Notes: Written for carrie_leigh as part of my Spring 2013 Drabble Meme. Carrie, back in my early days of lurking and reading at FIA, you were one of the first authors I fell in love with. Your talent never ceases to amaze me, and I'm so happy and lucky to call you my friend. I hope you enjoy this, my dear! Happy Mother's Day!
Six years ago, if someone had told Pansy Parkinson that the day would come where she would willingly set foot in the Ministry of Magic, she'd have laughed in their face before hexing them. She bore no love for the wizarding government; being used as an example in the demagoguery after the fall of the Dark Lord tended to leave a bad taste in one's mouth. Unable to use the Malfoy family (as Potter's testimony helped keep that family out of it), the Parkinsons -- or what was left of the family -- had been the next best thing.
She'd been paraded before the Wizengamot. Her family's vaults at Gringotts pilfered, their manor in Somerset raided as repatriation for her father's activities as a Death Eater. The year following the war was one she preferred not to think about.
Time had a funny way of changing things -- a lot of things. People changed; a sign of maturity, perhaps. Her life had changed following her family's downfall, forcing Pansy herself to adapt to a new way of life. She'd taken a job with Edward Carmichael, working at his art gallery in Hogsmeade (the only sort of position she'd willingly take, for their was no way in the seven layers of Hell she would work for anyone other than him), moved out of her ancestral home and into a London flat, and let her hair grow out of its former pixie cut.
She'd also started shagging an Auror.
It'd started out as nothing more than a drunken fling. A chance encounter at The Blind Hag, barbed veils giving way to outright insults as the firewhiskey flowed. She'd been drinking alone, he'd come with some of his Ministry mates -- both of whom had scampered off early, as good little Aurors did on work nights. The whiskey had clouded her judgement that night, and she'd found herself admiring the way his robes fit his shoulders, how his once-lanky form wasn't quite as displeasing as she'd previously thought.
He'd taken her in the loo that night, their inebriation a hinderance to Apparating elsewhere. She'd lost a shoe that night; one of her favorite Louboutins.
That drunken fling -- a one-off, she'd swore to herself whilst gulping copious amount of hangover-relieving water the next morning; never to be repeated -- had been repeated. Multiple times. Ron Weasley, she'd found, was very good at sex.
It was proof that miracles did happen.
It was just sex, she'd told herself as their drunken rendezvous evolved into multiple sober ones. For the better part of a year, they'd met in secret after work. Her flat, his flat, a room at The Leaky Cauldron. The sexual desire that flowed was still as strong as it had been that first night. Oh, they still insulted one another -- it was part of what they did -- but the venom behind said insults had long faded away.
Secret. Behind closed doors. Under night's watchful eye. That was what they did... until now.
Now, Pansy was spread out on his desk; books, quills, and parchment beneath her back as he pushed her skirt up around her hips and pressed into her with one smooth stroke. Her fingertips grasped the edge of the desk, her moans mingling with his grunts and the slap of skin on skin. The door was slightly ajar, and his secretary was due back from her lunch break, but Pansy couldn't bring herself to care. Not as long as he kept doing that, moving inside of her as he did oh so well.
His lips found her neck, his fingers tweaking a nipple through her dress, and one final cry filled the air as she climaxed and clutched at his back. His own released followed a moment later; one final, shuddering thrust before he slumped against her and pressed his face to her damp chest.
It was silent for a long moment. Pansy could hear the faint sounds of office workers beyond the door, a reminder that they were not in the privacy of her flat. She was here, in broad daylight, letting Ron Weasley shag her against his desk.
"So," he said, his voice a rumble against her skin, "I take it that means you want to go public, then?"
"Such keen observation skills." Her lips twitched when he glanced up at her, lips twisted in a scowl. "You should be commended on them."
His scowl gave way to a smirk that was purely male satisfaction. "I think the claw marks on my back are commendation enough, don't you think?"
Pansy hummed and shrugged slightly. "I suppose."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Don't you also suppose we should close the door?" His blue eyes were bright with mirth. "Or should we move this to the Atrium? Just in case you corrupting me in my office wasn't possesive enough for you. It's a bit too public for my tastes, but I do try to satisfy my woman's insatiable lust."
She smacked his arm lightly when he laughed at the expression on her face. "You'll be satisfying your own lust with your hands if you don't put your mouth to better use."
His mouth started to trace a line between her breasts, and Pansy's eyes slid shut in pleasure.
"Ron, don't suppose you want to take your favorite... AUGH!"
"Ginny!?"
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 890
Summary: Secret. Behind closed doors. Under night's watchful eye. That was what they did... until now.
Author’s Notes: Written for carrie_leigh as part of my Spring 2013 Drabble Meme. Carrie, back in my early days of lurking and reading at FIA, you were one of the first authors I fell in love with. Your talent never ceases to amaze me, and I'm so happy and lucky to call you my friend. I hope you enjoy this, my dear! Happy Mother's Day!
Six years ago, if someone had told Pansy Parkinson that the day would come where she would willingly set foot in the Ministry of Magic, she'd have laughed in their face before hexing them. She bore no love for the wizarding government; being used as an example in the demagoguery after the fall of the Dark Lord tended to leave a bad taste in one's mouth. Unable to use the Malfoy family (as Potter's testimony helped keep that family out of it), the Parkinsons -- or what was left of the family -- had been the next best thing.
She'd been paraded before the Wizengamot. Her family's vaults at Gringotts pilfered, their manor in Somerset raided as repatriation for her father's activities as a Death Eater. The year following the war was one she preferred not to think about.
Time had a funny way of changing things -- a lot of things. People changed; a sign of maturity, perhaps. Her life had changed following her family's downfall, forcing Pansy herself to adapt to a new way of life. She'd taken a job with Edward Carmichael, working at his art gallery in Hogsmeade (the only sort of position she'd willingly take, for their was no way in the seven layers of Hell she would work for anyone other than him), moved out of her ancestral home and into a London flat, and let her hair grow out of its former pixie cut.
She'd also started shagging an Auror.
It'd started out as nothing more than a drunken fling. A chance encounter at The Blind Hag, barbed veils giving way to outright insults as the firewhiskey flowed. She'd been drinking alone, he'd come with some of his Ministry mates -- both of whom had scampered off early, as good little Aurors did on work nights. The whiskey had clouded her judgement that night, and she'd found herself admiring the way his robes fit his shoulders, how his once-lanky form wasn't quite as displeasing as she'd previously thought.
He'd taken her in the loo that night, their inebriation a hinderance to Apparating elsewhere. She'd lost a shoe that night; one of her favorite Louboutins.
That drunken fling -- a one-off, she'd swore to herself whilst gulping copious amount of hangover-relieving water the next morning; never to be repeated -- had been repeated. Multiple times. Ron Weasley, she'd found, was very good at sex.
It was proof that miracles did happen.
It was just sex, she'd told herself as their drunken rendezvous evolved into multiple sober ones. For the better part of a year, they'd met in secret after work. Her flat, his flat, a room at The Leaky Cauldron. The sexual desire that flowed was still as strong as it had been that first night. Oh, they still insulted one another -- it was part of what they did -- but the venom behind said insults had long faded away.
Secret. Behind closed doors. Under night's watchful eye. That was what they did... until now.
Now, Pansy was spread out on his desk; books, quills, and parchment beneath her back as he pushed her skirt up around her hips and pressed into her with one smooth stroke. Her fingertips grasped the edge of the desk, her moans mingling with his grunts and the slap of skin on skin. The door was slightly ajar, and his secretary was due back from her lunch break, but Pansy couldn't bring herself to care. Not as long as he kept doing that, moving inside of her as he did oh so well.
His lips found her neck, his fingers tweaking a nipple through her dress, and one final cry filled the air as she climaxed and clutched at his back. His own released followed a moment later; one final, shuddering thrust before he slumped against her and pressed his face to her damp chest.
It was silent for a long moment. Pansy could hear the faint sounds of office workers beyond the door, a reminder that they were not in the privacy of her flat. She was here, in broad daylight, letting Ron Weasley shag her against his desk.
"So," he said, his voice a rumble against her skin, "I take it that means you want to go public, then?"
"Such keen observation skills." Her lips twitched when he glanced up at her, lips twisted in a scowl. "You should be commended on them."
His scowl gave way to a smirk that was purely male satisfaction. "I think the claw marks on my back are commendation enough, don't you think?"
Pansy hummed and shrugged slightly. "I suppose."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Don't you also suppose we should close the door?" His blue eyes were bright with mirth. "Or should we move this to the Atrium? Just in case you corrupting me in my office wasn't possesive enough for you. It's a bit too public for my tastes, but I do try to satisfy my woman's insatiable lust."
She smacked his arm lightly when he laughed at the expression on her face. "You'll be satisfying your own lust with your hands if you don't put your mouth to better use."
His mouth started to trace a line between her breasts, and Pansy's eyes slid shut in pleasure.
"Ron, don't suppose you want to take your favorite... AUGH!"
"Ginny!?"