"Of all the gin joints-"
"Don't fucking start with me."
Antonin Dolohov smirked as he pulled out the chair next to a surly, paint covered woman with a dark bob, complete with artfully swept fringe. The scraping of lacquered wood against exposed concrete rang loudly in the quiet bar. Streamers and broken bead necklaces were piled in the corners, swept there by distracted employees trying to keep up with the demands of hundreds of Mardi Gras revelers in New Orleans.
He rapped his knuckles once against the bar top, waving the bartender over and ordering two, "Angel's Envy, neat."
Pansy kept her head pressed against her glass of water, ignoring how the low thrum of music caused the ice inside to vibrate, ringing in her ear. The pain from the noise was drowned by the pain everywhere else.
"Of course you remember," she muttered, face unceremoniously smashed against the glass, slippery with condensation. She moved it so it pressed against the other cheek, leaving a trail of water that mixed with her sweat from the night before.
"Naturally. Now, hair of the dog, love," he said, pushing the short tumbler towards her.
"Normal blokes would give a girl Sober Up." The first sip was murder, the second one burning, but by her third she welcomed the rush.
"Afraid I used it all on myself," Antonin joked, smiling at her with a predatory gaze, observing as a line of sweat and water worked its way from the crease of her jaw, down her neck over her jugular, and rushed towards the open space between her breasts. A trail of skin appeared below the splotches of paint and colored chalk marking Pansy.
"Selfish crup fucker."
"There's the Pansy I remember."
"Fuck you."
"Is that a threat or a promise?"
Pansy sat up straight, regretting it instantly as her head swam, but didn't waver as she stared down the unwelcome personal space invader. How dare he show up here, absent for two years, six months and four days, and dress in a black shirt with dark jeans, sleeves rolled and showing off his Dark Mark? Damn him, looking like some sadistic incarnation of a Hugo Boss model who lost his jacket sometime in the night, likely in a suave way, like giving it to a chilly model.
But, this was Antonin Dolohov; he would smooth his lapel, button his coat tighter, as he watched the girl freeze to death.
"You're incredibly difficult to locate," he said, sipping from his tumbler again, holding the liquor in his mouth a moment before swallowing.
He didn't react to the burn, but Pansy could see the rush of goosebumps against his arm, pebbling over the Mark.
"Evaded you for this long, haven't I?" Pansy snapped at the former Death Eater. She wished he hadn't sat with his back to the window; the sunlight outside, bright against the whitewashed stone outside, limning the man, made him hard to look at even with her overlarge sunglasses. She scratched her knee where a scrape from tripping on the pavement marred her skin.
Antonin rested his left hand on the back of her chair, his entire body now facing her, even as she only turned her head and neck his way. "Two years, six months, four days, and six hours. That's over one million three hundred minutes away from you."
The air left the room. "Melodramatic," she whispered, eyes wide behind the dark frames, refusing to blink unless he bolted.
Sure hands reached up to remove the sunglasses, folding them neatly on the bar, before pushing their tumblers away, twisting her around by gripping the seat of her barstool. She didn't get a chance to protest her breath was horrible, and he was a right bastard, before he pulled her up onto the bar, kissing her with a carnal growl.
They ignored the bartender as he shouted at the two of them to pay and leave, in that order. Antonin slipped his wand out of his sleeve and stunned the Muggle barman before he'd walked two feet closer to them, stunning the already passed-out drunk man for good measure.
Hitching her knees around his hips, he dragged her off the bar. Denim shorts barely covering her ass caught on the lip of the bar top, her exposed skin squeaking loudly from her sweaty skin sticking to the wood, and she bit down on his lip in retaliation.
"Be careful with me, old man," she ground out against his mouth, her teeth clicking against his.
Antonin didn't reply, not with words, as he gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. He let her legs fall to the floor, her black sneakers landing with a muted thud. Pushing her backwards, his hands moving to grasp her waist and ribcage to steady her, her back hit the door to the manager's office. Alohomora whispered over the shell of her ear, and they were inside. Receipts and purchase orders fluttered to the floor as Antonin swept it all off the desk, the heavy clatter of a counting machine joining the din. Pansy noted there was some sticky stain on the corner Antonin placed her, and she hoped it was a coffee ring.
"I've never hated Muggle fashion more than this moment," Antonin gruffly proclaimed into the crook of her neck, pausing his efforts of a blossoming love bite to pay more attention to his hands. His fingers fumbled at the button of her shorts.
Concupiscent and impatient, Pansy reached down to undo the buttons and tried to pull them down, slightly distracted by Antonin's hand palming her breast. Frustration mounting, she pushed up at his hips, still pinning her lower body to the cheap Ikea desk, and sucked in her breath at the familiar line of his cock pressing against her inseam. They stayed like that for several moments: his hips grinding into her open legs without breaking contact, one hand bracing himself on the desk while the other palmed her breast through the cotton of her shirt. One of her hands gripped his shoulder like a vice, leaving marks on his skin with her nails through the fabric, the other still caught between the joining of their hips.
Pansy hissed as Antonin bit down on the bruise he left on her neck. "Are you going to leave me again?"
"That depends," she growled, pushing her nails more forcefully into his shoulder where she knew a tattoo of a dragon's wing curled over the line of his clavicle, the rest of the body spanning his back. "Are you going to make me?"
"I will push your limits every fucking day. I'll give you diamonds fed to vipers you have to cut open yourself, break your mother's crystal against the wall when you make me angry, redden your arse if you even dare think of courting another man-"
"You're going soft," she bit back against his threats, silencing him with a forceful kiss. "Don't tease a girl."
Abandoning pretense, she charmed away her shorts and yanked the thin tank top over her head, both landing on the swivel chair nearby. Pansy thanked Merlin again she was small enough to never require a bra, the look on Antonin's face at her chest: two different colored handprints covered each exposed breast.
A possessive growl ripped into his throat at the sight of other men's hands on her body, and he resumed his animalistic rutting against her to reassert his dominance over the witch. She was having none of it, pushing him backwards to land on top of her clothes in the chair, slipping her body over his and reaching down to free his cock before Antonin regained his balance and turned the tables again. His shoulders shook beneath her hands when she finally took control, helpless the encompassing feel of her.
Back arched, she rode him, as harsh as she had the night she'd left him in the dead of night. The buttons of his trousers pressed into the inside of her thigh, and the arms of the chair were extremely inconvenient, but with her tip-toes pressed into the floor she had enough purchase and balance to pin him to the seat. The years meant nothing as they clawed at each other, scraping nails over ribs, each chasing their own pleasure as swiftly as they could.
Pansy won.
Her voice destroyed from shouting the night before, her orgasm ended with a groan, harsh against abused vocal chords. Pulling herself away from him to fall to the floor, Pansy smirked as Antonin lost control of himself, hips still bucking in the same tempo she'd set, glaring at her incredulously as she allowed him to spill over his own trousers. His body was slumped, breath coming in short bursts as he fought the urge to curl up and sleep, eyelids fluttering.
Pansy stood, brushing off her bum from whatever grime was on the floor, yanking her clothes out from under him. With a smug wave of her wand she cleaned any trace of him from her body. Before the last button was done up on her shorts, she darted out the door of the office, locking it behind her. The ghost of his fingertips brushed her leg as she escaped, his muscles lethargic for at least one minute and ten seconds after orgasm, allowing her just enough time to ennervate both Muggles, grab her sunglasses, toss back the rest of his drink to complete her hangover cure, and disappear through the growing crowd of people celebrating Mardi Gras.
Written after a long discussion with laisvega and ash-castle. A thousand thank yous to ash-castle, chiseplushie, and m1sc1efmanaged for easing my nerves at posting something relatively smutty. Posted on tumblr on 7/22/2016. inspired by Justin Timberlake's "Drink You Away"