Chapter 1
Their first time together is nothing to write home about.
Drunkenness and curiosity lead to a sloppy snog, with floo powder still on their robes. He wastes no time in bending her over the edge of his bed after pulling her into his bedroom. She rests one cheek on the crumpled sheets and looks up back at him as he flips her skirt up.
He appraises her ass, groping her well-formed rear greedily. With little reservation, he unbuckles and unzips to free himself with one hand and shifts her thong to the side with his other. He feels hot and hard and large at her entrance. The initial penetration hurts. She reaches back to still him, and in response, he leans forward, pinning her arms beside her head. She whimpers, but he interprets the noise to be a cry of pleasure. He pushes himself deep inside her, breathing hard and heavy against her ear with each thrust.
It feels impersonal, which is usually what she wants, but the fact that this is him of all people, makes it feel hateful, and well, very personal.
She waits for it to be over, watching the freckles on his forearm ripple over the underlying muscle as he ruts above her. Eventually, after a few minutes, it begins to feel good and she moans encouragingly. He mutters something about her being a slag with a dripping cunt before he comes with a long grunt.
The pulsing of his dick as he ejaculates is almost enough to make her come, but she doesn't quite get there. She wants him to play with her clit to help her along, but he pulls out instead and tucks himself back into his pants.
She adjusts her thong back over her crotch. She feels wet and uncomfortable and unsatisfied. She stands, letting her skirt to fall back into place.
"Seamus was right. You do have a lovely little quim." He's lying on his back now, grinning at her, with that after-sex glaze over his eyes.
Pansy is annoyed that the merits of her vagina are being discussed among Gryffindors, but she doesn't let it show. "Glad you approve, Weasley." She straightens her hair in the full-length mirror.
"Probably better if we don't tell anyone about this, yeah?"
Her eyes narrow momentarily in annoyance, but she knows he's right. "Like I want anyone to know I've shagged you." She wants it to sound nonchalant, but it comes out with more spite than she wanted to feel.
Less than ten minutes after arriving, she's leaving his flat for her own. Fuck curiosity, she thinks.
According to the tabloids, he's back with Granger by the following weekend, another make-up-break-up cycle completed. He ignores her when they pass each other on the street and she does the same.
She doesn't tell anyone about that night, not even Millicent or Daphne, mostly out of pride. How could she admit to being barely a blip on his radar, like some hole to be used and then tossed aside by Ronald fucking Weasley. And anyway, she tells herself, he's nothing but a blip on hers.
Life goes on.
In the four years since Hogwarts, she's spent most of her time trying to save her father's soul from dementors, as any honorable pureblood daughter would. It turns out that there are things money can't buy. Not even a utility closet shag with the Seamus Finnegan, the prosecuting attorney who had taken over her father's case, did any good. She's secretly relieved when an execution date is set. At least his suffering, and her own, would end.
As far as her mother, Dahlia Parkinson, was concerned, her father had long ceased to exist. As did Pansy for that matter. Early onset dementia, caused by repeated Cruciatus after all of Cygnus Parkinson's "failed missions."
So, she splits her time between visits to Azkaban and St. Mungo's. This doesn't mean she doesn't have time for fun. She parties nightly with Millicent and Daphne, occasionally joined by Blaise, Draco, and Theo. They portkey around the world – Parisian terraces, Tokyo nightclubs, New York city rooftop bars, weekend escapes at the Greengrass castle in Ireland, the Zabini villa in Italy, the Malfoys' various estates in France.
She experiences occasional flings, which always start sweet and make her feel giddy in that stupid girly way. The ends always hurt more than she's willing to admit. She hates hoping that some bloke might look past her family's past for reasons other than to take advantage of the overflowing vaults of galleons at her disposal. So for the most part, she prefers relationships that last a few hours. Why seek disappointment, she reasons, when debauchery and no-strings orgasms feel so much better.
The next time they have a conversation, it's five years later. And they have much more than just words.
At 27, Pansy Parkinson thinks she's finally reached adulthood. Maybe. It's four in the morning and she's just come home alone after a night of way too many shots. Daphne had thrown a party to celebrate Pansy's graduation from St. Mungo's healer training program. She figured she would get licensed officially, since she had already spent half her twenties at St. Mungo's during her mother's last few years of life. No one had ever really expected much of Pansy's intellect back at Hogwarts, so it feels good to prove everyone wrong.
"In your face, Draco," she gloats outloud, admiring her newly framed diploma.
She hears someone knocking. She thinks it's probably Marcus Flint. They have a habit of drunkenly ending up in each other's beds.
Her eyes widen when she goes to greet him. It's definitely not Marcus.
After years without acknowledging her existence, Ron Weasley has turned up on her doorstep.
She manages to point her wand at him, but he disarms her without a word. Pansy curses herself for her slowed reflexes. Through the haze of her drunkenness, she knows she should be scared to be wandless and alone with a man nearly twice her size.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" She tries to sound brave and stoic, but she can hear the quake in her voice.
"I've... erm.. been thinking about you," he says. He looks like he means it, but she's skeptical since this is the first time they've made eye contact in years.
"Right." She glares at him. "How did you get past the warded gates?"
"I'm a professional Charms consultant, Parkinson. I specialize in wards."
"Ah, and here I was, thinking your only purpose in the golden trio was comic relief."
It's the wrong thing to say. Or maybe the right thing. Maybe she wants him to stride angrily towards her. Suddenly, she's more curious than scared, and fuck it, she's horny. So she lets him get close and yank her against his chest. His hands and face are cold, like he's been walking outside, and his mouth tastes like fire whiskey as he scrapes his teeth against her lips.
Despite her inebriated state, she feels every ridge of him inside her as he takes her hard and deep against the wall. And bent over the arm of a settee. Then spread-eagled at the edge of the Parkinsons' long, elegant dining table. There, he pulls out and steps back, like he's appraising her. She appraises him back. Somehow, he's undressed and goddammit, he all muscles and freckles and a big, beautiful erection. She wants him in her mouth and starts to wriggle off the table, but he places his hands back on her thighs to hold her in place.
"I want to look at you," he says. She looks down at herself and realizes that she's still wearing the tight, sparkly dress she had donned so many hours ago, except it's now bunched around her waist. Holding his eyes with her own, she pulls it off in a single motion and lays back.
"I want you inside me," she whispers.
He shakes his head. "Not yet, Parkinson. I want to taste you this time."
Then, his mouth is hot on her sex. He tongues and sucks her clit as his fingers find and pulse against that spot inside her until she's literally splashing wetness onto his face and arms and begging him to stop.
"Shit." She tries to catch her breath. "Shit, Weasley. Where did you learn to do that?"
"Shh, fuck now, talk later."
He's pushing his manhood inside her again, and it's too much, but she still wants more.
"You're exactly what I needed tonight, Pansy" he murmurs against her ear.
Pansy stares up at the ceiling. She hates that her heart drops in response to his words. Pansy, the slag, at his service again, she thinks bitterly. But then he thrusts extra deep, and all she can think about is pleasure. "Shut up," she gasps. "Just fuck me."
She feels light-headed and unsteady on her feet after it's over. He collapses into one of the dining room chairs, and briefly, Pansy thinks about how horrified her mother would be to know that a Weasley's balls and arse were rubbing against her priceless, antique upholstery.
"I need some water," she says, after summoning her wand and then a robe for herself, and his boxers for him. "You coming?"
Out of the corner of her eyes, she watches him scramble to pull on his underwear before following her. She finds two glasses and Aguamentis them both full.
"I'm going to bed," she says, after she hands him one.
"Alone?" He's grinning again, just like their first time all those years ago, like he fucking won something.
She watches his throat as he drinks. Beautiful, she thinks.
"I think I've been more than hospitable tonight, don't you think? After you broke onto my property?"
"Yeah, erm, sorry about that. I honestly didn't think it would let me through…"
"You disarmed my wards!"
"If you could call them that… Merlin, you may as well have been leaving your front door wide open-"
"So, I was basically asking for it then?" She's sneering now, but she can't help it. This is still Ronald Weasley after all. He's always had a penchant for making her feel like shit. Particularly after being inside of her.
"That's not what I said. For Merlin's sake, Parkinson, are you always such a bitch after sex?"
"I'm the bitch?" She hates the screech in her voice, but he deserves it. He reaches for her, but she swats his hand away. "Fuck you, asshole. You can show yourself out before I call the aurors."
She slams her water glass down on the counter and storms out of the kitchen.
She can hear his long strides following her. She considers stunning him, but tears are forming and she doesn't trust her voice to not quaver.
"Wait! Parkinson, please. Don't run off this time. I've waited years to get you alone again."
They're outside her bedroom now. She spins around and thrusts her wand into his chest. "Bullshit, Weasley. Guys like you are the worst – "
"Guys like me? What are you talking about? I –"
"Yeah, like you. Yeah, sure, to everyone else, to the Hermione Grangers of the world, you're the good guy, the funny friend-turned-devoted boyfriend –"
"Well, I think Hermione would disagree –"
"But to the slags of the world, you'll say what you need to get into their.. my knickers in private, but in public, you can't even give a friendly nod –"
"Oh, Pansy…"
"Stop!" Her words are half-sobs now. "Stop looking at me like that. I don't want your fucking pity. I know I've been with a lot of men, but at least, I don't go out of my way to make them feel like shit in the afters –"
"I never meant-"
He reaches for her, but she jabs him harder in the chest with the wand to keep him at bay. He's still shirtless and the wood leaves red marks on his skin. He winces in pain. Good.
"I think you should leave."
"I think we should talk."
"What is there to say?"
"Pansy, please, put your wand down. Let's be reasonable…"
"I don't think I'm being unreasonable. You broke onto my grounds and now I want you to go."
"You're leaving out that we just had the most incredible sex. Come on… tell me you don't want to do that again."
She steps back from him and opens her bedroom door. It's nearly six am now, and the view of the sun rising is prominent on her east-facing balcony. Even though she's still drunk enough to not feel her face, she walks over to the sitting area and pours herself another dash of fire whiskey.
He follows her in, awkwardly. In the mirror, she catches him looking tousled and cold and if she didn't hate him, a little adorable. "I know," she begins, before downing her drink, "That I'm a brilliant lay, Weasley. And I'm sure that's a large part of my allure for you –"
"Pansy-"
"But you got what you wanted. And yes, you're a terrific lay too. I'm sure Granger loves it, so why don't you go back to giving it to her."
"Pansy, Hermione and I haven't been intimate for years. Since before you and I hooked up that first time – "
"I don't like being lied to."
"I'm not lying."
"I-"
"And I'm not the only one who wanted to keep things between us. And I'm not the one who ducks into alleys or apparates away whenever she sees me coming. You act like you can't stand the sight of me –"
"That's because I can't." For emphasis, Pansy throws her glass at his head. He ducks and it breaks against her armoire.
"Merlin, what is wrong with you, witch?" He's yelling now and his face is reddening in anger. "Why did you let me fuck you then? Are you really that big of a slag that you'll just give it to anybody who bends you over?"
"How dare you?" she seethes. "Get the fuck out of my house!"
"No! Not until you – "
"Until I what? Fuck you again? Because I'm such a fucking slut?"
He's pushed her onto the bed before she registers what's happening. She struggles against him and she's crying for real now, deep, messy, furious sobs as she throws crazed fists at his face. He pins her down easily, and she turns her head to the side, trying to get her tears under control. His grip on her wrists eases and then he's holding her like… like he cares, stroking her hair, and then her back. She doesn't remember the last time she's been held like this. She knows she should pull away, but he's so warm and gentle and solid. Just a few more seconds…
And that's how she accidentally falls asleep in Ronald Weasley's arms.
To be continued...
Author's Note: I mostly wrote this because I love the Pansy/Ron pairing, and there isn't enough of it out there. I have some ideas of where I'm going to take this story, but it's not set it stone, so I'd love any feedback if you might have :)
