It's a Stupid Muggle Holiday:
"Katie girl, wot the bloody hell are ya on about? Why'd ya drag me here?" Oliver regarded the hanging plastic spiders with distaste, rolling his eyes at the images of green-faced witches on brooms that obviously wouldn't hold Professor Flitwick let alone a bloke like himself. He had had a gruelling match against Portree two days ago and he still wasn't over the beat. He didn't have time or energy to follow Katie all over Muggle London even if it was the most he had seen of her this month.
"I know you think it's just a stupid Muggle holiday," Katie replied stiffly from behind a rack of rhinestone-covered dresses and—Was that how Muggles imagined fairies? "But everyone is going. Even the twins consider it a novelty." She rounded the corner, approaching Oliver with a long black robe made of spring-y velvet material. "And since the Ministry is advertising this event—i.e. my department—I'd appreciate if my Quidditch star boyfriend would deign to make an appearance."
Oliver cleared his throat and took a keen interest in a candy display, avoiding Katie's narrowed blue eyes.
"Wot am I supposed to be?" he gestured at the costume in her arms.
"Well…you could think of it as a Dementor." He frowned.
"And wot are ya wearing?" She held up a hanger.
"I'll be a pirate."
"Ya'll look like Rosemerta."
"Then I'll be a lusty bar wench!" Katie hit Oliver's shoulder hard and turned to the check-out, muttering about why she even bothered anymore.
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"Oliver!" Katie hissed into the dark room, the silly purple pirate hat she'd been wearing all night clutched in one hand at her hip. "Oliver!" She was angry and verging on disillusionment. First Oliver had tried to back out, knee twinge he said. Katie informed her boyfriend that she wouldn't dream of making him dance but if he didn't show up she most certainly wouldn't be attending the Samhain celebrations at his mother's farm. The knee got better. Then Katie received an owl from him not four hours ago saying he'd meet her at the entrance later. He wouldn't even be escorting her inside! After all the hard work, all the time she'd put in to making this quirky little evening a success, Katie would have to walk into a sea of couples stag?!
And now a co-worker had passed her a note. Oliver was upstairs waiting for her, needed to talk. Oh really? She'd give him a piece of her mind. Katie had put a lot into this three year relationship and she didn't even have a ring to show for it.
"Lumos," she called harshly, inhaling a slow enraged breath when the walls scones failed to light. Cutbacks. "Oliver Wood, when I get my hands—" The mostly-empty threat was cut off as a mouth descended upon her own, arms locking around her waist and pulling her forward against a muscled torso. Katie's hands went up, a scream building, but at the feel of loose velvet the fear dropped, irritation then slowly being replaced by sudden need. Her angry energy had to go somewhere, and if this was Oliver's attempt at an apology Katie could rant at him tomorrow.
She was being lifted, her back hitting the wall as hungry lips sucked and nipped at her own. How long had it been? He was usually so tired. A litany of Yes and More fell from Katie's lips, and then she was being turned around, cheek pressed to the wallpaper and her gaudy, overly-striped skirt bunched up around her waist.
"Yes," the blond panted, taking the hand that paused at her knickers and directing it under the elastic, the large palm cupping her mound as fingers slipped between her folds. She arched back and the underwear was pushed down as hot flesh pressed between her legs, feet spreading to help her take Oliver's arousal. She hissed sharply as he entered, comforted when his thumb immediately circled her clit, fingers spreading her slickness and urging her towards completion. He was working hard tonight Katie thought, as one long thrust had her seeing stars, the rhythm deliciously erratic as her nerve center was suddenly tapped, and again, eliciting high gasps. But then anyone could come up here and find them. She came biting down on her forearm, sinking into the free hand that pinched her nipple through the cotton pirate bodice.
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The least he could have done was cast a cleansing charm before walking out! Katie fumed as she entered the ballroom, her anger once again building despite the pleasant throbbing shooting through her pussy at each step. She was gratified to see Oliver standing near the punch table then; at least Katie wouldn't have to track the bastard down.
"Where the hell have ya been? I've been waiting forever Katie!" The curse was swallowed as Katie took in her boyfriend's livid face, giving him a look of confusion in return. She was the injured party here, not him! "Fred's drunk off his arse, George and the girls already left, and—Oh bloody hell! Ya couldn't even find me an original costume!" Flabbergasted at his attitude, Katie followed the direction of his heated gaze.
In his own Dementor's outfit halfway across the room drinking a glass of champagne, Marcus Flint nodded to the couple, the brilliant new smirk that had landed him on the cover of Witch Weekly beaming brightly in the flashing lights. Katie swallowed.
"I'm tired of this and I want to go home." Oliver didn't comment on his girlfriend's paled countenance.
"It's just a stupid holiday."
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Katie's angry flats clambered down the crowded hallway. Her co-workers had learned to avoid Ms. Bell—Head of Muggle Research—this past week and today was no exception as the blond dynamo was headed to a meeting with a possible contributor to her department. Merlin, she would rather be heading to a Potions final. It wasn't that Katie was not a capable negotiator or administrator; it wasn't that Katie was sick of her career and looking for a way out. What was particularly pissing off Katie Bell today was that she was headed to the presidential offices of Flint Enterprises.
Three guesses whom she was supposed to meet there.
The last seven days had seen Katie snapping at her friends and fellow Ministry employees—something rather uncharacteristic for the usually mild-tempered ex-Chaser—and thoroughly fawning over Oliver in the bedroom. In her opinion she had gone above and beyond the actions of a sane woman to wheedle some attention from her boyfriend. The massages and lingerie were nothing new, but going as far to tie herself up on their bed and waiting like a naked feast for a Keeper who didn't even show up left Katie with nothing but sore shoulders to match the unrelenting frustration between her legs. Her ire was increased after going down on Oliver last night only to watch him fall asleep soon after, and Katie absolutely hated sucking cock. There was no interaction in it, no sounds, no appraisal. Oliver would clench the sheets and grunt and jerk and that would be that. He may as well be the only one in the room for all the pleasure she ever got out of it. And Katie wanted pleasure. And she wanted pleasure from her boyfriend, the man who was supposed to give it to her.
What Katie really needed through was to stop thinking of hands and lips and parts that belonged to the biggest git she had ever known, especially now. Whatever had possessed him to grab her and…Well he had to have been drunk. Or following through on a dare from one of his immature friends who just couldn't let house rivalry go. Or-or too lazy to go find a prostitute. Katie made a fist and tightened her grip on her briefcase, willing herself to stop thinking. There was no way in Salazar's Hell that Marcus bloody Flint was going to make her feel like a whore.
Katie was shown into a sumptuous office by a steely grey-haired secretary upon arrival. The small woman took Katie's travelling robes without a smile, leaving Ms. Bell to smooth out her three piece suit as Marcus continued to sign scrolls, not looking up from his desk. Her lips thinned as she approached, clearing her throat.
"Good morning Mr. Flint. We had an appointment for ten I was told."
"You're late." Katie bit her tongue.
"I was only informed about this meeting an hour ago. If you've been waiting—"
"Well maybe you should start coming to work on time Bell," he made a vague gesture towards the uncomfortable looking chair that awaited visitors obviously intending for Katie to sit down, which she did after a moments consideration of snatching the quill from his hand and stabbing it through those emerald eyes of his. She increased her aura of professionalism and placed her briefcase on the desk, snapping open the metal clasps and retrieving the Ministry approved package that outlined through graphs and diagrams where philanthropic interests may lie. The Ministry was always looking for hefty donations: this was her job and she would focus on her mission.
"You may already be aware that the Muggle Research Department—"
"Your department's a joke."
So much for focus and professionalism.
Katie tossed the stack of papers and moving images on top of Flint's work with a quick flick of her wrist, feeling a small drop of satisfaction as his quill snapped in two under the weight.
"Why the bloody hell am I here Flint?" she spat, standing to close the briefcase and hopefully make a quick exit. "Why did you schedule this meeting when you're damn lucky I haven't slapped you with a rape charge?" Oh that got his attention.
Furious green eyes jerked up at Katie but she barely spared them a glance, grasping her case and turning away. She had only taken two steps when a crash of papers and glass made her jump, a yelp escaping as strong hands clamped over her upper arms, pulling her back until her ass bit into the edge of the now bare desk. The briefcase was ripped from her grasp, thrown aside, and one serious Marcus Flint loomed over her.
"Are you kidding me Bell?" his arms caged her as he moved flush against her form, intimidating in size and scowl. Katie's blue eyes widened, confused as to why her fists weren't pummelling the brute by now and ashamed at the rising shot of heat that screamed 'Hallelujah!' from her cunt. "You better be kidding." Katie instinctively leaned back as Marcus leaned forward, coming in close to sniff the air above her throat. "Because that wasn't 'No' you were screaming the other night."
"I thought you were Oliver," she bit out, a tad too breathily as Marcus' fingers began to undo her black blazer buttons, her own hands stuck on the surface of the desk.
"Wood? Was that why you were so eager?" he asked conversationally, finished with her jacket and now plucking at her beige silk shirt, tugging it from her pants. "Directing him. Demanding. Begging?" Buttons flew across the room and Katie gasped as one large thigh was insinuated tightly between her legs. "Does he really need so much of a build-up Bell? That's fucking pathetic."
"Yessss," she moaned as rough hands skimmed across her stomach and up to cup her cotton covered breasts, answering more than her need, not put off by the curving smirk that plastered his face or the fleshy hardness pressing against her upper thigh. Katie reached up for the first time, unpainted nails picking at his shiny brown tie; but as soon as the line of material was pulled away Katie found herself pushed back.
"Sure you don't have anything to say to me Bell?" Marcus was leisurely attending to his own clothes now, casually undoing his belt and slowly pulling it free of the loops. She blinked, dazed, nipples erect and pleading on her small breasts. "Because I'd hate to entertain Aurors tomorrow after you wake up and realize this wasn't what you wanted in the first place." She had no response other than to shrug aside the remains of her shirt and release the clasp of her bra.
Katie flushed pink when he just stood there, eyes raking over her nakedness and suddenly visible freckles. "This is the last time you wear trousers around me Bell."
"What?" Katie shook her head, wondering where the hell his mind was vacationing now. "Your secretary wears trousers."
"I'm not fucking Marta."
"…And you want to fuck me?"
Marcus chuckled, prodding Katie to lie back gently this time, the look in his heated gaze anything but. He released the hook and eye at the waistband of her pants, and then dragged the tiny zipper down.
"Let's get something straight," he yanked the black material down over her smooth legs, tossing it over his shoulder before returning one hand possessively to her hip, the other releasing the zip on his own pressed slacks. "You'll never have to direct me. I always give my women what they want, so there's no need for demands." He ran a thumb along her covered slit, making Katie arch. "The only time I want to hear you beg is when I'm hot and hard inside you." She was divested of her underwear, not noticing where those were thrown. "And yes Katie," Marcus cupped the backs of her thighs, pulling her ass to the edge, his shaft already seeking—she had a suspicion she'd find his clothes resting conveniently around his knees. "I want to fuck you. Repeatedly. We can try the couch next if you like."
A strangled gasp rolled off her tongue as he thrust deep, her legs twisting around his torso, heels digging into Marcus' tailbone in an effort to hold on. But Flint wasn't going anywhere without her, and Katie was pulled up, keening as muscled limbs thrust up and back, up and back in short powerful strokes. Their mouths found each other in a brutal kiss, one of his hands sinking into her carefully precise chignon, the other slipping between to where their bodies met. Katie's arm tightened around Marcus' neck, hands searching shoulders and back, nails scraping as buttocks flexed and a low grunt rumbled from Flint's chest.
At one o'clock Ms. Katie Bell left the presidential offices of Flint Enterprises, not a hair out of place although her lips were still swollen—"You're not leaving here looking untouched."—and her underwear was lost to the ages, which was as much as Marcus would admit to their whereabouts. Marta delivered her robes, not a smile to be seen but no underhanded, patronizing glances either. Cool professionalism. It seemed the older woman had participated in this dance with her boss before.
She walked down the hallway, head held high and briefcase in her grasp, all papers signed by the president himself. The Ministry should be happy with its new monthly donations—"I won't. You'll have to schedule another meeting Bell. Like for dinner. Tomorrow night. I like knowing what my money is doing."
No. That wouldn't do at all, and Katie had told him so. But conviction didn't stop her from looking back.