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Written for;
Fanfiction Marathon 2. BlaiseGinny.
Restricted Collection - 50. No using the word 'Because'.
A Challenge
The club was smoky, and Blaise watched from the bar as couples writhed on the dance floor. Once upon a time, Blaise would have been out there, grinding against a willing body, preparing to take her home for the night. He was bored of the routine. He was bored of girls falling all over him. He was bored of easy.
A flash of red caught his eye, and he raised his eyebrow when a group of girls he'd never seen in the club before arrived at the bar. Ginny Weasley, ex-girlfriend of the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Fuck-Men, reserve chaser for the Harpies, and absolute babe, was stood in the middle, clearly holding court with her friends.
Blaise smiled to himself as he thought about just how good she'd look, splayed beneath him without the clingy black dress that currently adorned her body. His eyes trailed down her legs and his vision only got better when they reached the four inch heels on her feet. Those, he'd let her keep on.
Draining his drink, Blaise watched as one by one the ladies moved their way to the dance floor, and he felt like the cat that got the cream when Miss Weasley was the last one standing at the bar. Of course, it wasn't for lack of trying by the men in the club, but she'd turned each of them away with a roll of her eyes and a toss of her hair.
He sauntered over, sitting himself on the stool beside her.
"Weasley."
She looked him over, her interest and disdain clear in equal measures. He was rather impressed that she didn't bother to even try and hide it.
"Zabini."
"Why are you not dancing?" he asked, when her eyes moved over the dance floor. She was clearly keeping her eye on her friends. That was commendable, but he was sure he could distract her.
"There's nobody I want to dance with."
"No? A shame. There are plenty here who would like to dance with you."
"Hmm. They'd like to dance with Harry Potter's ex, you mean?"
Bitterness.
"I don't think that's the reason at all, actually. You are, in fact, looking rather hot, Weasley."
"Oh?"
"Dance with me."
It wasn't a question. He didn't ask when he wanted something. Taking her hand, he led her to the middle of the mess of bodies and pulled her against him. She could move, he had to give her that. She pressed her arse to his groin, grinding back against him. His hands resting on her waist he bent his head and pressed his lips to her neck.
He lost track of time with the music, and only when the dance floor started to empty did he whisper in her ear, "Come home with me."
When she shook her head, he smiled.
She was the one who was going to make him work for it. She was going to challenge him in a way no other woman had before. When she turned and kissed his cheek, pressing parchment in his hand, he bowed to her.
Enjoying the view as she walked away, he glanced down at the parchment.
You can take me to dinner this weekend. Try and impress me, why don't you? 7 pm, Italiano, Diagon Alley.