Title: You Get What You Need...
Author: Faraday
Pairing: Harry Potter/Romilda Vane
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): Love!sex, Public!sex, Bad!sex
Themes/Kinks Chosen: Please the Mods month (public sex, love sex)
Length: ~ 3,100 words
Summary: When dreams turn to reality, one hopes it lives up to expectations
Note: Many thanks to my wonderful betas, Millieweasley, and to dabo_girl. I try to write smut and I get crack. I hope at least this pleases the mods and that someone gets a laugh out of it other than the voices inside my head.

Lover's spat in club a slap in the face for Potter...

Readers of the Daily Prophet will be all aware of the recent woes in the love life of the boy-who-lived, with the saga of our boy hero's journey to find true love taking yet another turn as he finds himself caught with his pants down and a rather ... small... case of embarrassment this week.

~~~~~~

Romilda could not believe her luck. The signs could not be any clearer. Her horoscope had indicated that with Mercury sextiling Pluto, the Sun quintile to Jupiter (not to mention the new Moon in Pisces), she was about to finally reap the rewards of years of perseverance.

It just proved that the photos plastered all over the gossip pages of the Daily Prophet were truly a sign. Ginny Weasley had never looked so much like a stunned mullet (although Romilda did have to admit that Neville Longbottom actually looked kind of cute under the glare of Colin's camera, even when his hand was in Ginny's blouse). But the look of horror on Harry's face was what told Romilda that she was finally about to get everything she ever wanted. Years of patient persistence were finally going to pay off.

Finally, she was going to get her man. Poor jilted Harry was only a shell of the man she knew he could be. The breakup of the 'golden couple' had been the gossip of the week, and Romilda had not tried to hide her grin of delight at the news.

So it was no coincidence that she just happened to be in the same club as Harry, and no coincidence that she managed to wiggle her way into a seat next to him the moment he was finally alone. It actually didn't take much to bribe Crabbe and Goyle to keep everyone else away. (Although she really didn't have any intention of fulfilling the promises she had made to them. Harry could fend them off – she just knew he would do it for her).

"You look tense, Harry," she purred as her fingers trailed along the visible skin on his neck. "You know, I can help you with that." Her lips were ruby red as she parted them slightly.

Harry seemed a little cross-eyed as he looked up at her through his glasses. She had never noticed before, but then again, he had consumed quite a lot of fire whiskey. Not that Romilda was keeping tabs. That much was normally enough to have him standing in the gutter singing songs about the little goblin. She had seen that once before. It was not a pretty sight. But he had grown up since then, and how she did love a man who could hold his liquor.

"'M fine, 'Milda," Harry slurred, blinking hard as he tried to focus. He looked down at the bottom of his glass, not really caring that Romilda Vane was practically in his lap. His life was over and the only reason he didn't tell her to go away was the fact that at least she seemed to be the only person who cared about him. His 'friends' certainly didn't. Ron and Hermione were too wrapped up in themselves and Ginny... well, the less he thought of her the better. Glancing back at Romilda, he watched those lips and saw the concern on her face. He flashed her a grateful smile. It covered the small burp that suddenly escaped his mouth.

Romilda ignored the burp. She thought it was endearing. So her perfect man wasn't completely perfect. "I can help you forget about all your worries – if only for a little while." Her voice was coquettish yet soothing. She had practiced this scenario all week, and so far Harry was falling for her advances. "You must have so much on your mind – what with being the great war hero and all..." Romilda saw him looking at her lips, and she smirked, biting the tip of her tongue with her teeth. Sighing heavily, her body pressed up against his, her cleavage was right there for the taking.

The small voice in the back of Harry's head (that normally told him to run far and run fast from Romilda) was too inebriated to care that Romilda's soft and firm hands were massaging away the tension in his shoulders. It felt too damn good. He let out an unmanly little whimper at the feeling, suddenly beyond caring. Looking down, he couldn't miss the swell of her ample warm breasts as she was practically sitting in his lap. Looking into her face, he was mesmerised by those lips. They were very red, and parted teasingly. At least he thought they were – his glasses were fogging up and the lighting in the club was very dark. He sighed heavily.

She felt the tension ease in his shoulders and realised he wasn't going to run away from her this time. She thanked her lucky stars that Ron wasn't anywhere nearby. He normally ran interference between her and Harry. Luck was definitely on her side today. As she looked into his face, she noticed his scar was almost invisible, but as she let her fingers brush his hair back from his forehead, she finally touched the scar she knew so well.

It didn't matter that his breath smelled a little of alcohol; the poor man had been through so much. Not wasting another moment, her lips finally closed on his as she finally claimed her prize. The thrill of success ran down her spine as she pressed hard against his lips, her mouth opening eagerly against his. Straddling his hips, she pressed her body up against his. His hands seemed hesitant to touch her and she chuckled. He could certainly put his hands wherever he wanted. Grasping his wrists, she brought his hands to her arse, encouraging him to squeeze it before she wrapped her arms around his neck, losing herself in the kiss.

Harry had no idea what to do. She was like a venomous tentacula – her hands were everywhere. All the fight had gone out of him, and he had been so miserable that he didn't have the heart to push her away. The moment his hands caught her arse he suddenly realised the perfect way to get back at his so-called friends. He could wallow in misery, or he could move on with someone who at least appreciated him for who he was. If there was one woman who had reminded him of that for so many years, it was the one who was squirming and wriggling delightfully in his lap. Losing himself in her, he felt the first stirring of desire find its way through the haze of alcohol in his system.

He would have happily snogged her there on the couch, out in full public display. But her whispered suggestion across his ear made him brighten even more. Thank Merlin that Malfoy had thought to put private lounges in his club. The man thought of everything.

Pulling him up off the couch, she lead him away from the crowds. The music was muffled out the back – the heavy beat softened to a hearty thumping. Or perhaps that was the beating of her heart – Romilda didn't really know. All she knew was that Harry was hers as he flashed her an encouraging smile, and he wouldn't regret a moment.

The incessant thumping of the music pounded in Harry's head, and he knew he would have a first class hangover in the morning. The smile on his face was of pure relief once they moved out the back and the music had settled to a dull roar in his ears. He stumbled, pushing Romilda up against the wall, his hands gripping at her arse hard as he regained his balance. She was backed up against the wall now, and he felt a little dizzy.

But he found her lips again and she was pressing her body against his and Merlin, she really did know how to wriggle and squirm and make his cock harden in his trousers. Her lips were warm and her moans of delight told him he was obviously doing something right. He let out a moan against her lips as his hands travelled up to cup those ample breasts.

When Harry pushed her up against the wall, Romilda let out a delighted little squeal. She was glad he was finally taking the initiative, as it meant he really did want her. The thought just made her wet and wanting, as she rubbed her legs together to relieve the ache of desire. Not relieving nearly enough tension, she let her leg slide up and around his hip, pressing her hips against his. Her hands slid down to pull his shirt from the waist of his trousers. There was no point in waiting any longer, not now that she knew he wanted her.

It didn't matter that his kisses were sloppier than Jimmy Peakes'. She could blame that on the alcohol as well. It was unthinkable to even contemplate that Harry might be a bad kisser. As her hand slid down further, her fingers gliding along the placket of his trousers, she squeezed the bulge in his trousers and felt... well, perhaps he just needed a little more encouragement.

Squeezing his cock gently, he bucked into her hand. As he gasped, their foreheads bumped and Romilda heard a distinctive crack as their teeth clashed. She let out a whimper of pain, pulling back and looking at Harry. He gave her an apologetic look as his glasses were crooked on his face. She ran her tongue across her teeth, snagging it on the edge of a new chip. It was an accident, and she realised she could forgive him a chipped tooth, particularly if he fucked her the way she had always dreamed.

Her moments of burgeoning need were slowly ebbing away as they snogged against the wall. Harry's kissing wasn't getting any better, and Romilda was getting a little ache in her back. He was leaning against her now, and she was having difficulty breathing. Why wasn't he in her knickers already? His hands were still on her arse and her tits, kneading them as if they were dough as his lips didn't stop moving in the same sloppy motion. She was just a little needy and starting to get frustrated.

Finally, after much fumbling (he really was a lot heavier than she expected. It had to be all that muscle from playing Quidditch), Romilda finally managed to pull open the buttons on his shirt. Turning her attention to his belt and the fly on his trousers, she made quick work of them, her anticipation growing with each second. Her knickers were soaked as she brushed them against his thigh. Finally she felt the warm flesh and she wrapped her hand around his cock. She heard a gasp, realising it was her own as her fingers wrapped around his... length.

Romilda pulled back, frowning. She let her hand fumble around again, wondering for a moment if he might have stowed his wand in his trousers. No, she realised her hand was surrounding his cock, and it might have been rock hard, but Romilda just blinked as she realised he wasn't anywhere near as big as she expected. Had the lighting been better (and Harry not using her as a cushion between himself and the wall), she would have slithered down for a closer look.

Ginny Weasley was a bitch for intimating that Harry was much larger, and Romilda hated her for it. As Romilda's other hand trailed down his chest, she looked down and realised there wasn't even the dragon tattooed on his chest. Her anger at Weasley spurred her on. She would have her revenge on the bitch, even as she heard the delightful sounds Harry made as her hand slid up and down what little length of cock Harry possessed. She didn't come this far to be stopped so close to her goal.

Harry gasped when Romilda's hand wrapped around his cock, thrusting into her hand and moaning when she suddenly stopped. "Don't be such a tease, 'Milda," he gasped. Her hands were warm and they knew exactly how to please him. Perhaps he had been horribly wrong to push Romilda away for all these years. He'd have to think about that when he wasn't letting the alcohol let his cock do the thinking.

His hands suddenly realised she was wearing a skirt and he let his fingers trail up the soft skin of her thigh, brushing up against the small patch of lace and silk. It was sodden and his fingers fumbled against the elastic as he eagerly tore away the piece of nothing.

Romilda winced as he tore away her knickers. They were her favourites, and she would make Harry pay for that later. Especially if he didn't make this worth her while. Her eagerness and anticipation had waned a little when she realised his cock was barely the size of her thumbs, but perhaps he made up for that in ways he was yet to display. He was a formidable wizard after all. At least she could say that Harry Potter had torn away her knickers in the throes of passion.

Harry's fingers found her wetness, brushing crudely against her folds as he grabbed his cock and plunged in blindly. He squeezed her breast again, groaning in delight as she surrounded him completely. He felt resistance and thrust hard again. "Zit in?" he asked, not sure if he had found her entrance at all. She let out a cry of passion just as she moved and he pushed past the resistance and felt her engulf his length. She was so wet and eager, he knew he wasn't going to last long. "Gonna come," he warned, his lips muffling the moan as he kissed down her neck, biting hard against the hollow of her neck.

Romilda felt him poking his cock around blindly, shifting her hips as he managed to miss her cunt with every thrust. At his muffled question, she suddenly realised he had no idea what the hell he was doing. Finally, after poking hard enough to bruise her thigh, Romilda felt him enter her. Biting her lip and concentrating hard as he slobbered over her neck, she tried to get herself off. If she rocked back, she might actually feel him fucking her.

But Romilda couldn't feel anything remotely close to coming, and Harry was sweaty and heavy and he really wasn't supporting her as she felt her lower back aching. She endured the pain as his pencil dick poked at her bladder at a dreadfully awkward angle. She endured and bit back the cry of despair. She should not be allowed to complain, after all, Harry Potter was finally fucking her, and it was something to be endured.

His awkward thrusts quickly sped up and she rocked back to meet him. She might yet be able to salvage this and get herself off. She tried to grab his hand to at least bring it down to brush over her clit, but he was already shaking and shuddering, throwing his head back and screaming out a name as he came.

Harry knew he was going to come – her body so pliant and wet and needy. This was everything he ever wanted, and he knew now that he had wanted nothing else but this all along – that Romilda had been right there for him all these years, and he had been a blind fool. A blind fool in love with his friend who never even noticed he existed. "Neville!" he screamed out as he came hard, regretting every moment he ever wasted on the bastard and knowing now that Romilda would always be there for him.

A moment later, dizzy from such a revelation and release, he found himself on the floor, his trousers down around his knees. The sex was so mind blowing, Harry barely remembered how he got there. Getting up slowly, he stared lovingly into Romilda's eyes, wondering why she was crying.

He never saw the hand coming, and the sting of the slap took a long time to sink in. Long enough for him to follow her back into the club and chase after her. Only then, when the thumping music stopped did he realise the flashing disco lights were camera bulbs, and that his trousers were still down below his knees.

Romilda raced from the club in tears, not caring that she was in such a state – her make-up smeared and her clothes a mess. A slowly spreading stain ruined the front of her dress as she raced out into the alley. It didn't matter if the patrons saw her, she was beyond distraught. Harry Potter wasn't just a lousy shag – he was gay. After so many years of pining for Harry, she realised now that she had been wasting her time. Harry wasn't even good. He was lousy.

Only now, when it was too late, did she realise that she had wasted the better part of her life chasing after a dream that didn't exist. Perhaps she would go and see Jimmy now. After all, he knew how to satisfy a girl.

Romilda closed her eyes and fresh tears fell as she heard the click-clack of high heels against the cobblestones. "Oh you poor dear," the nasal voice said as Romilda found a large handkerchief stuffed into her hands. "Tell me dear, what's wrong?"

"Harry Potter's a bastard," she said, sniffling inelegantly as she looked up at the other witch.
"Tsk, tsk. Well now, why don't we go and get a nice cup of tea? You can wash up – you do look a fright – and you can tell dear old Rita everything."

Rita smirked as she put a motherly arm around Romilda's shoulder. She owed it to every witch out there to learn the truth. Coupled with the photos she just procured from young Colin Creevey... well, she knew she was going to deserve this month's bonus. There was no question this would make the front page of the Prophet, just in time for breakfast. As she wandered down the alleyway, the quick quotes quill was already penning a tragic tale of deceit and unrequited love.