Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: twilightsorcery
From: woldy

Title: Get what you need
Characters/Pairings: Neville/Pansy
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Included: domination
Other Warnings/Content: semi-public sex
Word Count: ~3200 words
Summary/Description: Either Neville Longbottom is the most oblivious man in the world, or he’s refusing to play on her terms.
Author's Notes: It turns out I have a huge kink for Neville/Pansy and never realized before, so I had tons of fun with this. Many thanks to L for beating.



”You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need” The Rolling Stones, You Can’t Always Get What You Want.


When Pansy saunters into the Leaky Cauldron she’s pleased to see Neville Longbottom behind the bar. Ever since his divorce from Hannah it’s been difficult to predict Longbottom’s actions, which is something Pansy wouldn’t admit out loud, because that would imply that she’s been trying. Not that she has. Well, not trying trying. Taking an interest, perhaps.

Longbottom is facing away from the door, and Pansy watches him stretch to reach a bottle on a high shelf, revealing a line of tanned skin above his waistband. Mmmmmm. Who wouldn’t take an interest in that?

Pansy walks slowly towards him, taking small precise steps in her stilettos and letting her hips sway a little more than normal; right to left to right. Her timing is perfect: Longbottom turns as she approaches and his eyes follow the final swings of her hips before she slides onto the barstool in front of him.

“Make me a drink, would you, Longbottom?” she says, crossing her legs, and it takes a moment for Longbottom’s eyes to lift to her face.

“What would you like?” he says, all cheery professionalism.

“What do you recommend? I’m sure you must have something special to keep a girl warm on a cold night like this?”

“Depends what you like.”

“With all these options it’s so hard to choose.” Pansy looks him in the eye as she says, ”What do you think? Should we go hard, fast, and fiery, or warm, slow, and sweet?”

For a moment Longbottom doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t blush either. “Maybe a bit of both? I can make you a coffee with Firewhiskey.”

“That sounds divine,” Pansy says, leaning forwards so that he gets an eyeful of cleavage, but Longbottom just turns away and starts fiddling with his complicated coffee machine.

“How are things, Longbottom?”

“All right,” he says, over his shoulder, as he twiddles some shiny knob.

“I hope you have nice plans for the holidays. Parties with lots of mistletoe?”

“It’ll be nice to catch up with friends,” he says blandly, and at that moment the door bangs open and a group of people pour in.

“Whaddaya want? Mead?”

“Nah, it’s my round, my round!”

They crowd around the bar and start yelling out their drink requests, drowning out any hope of further conversation. Pansy admits defeat, and slides off the barstool to find a quieter table. A couple of minutes later, Neville walks over with a steaming mug.

“Here you go. Hope you like it.”

Pansy reaches for it quickly, and their fingers brush as he moves his hand away.

“Thanks,” she says, giving her best smile, but he’s already gone.

********

“I’ll have to give up,” Pansy says, taking a deep drag on her cigarette.

She’s perched on a concrete wall not far from the Ministry, having her weekly coffee and cigs break with Millicent. Actually, she supposes it’s more of a coffee or cigs break: Millicent drinks the coffee, and she smokes the cigs.

“About time. Those things’ll kill you,” Millicent says, taking a swig of her coffee. “You should get a tar-free addiction like mine.”

“Not these,” Pansy waves it in the air. “You can take these from my cold, dead hands. I mean Longbottom.”

Millicent lifts her eyebrows interrogatively. “No luck?”

“Either my seductive skills are slipping, and I don’t think they are, or he’s immune. I’ve tried flirting. I’ve tried flashing my legs and boobs at him. I’ve tried luring him to my house with the promise of plants. Nothing!”

“He brought you fertilizer and got rid of the black spot on your roses,” Millicent points out, and Pansy shoots her a poisonous look.

“You see! I No human being arrives at the home of someone they are attracted to carrying a bag of dragon shit.”

“To whom they are attracted,” Millicent interjects. “Don’t look at me like that. He’s a teacher. He probably cares about these things.”

“If he cares, it’s not about me,” Pansy says, taking a final pull and then tossing the cigarette onto the ground and pulling out another.

“So you’re going to give up, then?” says Millicent, watching Pansy closely.

Pansy takes her time lighting the fresh cigarette, and looks away. Giving up would be easier at this point, but she’s not quite ready for that.

“Didn’t think so,” Millicent announces smugly. “You’re not normally this persistent. What d’you see in him?”

Pansy shrugs one shoulder. “Tall, fit, single. Hardly common for wizards our age.”

Millicent gives her a look that makes it clear what she thinks of weak excuses like that, and Pansy sighs.

“I’m not sure I know. You’d think the memory of him as a teenager would be enough to put anybody off, but there’s steel under all that blandness. I look at him and see…”

“Someone who isn’t a bastard and stood up to You-Knew-Who when you didn’t have the guts.” Millicent finishes for her.

Pansy pulls a face, and takes a deep drag on her cigarette. It might be partly true, but that doesn’t make it easy to hear.

“Have you tried being obvious?”

“You have first hand experience of my seductive techniques. Am I non-obvious?”

“No, I mean Gryffindor obvious. You’ve asked him straight-out ‘Longbottom, will you fuck me?’”

Pansy takes another drag. “No, because that would be humiliating.”

“Why?”

“You want me to down on my knees and say ‘Longbottom, bang me now’? I’d rather keep a little of my dignity.”

“You’re assuming he’s going to say no,” Millicent points out.

“Dragon shit, Millicent.”

“What if he’s just clueless,” Millicent says, gesturing with the hand holding her coffee, which slops down the side of the cardboard cup. “As clueless as a Gryffindor who was socially awkward as a child and spends much of his time with plants. Really, really clueless.”

“Last time I asked him whether he preferred it hard, fast, and fiery, or warm, slow, and sweet. Nobody is oblivious to that.”

“What did he say?”

“He made me a fucking Irish coffee,” Pansy says, and Millicent laughs, spilling coffee on her pinstripe trousers in the process.

“Did he answer?”

Pansy tries to remember. “I think the coffee was supposed to combine both.”

“Mmm.” Millicent swaps her coffee mug to the other hand and pulls out her wand to vanish the coffee stain. “Tergeo! Well, then either he’s unbelievably clueless, even for a Gryffindor or…”

“Or what?”

Millicent tucks her wand back in her pocket, swigs the last of her coffee, scrunches the cup into a ball and tosses it at the nearest rubbish bin, where it drops neatly in.

“Or he’s playing hard to get,” Millicent says, sauntering away in the direction of her office.

********

“Longbottom.”

He turns slowly, visibly tired, and Pansy smiles. It’s nearly midnight on a Wednesday, which is far later than she would normally come to the Leaky Cauldron on a weeknight. Three drunks are swaying and slurring on the far side of the bar and a pair of teenagers are snogging in a corner, but apart from that the pub is empty.

“You’re late,” he says.

“Long day at the office. Paperwork to finish before the holiday. You know how it is.”

“Right,” he says, rubbing his hand across his forehead. “What would you like to drink?”

“Whatever you’re having, and pour one for yourself.”

“I don’t drink when I’m working,” he says immediately.

“You’ll be closing up in half an hour,” Pansy says, leaning in closer. “Make an exception just this once.”

Longbottom hesitates. Pansy can almost see his conscience warring against tiredness.

“Sit down and have a drink with me,” she encourages. “I promise I won’t bite.”

That startles a laugh out of him. “Good thing, too! When I tackle the venomous tentaculas I’ve got my pruning shears and twine.”

“And what would you do to me with pruning shears and twine if you had them?” Pansy asks, keeping her voice light, and this time, Longbottom flushes.

“I’ll get those drinks,” he says. Gotcha.

Pansy watches him pour the Firewhiskey, and is pleased to see that he makes them doubles. He places two tumblers in front of her, then walks to the back of the bar, flipping up the counter and then replacing it behind him.

“Right,” he says, reaching the barstool beside her and sliding onto it. “Thanks. Should there be a toast or something?”

“To getting through another year,” Pansy says, and they clink glasses. “So, Longbottom.”

“Parkinson.”

“You can call me Pansy.”

“I wasn’t sure we were quite on first name terms.”

“We could be,” Pansy purrs, voice low, and Longbottom sighs, leaning back.

“That,” he says. “Why do you do it?”

“Sorry?”

“That ridiculous over-the-top sexy act. Do you do it with everyone, or is it just me? It feels like you’re taking the piss out of me for imagining that you could be interested and I just — I’d be more comfortable if you didn’t.”

Ah. Not oblivious, then.

“I’m not taking the piss,” she says, and then thinks of Millicent’s advice to be obvious enough for a socially-awkward Gryffindor who spends half his time around plants, and continues, “I’ve been trying to seduce you.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Right,” Pansy mumbles, putting her glass back on the bar with clumsy fingers. “Then I—“

“Look, no, that’s not what I meant,” Longbottom says quickly, and his hand lands on her shoulder. It’s warm, and she feels his fingers curl around her arm. “You couldn’t just…say something?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“I meant tell me normally,” he says, releasing her shoulder. “Not all fake and over-the-top. I mean, I do remember you from school. I know what you’re like.”

“You want me to be bitchier to you?”

“Not bitchy,” he says, “just…genuine. Like we’re having a conversation.”

“Like this.”

“Well, getting there.”

“So, just to be clear,” Pansy says, swirling her drink around the glass. “You’re not averse to the idea of…”

“Of?” Longbottom asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Of fucking me.” She takes a large gulp, and has to suppress a cough at it burns her throat.

Longbottom keeps a straight face as he says, “Not completely averse.”

“In that case, I think you should take me upstairs after this drink and fuck my brains out.”

“Well,” Longbottom replies, voice even, “I’ll think about.”

“Are you determined to make this difficult?”

“Are you determined to have everything your own way?”

“Excuse me?”

“I bet you boss people around at the office and have house elves running after you at home, Parkinson, but I don’t take orders. I do things on my terms and my schedule.”

“Well, forgive me for thinking that your schedule takes forever,” Pansy snaps.

“You were the one who asked me if we should do it warm and slow and sweet,” he says, voice low.

The door bangs shut, startling them apart, and Pansy sees that the snogging teenagers have left. Neville jumps up.

“All right, gentlemen. Drink up, please. Time to be getting home.”

The drunks by the bar mumble in protest, but don’t resist when Neville thanks them for their business and, with a steady hand on one man’s shoulder, guides them to the door. When it swings shut behind them, Neville locks it and pulls down the window blinds.

“Normally,” he says, turning to her, ”I’d throw you out so I can get on with wiping down the bar and cashing out.”

“And now?” Pansy asks, lifting her chin.

“I could ask you to wait. Might do you good to learn some patience.”

“Longbottom, you would wear out any woman’s patience.”

“But I think tonight, I’ll make an exception. What was it you asked for? Something special to keep a girl warm?”

Longbottom approaches slowly, eyes fixed on hers.

“Stand up,” he says.

“Do you expect me to—“

“My terms, my schedule. Take it or leave it.”

Pansy narrows her eyes at him, weighs her options for a moment, and then stands.

“Good. Put your hands on the bar.”

She places both hands on the bar counter, palms down, and Longbottom walks up behind her.

“Keep them there,” he says, covering one hand with his own and she feels the warmth and calluses of his palm. “How does it feel, not having things on your terms?”

“I can live with it for now,” Pansy replies, keeping her voice cool.

“Then I’ll make the most of it while I can,” he says, lifting his hand. “I think you were showing me this -“ his hand lands on her hip “- last time you came in.” His fingers slide over her hip, tracing the outline of her hipbone through the tight skirt. “And then you were showing off these-“ his hand slides down her leg, and then slowly trails up the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Fuck, she’s already getting wet. “Very nice,” he says, hand lingering to stroke her other leg. “But it seems like most of all you wanted me to look at these.” His hands glide up, over her hips and stomach, to cup her breasts. “Or am I getting that all wrong?”

“Not completely wrong,” she says, mimicking his phrasing from earlier, and hears a huff of amusement by her ear.

“If this was going your way, I wonder what I’d be doing now. Eating you out, maybe. Or lying on my back looking innocent while you ride me? I think I prefer it my way.”

“Show me your way, then,” Pansy challenges, and Longbottom’s hands tighten around her breasts.

“Yeah?”

“You won’t shock me.”

His fingers tweak at her nipple, and then slide away, fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. He pulls them open and leaves the blouse hanging as his hands move over her bra, fingers exploring the texture of the lace. She can feel the warmth of his hands through the fabric. His fingers circle her nipples, pinch them, and then lift away.

Pansy turns, looking over her shoulder to see what he’s doing, and Longbottom grabs her hands. “On the bar, I said,” he says, in what must be his teacher voice, low and authoritative, and Pansy presses her palms flat against the wood.

“I hope you don’t expect me to call you sir.”

There’s a moment’s pause, and then he admits in a far more normal voice, “That would actually be a real turnoff. Better to stick with Longbottom. You all right there?”

“Learning patience,” Pansy drawls.

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” he says, and takes hold of her skirt. He slides the pencil skirt upwards, and the fabric crumples around her hips. With her hands pressed to the bar, standing here in a bra, knickers and stilettos makes Pansy feel surprisingly exposed.

“So,” Longbottom says, fondling her arse, “you like it hard, fast, and fiery?” His hand slides between her buttocks, and presses against the damp fabric of her knickers. “Seems you do.” His fingers feel for her clit, rubbing, and Pansy arches against him.

“Get on with it,” she says, breathless, lifting her hand to reach back and —

“Keep your hands on the bar,” he snaps, but his fingers fumble inside her knickers and then he’s rubbing against her clit.

Pansy moans, pressing into his hand, and Longbottom moves closer, his head bent close to her ear.

“Don’t move,” he orders, and Pansy lowers her head, focusing on staying upright, because it takes concentration to balance in stilettos and focus is not exactly her forte right now.

His fingers are slick and moving faster now, finding just the rhythm and pressure that she likes.
Pansy half-expected Longbottom to be uncertain and clueless during sex, but there’s no fumbling or hesitation in the way he strokes her now. It’s almost embarrassing how close she is, and Pansy spreads her fingers wide on the bar, clutching for balance. When he presses a little harder, she bites her lip to stifle another moan.

“If you move a muscle, I’ll stop,” Longbottom threatens, voice low. His breath ghosts over the back of her neck.

Pansy shudders, every muscle tensing with the impending orgasm, and Longbottom’s arm tightens around her waist. When she comes, gasping, against his hand the steadiness of his grip keeps her from falling.

She hears the sound of a zip, a rustle of fabric, and then Longbottom murmuring a charm. The next moment, his cock is pressed against her arse.

“Fast enough for you?”

“I’m still waiting for hard and fiery.”

In answer, Longbottom pulls her knickers aside and pushes into her with one long, deep stroke. His right hand grabs her hip, using it for leverage, and his left lands on the bar beside her own.

“Are you going to keep up the jibes—“ he asks, words punctuated with thrusts, “while I fuck you?”

“Make me stop, then,” Pansy challenges. “I told you to fuck my brains out.”

Longbottom’s next thrust is hard enough to throw her off balance, and Pansy’s grip on the bar only just keeps her standing. He fucks her with sharp, deep thrusts, punctuated by the sound of his skin slapping against her arse. It’s undeniably hot, dirty, and nothing at all like she imagined.

As if he can read her mind, Longbottom says, “Is this what you were thinking about when you strutted into my bar? You wanted me to bend you over and fuck you right here? You should’ve said so, instead of playing games.”

“Perhaps I like the games,” Pansy replies, but her voice stutters and somehow Longbottom seems to hear the yes, more she isn’t saying.

“I’m tempted to make you wait,” pants Longbottom, “but I need to come. Do you need me to touch you?“

“Please,” Pansy gasps, and Longbottom’s hand slides over her clit again, circling, as he thrusts deep once, twice, and Pansy comes just before he spills into her.

For a long moment their breathing is the only sound. Pansy sinks forward onto the bar, letting it take her weight. The bar is slightly sticky against her skin, and she feels a trickle of sweat run down between her breasts. Behind her, Longbottom moves away.

“I don’t know about fiery,” says Pansy, once she feels steadier, and Longbottom laughs.

“You never finished your drink. Firewhiskey’s right there.”

Pansy takes a deep breath, composes herself, and stands up.

Longbottom is standing beside the bar. When she meets his gaze, he reaches for their glasses and slides them across to where they’re standing. Pansy takes a glass, and turns to face him.

“Hard and fast and fiery,” Longbottom says, raising his glass, and then tips his head back and downs the Firewhiskey.

Pansy isn’t one to back down from a challenge. She tosses back her own drink, and for a few seconds her throat is on fire. By the time it subsides, her eyes are watering.

“Not bad,” Longbottom says. “But maybe we should try warm and slow and sweet next?”

Pansy’s eyes narrow. “Are you always going to quote my words back at me?”

He smiles. “I’m a teacher. You’re lucky I didn’t give you a grade. Now, would you like to come upstairs, Ms Parkinson?”

“Pansy,” she insists.

“I’ll call you Pansy if you’re still here in the morning,” he says, eyes fixed on hers, and Pansy places her empty glass back on the bar with a thump.

“Deal.”

They don’t get much sleep, because warm, slow, and sweet can’t be rushed, but in the morning Longbottom brings her coffee in bed.

“I left the Firewhiskey out this time, Pansy,” he says, placing the mugs on the bedside table.

“It’s not morning yet,” she mumbles, grabbing his arm and tugging him back into bed.

Six months later, Neville’s still refusing to let Pansy do things her way, but at least she gets free drinks out of the arrangement. It’s not what she wanted, exactly, but she admits that things could be worse.