Daily Deviant
- there is no such thing as 'too kinky'
Fic: The Real Story, Angelina/Romilda 
18th October 2009 21:58
Title: The Real Story
Author: [info]ozma_katiebell
Characters/Pairings: Romilda Vane/Angelina Johnson
Rating: NC17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Arousal by fabric, Alternate Pairing
Other Warnings: None.
Word Count: 5765
Summary/Description: The reporter is startled to find that the tables have turned on her and she is on the spot.
Author's Notes: Sorry about the delay. Family emergency kept me from editing

In person, Miss Johnson is a a study in contrasts. Smaller than you'd imagine, given her imposing presence on a broom, also soft spoken and polite, which is certainly a contrast to her notorious temper and relentless determination on the pitch. Though she still moves with the grace of an athlete, she seems slightly uncomfortable in social situations, but perhaps that stems from her well-known reluctance to give interviews--even, apparently, to former housemates.

"So tell me, Ms. Johnson-"

"Angelina-"

"Angelina," Romilda muttered, a bit flustered by the warmth in her interviewee's voice. Gods, that voice. It was just as smooth and resonant and velvety as she'd remembered. Romilda had cultivated a sexy rasp in her voice with practice and an unapologetic cigarette habit, but this was the real thing.

"Have you decided whether you will renew your contract at the end of the month?"

"Well, you certainly do get to the point rather in a hurry," Angelina said, chuckling softly.

"No point in beating about the bush, is there? Everybody's dying to know-"

"Tell me something I don't know," Angelina said. Instead of answering, however, she reached out to Romilda's untouched wine glass. "So, are you going to make me drink this entire bottle myself?" she asked, pushing the glass a few inches closer to Romilda.

With a sigh, Romilda took a sip. It really was lovely, actually, deep mahogany in colour and giving off an aroma that had her thinking of the Forbidden Forest in autumn. As she swallowed, she noticed that Angelina's hand had stayed where it was on the table, and it bothered her just a bit. Come to think of it, her subject was sitting rather close, wasn't she? Close enough to where every few moments, a musky, spicy scent kept drifting toward Romilda, distracting her.

"You're changing the subject," she said.

"I thought I was the subject," Angelina replied, laughing softly. She took another sip of wine and watched Romilda over the rim of her glass, her eyes reflecting the glow of the candlelight. "What's your hurry, anyway?"

"Well, I'm sure you're extremely busy--I mean, I've been trying to interview you for ages, and this is the first time your manager-"

"I hate giving interviews," Angelina interrupted.


Whereas most Quidditch players seem to lap up the limelight, milking their fame for all that it is worth, (who can forget Darius Winklethorpe's recent tell-all book and Win a Date with Tommy Trujillo?) Miss Johnson seems determined to keep her private life private.

"Really?
I mean, I suppose there haven't been that many, I couldn't find that many when I was researching you for the piece, just a few after the war, but that wasn't really about Quidditch was it?"

"No, it wasn't," Angelina said, frowning slightly.

And, of course, being right in the thick of the War-Against-You-Know-Who, having not only suffered through witnessing the first Battle of Hogwarts and participating in the second, she'd have a lot of trauma she'd like to forget, having lost several loved ones, most notably Fred Weasley, whom she was closely connected with in her school years.


"I suppose you got tired of talking about the war?" Romilda prodded, instantly regretting it. Nobody wanted to talk about the war, at least not those who'd fought in it and lost people, as Angelina had. And if, as Romilda had always suspected, she'd had something going with Fred Weasley, it had to be especially painful.

With a wry smile, Angelina focused on her glass, twirling the stem slightly.

"Stupid question," Romilda muttered, and picked up her own glass, taking a large gulp this time. She really didn't do a lot of drinking--she supposed she didn't like the loss of control. But as the wine went down her throat, she felt a rather pleasant warmth spreading through her veins. She shifted in her seat, tugging down the skirt of her (admittedly short) robes, wondering how to proceed.

Usually, interviews went a lot more smoothly than this. A bit of innuendo, a sympathetic cluck or two, a hand on a forearm, (or maybe a thigh) a glimpse of leg, and suddenly her subjects were pouring out their heart to her, not to mention their life stories. And if occasionally the interview ended with her slipping out of their flat or hotel room in the early hours of the morning, it really was nobody else's business but her own, was it?

But here she was with the biggest 'get' of the year, and she couldn't seem to get anywhere. Well, it didn't help that she'd never been all that good at talking to women., Whereas men rather liked it when she came on strong, she had trouble gaining other women's trust.

She took another gulp of wine. "So," she said. "Not ready to talk about your plans and the war is off limits. Lets talk about last season. You're well on your way to breaking Gwennog Jone's career record for saves. Did you ever think, back at school, that you would get this far?"

Angelina smiled. "I didn't think I'd live past twenty-one, so, no."

"You didn't? Oh, well, yes, I suppose none of us thought-"

She seems to have thrown herself into her Quidditch career like a woman determined to forget, or perhaps she is trying to make up for those two years when the British Quidditch League was on hiatus. It had to be heartbreaking to lose some of your best playing years to a war. Still, it doesn't seem to have hurt her, in fact, in the short time she has been playing for the Kestrals, she has broken record after record, and she doesn't seem to be ready to slow down.

"I'd hoped, of course. Had a picture of her on my wall since I was a little girl."

A picture of who?
Romilda thought, startled out of a memory of Angelina's game-changing goal against Flint in the semi-finals the month before. "And now you'll get the chance to play under your heroine. How does that feel?"


"I'd hoped, of course. Had a picture of her on my wall since I was a little girl."

A picture of who?
Romilda thought, startled out of a memory of Angelina's game-changing goal against Flint in the semi-finals the month before. "And now you'll get the chance to play under her. How does that feel?"

Something about her answering laugh had Romilda's cheeks heating up. She reached again for her glass, startled to realise that it was nearly empty. As she drained it, Angelina answered.

"Well, I haven't played under her yet," she said. "But if and when I do, I'll be sure to let you know."

Romilda choked on the wine in her throat. She looked around wildly, desperate for anything to prevent her from having to meet Angelina's eyes, at least until she could compose herself. As she looked around at the other couples in the room, whether cuddled up in the plush booths or moving close together on the dimly lit dance floor, it occurred to her that what she assumed to be men might be, in fact, women.

She swung her head back toward her interviewee, her eyes as wide as saucers.

"Well, there's one question answered, and I didn't even have to ask," Angelina said, refilling Romilda's glass, then her own. "Would you rather go someplace else, then?"

"Oh, no, it's fine," Romilda blurted, and as the words left her lips it occurred to her that Angelina might not have been talking about finding another restaurant after all. Of course, that would have put her into an entirely different pickle if it were true, so she decided to pretend she'd never thought of it. "I thought--well, seeing as it was a Muggle part of town, I thought--well, I don't know what I thought. Muggles are a bit odd, aren't they?"

"I like Muggle clubs better," Angelina explained. "Not bloody likely I'll be approached by autograph seekers in a place like this, is it?"

"No, I suppose it isn't. Are you...I mean--aren't you worried you'll give yourself away? I mean, oh dear, I meant the Muggles, of course, not...Well, what I mean is that I'm always afraid I'll give myself away as a witch and be hauled before the Ministry. Or are you-"

Romilda stopped short again. What on earth was wrong with her? Normally she was the one in charge of the conversation, yet in spite of her reticence, Angelina had reduced her to a babbling fool, doomed to keep putting her foot in her mouth.

"I'm half-blood," Angelina said. "Mum's Muggleborn. Dad was a bit older and hasn't got any brothers or sisters, unlike Mum, who has five. She didn't want me to forget where she came from, so they were around a lot. Lots of Muggle cousins running around. So I'm familiar enough with pounds and shillings, the tube, the telly, cricket, Absolutely Fabulous, U2..."

"Me, too?" Romilda asked, feeling as though she were conversing in a foreign language, but Angelina only laughed.

"Never mind. Muggle stuff, and obviously you never bothered with Muggle studies. I just mean I like knowing I can always disappear into the Muggle world if it gets to be too much. Besides, not entirely certain I want Rita Skeeter doing an expose on my sex life. It was all right for Jones, I mean, she can tell them all to fuck off, but the way I see it, some things are nobody's business but my own." This was followed by a meaningful look into Romilda's eyes and she found herself nodding.

"So, you spent a lot of time around Muggles," she said, unable to think of something to say in response.

Miss Johnson seems fiercely determined to protect her privacy, but the longer we sat together, the better I was able to form a picture of the complicated and surprisingly charming woman beneath the brilliant Chaser.


"Yeah, they're all right. Not as upright as Wizards, for the most part. Of course there are exceptions. On both sides. But sometimes I think the Wizarding world is trapped in the fourteenth century. Of course, the Muggles have their own issues. Skin colour instead of blood status, and churches sticking their noses into people's bedrooms and all that..."

It ought not to have come as a surprise to this reporter that Miss Johnson has a great deal of interest in overcoming prejudice and bigotry, given her war efforts, but it is refreshing to meet someone in the Quidditch world who isn't so caught up in the sport and their own celebrity that they have completely forgot where they came from.

Romilda realized that she'd completely forgot to check on the quill scratching away, hidden in her bag, but to her relief, she found the charm was holding up, even surrounded by all this Muggle energy

"So if there were no magical cousins, did you grow up playing Quidditch? Or did you play...what is it they like?"

"Football, mostly. Bit like Quidditch, actually. Rugby. Cricket. Lots of other ones. But mostly footie."

"So, you didn't learn until school?" Romilda asked, astonished.

"Oh, no. My dad played with me. He played Chaser for Ravenclaw at school. Still, lots of fantastic players didn't get started until school. Look at Harry. He was brilliant straight off."

"Oh, yes, Harry," Romilda said, and found herself blushing yet again. "Shame he didn't decide to keep on playing after school. But I suppose-" She shook her head. She really didn't come here to talk about him. She'd done talking about Harry Potter in her fourth year to last a lifetime.

"And O'Meara," she added. "He's Muggleborn, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he's amazing," Angelina agreed. "Haven't got to play against him yet, but I'm hoping to before he retires."

"I interviewed him two years ago at the World Cup. He seemed to think he's got another Cup left in him, but that injury-"

"Yeah, that was awful," Angelina agreed, shaking her head. For a long moment, the silence stretched between them. Romilda was just beginning to pluck up the nerve to move back toward the burning question when Angelina spoke once more.

"So, did you?" she asked, eying Romilda from under lowered lashes. She was making a circle around the rim of her glass, and the finger resting inches away from her own on the table twitched a bit, but otherwise she was almost perfectly still.

"Did I what?" Romilda asked, but somehow, some way, the moment the words left her lips, she understood the question.

"Oh. I. Erm..."

Angelina laughed again, and something about the look on her face had Romilda feeling as if she was standing there in just her knickers.

"No need to blush, is there? Hell, I'd consider switching teams for a shot at that. Bloody well beautiful, he is."

"Yes, right. I suppose he is..."

"Not asking for details. Seriously, love, you're going to turn purple in a minute. I just thought-"

"Thought what, exactly?"

"Well, I suppose that I thought--from what I'd heard about you, mind you, not what I remember, that..."

"What?"


"Well, I wasn't expecting a blushing schoolgirl, was I? But then again, that's exactly what I remember you as, so...

Romilda wished the ground would swallow her whole at this point, but then Angelina reached out to cover her hand with her own.

"Its all right, love. Really. I was just teasing, really. I just thought-" She gave Romilda's hand a squeeze. "Well, the word is, you've picked yourself up a Quidditch player or two or twenty--maybe not as many as I'd heard, but given what I'd heard I thought you'd be a bit more...bollocks out, I reckon.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you know what I mean. Or maybe you don't. I just think it's a bit hypocritical that the boys are patting each other on the back when they're having lots of luck with the girls, but most girls would call a another girl doing the same thing a slag."

"I'm not a-"

"Never said you were."

"You know, for someone who just got finished saying their sex life was nobody's business, you certainly seem to have an unhealthy interest in mine."

"Yeah, but I'm not writing an article about you, am I?"

"Still..."

Angelina leaned a bit closer, lowering her voice. "Or perhaps I was just trying to work out if it was my turn. Or if I even had a shot."

"Your turn? A shot?"


"Well, they say you've fucked your way around the English league, and possibly the Irish, but you hadn't got round to me yet. And yet, at school-"

"I don't...well, I haven't fucked my way around league, for one thing, and for another..." She was doing her best to end the questioning with her sternest primmest expression (channeling McGonagall helped) but it wasn't working. If the amused look on Angelina's face was anything to go by, she was encouraging her more than anything.

"Yes?"

"I don't fuck women."

"Is that so?"

"Not that there's anything wrong with...well, people who do. Women who do, I mean."

"Well, that's very liberal and open-minded of you, love. Still, it doesn't explain that ickle thirdie who used to follow me around like a lost puppy for nearly a year. Or didn't you think I'd noticed?"

"I did not!"

"Come on, Romilda. You can't expect me to open up to you if you're going to lie to my face. Besides, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. There was this Hufflepuff I was mad for when I was about that age. She was amazing, but I never plucked up the courage to talk to her until much later."

"Did you ever..." Romilda reminded herself she was writing a story, and Angelina had made it perfectly clear that she wasn't supposed to write about her love life, so why was she telling her all this? Unless she was seriously trying to pull her, having got the wrong impression all those years ago. "Well, that's very good to know, but--it wasn't what you think. At school, I mean. Of course, hero worship and all that, but....I mean, I suppose I envied you that talent, that freedom. I'm a dreadful flier, and not at all coordinated, and...well, I used to see you and picture myself flying around a stadium with screaming fans--I suppose I wanted to be you. I just didn't have the talent. To be honest, I followed Harry the next year. Maybe I've got a thing for Quidditch Captains. Not that I had a thing for you, but...never mind."

"So I suppose you followed Oliver before me?"

"Well, no. Well, apart from Quidditch, he was sort of dull, wasn't he?"

Amgelina laughed. "He's all right. Just single-minded. I'll bet Harry didn't like being followed nearly as much as I did. So, after Harry left?"

"Well, we didn't have Quidditch that year. And the year after that it was Ginny, and we don't exactly get on."

"Do you get on with many women, Romilda?

"Of course! I mean...well...it's a cutthroat job I have, and there's a lot of jealousy, which would certainly explain the reputation you seem to think I have..."

"Seems to me that maybe you're a but muddled, Romilda Vane. What are you looking for, exactly? Looking for attention that Daddy never gave you? Or was it Mummy?

"I don't think-" But at the moment, Romilda was having trouble thinking at all, because Angelina's hand was on her thigh. It was a light touch, but the heat and pressure of her fingers was doing strange things to her stomach

She closed her eyes, wondering what she was supposed to do about how she was feeling. Perhaps it was the wine. Perhaps she ought not to have skipped her dinner. Perhaps this was a dream and she was fourteen again, feeling her heart racing like mad when she spotted her heroine walking down the corridor.

Without realizing what she was doing, she shifted in her seat, and instead of moving away and ending the uncertainty, she brought her knee even closer to the other woman. The pressure of Angelina's fingers increased slightly, and Romilda felt herself biting her lip. Needing to so something with her hands, she reached for the wine glass. She'd seen her subjects do similar things over the years and always found it to be a tell-tale sign of weakness, one that usually inspired her to move in for the kill.

As Angelina's fingers made a movement up her thigh, Romilda took a hasty sip of wine. Angelina leaned in a bit closer, and as she spoke, Romilda felt the Chaser's breath ghost over her bare shoulder. "Relax, love. Just tell me to stop if you don't like it. But I suspect you do."

The word 'stop' was on the tip of her tongue, but somehow it never made it out of her mouth. "I did tell you I don't sleep with women, didn't I?"

"You did--and I promised I wouldn't do anything you didn't like."

"Not sure like being fondled in public,"

"Yes you do, otherwise you wouldn't be letting me."

"We'll likely get thrown out.

"That's the other thing I like about Muggle clubs. A discreet charm or two isn't noticed."

"Is that what's happening to me? Or maybe you put something in the wine." If so, it had to be karmic punishment for her previous sins. Not that she believed in that silly Muggle karmic shit.

"So you admit I'm getting to you," Angelina murmured, bending even lower to whisper in her ear. Romilda could feel the lower notes in her voice all the way to the tips of her toes. Angelina's fingers grew bolder--she'd actually ventured beneath Romilda's (admittedly short) robes at this point, but Romilda found it physically impossible to do anything to stop the other girl's slow but steady progress.

"Gods," she hissed, opening her legs just the smallest bit, causing Angelina to chuckle.

"Goddess, more like. Goddesses. Have you any idea how beautiful you look like this? Your skin is flushed, you're opening your legs up because you're dying for more. Your eyes have gone all dark and your skirt is riding up your thighs. And look at that--I can see your nipples poking up out through that gorgeous silk. You're hardly wearing anything under that dress, aren't you? Have you any idea how much I want to taste you right now?


"Oh, gods," Romilda repeated, with even more vehemence. She could picture it all too clearly, a thousand images that had popped up unexpectedly in her most private fantasies.

"I want-" she began, but she didn't want to want, didn't want to admit that her skin was aching to be touched and her body was aching for fulfillment. But as the fingers crept up her thigh at an agonizingly slow pace, she let herself actually look at the woman sharing the cozy booth with her. She really was breathtaking, with her skin glowing like burnished mahogany in the candlelight.


"You're beautiful," she found herself saying, and the hand that wasn't clutching her wineglass seemed to reach up independently from the rest of her body, almost but not quite brushing across the tempting curve of a breast.

Angelina leant forward, pressing into the almost-caress and bringing her lips into the general vicinity of Romilda's own open mouth.

"Someone is going to see," Romilda whispered.

"I told you," Angelina said. "I took care of it. Besides, I don;t think very many of these girls would notice if the place caught on fire."

Romilda looked around. People (well, women) indeed seemed to be oblivious to the room at large--in fact, there seemed to be an almost visible fog of desire filling the room.

Angelina's mouth was still so close, she could smell the wine on her breath, but Romilda didn't have the courage to close the gap between them.

Angelina slid closer, but instead of using the improved proximity press their lips together, her lips ghosted over Romilda's cheek, making her shiver and bite the inside of her cheek. She was used to being the one setting the pace, but she suspected a man in this situation would have had her back home with her legs wrapped around him long before this. This was agony, this was, but she had to admit she'd never been so turned on in her life. And they hadn't even done anything, not really.

"I need-" Romilda started, but didn't have the presence of mind or the courage to finish the sentence.

"What, love, what do you need?"

"Touch me," Romilda whispered."

"Here, now? You want me to touch you in front of all these people?"

"You said...a charm, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah, there's a charm. Nobody's paying attention to us, which is why the waitress hasn't given us another bottle. We could do anything we wanted here. Do you want me to stick my fingers up your knickers here, in front of everyone? Or do you want me to drop to my knees under the table and lick your cunt, suck on your clit while you try your best not to scream?" She reached up and unerringly found Romilda's nipple through the silk of her robes. She let her fingertip pass over it once, twice, three times, while Romilda whimpered at the feel of the silk and the friction against her overly sensitive skin. "Is it the fact that you're doing this in public that's turning you on, or is it that I'm a girl, and you think you're being naughty?" She leaned even closer still, running her tongue around the shell of Romilda's ear, rolling her nipple through the silk and between her thumb and forefinger. "Or is it that little girl who used to follow me around the castle getting her way? Has there ever been another woman, Romilda?"

"No, just you. Or not you. I mean, Yeah, maybe I had a little crush on you. But I don't like women. Not that way, anyway."

Or rather women didn't like her., she thought. Because she was a ruthless bitch, considering every one of them competition. But apparently, she did--at least this one. And if she was going to be completely honest with herself, there had been others, too. Perhaps she didn't like women because she didn't like the squirmy way they made her feel sometimes. So what would it hurt to find out? Odds were, she'd get it out of her system, right? This didn't have to be life-changing, this could be a game, right? A bit of fun. An experiment.

"I want to go home," she found herself saying.

"Alone?" Angelina's hand stilled.

"No. No," she repeated. "I want you to come with me."

Bad choice of words, she thought, but her mind wasn't quite working properly. Otherwise she never would have chosen her place. People were harder to get rid of that way. It was a hell of a lot easier to say 'I need to go,' rather than 'you need to go.'


But while she was contemplating her mistake and wondering how to correct it, she looked up and realised that Angelina was pulling out pound notes from her bag.

"No, no," she protested. "This is on me, the paper..."

Angelina gave her a hard look. "No. This isn't about the interview, which, quite frankly would have been rubbish. I only agreed to the interview because I was curious about you. Because what I'd heard about you didn't make sense, given what I remember from school. I suspect you learned more about yourself than you ever learned about me. But if you want to keep calling this an interview, we can finish it right now. As far as I'm concerned, though, this was a date, and I prefer to pay for my dates, thanks."

"Right," Romilda said, because she couldn't think of anything else. Still, she closed the bag she'd begun to open, closed it right on the moving quill, snapping it in half. And wonder of wonders, she didn't give a damn. "Right. Erm..."

Angelina finished counting out the bills, then stood up and held out a hand. "Shall we?"

Romilda nodded, taking hold of it and allowing herself to be led from the table.

It had begun to rain as they were eating, and she had a moment's confusion standing in the entrance to the club while Angelina just looked at her expectantly. She thought she'd given her answer already, and then it occurred to her that she was the one who knew where they were going. Apparently her brain wasn't working properly. "Oh, this way," she said, trying to remember where the apparition spot was. It would be a bit of a dash in the rain, but hardly worth the bother of a repelling charm. "This way," she repeated, more firmly, and began running. Angelina was still holding her hand, and it surprised her how natural it felt to run that way.

The Apparition point had been one of those old fashioned jewelry shops, with the door set far back in the entry, allowing for maximum window shopping. Now it was all boarded up, and had a slight smell of urine. Still, it was a welcome refuge, and when they reached it, they were both covered in raindrops, out of breath and laughing.

"Should have brought an umbrella," Angelina pointed out, apparently unwilling to let go of her hand as she caught her breath. Romilda didn't know which of them she was talking about, but felt the need to defend herself.

"Well, it wasn't looking like rain in Cardiff," she explained, finding that her heart was pounding in her chest, and not just from the sudden exertion. It had more to do with the way that Angelina was looking at her, as though she wanted to devour her whole.

She took a deliberate step toward Romilda, smiling and saying, "You look gorgeous, soaking wet like that."

Romilda giggled nervously. "Why was everything sounding so dirty all of a sudden? And what on earth was wrong with her stomach?"

Angelina reached up to push a wet lock of hair back behind Romilda's ear. She then let go of Romilda's hand, reaching up to touch the other side of her face, tilting it up with just the slightest amount of pressure. Romilda took a step back out of instinct, but there was nowhere to go. The wall was behind her, and she tried not to imagine what the dust and cobwebs were going to do to her robes.

Angelina cupped her face and drew her closer. Her lips were close yet again--Romilda could feel the other girl's breath against her lips, but still, Angelina held back. Romilda didn't know if she was being tormented or given a chance to back out, but she found herself looking down at the gorgeous full lips she'd been thinking about all evening, wondering how they would feel on her own lips, on her neck, on her breast, she found herself closing the distance and pressing against the other girl hesitantly.

Apparently it was all the encouragement Angelina needed, for she moaned and kissed Romilda full on the lips, her fingers curved around the back of her neck, her thumbs tracing Romilda's earlobes.

Romilda had thought it would feel wrong, somehow, like the way she felt when girls at some of the sporting events she'd attended snogged for the benefit of the blokes in the room, putting on a show that had very little to do with what people actually did when they kissed.

She'd thought that maybe she'd feel nothing, and she could write it off as a failed experiment. What she hadn't expected was the yearning that seemed to burst inside of her as she found herself enfolded in an embrace unlike any she'd experienced before. She'd known it would feel different, but no unacknowledged fantasies could have prepared her for the reality, the strange way way Angelina's braids felt sliding through her fingers, the way the lips Romilda had been coveting all evening (perhaps even since she was thirteen) felt so unbelievably soft yet strong against hers, the heady fragrance that seemed to permeate Angelina's skin, the low, decidedly feminine moans that sent shivers through Romilda's body.

"Gods," she said as she pulled away for a moment to catch her breath. Wasn't she supposed to be doing something? Oh, yes, Apparition, she thought, and tried to focus on the hallway outside her flat, though it was difficult to concentrate when Angelina's lips were moving over her jaw and throat.

Somehow she managed it, though as they arrived, she felt her wand slip out of her grasp and clatter to the floor. She wasn't surprised, her hand was shaking so badly she could barely manage the wand movement to unlock her door when she finally retrieved it. Once inside, she was momentarily at a loss as she looked around despairingly at her messy flat. Well, she'd had a lot of trouble deciding what to wear tonight, after all, and no wonder. She thought perhaps she should offer a drink or some food--she'd skipped dinner in her rush to make her appointment, and how long had it been since lunch,anyway?

But Angelina was behind her, kissing on the spot where Romilda's neck met her shoulder, her hands spanning her waist.

"I don't--I don't know what to do," she said.

"Yes you do," Angelina whispered against her ear. She slid open hands around Romilda's belly, the calluses on her hands catching on the delicate silk. "You can touch me back, you know," she said, pressing against Romilda's back.

Tentatively, Romilda reached behind her, pressing her palm to the older girl's hip She was wearing soft wool trousers, and the contrast of decidedly feminine curves and firm muscle felt even better than she could have imagined. But it was hard to focus on the sensation on her fingertips because Angelina brilliant hands were now focused on her breasts, stroking the nipples through the silk until she thought she'd go mad with pleasure.

But it got even more intense as one of Angelina's hands began creeping lower, pulling up the hem of her robes as she went, making them hitch higher and higher up her thigh. She leaned back against the other girl, feeling week at the knees, knowing that+it was just a matter of moving a few feet to the left to collapse onto the sofa, but unable to do anything but stand there and drown in the sensation.

Still holding onto Angelina's hip, she reached up and behind her with her other hand, stroking the side of Angelina's face

"Tell me what you want," Angelina whispered into her ear.

"Please," she moaned. The other girl's fingers were so close, and her body was crying out for release. "Please, touch me. "

And she did. Strong, clever fingers that felt far better than her own ever had, sliding back and forth along the edge of her knickers, burrowing underneath, pushing them aside, and then, finally, making contact with wet, hot flesh, slipping and sliding, stroking, circling, scissoring, sliding in and out of her in a rhythm unlike any she'd felt before. She found herself pressing down onto those clever fingers, moaning and squirming away from the relentless stimulation, a babbling, shivering mess, until finally she was coming around the other girl's fingers, shuddering against her, screaming into the ceiling, hanging onto Angelina's neck for dear life.

It was fucking brilliant. And she hadn't even got a chance to touch the girl.

But, she thought as sanity began to return to her brain, that was easily remedied.

"Bloody hell," she said, and groaned as Angelina pulled her hand away, placing a kiss at the side of her neck. "That was...fuck."

"Well, yeah. Hate to break it to you, love, but apparently you do, in fact, fuck women.
"Perhaps I do after all," she said. "And now I think it's well past time I fucked you. I suppose I owe it to my thirteen year-old-self, don't I?


---------------


Miss Johnson never did give me the answer I sought, and if I was hoping for some juicy gossip to share about her past or her personal life, I was destined to be disappointed there, too. However, I came away from this interview with a better understanding of this extraordinary woman, and my longstanding admiration for her has only increased. I, along with my fellow British Quidditch fans, will be waiting impatiently for the end of this month to see where she decides to continue her meteoric career. Personally, I'm hoping for Holyhead.


Comments 
21st October 2009 05:37
Heh, I love the idea of Romilda following Angelina around at school - sounds far more fun than following Harry and it obviously made quiet an impression :-D
21st October 2009 17:28
Thank you!
25th October 2009 19:55
Mmmm, lovely and very hot.
I love how the interview ended up teaching Romilda more about herself, and how Angelina seemed to have her number throughout.
Fabulous job! :)
26th November 2009 00:35
Tahnk you so much!
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