AN:
I had a writing goal this year to try my hand at a one-shot. This idea was born from that goal but as you can see it too grew and is now a two-shot. At least it's only January so I have time to keep trying lol.
Chapter One
Lifting the corner of his cards, Marcus weighed the seven of hearts and the two of clubs in his hand versus the Flop and the Turn. His hand was utter shite and he knew it. Between the six cards, all he possessed was a pair of sevens. Had the game not been set up as pre-Cup fun for former and retired players like himself and current players like Weasley to earn money for the charity of their choice, he would have folded the moment his hand was dealt. However, any of the causes that would get the pot in the end were worth the galleons he was going to lose, which made him ignore the statistical miracle he would need to win as he weighed his next bet.
Tapping his fingers on the red felt of the table, he watched an excited Weasley with the sort of envy only a true Slytherin could feel. Some wizards had all the luck and as was par for the course, those were the ones that often took Fate's blessings for granted. The ginger prick who sat across from him was no different. Normally he wouldn't let such things bother him knowing he too was blessed beyond measure in most aspects of his life. However Ronald Weasley was in possession of something he dearly wanted. What was worse, he treated the witch Marcus had been coveting as his accessory in life and not as the divine treasure that she was.
Just past Weasley's shoulder was the witch in question. She had come in on his arm looking resplendent in her ruby red gown and after a perfunctory tour around the room where the Chudley keeper had barely allowed her to say more than a passing hello to any unattached wizard, she had parked herself at the bar. All evening she had sat on the low back bar stool, sipping a single cocktail while she read her book, uninterested in the game going on around her. And all evening as she sat there slowly turning the pages of her novel, he couldn't help but watch her. Her catching his attention wasn't anything new though. She had been doing it almost daily for the last eighteen months as they worked together liaising between their offices at the Ministry.
Hermione Granger was striking in her beauty, her poise and charm further enhancing her features. But it was her sharp mind and the passion with which she attended to her job that had kept his eye and attention on her. They both worked directly under the heads of their departments - he in Magical Games and Sports and she in International Magical Co-Operation. When planning for the 2006 World Cup had begun, their bosses had dumped the eternity of responsibility on them, making them near permanent fixtures in each other's work lives. So often they had to attend to things together that they had come to spend more time in each other's company than that of their own co-workers.
Over time their relationship evolved from that of colleagues to friends and somewhere along the line he had fallen in love with the feisty, little Gryffindor and war heroine. A fact he had only come to realize as their time working together was nearly at an end. They had these last three weeks together of overseeing Britain's involvement in the World Cup and then it would be back to their regular day to day duties. He hadn't thought his life had been lacking before but now facing her absence from his daily life, he knew that he had been missing something and it was her.
Watching as she slowly turned another page, he made up his mind on what he ultimately wanted when he walked away from the table. With the play of the game now to him, Marcus raised the bet by an obscene amount to force the rest of the players out of the hand. Stoically he watched as each player between him and the ginger weasel threw their cards into the center of the table just as he had hoped. Then finally the dealer pointed to Weasley and awaited his move.
"It's just you and me now, Flint," he taunted, accordioning his chips.
"So it would seem," he replied nonchalantly, studying the table and his hand again. Smoothing out his cards, he laced his fingers over top of them and leaned into the table. "Money is boring, wouldn't you agree? I mean it's not as if we aren't all going to sign slips for Gringotts to move money to our charities after this regardless of if we win the pot or not. So what do you say to us making things a little more interesting tonight?"
"What do you have in mind?" He asked, smirking at his hand, his overconfidence rolling off of him.
"If you win, you can leave with my broom. The Hermes 482, to be specific."
Just as he had hoped, his blue eyes grew wide with excitement at having the elite broom that wasn't even on the market yet and already had a waiting list that was nine months long. All night he had been easy to read and this was no exception. His tell was so clear that Marcus was even able to pinpoint the exact moment Weasley had lost his head for the game and fixated wholly on the coveted item. Not missing his chance, he offered the other end of the stakes, praying that he would fall for it.
"And if I win, I get to spend tonight with your girlfriend. Prized possession for prized possession."
Even without his words to confirm it, Marcus could feel the intent based magic wash over the table as Weasley accepted the side bet. He was far too confident in his hand and wouldbe prize. Lost was the strategic mind that had kept him winning all evening despite his obvious tell and in its place was gambling. He was so clouded by the part of the game that created addiction, that Marcus knew the idea of losing so much more than money hadn't even crossed his mind. Nor had he even possessed a fleeting thought that maybe Marcus didn't actually care if he won or lost. That maybe all he wanted was to sever the last of the frayed strings that held Hermione to him. Though if by some twist of fate he actually won, he wasn't going to waste the night they would have together because after this, they would be consumed by the bracket matches leading to the Cup and then it would all be over and he would no longer have an excuse to be spending more time in her office more than in his.
"You disgusting pig!" Hermione spat as she snapped her book shut and marched over to the table. "You can't bet people."
"Oh but I just did," he responded easily, leaning back in his chair. Pointing to the pot and the magical read out of the additional bet, he said, "And it looks like dear Ronald has accepted."
"What the fuck?" She yelled. "Ron, fold!"
"But 'Mione look," he encouraged, the rush of a certain win coloring his voice as he tried to show her his hand.
"You can't be serious?" She demanded, her eyes alight with feral fire. Looking back at Marcus the heat dimmed just a bit as disappointment crept in. "I expected so much more from you."
The poorly veiled emotion in her words, nearly had Marcus tossing his cards onto the table in surrender. He wanted a night with her but only so that he could have the uninterrupted time to confess everything he felt for her. More than that though, he wanted the arsehole that was her boyfriend out of her life. It was underhanded and he knew it, but even her compassionate and far too forgiving heart wouldn't be able to ignore Weasley agreeing to bet his girlfriend for a broom of all things.
Just as quickly as it had appeared, her disappointment towards Marcus vanished and her whiskey eyes were an inferno of rage. Slapping her hand on the felt table, Hermione looked to the dealer and snarled, "Well what the fuck are you waiting for? Throw down the damn River so we can see which of these two chauvinistic arseholes gets the pleasure of using my cunt tonight."
No sooner had the words left her mouth did the magic that compelled each player to pay up their bets, wash over the table. His mouth dropped while Weasley began to sputter, the both of them looking at her hand where her pinky just barely grazed his cards. It wasn't much but it was all the table needed to bind her words to the pot, thinking her boyfriend had been the one to up the ante.
Picking up his cards, Marcus went to fold not wanting to take the risk that she would be forced to sleep with him should by some fateful deal of the deck he won the hand. It was only her rushed words and evaporated anger that stopped him.
"Don't!"
"What?" He asked, shock evident in his voice and on his face.
"Call, don't fold."
"'Mione, I won't allow you-"
"Shut up Ron. You are not, nor have you ever been, the one to allow me to do anything," she snapped.
"Hermione, you realize what would happen if I win right?"
"Yes, I'll be spending the night with you and through heedless words and actions of my own, I'll also be sleeping with you when all you had initially asked for was my time and presence."
"This isn't how I-"
"Marcus, call," she interrupted, giving him a small, reassuring smile.
Racking his brain for something that could be considered of equal value to his wildest dream coming true, he looked down at his wrist. He hadn't been entirely truthful when he had said, prized possession for prized possession. Hermione was what Weasley had that Marcus valued above everything else, while the broom was the possession of his that Weasley saw as the most valuable, making his statement half true. Everyday since she had given it to him for his thirtieth birthday two weeks ago, he wore his true most prized possession on his wrist. A sapphire blue faced watch, with the words, Life is not measured in time but in moments, engraved on the back along with the exact day and time of their first meeting together underneath it.
Opening the clasp, he reluctantly slipped it off his wrist and pushed it into the center of the table, knowing that at least if he lost it, she would return it to him in the morning, and said, "Call," sealing the additional bet into the pot.
"No more bets," the dealer announced, doing a thorough job at sounding wholly unaffected by the turn of events.
Pulling the River from the deck, the jingling charms of her bracelet could be heard around the room as everyone watched with rapt attention.
"Seven diamonds," she announced, lining the card up with the previous four in the center of the table. "Mr. Weasley, your hand."
Marcus hadn't even fully processed what he held before the dealer was asking him for his hand. Glancing at the table to see how close he had come to heaven he saw Weasley's hand was Ace high, with one card away from a Royal Flush. Looking up at Hermione with a start, he watched her face with the same intensity he had all night as he turned his own cards over.
"Three of a kind, sevens. Marcus Flint wins."
Jumping up from the table, Weasley yelled, "Hermione, don't you dare!"
"Too late, Ron. A deal's a deal. Maybe you'll learn not to bet your next girlfriend in a poker game."
Ignoring his puce colored face, Marcus asked the smiling witch before him, "What do you want?"
"For you to cash out and take me to your room. I do believe I owe you a night of my company."
Picking up what remained of his chips, he tossed them into the center, adding them to the charity pot. Standing up from the table, he grabbed his watch and the jacket of his tuxedo from the back of his chair, and walked around to meet her and offer her his arm.
"Are you sure about this?" He asked as she laced her arm through his.
"I'm positive," she assured as they made their way to the bank of lifts. "I've been dreading the final match of the World Cup knowing I won't see you everyday anymore. I just didn't think you felt the same way."
Gesturing for her to enter the lift ahead of him, Marcus stepped in behind her and pressed the button for the twenty-fifth floor. As the doors closed he turned to face her and stepped into her space, towering over her as he crowded her back into the mirrored wall.
Threading his fingers through the smooth curls of her hair, he cupped the back of her head while grabbing ahold of her hip with his other hand and confessed, "I don't know when it happened but somewhere among the late nights and endless hours in each other's offices, I fell in love with you and I wasn't going to walk away from this, from you, without making sure you knew it, Ronald Weasley be damned."
Then with a gentle tug on her hair, he tilted her head back and pulled her hips flush against his, rubbing his forming erection into her abdomen as he leaned down to seal his lips over her mouth that had parted in a soft moan.
AN:
I should have the second part up sometime next week.
Thanks for reading and I hope y'all enjoyed and are looking forward to the smuttiness to come.