wl_mods (wl_mods) wrote in wizard_love, @ 2009-02-13 13:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | *fic, pansy, seamus |
Special Delivery for trubbleclef
Title: Closer
Author/Artist: charma_10
Recipient's LJ name: trubbleclef
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Seamus Finnigan/Pansy Parkinson
Word Count: 6, 681
Warnings (if any): Seamus has a potty-mouth!
Summary: For five years she’d avoided anyone familiar, anyone who could possibly link her to her past and the things she done, the things she regretted, and now she was standing in the doorway of a Guildhall pub, staring into the eyes of the one person who knew her deepest and darkest secret. The one who could ruin her should she piss him off enough. The only person ever to crack that hard core and make her feel alive. But was it enough to stop her from running?
Authors notes: To my girls, who know who they are. Thanks so much for the beta and the idea for the summary! Thanks to my very awesome Irish buddy for making Seamus Irish. I couldn’t have done it without you. I hope you like this, trubbleclef. I had a ball writing it!
Paris by night was stunning, she mused, watching from the rooftop as the city moved around below her. There were lights everywhere and she could hear the laughter rising from the pub below the dingy flat she’d been calling home for a little over a month. This rooftop was her place to think, her place to get away from everything, but she’d never been here with someone. She couldn’t believe she’d invited him up to her sanctuary-him of all people. She turned to face him.
“You’re quiet. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so little,” she said to her companion, who brushed his sandy-blond hair out of his eyes and placed a hand on her waist.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so much,” he retorted and raised an eyebrow.
“I’m high. It’s clearly the pot talking. I can’t for the life of me think why I brought you up here,” she said dryly, pushing his hair back from his face. “Your hair is uncontrollable. It looks like you have an animal hiding in there. It’s hideous.”
“Well then, aren’t yeh lucky it’s my hair and not yours?“ He pulled her closer and kissed her. It came out of nowhere, something she hadn’t expected, something she was positive she didn’t want, but she didn’t stop him. She ran her hands down the front of his t-shirt before pushing it up, revealing his chest as she pulled it over his shoulders.
“In a hurry, aren’t yeh?” he laughed, lifting his arms up obligingly. He dropped them after his t-shirt was discarded and moved a hand to her blouse, unbuttoning it slowly. She stopped his hand and took over, ripping the cloth from her body and sending it fluttering over the ledge. She yelped in exasperation and hurried to the side of the building, watching as her top hit the path below.
She turned her head at the sound of his laughter.
“Well, yeh have to admit it was a little funny,” he guffawed, moving behind her and running a hand over her chest.
“That was an expensive blouse,” she huffed, but placed her hand over his and squeezed it over her breast. She rolled her head back as he kissed her neck and shoulder, watching the stars above. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“You’ve got nice tits.”
“And you’re a Neanderthal,” she bit back. She couldn’t deny that their game, their foreplay, was turning her on. She could feel the wetness pooling in her knickers and didn’t want to wait any longer. She rolled her hips against the front of his trousers. He was hard, as she knew he would be, and she reached around behind her to grab him but he stepped back.
“We do need to talk about it at some stage or another, yeh do know that?” he said to her back, and she didn’t miss his change of tone. She stood up straight and turned to him.
“I don’t think we should insult each other by pretending this is about anything more than sex.” She was frank, making it obvious that if he didn’t meet her silent conditions, he could leave. He nodded slowly.
“I get why yeh don’t want to talk about it, I really do, but you need to know that I’m not going to say anything. Not ever.” With that final declaration, he moved forward, and with the force of his arms and lips combined, pushed her roughly against the railing. Their lips moved frantically against one another, their gasps for breath the only audible sounds. She could feel his bulge pressing into her thigh and didn’t want to wait a moment longer to free his cock from its confines. She unfastened his jeans, pushing them and his pants down over his hips.
Without a second glance, she dropped to her knees and, within a moment, had taken him in her mouth and was rolling her tongue around the head of his cock. His groans spurred her on and she bobbed up and down, taking him as deep as she could, then sucking on the tip as she released him. His legs were shaking and she knew he was close but she wasn’t ready to let up. It had been so long since she’d seen a cock, let alone had one like this all to herself, and she liked the control. She hadn’t been in control for a long time and both of them knew she was the one calling the shots. It was the only way it could be. She licked her way up his entire length and tongued the tiny slit at his tip, eliciting a loud groan from him.
Forcefully, he pulled her up and turned her around, reaching under her skirt and ripping her knickers from her body. Before she could think, he’d bent her over the railing and was holding her over his cock and rubbing it against her entrance. As he plunged into her from behind, he kissed his way down her bare back. She couldn’t stop the gasp of pleasure that escaped her lips, unsure how she’d lost the upper hand so quickly. He thrust into her vigourously, causing the lights of Paris to bounce up and down as she did. She was holding onto the railing tightly as he fucked her hard so she couldn’t reach down to help herself meet her approaching climax faster. In frustration, she tried to shift herself so she could get her arm free, but she didn’t have a chance.
As soon as she’d moved, he’d moved his hand up her body so his arm was across her, holding her to his chest, his hand holding onto her breast. He was supporting her completely now, so he’d slowed his thrusts. She panicked slightly and made to grab for the railing.
“D’ yeh trust me?” he whispered into her neck. She nodded.
“You know I do.”
The new angle caused her to let out a low moan as his cock hit the right places inside her. She could feel his teeth biting into her shoulder and knew he was close. He thrust slow and deep, hitting that elusive spot every time, pushing her closer and closer to an explosive climax. She could feel it approaching and moved her hand down to rub familiar circles, their new position allowing her access. She tilted her head back over her shoulder, searching for his mouth. She bit into his lip, and he winced in pain but didn’t stop his actions. She felt his other hand move over hers and even though she wanted to ask how he was holding himself up, she couldn’t find the words. She let out a loud scream, which was swallowed by a possessive kiss as the tightly wound coil of desire inside her burst and she came hard. The trembles of her inner walls milked him as he came with her, his lips never leaving hers. They were no longer kissing though, just breathing and watching each other’s expressions, and it was so intimate that, for a moment, she forgot who she was and what she’d done and that it was him.
He was too close.
She pulled away from him and started to gather her clothes. He mimicked her and pulled his pants back on.
“Yeh can’t avoid the topic forever, y’know,” he said as he buttoned his shirt. She glared at him.
“I can if you’re not here anymore.” She paused. “That was your cue to leave, in case you missed it,” she added and tried desperately to ignore the flicker of pain in his eyes. She didn’t care, she told herself, as she reached for the door that would take her downstairs.
“Fine, Pansy,” he replied. He pushed past her and stalked down the stairs. He turned at the bottom and looked up at her. “Someday, you’ll remember that you aren’t the only person who has to live with what we did and you’ll be looking to talk to someone about it -- someone who knows about the whole fucking mess. When you do, don’t be surprised if I tell you to go and fuck off. I can’t believe I thought for a second that you wouldn’t be a bloody selfish bitch anymore, after everything…”
With one final slam, he was gone. His words stung, but she didn’t call out. She’d never call out.
She was better off alone.
**********
It was ironic that the second she stepped out of the seedy Guildhall pub and onto the cobblestone street, the skies opened up and she was ambushed with the beginnings of a storm. The heavy rain was bad enough, soaking through her coat, but at that moment, the skies renewed their assault, unleashing hail that pelted from the sky and thunder that roared in her ears. She was tempted to pull her wand from her pocket and Apparate, but as much as it irked her to admit it, performing magic in a Muggle city, regardless of how small it was, probably wasn’t the best way to remain inconspicuous, so she just kept on walking with her hands above her head to shield her from the deluge.
“Damn Muggles,” she muttered angrily, watching them rush about in the street, trying to get to their homes or under the cover of awnings. She wasn’t watching where she was going and walked onto an uneven part of the road. Not expecting the change in the ground, she rolled her ankle, fell heavily to the ground, and hit her head on the lamppost behind her. She swore loudly and looked into the now empty street.
“Is this really necessary?” she shouted to no one in particular. Five years she’d been on the move, never stopping in one place long enough to get settled, long enough for anyone to figure out who she was and what she’d done. Hadn’t she paid enough? Wasn’t she lonely enough? Didn’t she deserve to walk down a street without falling over and hitting her head? She let out a growl of frustration.
She placed a shaking hand to her head and could already feel the sticky warmth of blood. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a tissue, and held it over the wound, wincing at the contact. She stood up and started on her way again but she didn’t make it far before she was sprawled on the path once more, her ankle held at an awkward angle; she’d heard the loud crack when she fell for the second time.
“Oh, shite, yeh alright there?” The person who’d run into her had dropped to his knees beside her and was breathing heavily into her ear. She pushed him away.
“You’ve knocked me down,” she said, through tears of frustration. “Must I suffer your putrid breath in my ear, too?” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Perfect. Just bloody perfect.”
“No need to be so bloody nasty ‘bout it. If anything, you weren’t watchin’ where you were going and yeh ran into me. Anyway, that’s not important. Me mam owns the pub right here. Let’s get yeh inside and I’ll get her to have a look at that ankle of yours…looks like it could be a nasty break yeh have there,,” the young man said, placing a hand on her shoulder to help her up.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Pansy replied abruptly, shaking him off. “You’re dangerous. I’ve had enough for tonight. I’ll stay right here.” She folded her arms and glared at her assailant. She couldn’t see him very clearly in the dim light, but she saw that he wasn’t overly tall and definitely wasn’t well built. A flash of lightning showed him looking down at her, an expression of amusement on his face.
“Suit yourself, then. Sit out here in the bloody rain and get soaked through. Doesn’t matter to me now, does it? Mind your step next time.” He stopped speaking, turned, and stepped towards the large, red door behind them. Pansy looked down at her foot and reached into her pocket to retrieve her wand. She could feel the cracked oak beneath her fingertips. Swallowing her pride, she called out.
“Excuse me?” She bit her lip and waited for the man to acknowledge her. He turned and she could just make out his raised eyebrows. “I think I’ll take that help. You did cause this, after all,” she said, expecting him to come and help her, but he stayed put. Pansy sighed and made to get up from the ground, unable to bite back a gasp of pain or quell her tears of frustration. There was a rush of footsteps and she felt her body get lighter as the stranger helped her to her feet.
“Here, just put your arm around me,” he said, pulling her arm over his shoulders and tightening his grip on her waist. “Don’t put any weight on it,” he added as she hobbled awkwardly.
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” she replied dryly. “Now, can we get inside or are we just going to stand here all night?” Her stranger let out an indignant snort.
“Yeh really don’t know how to ask for help, do yeh? Normally, when someone wants someone else to do something for him or her, they become unnaturally kind. Fake and phoney, even. But you don’t even say thanks. What kind of manners were you taught as a child?” He lifted her onto the stoop and remained on the path, leaving them level. He wasn’t much taller than her, she noted, as he reached past her to open the door, his arm tightly around her waist once more. Light flooded them and he helped her through the door, where she could finally get a good look at him.
She turned her face to his as he looked at her and her heart dropped. For five years she’d avoided anyone familiar, anyone who could possibly link her to her past and the things she done, the things she regretted, and now she was standing in the doorway of a Guildhall pub, staring into the eyes of the one person who knew her deepest and darkest secret. The one who could ruin her should she piss him off enough. She was somewhat surprised that he hadn’t told anyone yet. Because she, and most of the people she knew growing up, would have sold her out in a heartbeat. She could only assume that he was maintaining his silence to protect himself and his involvement, however limited it had been. He was also the only one who could possibly understand how she was feeling and what she was going through because he had been there too. He’d seen it all.
“What are you-Jaysus,” Seamus said, his mouth falling open. Pansy couldn’t speak, nor could she tear her eyes from his. Their silence was interrupted when a tall, thin woman with brown hair slammed her hand down on the bar.
“Seamus Finnigan! Y’were supposed to be back at seven! I was expected at my poker game half an hour ago,” she said loudly. Pansy watched Seamus jump in alarm and he tore his eyes away from hers.
“Fuck, Ma. Give a bloke a bleeding heart attack, why don’t you? I got caught up. Found Pa- this girl sprawled out on the path with a broken ankle. Couldn’t exactly leave her there now, could I?” he bit back tersely. The woman, who Pansy assumed was his mother, looked her up and down and nodded.
“Hi there, love,” she said and smiled. “Banged yourself up good and proper, did yeh? Seamus here is good with these kinds of things, so don’t be worrying about it too much. He’ll have you patched up and ready to go to the hospital once this storm dies down. I’ve got to get going next door for my poker game.” She turned to Seamus. “You go with her to the hospital and make sure she gets home after they put a cast on her, you hear me?”
“Sure, Ma. Now go on with yeh. I’ve got this under control.” Mrs. Finnegan waved a hand and walked past them and out the door, leaving them completely alone and silent once more. Seamus helped Pansy into a chair and stepped back quickly, folding his arms.
“Why are yeh here?” he asked, eyes narrowed.
“I was trying to avoid running into anyone I knew. Now, can you fix my damn ankle so I can get out of this hell-hole and go back to my life where no one even remembered I existed?” She was getting frustrated. How dare he assume she’d come looking for him, and how dare he leave her unhealed when she was clearly in pain?
“It’s Ireland. I’m Irish. Shouldn’t yeh have thought of that rather bloody obvious detail before yeh decided to swan back into me life as if nothin‘ has happened?” he replied angrily. Pansy snorted.
“Because Ireland’s so small that I was obviously going to run into you and your pea-sized brain wherever I went. Tell me, Finnigan, do you ever think before you speak? Now, fix my foot! It’s broken, in case you’ve forgotten,” she snapped. He swore loudly and pointed at her.
“You’ve got a wand. Fix your own fucking ankle.” He stormed over to the bar, slammed an empty glass down on the counter, and poured himself a glass of Firewhiskey. He knocked it back in one gulp and then poured another, drinking it quickly, too. Pansy growled in frustration and used the chair she was sitting on to scoot across the floor to where he was standing. As he turned to get another bottle, she took the glass and sculled its contents. When he glared at her, she smirked.
“It’s for the pain. My wand snapped in half when I fell. It's in my pocket. Your fault, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Jaysus, Parkinson. If I fix your feckin’ ankle, will you just fuck off and leave me alone? You just being here is reminding me of shit I’ve been trying to forget for years,” he said, running a hand through his hair and looking as though he might start pulling it out. “I’d almost managed to forget seeing you in Paris a few years ago and then you turn up here. I can’t get a fucking break.”
“That’s all I wanted, Finnigan.” She lifted her leg so he had access to her ankle, her eyes boring into his. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wand, and held it aloft. Pansy was taken back five years to the midst of the battle. He’d been standing in front of her, holding his wand in that exact same position, trained on Theodore Nott. She closed her eyes and pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind.
“Don’t yeh trust me?” he said mockingly. Pansy opened her eyes and locked them on his green ones.
“You know I do,” she said quietly and looked away as he healed her ankle.
“Episkey. It’ll probably be stiff for a day or so, go easy on it for a while,” he added as a feeble afterthought. He moved back around the bar and got himself another drink. He looked up at her. “Want one before yeh go?”
His demeanour had changed. Gone was the protective shield of biting words she’d been subjected to just moments before. He was calmer, more reserved, and he seemed almost sad. She wasn’t surprised.
She screwed up her nose as she watched him pour the dark, frothing liquid into a pint. “What on earth is that? Don’t you have some Butterbeer or something? This looks revolting.” Seamus pushed the glass towards her.
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, you silly cow. Just drink it and shut up.” Pansy opened her mouth to snap at him but found she didn’t have the words. He was half-smiling, so she closed her mouth again. She pursed her lips, lifted the glass, and took a sip.
“Oh, that’s vile! What is it?” Across the bar, Finnigan let out a roar of laughter, causing her to jump in shock and spill the dark liquid into her lap. She huffed angrily and reached into her bag, pulled out a small pouch, and took out a cigarette.
“Yeh can’t smoke in here, me mam’ll have a cow if she ends up getting landed with a feckin’ fine. You’re going anyway, either take yourself out to the smoking shelter or light up out on the footpath.” Pansy nodded and stood up. She placed the glass onto the counter and looked at her companion.
“It’s been...” She let the words trail off and walked towards the door.
“Yeah, bye,” he replied, his voice hoarse. She turned back towards him and gave a feeble wave that left her feeling quite stupid as she stepped onto the street. She’d barely made it a few steps in the pouring rain before she heard the door bang open behind her.
“D’you still think about it?” he shouted, leaning heavily on the doorframe. She whirled around and walked back to him, shoving him back through the door and slamming it behind them.
“Are-you-insane?” she spat angrily. “Could you shout it any louder?”
“Do you?” he pressed, taking a step closer to her. She did her best to ignore the unsettling feeling that had formed in the pit of her stomach and stayed where she was.
“Of course I do,” she said sharply. “I think about it almost every damn minute of every damn day and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of thinking about Nott’s filthy hands all over me and I’m sick of seeing that look of shock on that annoying little Gryffindor’s face and I’m-”
“His name was Colin,” interrupted Seamus, staring at her. She reached for her eyes and wiped away the angry tears that had started forming.
“I’m sick of smelling burnt flesh everywhere I go,” she finished and took a step even closer to him. She knew he understood; they shared a connection neither could deny. She hadn't felt that with another human being in a very long time. She could feel his warm breath on her face and she wanted to reach out and touch him, or do something so she wasn’t alone anymore, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she closed her eyes and took a depth breath. When she opened her eyes, his face was inches from hers and his green eyes were watching her, waiting for something.
“Tired of runnin’ are ya?” he asked. She nodded, her head barely moving. “This is the first time I’ve been home more than a few days since... well, yeh know. I can’t even look at me mam half the time because she’ll know I’m hiding something. It’d kill her if she knew just what it was.”
“You Gryffindors are all the same. You have to take the blame for everything. I’ve got news for you. You were defending yourself when Nott fell down and hit his head. You weren’t the one who checked to see if he was alive. You weren’t the one who used Incendio, even though you knew he was breathing. You didn’t kill someone... simply because you could,” she finished, her breathing heavy and her eyes wide. She wrenched her hands together in frustration. She hated feeling this vulnerable, but she couldn’t seem to stop the words from coming out. She tried to convince herself that it had to be because of some unconscious need to pay him back somehow for saving her from Nott all those years ago, but although she wouldn’t admit it to anyone, especially him, she knew it was because she needed to talk about it too.
“I would have killed him if you hadn’t. You don’t do shit like that to a woman. Even if she was a bitchy little cow like you were,” he said fiercely.
“I didn’t need to burn him to death,” she said flatly, ignoring his comment and the impulse to ask him if he still thought she was a snarky bitch.
“He was scum. He deserved it.”
“I should have just bound him and taken him to the Aurors,” she countered.
“You were suspected of Death Eater activity. I’m willin’ to bet they wouldn’t have believed yeh.”
“And you did?” she asked quickly. He nodded.
“I heard you arguing with Zabini in the corridor after McGonagall told the Slytherins to get up and fight or to bugger off. You told him, ‘Fuck what’s expected, I’ve got to make it right’.”
“I never thanked you,” she said. His hand found her waist.
“I never wanted you to,” he replied as her shaking hand found its way to his. Their hands rested together without actually linking, and Pansy was sure she’d never experienced anything more intimate in her life.
She didn’t know if she was capable of tenderness and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to allow herself to find out, but her heart was thumping, her hands were sweating, and it was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She was increasingly aware of his blond hair and his muscled arms, things she’d never noticed before. She felt herself blushing and wondered what the hell was going on. This couldn’t turn her on. They were talking about a murder she’d committed and he’d covered up. They had nothing to link them but that fact, and it was ridiculous to think that anything between them would work. She couldn’t believe she was even considering it.
“What’s happening to me?” she burst out. “My hands are sweating and I can’t stop looking at you and it’s ridiculous because you’re you and I’m me and it’s just-it’s just-it’s ridiculous. I have to go.”
“Yeh don’t have to, y‘know?,” he said quickly and closed his hand over hers. She flinched but didn’t pull back.
“I don’t understand,” she said, and she felt herself begin to panic. “I-”
She was cut off as he pulled her roughly to him and kissed her. He walked her backwards as their lips moved against each other and before long, she felt her back bump against the bar. The impact brought her back to earth. She pushed him away, banging her hands on his chest.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, lengthening the space between them. He didn’t say anything, just reached over the bar and poured two shot glasses full of the Firewhiskey they’d shared before. She walked over and threw it back, putting as much distance between them as was possible.
“Don’t you get it?” he asked, and she could see his leg bouncing up and down, like a nervous twitch. “I don’t have to hide anything from you. Nothing I could ever tell you could be worse than what yeh already know. You know the worst of me.”
“You’re drunk,” she stated flatly, walking over to him and holding out her glass.
“’No. No I’m not, Pansy,” he said, frowning. “And I know the worst of you, don’t forget that. You wouldn’t have anything to hide from me either.”
“I don’t want to sleep with you,” she said. Seamus took another drink.
“You kissed me back.”
“Your arms roaming anywhere and everywhere on my body didn’t give me a choice.”
“You’re afraid.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“You don’t want to be vulnerable,” he said.
“No. I don’t want to sleep with you,” she replied.
“I was looking for yeh the whole time I was running . I looked everywhere I went. Prague, Australia, Antarctica, America, China, Thailand, Peru, Mexico. I looked everywhere. I didn’t find yeh until Paris and you’d gone again at first light the next morning. I thought we-”
“Why?” she asked warily, stepping a little closer and cutting him off before he could voice his thoughts, thoughts she knew would unsettle her. “We agreed to keep it a secret and we agreed to go our separate ways so nobody would have any idea what we’d done. Why would you look for me?” He closed his eyes.
“I was worried about yeh, nothin’ wrong with that, is there? You weren’t right when yeh ran off. I wanted to make sure you were okay. What Nott did to yeh was beyondfoul. Are yeh ok?” he asked, and Pansy recognised desperation in his voice. She longed to say that she thought he was truly pathetic, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak the words because she knew they weren’t true. She felt like a completely different person from who she had been five years ago. She felt weak and emotional and pathetic and she both hated it and loved it at the same time. For years, Pansy had longed to feel something, anything other than regret and the dirtiness she felt when she thought of Nott’s hands all over her time and time again, and now that she was, she was doing her best to push it away. She squared her shoulders and bit her lip as she thought.
“No,” she said, choosing not to elaborate. She walked to him purposefully and placed her hands on his chest. He watched her with glazed eyes as she unbuttoned his shirt slowly, unable to meet his eyes.
“What’re yeh doing?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“I want to forget what his hands felt like. I want to forget how cheap he made me feel. I want-” Pansy was cut off as Seamus’ lips closed over hers. The kiss was not gentle, but she hadn’t expected it to be. They were both so desperate to feel something — anything – that she knew they weren’t going to take it slow and that she had to savour every moment, every breath, every touch because she didn’t know when she would feel like this again.
If she’d ever feel like this again.
She moved her lips against his and ran her hands up and down his bare chest, finally settling them on his waist, holding him tightly. His tongue ran along her lips. She didn’t hesitate and opened her mouth a fraction, allowing him access into her mouth. Seamus’ hand felt its way up her neck and brushed her long, dark hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. It was, once again, a terribly intimate experience and it made her shiver uncontrollably.
He moved his lips to her neck where he suckled on a patch of skin. She could feel him marking her, something that up until that moment she’d hated, seeing it as a man’s way of possessing the woman he was with. But with Seamus, it didn’t feel like that. It felt as though he couldn’t get enough of her. She pulled away from his mouth and kissed her way across his chin and down to his neck where she mimicked his action, marking his skin. He groaned and let his head loll to the side, his eyes closed.
“I-could-give-you-a-blowjob,” she breathed, punctuating her words by kissing down his chest and to his belt buckle. He ran his fingers through her hair and guided her back up to his face gently. Once she was level with him, he shook his head.
“We do this together or not at all. It’s how we work, in’ it?” he said into her hair. Pansy snorted.
“We’ve spoken three times in our lives. I don’t think we’ve had time to develop a ‘routine’,” she said dryly. She loved how unconventional they were, and even though they knew so little about each other, she’d never felt this comfortable with anyone. She was sure she’d never feel as comfortable with anyone else again. Ever.
“We could, you know.” She was silent, unsure whether to respond or whether her silence conveyed everything she was too afraid to say. He kissed her again after a moment, more gently this time, and she didn’t want it to end. She could feel the protective walls she’d built around her crumbling slowly and she didn’t care. All she could think about was prolonging everything because she knew when it was over, she would be back to where she’d started, back to being lonely, back to feeling desperate.
Back to running.
She pushed his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
“What are you doing?” she asked, confused. He’d torn his lips from hers and pulled his wand from his pocket. He held it up to her, the tip pointing at himself. She took it warily and rolled it around in her hand. She could feel the buzz of the magic through her fingertips and wondered if this was a common thing or if it was just the alcohol coursing through her system.
“I may not be completely off my head drunk, but I want to be completely sober,” Seamus said quietly, placing his hand over hers and held the wand up. “Do yeh mind?” Pansy shook her head wordlessly and cast the spell.
“Do one on me too,” she blurted, uncertain if she’d surprised herself or him more, but he nodded and took the wand from her, pointing it as he whispered a sobering charm. She placed her hand over his gently and moved his wand to the counter.
“Are you sure?” she asked, placing a shaking hand on his arm. She felt like a school girl with a crush again, something she hadn’t felt since Draco in her teenage years, and she wondered how it had come on so quickly. Until an hour ago, she didn’t think of Seamus Finnigan as anything other than the person who could put her in prison, and now, here she was, ready to sleep with him, quelling niggling thoughts of a future. The promise of a night where she didn’t have to lie about who she was or where she came from was driving her forward, irrespective of the consequences in the morning.
“We should probably go upstairs, love.” He kissed her neck. “Ma’s not going t’ take it too kindly if she finds us fucking on her bar.”
“Must you be so crass? I know you’re usually a tactless gorilla, but in the current circumstances, I’d have expected a little decorum.” Pansy rolled her eyes.
“You wouldn’t have it any other way. Don‘t be tryin‘ to hide the fact that you want to laugh, I can see right through yeh.” Seamus laughed as he entwined his fingers through hers and walked backwards, pulling her towards a door to the side of the bar. She followed him without objection up a flight of stairs and didn’t flinch when he pushed her up against the door to the flat as he fumbled in his pocket for his keys, his mouth fusing to hers relentlessly. She’d never been kissed like this and she never wanted it to stop. The feel of his tongue against hers was like nothing she’d ever felt before. She lifted her leg and hooked it around his thigh, pressing their lower bodies together. He’d managed to get the key into the lock, but her sudden move had distracted him and he let his hand cup her arse, kneading his digits gently against her flesh. He picked her up and held her against the door, wrapping her legs around him.
“You’re a tease,” she breathed into his neck, nipping at his skin. He opened the door, walked them inside, and slammed it loudly.
“Bedroom?” he asked quietly and she nodded. The journey from the door to the bedroom passed in a blur of kisses and as he placed her on his bed and hovered over her, she found it hard to breathe. Her breaths were coming in gasps as the enormity of the situation weighed on her. She was about to sleep with the man who helped her cover up a murder, the man who, although only knowing her from a distance at school and during one heated night in Paris, knew her better than anyone. She hadn’t let anyone else get this close.
“Breathe, love.” He kissed her forehead, her neck, and her collarbone and stared down at her through his sweaty, blond fringe.
“I’ve got an admission of sorts to make,” she said before she could convince herself not to. He didn’t speak but waited for her to continue. “This feels different than last time.”
“I know.” He peeled her blouse from her body and freed her breasts from her bra, brushing his fingers lightly over her nipples. He watched them harden in awe before bending down and taking one in his mouth. She arched her back and felt his sheathed cock rub against her stomach. She undid his trousers and he helped her push them over his hips. He kicked them off his ankles and he lifted her skirt, revealing her knickers. He bent down and slid them over her legs, leaving her naked beneath him.
“You’ve still got nice tits,” he said approvingly and grinned. She slapped his arm half-heartedly.
“Pig.” They lapsed into silence and she reached down and grabbed his cock, guiding him to her. He pushed in slowly this time, nothing like their tryst those years before. She could feel him inching deeper and she clung to his shoulders, squeezing him tightly to her.
“Yeh alright?” he said, his voice low. She nodded, unable to speak as he pulled out slowly, the exquisite sensation overcoming her. They moved in tandem, their eyes never wavering from each other. He had been right – she knew the worst of him, and like her, the regret was fixed permanently in his eyes. She knew she’d never forget the sound of the Incendio spell leaving her lips, nor would she forget the smell of Theodore Nott’s burnt flesh as she’d helped Seamus drag his body across the Hogwarts grounds and bury it in the Forbidden Forest, but she was starting to think it was possible to move past it. Going against everything she had ever believed, she thought that she might not have to be alone.
They came together with a gasp and a moan. He collapsed on top of her and buried his face in her neck, his lips touching the skin there as though he didn’t want to let go. She traced circles on his back with her fingers and stared at the ceiling.
“I’m not going to tell you to leave,” she said quietly, into his ear. He rolled off her and held himself up by his elbows beside her.
“I’d bloody well hope not. This is my flat!” he laughed nervously.
“That wouldn’t stop me,” she replied, turning on her side to face him.
“You’re not going to run off?” he asked, brushing her hair out of her eyes.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I think I definitely need to leave now.”
“Why?” he asked, alarmed.
“Because this is weird. I can’t think straight with you pawing at me,” she said, and he pulled the hand that had been rubbing at her stomach away quickly. “I don’t do. . . this.” She gestured to their surroundings.
“Yeh could, y’know” he pressed. “You’ve nothing to compare it to. We’re good together and you know it.” She stood up and put her clothes on. “Well,” he continued, dejected, “this is definitely familiar.”
“Familiar,” she agreed, moving to the door, “but with a different ending. I’ve not been to Paris for a while. I thought it might be time to visit again.” She leant down and kissed him on the cheek, letting her lips linger. She followed their path from earlier, making her way down the stairs and through the small pub. She stepped into the rain and started walking down the street.
It was going to take her at least a day to get there through Muggle means, seeing as her wand was broken. She wondered how long it would take him to figure it out, and if he’d be waiting for her on the rooftop when she got there.