Leigh!fic | The Perfect Gift (1/1) | Blaise Zabini/Victoire Weasley
Title: The Perfect Gift (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Pairing: Blaise Zabini/Victoire Weasley (background Blaise Zabini/Pansy Parkinson)
Rating: R
Summary: When it came to her husband, Pansy knew everything.
Word Count: 1,350
Warnings: Consensual infidelity, cross-generational pairing
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is JKR’s. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
Author’s Notes: This was written as a gift for nearlyconscious as part of Humpathon 2015 at hp_humpdrabbles.
When it came to her husband, Pansy knew everything. They had been friends their entire lives, after all. There was an easy rhythm to their lives that came with years of friendship. She knew Blaise was punctual to a fault. He always rose at five thirty in the morning, took his coffee (no sugar, a splash of milk) after his morning run, and he never left the house without ensuring his shoes were shined.
He abhorred fish, preferred his lamb rare, and thought green vegetables were best left to small woodland creatures. His Quidditch team of choice was Ballycastle, and he detested the Montrose Magpies. Pansy knew he disliked her perfume, but he never said anything because she liked it.
She knew his secrets, too. The ones he thought were... well, secret. She knew he liked to smoke cigarettes on the balcony late at night after she'd gone to sleep. No matter how many spells he cast, the lingering scent of smoke still remained.
She knew about his inability to tolerate vodka. And yes, she knew about Draco's stag night -- even though every single man there had been sworn to secrecy on pain of death.
And she knew about Victoire Weasley. Pretty little Victoire Weasley, the newest Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. A leggy blonde whose photo was plastered about the tabloids every night, coming in and out of nightclubs. People wanted to know what she was doing, what designers she wore, who she kissed, who she fucked. They wanted to know everything.
Pansy didn't. It wasn't jealousy, though. It didn't bother her that her husband was fucking the girl. Their marriage had never been monogamous. It was written in their pre-nuptial contract, in fact. As long as Blaise did not embarrass her with his dalliances, she could care less who he shagged.
It did amuse her that he was going through such great lengths to hide this one. She didn't know why. The girl was pretty enough, she supposed. It was fortunate Victoire took after her mother's side of the family, though she had inherited those ghastly Weasley freckles. As for the rest, she was all Delacour.
Blaise had always had a weakness for blondes.
Perhaps that was why he was trying to hide it. It would be newsworthy if the gossip rags caught wind that their darling Victoire was fucking a married man.
At the cocktail party the evening before the Minister's annual charity gala to benefit St. Mungo's children's wing, Pansy watched as Blaise charmed and worked the room. He had always been a smooth talker, and she wondered, in an idle sort of way as she sipped at her martini, what would happen if people knew. Could she play the scorned wife in the press? Swing sympathy her way when the press turned on their current blonde obsession.
No. That was not the way they did things. These sort of things, they were handled quietly. With dignity.
It was curiosity that made her follow them. She watched Blaise slip out of the room, excusing himself from conversation with the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. He left in a way that drew no notice -- except from her, of course. Ten minutes later, she watched as Victoire Delacour also exited the room. To the loo, her lips mouthed as she made excuses to her friends.
Pansy set her empty martini glass down on a nearby table and followed.
She was almost disappointed how easy it was to find the pair of them. At the end of the corridor, there was a small office. The door had not been shut completely. Part of her wanted to gently nudge it closed. If she had followed them, how easy could someone else -- namely, Rita Skeeter -- do the same?
But then she heard a soft, feminine moan. Her interest was piqued.
She felt like a naughty schoolgirl when she peeked in the small sliver of space between the door and door frame. The sight in front of her only compounded that feeling. There was her husband, on his knees in front of Victoire Weasley. Her tight bandage dress hiked around her waist, one leg hooked over his shoulder.
Thigh-high boots. Another one of Blaise's weaknesses.
His wife watched as he licked and kissed at his lover's sex. Pansy knew how talented Blaise was at that. So did Victoire, from the way her hips moved against his mouth. His hands were dark against her pale thighs, spreading her legs further apart to open her. When his tongue flicked her swollen nub just so, Victoire's head thrashed as her breathing quickened. "More."
One hand slid between her legs, pressing two -- no, three -- fingers into her waiting cunt. He fucked her quickly with his fingers while he slowly licked. Pansy felt the familiar sensation of her own arousal settling in low in her belly, a flush creeping over her face.
She could see why Blaise liked her so much. When Victoire orgasmed, she did so unashamedly. She didn't put her hand over her mouth or try to stifle her cry. She cursed and called her lovers name, surrendering as she let pleasure was over her. Pansy's own breathing was shallow. Arousal settled between her legs, and she knew she'd be unable to think of much more for the rest of the evening.
Afer a moment, Blaise reached up and pulled Victoire's dress down over her hips. The blonde smiled lazily down at him. "Are you certain I can't return the favor?"
Blaise stood and leaned in to kiss her. "Not tonight. We can't be gone much longer. People will notice."
Pansy moved to the other side of the door, away from the handle. She heard Victoire say, "When can I see you again?" Her husband's answer of, "Next Tuesday. Lunch, my office. Wear your boots."
The sound of another long, slow kiss. Then Victoire slipped out the door without a backwards look in Pansy's direction. In a few long strides, she'd disappeared, back to the party. The whole event had taken maybe ten minutes.
When Blaise exited the office five minutes after his lover, Pansy's lips curled. Oh, her darling husband. How sneaky he thought he was, and how careless he'd been this night.
"You forgot to cast a Silencing Charm."
Blaise turned slowly to face her, and Pansy's eyebrow quirked as she pushed out from the shadows and crossed to him. Her heels clicked on the marble floor. Even in Louboutins, the top of her head barely reached his chin.
Her hands moved to smooth his crisp Oxford shirt. Her body was still on edge from watching her husband pleasure another woman. They'd both taken other lovers, but always separately. The idea of inviting another person into their bed had never crossed her mind -- until tonight.
Still, there was a point to be made. "You really ought to be more careful, darling."
Dark eyes watched her fix the minute details, readjust his pocket square. "Are you angry with me?"
"Do I look angry?"
He shook his head. "Jealous?"
"You are not married to her," Pansy reminded him. Finished with her work, she let her hands rest on his chest. "You're married to me. Do not forget that, Blaise."
Blaise took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Never."
"Good." Pansy pulled her hand from his and laced it through his elbow. "Shall we rejoin the party, husband? All this excitement has given me a need for another martini." And a screaming orgasm, but that would come later -- literally.
As he led her back to the main gallery and procured her beverage, Pansy smiled to herself. She knew her husband very well, indeed. She knew what he wanted, and perhaps, one day, she would give it to him. A birthday gift? He would celebrate another one next month. It was becoming harder and harder to find something exciting to gift Blaise.
Her gaze landed on Victoire, her cheeks still flushed and her smile bright.
Perhaps she'd finally found the perfect gift.
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Pairing: Blaise Zabini/Victoire Weasley (background Blaise Zabini/Pansy Parkinson)
Rating: R
Summary: When it came to her husband, Pansy knew everything.
Word Count: 1,350
Warnings: Consensual infidelity, cross-generational pairing
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is JKR’s. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
Author’s Notes: This was written as a gift for nearlyconscious as part of Humpathon 2015 at hp_humpdrabbles.
When it came to her husband, Pansy knew everything. They had been friends their entire lives, after all. There was an easy rhythm to their lives that came with years of friendship. She knew Blaise was punctual to a fault. He always rose at five thirty in the morning, took his coffee (no sugar, a splash of milk) after his morning run, and he never left the house without ensuring his shoes were shined.
He abhorred fish, preferred his lamb rare, and thought green vegetables were best left to small woodland creatures. His Quidditch team of choice was Ballycastle, and he detested the Montrose Magpies. Pansy knew he disliked her perfume, but he never said anything because she liked it.
She knew his secrets, too. The ones he thought were... well, secret. She knew he liked to smoke cigarettes on the balcony late at night after she'd gone to sleep. No matter how many spells he cast, the lingering scent of smoke still remained.
She knew about his inability to tolerate vodka. And yes, she knew about Draco's stag night -- even though every single man there had been sworn to secrecy on pain of death.
And she knew about Victoire Weasley. Pretty little Victoire Weasley, the newest Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. A leggy blonde whose photo was plastered about the tabloids every night, coming in and out of nightclubs. People wanted to know what she was doing, what designers she wore, who she kissed, who she fucked. They wanted to know everything.
Pansy didn't. It wasn't jealousy, though. It didn't bother her that her husband was fucking the girl. Their marriage had never been monogamous. It was written in their pre-nuptial contract, in fact. As long as Blaise did not embarrass her with his dalliances, she could care less who he shagged.
It did amuse her that he was going through such great lengths to hide this one. She didn't know why. The girl was pretty enough, she supposed. It was fortunate Victoire took after her mother's side of the family, though she had inherited those ghastly Weasley freckles. As for the rest, she was all Delacour.
Blaise had always had a weakness for blondes.
Perhaps that was why he was trying to hide it. It would be newsworthy if the gossip rags caught wind that their darling Victoire was fucking a married man.
At the cocktail party the evening before the Minister's annual charity gala to benefit St. Mungo's children's wing, Pansy watched as Blaise charmed and worked the room. He had always been a smooth talker, and she wondered, in an idle sort of way as she sipped at her martini, what would happen if people knew. Could she play the scorned wife in the press? Swing sympathy her way when the press turned on their current blonde obsession.
No. That was not the way they did things. These sort of things, they were handled quietly. With dignity.
It was curiosity that made her follow them. She watched Blaise slip out of the room, excusing himself from conversation with the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. He left in a way that drew no notice -- except from her, of course. Ten minutes later, she watched as Victoire Delacour also exited the room. To the loo, her lips mouthed as she made excuses to her friends.
Pansy set her empty martini glass down on a nearby table and followed.
She was almost disappointed how easy it was to find the pair of them. At the end of the corridor, there was a small office. The door had not been shut completely. Part of her wanted to gently nudge it closed. If she had followed them, how easy could someone else -- namely, Rita Skeeter -- do the same?
But then she heard a soft, feminine moan. Her interest was piqued.
She felt like a naughty schoolgirl when she peeked in the small sliver of space between the door and door frame. The sight in front of her only compounded that feeling. There was her husband, on his knees in front of Victoire Weasley. Her tight bandage dress hiked around her waist, one leg hooked over his shoulder.
Thigh-high boots. Another one of Blaise's weaknesses.
His wife watched as he licked and kissed at his lover's sex. Pansy knew how talented Blaise was at that. So did Victoire, from the way her hips moved against his mouth. His hands were dark against her pale thighs, spreading her legs further apart to open her. When his tongue flicked her swollen nub just so, Victoire's head thrashed as her breathing quickened. "More."
One hand slid between her legs, pressing two -- no, three -- fingers into her waiting cunt. He fucked her quickly with his fingers while he slowly licked. Pansy felt the familiar sensation of her own arousal settling in low in her belly, a flush creeping over her face.
She could see why Blaise liked her so much. When Victoire orgasmed, she did so unashamedly. She didn't put her hand over her mouth or try to stifle her cry. She cursed and called her lovers name, surrendering as she let pleasure was over her. Pansy's own breathing was shallow. Arousal settled between her legs, and she knew she'd be unable to think of much more for the rest of the evening.
Afer a moment, Blaise reached up and pulled Victoire's dress down over her hips. The blonde smiled lazily down at him. "Are you certain I can't return the favor?"
Blaise stood and leaned in to kiss her. "Not tonight. We can't be gone much longer. People will notice."
Pansy moved to the other side of the door, away from the handle. She heard Victoire say, "When can I see you again?" Her husband's answer of, "Next Tuesday. Lunch, my office. Wear your boots."
The sound of another long, slow kiss. Then Victoire slipped out the door without a backwards look in Pansy's direction. In a few long strides, she'd disappeared, back to the party. The whole event had taken maybe ten minutes.
When Blaise exited the office five minutes after his lover, Pansy's lips curled. Oh, her darling husband. How sneaky he thought he was, and how careless he'd been this night.
"You forgot to cast a Silencing Charm."
Blaise turned slowly to face her, and Pansy's eyebrow quirked as she pushed out from the shadows and crossed to him. Her heels clicked on the marble floor. Even in Louboutins, the top of her head barely reached his chin.
Her hands moved to smooth his crisp Oxford shirt. Her body was still on edge from watching her husband pleasure another woman. They'd both taken other lovers, but always separately. The idea of inviting another person into their bed had never crossed her mind -- until tonight.
Still, there was a point to be made. "You really ought to be more careful, darling."
Dark eyes watched her fix the minute details, readjust his pocket square. "Are you angry with me?"
"Do I look angry?"
He shook his head. "Jealous?"
"You are not married to her," Pansy reminded him. Finished with her work, she let her hands rest on his chest. "You're married to me. Do not forget that, Blaise."
Blaise took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Never."
"Good." Pansy pulled her hand from his and laced it through his elbow. "Shall we rejoin the party, husband? All this excitement has given me a need for another martini." And a screaming orgasm, but that would come later -- literally.
As he led her back to the main gallery and procured her beverage, Pansy smiled to herself. She knew her husband very well, indeed. She knew what he wanted, and perhaps, one day, she would give it to him. A birthday gift? He would celebrate another one next month. It was becoming harder and harder to find something exciting to gift Blaise.
Her gaze landed on Victoire, her cheeks still flushed and her smile bright.
Perhaps she'd finally found the perfect gift.