Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: its_art
From: luvscharlie

Title: I've been an awful good girl
Characters/Pairings: Neville Longbottom/Lavender Brown
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Included: Stockings (on Lavender), Confident Neville (somewhat), Dirty talk (or an attempt at it), semi-public sex (they're in a public place), role play, spanking, oral, fingering
Other Warnings/Content: Costumes, Santa fetish, Love/lust potion
Word Count: 5021
Summary/Description: Lavender has pretty much suckered Neville into agreeing to be a Department Store Santa for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, but she's not just doing it for the children… or the hike in sales. She has her own agenda.
Author's Notes: I hope you liked what I did with your request for wryly humorous, sexy Father Christmas hats. I'm told that "Santa" has become fairly regular across the pond as well, so during the times that Father Christmas seemed long and clunky, I went with Santa. The title is a line from the song Santa Baby



"Put it on!" Lavender demanded, holding out the triangular shaped red and white hat with the fuzzy, cotton ball dangling from one end.

Neville crossed his arms. "I won't do it, and you can't make me!" He grabbed the hat from Lavender's hand and threw it across the flat George owned above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He'd been coerced into this whole "playing Father Christmas thing" by Lavender putting on that sweet smile of hers and batting her eyelashes and being all, 'Oh Neville, this is for the children and only you have the kind heart and sweet soul to pull this off.' Bunch of rubbish. That's what that was. Bunch of rubbish from a perfect mouth, from a girl with even more perfect tits. And just look what perfect tits had got him into.

"So that's it then? You plan to disappoint the children who are down there waiting for Father Christmas to come about with candy canes and a belly that shakes like a bowl full of jelly."

Neville looked down at his stomach. Sure, he could stand to lose a couple of pounds, but he saw no reason to call him a jelly-belly. Kind of hurtful really.

Seeming to read his mind, Lavender marched across the room and retrieved the hat from where it had landed. "Oh for Merlin's sake, Neville, did your grandmother never read you Christmas stories? You know, about Santa and chimneys and ho-ho-ho's."

"I'm fairly certain stories about ho's are not appropriate reading material for children." Lavender glared when Neville thought she should have giggled. So much for word play. "To answer your question, no, Gran didn't read me Christmas stories. She read me scary things."

"That's horrible! Christmas is a magical time for children."

"Not really. I think she was trying to scare some magic out of me to prove I wasn't a squib. That would have been a really nice gift for the family, you know, to learn that I was a real wizard after all. Maybe she thought Christmas was a magical time too, and that was the best time to scare up a bit of magic out of me."

Lavender's eyebrow quirked up in interest. Good, she was forgetting about the abomination of a Santa suit that George had ordered from the States, the cheap bastard! His plan was working.

"Did it work then? Did you ever show any signs of magic when she read you those horrible scary tales?"

"Not really, no. I just hid under the covers a lot." So much for intriguing stories. Really, his childhood had been rather dull, despite Gran's efforts to liven it up.

Lavender balled up her fists, crumpling the hat a bit in one hand, and put them on her hips. "Oh, no you don't, mister! You're not side-tracking me. This is for the children, and you're going to put on this suit, some tiny specs and this lovely—she snarled up her nose a bit when she looked at it in its crumpled state—hat and you're going to march yourself out there in that shop and make children happy." As what seemed an after thought she said, "Oh, and don't forget to magic yourself on some whiskers."

"What the bloody hell am I supposed to be? Santa Cat?"

"You know what I mean! Don't you start twisting my words around in an attempt to stall, Neville Longbottom."

Neville sighed. He had to be more assertive and now was as good a time as any to make a stand. There would be photographers out there taking photos for posterity (and free advertising for the Wheezes, he had no doubt) and frankly, this was not a way he wanted to be remembered. Where the hell was the Daily Prophet when he was chopping off the head of a snake, covered in blood and looking super cool? Was there a photo of that? Fuck no. He took a deep breath. "I'm not doing it, Lavender. I've made up my mind and there's nothing you can do it change it." Oh good for me, he thought, I sound very sure of myself. Assertive even. Just listen at that.

"Fine." Her tone was matter-of-fact, and she marched over to George's fireplace and took some dust from a flower pot on the mantle. "You leave me no choice then."

"Um, no choice for what? Are you Flooing out of here? I'll go with you. That's really a great idea. We'll go somewhere that George can't find us. You always were a quick thinker, Lavender."

"You wish. I'm Floo Calling your grandmother and telling her that all of the little war orphans will not be having a Happy Christmas because her selfish grandson refuses to put on this lovely suit and share a little Christmas joy. Just how do you think she's going to feel about that?"

Oh, Neville knew just what his grandmother was going to say to that, and none of it was going to be one bit good. "You wouldn't!" Neville gulped. Lavender looked far more determined than he had when he was being all assertive.

"Oh, I would and I will."

Fuck! She really would. "You know what you are, Lavender?"

"You'd best be careful what you say," she warned.

"You're a b-i-t-c-h."

Lavender erupted in giggles. "Oh, sweetie, it loses a bit of the punch if you have to spell it out." She went serious again in a flash. "I'll be counting to twenty, Neville Longbottom, and you better be getting all Father Christmas'd up or I'm telling."

Neville glared. Lavender glared back. This was what they called an impasse, and that stubborn girl wasn't about to give an inch. She wasn't just a bitch; she was a stubborn bitch, and Neville though that might be the worst kind.

"One, two, three…"

She also meant exactly what she said, and Neville might face snakes head on, but he certainly didn't look forward to facing his gran when he was being a selfish dunderhead… and he was fairly certain Gran would have a far more colourful name (or two… or even ten) for him if she showed up. He'd be greeting the children as Father Christmas with a cane mark upside his head if Lavender Tattle-tale told on him. "All right, all right, I'm going, I'm going."

She grinned, clearly knowing she had the upper hand.

"I hate you, you know," Neville said.

"It's okay. I'm comfortable with your rage."

"Witch," he grumbled. He was smart enough to only think the b-word, and not say it aloud.

"I'm quite certain you accidentally omitted the word 'clever' before witch." Lavender began straightening her stockings. "Elephant ankles. I just hate it when I get those. They're so unattractive. Stupid stockings. I'm tempted to spell them into place, but last time I ended up ripping off the top layer of skin when I did that. I didn't have to shave my legs for months."

It was then that Neville really noticed her outfit. She was dressed in a lovely black and red, sequined dress that fit her like a glove. Her stockings were black fishnet, and she was wearing heels that showed off just how lovely her calves were. Neville felt his cock give a twitch inside the hideous Santa trousers as he attempted to strap a pillow to his midsection. "Oy! Hold it right there, you!" Neville said, pointing an accusing finger at Lavender. "You told me you were going to be an elf! That is not an elf costume."

"Yeah, those ears on the elf hat were atrocious. And do you know that George expected me to wear a green suit? I mean, green makes my skin go all blotchy and I look like I'm about to vomit. Also, it clashes with my lipstick. Do you like the shade?"

"Wait. What? Why do I have to spread Christmas cheer while you stand by looking all sexy and non-elfish?"

She waved a hand in an "oh, you shouldn't have" gesture. "You really think I look sexy? You're too sweet, Nevie."

"First of all, never call me that. Secondly, totally not the point of that comment!"

Lavender walked over to help him strap on his fake belly, with which he was struggling. She looped a belt around his middle and cinched it up tight. "I need to breathe!" Neville gasped.

"Oh, don't be a big baby. You can't go out there and let your belly fall out. You'll traumatise the children. Do you want to live with that on your conscience?"

He thought of chattery five year olds and wide-eyed cherub toddlers all ready to tell Father Christmas what they wished to find beneath their Christmas trees, and then the horror on their little faces as Neville's pillow stuffing fell out and the farce was revealed. "Not really, no. Maybe you should give the belt one more pull, you know, just to be sure."

"I'll get your shirt to cover the pillow. Don't throw your hat again!" She was really rather adorable when she was scolding him. Lavender crossed the room, and Neville admired the way she swished her hips, seemingly without conscious thought, as she walked. Men didn't walk that way, but girls—girls definitely had a gift for walking in just the right way. "Here, give me your arm," she said. "I'll get the buttons; you put on the hat."

That's when things started changing. The moment he pulled the hat down to cover his ears, he felt a warmth come over him, and he might be imagining it, but he thought Lavender's eyes had taken on a bit of a glazed, star struck look. Her fingers curled into the fabric of the red and white, fuzzy shirt.

"Neville," Lavender whispered, "put on the glasses."

"What glasses?" he squeaked, and his Father Christmas hat fell off. Lavender had closed any space between them and he felt that he was "wearing" her as much as he was wearing the Santa suit. "Are you okay? You're acting a little strange."

"It's just, you look so—so, ngh! I just want to throw you down on the ground and rip off your clothes and—" Lavender's eyes went wide and she rushed to put a hand over her mouth, seemingly shocked at the words that had slipped past her lips. "Oh, Merlin! That was aloud, wasn't it?"

He nodded.

She shoved him away and covered her face as she hurried away.

"Where're you going?" he called after her.

"To drown myself. I'll be back later."

Being still a bit foggy and befuddled from Lavender the Sex Kitten's advances, Neville took a moment to work that out. "Wait," he said. "I'm pretty sure that's not possible." He tried to run after her, but the pillow around his middle made walking hard and running impossible, and George's flat certainly wasn't clean. His feet tangled in some laundry strewn about on the floor and Neville landed flat, his nose was spared scraping the carpet by the fluffy pillow that broke his fall.

The lamp that he took down with him in an awful clatter didn't have the luxury of cushioning. The sound brought Lavender back, and George running up the stairs. "For Merlin's sake, Neville, are you trashing my flat?"

Looking around, Neville pulled a face. "I think it looked this way, mostly, before I got here. You can't blame me for everything."

George shrugged. "Fair enough, but I've got a queue of kids down here getting really impatient for Father Christmas to get his plump jelly belly down the stairs and listen to Christmas wishes. So move it, okay?" He looked around. "Where's the elf?"

"Green's not her colour." Neville still felt dazed, and he was having some trouble righting himself in the awkward suit.

"Well, if you tell her that and she kicks you in your favourite spot, don't come crying to me. I think she looks perfectly fine in green. Lovely, even." He turned an engaging smile Lavender's way when he noticed her standing back, and Neville felt a bit of rage that was quite unexpected. Two minutes ago, Lavender had been the girl who drove him insane, but then she'd got all sexy and she'd become Lavender who might like him. Him, not George. But George was a good-looking bloke and Lavender certainly had a history with liking his sort of look.

"Oy, Weasley!" Neville snarled. "Help me up, why don't you!"

"Okay, okay," George barked back. But Neville noted that George wasn't looking at him at all. His eyes were totally taking in Santa's sexy non-elfish assistant. Heavy emphasis on the Santa's. So, Neville did the most disgraceful, desperate thing a bloke can do. He reached up "blindly" and grabbed for purchase to rise… and dropped George Weasley right to his knees clutching his recently grabbed, squeezed and most favourite of parts.

"Oops! Did I do that?" Neville played innocent. Sometimes having a trusting, baby face really worked to his advantage. Nobody expected you to be plotting evil, nefarious schemes (which sounded far cooler than having a bit of a jealous streak).

Lavender looked at him with a face that was, if he was reading it right, mixed horror and amusement. "Well," she asked, "what are we supposed to do for him. Poor George! You—you—you pulled his willy."

See, this was going so well, and now the one thing Neville didn't want to get out—and boy, would it spread—was 'Neville pulled George's willy'. Once it got out, there would simply be no reining it in. Never. George looked ready to commit murder, so Neville made the smart decision to magic on his whiskers, put on his Father Christmas hat and scurry down the stairs, non-elf close on his heels, and do his Department Store Santa duties, before George recovered enough to put him in St Mungo's. The down-side of having a baby-face was that he kind of had the baby-muscles to match. True Gryffindor snake killer or not, he didn't have George's physique, and sometimes being brave meant knowing when to run.

***

Neville had to admit that decorated for the holidays, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was breathtaking. The world was all a sparkle with fairy lights and twinkling strands of Muggle Christmas lights. There were Christmas trees en masse, and George had even performed some advanced magic to make it snow in the shop and everything smelled like peppermint and gingerbread. Neville's belly growled in appreciation. He was even considering bypassing the chair that George had set up for Santa Neville to occupy to hear the wishes of the lines of children, when he saw candy floss on the opposite side of the shop. It was calling to him; he had a weakness for that sugary goodness.

He was just losing his willpower to the pull of the sugar, when Lavender grabbed the back of his shirt and tugged. "Oh no you don't, mister." She pointed towards the chair, painted golden and looking like it was fit for royalty. "These children have been waiting while you went all drama queen upstairs about how you weren't going to dress up. Now park your bum in that chair."

Neville was coming to the conclusion that if they'd sent Lavender out to tackle Voldemort early on, the war wouldn't have taken nearly so long to finish. She was scary. And he was just about to tell her so when there was a clatter from upstairs and George, began to struggle downstairs, clutching the banister with one hand and his boy jewels with the other, wearing a look of murder on his face. Neville looked at the door—too far away. He looked at Lavender—it would probably seem cowardly (and not win him any points) if he shoved her in front of him as a shield. So he ran as fast as his awkward cushion-belly would allow, said his best ho-ho-ho and took his seat of honour, quickly pulling a child onto his lap. George wouldn't go through a child to strangle him… he hoped.

Apparently, even in his murderous state, George realised it would be bad for business to strangle Santa in front of a group of wee ones. He stood by smiling at customers and giving Neville the glare of death whenever possible.

And the weird part was that was the most normal thing to happen to him. He knew something was weird when the first child/shield he'd chosen climbed down from his lap and her mother climbed on. He heard the non-elf behind him gasp at the woman's forwardness. Not only did she climb atop Santa Neville's lap, but she leaned in and told him exactly what she wanted for Christmas. Leaving nothing to the imagination… though Neville had to admit that his imagination was running wild nonetheless.

She only agreed to leave after slipping a parchment in his pocket that contained her address and a very colourful description of her unmentionables, which she seemed to have no trouble mentioning quite brazenly. She squirmed in his lap before reluctantly rising and exiting the shop so the next child, a young boy of no more than four, could run and climb up Neville's leg to plant himself on "Santa's" lap. The thing about children that age is they tend to be all knees and elbows, and they weren't real selective about where those knees and elbows happened to land. It was only some tightly squeezed together thighs and the fact that his cushioned belly had some overhang and extra stuffing that saved Neville from a George Weasley-like dilemma.

The child had a long list of Wheezes' products that he just had to have. He read them off one by one, smiling and angelic, as Santa Neville nodded at appropriate intervals, until he got to the end of his list. It was then that the child screwed his face up into an evil scowl and poked his finger hard into Neville's cushion tummy. "And if I don't get every single one of these things, I'll shoot your reindeer down with my mum's wand. I know where she keeps it. I'll do it too."

Neville gulped. Someone should send the "real" Santa a warning. This child needed to find himself on the Naughty list in a hurry. Neville wasn't brave enough to challenge him though. That giant snake had nothing on this kid. He just handed him a candy cane, patted him on the head and pushed him Lavender's way. "All done with this one!" he announced. And it happened again. Little Evil Reindeer Shooting Devil Child's Mum had some things she, too, wanted for Christmas. Some very naughty, very titillating things that needed to be whispered into Father Christmas's ear as she gyrated on his lap showing a rather indecent amount of –

"Mummy," said one little girl near the front of the queue, "I see that lady's knickers."

Apparently the non-elf had had enough. "All right. That's it. Move it, lady. You are officially on Santa's Naughty List."

There was a collective gasp from the children in the shop. There was no fate worse than this in December; nothing could top the Naughty List. The little girl who'd got an eyeful of knickers pointed and did that oh-oh-oh-oh noise that children do when words fail to express the degree of trouble someone's got into.

Lavender, the non-elf, took control. "Don't worry, kids. Father Christmas will be back momentarily. He needs to go to the little elf's room or feed a reindeer or some kind of rubbish." She waved her arms about and gave a disgusted sigh.

"But Lavender, I just got here. I don't need to go to the little elf's room," Neville said.

She grabbed him by the ear, none too gently, and pulled him forcibly from the chair and into the back storeroom where surplus inventory was kept. Santa followed shrieking a very un-jolly-like "ee-ooh-ow-ee" all the way.

Lavender slammed and locked the door when they were inside, yanked the hat from Neville's head and threw it onto the ground then she did a very cartoonlike jumping about on it as she grumbled, "Stupid George" and "Damn Weasleys and their fucking experiments."

"I think you killed it," Neville said, when the hat was little more than tatters of red and white.

Lavender stopped jumping. "Good. It was evil."

"It didn't look evil."

"It was spelled to make women fall in lust with you."

Appalled, Neville dove to save the tattered remains. "Well, what'd you go and kill it for?!?"

"So you want women to want you because of a stupid spell to make you attractive?"

Neville tossed his head from side to side, in deep thought. "Well…"

"Well what?" Lavender demanded.

"Yes is the wrong answer, isn't it?" She grunted her indignation. "Yeah, I thought so." Clutching what remained of the hat to his chest, he sat down on the floor and leaned back against some shelves holding Wheezes products. "It's just been a really long time, you know?"

"Oh, Neville." Before he knew what was happening, Lavender was straddling his lap and kissing him hard. Her lips were demanding and his mouth responded in kind to her once he got over the initial shock.

"You think it works if I just hold it then," he asked, looking at the hat clutched between his fingers.

"No, you thickhead, I've wanted to do that for ages?"

He looked down at himself. "And you waited until I was dressed like this? Do you have some sort of weird Christmas fetish, because I should probably know before we go any farther. I don't think I can--- well, you know--- with this pillow around my middle—wait, you do know, right? I mean, we're going to have—um, length problems if I have to work around this cushion." He looked down at the hat mortified at the admittance. "I think this hat makes me say stupid things."

Lavender patted his leg. "Now, now, sweetie, I don't think we can blame the hat for everything. Sometimes you're just dumb."

"Lav, I think you should kiss me and stop talking. I don't think you're a very nice person when you're talking."

"You're not the first person to tell me that." Lavender leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips. "Your whiskers are tickly."

Her voice was sultry and sexy and Neville tried to follow suit. He lowered his own voice and tried to make it sound all breathy. Girls liked that, he was sure of it. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah, no. Not really. Could you get rid of that?"

Damn! Women were hard to read. He took out his wand from within the sleeve of his costume and wanded it away.

Lavender stood back and took inventory. "That ruins the effect. Put it back."

Puzzled, Neville did as told. "What effect is that exactly?"

"The one where I get to pretend to be having sex with Father Christmas, versus the reality of sleeping with Sammy Snake Killer."

"OY! I'm a hero! All girls want to fuck a hero… or so I'm told."

"Do you kiss your grandmother with that filthy mouth?" Lavender put her hands on her hips, as she knelt beside him.

Neville felt his cock shrivel at the mention of his grandmother. "Wait. What? You're not allowed to talk about my grandmother during sex. There's a rule about that somewhere, I think."

"I'm not breaking any rules because I'm not having sex with a beardless Santa. It's unnatural."

Neville opened his mouth a couple of times before he managed to get words out. "Oh, because the rest of this is perfectly normal. Gee, Neville, I know you're a big old hero who saved the world, but that's not enough because I want to sit on Santa's lap and bump and grind until I pull old Santa's trousers down and shove his cock inside me." He shook his head. "Totally normal, that."

"Well, I think 'saved the world' might be giving you too much credit. I mean Harry gets some credit, you know, but the rest of it was pretty much on the mark. Hot, huh?"

He hated to admit it, but his cock was agreeing with Lavender's weird fantasy, and standing at attention like Santa's little soldier. Wait, did Santa have soldiers? She was making it hard to think. Of course, that might have been because she looked so firm, strict and completely do-able in her you naughty, Neville, you pose. Fuck it all, he'd make do with the pillow if it turned her on that much, even if it took an engorgement charm to pull it off. Though, he didn't fancy aiming wands at his groin.

Then Lavender hiked up her skirt and climbed across his lap, and he'd have aimed his wand anywhere she wanted him to. "Tell me what I'm getting for Christmas?" she cooed and leaned in to nibble his earlobe.

"Um, er, um."

She ground down on him and all articulation (not that he had much to begin with) went right out the window… for a moment.

She whispered as she licked up the shell of his ear, "Tell me, Santa, am I on your nice list this year? I've been an awful good girl."

"Fuck!" He gulped and slid his hand under her skirt, as she swivelled her hips. He touched the skin of a full right cheek and splayed his fingers. There was only a tiny scrap of lacy material covering her bum. "Merlin, Lav! These knickers alone will send you straight to the top of Santa's—er—my Naughty List."

"That's it." She bit down on his ear, then nibbled a line down his neck. "Tell me what you do to girls on the Naughty List, Santa."

She slid her hand into "Santa's" tented (and thankfully baggy) red trousers.

"He—I mean, I—I don't bring them presents. They're bad. No presents for them." He was proud of his improvisation… for a moment.

Lavender pulled back, looking at him sternly and hissing through gritted teeth. "Is that the best you can do?" She grimaced and said, "I can tell you're going to need some direction. Oh well, it'll have to do. Not exactly the thing I fantasized about, but you'll learn, I'm sure." She covered his hand that was still gripping her bum. "Smack my bum. Spank me. I've been a very, very bad girl, Santa."

"Oh. My. God. I don't think Santa's allowed to do that!"

"Ergh!" Lavender screamed and started to get up. "I bet George Weasley could put that Santa suit to use the right way! I'm going to—"

He grabbed her as she started to rise and pulled her back to her knees, bending and pulling her so that her head was over his lap and her bum was stuck up in the air deliciously. He pulled her skirt up to reveal the scrap of knickers that did little to cover her ample bum and began to play his part. "Lavender, Santa's not happy with you. Not happy at all. You're on my naughty list this year." He began to stammer around looking for the next words and found himself a little embarrassed to say them, but the image running through his head of George with Lavender pulled across his knee spanking her as she wriggled in his lap urged him on.

"Tell me what happens to girls who get on your naughty list, Santa." Lavender's face was flushed red (or maybe that was a reflection from her face being mere inches from his bright red trousers), but she was clearly enjoying herself.

"They—they need to be taught a lesson. I—I can't bring them toys until they've been punished." He rubbed his palm over her bum and gave it a light smack. A very faint red spot appeared and Neville felt himself grow harder. He smacked her a little harder next time and Lavender moaned, pulled him free from the baggy red trousers and took him in her hand, swiping her tongue across the head of his cock.

He brought his hand down firmly, leaving behind a full handprint, and Lavender sucked him almost to the base in appreciation.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He stretched out the word and splayed his hand wide so that his next smack covered as much of her bum as possible. He pulled free the lacy bit of cloth that was masquerading as knickers and slid his fingers against her sex to find her soaked. He parted her folds looking for the spot, and was only sure he'd found it when her knees nearly crumpled and she used a bit too much in the way of teeth so that he was doing his fair share of grimacing. "Easy," he coaxed, then remembered the game, "or I won't let you ride in my sleigh."

His role play was rewarded with a cupping of his balls and one of the best blow jobs of his life. This finger pressed against her clit and made small circles while she writhed against him.

"Make me come," she moaned around his cock. "I'm close."

"Promise to be a good girl and I'll give you a treat."

The words were apparently all she needed to make her come, and he was amused to find that she had quite the filthy mouth in the throes of orgasm. And so appreciative. So very, appreciative. She did things with her mouth that he'd never even thought possible bringing him to climax in a matter of minutes after he'd done the same for her.

"That was fucking brilliant." Neville looked about. "You know, without my hat, I can't very well go back out there and see the children, and with it, you're likely to maul their mothers. Suggestions?"

"I have a few." She waggled her eyebrows and side-along Apparated them back to her flat, which was quickly spelled to look curiously like the North Pole. "I never liked hats anyway. But I do love that suit."

Neville rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Brilliant."