Against the WallAuthor:
Draco Malfoy/Pansy ParkinsonRating:
Minors in sexual situations (timeline: seventh year).Word Count:
They've lost their hold on their world. Their plans, their hope - everything is out of their hands. They need control. He
needs control. Author's Notes:
My internet hates me today. It has taken me an hour to get IJ to even LOAD, so if there's typos, I blame Time Warner. HRMPH.
They walk the corridors in silence, pure blood and family connections allowing them freedoms that most of the students can't possess. Draco grabs her arm and pulls her to a halt by a deep alcove, its leaded window letting in cloud-streaked beams of pale moonlight. Pansy bites her lip and glances out of the corner of her eye at Draco, his profile seeming sharper in the dim light. "This morning," she says, her voice trembling as she fears breaking the quiet that surrounds them. "The Carrows?"
Draco digs his fingers into her arm and hisses a warning to make her fall silent. He turns his head. His eyes gleam like a snake targeting prey. His fingers are bruising on her arm, gripping her like iron. Pansy looks into his eyes, looks past the chill mask. She sees the tight quiver in the fine muscles of his face, sees the tension of his jaw. She lifts her hand and cups his cheek. Draco swallows hard and shuts his eyes. When they open again, the cold anger and fear turns liquid, molten. Burning. "Pansy, I--" he says, his voice thick. "I need--"
She covers his mouth with her hand. Everything is falling apart around them. The world is twisted, upside down and wrong
. The glorious, elegant future they wanted is proving to be a horror. They lift their chins and smile and preen when in public, but alone, in private, they both know. Nothing is right. They've lost their hold on their world. Their plans, their hope - everything is out of their hands. They need control. He
Pansy wraps her hands around Draco's neck and pulls him down for a kiss. "Take it," she tells him, licking the corner of his mouth. "Whatever you need."
Draco growls. He snaps his head up and his eyes shine like mercury. He moves fast, grabbing her, spinning her, shoving her into the alcove and against the stone wall. His lips move on the back of her neck, teeth scrape just above her collar. "Slut," he murmurs. "Are you mine?" Pansy swallows down a moan, his first word telling her what he needs. She hears his question, the last check for her consent. She hums low in her throat, hums an affirmation. This is why she'll surrender to him. This why she gives him control. He waits for her to offer. Only then does he take.
Draco grabs her hair and twists her head to the side, wrenching her neck until it aches. He presses against her, pushes her into the wall with his own weight, leans into her until her breasts flatten against it and her hips grind into it. "You want it," he tells her, his voice in a deep and rolling growl. "Don't tell me you don't want it. I know you too well. I know what you want, Pansy. You, you
are a filthy little slut."
Pansy shivers, her eyes slamming shut. Her hips move without her volition, rocking against the wall. His breath is hot on her ear, on her neck, on her shoulder. She whimpers, pushing back to him, trying desperately to rub her arse on the stiff cock she can feel prodding at the small of her back. Draco growls and pulls her hair tighter, holding her to the wall. "Just as I thought." He laughs deep in his throat and bites her shoulder. "Exactly what I thought. You are
a slut. Going to beg me for it? I think you should. I think you should tell me exactly what you want me to do to you and maybe I'll let you have it."
Pansy keens, her heart pounding against her ribs. She loves it when he talks to her like this, those coarse and vile insults rolling off his tongue in that drawling accent, but she loves it even more when he orders her to talk. They're words she shouldn't say, words she shouldn't know
, and no proper lady should ever beg to be fucked like a whore. She rocks her forehead on the wall and pities those proper ladies. They don't know how this feels.
"Slut," she whispers, her lips moving against the stone. "Yes. Yes. A slut. For you." She swallows hard and plasters both hands flat beside her shoulders, exhales sharply and squeezes her eyes closed tight. "Take me. Fuck me."
Draco shakes her head by his grip in her hair, rubbing her short nose on the wall. "No," he says and gives a sharp slap to her arse. "No. Not good enough. Try again."
"Fuck me," she says, forcing the words out through the heavy fog of arousal that makes her tongue want to be wrapped around his cock instead of forming speech. "Fuck me. Put me on the floor, Draco. Put me on the floor and shove my legs open. My cunt's wet for you. So fucking wet and I want you to fuck me. I want your cock in me. I want you to fuck my mouth, fuck my arse."
Draco shoves his hand beneath her woolen skirt and under her cotton knickers, two long fingers driving into her cunt. Pansy shrieks and goes up on her toes. "Please, please," she begs, her eyes watering. He's grinding against her, solid and hot, but he wants more. She knows he wants more from her and she gives it to him with a groan. "Please, Draco, fuck me. I want your cock everywhere, I want you to come inside me, I want you to come on
me. I want you to take me, fuck me until I can't walk. I want to still be feeling your cock in the morning, I want to still be tasting your come at breakfast. Use me like I deserve, Draco, please
"No," he growls, biting the curve of her ear. "Not good enough. Not enough, Pansy. You didn't earn a fucking tonight." She claws at the wall, her nails scraping on the stone, and tears slip past her nose and between her lips. She knows it's part of the game, knows that he isn't truly angry or disappointed in her, knows that he's taking his pleasure in her desperation and his control, but she wants him to take her. Her cunt is throbbing, the crotch of her knickers soaked and clinging.
She whines and pushes down on his hand, squeezes her cunt around his fingers. "Please
, Draco. Give-- Take-- I need--"
He laughs, and the sound rolls through her, dark and heavy. "Maybe you've been good enough to earn a little reward," he whispers. He drags his teeth across her earlobe and pushes her knickers down her thighs. Pansy widens her stance until the cotton strains, the waistband digging into her flesh. Draco wraps his arm around her waist, tugs her blouse free of her skirt, and strokes his hand over her small, lace-covered breasts. Beneath her skirt, his fingers probe and tug, slick through her folds. He turns his hand, twists his fingers, and Pansy throws her head back to howl as the carved mount of his signet ring rubs over her clit.
He jerks his hand from under her shirt and claps it over her mouth and nose, stifling her cries as he drives his fingers deep into her. Pansy writhes, rubbing against him with each thrust. Draco's long fingers push into her, one, two, three at a time, stretching her body, filling her. She wraps one hand around his wrist, nails scratching furrows into the back of his hand as he muffles her shrieks. She can't breathe, black spots dance across her vision, her body trembles until she thinks she might explode, then Draco twists his fingers inside her, drags the tips across that soft spot deep within her.
Pansy spasms, bucking and arching between the wall and his body. She's babbling, pleading, praying for the violent quakes never to end, for the pleasure to consume her and burn her to ash in his arms. When Draco draws his fingers from her, she sobs in protest, but he holds her, clings to her until she collapses with her head tipped back on his shoulder. "Very good," he purrs, licking her neck where her pulse thrums. "My perfect little slut," Draco murmurs, and his voice is full of affection.
Pansy smiles, leaning against him. "Welcome," she mumbles, her eyes closed. "Any time, love."