Author's notes: Originally written for the 2013 Samhain_smut fest on Livejournal. Fred is not dead (he's not mentioned either). There are Twilight references. No time frame listed but clearly post-war and a good while afterwards. Title is from the lyrics of This is Halloween from Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas.
A knock at the door caused Lavender to pick up her candy bowl. She fully expected a shouting of trick-or-treat and adorable children and smiling faces as she dropped candy into their little bags. Hallowe'en was her favourite time of the year, and Lavender opened the door to her flat in Muggle London wearing a stereotypical witch's costume. Well, perhaps not so stereotypical in that she forwent the warty nose and instead wore all black with gold-star bedecked tights and a skirt that looked a bit like a tutu. Who wanted to wear warts and green face paint anyway?
So far, her trick-or-treaters had consisted of 15 princesses, three fairies, two pirates and 34 sparkly vampires. iMuggles! Sheesh!/i It was rather a large let down that the children all seemed to be following the same trends this year. Where was originality? Where was creativity? Most importantly where was taste? (Not in London, apparently.) All of these Muggle costumes were store bought and generic... or worse, glitter-laden. Disappointing really. She opened the door this time in hopes of an adorable bunny or a little black cat- or perhaps a yellow duck. Yellow duck costumes were simply underrated. You couldn't get more adorable than a small child dressed as a yellow duck. She had given up hope on a vampire that was actually scary.
She turned the knob, candy bowl balanced on her hip expecting the "trick-or-treat" of small voices, and screamed in utter terror when standing at her door was the Dark Lord himself. He was crouched low with his wand drawn in a stance of attack. She drew her wand- or tried to- it got stuck in her robe pocket and refused to come out. So, in the event of emergency, modern women (and she did fancy herself a modern woman) used what was at hand. She took her candy bowl and smashed it down onto the Dark Lord's head. He crumpled to the ground, landing sprawled on his bum. Fear was replaced with a sense of victory. Score one for the witch who reacted in emergencies! She would so have to tell her Book Club about this. One crack of a bowl and the Dark Lord goes down. Never underestimate the uses of good pottery; she'd made this bowl herself.
"Holy fucking hell! What'd you do that for?"
That was iNOT/i the Dark Lord's voice. That voice, in fact, was one that was very recognisable. One that caused mischief wherever it went. One that was about to get a second pottery sized knot right on the top of his head. "George Weasley! I should- I should-"
"Hit me with a bowl? You can check that off your list of things to do. Holy hell, that smarts." He attempted to rise rubbing his head and grabbing at the door facing to her flat as he stood. "Did they teach self defence in that pottery class you took last year? I thought you were just learning to make bowls, not how to kill people with them." He started through the door. She blocked his way. "I don't think so."
"Oh come on, Lav. It's trick or treat, you know." He pulled off his mask and his hair was static-charged and sticking up all over the place.
"That's an expression. You're not supposed to actually trick people. You give candy. Candy is nice and chocolatey and wonderful-it makes your insides feel nice- even if your hips hate it. Tricks are not fun."
"Tell that to the people who have been packed in the shop all day. I've never sold so many tricks. I'm pretty sure we sold twice as much as last year's Hallowe'en. I'm completely knackered." He gave her a lopsided grin, and then stuck his lip out in a pout. "Please let me in."
"Promise me there will be no more tricks and I'll think about it." She was rather powerless against that pouty lip. And the bastard knew it.
George pushed past her into the flat taking a chocolate bar from her weapon-bowl as he passed. "Can't do that. You'd just be aiding and abetting in the breaking of a promise. I wouldn't want to live with making you a morality criminal." He popped the entire chocolate bar into his mouth and talked while chewing. "Even I've got standards. Corrupting the innocent is against my rules."
She put her hand on her hip and arched an eyebrow. "So now I'm innocent?"
"Well..." George flopped down on her sofa, legs sprawled and tossed his mask onto the coffee table. His feet followed his mask.
"I'm pretty sure nothing I've ever done with you, George Weasley, could be considered innocent." She paused. "Feet off the table!"
He removed one foot, in an act of what she assumed was compromise (or at least not total defeat). "Hm, let me think. Well there was that time we went to- No, not then, you were naked before that trip was over. Naked and thoroughly shagged. There was that time at the Leaky Cauldron when- oh wait, no, not then. That involved a hand job in the back room. Brilliant one, too. I saw stars. Hm, this is harder than I thought. Oh, I know! When we visited Fleur and Bill at- no, shagged you in the loo over the sink. Geez, woman, do you ever keep your clothes on?"
"Around you, clothes have a way of disappearing."
"Can't really blame me for that. I'm pants at disappearing spells."
"Pretty good with your hands though, aren't you?"
George grinned and crooked a finger in Lavender's direction. "You could come a little closer and we could see."
Lavender took out her wand and aimed it towards the now closed door to her flat and with a slight swish the light out front went out and the door lock clicked into place. She was done handing out candy for the night. She had no desire to see anymore glittering vampires and, instead, thought it was time for a bit of a treat for herself. A delicious Weasley-flavoured treat.
She approached him, swaying her hips in what she hoped was a sexy manner. There were no mirrors in the room, so if it wasn't working, at least she wouldn't be forced to witness her own foolishness. And, unusually, George wasn't laughing, so maybe she had perfected her sexy walk. As sexy as you could be in a tutu and star-specked tights... which probably wasn't very.
George patted his thigh indicating that she should sit on his lap. "Come tell Santa what you want for Christmas."
"Wrong holiday."
"Maybe, but I still like the idea of you sitting on my lap and telling me what you want."
She acquiesced and sat down primly across George's lap. "Well, I want a new bra- my old one has a broken wire. And it was my favourite, so there's that. I'd really like a new sofa. This one gets more tattered with every-"
George grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her forcefully in for a kiss. It was a long one that stole her breath and left her gasping.
"That was unexpected."
"I had to shut you up. You were playing the Santa game wrong." George's hand was stroking down her star-tights and then back up between her knees.
"Fairly certain that Santa doesn't put his hands up the skirts of the people who sit on his laps."
"Ugh!" George grimaced. "Now you're being gross and completely ruining the Santa game. Stop it!"
Lavender couldn't stifle a giggle. "In the spirit of the holiday, I could sit on the Pumpkin King's lap and tell him ghost stories." She gave a wiggle and felt a growing bulge against her bum. Just to show she was a sport, she ground her hips down a bit more.
One corner of George's lip quirked up; he looked positively demonic. "I'm not opposed to you calling me Your Majesty while we're doing it." He paused in thought. "Fuck the Santa game. I'm loving this Pumpkin King idea." He rubbed a hand up her back and twirled a lock of her hair around his fingers. "You're brilliant. I'll forgive you for the bad Santa feelings when you bow down to this Pumpkin King... or bend over. You know, whatever."
Lavender shifted to straddle George's legs, grabbing the back of the sofa for leverage, one hand on either side of his head, her over-large breasts and low cut top giving him a delightful view. "So, iYour Majesty/i, what did you have in mind?"
His hands came up to cup her tits, and he wasted no time in pushing aside her bra and thumbing her nipples to hard points. "Well-"
"Shut up and kiss me, you idiot." Lavender's mouth crushed down on his, her tongue slid deftly into his mouth, and when his hands started their trek down from her breasts, she forcefully put them back. "Don't stop."
"But I-"
"I said don't stop!" She softened her demanding words a bit by finishing with a throaty whisper at his ear, "My King."
"The King aims to please." George gave her left nipple a hard pinch and twist eliciting a groan of satisfaction as Lavender buried her face into his neck and nipped a trail from ear to shoulder. "Now let's get these clothes off you and-"
"No, not yet," she panted. "Too fast." She batted his hands away, preventing him from reaching his wand. In a single flick, she'd be laid bare to him, and she wasn't giving up that control. Not tonight.
George's hands grasped her star-covered, ample thighs, and Lavender rose to her knees. "Keep those hands where I can see them, Your Highness." Her bossy tone made him emit a throaty sound of pure pleasure.
She began to rock against him, the thin tights (and lack of knickers beneath her tutu) pushing against the hard bulge in his denims, the ridge hitting just the right spot. The rocking was divine. With every sway of her hips and downward grinding motion her heartbeat quickened and the sensations rippled through her. She was close and she knew it. George grabbed at her buttocks, giving the left cheek a smart smack.
"Your King demands..."
But it was too late. His forceful smack, the hard shaft and rough denim pressing against her sensitive clit- she was gone. Her orgasm was explosive. The control she exercised over George driving it far beyond her normal realm of pleasure.
"Fucking hell." George gasped and began to tear at her clothes, desperate to find his own release.
Lavender brushed his hands away (seems he had grown a few- she no sooner pushed one away and two more were trying to relieve her of her clothes). She stood on shaky legs and straightened her dishevelled clothes.
"Wait- No- What-" George gave up on any attempts at coherent speech. He pointed at his cock and croaked out a pitiful, "My turn."
"Call you Your Majesty, my arse. I don't think so. Besides a King serves his people, and this person is fully satisfied." She grabbed a bar of chocolate from her previously discarded pottery. "I think I'll go to bed... alone... with my treat."
He must have been having a conversation with his cock, and Lavender pressed her ear to the bedroom door so as not to miss it. "Sorry, friend, I don't think you're visiting the Queen tonight." She bit down on her hand to keep from giggling loudly. The last words Lavender heard from her living room as George turned out the lights were, "I really have to marry her. Fucking brilliant that was."