GOBLET OF TREACHERY: Smutty Entr'acte – II
Extra Notes: This is an extra scene – an intermission from the regular story arc – and features pure, unadulterated smut. If you are considered a minor in your region DO NOT READ! The regular story arc will proceed next week!

Special Pairing: Fleur/Roger Davies

Timeline: This interlude takes place sometime between Chapters 5 & 6

You want to know the secret to getting loads of twat?

Confidence.

Birds love confidence. They love it like they'd love a chocolate-covered dildo. And I have it in spades. How else do you think I could score so much quality trim being who I am? After all, I'm not the smartest one at Hogwarts, nor am I the fittest. Don't get me wrong, I'm hardly a minger. Compared to the likes of Dean Thomas or Blaise Zabini, or even Cedric and the Weasley Twins, however. . . Well, I'm man enough to admit my standing on the totem pole of shaggability. But what I lack in physical attributes, I more than make up for in poise. My sheer boldness has gotten me laid when I should have been slapped more times than not. Godric knows the reason why I went after Cedric, arguably the fittest lad in school since Oliver Wood, was to prove that I could, that he would want me. And he does. . . badly.

So, when the students of Beauxbatons arrived at Hogwarts and I laid eyes on Fleur Delacour for the first time, I simply had to have her. When I found out she was part Veela, I knew I would have her.

Oh, she put on a good show for her classmates, let me tell you. See spurned my advances, stuck her cute, button nose in the air when I made my way to her, and 'hrmmf'ed when I asked to sit by her in the Great Hall. But, eventually, the sheer audacity – the unmitigated nerve -- by which I approached her again and again finally broke her down. She caved.

They always cave.

Soon, she was coming to me to initiate conversations and ask favours. And, I put on quite the show. I fumbled for words, stuttering like an idiot. I'd miss my mouth when eating food, especially broth (she loved having proof of my adoration in the form of soup-stains down the front of my shirt). I'd trip over myself when we were walking. I even managed to make my palms sweaty when we held hands. She thought she had me. . .

If she only knew the truth.

"Roger, would you kindly show me 'ze way to 'ze Owlery, please?" '

I'm sitting the Hufflepuff common room when I hear her voice behind me, speaking those wonderful words. I smile and set my book in my school bag.

"Oh, ah. . . of course," I answer as I put on my best 'bumbling act'.

I stand, making sure to bump my shins on the table, spilling over my cup of pumpkin juice. She giggles. Point one for the day.

"It's rather far," I advise, "And it's rather parky outside. Let me run up and get an extra cloak for you. "

I dash up the steps and pass Ernie Macmillan, who looks at me with something akin to awe as he shakes his head and whispers, "You lucky bastard. " I return with a thick, wool cloak that I know will be slightly too short for her. After all, who'd want to cover those legs. They go all the way up to her neck, for Merlin's sake!

Arms intertwined, we walk outside, chatting about nonsensical things that I could care little about. She talked about her home in the French countryside and I feigned interest.

"Oh, it all sounds brilliant," I offer as sheepishly as I can. "I'd love to visit there, sometime. "

I'm lying, of course; I hate France, except the toms. Parisian whores will fuck anyone with enough francs, even a thirteen-year old boy. Fleur reminds me of my first, some renter name Barbette (at least, that's the name she gave me). I start to wonder if she'll taste like Barbette, too.

We walk up the cobble stone path that leads to the Owlery Tower. This is a recent addition to Hogwarts, made from the abandoned watchtower that was apparently used during ancient times, or something like that. I never really pay attention in Professor Binns' class. I let her walk in front of me, taking great pleasure in watching her legs, studying them as they move. They're graceful, as if they were dancing and not simply walking. I can see the pink, flowered panties underneath the high-cut school skirt that all the Beauxbatons girls wear. As cold as it is outside, I find myself getting increasingly warm.

"Oh, no," she says when we finally make it to the owl cages. "I do not 'ave an owl of my own. "

She begins to pout, her eyes reminiscent of a hurt puppy.

"No fear," I reply. "You can use mine. I don't mind. "

"Are you sure?" she asks, leaning in as if her proximity would guarantee my acquiescence. "I do not want to be any bother. "

I answer with a slight bow, "No bother at all, m'lady. "

I click my tongue. Within seconds, my Verreaux's Eagle Owl flies to me, landing on my outstretched arm. With its striking appearance and vast wingspan, Verreaux Eagle Owls are impressive, especially to girls. I hear Fleur squeal in delight as it spreads its wings and flaps, ready for its mission.

"Très magnifique!" she cries, clapping her hands together. "C'est si beau!"

"Thank you," I manage, with a bow. "Mercurcio is still young, still growing. But he'll get your letter to its destination probably quicker than anyone else's. "

As I walk over to Fleur, Mercurcio extends one of his legs, ready to receive her post. She ties her letter gently, yet firmly, to the limb. I walk over to one of the arched windows and whisper in his ear, "Now be a good boy and get this letter to its recipient as fast as you can. No mouse-hunting until you get back. " I scold him with a wag of the finger. He nips it playfully, as if he'll pay no mind to my wishes. Even so, I know he'll make me proud.

He jaunts from my arm and soars into the sky. A second later from that, Fleur grabs my shoulder, spins me around, presses my back against the wall, and proceeds to latch on to my mouth.

Of course, I act coy.

"Fleur!" I cry, gently pushing her away. I make sure to maintain hold of her shoulders, keeping within arm's reach.

She grabs my wrists, forcibly removing them and holding them above my head. Merlin's beard, is she strong! Her grip is vice-like; I wouldn't be surprised to find bruises there when we're done.

Fleur leans closer, whispering in my ear, "What 'eez 'ze mattah, Roger? Do you not like me? Do you not want me?"

Her voice is hypnotic, husky. Her breath is intoxicating. Whatever Veela charms she's thrown out before, it hardly compares to the pheromones seeping from her now. My eyes roll in the back of my head. For a moment, I forget where we are, who I am.

Her lips press against my earlobe and down my neck as a tongue tickles my Adam's apple. My breathing becomes quick as she begins to squat in front of me. Against my better judgement (because what bloke wouldn't want a blowjob?), I hook my arms under hers and lift her up, spinning around and pressing her against the wall. I attack her throat with my mouth which sends her into a tittering fit.

"What are you doing, Roger?" she asks between gasps and giggles.

I pull back and look deep into her eyes.

"I'm giving you something you richly deserve. "

I squat down in front of her and stick my head under her skirt.

I pause. I'm here. I'm really here. Nestled somewhere between the legs of the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, certainly the most beautiful girl I deserve. I take a moment to take it all in, brushing my face against the crotch and inhaling deeply.

I smell the pungent sweetness of her pussy and can feel her bush through her undergarments. I kiss her inner thigh and feel her tense. I plant a trail of kisses along her inside of her left leg and mouth at her twat, tugging at her panties and her pubes with my teeth. I hear her suck air through her teeth as I let go of the cloth, proceeding to make my way along the inside of her right leg.

"S'il te plait, Roger," she begs, "do not tease me!"

I bloody love it when they beg.

I reach up and slowly pull off her panties. She lifts one of her legs and throws it over my shoulder. I continue to taunt her by licking designs on the skin of her inner thigh with my tongue. I'm sure she can't tell, but I spell out 'Roger Davies was here' as I'm doing this. I know no one can ever see it, but it gives me some satisfaction. I lick the crease where her leg joins with her crotch, nuzzling my face into her bush. She arches into me as I blow and lap at her slit. I grab a handful of her arse, pulling her closer to me. My tongue separates her lips. As her lips open up, I run my tongue along the layers of the flesh within, flicking at the folds, feeling her pussy as it becomes wetter.

She's moaning now, grabbing at the back of my head, forcing my face to go deeper in her. I stick my tongue as far as it will go. I make circles, wiggling it, frantically trying to find her clit. I start to hum, low and guttural, sending waves of vibrations deep inside her. She starts grinding her hips into me.

I know I've hit that 'spot' when she starts screaming in French, pounding one fist against the wall and pawning at my head with the other, grabbing a fistful of skirt and hair in the meantime. I begin to fuck her with my tongue, going in and out as fast as I would with my cock, which remains hard and unattended, dripping with its own precum. Her legs go from trembling to jerking to convulsing in a matter of seconds. I can feel hot wetness dance along my tongue and drip onto my chin before sliding down my neck. Her jerks become less intense, though she continues to hold my head firmly in place. Like a good boy, I lap at her pussy, flicking and swishing like my tongue was a wand and her orgasm, my spell.

Her grip eases and she slowly lifts her leg and stands on her own two feet. I make sure to put her panties back on before giving her sweet bush one final nuzzle and pulling myself out from under her skirt. She has this thoroughly pleased expression drawn on her face. I inch closer to kiss her. She jerks away.

"Oh, no! Not until you wash up!"

I grab her shoulders and force my tongue into her mouth. 'It's her pussy,' I think, 'she needs to know how sweet it tastes. ' She resists at first before succumbing to her own flavour, just as I had. Our tongues circle each other as if fighting for dominance.

I pull back.

She smiles at me before gently pushing me away. Making her way to the Owlery exit, she stops short of the door and turns to face me.

"Thanks again for letting me use your Mercurcio," she says. "And for. . . 'ze orgasm. Cedric Diggory is a lucky man. "

She's gone before she can see the shocked look on my face. I knew how much I really liked Cedric, but I had no clue that others could see it, too. Still, part one of my conquest is done. Although I've this raging hard-on and no one to satisfy it (for the moment), I'm still immensely chuffed.

I wonder… Would she will go to the Yule Ball with me? Now, that would be something!

Yes, gentlemen; confidence is how you get a bird.

Eating pussy well is how you keep them.

Oh, and in case you're wondering. . .

. . . Fluer definitely does not taste like Barbette.