Four years later...
Ron floo-ed home from Grimmauld place, after a tiring day at the Ministry and an exhausting evening at Harry's. It had been hectic organizing the manhunt for Malfoy. Everything at this point was about collecting intelligence and setting up extra security checks for port keys, apparition points and floo networks coming into Britain. Despite telling Kingsley that Malfoy was already in London he still insisted on doing things by the book. When they'd both apparated back to Harry's house to cross-reference the forensic report with the residual magic analysis, they'd been happy to find that Ginny had already left for Luna's hen night. After some discussion, they'd both agreed to tell Hermione together tomorrow early morning. It would be best to hear it from them before she read about it in the papers. They'd contemplated going to her right away but Harry had been adamant on allowing the girls to have their hen's night.
Ron had decided on his own to keep Malfoy's resurrection from his witch. It'd be front-page news in the Daily Prophet tomorrow in any case, but for all intents and purposes, it was an ongoing homicide investigation. He wasn't allowed to discuss nor divulge details about the case— not that they necessarily had much to go on. She would ask questions though, questions he wasn't allowed to answer.
Checking the time, he realized he was running late and she hated it when he was late. Uncouth behavior, she'd say.
He took his sweet leisurely time showering just to spite her. Besides, he defended. She'd kept him waiting two weeks. Few minutes wouldn't kill her.
With that thought, he dressed and made his way to Muggle London. After ten minutes walk, he found his destination. Walking up to the reception he explained how he'd booked a room under his name and that his wife had already checked in but he needed an extra key. Providing her with his Muggle credit card details and a photo ID—both fakes— she handed him the room key with a smile.
"Enjoy your stay with us, Mr. Weasley."
He nodded a gesture of thanks and made his way to the lifts.
Ron was unfamiliar with this hotel as well as the Muggle part of London it was situated in. He didn't mind though, it was easier to let her choose, then she couldn't grumble about anything later. The lift climbed up to the fourth floor at a snail's pace, taunting him, making him grow more and more restless as it approached. Moments later he was standing in front of the room door using the strange metallic card-like key the receptionist had given him to unlock it. There was a click and the little red light turned green. It clicked shut behind him, his heart beating violently. She was strewn on the bed in nothing but her black lace knickers.
A crooked smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she devoured him with her eyes. "Mr. Weasley," she purred. "Do you know why they call you Head Auror?"
His robes fell away as he approached the bed, his palm running up her leg. "No," he replied feigning innocence.
The smile grew into a grin as she hooked her legs around his, sitting up and reaching for the belt on his trousers. "Take your clothes off and I'll show you," she whispered while undoing him.
She ran her fingers along the hem of his trousers before tugging them down. He removed his shirt as she pulled off the last piece of clothing on him and pushed him down onto the mattress.
"Show me," he said leering at her breasts.
Her tongue wet her lips and he watched the gesture like a man hypnotized. He could feel his body shake with anticipation but could do nothing to stop it as he watched her place a sweet kiss on his inner thigh… her mouth moving slowly up to his cock.
Taking deep breaths, he counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four—
Fuck.
Ron hissed as her tongue darted out tentatively to lick the tip. She closed her eyes and gently took him in her mouth, her lips enclosing around him. He groaned so violently that she started. Worried, she asked, "Did I hurt you?"
He shook his head, regretting her absence. "No, it's just… it feels so good."
She bit her lip, and a glint of something flashed across her face. Satisfaction. Her eyes didn't leave his as she dipped her head back down and licked a long wet line from the base to the head.
Merlin, he needed to start counting again.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Four.
Four.
Ten.
Sugar quills.
Doxies.
Fuck.
She was gently sucking him, her head moved down till he could almost feel the back of her throat. He watched the perverted act of affection with a sick kind of fascination. He was suddenly fighting the urge to choke her with his cock. She did something with her tongue and his hand instinctively grabbed hold of her long black velvet hair.
"Pansy."
It felt so good… too good. It'd only been a few minutes but he was already dangerously close to climaxing. Maybe it had just been too long since they'd done this.
"Wait," he choked. "Stop." He couldn't come in her mouth and have it be over so soon, but she wasn't listening and he was so fucking close it was almost tempting to let himself go. With every ounce of willpower he possessed, he reached down and pulled her up.
"Not yet," he panted.
She wiped the sides of her mouth with a manicured finger and then kissed him fully, drinking him in like wine.
Burying a hand in her hair he yanked her head back. "Don't keep me waiting again," he rasped.
She gave a tinkering laugh. "I missed you too Ronnie."
His eyebrows furrowed. "I hate when you call me that."
"Why Ronnie?" she teased. "Don't you like it, Ronnie?"
He gave her a wide grin.
Pansy loved to play games with him.
She yelped when suddenly he flipped them over so he was straddling her. Moving the fabric of her knickers to a side he drove into her sweet warm folds with a groan. Her lithe body arched as she let out a moan of pleasure. Punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips, he ground out slowly, "Don't…fucking…call…me…Ronnie."
She gave him a drunken smile as her hands wrapped around his neck pulling him down to her lips. A whimper left her as he raised her legs hooking them over his shoulder. He loved to see her like this. So unkempt and different from the woman who was always so well put together. He'd once commented to Harry that not a strand of hair was out of place and she seemed to have a permanent resting bitch face.
Maybe it had been the challenge of breaking her which had caught his attention, but he also admitted it was the simple fact that they'd run into each other by chance, and he'd been thoroughly and utterly seduced by her. That was almost a year ago, and he'd been panting after her like a puppy ever since.
He leaned down to nuzzle her neck. Biting her earlobe he said, "Sing it."
She winced as he withdrew, sliding deep into her again.
"Oh darling, please," she muttered. "Not this again."
"Sing. It."
He could practically feel her roll her eyes in protest but smiled as she began, a breathless, jagged rendition of an old song, pausing every few words to stifle her laughter.
Ronald always makes me sing,
He has me dangling on a string
Fucks me good, knows all my kinks
Weasley is my Kinggg.
They both took one look at each other and burst out with unrestrained laughter, losing the rhythm of their lovemaking as he collapsed on top of her. His chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
"You're squashing me," she snorted, still giggling.
He raised himself up slightly on his elbows to look at her, a smile still on his face as her own hysterics subsided.
Ron never thought it could be like this; that he could be fucking one minute, laughing the next and then making doe-eyes, in another. Their noses grazed as he stared into her cobalt-blue irises. He'd wanted to wait for the opportune moment to bring this up but looking at her now he couldn't stand the idea of waiting any longer.
"Leave him," he whispered.
She stared at him a long while. Just as he thought that perhaps she hadn't heard she gave a heavy sigh. "Leave my husband?" she murmured; as if it were a question she was asking herself rather than him. "No... No, I couldn't do that."
"Why?" he demanded, his jaw clenching.
Pansy's eyes locked with his, something furious within them. "He's my husband, Ronald. What do you mean, why?"
"Because as mental as it sounds... every time you're with him, every time I think of you two together, I hate it, I fucking hate it. You're not betraying him anymore Pans, you're betraying me—"
"Darling please," she winced. "Can we talk about this another time, perhaps when you're not inside me?"
He squeezed his eyes shut. "No," he gritted. "I don't like the way things are right now—"
She made to kiss him while raising her hips.
He flinched, pinning her arms down.
"You're not going to distract me with sex," he said simply.
Her eyes narrowed. "Fine, you want me to leave him so what? So we can fuck without you having an attack of conscience—?"
"Because I can't propose to you while you're still married to him!"
He heard her breath hitch. He knew he'd turned as red as a tomato and was embarrassed for it.
"Ronald—"
"I know you love me, so why are you so afraid?"
"Stop it—"
"Is it because of the money?" he demanded, his hands tightening around the wrist adorned with an emerald bracelet Zabini had bought her. Everything about her spelled money. Her perfume, her clothes, her skin.
Pansy threw him an indignant glare. "Yes," she hissed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm a gold-digging slag. I have Blaise for his money and you for multiple orgasms. Happy, darling? Is that what you want to hear?"
"No—"
"Has it ever occurred to you that I just don't trust you?"
His hold on her slackened. "Wh-at?" he stuttered. "Trust me with what?"
"You're sleeping with a married woman—not to mention, I'm cheating on my husband. It's not the most inspired start for a healthy relationship..."
She gave a sudden gasp as his hips slammed into hers. He didn't want to play dirty but she always made things impossible. He had her trapped with his penetrating gaze, his hard length locking them together and his weight bearing down on her.
"I love you," he rasped. "I want you to be my wife. I want you to go home, wait for your husband to come back from his business trip and when he does, tell him you are in love with someone else. I want you to pack your bags and leave him. I don't want you spending another single night in a bed that isn't mine, is that clear Pansy?"
Her chest was heaving again.
Not with anger, but with something else.
"Oh," he added softly, beginning to move inside her. "And the next time I fuck you as a married woman, you'll be married to me."
She opened her mouth to argue but he covered it with his, muffling whatever fearful notion she had about them being together.
Besides…
There was nothing he wanted to hear from her, other than two precious little words.
I do.