Title:One night, but there's no need to stand
Author: woldy
Pairings: Ginny Weasley/anonymous women, & highlight for pairing spoilers: Ginny Weasley/Nymphadora Tonks
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Hanky code; hints of jewellery
Other Warnings: Anonymous sex, spanking, fisting, rimming, brief mentions of other hanky code kinks.
Word Count: ~2600 words
Summary: In this room all that mattered was what you wanted, and the only negotiation required was a scrap of coloured fabric.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my betas kellychambliss and bewarethesmirk. I'm excited to be posting my first fic here!


Ginny was wet from anticipation before she even reached the club. There were plenty of dyke bars in Britain, but this was the only place to get a zipless fuck without the Ministry breathing down your neck about the Statute of Secrecy.

She tugged her hood up to cover her face and turned off Diagon Alley, hurrying along the twisting side street towards the plain black door.

On the other side of that door, you didn't need to know the other person's name or what they ordinarily looked like. Free from the usual expectations, witches explored their every kink and craving. Here you didn't have to talk about your job, or family, or mutual friends from Hogwarts. The thrill of anonymous desire was what made this special.

Ginny pulled out her wand and tapped it against the wood. "Hanky panky," she murmured, and felt the tug at her navel as magic sucked her through the doorway. For a moment Ginny swayed, thrown off balance by the door charm and loud music.

"Glad to see you back here, gorgeous," said a voice to her left, and Ginny turned to face it.

"Good to see you too, Sin. How's it going?"

"A little tame so far, but the night's still young," said Sin, with a predatory smile.

Sin lounged against the wall, as graceful as a dancer despite the tight corset and stilettos. She looked Ginny's age, and people regularly mistook Sin for a just pretty welcome-witch, instead of the owner.

In the months she'd been coming here, Ginny had watched Sin turn women away for being too young, too chatty, and "Far too vanilla, sweetheart," as Sin put it, steering the girl out the door. She'd witnessed an ill-advised wizard try to talk his way inside and knew that any guy who underestimated the door-witch found himself at the receiving end of jinxes which put Ginny's Bat Bogey Hex to shame.

"Now, why don't you give me that cloak? You're far too beautiful to hide behind all that fabric."

Ginny pulled off her cloak and passed it to Sin, before dropping a few sickles on the counter. The coins disappeared with a flick of Sin's wand, and Ginny savoured the view of Sin's arse as she hung up the cloak.

It was Sin's job to flirt with everyone, and more than once Ginny had fantasised about fucking her up against the coat-racks. But however much fun that would be, Ginny knew the rules posted on the wall: "No dicks in here, so don't act like one. Know your limits, keep it consensual and don't hassle the staff. Violators will be hexed, banned, or both."

Ginny suspected Sin wouldn't be averse to the idea of a quickie, but it was safer to play by the rules. There would be enough beautiful women here tonight that Ginny had no need to distract the staff.

"Have a good night," Sin called out, as Ginny approached the main room.

"I will, thanks," Ginny said, and pushed the shimmering fabric to step through the doorway.

Several women looked around as she came in, and Ginny took her time approaching the bar, letting her hips swing and enjoying the way their eyes followed her movements.

There were perhaps two dozen women in the room, some already paired off and others sitting alone at tables or the bar. In one corner, a brunette with a gorgeous, rounded arse was strapped into the St Andrews Cross, and a leather-clad butch was swinging a flogger with the ease born of long practice.

In this room all that mattered was what you wanted, and the only negotiation required was a scrap of coloured fabric. Gay Muggles claimed to have invented the hanky code, and Ginny didn't care if that was true or a steaming pile of Hippogriff shit; all that mattered was that the code worked. You signalled what you wanted, and women came. Or, in Ginny's case, decoded other people's signals and weighed the appeal of one against another.

The hanky code removed the need for conversation, for language, for anything more complicated than lust. There was no way to be coy or apologetic within the hanky code, no norms about what women ought to do or what they should want.

This club was one of the few places where Ginny could escape over-protective brothers - honestly, Ron's attitude about her love-life was ridiculous - and mum's matchmaking of anyone and everyone who wasn't already married. Here, Ginny could stop being a Weasley and be simply herself, unadorned and unfiltered. More than anything else in her life, even more than flying, this was where Ginny felt free.

Ginny slid onto a bar stool and caught the bartender's eye, signalling for her usual drink. She took a sip, then put down her glass to focus on scanning the room.

The heady mix of excitement and uncertainty made this almost her favourite part of the night. Her gaze slid over the women one by one, assessing their faces, the curves of their breasts and hips, always looking for the flash of coloured fabric that advertised their choice of kink. Eventually Ginny would approach someone, but now she indulged in memories of what she'd done here in the past and imagined what she might do tonight.

A slim, dark-haired woman sat at the bar to Ginny's left, and in the dim light it took a few seconds to identify the black handkerchief tied around her left wrist.

Ginny had watched women strap one another to the furniture or conjure ropes from the ceiling, and she could hear the flogger smacking against the arse of the girl in the corner. She'd seen the way the subs shuddered under knives, whips and flame, and noted their almost dreamlike expressions afterwards.

It would be new, and it was tempting until Ginny looked up from the woman's wrist to her face. She was pretty, with high cheekbones, but the haughtiness in her expression made Ginny turn away. No SM tonight, then, but perhaps another night with a different girl.

Ginny twisted to look at the women sitting at the tables and caught sight of the bright fuchsia cloth wrapped around one woman's belt. The thought of spanking made her breath catch.

"You know what happens to naughty girls don't you?"

There was a sharp slap against her bum and Ginny squirmed against the woman's lap, feeling the hand against her hip tighten to hold her in place.

"Or do I have to show you?"

Another smack landed against her other buttock, harder than the first, and Ginny let out a squeak.

"Be quiet, or I'll have to gag you," the woman ordered, in a voice every bit as authoritative as the Minister for Magic.

Ginny felt several more blows in quick succession, and bit her lip with the effort of staying quiet. Her arse was burning, and she knew it must be nearly as pink as the handkerchief tied around the woman's belt loop, which hung beside Ginny's face and quivered with every blow.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that naughty girls get punished? I bet she gave you a good spanking when you were younger."

"Can we not talk about my mother?"

A noise that might have been amusement was drowned out by the loud smack of her hand against the sensitive skin where Ginny's arse met her thigh.

"I'll talk about what. Ever. I. Like." The words were punctuated by stinging blows, and Ginny couldn't stifle a gasp as the last one landed.

A hand gripped her hair, pulling her upright to face a witch with short greying hair and an array of piercings in one ear.

"Have you learned your lesson, yet?"

Realising that she was staring, Ginny looked quickly away. Spanking was undeniably appealing, whichever role she took, but she had no intention of making a decision until she'd seen all the available options.

Ginny turned to the next table, which was occupied by a beautiful woman with brown skin and gleaming black hair that fell to her waist. When their eyes met, the woman smiled, and her expression promised the best kind of carefree fun. It was an effort to pull her eyes away from the woman's face, but Ginny looked down and saw a beige handkerchief tucked into her pocket.

She was face down on the bed, her knees spread wide and hands clutching at the sheets, as the woman's tongue moved in tiny, maddening circles. Ginny considered herself virtually unshockable in or outside the bedroom - that's what growing up with Charlie and the twins did for you - but she never expected to beg for something this dirty. Yet now every nerve cell in her body was on edge, tight with pleasure in a way she hadn't known existed.

"Please!"

The sensation stopped, and her partner asked, "Please what?"

"More, I need -"

Ginny couldn't bring herself to say it aloud, but she felt a quick swipe across the centre of her arsehole, and pressed her hips back towards it. Merlin's balls, this was going to drive her insane.

There was another lick right across her hole, and Ginny moaned, arching her back in the hope that it would somehow convey what she wanted. She was rewarded with a slow swipe over her opening, the tip of the tongue barely dipping inside, and Ginny almost screamed.

She pulled her right hand away from the sheets to touch herself, matching the rhythm of the movements against her arsehole, hot and wet and utterly desperate. Ginny came with a tongue in her arse and two fingers against her clit, harder than she'd ever done before.

Ginny felt her cheeks heat and turned away, willing herself not to blush.

The next table was occupied by two women, and the gold handkerchief on their table made it clear that they were a couple seeking a third. Threesomes were on the list of things Ginny definitely wanted to try, and she took a moment to assess both the women, before regretfully dismissing the idea. It would be great for a night, but there'd probably be relationship drama down the road. The hanky code might loosen everyone's inhibitions, but it couldn't prevent jealousy or possessiveness.

She looked over to the furthest table and saw a piece of red fabric visible against the exposed skin of the woman's waist. Ginny was so distracted by the curve of her hips that it took a moment for the meaning to register: fisting.

Lying between a woman's legs was always one of Ginny's favourite places to be, but watching her own look-alike writhe as Ginny's hand eased inside her was in a league of its own.

From her pale creamy thighs, to the sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks, to the tousled red red hair, this woman could have been Ginny's twin. It felt almost wrong to touch her, like some twisted combination of narcissism and incest, and it was impossible not to wonder if this was how Ginny herself looked during sex. One day she'd conjure up a mirror and find out.

Ginny flicked the wand in her left hand, and lube dripped from the tip, cool against her skin. She leaned down, pressing a line of kisses to her partner's stomach, and waited for her muscles to relax. There was an incredible mix of power and vulnerability in this act, their bodies pressed together so tightly that the tiniest movement was magnified like ripples across a pool.

"Having fun, yet?" Ginny asked, and the woman's eyes fluttered open.

"It's...really intense."

"But you'll say if if you want me to stop?"

The woman reached down to curl her hand around the nape of Ginny's neck, fingers soft and warm against her skin.

Their bodies weren't quite identical, then, because Ginny's were callused from hours spent throwing the Quaffle and gripping a broomstick. The hand that Ginny was sliding between this woman's legs had scored seventy goals last season and was insured for two thousand galleons, and the premiums would probably double if Gringotts learned what she got up to off the pitch. Ginny's partner's palms were soft and smooth, suggesting that she made a living from spellwork.

"I definitely don't you to stop," the woman said, voice low and sexy, and Ginny smiled back.

Ginny pressed her hand a deeper as the woman's body slowly reshaped around her, a little more, then another inch. Over the next hour, Ginny learned how to elicit a moan with a flutter of her fingers, and found the spot which made her partner gasp and buck against her.

By the time the woman came clenching around Ginny's hand and breathing out swear words in an almost incomprehensible stream, her skin gleamed with sweat. As they collapsed back on the bed, Ginny tried to memorise the woman's flushed face, and the wild mess of red hair that tangled around her earrings.

Ginny shook her head to clear it and turned back to her drink. The choices that made this club so much fun also made it impossible to get everything you wanted on a single night. Given world enough and time, she would fall into bed or up against the wall with half of these women, but tonight she had to choose. Whatever Ginny passed up, she could comfort herself with the knowledge that another night would be different.

She sipped her drink, feeling the burn of the alcohol against her throat, and looked over to the far side of the room. There were more gorgeous women - blondes, brunettes and even a girl sporting a mohawk in shocking blue - but what caught her eye was a witch with a cluster of metal rings dangling from one ear. From this distance it was difficult to see the exact shade of the handkerchief the woman wore, but Ginny thought it was pale blue.

Ginny drained her drink and slid off the bar stool. The woman's eyes locked on her as Ginny approached, and the noise of the room seemed to fade away. Ginny felt her heartbeat accelerate, as though blood were rushing to every erogenous zone in her body, and the sexual tension built with every step she took.

"So," Ginny said, stopping in front of the woman's table. "Sixty-nine, huh?"

"Nice to see you again," the woman said, tilting her head back to look up at Ginny.

The woman's face was unfamiliar, but the metal hoops on her ear caught the light, and Ginny smiled in recognition. Amidst all the different faces and bodies, changing eye colours and tones of voice, this was Tonks' trademark.

"Good to see you, too," Ginny said, as she slid into the seat opposite.

"You took your time, tonight. I thought maybe you wouldn't find me."

Tonks shifted in her chair, and Ginny felt a bare foot brush her ankle beneath the table.

"I enjoy the chase," Ginny said lightly, twining her foot around Tonks'. "Besides, one day I might get a better offer."

"You might," Tonks replied, tipping her head in acknowledgment. "But tonight you're with me. I'm looking forward to finding out just how flexible you are after all that Quidditch training."