Author: Lash_Larue
Title: "Eventual Envelopment" Chapter 14 of 21

Pairing: Jean/Pansy Hermione/Pansy
Rating: R

Highlight for warning * Suicidal thoughts and intentions, reference to Self-Destructive behavior, Masturbation, Voyeurism? *

Word Count: 2092

Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling

A/N: Possible triggers, see warnings. For Amaranta316, just a tiny bit of peace of mind. Repeat, tiny bit.

"Eventual Envelopment"

Chapter 14

"Oh."

We went back to studying. Well, Jean did, I was kind of having trouble getting motivated to learn how to be something I really didn't expect to be alive to be. But I pretended to be studying the books while I studied her. I wanted to burn her even more deeply into my mind, my heart, just in case those images and feelings would travel with me when I left.

So I noticed when the tear ran down her cheek, but I didn't say anything about it. Then there was another, and yet another, and soon there was a steady stream of them dropping onto the book she was staring at blankly.

"Jean?" I questioned gently.

"I hate myself, I'm pathetic," she said in a shaking voice.

"I don't understand. You are the least pathetic person I know," I responded.

"Oh, really? Does it get much more pathetic than having sex with strangers trying to make up for something you lost without ever having it? And the sex isn't even good."

That set me back on my heels, and it also made me a little bit angry. Not good? What in the world did she expect from sex?

"It looked pretty good to me last night. You came so hard you were crying," I said baldly. I'd cried plenty last night too, but I wasn't going to tell her that. Not yet, anyway.

"Oh, I came all right, and I scared the hell out of whoever she was right after. I had to stun her to give myself time to calm down enough to modify her memory without damaging her mind. She couldn't figure out why I was crying," Jean told me as she stared down at her book.

"Why were you crying, then? Do you know?'

"Oh, I know, I surely know. I didn't even have in mind picking someone up last night. I just thought it would be nice to get out and hear some music, and maybe dance a little. To unwind a bit, you know?" I nodded. "And it was fun, and I was relaxing, and you seemed to be having fun too, and then- then I saw her, and the next thing I knew I was asking her to come home with me."

"So you were attracted to her, what's wrong with that?" I asked.

"Everything. You watched us, right? You paid attention?"

"Yes."

"Tell me, did she remind you of anyone? Anyone at all?"

I felt really funny, like the floor had turned to rubber or something.

"I still don't understand," I said hoarsely.

"You! She looked like you, okay? I know I can never have you, and then I saw her and I couldn't help it! I'm so pathetic that I picked up a woman who looks like you and took her home and had sex with her pretending that she was you! And yes I had an orgasm, and I had my hands in her hair pretending it was you doing that to me, but it wasn't, it won't be, it can't be, and I know it! I'm in love with you, and I want you, and I'm not fit to touch you! That's why I was crying, and that's why I'm pathetic!"

"Huh?" There it was again, the girl makes me stupid.

"I can't make it any plainer, Pansy," she said tiredly.

"You love me, you want me?"

"Yes."

I knew better than to ask why, there's never really a why for that, but...

"What on earth makes you think you aren't fit to touch me?" I asked her, trying desperately to regain my balance.

"You've seen the things I've done, Pansy, the way I've treated people. Using them and discarding them, taking out my anger and frustrations on them, trying to fuck or fight some meaning into my life. I can't think why you even tolerate me in your home."

"You haven't done anything different from what I've done," I protested.

"Please. Since I've been here you have been with one person. One, Pansy."

"That's only because I'd rather watch you, and that's not exactly upright behaviour." She shrugged.

"I don't mind that. I was surprised, and then impressed by the magic involved, and then - then I got excited at the thought that you would go to so much trouble to watch me. I mean, I know that voyeurism is a type of addiction, and that it really doesn't have that much to do with me, but it still excited me, that you watched me, that you wanted to. Frankly, wanking in the shower knowing that you are watching me and doing the same thing is better than having sex with someone." I swallowed, and then she raised her eyes to mine and said-

"And it's not like I never watched you. I hid in your closet. I was there, watching you with Sarah. It was - you were - the most beautiful, the most arousing thing I have ever seen, the way you yielded to her, the way you made her body sing, they way you held each other..." She paused and shook her head.

"And ever since then I've been looking for that. At first I thought it was because Sarah is a woman, that that would make the difference, and it did, at least at first. Sex was better with her than anyone I've ever been with, but it wasn't quite what I wanted, so I kept looking for it. I kept looking, and I got angry when I couldn't find it. I hated them for failing me, and I hated myself for being weak, and for how I treated them."

"By the time I figured things out I knew it was too late. It wasn't women that I wanted, that I needed, it was you. And it's too late, you can't want me, I'm disgusting. And through all of that shit you stood by me. You healed my wounds and got me out of jail, and you even arranged things so that I could maybe do something real with my life. But it's too late, and if I ever had a chance with you it's gone. That's why I was crying last night."

I just stared.

"I'll leave," Jean whispered.

"Jean..."

"I'm sorry, I've taken advantage of you for too long, I'll-"

"Jean..."

"Please, you don't have to say anything. I'll pay for the books, and-"

"Hermione!" That did it; she stopped babbling and looked at me.

"I want you too."

"Oh."

We sat in silence for a while, and then she started to slowly shake her head like she was denying something.

"Okay, I can't see why you would, but if you want me, I owe you that much. If you want to fuck me it's certainly more than I deserve."

"I don't want to fuck you," I told her.

"Oh, well of course you don't, I mean, why-"

"Hermione, just shut up, stop thinking, and listen to me, please!" I begged her. She fell silent and waited, staring at her book again.

"Look at me," I said, and she raised her eyes to mine.

"I do not want to fuck you, not yet. I want to make love with you because I am in love with you, and until you can believe that I am not going to have sex with you. I want to hold you in my arms and kiss you more than I have ever wanted anything in my life, to taste your skin, to feel your warmth. But even if you're willing I'm not going to do it now. I'm not going to mess this up like I've messed up most things. Once you believe in my love for you, once you can trust in it, then we can make love. And when you know how much I love you, I'll fuck you on that little table at Sarah's bakery if you want me to. Do you understand me? Do you hear me saying that I'm in love with you?"

"Yes, but -"

"No. No 'but', never, 'but'. Not for this. This is important, and I only have one question to ask you."

"What is it?" she asked.

"Do you really think you can love me?"

"I already do."

"Well I have a little trouble believing that too. But it will be easier for me to believe than it will for you since I am a Slytherin Princess and you're a hard-headed Gryffindor. So let's do this. First, let's apply ourselves to what we've set out to do here, and maybe that will help us get back some self-respect, make sense?" She nodded.

"Next, whether we really believe it in our hearts right now or not, we accept that we love each other, because we have to believe each other or nothing matters, right?"

"Right," she agreed, and there was a little bit of life in her eyes.

"We give ourselves as much time as we need, as much time as it takes for what we feel for each other to grow, to get strong enough that we can believe in it, see it, feel it envelop us and hold us close."

"Okay."

"And we talk to each other, and we listen, we ask questions, and if for some reason we don't want to answer a particular question we just say so, but we don't lie to each other or ourselves, not about us."

"Especially that, I think," she emphasized. "Oh, even about your cooking?"

"You can lie about my cooking a little," I allowed.

"I can't study today. There is too much else in my mind," she told me.

"Me too, it's not every day that you get handed everything you want in life and then have to wait for it."

"It will be worth it, I think."

"I think so as well, but right now there is something I want to do."

"What's that?"

"I want to take a shower." I tossed my wand onto the table and walked into her room, shutting the door behind me.

I couldn't touch her, and I couldn't let her touch me, not sexually. What we had together, or what we hoped to have, was too new, too fragile, and we both had too many memories of sex being something other than an expression of love to chance that.

But I wanted to give her something, something of me, and I had to hope that she would see and understand what I was telling her.

I stood beneath the falling water with my face turned up into it while my hair grew wet and heavy and stuck to my face, my neck, and my shoulders.

I filled my hands with the shampoo and covered myself with the ice-blue lather, breathing deeply of the scent of my deepest desires.

I touched the foam with my tongue, and the taste flooded through me and set my nerves to singing.

I explored every bit of me, I showed her all of me, I opened myself fully to her and hoped that she was watching. I hoped that she was watching, and believing that I was so passionate, so wanton, so open, open, open - just for her.

When my eyes opened I was on the floor of her shower, and the water was swirling the foam down the drain, there was a puddle of thinned-out lather in my navel and my hair was still covered with ice-blue foam.

I got to my feet and stood beneath the falling water with my face turned up into it and rinsed away the lather while my hair grew wet and heavy and stuck to my face, my neck, and my shoulders.

All of me, every little detail, for her.

XXXXX

I left her room holding my clothes wadded up in front of me, my hair was still dripping. I heard noises from the kitchen, and I looked over that way and saw Jean setting out pans.

Our eyes met, and I could see that she been crying again, but there was a beautiful, trembling, fragile, smile on her face.

"I thought I'd make Beef Wellington," she told me.

"That's my favorite," I told her.

"I know."

I went to my bath and saw my wand lying beside the sink and a pair of knickers on the floor. The knickers were torn, and messy, and there was lipstick smeared on the mirror.

That could happen until you got used to the mirror.

I smiled while I dried my hair.