Who: Padma Patil and Adrian Pucey What: Padma is stir crazy and Adrian bears the brunt of her kitten-rage When: Monday June 27, late afternoon/early evening Where: Adrian’s flat Rating: PG-13 Status: Fade to black/Completed
Padma couldn’t bring herself to go to work on Monday. She was, admittedly, too scared of setting foot near Robert Stebbins after that weekend, or to even see if Robert Stebbins was at work. He could very well be in St. Mungo’s—Padma assured herself that he wasn’t dead. She’d made Michael swear.
Michael though, that’s who she was worried about, and when she hadn’t heard anything from anyone by noon on Monday, she’d let go of her nerves long enough to send Lavender an owl.
Several owls later, she had clean clothes, had apologised to Lavender, and knew that she was safe, no DMLE were investigating their flat, and that Michael was safe in a sense. Jail was better than dead, but it was still pretty horrible.
Padma had promptly changed into the clothes Lavender sent the moment she got them. She charmed the lingerie yellow, though. Pink made her look... too girly and strange. She put on the sundress Lavender had sent as well, grateful (as comfy as they were) to be out of Adrian’s Falmouth sweats and into some more proper clothes. Well, the dress was proper. The knickers were too frilly, but they were better than going starkers underneath.
Still, the owls to Lavender only took up part of her time, and she was getting antsy with worry while Adrian was at practice. He didn’t even have any good books, though his roommate had a few, and finding one to tide her over (and being too worn out to try walking around the flat again to keep her healing going well—she’d managed two full laps, thank you,) she settled on the couch, a throw pillow under her hip, foot twitching as she read. When would Adrian be back?
Another thirty minutes passed and Padma set her book down with a huff. What if—Oh, gods, had they gotten him? Padma glanced at her watch apprehensively. Oh, he better be back soon or she would hex him silly!
It had been a long day. Practise days were the only days he really got in the air and for someone who professed not to give a shit about anything, he certainly seemed to give a shit when he was in the air. And he did, it was the only thing he’d ever tried at which was why it... frustrated him as much as it did that he still was sitting on the reserve squad. Showing up on game day and only seeing air time if there was an injury or a game gone so far awry that the reserves could be sent in. He’d done it to himself, fleeing the country right when he was starting to take off in his own career. Coming back now, he’d been lucky to get a spot period and he should be grateful for what he had. He wasn’t though. He hated knowing that he was turning out just like his father had always predicted. But for the time being, he did the only thing he did know how which involved giving it his all at practice.
Even when there was an injured female that he used to shag still shacked up in his flat.
He did return, freshly showered from the locker room with Thai carry-out in tow. He had to fend for himself again with Astoria staying with her cousin while Padma was with him. He could manage some food but... takeaway was always a better option. He shouldered his way through the door, wet hair flopped against his forehead. He tried to huff it out of the way, but damp it wouldn’t budge. But through the strands he could make out his house guest, propped on the sofa. Getting a look in her eye.
“You’re going to grow into that sofa if you sit-” he paused as he straightened up and got the hair out of the way. “Where on earth did you find that-” He indicated up and down which somehow translated to clothing in Adrian speak.
Padma was torn. She wanted to be vexed with him—he’d said he’d be straight home after practise and he’d been over a half hour late. These were not the times to be late! What if the Ministry jumped him on his way home? But he had takeaway, and it smelled delicious, and she was starving. And then he got that tone with her—well, it was more confused Adrian speak, but she wanted none of it.
“I’ve done two laps of your flat today, Adrian Pucey,” she glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest after she sat her book down. “What? Did you expect me to sit around, knickerless and braless, in the same tee and Falmouth bottoms that I’ve been wearing since Friday?” Oh, he was going to get it. She tried to push up off the couch, but was still bloody sore, and it was a struggle. She managed, though, and started to hobble towards him. It was sort of a hop, and her dress raged against her mood by flouncing with each step she took. She was glad his teeny flat’s kitchen counter was close by, or it would have been a very short hobble and she’d not have been able to swipe the takeaway from his arms and start setting it out on his counter.
He couldn’t help it. He coudn’t move a muscle as he watched her hop her way across the room with such a put out look on her face. “Oh well two laps, excuse me.” Adrian retorted with one eyebrow arched. “And I don’t think you want me to answer that question.” The bag of food was snatched from his hand and he watched as it began to bob it’s way over the counter.
It was the last bob that caught his particular attention. Or rather the last flounce of her dress. Was that a ruffle? His grin only widened as he slowly walked up behind her. “You didn’t have to get new knickers just for me but I do appreciate the effort.” The words were spoke just behind her ear as he reached around and grabbed a carton of food.
Padma bristled at his words and the way her spine turned to goo when his voice was so close to her ear like that. She elbowed him back and turned, eyes squinted up at the corners as she poked at his chest. “You are so—” she huffed. What was wrong with him? After several days being holed up in Adrian’s flat, he was still being disconcertingly not a lecherous perv. Yes, he made lewd jokes at every turn, but he hadn’t actually tried anything.
Maybe he really was vexed that she’d stood him up after the journals. That thought caused her eyes to narrow more. Here she was, clearly vulnerable, and he was treating her like a doll! Well, like Adrian would treat a doll. “What’s wrong with you? You wash my hair, you bring me takeaway, you tuck me in—” she protested. Clearly something was off. Adrian should have tried to seriously make an effort to get into her knickers at least once since she’d been here, so what was the problem?
He’d said he had always found her attractive, she knew he still did, but... maybe he really didn’t mean what he said, and he wasn’t willing to... to be with her that way. She frowned, turning from him again and sorting the food, arranging rices and sauces and curries. Clearly, she was too fucked up to fuck. “Which one do you want?” she asked, voice lowered. She’d take whichever he didn’t and go to Astoria’s room. That’s where he’d relocated her to anyway—he wasn’t even trying to share a bed with her!
“What’s wrong with me?” Adrian blinked as he asked the question. The elbow to the chest had been expected but her sudden turn to just plain... irritation, had him stumped. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the counter. “Well excuse me for not just tossing you in the tub and hoping you didn’t bleed out.” He watched her as she focused on the sorting of food, something that really didn’t need to be done as far as Adrian was concerned. Just grab a container and hope for the best. That was his usual tactic. But she was doing the task with particular focus and attention.
Adrian slowly uncrossed his arms and leaned forward to push the containers back out of her reach and focus. “I think the better question to be asked is what’s wrong with you? How did I manage to piss you off without even being here. Or did you just miss me that much.” Adrian angled a glance down at her sundress and the length of leg that was showing, injured or not. “You’re welcome to take care of business if needed. Or do you not do that.”
He never claimed to be particularly good at following the thought processes of the female mind when it came to actual feelings and matters. He was though, trying. Not that it seemed to help.
He got a dirty look for the comment about bleeding out in the tub and her hands hung idly in the air for a moment as he moved the containers out of her reach and she sighed heavily, letting out a slow breath of hair at his words. “What is wrong with me?” she echoed, trying to interrupt him, turning to look up at him. “You’re the one—” His little hand gesture to indicate she might need to masturbate was the tip of the iceberg, and she smacked him in the chest with the back of her hand.
“I wouldn’t need to masturbate if you’d just— gods, Adrian, you said you would. Willingly.” She frowned, wondering what was so terrible about her now that he couldn’t, wouldn’t touch her that way. “But you haven’t even tried and I’m going to feel like an idiot if I suggest it again,” she pouted in frustration, hands tugging at her dress as she backed up a little, feeling suddenly very silly for bringing it up. This was Adrian, if he wanted to shag her he would. He didn’t care about feelings, that was the whole point! She didn’t want feelings just then, she just wanted to feel. “Forget it,” she muttered, not even hungry anymore. She let her eyes scan the distance to Astoria’s room, wondering if she could hobble with any dignity left.
She was upset because he hadn’t thrown her up against a wall and had his way with her? Adrian blinked for a moment while he let her finish her- whatever the hell it was. He didn’t entirely know and he was fairly certain that he would never actually know. He focused on her body language, that was always easier for him to read than the words people tried to put to emotions. He could see her looking to the room down the hall and eyeing her way out but there was no movement. She wanted a million things that her mind never thought she should want, that much Adrian had always known about her.
But he also knew that for her, and for all his protests to the contrary, that sex wasn’t always something to be jumped into cavalierly. And if the way she’d curled into his side the first night she’d stayed over, he knew that she sometimes needed more than he was typically willing to give. Especially when it came to sex.
Adrian pushed one heel off of the counter and stalked forward, intercepting her potential retreat by lifting her up and turning her to rest on his shoulder. Frilly knickers now on full display as he walked with purpose to his bedroom.
She was fully expecting him to say something, that she was being a girl even though she was trying very hard not to, and that he had indeed changed his mind, that he’d rethought the weight of shagging her versus the weight of the baggage that came with her and decided no, he wasn’t willing to remind her how to relax and let go like he had before.
Hell, when he pushed away from the counter, she was sure he was done, and she was half expecting him to tell her to fuck off—it’s how her other arguments had ended recently. She let he gaze fall to the floor, stepping back so he could walk past, but—
“ADRIAN!” she squealed, arms coming up to grasp for purchase, managing to grab onto his hip and one shoulder. “You utter neanderthal, let me go!” Though her mind begged for him not to, please, she didn’t think her pride could handle it if he really did change his mind.
It took a superhuman strength that he didn’t have not to laugh when she railed against him with a word like... neanderthal. How many syllables was that? Enough to be one hell of a turn on. It didn’t break his stride though. Door kicked open with one foot he approached the edge of the bed. He didn’t toss her down, her injury did limit what he ordinarily would have done. It didn’t stop him through from running his free hand down the back of her exposed leg, slowly.
“I don’t think you want me to let you go at all Padma.” He said before bending and releasing her from the hold on his shoulder. She had clearly been at this too long, working herself up into a state that he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before. There was always a cure for it that he had never taken off the table, despite her inner thoughts to the contrary. Adrian’s hands made a path up the outside of her legs, skating over the still healing wound before pushing the hem of her dress up, runching it at her waist. He fingered the edge of yellow ruffled fabric. “I do like these.” His breath skated over the skin of her waist as he leaned down over her.
“Now what did you just call me. Say it again?” His eyebrows waggled before he nipped at the elastic waist of her knickers, snapping it back against her skin.