author's note:
this is a songfic.
i thought this was going to be passionate and all but it went downhill. or uphill. or medium hill.
462 words.
enjoy.
- angie
try to tell you no, but my body keeps on telling you yes
try to tell you stop, but your lipstick got me so out of breath
i be wakin' up in the morning probably hatin' myself
and i be wakin' up feelin' satisfied but guilty as hell
one more night, maroon 5
"So I've been thinking," Molly says calmly, her legs woven in and out of the covers like a chunk of half-assed alabaster and her hands between a dark red mop of hair and a pale pillow.
"You're a seductress," breathes Lorcan, turned away from his partner with his sweaty hands over his sweaty face.
"I have jobs at odd hours of the night, so let's just . . ." Molly's lower lip leans to the right and her teeth clench as she raises a hand and waves at the air. "Abolish the routine, just meet wherever, yeah?"
"A demon temptress sent to Earth to ride me till I go insane."
"Vic's taking a week off for her daughter, so I won't have any jobs then. What say we go out on the town?"
"Y'know, I bet myself I could go three days without you. But I can't." Lorcan laughs sardonically and moves his hands into his hair before rolling to face Molly. He's still hyperventilating, and his breath glances off Molly's bare chest.
"I haven't gone anywhere but here and my flat in, what, two weeks? I need to get out! I'll go just about anywhere but the offices – I'm not revisiting that hellhole unless I need to."
"We need to take you to the Daily Prophet and report you. You, you're something that piece-of-shit newspaper needs to boost its career."
"We could just walk through Hogsmeade, or we could Floo to Greenwich and check that out. I've heard there's a meteor there with two different time zones . . . You know what? Not today, I've the worst of hangovers. What about you, Lorcan?"
Lorcan rolls over the covers and falls to the shag carpet with a naked thump before sprawling.
"That's nice, Lorcan," Molly says without missing a beat, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Lorcan scratches his head and abruptly rises to a crawl. He makes it to the rubbish bin near the dresser and vomits. "We aren't going to –"
"Moonbeam it is!"
"First you disable my libido, then you disagree with my every word?" Lorcan gets up, takes his wand, and cleans himself and the bin. "Merlin, temptress. You're not my wife."
Molly wriggles in her web of cloth and shuts her eyes.
Lorcan hops onto the bed. "You're strange, Molly. Molly . . ." He yawns and presses a hand to his forehead before turning to face the sleeping redhead. "Molly bla-bla Weasley." His hazel eyes linger on her figure one, two, three seconds before he can't take it anymore. He traces circles on her inner thigh and they're back in motion, her with his sex toy and him with his forbidden apple.