Written for the Pairing the Character - Drabble Competition. This was for week 19: Rita Skeeter.
Word count: 500
She can hear him pounding on the door; it sounds like hell has come to pay a visit. Maybe it has. If she opens that door, she'll know what a hell on earth really is and then she'll know what the real hell is too.
She isn't opening that door. She isn't opening that door.
.
Rita Skeeter isn't surprised as the scent of piss, stale beer, and unwashed bodies assault her nose. From her research on him, she would be surprised if he frequented anything classier than this – wouldn't be surprised if he frequented places worse than this.
She's dressed to blend in; she's traded in her five-hundred galleon robes for a tight scrap of cloth that's evidently a dress and a pair of six-inch heels. She's wearing enough make-up to rival a clown and her blonde hair is so full of product she's pretty sure she could bounce a sickle off of it. If anyone she knows sees her like this, she's going to kill herself. She's here and dressed like this for a story – that's it.
Rita makes her way through the crowd, her hips swaying and her pink lips pulled back in a viperous grin. Men hoot and holler at her; she feels more than a few pinches, slaps, and gropes as she passes through the crowd to the table at the back. The table where he stands. She'd hex all of these men if it weren't for the fact she's about to get the biggest scoop of her career.
She's going to get Fenrir Greyback.
He's half-man, half-beast; he's got at least five pounds of hair and fifty pounds of muscle. She's rather certain that he could snap her in half if he so desired. His blue eyes feel like they're drilling a hole through her and the smirk that spreads across his lips makes her feel like she's about to be eaten whole. She brushes that away though and saunters up to the table, resting a hand on his forearm and smirking right back at him.
"Hi hon," she coos.
"Wotcher love," he greeted.
.
His lips crash against her as he pushes her against the brick wall; her head bangs into the wall and pain radiates through her skull but she keeps kissing him. Their teeth click, their tongues dance. He pulls up the hem of her skirt, pulling down her lacy underwear, and pressing against her. Her arms wrap around the back of his neck and her legs clasp around his waist.
He pulls away from her lips, grinning like that cat that caught the canary. She's panting hard as his hips jerk against hers, groaning softly as a bolt of electricity shoots through her.
.
"YOU FUCKING BITCH!" he shouts through the door. She presses into the wall, wishing she could melt into it. But she can't. She's stuck there as Fenrir Greyback bangs on her door and the article that's brought him here sits in front of her, taunting her.